NOVEL NEXT [Book II Chapter 111] ZENTRIAS: A Broken Boy
[Book II Chapter 111] ZENTRIAS: A Broken Boy
------------------------------------------------
He barreled through the narrow alley as fast as his small legs would take him, dodging passerbys. Loud footsteps followed him, and he heard someone being knocked over. Please, please trip. He reached an intersection and, seeing one of his pursuers on the left, darted down the right.
There were few of them left. One by one, the other children had disappeared, taken off somewhere. The streets had become lonely. This time they’ve come for me.
Without stopping, he stuffed the bread in his mouth and took another bite. A baker had setup an outside stall, an occurrence usually reserved for festivals. The smell had drawn him there. He knew it wasn’t safe, that it could be a trap, but the hunger had hurt too much.
Out of fear, he’d been shying away from the city’s busy avenues and squares, keeping to neighborhoods where the faces were familiar to him. His begging had suffered for it, and the odd coin earned running errands hadn’t been enough.
A shadow leapt out from around a corner and grabbed him. “Got ya.” Said a deep voice. An overweight man with a receding hairline lifted him in a bear hug, grinning victoriously with mismatched teeth. His breath stunk, and not just from the booze.
No! Zentrias pushed both hands on the man’s sweaty shirt and channeled as hard he could. The destructive energy which terrified him came flowing, and the area between them grew warm, then hot. He felt the man’s grip weaken a second before they were blasted apart.
Struggling for breath, his panic quickly return. He glanced up to see the man slumped on the ground, a dark red spot on the wall behind him. Lucky! His captor hadn’t shouted for the others, so he could still escape. Pulling himself up, he limped pass the body, chewing more bread. A couple minutes later, he collapsed into the pile of junk he called home and crawled into the remains of a metal chestplate belonging to a military mech. Pain suppressed by adrenaline slowly made itself known, and he whined miserably as tears winded down his cheeks.
…
Zentrias opened his eyes, tiredly up into the darkness. Ever since escaping Dark Heritage, his every attempt at sleep was thwarted by the nightmares.
<
.
“You’re the one making it happen.” Zentrias accused bitterly.
<
Zentrias sighed. While he’s proof I’m sinking into insanity, this would be so much more unbearable without someone to talk to. Now if only he’d let me rest… The fatigue was assaulting him again, and the weight on his eyelids was crushing.
“Please… Just keep quiet for a bit… Let me sleep.” He mumbled.
<
…
Zentrias returned home, exhausted but elated. His father had brought him outside town to let him fling his magic about to his heart’s content. A dozen trees had been felled before his stamina ran out.
Over dinner, he beamed as his father recounted the destruction to his mother. He’d never forget how proud they’d been when they’d discovered his talent. Possessing a strong channeling ability made him special Maybe he could even becomes immortal. The only downside was his affinity was rare and dangerous. Without a teacher, he had to practice far from others.
Later, after his mother kissed him goodnight, he lay in bed unable to sleep. He keep thinking back on his day and smiling stupidly. Eventually, he saw the lines on the wall again, which was strange since it was pitch dark. He’d glimpsed them before, but never as clearly as now. They came into focus the more he stared, a network of passageways connecting glowing dots.
Somehow he knew his power could fill them. With a small hand, he reached out and poured some in. It traveled pathways, lighting up the points like stars. Mesmerized, he watched the wall become a bright tapestry of interconnect constellations.
He only understood something was wrong when he withdrew his hand and everything went red. This was what happened right before his magic went boom. Quickly he slammed both palms back, channeling hard. This was the only way he knew to delay the explosions: adding more energy.
In silent panic, he watched the lines blanket the room, slowly turning orange as the magical formation grew too massive to sustain. With red all around, his strength started giving out.
…
No! Zentrias bolted upright, sweat rolling down his face. He grimaced realizing what he’d been forced to relive. I killed them with my own small hands.
<> Said an impassive voice. <
A boy of no more than twelve sat besides him on the cavern’s rocks. Things had deteriorated to the point where his younger self could project himself into his vision in the real world. Zentrias observed the apparition with resigned apathy as his thoughts drifted to the past.
He’d been six year old when they pulled him out of the rumble. He’d woken to discover his lifeless parents laid out next to him. The funerals had gone by in a shocked blur. Despite his renowned ‘talent’, no one stepped forward to claim him afterwards. Who would dare after what happened?
