Paragon of Destruction

Arran’s stay at Captain Yang’s house had lasted longer than he had intended. While his wounds had healed quickly at first, recovering fully wasn’t quite as fast as he had expected.

In the end, he remained with Captain Yang for a little over two weeks, enjoying both the man’s hospitality and the calm and quiet of the small town where he lived.

By then his wounds had healed fully, and he knew it was time to go — even if he wouldn’t have minded staying another few weeks.

He left after saying his goodbyes to Captain Yang, leaving behind some gold despite the man’s protests. After two weeks at his house and the help Captain Yang had given him in facing the Redstone men, Arran figured he owed him at least that much.

The start of his journey was quick, without any unforeseen delays or unwanted encounters. Nor, for that matter, was there any rain, and the clear skies soon lifted Arran’s spirits.

Finally, he reached the area that was supposed to hold the bandit stronghold, but finding it turned out to be harder than he expected. For two days he searched in vain, scouting the hills and forests around the road without result.

He found the stronghold through sheer luck when he spotted a patrol of armed men whom he followed back to the stronghold. The stronghold, it turned out, was actually a sizable castle, with several dozens of guards posted on the walls.

At once, he understood that Captain Yang had been mistaken about the bandits’ strength. Or, he thought, the man had lied to him, afraid that Arran would back down if he knew what he was facing.

Hidden in a copse of trees atop a hill that overlooked the castle, he gave the matter some thought. Eventually, he decided that Captain Yang must have been unaware of the bandits’ true strength. Lying would have been pointless — there was no way Arran could have failed to notice their strength before attacking.

The sight of the castle caused him some concern. Not because of the guards — if they weren’t mages, their numbers were useless — but because he feared that with a stronghold like that, there could be mages as well.

For a full day and night, he observed the castle, watching the patrols as they entered and left. Although he saw plenty of bandits, none of them appeared to be mages, and he was considering attacking.

"I would advise against it," a voice sounded behind Arran.

Startled, he spun around, his hand immediately reaching for his sword.

"I would advise against that, too."

The man who spoke was old and short, five feet at most, with a head full of tousled white hair and a wrinkled face. He was wearing a white robe, and at once, Arran feared the worst.

Although the man did not look imposing, Arran could sense an aura of terrifying power emanating from him.

"Who are you?" Arran asked, voice trembling. "Are you with the Academy?"

"Who I am is my business," the man said calmly. "But you can call me Senecio. As for the Academy, I suppose you could say I am with them."

The moment the words left the man’s mouth, Arran reached for his sword. Friendly though the man might seem, if he was with the Academy, Arran’s life was in danger. Yet as he tried to draw his sword, he found himself unable to move.

"I told you not to do that," Senecio said. "Now stop fretting. I am here for matters far more important than some child with a forbidden Realm."

At this, Arran’s eyes went wide with shock. "You know?!" he asked.

"I know about your forbidden Realm, and the mages you killed. None of that is any concern of mine."

Although Arran felt some slight relief at the man’s words, he was far from comfortable. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"To take care of something that does need my attention," Senecio replied. "Now, are you going to follow me, or do you insist on asking more pointless questions?"

"Follow you?" Arran was dumbfounded. Just a moment ago he had thought the man would kill him, but instead, he was being treated like a student.

"Do you make a habit of that? Repeating people’s words back to them with a sheepish look on your face?" The old man frowned. "Yes, follow me. You are here to take care of those bandits, are you not?"

"I am," Arran said.

"Then follow." Without any further words, Senecio began walking toward the castle, looking more like a feeble old man on his way to a teahouse than a powerful mage about to do battle.

Arran hesitated, but only for a moment. Curiosity won out over caution, and against his better judgment, he followed the old man.

As they approached the castle calls of alarm sounded, and just moments later a group of several dozen armed bandits came rushing toward them.

The bandits did not cause Arran much worry, but his hand still shot toward his sword. If needed, he would be ready to fight.

