User blog:DMUA/Wasted Tears

There is a story I know. A great one. Though… not for faint of heart. There's a great deal of brutality and pain along the road. But… for me that only makes it better. Let me start you with one such instance of pain.

A man walks with the body of his brother in his arms. Among the glasslands, the man lays his brother down, and starts to dig a grave with a small knife made of stone. He does it slowly, he stabs the dirt to loosen it up and pulls out squares of the stuff with his bare hands. This continues for 20 minutes or so till the grave is of proper size, then he puts the body in. He places the knife next to the body, then starts burying it.

Early burials were pretty simple. No building gigantic structures, nothing of the sort at all. Just in the dirt with their favorite things. But that's just physical. In that grave is a lot of memories. And those memories are why he is mourned. So simple I’m sure you understood that before I told you about it, so of course, I will spare the details.

The brother of the cadaver sits over his grave that he just completed. He has a sad look on his face but he can't cry. He's a man. He has to be tough, otherwise his people will die. Nature is simple like that.

He sits there for an hour or so. The sun starts setting, and a woman comes along.

“Come on. You need sleep.”

“..........”

The brother gets up and follows the woman home. He leaves the grave behind.

That man, who now is walking back home, is among the first set of men to be civilized, farming and hunting to sustain the people close to him, as well as himself. His brother fell ill a few weeks ago and died just about an hour ago.

Now… let me tell you of the conflict that all started when he came back to life.

These people had a simple life. They did the tasks you'd expect, they prepared food, made various common items through the means they could muster, they sleep in shelters of whatever’s around, in this case, wood, I'm sure you get the idea. It's just ordinary life.. at least, as ordinary as you can get with your life on the line at all times.

After what happened today, the man, who I shall now refer to as the Brother as long as the title shall apply, was tired. Mentally more than physically. But, that's still enough to have him sleep away the stars, and greet the sun.

He went out, killed a few beasts with a little bit of wit and might, harvested the things they grew, which I suppose I could detail, but they are of little importance.

Especially considering that whole world would be hastily torn down just a few days after that tragic death, by the very cadaver in the first place. Or, a more appropriate name, former cadaver.

It started like the day usually does, he woke up to see the sun… and the very person that he buried into the earth.

Now, the Mourning Brother has never encountered this. No one had in that collection of men and women, which is why no one dared approach him as he went through town to do the things he usually did. He was in the middle of taking care of crops when his, I suppose, no longer Mourning, Brother grabbed him by the shoulder.

“I saw you die. I buried you. Why have you returned?”

“........... I do not know. All I remember is that I’m here like I would be on any other day. And because I am here, I shall do the things I do.”

His shoulder was let go of as the Brother wondered what to think of this. Should he feel troubled? Is this man even the one he knew for so long? Should he be cast out? Many ideas flowed as the Former Cadaver worked…. Until, a sight peculiar came about. All the crops he touched, withered away moments after contact. As if he was a parasite, and the reaction was delayed by unknown forces. The Brother grabbed him again, and pointed at his destruction halted swiftly.

“Look. Your care… is killing them.”

The Former Cadaver is shocked. This is not normal, as I’m sure you can get such an implication from. He treads back from what is happening before him, and hastily gets away from the crops. He says nothing… for, no words can describe this disturbing and sudden revelation. He just runs to his tent. No one, especially not his brother stops him, for they too do not know what to do….

The day, despite the troublesome start, continued and ended without trouble.

But after it ended… well, would you call meeting a God in a dream troublesome? I wouldn't, it's more just an unusual occurrence.

He wakes up in a wasteland, a place of no life beyond himself. Skeletons of both man and beast do show signs there was life there, though. But suddenly, a figure by which proved unidentifiable, his face covered in shadow despite the sun looking over head, with a cloak flowing beside him.

“Devastation. That is what is about to come upon your land lest you prevent it.”

“... And what do you intend to have as prevention?”

“You shall kill the cause of it.”

“You expect me to just kill him after I thought I would never see him again?”

“I do. You know that he now belongs nowhere, and that he will cause the destruction of everything you wish to be protected, even if he wishes not to.”

“.......”

The brother looks down.

“..... I have parted ways with him once. If only misery and destruction carve his future, I'll do it. But…. How do we know he won't come back?”

“You'll use this.”

In the Brother's hand, a small knife, made from something he doesn't recognize. It's shiny, unlike the Stone he usually uses.

“It is made of something able to destroy souls, able to prevent your brother from coming back from the dead.”

“.... Souls?”

