Truth - The Land Of Emeraldia

In the beginning, when men and women evoked a calling of kinship, a bond to create men. And so, men have been created, and are reborn. Thus, populated the realm of the Far Lands, and so did the women. As the men and women grew in number, the lands expanded, sending the world into a steadfast evolution of innovation. The land's vigorous capability of harnessing such powers, creating an era that harbours great histories soon to be told. And so has their kinship. The prophecy foretold of a bond between brothers and sisters that shall set its revelation in the hearts of an unknown land on the continent Aldia. As the Far Lands acquaint us with the knowledge and revelation, there, in the heart of the Continent of Aldia, shall it deduce its form and take on the mantle of an unknown legend. The Man Marked In Flames.

"By Eiysmr…" Asreus muttered to himself. His hands nestled on both sides of his skull. Trying to process his vivid dream. "Sister… you must be alive." He whispered. As the emanating footsteps of a living entity approached the door, a disembodied voice of a familiar man dispersed from its vocal cords and spoke:

"Your Majesty, I heard your wail! What is the matter?!"

"S-Soel?!" Asreus exclaimed.

His skin churning up like a chicken as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"D-Dont enter!" Asreus added, his tone echoed through the corridors.

"Are you certain, Sire?!" Soel said in a reassuring tone as his footsteps slowly approached the door.

"Don't enter, Soel—" Asreus reacted urgently as he exclaimed. His upper body immediately stood still, the blanket slowly falling down his chest, revealing his naked crotch.

"Please excuse my intrusion, Your Majesty, I must check up on you!" Soel exclaimed with worry as he immediately opened the door.

"Pig's turd!" He shouted, alarmed. Asreus immediately collected his blanket to cover his naked frame.

"A-Apologies!" Soel's eyes widened in panic. Diverting his eyes away from Asreus' crotch-filled blanket. "Had you not at least knocked before you entered?!" Asreus exclaimed in embarrassment, his forehead wrinkled in anger as he turned his body to the bedside ledge. "I didn't realize you were…" Soel takes a sharp breath, turning his head over to Asreus. For a brief moment, he looks him in the eye, furrowing his nose, and responds: "Naked.."

"You could've at least knocked, Soel." He responded, tilting his head ever so slightly. His hair wrinkled and a mess, he briefly gazes at Soel's eyes as he guides a pointed finger toward his wardrobes. " Could you care to give me some undergarments, perhaps?" He groaned, fixing his face full of drool.

"Right away," Soel nodded, heading towards the wardrobe. "I don't really understand the need to sleep buck naked, sometimes." He remarked. "What shall you wear today, Your Majesty?" He let out a slight, hidden chuckle as he turned towards him. His arms holding up garments of different colours, each design concocted into different intricate patterns that fit of royalty.

"Perhaps orange? Or this fancy— white-laced top?"

With a disinterested sigh, Asreus removes both hands from his head, facing Soel. "Why don't you place it on the table for a while and make me a cup of tea, Soel?" He collected the ends of the white blankets as Soel walked towards the door.

I would appreciate it." Asreus responded with a lukewarm, half-etched smile. "I need to get dressed as soon as possible."

"...Understood, Your Majesty." Soel nodded, steadily heading towards the exit door before Asreus interrupted. "I apologize, Soel. It's just that I'm…" Soel takes a quick breath and turns his head towards Asreus before cutting him off.

"You don't have to apologize, Your Majesty. I barged in here not knowing your condition. It is best for me to just…" Soel interjected as he abruptly ceased his dialogue.

With a deep breath, Soel turned his full body towards him, clasping both hands from behind, and uttered, "Please do call for me when you need me, Your Majesty." Before exiting the room. A minute after Soel's leave, Asreus slowly stood up. Leaving behind the blanket cover on the ground. With his bare rear feeling the wind, he lightly treads towards the softly placed fresh clothes, his eyes met with the overwhelming glint of the white garment's cleanliness. His gaze softened, giving the garment a small beam of joy.

