Tyrant of the Ruined Sun-Chapter 170: Nights of Masquerade 13

Nicholas suddenly found himself in a realm of white and quite, a serene landscape of frozen trees and peaceful, hibernating animals that hid away in their warm burrows and hollows, escaping the howling winds outside.

Yet this frigid landscape, that might have killed others, was of no issue to him, as no chill would ever dare prick the skin of a descendant of the Goddess of Winter and Ice, and the unimaginable feeling of bliss of finally being rid of those mind breaking headaches and that overwhelming sense of constant lethargy, only made him appreciate his current surroundings even more, making him forget to fear or even question his unfamiliar and possibly dangerous position.

Nicholas merely spread his arms wide, and tilted his head back with closed eyelids, greedily inhaling as much of the soothingly crisp air as he could, before he then slowly began to open his eyes, awash in a euphoric sense of satisfaction, which only further escalated as he beheld the stellar sea, drawn so masterfully upon the celestial canopy above, and wreathed by the snow laden branches of the hardy trees in the narrow clearing, where he now stood in the center of.

Yet suddenly, a sense of dizziness then overcame him as he continued staring upon those same twinkling lights in the heavens, which continued to assault him without pause or mercy, until he was hunched over on the snow blanketed ground in the fetal position, his eyes now locked in agony, yet the image of those stars still lingered within them, as if they escaped their place up above, and forcibly attached themselves to his eyes, torturing him endlessly with their hypnotic dance, that began to mimic the sway of falling snow petals.

Then, and against his will, his eyes snapped open with a lurching wave of nausea and discomfort, as the once beautiful and serene world before him began to melt away and then rapidly reform that in a different design, leaving him both breathless and dizzy, as it continued in the same heart pounding cycle of dissolution and conjunction, where he even lost track of all direction, even confusing the sky with the soil.

What he beheld was a melding of the stars and the earth; there was no doubt about it in his rattled brain, as he felt a trickle of warm liquid trickle out of his nose.

Then it all stopped, the pain, the sickness, the mind numbing scenery, all of it, even the previous sole constant, the pale white vicinity was erased; now replaced with a harrowing environment of repulsive reddish brown and an even more foul stench to it, that was all encased in grey mountains with white peaks.

It didn't take Nicholas long to recognize where he was, even if he had only ever seen it once before, and more than a decade ago with his father, when he was but an eight year old boy and he for the first time beheld the infamous Devil's Eye; the only corridor connecting the giant of the north to the hegemons of the west.

An accursed place, where the bones of grandfathers and great-grandfathers lay amongst those of their sons and their sons' sons in grotesque layers of morbid history, infinitely repeating itself in tragic rotations, forever replenishing the ground's eternal saturation and supply of that generational blood of hundreds upon hundreds of thousands that some now claim that the every earth had grown a sadistic liking to, after witnessing so many centuries of brutal barbarism upon it.

More than a few families saw their extinction upon these lands, and for that it has become the gathering point of execrated folktales, the most well-known of which is the one that claims the land's sentient hatred for all life, after having bore witness to so many of humanity's worst qualities, is why no trees grow and no beasts prowl those ill-fated grounds.

Nicholas was still in the throws of complete confusion, questioning whether he was in a hyper realistic dream or a prisoner of some despicable illusion born of his high fever, when his full attention was captured by the sight of a single blade, stabbed solitarily in the center of these abominable plains; it's exquisite golden handle and pure alabaster blade standing with such juxtaposition to the murky surroundings that he extricate himself from it's beauty and strange sense of familiarity.

Yet before he could further delve into this feeling, his surroundings again changed, and the once vacant plains around him, became congested to the point of suffocation by battling men, slashing and stabbing at each other with wanton madness and a palpable need to draw each other's blood.

Nicholas had never before seen or even heard of such carnage before, even in the most depraved of historical records his father forced him to read when he was just a boy, which caused his forehead to breakout in a tidal wave of cold sweat, while his fair face turned even more sickly sallow.

His eyes frantically sought refuge from the horrific events unfolding around him, yet all he saw was the same in every direction he turned, nearly driving him mad with the light of flashing blades, flying blood, torn limbs, manic expressions and the crossing of sanguine flags, struggling to topple the other with brutish, unadulterated violence.

It was in this pit of inhumanity and hysteria that Nicholas nearly began to break, his soul and brain rioting in protest to the horror assaulting him by trying to reject it all, by trying to convince itself that all he was seeing here was a lie, a hoax of his fever.

But if within this pandemonium he pleaded for salvation, then he would be answered, for his tormented eyes then inadvertently returned to that same refined and untainted sword, and was surprised to find it still in place, unmoving and ignored by all the blood drunk men around it, and a sense of comfort and relief once again washed over him, even bringing a smile to his tear stricken face, but it was not to last.

A roar, one like none he had ever heard before, echoed throughout the Devil's Eye, somehow bringing pause to the swirling mayhem around him, even that inanimate sword subtly quaked, as if it were alive and dreaded the arrival of what ever abomination had released that sound earlier.

Then suddenly, as if moved with invisible hands, the sword rose from the soil it was slotted in before, and trained it's point to the heavens in a glorious manner, and as if stimulated by it's sudden presence, the once frantic men, grew pallid as their feet locked in place, not daring to move before it's haunting presence.

Then, like the reaper's decree, it struck at the closest soldier to it that was dressed in black armour, and though Nicholas had no clue how he was able to trace the weapon's trajectory, as it moved faster than any thing he'd ever witnessed before, he still held no doubt in his mind that that man was on the going to be cleaved in twine, no matter what he did or how much he struggled; yet to his utter shock it was the blade that was thrown back, not the man, for a flower of shadow with petals of blades materialized before him, and protected the quivering man.