“Yes. It's what is allowing your brother to come back from death, and it gives everyone life. But, you need not hear the complexities of it. You will know your brother's soul when you see it.”

“I understand.”

“.... But, you will also need something else. Your brother does not merely possess a touch of death, but great power beyond the limitations of man. You will have to gain this power for yourself. But… you will not be the only one. Everyone after you shall face people like your brother, and they shall be called Rouge Spirits, those who are cursed to destroy life itself. Do you accept this, knowing you have condemned an entire lineage to strife?”

“.... If I were to not do this, there would be no lineage, yes?”

“Indeed.”

“Then there is no choice.”

“Then you, and those after you, shall be called Alsandair. But you, among them, shall be known as Abban. Now, let the power fill you, and return to the waking world to halt calamity.”

And so, the new man, Abban awoke from his sleep. As he tries to get up, his hand comes across something smooth and somewhat cold…. He looks upon it, and finds his answer to it’s identity. It’s the knife from before. Upon this confirmation of his dream, he steps outside, to find even more confirmation. His brother’s abode is collapsed, all the wood and other organic things holding it together gone mysteriously…. Mysteriously, but a mystery that Abban knew the answer to. Despite the unusual sleeping circumstances of mere dirt, the Former Cadaver, who I shall now refer to by his proper name, the Rouge Spirit, still sleeps just as well as any other day, lest, until he is shaken awake by Abban.

“Huh……. Where am I?”

“This is where your tent used to be.”

His eyes widen in shock. Lest, as wide as physical limitations would allow.

“..... What do I even do now, that I destroy everything surrounding me?”

At this statement, Abban grips the blade he holds in his off hand. There's one simple answer here, “you die”. But, death in general is a stiff tongued ordeal. The idea of killing someone isn't any better, and the idea of killing someone in many of your memories like your own brother, and someone looking at you wondering what he is to do with the rest of his cursed existence?… Now, I think it's reasonable to say, he did not give the simple answer. But, I will commend him for getting as close as he did, despite everything.

“..... I will give you one last thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We will fight, on the open field we know so well, the wilds that we killed many animals for… and……”

“..... Are you sure that this is what we must do?”

“..... Yes. It is the only thing left to do.”

“.... I understand. If you believe in it… I shall as well.”

That statement, that deep trust… it stings Abban. Can he really do what he knows he must do, with that bond still weighing him down? Well…The question isn't provided an answer as he puts away his knife, and they take their time walking to the area by which they'll fight.

But as they arrive, they take even more time just facing each other, thinking of what's in store.

The first to attack… or at least, make such an attempt, is The Rouge Spirit, who simply reaches towards his side.

“Oh, I forgot my knife.”

“You wouldn't find a use for it anyways.”

“I suppose.”

He takes an alternative, and throws a punch towards Abban, who just takes it. It doesn't do really anything. Not to say that Abban had extreme stability, rather, the punch wasn't quite armed for combat. Abban pushes his arm to the side, with a speed to match it's motivation, and throws his own punch, which The Rouge Spirit evades with a sluggish backstumble. It’s as if they’ve already neared the end of a fight, the energy is extremely low. They do not really wish to fight, after all…. So, they instead punch each other in a lackluster fashion a few times, doing not any damage at all. Until, a glace from the Rouge Spirit says clear as day, “I will not die like this, and you know it. So, let’s get on with this.”

And, from that glance, the energy immediately fills them, compelling them to throw themselves at each other and start wrestling. Palm in palm as they lean in, starting to deform the dirt below them. But their bodies aren’t the only ones to be filled with energy and clash…. Their magical powers, the wills of their souls start join the fray, as a storm starts to emerge, a mixture of life and death, thundering, raining, as the lightning strikes the ground, the grass is discouraged from being set ablaze by the humidity. And with how their fight has slowed down to a simple physical struggle, Abban gets a bit of time to note his surroundings... And there it is made all that much clearer to him…. Right now, Abban is facing destruction itself. He’s seen the calamity that will come forth, and in fact, is seeing a form of it before him…. But he also sees the person he's spent so much time with, hunted with, farmed with, worked with, I'm sure you understand the idea. And so, faced with the struggle between his will to defend his people and survive and his love for his brother, He starts to falter, he is slowly pushed back by the Brother, who's eager to fight on, knowing that he will not have to make such a choice that Abban must.