"I guess the maids have done quite a job." He tugs the white doublet towards him, removing it from the table where it rests. "What is that smell..?" He wondered. The fresh aroma of flowers engulfed his nostrils as he scoured the air, searching for its source. For seconds, he looked. And there, he realised. He turned his gaze below and took a sniff, realising that the maids had used some kind of sorcery to create such a tantalising smell, he delivered a smile once more.

"Such brilliance, those maids are.." He chuckled softly. His gaze turned towards the white undergarment Soel placed next to the doublet from earlier, staring at it for mere milliseconds before grabbing it and putting it on. As he saunters to his wardrobe, neatly picking the different pantaloons

His eyes widened in horror, he hunched his back down, placing his right hand on his back. His forehead wrinkled, gritting in utter pain, groaning. "Urgh..!" For seconds, he maintained that position, unknowingly, for his body had become unable to withstand the loss of his loved one: His only sister. What he felt; insufferable guilt. He tiptoed towards his bed, maintaining the same shrimpy position he once did, perching himself on the edge of his cradle, unable to grasp the pain on his back.

His muscles tensed; he placed his arm on the bed, supporting his weight. "What's happening?" He muttered, his head sprung an intense wave of needles poking away through his skull trying to exit his body. "What's—" He muttered once more. He stood up, losing his balance, and fell. A loud thud reverberated from the room as to what follows the outside footsteps rushed towards the door.

"Sire? Sire?!" Soel exclaimed. Came along the following sounds of metal clanking as two guards came to assist. "Let's get you up now, shall we?" He said, taking Asreus' arms and guiding him to a nearby chair.

"Let me sit you up here, sire. The chair's sturdier than the bed," Soel added. "Would you care to tell me what happened, Your Majesty?"

"I… I don't know." Asreus replied. His eyes widened as if his soul were dragged towards oblivion. For a second, the pain went and gone, and then again, he squinted in uttermost pain: "S-Son of a–! My head—" He arches his back, hands covering half of his head as he wailed in agony; "My head— I-It's in flames! I feel needles stabbing my—No, s-swords!" His body flailed about the chair as Soel's inability to mediate the tension: panicked. Soel turned towards the guards, saying, "Bring the Mage ward at once!" He ordered. And so the guards nodded and bowed, and hurriedly ran.

"I-I can see her, Soel!!" Asreus screamed in agony. He fell from his chair and lay flailing on the floor, scratching his head away from pain, but to no use. "I can see her face, Soel!!" He screamed, groaning.

"Who is it, sire?! Who?!" Soel exclaimed, attempting to remain a diffusing demeanor, yet failing miserably as he shows a slight panicked voice as he tries to commune with him. Asreus' face starts to redden, his neck tensed, veins almost ready to pop; yet he tries to commune with Soel as well. His voice: unable to escape his maw, he clenches his hand around his neck as he slowly points to a painting near his bedside drawer. "T–" He tries to speak another word, but fails to do so.

"Where—" Soel turns his head over, recognizing the golden-framed painting that Asreus was pointing to. And there, to his realization; His heart begins to drop as his body succumbed into utmost fear: His realization that what Asreus is feeling is most likely the doing of his twin sister, Asmodea.

"How?!" He thought to himself. Looking back at the painting once more, A painting filled once withof happiness and joy, turned into a fuel for a grim, nightmare-inducing picture.

The once beautiful painting of their family—Asreus smiling, their mother and father, happily embracing their children, yet, however, Asmodea isn't there. For a second, she was.

As Soel blinked. And as he does, she disappears… "Sire..?" He said. He blinked. He turned over to Asreus.

His eyes looked up.

Soel Blinked.

Asreus' eyes are red.

Soel gasped. He turned away.

Asreus rattled. His breath, gone.

He turned over to Asreus, breath stopped. His eyes, covered in red. His mouth was foaming white… "S-Sire?!" His eyes… Soel's eyes dropped into oblivion. His soul trapped in a never-ending focus of regret and despair. As he shed a tear, he turned.