The guilt and the looks of reproach drove him from his small town. He fled to the capital, where he joined other homeless children. There plenty of them. Conflict raged between Middle Earth’s kingdoms back then.
His harsh existence there lasted more than year before some royalty or other died. The city’s mood changed after that. People were more nervous and less giving. He overheard whispers of taxes, debauchery, and nobility, words which meant nothing to him. It wasn’t long before they started hunting street urchins.
Who would’ve guessed those kidnappers would change my fate? He’d abandoned his magic completely up until that point, despising it for the pain of loss it‘d cost him. If it hadn’t been for that desperation chase, he might’ve died of hunger or disease before ever channeling again.
Two week later, they succeeded in capturing him, but he’d never found out what happened to the other children. He was kept in his own cell and given food and water. After a few days, a man showed up to collected him. Raoul Stein, my second father.
<
Dragged back to the present, Zentrias glanced over at the boy who could read his every though. True, Raoul’s money was worth more than whatever else they had planned.
<
“I know.” Zentrias grabbed a piece of charred meat and took a bite. “Why are you helping me? Isn’t it in your interest that I go mad?”
<
They were camped out in the same cave he’d stumbled into after Amare Vitiose dumped him in wilderness. He hadn’t dared returned to civilization. Whatever method the undead champion had used, the trip through that blackness had done a number on his fraying mind. He wasn’t sure what would happened if he sustained more injuries.
Also… Zentrias glanced down at his metal fingers. Part of me doesn’t want to give them up. This reluctance was undoubtedly his younger self’s influence. Even if he didn’t fear his reception, he no longer had the will to turn himself in.
No one would come for him either, since everyone believed he was lost within the Dark Heritage dungeon. It was a grim situation. Zentrias stood up.
<
“I can’t handle more sleep right now.” He answered, heading out into the morning light. His body jumped across the twisted strands while his mind drifted to the past.
Raoul Stein had taken him to his dojo in the mountains three kingdoms away. For the first time in ages, Zentrias had a roof over his head and three meals a day. Sleeping in a bed again took a while to grow accustomed to, but his savior had insisted.
The dojo was small and humble but well-respected. There were always students of varying age staying with them. Those born with a partial talent in destruction came from far and wide for Raoul’s specialized knowledge. He was the the only master in Middle Earth, so even saints visited.
Even so, compared to all the others, Zentrias was special, the ideal pupil his foster father had long sought. Raoul treated him as a son and trained him as a successor. It was a happy time.
Eventually Zentrias opened up and told his master about what had happened to his parents. While offering support, Raoul had also been fascinated by his ability. With his help, Zentrias learned to pulverize all manner of materials and, through the process, was able to stop loathing himself.
<
Expanding lawlessness and strife caused powerful warlords to rise up all over Middle Earth. Former bandit kings with higher aspirations, they wrestled wide swaths of territory away from weakened kingdoms. One claimed the mountains around their dojo, and an outlaw army descended on them.
As a powerful martial artist, Raoul was the strongest authority figure who hadn’t fled. The warlord gave him one chance to swear loyalty and, when rebuffed, made an example of him.
Something broke in Zentrias watching Raoul’s lifeless body collapse. He rushed outside and began a slaughter. Although barely ten, his strength was already on par with his master. What’s more, he had a forbidden weapon.
While he’d told Raoul that he could only see the lines in inanimate objects, his ability had recently developed to the point where it worked on the living too. Terrified of the implications, he’d keep this to himself. These compulsions were lost in his rage at the murderers of his adoptive father.
It rained blood as bodies burst one after another. When the warlord fell, the rest scattered. Sadly for them, Zentrias had no intention of letting them go. He chased them back to their base and killed all he could find. Eventually, there was no one left, and he return to help bury Raoul. However, once the other students departed, he returned to the enemy fortress and claimed it as his own.
<
“I was a broken boy.” Zentrias sighed, stopping by a large rock formation.
The first time I hated myself. The second time I hated the world. He’d embraced violence and had reveled at his destructive talents, demanding tribute from travelers and slaying those who challenged him. Ultimately, I would’ve met my own end, if not for…
Zentrias plunged his alloy fingers into the stone, channeling a flood of corrosive energy. An enormous magical formation took shape, flowing through the weak points. Once satisfied by the size, he jumped back and watched the fireworks. The land was scarred, a strange charred pattern carved into its surface.
<
He nodded and, with a last glance, left to find somewhere to repeat the ritual.