And despite ponderings hindering one side, this clash cannot simply stop. Abban puts his fears aside, if only for a few moments before they find their way back, and throws his brother to the side, catching him off balance from his wrestling position as he tumbles across the floor. However, the wind around him is manipulated, and flips him back onto his feet to throw another punch at Abban, which Immediately throws a giant wall of flame, covering everything the Rouge Spirit could see. The smoke is cleared by a counter swing made right amongst it from Abban, sending enough force to blow it away completely and knock the Spirit away, sending him off balance, and forcing him to roll back onto his feet, to find that Abban is simply sitting there letting him get up. He’s only slightly blackened from that attack… any burns he did receive were healed from his magic flowing through him.

As Abban simply looks upon him, The Spirit rushes in to attack, throwing a punch that flies just centimeters away from Abban until he moves out of the way, causing it to slide and scrape across his cheek, leaving a scar that quickly disappears. The Spirit throws more punches in rapid fashion, his arms becoming blurs as Abban uses both arms to deflect everything coming his way… until about 30 punches in, where after seeing his brother fighting… his goal disheartens him too greatly to keep his will to fight in tact. This leaves him wide open to be punched over and over. Countless and countless times at unnatural speed, as a lightning bolt in front of the Brother crawls down from the skies, he punches over and over and over, causing bruising, bleeding, and even a set of snaps. But despite this, Abban deliberately doesn’t make any motion to halt it. Even when the final punch, synchronized with the crash of lightning, smashes into Abbans ribs, shattering them and causing several large gashes across his lungs, and even his heart.

Upon taking this impact, he crashes into the ground, propelled by the impact. The damage is somewhat slowly healed off by the coursing magic through him, as such damage cannot simply be healed immediately. He coughs up some blood, staining the earth… which is turning dry, and barren of grass, though, his blood, seemingly unaffected, stalls the lifelessness, even if only for a short while. The brothers look at each other.

“... You can’t even fulfill your last promise to me?” The Brother looks disappointed.

“No I can’t! I cannot kill you…. Not simply because you exist!”

At notion… The Spirit fills with bloodlust, his impulses for awful acts taking the forefront of his mind, begging to be acted upon….

“Then… I’ll do more then just be here.”

He acts upon his impulses, and just releases his magical power all around him, covering everything he sees with bolts of lightning, blasting the earth and his brother alike. Eventually, the outward blasts stop, and he simply holds a white hot bolt of lightning in his hand… much denser than any natural lightning, enough to… perhaps….

He lets the bolt flow to his right arm, and aims it near where they came from…. the village.

“It is not just that my body destroys… My mind seeks destruction. And now that you are so reluctant, why should I restrain from fulfi-”

In that moment, Abban immediately snapped. His willingness to deny the situation before him was shattered, as he truly saw before him… His brother never returned, and never will. Something took his form and fooled everyone… even itself.

In an instant, before The Rouge Spirit could realize what was happening…. His arm was severed… by the knife that Abban had relented from using this whole time, and the lightning bolt carried within simply exploded, stunning The Spirit. But Abban was not halted… he took his knife, and stabbed his brother through the heart, before pulling it through his torso, and ripping it out of the top of his head, coating Abban in the blood of the thing he once knew.

And if even that wasn’t enough, the destruction of his body left behind his soul… an apparition… an even paler imitation of his brother then what he just murdered.

He gives it no quarter, rather, he stabs it through the heart with his knife, then through the lungs, then every possible place he could. It evaporates as he rampages… eventually, nothing is left, as he is simply stabbing the earth.

A moment of silence is given. Every trace of that malevolent thing is gone. The spirit is no more….

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

“I am surprised… the ultimate sacrifice he gave was letting himself give into selfishness.”

Abban looks over in confusion and some leftover anger.

“Oh… yes, you must wonder the cause of this terrible curse… It would be me.”

Abban gazes upon his form… a shadow man, just like the one that sent him to war in the first place. Though he knows this is someone else… He snaps even further then before, and charges at it in an unyielding rage, stabbing it with his knife…

For it to be completely halted upon his flesh.

“I do not wish a direct fight… I prefer to watch, see how you react. And, your reaction is pleasing. Well… I have no more to say.”

As soon as he came, he disappeared, leaving Abban as he was.

And he was broken. Everything that he’s done and seen today… It left him forever changed.

Many people became rouge spirits, some he didn’t know, others he knew well. But it didn’t matter, as they were immediately laid to waste all the same.

He eventually had a son, who we would pass this nature to.

They had children, who would learn to kill in cold blood.

This would continue… sometimes, even boiling into wars of hatred.

Until one man changed it.

JACK OF ALL TRADES