A shrivelling cold fills the air as the Painting from before sprang to life: The walls shook, the drawers opened; The people in the painting… The canvas, torn… The paint tarnished with excess colors of their own… The painting moved slightly… The people… their eyes… Their eyes were filled with a horrifying grim of tainted blood…. And there she was. Her hair, ruined—chaos incarnate: Asmodea slowly descended the painting, her hands grasping about the white-marbled walls as she crawled out of the canvas, her body reek of sewage water, her dress smudged with dirt and fluids… The walls are now tainted with a sleek of nothing but wet, strange fluid sliding away along her body. The walls shook once more, the walls, so pristine and quiet—its peace disturbed. And the walls carved and traced along the lines; and wreaked havoc as the painting clawed itself like a mountain lion's razor-sharp claws across the other. With no hope left for Soel, he accepted his fate.

The air compacted and gathered towards his hand, a source of magical potency slowly erupts as his voice echoed with such magnificence. His voice, as if guided with the Hand of Gods, it echoed… and it erupted: "Ifhnokir Tyrnati" The clergyman exclaimed. A yellowed hue of bright light erupted from the man's palm and engulfs the room with a blinding light, as Asmodea's scream is heard echoing from the depths: As the spectre's frame fully engulfed, her shadow lingered and taped in the ground, declaring the spectre's life defeated. A few seconds had passed, and Soel, relieved. He shares a moment with the robed man as he gives him a nodding smile, and so does the man. A few seconds had passed, and finally, Asreus' eyes opened, his breathing corrected. He takes a sharp, deep breath as he coughs the foam from his larynx. His hand rested on top of his stomach. "What in Eiysmr's name… Happened?" He asked, confused. Gasping for air every word.

"It's alright now, Your Majesty. It's alright…" Soel assured. He stood up, guiding Asreus to his chair. "What do you feel, Your Majesty?"

"I'm.. I'm alright. F-For now." He replied, still disturbed by the events occurred. Soel nods, turning towards the robed man.

"Himaal, I thank your service. Without you, Your Majesty could've been…" Soel thanked, his hand reaching out to take Himaal's.

"I'm glad I was of help, Soel. That magic was beyond both of your comprehension." He assured. Himaal takes Soel's hand as he gives him a warm smile, embracing Soel's hand with his as a sign of gratitude.

"It was Asmodea… She attacked your highness' head and tried to end us both." He said, Soel circles his eyes towards the painting, and across the walls. His eyes showed a hint of fear still.

"That explains the magical chaos echoing through the walls…" Himaal sharply inhales. He lowered his head, facing the floor, scanning the room with magical fluctuations.

"Her magic… It's alive." He turns back to Soel, his eyes tell a terrifying gaze of fear.

"You don't mean… She's..?"

"Yes, she is still alive. And she's out to come and get us."

"By Eiysmr…!" Soel's eyes furrowed—defeated. His only thoughts were his King's safety.

"What do you see, Himaal?" Soel asked, intrigued with Himaal's magical prowess.

"To be completely vague, I can only see…" Himaal takes a deep breath, and then he turns, looking towards Soel's eyes, he replied:

"...chaos." He turns right back at the floor, waving his hands in the air, tracing the source of its chaotic entrails.

"Care to elaborate?" Soel asked, his gaze quickly turned towards Asreus, tending to him. Asreus's state is still displaced from reality, taking sharp, sudden breaths as he tries to compose himself.

"With the books I've read, these… magical fluctuations could cause an unbalanced tension when it comes to the caster and the casted magic itself… And of course, by the works of Asmodea, her magic's incredibly weak…"

"Mhm," Soel nods in response. "Which… means?"

"It simply means that… The cause of this unbalance is the lack of harmony when it comes to the casting of magic… Asmodea has been using this as a last resort. Even if she's a novice mage… That witch…"

"She could cast remote magic even at her weakest point…?" Soel replied, intrigued.

"A powerful witch she is," Himaal concluded, looking at the floor. he casts a magical white light to reveal a string of diffused magic: Strings of different lengths all tied to the same source: The painting.

"So, the source is the painting?" Soel asked.

"Yes, it is. She must've used a certain spell to cast herself into any image of her."

"By the gods…!" Soel exclaimed.

"Then, must we remove all the paintings in the palace?" Soel suggested, tracing his eyes towards Himaal's, to which he nodded in response.

"Yes, I suppose we could start with that idea—" As the conversation's flow started to enter its climax, a sudden, yet continuous loud thumps across the room sprang forward, as the guards came bearing urgent news.

