The Wielder of Death Magic

“Who is to say,” he added, “-suppose god ought to know,” the door squeezed and the ominous presence left. Mild cries echoed in another room, “-JAE,” screamed a familiar voice, “-I want my office back,” wailed the lady.

In the following week; per agreement of a victorious battle – Igna paid a visit to the Xinfe familia. Such was the plan – on unstraddling a mighty white steed, formally dressed officials swarmed.

“Lord Igna of the Haggard Familia, your presence is required at the castle,” narrowed a blunt and strict man. On the collars were distinguished family crest, on the breast pocket, medals. There were rumors about a military faction – one to safeguard the peace and monitor the influences of the families. Rumors, ones he ignored on accounts of, ‘-when it comes, it comes.’

“The day’s here,” he muffled and caressed the horse.

“Pardon?” said one of the officials, by rank and the received looks – stood at the back and hidden behind a lack of medal – sneers turned his way and read, ‘-you dare speak?’

“Excuse him,” green uniform and a resemblance to military outfits worn traditionally, “-Lord Igna.”

.....

“There’s no need for a commotion,” said he calmly. A glance to the left told of a young boy dressed in shabby attire – by the facial features, demi-human in nature, the scruffy nose, and uncleaned clothes were indicators of a not-so-nice lifestyle.

“Yes my lord?”

“Take care of him, will you?”

“Will do, my lord,” nodded the boy.

“No need for formality, Rusty,” a casual smile reflected positively on the boy, “-here,” lumps of gold dropped onto tiny-cupped hands, therein reached a point of spillage. “Here,” aside from the coins, Igna tied a little pouch around the boy’s neck, “-keep your money in there, none’s going to steal even if they take the pouch, find me at my manor, I’ll make sure justice is served.”

“Thank you, sir,” the now jovial boy waltz into the stables, shy off a cottage serving drinks for the rougher part of town. The majestic castle laid a mighty trek away.

“I’m impressed,” commented Igna, curious bystanders tiptoed above fences, through bushes, and broken buildings, “-I used quite a strange path.” Energy fuelled the front man’s step, he proudly turned at Igna.

“After months of tracking, we figured you’d be here.”

“Pray tell, why did it take so long for the military to respond?”

“Oh, that sir, I can’t disclose.”

“Why, is it classified information?”

“No, sir, it’s mostly that we know not much of the situation,” in the prideful manner of speech, there rested a sliver of admiration. Igna’s alluring charm, the instant he rode into town, emitted a subconscious fragrance to him, one of charm and intrigue. ‘-Thing’s never change,’ he thought to himself, ‘-since the days of Staxius, Dark-arts and the ability to charmingly lure individuals has always worked. How I missed the pleasures of toying with a person’s mind.’ And in the self-thought, ‘-can’t I get a break?’

‘No can do,’ returned friendly laughter, ‘-this is us now, fragments of the same being,’ talking to oneself, a coping mechanism Igna developed after much sufferance; sudden reactivation of the death element, the pulses spawned by the devouring of a soul. On the faithful day of the awakening as a new version of himself – more power gathered at his fingertips, and to manage the powers – reluctant on making the mistakes Staxius and Alfred did, the consciousness split among three, the past, the present, and the future. Wherein, Alfred, Staxius, and Igna settled at each respective seat.

“-And is there a reason why you’d so casually speak to the devil?” added Igna wittingly, half in jest and half-serious. The frontman -Yean, threw a shrug and laughed.

“Sir, us officials are simply pawns in the greater picture. We were ordered to carry out a duty, and we pride ourselves on fulfilling the task in the scope of our abilities. Information is scarce, but not as limited as is probably thought. The Devil of Haggard, or the Devil for short, infamous tales of a single man taking on a whole army, outwitting generals we once placed on a pedestal, making nonsense of the established hierarchy, and defeating the symbol of power the populous thought. My, I don’t know, it’s a thing of glory and wonder. Though thy hands are stained in the blood of many – there resides kindness in the cold heart. Village of Orn; a haven for refugees, war orphans, and visitors. Since thy protection was granted – they live in relative peace and harmony. No longer bound by the rules placed upon them by the higher ones. Between you and I, sir, as are those who stand here, we share similar thoughts about Marinda and how the unfairness rages. We’re celestials, born great and ungrateful to what we were granted.”

“What is your cause then?”

“Nothing outrageous. Simply the betterment of those less fortunate to be born natives.”

“Pathetic,” returned Igna, “-ideals can only take one so far. It’s good the situation is being understood and viewed from a point of empathy. What then, will the goodwill mission help to save anything? No. Actions are the best tellers of a novel. What are words without effect, what are ideals without realism, and lastly, what is the point of looking on the less fortunate from palaces of gold and glitter? One can never relate to their struggle, and frankly, a utopia is nothing we should aspire towards. A place of true happiness is a place of equal opportunities. Be thankful for what one has and strive to get more from where thee stand. No one will ever be born equal, no one,” the walk carried towards a door in the middle of a meadow, “-then again, who am I to talk?” he laughed, “-my actions are my whims. Follow thy heart, and if it says to cause chaos?” he reached the handle, “-then do so,” whispered. The door barged and a vortex swallowed and spat them onto an open-space arena. A red carpet lined the ground, elevated seats arranged in a square, and at the front, three entities are hidden behind a veil painted in red, respecting their crests.

