On the east side of the pelion rift, a dark wooden cavarel plated with a silver hull cautiously sails north, deliberately avoiding Whitesummit. It was nightime, and the moon hung high in the sky.
Onboard, a tall black man holds a spyglass, spying on the desolate, snowy mountain.
“They didn’t spot us, captain,” the man reported, turning to the cavarel’s captain – a masked man wearing black robes.
“Good.” The masked man replied.
They sailed north, carefully keeping themselves close to the pelion rift, distant to the dark sea. Ever since the Atlanteans invaded, no man dared to visit the dark sea, the origin of these unholy beings. Entering those cursed waters only meant certain death.
Another man onboard has spiky red hair. He wears Ravennan noble armour and a fine red robe. He checks his compass every few seconds, confirming they are in the right direction. His face is filled with worry.
“Are you sure we will find it here, Phrixus? Our chances are slim.”
Phrixus paused for a few seconds. “We have to find it. Humanity’s fate depends on it.”
“Why are you the one who gets to wield it?” The black man complained.
“If it wasn’t for you we would have gotten it already.”
“…”
The ship finally arrives at the very edge of the pelion rift, and the sails are lowered.
“Stay here. If I don’t come back within thirty minutes, leave without me.”
Phrixus reveals a pair of claws on his hand. With a mighty leap, he bounces onto the stone of the pelion rift, and thrusts his claws onto it. As he climbs up, a faint shade of orange appears on the horizon. A new day is dawning.
Halfway up the rift, a horrid smell comes to him. Thankfully his mask blocks most of it, but it is still a disgusting aura. His hands shake as he continues to climb.
He drags himself to the top of the rift, and is immediately assaulted by the smell of dead fish. Despite being in Summer, Phrixus felt a chill down his spine. There it was. Just metres ahead of him, a floating black cube, radiating a dark ichor aura that caused Phrixus to take a few steps back. He drew his blade and took each step forward extremely carefully.
“COME!”
A horrifying shriek lurches at Phrixus, causing him to get into combat position. “WHO ARE YOU?” He yells, in his bravest voice.
The voice is a mix of screams and howls. Raspy and chaotic, it is like the embodiment of insanity.
“POWER BEYOND CONTAINING. WILL YOU STAY AS A SLAVE FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?”
Phrixus takes a step forward. It appears the cube itself is speaking to him. The cube’s aura grows denser and more chaotic.
“YOUR DESTINY AWAITS.”
Phrixus took more steps forward and came face to face with the cube. He could hear screams and whispers in his ears, and nothing else. He felt that something is behind his back, so he turns only to find nothing.
He takes one more deep breath. Is he willing to remain oppressed for his whole life? Is he willing to be bullied, beaten and used as a weapon? Is he willing to live in a world polluted by Atlanteans and Magic Scum?
He reaches out his hand and grabs the cube. It loses form and heads straight into his body.
He lets out an excruciating scream. The pain. The agony. Death itself is within him. His coat is peeled off. Tears come out of his eyes. He is forced to his knees.
He felt like he was being strangled. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He saw glimpses of his life before him. Fragments. Shattered memories.
Then, a burst of darkness erupted from his body, and he fell to the cold stone ground.
“It’s been 45 minutes.”
“We can’t leave him there. I’m going up to find him.”
“He told us to–”
“SIRENS!”
A group of 20 sirens suddenly swoop down, these devious beasts descending on their prey. The black man draws his greataxe while the redhead conjures fire circles.
The first siren was struck down when the black man swings the axe at it, knocking her down while the redhead fired beams of fire at them. Unfortunately they were quickly swarmed. The black man’s heavy and hard-hitting style is no match for the swift sirens. Their armour shields them from the Siren’s arrows, but they are slowly being drained by the Siren’s magic.
Just as a Siren hit the redhead’s face with an arrow, a beam of darkness blasts it, instantly vaporising it. The black man, the redhead and the sirens look up.
A coocoon of pure deathly energy descends from the pelion rift. It dissolves, and reveals Phrixus, now with two giant black wings on his back. His robes were torn and his hands are shrouded with a mystic black energy. Death has consumed him.
Phrixus lets out a deafening cry and conjures two magic circles with a unique embelm. He spins the circles rapidly, then tosses them. The circles spin around and slice through all but one of the sirens. It conjures a beam of light, hitting Phrixus, who retaliates with a bigger dark beam that vaporises him.
He descends onto the cavarel with his companions in awe. “So this is what power feels like,” he speaks, but his voice has changed. It became unfamiliar – somewhat unhuman. A voice from the outer world.
“And now I am become death ……the destroyer of worlds.” His companions bow before him.
“We have much work to do. Regis, Lucius, set sail for the Nimbus Sea.”