"Master Soel!" The guard exclaimed, looking for the master's presence. "We came bearing urgent news!" Soel gazes his eyes across the guard. He lifted both his eyebrows, listening.

"There's been news around the City districts…" The guard slightly lowered his head, removing his helm. "There has been rumours—No, news! circulating about the townsfolk!. They're weary about their livestock…"

"What are you saying, guard?" Soel slightly tilts his head, his head muddled up with flaming questions.

"Cattles… sire. Cattle are being slaughtered… It was… unusual." The guard concluded, his eyes furrowed and full of concern, he looked at Soel's eyes, somehow at the brink of fury's eruption. And as Soel's mouth ran rampant, Asreus cuts him off, asking:

"How unusual..?" Asreus stood up, slowly, weakly. He looks at the guard, his eyes are tired. Asreus could tell.

"They were mangled up, Your majesty," the guard knelt and bowed.

"It's her doing, I know of it."

"Your Majesty?" Soel asked, bewildered.

"She's here. I know of it."

"But how? The guards would've noticed her by then!"

"I can feel her presence, but she is not here."

"...Soel, His Highness is right."

"What do both of you mean?!" Soel exclaimed, confused and concerned. He flailed his head as he looked at both of them at the same time.

"I can feel Asmodea's presence… her magic's getting stronger."

"Good," Asreus replied, he takes his garments, limping towards the wardrobe and readies himself.

"Eryn," Asreus calls out. The guard, startled, stands up. "Yes, sire?"

"You, Soel and the others… Gather all the soldiers. And tell them this: My sister is alive. Tighten the security and never let anyone inside."

"What are you saying, Your Majesty?!" Soel exclaimed in response once more, concerned for the King's wellbeing.

"We must be prepared. She'll be here by sundown. I know of it."

"What shall I do, Your Highness?" Himaal asked, lowering his head.

"Ward every guard we have with Mind-Control. All of us are susceptible to her manipulation."

"Understood," Himaal nods, kneeling for a second before leaving the room.

"Now, Soel. Eryn. Both of you, go! I'll handle the meeting I'm supposed to take two hours ago. They need to know this urgent news."

"Understood, Your Majesty." Both said in unison. As both men rush outside at the king's orders.

And so by sundown, Asmodea's return is imminent. As for the guard's knowledge and the tightening of security being passed, Soel and the guard, Eryn rode their horses east. Taking the fastest route towards the eastern gate. The informations passed from generals to knights ever so carefully—Platoon to platoon, And finally, to the Southern district. Yet with their rally of information being pressed and distributed, from the west district, an old woman was out in a nearby small forest to gather herbs and spices. Her old, greyish hair swaying along the cold breezes… And as she plucks from one herb to another, the air slowly tightens… And the snowfall's sudden amount of snowfall is ever so slight. She takes up her basket full of herbs and hurriedly leaves.

The air, compact. The winds, colder. Her skin shrivelled, and her hair was blown by the burst of wind. A cold, frustrating wind. And then, she turned. And as she turned, her eyes rolled back—white. And there she was. Somewhere in a white room. Where nothing is but light, and she turned once more, and saw herself at a distance. Her eyes widened in confusion—Horror, even. She can't move. She can only see. observe, perhaps. And as she walks towards the Kingdom's vicinity, the gates of the West district open, and she is let in.

"Out to get more herbs for your medicine, Madam?" The guard cheerfully remarked, offering a smile to her.

"Why yes, dear. I'm quite terminally ill." She responded, chuckling.

"Well, don't you worry, Madam. You're not all alone when it comes to you."

"Really?" The woman asked. "Why is that? Aren't I an old hag who's bound to die alone eventually?" She said, jesting to the guard. Her smile creeped up to her cheek.

"Not all the time, Madam. You have your grandchildren with you."

