Chapter 29 - Tons
Stepping out of the training grounds and into the empty corridor, Cillian inhaled deeply, attempting to dispel the lingering adrenaline that surged through his veins. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, remnants of the grueling session that had just concluded. As he moved forward, Luxana emerged from the shadows, her presence illuminating the dim hallway like a sunbeam piercing through a canopy of trees. Her smile radiated warmth, reminiscent of a sunlit summer meadow, inviting yet mischievous.
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Before Cillian could gather his thoughts or respond to her sudden appearance, Luxana closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck in an exuberant embrace. The world around them faded; it was just the two of them in that moment. Her side profile was striking, framed by cascading locks that veiled her eyes, while her smile lingered tantalizingly close to Cillian's ear. In a hushed tone, she whispered, "Be not deceived, my esteemed Prince, for I, too, am gifted with the blessings of sight and hearing, and thus privy to the machinations that surround us." A chill danced down Cillian's spine as her words hung in the air, laced with an icy undertone.
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Despite the unsettling chill her words invoked, he couldn’t help but smirk at her audacity. With a gentle yet playful motion, he tousled her hair with his bare hands and replied softly, "While it is undeniable that you possess the organs of vision and hearing, it seems, regrettably, that their utility pales in comparison to the futility of your unrestrained loquaciousness." Their banter was a dance—a delicate interplay of wit and underlying motives cloaked in smiles.
-A Few Days Prior-
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The manor buzzed with an uncharacteristic energy, a palpable tension that thrummed in the air like the distant tolling of a bell. Maids scurried about in a flurry of soundless hustle, their movements swift yet graceful, like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.
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Descending the grand staircase of the Moonlit Edifice, I couldn't help but observe the heightened sense of urgency that had overtaken the manor. Maids and servants flitted about, their movements betraying a sense of nervous anticipation. I exchanged a curious glance with my two lady-in-waiting and the two doll-like maids who accompanied me down the staircase, each of us silently wondering about the cause of the commotion.
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The grand entrance hall, normally a serene and welcoming space, was alive with activity. Voices echoed off the high ceilings, their tones hushed and furtive, as if wary of disturbing some fragile balance. I swept my gaze across the scene, my intrigue piqued by the subtle air of mystery that hung over the proceedings. Seems like somebody's visiting. I think I should get back to my room, there's no saying who or what this person mgiht be coming after being aware of Cillian's absence. I thought, just as I was turning back.
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And then, like a discordant note slicing through the delicate silence, the front door thundered open with a resounding thud almost deafening the people around.
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Cillian strode in, his slender frame wrapped in the dark hues of his blood-streaked uniform, his posture unnervingly straight and shoulders squared beneath the weight of battle’s aftermath. Deep gashes marred his pale cheeks, still fresh and bleeding, and his once-pristine blue and white attire was a ragged collage of dried, crusted black blood and streaks of brilliant red, glistening wet beneath the chandelier’s cool light. His hair was a tangled mess, streaked with the battlefield’s crimson, as though the blood itself had woven into the strands, bonding with him as if it belonged there.
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I watched him as he passed with an eerie calmness, his gaze fixed downward, face impassive and silent, hands buried in the depths of his pockets as though seeking solace there.
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What are the Tons you ask?
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In the shadowed recesses of the empire’s forgotten lore, the Tons emerge as nightmarish phantoms of a bygone era. Towering over mere mortals, these colossal beasts resemble wolves twisted by dark sorcery, their massive forms cloaked in a matted, bluish-black fur that absorbs the light around them. With razor-sharp canines jutting from their gaping maws and slithering tongues that taste the air for the scent of fear, they strike terror into the hearts of those who catch a glimpse of their glowing red eyes—deep pools of malevolence that seem to pierce the very soul.
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Born from the corruption of mana stones, these creatures are the grotesque offspring of black magic, their existence a testament to the dark forces that threaten to consume the empire. Once confined to the pages of history, the Tons have broken free from their ancient slumber, driven by a hidden force intent on devastation. Whispers of their return haunt the night, a chilling reminder of the empire’s vulnerability.
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Originating from the enigmatic forest of Mun in the north-west, they now wreak havoc upon the central lands, their insatiable hunger for human flesh fueling their relentless assaults. Each attack is a symphony of chaos, the ground trembling beneath their weight as they surge into villages, leaving destruction in their wake. The air thickens with the scent of fear and blood, as families are torn apart, their screams echoing through the night like a mournful dirge.
