Atrocious
Prologue – Yosho Atrocious “The Mad Mage”
Like a candle nearing the end, I
can feel myself burning out. After centuries of living I can feel the life force
of my body reaching the end. What little energy I have left is reserved for me
climbing up the lone mountain in the Himalayan range and reaching the entrance
to the temple belonging to the Monks of the Vigil. Each foot I climb feels like
it’s breaking me physically, but yet I continue by the power of what willpower
I have left. As I climb I look up, the icy winds of the Himalayas blow snow in
my face making it near impossible for me to see past my arms. My arms never
looked so warn out and alien to me as they do now. They’re skinny and wrinkled
it looks like an old Asian man’s skin over a skeleton’s body. Underneath the
t-shirt I wear, I can see black spot developing on my upper arm, the first
indication of rotting. The spells I’ve used to help me climb and protect me
from the elements must be burning me faster than I thought.
The ice pick swings again and
hits nothing. I’ve reached a small edge of the mountain, and with all of my
might I lift myself up over the edge and lie on my back looking up towards the
sky. The snow that falls on my face turn into rain before contact, the snow on
the ground doesn’t freeze my body but turns into a warm liquid puddle. I take a
moment of rest before I attempt to stand up, and instantly I feel the pull of
the black stone. I look towards the mountain and I could see two large iron
doors covered in snow. If I didn’t feel the stone singing to me, I may’ve
missed the entrance of the temple and continued to climb up. The iron doors are
large, easily twenty feet high and five feet wide each. The snow hides any
artistic detail that was put on the doors. In short, they looked like they belong
in some medieval fantasy novel.
I shuffle towards the entrance,
one foot over the other. My feet are bare as I lost my shoes during the climb. My
sweatpants torn from jagged rocks, but my body is warm from the aura of heat
that I’ve casted upon myself. I place my hands on the iron doors and push
normally, they don’t budge. I look around the outside not noticing a way to
effectively knock or open the doors. I don’t have time for this, I can feel the
afterlife calling for my soul, with determination I put my hands on the doors
and push as hard as I can. I mutter, calling out whatever I have left. I scream
in agony, but the sound is muted by the storm outside, it feels like my body is
being stretched. Then in an instant, I feel a resurgence of power coming from
my stomach towards my arms. I push again and the door I’ve been pushing on began
to budge. One of the big iron doors starts to move, scratching the stone ground
causing a nails on chalkboard sound. I walk a few feet in and wait to be
welcomed.
The entrance, the insides of the
mountain is a large and bare hallway. Torches are put up but not enough to
light the entire room. Unlike most places of worship, it’s bare. No art, no
fancy carpets, nothing, just stone. At the far end of the hallway it breaks off
into corridors. It didn’t take long before the Monks came in, like ants in an
ant colony they used all the corridors to come into the hallway. Some monks are
armed, bringing in staffs and spears with them, pointing them at me. It’s hard
to take them serious when they’re dressed in red toga robes. There are only
about a few dozen of them, they’re old, and possibly the last of their order
based on their demographic. I don’t know much about the Monks of the Vigil,
only that they have what I want. If they have a whole mountain and this is the
size of their order, then what I’m going to be doing is a mercy for their
cause.
I remain still. One of the monks stepped
forward speaking in Cantonese. “Hello stranger, are you in trouble?” I look
past the man and onto the crowd. Even if I could read their minds, I didn’t
need it to know what they’re thinking. They’re wondering who I am, how I got
here, and if they should be ready to attack. Some of them have lowered their
weapons based on my fragile appearance. As the man who original stepped forward
comes closer I start chanting underneath my breath once again. A small dim
light of electricity appears to circle my right hand and as I chant, it grows
bigger. The man approaching me doesn’t notice this until I fire the bolts of lightning
towards the monks, filling the hallway with electricity.
“Se’ll evel swea master vo’le” I mutter again,
throwing a second round of bolts down the hallway to hit the ones that were
lucky enough to survive the first attack. Before I knew, the monks were all on
the ground, piled on top of each other and painting the stone floor crimson.
That’s how magic works, it’s like a gun fight. In an instant it’s over. I
regain my composure and shuffle along the stone ground, letting the black stone
call to me and carry me the rest of the way. Like a bloodhound on the trail of
his prey, I follow the call.
I walk
through what seems to be a maze of corridors. The path is only seen thanks to
the electricity that I haven’t dispelled circling my right hand causing a
limited view of light for me to see. The light is a blessing and a curse as I
walk down the corridor and down the stone spiral steps. I could see my way as I
walk, but the lighting also makes it obvious my current condition is degenerating
rapidly. I haven’t used magic this much in nearly a decade, and I can see the
changes it’s making on my body. My left arm is nothing but rotten meat stuck
together by bone and skin, it no longer responds to my will. I find it disconcerting
that I can’t feel when parts of my body become unresponsive, it’s like a person
who can’t feel, touching a burning stove, it goes unnoticed until it’s too
late.
At the
end of the staircase is another hallway. This one leads to a door, etched into
the metal are sigils I don’t understand. I don’t take the time to read or heed
their warnings as I push the door open. The room looks like a lost treasure
room for the occult, items of significance casted aside like they’re evidence
in some ghetto police office. I don’t take time to note what’s around, I feel
the stone nearby and I take a step inside and instantly I can feel flames
engulf my body.
The
flames are burning, no, melting my skin didn’t matter. I don’t feel the pain of
the heat, just like I didn’t feel the icy winds outside. I continued walking
inside the room, walking towards the black oval stone laying on the ground next
to a vile of blood. I picked up the stone, it’s smooth in my hand. I can feel
the power already inside the stone, and like a snake swallowing a bird’s egg I
put it in my mouth. Already I can feel the power from the stone. A blinding
flash emits inside the room from me, my skin melts away and is replaced with
newer, younger skin. My muscles are restored to their former glory, lean and
muscular. My hair is no longer greyed and thin, it is brown and short. I look
at my left arm, and it’s back to normal. My skin colour also changed from an Asian
yellow to Caucasian white. I feel younger, several years younger. The stone was
able to repair and regenerate my body, the more damaged my body is before regeneration
the more random the appearance. This was the closest I’ve felt to death without
being physically injured in a fight.
The clothes
I had on are tight on the new body, but with a simple snap of the fingers they
changed into a fitting suit and dress pants suitable for any metropolitan area.
I smile to myself, I haven’t used magic this frivolously in a long time. This
period was the longest I’ve gone between the empowered black opal stones, and
with this being the last one, it means I need to make more.
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