Evil Fixation: An Encounters Story

The rise and fall of waves at the edge of his sight keeps him calm. He stood there adorned only in a black kilt, as dark as his large wings and long, flowing hair. His hands were clenched into fists beside him, his dark emerald eyes fixated on the long, thin sword struck into the sand before him.

He closes his eyes, his wings fluttering outwards to catch the slight breeze blowing past him. He mentally sought out power, dark energy in the clear air and blue skies, and the powers of the earth and flames from deep below. He felt the power seething into his form, his hands breaking free and holding outwards. Flames began to spark around him, burning in a black circle just above the sands.

His eyes opened, the power moving through him like a rush of ectasy. The flames circled out farther and farther from him as his hands bolted forward. Once his hands touched the black sword before him, the cold leather wrapped hilt, the flames burst higher into the air. He pulls the blade from the sands, bringing the cold shimmering edge close to his face as he concentrates harder.

The flames began to die down, forming large, humanoid shapes all around him. Their forms mock that of warriors, forming swords and spears in their hands and blacker than night wings on their backs. They stood in place, like mannequins, their sightless eyes staring at him. He breathes slowly, one long breathe in then a longer exhale.

The shadow bodies launched themselves into the air. He followed suit, holding his blade out and wide from himself. High into the air, sand falling from his bare feet and been torn away by the rising gusts of wind. The shadows moved as a unit, their weapons pointed at him in the center of their wide spread circle. He floated, his head moving and his eyes watching.

The first shadow being swooped downward and came upward in a familiar attack pattern. The being’s spear raised outwards in a strike. He circled his blade in a half cresent, knocking the spear off course before bringing the blade hard down on the creature. The being burst into a short blaze in mid air, its disintegrating form flowing past him and momentarily blocking his sight.

Another being attacked, its blade sliding across the skin of his arm. His own blood felt warm as it started oozing out of the fresh wound. His retaliation was fierce, driving his blade straight through the being’s skull in a heavy thrust.

More and more of the creatures began to attack, sometimes two or more at once. He kept up his defense and offense, destroying them as they came. When there were five left of the two score that were once a black blot in the sky, he began to feel the pressure. The last five all dove in. His body was wounded, large scratches and cuts bleeding all over the place. He knew he was getting close to his limit.

His left hand held the blade outwards, and his right slammed into a wound on his chest. Pain seared his body, but he kept his hand digging into his flesh as he defended himself against the last of the creatures. Though it was hard to concentrate, he finally connected to the blackest power of all, a mixture of darkness and blood so primal and evil no creature ever dared to wield it.

He pulled his hand out of his chest, blood flying in all directions. The blood hardened into daimonds, swirling around him like a tornado as it ripped through the shadow beings. With a final laugh, a fixation on evil incarnate, he brought the full power of the blood magic to bare as a torrential rain that turned the sands below into black ash and turned the last of the shadows into pillars of flame and stone.

With his strength nearly exhausted, he fell towards the ashen beach, his body slamming limply into a pool of blood and crystal ash. When he finally woke, dark black clouds blocked the skies.

He raised himself into a kneeling position, wrapping his wings around him. His sight was blurred, his body still weak. When he opened his eyes once more, he realized something was wrong, something different. His wings were no longer black all the way through. His blood magic, and the extent of his dark power changed them into a crimson red, as well as his hair.

He finally stood, turning to look at the western horizon. His goal was closer than ever as he gazed at the halo above the golden city, the center of the entire world. Savius let his wings unfurl, launching himself high into the air and heading far to the south.

Where his body once stood laid a solid crystal cross, crimson red as if forever stained by blood and magic.

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