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Yet, amidst the encroaching darkness, a flicker of hope remains. Those who dare to rise against the Tons must harness the purity of holy power, channeling the strength of their ancestors to confront these abominations. The clash between light and shadow intensifies, for in this battle, the fate of the empire hangs perilously in the balance. The Tons are not just beasts; they are harbingers of a reckoning, and only the bravest souls will stand against the tide of despair that threatens to engulf all.
As he passed me without uttering a single word, I felt a chill run down my spine. The male servants trailing behind him wore expressions of confusion and fear, they followed in his wake, ready to leap into action, but Cillian paid them no mind, moving past them as if they were mere shadows.
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Unable to contain the strange twist of bitterness and resentment swirling in my chest, I called after him, voice tight but laced with a wry smile that I could feel stretching across my face like a mask.
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"I must commend you, My Lord. Amidst the chaos, you still found a way to seal my powers," I said, my voice calm but tinged with an edge of irony, as though I were praising a particularly gallant foe. I faced the door where only the servants stood, their perplexed faces mirroring my own turmoil. It was the night I had dreamt of Cillian killing me—his betrayal etched into my mind like a scar. He had taken advantage of my vulnerability and cast magic circles to prevent me from using my powers. A crack had revealed itself just hours ago, probably due to loss of connection with the source. I could sense the fading link to Veles, but it was too late to reestablish any true power. All I had left were paltry remnants of fire, enough to spark warmth but not even close to wielding anything substantial. I turned my head slowly towards Cillian, and I felt a sudden electric tension crackle in the air between us.
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Upon hearing my voice, he halted abruptly. His hands still tucked within the bloodied pockets of his uniform as he turned his head slightly to the left, gaze drifting downward until it pierced through mine—a gaze so intense it felt as if it could slice past my flesh and bone, and could unravel the very fabric of my soul. The world slowly seemed to fall away, as though my very soul was laid bare beneath the weight of that gaze.
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"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, SOMEONE SAVE ME! PLEASEEEE! SOMEBODYYYY, HELP! HELP! HELP! PLEASEEEEEEE!” An old woman’s voice echoed through the chaos, her frail form sprawled in the blood-soaked mud as she clawed her way forward, fingers leaving trails in the wet earth. The Tons surged around her, monstrous figures with twisted limbs and grotesque visages, their dark, viscous bodies moving like a churning mass of shadow and decay. They loomed over her, teeth gnashing, clawed hands reaching out to seize her.
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Amidst the chaos, Cillian moved like a specter. His sword flashed, a gleaming arc of silver that cut through the thick darkness of the Tons, slashing them down one by one with a brutal precision. His face was as impassive as ever, his eyes cold and focused, commands spilling from his lips in quick succession, his voice cutting through the cacophony. “LEFT WING, EVACUATE BOTH SIDES IMMEDIATELY! RIGHT WING, TAKE THE ELDERLY AND CHILDREN TO THE CELLAR. CENTRAL WING, RAISE PROTECTION CIRCLES AROUND THE PERIMETER! THE REST OF YOU – FIGHT!”
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The scene around him was pure chaos; noble sons their faces strained and blood-spattered, each bearing their family crests, shouted orders to their own squads, and the ground was a morass and a tapestry of death and blood and broken bodies, human and Ton alike. The scent of iron and decay thick in the air.
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One of the nobles, a man with hair as dark as midnight and eyes to match, yelled at the others with urgency. "DIN'T YOU HEAR HIM? EVACUATE THE PEOPLE FAST! WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO SPARE. His voice was raw with urgency as he directed his men. "MOVE FASTER, WILL YAH?"
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Cillian’s focus was razor-sharp, his gaze sweeping the carnage before locking onto his second-in-command, Ian, who had dark blue hair that fell over his brow, and sharp, battle-worn eyes glinting black as obsidian. (The same person above) “IAN!” Cillian shouted, his voice a commanding pulse in the night. "MAGIC CIRCLES, NOW!!!!!!!!!!!! FASTERRR!!!
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Ian’s hands shot up, swirling with arcane energy, intricate patterns as arcs of energy coalesced around him, the shimmering magic circles bursting into existence, with deadly precision as he positioned them to stem the onslaught, glowing against the blood-soaked earth.