Senecio did not react even as the bandits approached him, instead simply continuing onward as if they weren’t there. Somewhat anxious, Arran followed behind him, ready to spring into action.

Arran soon discovered that his help wasn’t needed. As the bandits neared the old man, they suddenly froze in place. A second later, there was a brief flash of light, and then the men’s bodies were gone, replaced by a red mist that dissipated almost immediately.

Senecio kept walking as if nothing had happened.

Despite his experiences over the past year, the sight of it filled Arran with shock. He understood that the old man was at least as strong as Master Zhao, if not stronger.

When they approached the castle walls, Arran could see several archers atop them, loosing arrows at Senecio and Arran. Like the bandits who had attacked them earlier, the arrows froze in mid-air, then turned into a thin mist. The archers met the same fate only moments later.

Through all of this, Senecio had not once paid any of the attackers even the slightest bit of attention, acting as if they did not exist.

The old man approached the castle wall, and still, he did not pause or hesitate. He kept walking at the same slow pace, and as he neared the wall it began to crumble rapidly, leaving only a thin layer of dust before him.

The old man walked onward, passing through the newly opened gap in the wall. Several times more they were attacked, but none of the attackers lasted more than a second or two.

Finally, they entered the castle, passing over the dust of what had been a thick wooden door only moments earlier.

Inside was a large, dimly lit hall, and at the far end of it, Arran could see a tall man.

As they approached the man, Arran saw that there was something off about his appearance. He was taller than anyone Arran had ever seen, with shoulders so wide as to seem inhuman. Atop his head, Arran saw what he at first took to be a helmet, yet as they drew nearer, he realized that the man’s head had a pair of large horns, like those of a bull.

Arran’s eyes widened when he recognized that the man was no man at all. Instead, it was a demonic-looking creature, with black-red skin and crimson eyes, standing at least eight feet tall, if not more.

"Old man," the creature spoke. Its voice was unnaturally deep, and there was something alien about the way it formed sounds, as if it wasn’t used to speaking the human tongue. "So you’re still here."

"That I am," the old man replied.

"With or without you, this world will fall," the creature spoke. It bared its dagger-like teeth in a hideous imitation of a grin.

"Perhaps," Senecio said. "But you won’t be here to see it."

The creature let out an angry growl. In an instant, it rushed forward in attack, stretching out its clawed hands toward Senecio.

Around the creature, strands of darkness swirled like hundreds of tentacles, turning everything they touched into a fine black dust. The sight of it filled Arran with horror.

Senecio stretched out his right arm just as the creature was about to reach him, and in an instant, it was frozen in place.

"You didn’t think that would work, did you?" the old man said in a mocking tone.

The creature roared, looking as if it struggled against the invisible bonds that held it. Around the creature, the strands of darkness seemed to tremble, and a deep red color appeared in some of them. Soon, it appeared as if the creature was about to break free.

Senecio’s face hardened, and he stretched out his left arm as well. His expression became strained, and for a time, neither the old man nor the creature moved.

While Arran understood that a battle was occurring between the two, to his eyes, nothing was happening. The two just stood there, motionless, Senecio with a tense look on his face and the creature baring its pointed teeth in a furious snarl.

Suddenly, the creature paled, its eyes opening wide as its black-red skin turned light gray. A moment later, its body disintegrated in a flash of light, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of ashes.

"That," Senecio said, sighing deeply, "was harder than it should have been."

"What was that thing?!" Now that the battle was over — if it could even be called a battle — a thousand questions instantly filled Arran’s mind, but foremost among was the identity of the strange creature.

"That was a Herald of Chaos," the old man replied. "And a strong one, at that. The strongest I have encountered in this world, in fact."

"A Herald of what?" Arran asked. "And you keep saying ’this world’... does that mean there are others?"

Senecio looked at Arran. "I think it’s about time for you to learn what the Academy is," he said.

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