But the sword was not so easily outdone, as it returned with a vengeance, now accompanied with a winter's tempest, as flew at the dark flower, who responded in kind with a hail of thorns.

This single confrontation between the two slaughtered thousands of the fleeing soldiers, who previously bit and snarled at each other like ravenous wolves, but were now rendered cowardly mice before the two, who kept lashing at each other in more monstrous force.

Eventually Nicholas saw the sword claim the upper hand, as he could spot the shadowy edges of that Machiavellian flower now tinged in a miniscule layer of frost, while the sword still stood proud and indomitable, unknowingly bringing him a great sense of relief and pride.

Yet then, like a seen from the myths, the sword charged forth again to battle the slowly losing flower, when a host of legendary creatures plucked straight from the pages of the divine manuscripts gathered around the feeble looking flower when compared to the frightening forms of it's supposed allies.

Among the myriad of mythical monsters, Nicholas' stare most focused on the enormous feral tiger composed purely of raging fire, the beautiful silver bow that radiated a chilling aura, the green leviathan serpent of miasmic poison, and the golden hammer wreathed in brilliant flame so lurid it mimicked a crucible's blaze in the dead of night, as the booming echoes of steal beaten on an anvil chorused around it.

Nicholas dread the coming clash, as he saw no hope for the sword in overcoming all these frightening things, but when he beheld it again it showed no agitation by the army of divine creatures before it, and calmly raised it's tip to the sky again, summoning an apocalyptic blizzard, that made even him, who is immune to winter's frigid touch, to brace in fright as it pounced upon it's foes with such ferocity it left quiet a few of them reeling in struggle against this typhoon of a winter's storm, yet still many remained unaffected before it's power and charged it nonetheless, making Nicholas feel as if his heart had suddenly leaped into his throat in worry.

Yet it was without cause, as it seemed the sword had not only summoned that horrifying maelstrom, but it's own allies as well, who quickly coalesced around it in increasingly ostentatious forms, and as if heralding their victory, even the sun abandoned it's usual route of appearing from the east and sinking in the west, and instead chose to manifest itself from the north this time, rising from behind them in all it's radiant glory and wrathful glory, adding more pressure to the coalition apposing the sword's alliance.

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that all is well now, even though he didn't particularly understand why he felt the way he did, when his earlier dread then returned to him tenfold, as that same menacing roar from earlier sounded out again, recreating it's previous feat of silencing everything in it's wake, even these beings of unimaginable power to him.

Then, and before anyone could react, a black claw of Hellfire engulfed the heavens, sealing the world in darkness, before it ruthlessly struck the ascending sun, shattering it like glass, before unceremoniously scattering it's desecrated remains over the blackened sky; it's shards no longer a triumphant gold, but a faded silverish grey.

Nicholas felt his knees buckle and his eyes scream, as his entire being rejected the scene before him to safeguard his own sanity, yet no matter how long he looked, the spectacle in front of him never changed, and then as if to spit upon his attempt to rationalize this scene, that same draconic claw once again came crashing down it's next victim, and to his horror, it was the sword.

He wanted to scream out for it to flee, to escape that infernal creature's grasp, yet before the words could even pass over his tongue, the sword had already charged against that personification of Armageddon, and lost; much like the sun before it, it's remains scattered after it's defeat, yet instead of them being hurled across the celestial canopy, the once pristine and unblemished blade's shards were thrown onto the dirty mud below.

Nicholas stared blankly at this, his mind so chaotic it grew still, as he gingerly reached for the fallen fragmented sliver closest to him. Yet before he could touch it, he realized that the claw's unstoppable downfall had not paused, and like insects crushed underfoot, that same fiendish claw ruthlessly attacked the sword's remaining allies, the surviving of whom were quickly swarmed by the the rest of the opposing creatures, who were completely unharmed, or slain a few seconds later by the enormous black dragon now fully revealing it's complete, Mephistophelian self.

After witnessing such a one sided slaughter, Nicholas could only stare, his eyes begging him to look away the entire time, yet he wouldn't. He couldn't. Until, and without his notice, the whole scene before him dissipated into abyssal darkness, with the exception of himself, the shattered remains of the sword and that menacing dragon of Hellfire.

Then, ever so slowly, that dragon began to dissipate too, with Nicholas thinking he is to be cruelly left alone with the sight of this sword he felt so attached to for some reason, to pathetically grieve his end alone.

Yet that was not the case, as that dissipating dragon, began to leisurely descend from his high post, before disrespectfully landing upon the hilt of that sword, something that enraged Nicholas to no end, as he somehow found it within him to suddenly rise to his feet in indignant rage at that beasts utter disrespect for him opponent, yet before he could anything, it's once gargantuan body fully vanished, and in it's place lay an armoured man.

Nicholas froze not knowing what to do, until he noticed that the mystery man's boots were still pressed on the sword's hilt, staining it in bloody mud.

Nicholas was again engulfed in his fury, and rushed at the man, screaming "Get your foot off of it!"

Surprisingly the man seemed to have heard it, and reacted by slowly turning his head to him, and then like a window being broken, a spider web of cracks appeared in his vision, causing him to fail in both avenging the fallen sword or beholding the culprit's face, yet had managed to catching a glimpse of his sickeningly smirking expression, before having his consciousness catapulted back into the unknown.