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Beside Cillian, another figure fought with fierce intensity, his back pressed to Cillian’s as they sliced through the Tons in seamless coordination. Kryll, his green hair wild and tangled with dirt and blood, his purple eyes blazing with a terrible resolve, shouted over his shoulder as they moved in tandem, cutting down Tons with brutal efficiency. Their movements synchronized and ruthless.
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“CILLIAN!” Kryll called out, his voice strained. “The situation is getting out of hand, not only the knights but also the mages are drained to the core. Their mana is depleting faster than the speed of light. At this rate, none of us will survive.” His voice was drained, breathless from the constant onslaught.
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Cillian turned slightly, his gaze icy but calm as he regarded Kryll with a hint of dark humor in his blood-smeared smile. “Is that a death wish, Kryll?”
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Kryll ducked, narrowly avoiding the jagged claws of a Ton that lunged for him. “Definitely. As long as it’s less than yours!” he shot back, his voice tinged with dark humor as he slashed upward, the sound of blade tearing flesh resonating with a sickening squelch. His sword plunging deep into the creature’s putrid flesh with a satisfying crunch.
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"I see, then, very well..." Cillian murmured, retreating from the melee as he broke away from the frontline, falling to one knee, his hands moving to press against the ground, fingers splaying across the damp, blood-drenched soil as he whispered an incantation, his voice barely a mutter beneath the roar of the battle. Blue light flared beneath him, sharp and searing as a circle formed, crackling with raw power. The earth trembled as his mana surged through it, feeding into the spell as his eyes rolled back, turning an unnatural, milky white, empty and blazing like a fire from another world. A shimmering blue and white aura wrapped around him, swallowing him in its holy radiance.
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And then—
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*SHWASHHH*
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In a blinding instant, light exploded from him, radiating across the battlefield in a wave of pure, unyielding energy.
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The Tons screamed, their cries shrill and guttural as the wave of holy energy blasted through them. The white light sliced through the battlefield, annihilating every Ton it touched, the sound of their bodies tearing and disintegrating in the fierce, unrelenting light. Flesh and shadow alike were obliterated, and the monstrous cries gave way to an eerie, hollow silence as the light burned away every last trace of the darkness that had plagued the town. Screams turned to echoes, and echoes faded to silence, until all that remained was the aftermath of the holy power’s devastating wrath.
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As the last echoes faded, Cillian fell to his knees, his body swaying, and for a heartbeat, he seemed to hover on the edge of collapse. "Cillian," exclaimed Kryll as he surged forward, catching him just as his legs gave out, lowering him gently onto the blood-soaked ground. Cillian’s face was ashen, his lips parted as he struggled to breathe, his chest heaving with the exertion. A thin rivulet of blood traced down from the corner of his mouth, a stark line of crimson against his pale skin, his eyes unfocused and dull.
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In that moment, the battlefield lay in quiet devastation around them, the stillness punctuated only by the faint, lingering tendrils of light fading into the night, like the last dying embers of a storm now passed.
Luxana, her ethereal beauty momentarily faltered, experienced a sudden and violent return to corporeal normalcy. Her enlarged eyes, windows to a realm beyond mortal comprehension, abruptly contracted to their natural state. The abrupt transition left her reeling, her equilibrium shattered, and she would have succumbed to gravity's cruel embrace had it not been for the swift intervention of her ever-vigilant ladies-in-waiting.
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From his lofty perch upon the grand staircase, Cillian gazed down upon the tableau with an air of imperious disdain. His countenance, a mask of cold indifference, betrayed not a flicker of concern as he turned to continue his ascent, leaving the scene of Luxana's distress in his wake.
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Lyriana, her voice a gentle whisper tinged with exasperation, sought to penetrate the fog of Luxana's apparent disorientation. "Your Highness, what's the matter?" she inquired, her words a lifeline cast into the turbulent waters of Luxana's consciousness.
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In that moment, as if struck by divine revelation, Luxana's head snapped upward, her voice ringing out with a clarity that belied her previous state of disarray. "CILLIAN. ANOZES. There were Anozes there!" The proclamation hung in the air, heavy with portent and urgency.
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Cillian, his retreat arrested by the force of Luxana's outcry, turned back with an expression of revulsion etched upon his features. "What?" he spat, the single syllable dripping with contempt.
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Before Luxana could elaborate on her cryptic declaration, Cillian's form became a blur of motion. With a display of superhuman agility, he launched himself from the staircase, his body arcing through the air in defiance of the laws of physics.
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To be Continued...
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