"Oh, I do?" She jeered, her eyes furrowed, her mouth smiling. She chuckled once again, her voice as soft as a loving grandmother, jesting at the guard. Her eye slowly forms a tear, a tooth slowly rips out of her mouth as it falls down. She added:

"But I thought I ate them!" The guard's eyes lowered towards the old woman's darkened lips. Her teeth suddenly turned yellow. Roaches slowly exit her mouth's void. She chuckled. Her voice began to transform: raspy and coarse. Her eyes were as void as darkness, as black as the emptiness, and her nails were carved sharply like a griffon's talons. And as she smiles, a black liquid emerges from her mouth. Her saliva had been tainted—corrupted, even.

"W-What—" He spoke. And there he was. Stationed. Still. Pillared between her hands.

And as he spoke, he was killed. As the hag approached the guard, she forcefully placed her hands on both sides of his helm. Her palms slowly turn brightly red— an insignia of magic is used. As the hot metal reduced into its hot, liquid form, the guard's inability to scream and plead for help deemed his life irreparable: As the liquid enters his lungs and burns through his insides, killing him instantly. And as the hag walks away, leaving the hung corpse burning, her eyes glow a dark, purple hue.

And as she walks, a black liquid slowly runs down the hag's lower body, and as it reaches the ground, the snow sizzles and the liquid digs through the dirt.

She's here, and she's out to get us.

Asmodea is here.

Chapter, End.

Truth

"S-Soel?!" Asreus exclaimed.

"Are you certain, Sire?!" Soel said in a reassuring tone as his footsteps slowly approached the door.

"Don't enter, Soel—" Asreus reacted urgently as he exclaimed. His upper body immediately stood still, the blanket slowly falling down his chest, revealing his naked crotch.

"Please excuse my intrusion, Your Majesty, I must check up on you!" Soel exclaimed with worry as he immediately opened the door.

"Pig's turd!" He shouted, alarmed. Asreus immediately collected his blanket to cover his naked frame.

"Perhaps orange? Or this fancy— white-laced top?"

I would appreciate it." Asreus responded with a lukewarm, half-etched smile. "I need to get dressed as soon as possible."

"You don't have to apologize, Your Majesty. I barged in here not knowing your condition. It is best for me to just…" Soel interjected as he abruptly ceased his dialogue.

"Let me sit you up here, sire. The chair's sturdier than the bed," Soel added. "Would you care to tell me what happened, Your Majesty?"

"How?!" He thought to himself. Looking back at the painting once more, A painting filled once withof happiness and joy, turned into a fuel for a grim, nightmare-inducing picture.

The once beautiful painting of their family—Asreus smiling, their mother and father, happily embracing their children, yet, however, Asmodea isn't there. For a second, she was.

As Soel blinked. And as he does, she disappears… "Sire..?" He said. He blinked. He turned over to Asreus.

His eyes looked up.

Soel Blinked.

Asreus' eyes are red.

Soel gasped. He turned away.

Asreus rattled. His breath, gone.

As he embraces the King's lifeless body, trying to protect him in his last breath. The spectral amalgamation of Asmodea lunges towards Soel and Asreus, her hands sharper than swords. And just when she strikes her final blow, a sound emanates from behind her—Metal clanking in milliseconds as a shout occurs: echoed from the ground, a white, bright light shines and radiates the whole room: "Eduntatus" hindering the spectre in its tracks. Her body, still and pillared in the air, the spectre takes a glance behind her and sees the armoured men along a man with robes. His clothes filled with intricate designs that of a clergyman, lifts his hand. His palm opened forward and took a sharp breath. The air compacted and gathered towards his hand, a source of magical potency slowly erupts as his voice echoed with such magnificence. His voice, as if guided with the Hand of Gods, it echoed… and it erupted: "Ifhnokir Tyrnati" The clergyman exclaimed. A yellowed hue of bright light erupted from the man's palm and engulfs the room with a blinding light, as Asmodea's scream is heard echoing from the depths: As the spectre's frame fully engulfed, her shadow lingered and taped in the ground, declaring the spectre's life defeated. A few seconds had passed, and Soel, relieved. He shares a moment with the robed man as he gives him a nodding smile, and so does the man. A few seconds had passed, and finally, Asreus' eyes opened, his breathing corrected. He takes a sharp, deep breath as he coughs the foam from his larynx. His hand rested on top of his stomach. "What in Eiysmr's name… Happened?" He asked, confused. Gasping for air every word.