“Officers,” thundered another, similarly dressed man in front of the three windows, “-good on bringing Lord Igna. You’re excused,” he said sharply.

“Yes sir,” the entourage snapped into salutes. Chatter and whispers rummaged along the sides and back seats. ‘-noble bloodlines gathered in one place. A simple turn of the finger and they could all be under my feet.’

‘Stop, Alfred,’ sighed Igna looking over the right shoulder.

‘But he’s right,’ spoke from the left shoulder, ‘-one snap and we take the continent.’

‘Not you too,’ he turned to the left and smiled, almost to the point of laughter, ‘-my consciousness is actually three.’

‘See?’ they both rose a thumbs up, “-we’re the devil and devil?”

“Enough,” he breathed, the figures puffed into clouds. Staxius and Alfred, albeit present in the mind, were tamer on the occasion of self-reflection. They lived per Igna’s will and sanity. Allies he could call upon during times of need.

The air, suffocating as well as unassuming split the sides into with or against camps. Akin to the officers, there were few bloodlines interested in the changing times, and other, more conservative factions, opposed the actions.

“Lord Igna Haggard,” thundered the speaker, “-step forth onto the tribunal.”

He simply scoffed, “-pardon my reluctance, I fail to see the reason why I, Igna Haggard, should be placed on a podium to be judged by lesser entities. Celestials or not,” he glazed the entire arena, “-thee deserves to stand below my feet, akin to ants, smothered under my shoes,” the monotonous threat struck home vividly, “-well, what’s the point of a tribunal anyway?” he rose a palm. Spellcasters sprung from the roof and conjured various lessening spells – projectile, others held artifacts – those in the room also rose their dangerous bloodline talents, “-so much for the display of strength,” he walked, unfazed by the growing murderous air. The fingers swayed – the tribunal broke and rose into a throne placed at the same level as the three hidden seats.

“Much better,” he levitated by golden white wings, “-keep the malicious intent aside,” he sat, golden wings shuffled, “-truly, is killing everyone here the true purpose?”

“Stop the bolstering,” cried an observer, “-there’s no way you can survive our attacks.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can,” he glared the heckler, “-I doubt; the opposite,” the fingers casually pointed up, “-for you see, likeminded individuals, I have more than a few cards to play.” A massive, potentially island-ending pentagram spiraled above the arena. A flat-based foundation on which held smaller but potent circles gradually rising in peak, “-and one of them is destruction. Once the contest of showmanship is finished, may we get to the discussion, I don’t have much time to waste.”

Scholars whispered at the speaker, who in turn transmitted the information to the three windows. “-Lower your weapons,” mediated the speaker – the tense aura, presumably from the gathered mana didn’t once fluctuate despite the dispelling. Utter horror veered its ghastly sneer, Igna snapped and the potency vanished.

“The devil’s real,” gulped the more docile factions, “-we thought our combined powers made the unbearable atmosphere. Seems we were wrong, it was him... his magic... the spirits, they’re angry and want vengeance.”

“Go on,” he said with one leg over the other.

“Lord Igna, today’s council of wisemen was summoned on the recent battle pertaining to the Xinfe Familiar. We are told they suffered major casualties – the airborne fleet of the proud god of Wind was blasphemed before its people. Tell me, Lord Igna, how do you plead?”

“Plead?” he laughed; “-I don’t plead for anything. Xinfe’s wanted war, and I graciously accepted per the terms set on the declaration here,” a scroll tied by a red knot summoned, “-for various bloodlines defeated in battle against me, I do feel sorry for they were forced into following the hivemind of greedy letches. Don’t look to me as a scapegoat for thy foolishness. Celestials, remember thou art but fragments of the god’s true power, rats who simply had the fortune of being blessed. In retrospect, if the isle were to be inhabited by the outside world, let me give a reality check, the weapons my army used were basic – there grows and evolve greater and more powerful weapons. War isn’t suited for a spoon-fed society. I’m simply educating on what is real and what are illusions. Poor general Shin and the Lixbin army, ever since a seat was cleared from the top, you, yes you,” he pointed at various figures, “-were readied to take the war against me. Did you think I’d so easily leave the field, no, no, no. I have more business to settle; namely, the murder of a young prodigy Terisa and her mother, Laurine.” Whispers called the Speaker, and he listened. Silence settled, one of which rendered Igna somewhat impatient.

“Lord Igna, per the wise men’s wishes. We order for the senseless war to stop. Laurine and Terisa’s death play no part in our decision, it was made by independent parties; the Sen Dynasty. We’ll deeply regret if more blood has to be shed.”

“Simple answer. Leave me and my familia alone. Don’t bring innocent Celestials into a power play. I hereby declare an open invitation to the familia leaders. If thee wish for a fight, challenge me to battle. And to make matters interesting, I shall only use a sword – pick the place, the date, and the number of participants, the sole condition – only those willing to part their lives and lose their soul forever are welcomed. Everyone else, freedom.”

“No,” the first window blasted open, a man with fiery red hair exploded, “-no one will battle you. If it’s war, it’ll be fought on the same rules. Family against family.”

“The symbol of Rah,” said Igna, “-you must be the one from Intherna’s family, aren’t you?”

“Intherna...” the young ‘wiseman’ stuttered, “-h-how d-d-?”

“I’m her friend and partner,” he rose his forearm, “-I bare the blessing of the feisty goddess.”