The Wielder of Death Magic

1125 The Return

‘Between finding a solution to the transporting device’ fix and teaching the students, I find life here in Ragno comforting. It’s been a nice break. Especially from Artanos’ harassment and Cleopatra’s unruly sarcasm. They’re no longer preoccupied with my status as a teacher. Those under my responsibilities have defected to Skeptor – my position as Head of Arts and Designs is in name. Well, they sure love to treat me as head when problems arise – students inadequately performing, breeches against academy policy, and now this,’ Igna towered over two students drenched in sweat and scraps, ‘-trial by combat,’ the right hand rose, “-Hemp of class 3-2 wins.” The crowd deadened, “-per the condition of their contract, class 3-2 is hereby granted financial support set for Theological Research by the opposing club. Congratulation,” muted claps and saddened expression, ‘-trial by combat, for having looked down upon the combat class for so long, the academics finally sense the pressure of their training. Though, class 3-2 is an exception. Most of the Commoner classes and clubs were absorbed by greater entities. The academics are shrewd,’ spotlights darkened. Shuffles marked the audience’s exit. Chatter about the battle, bets, the business of profit and loss. Mammon, Asmodeus, and Vanesa monopolized the gambling aspect – creating a gaming house within the Academy. Director Teresa, in hopes of making the academy’s reputation better with the other Academies, allowed the battles to be public shows, wherein anyone and everyone had the right to bet and watch. She cleverly saw an opportunity – and there, came the split of the arena into quadrats. Four in total, two reserved for students and the remainder for the paying public. The days, weeks, and eventually months flew by.

“Sathanas,” he stared at the transportation device, “-it’s been five months. Five months of torture, sufferance, and solitude. I don’t expect her to be safe. Have I grown heartless to the fate of a close one?” he tapped his cigarette and faced up, ‘-Eira’s wound affected me a bit. I got over the rage and didn’t bat an eye at her state. If I’m honest with myself, I’m losing the thing I hold dear, the feelings of love and affection, the drive to protect, I don’t feel them. My heart’s gotten cold – the death element has returned. I enjoyed those feelings when they mattered. I don’t know anymore. I look upon Mammon, Asmodeus, Vanesa, and even Teresa with reckless abandon. I believe in the strength that comes from protecting someone or something dear. By gaining power, I’ve lost the strength to care,’ he puffed, smoke hovered into a cloud. The emotions felt, the way he was, the meaning of compassion, affection, and love – good emotions felt during his time in the mortal world, the drive and steady growth to create a better life for him and those around him, were just fond memory. ‘I have allies, Fenrir, Elize, Elixia, Yui, and Vengeance… I can count on them, they serve and protect unconditionally. Why do they watch my actions, why do they entertain the way I treat them? I use and cast aside. I’d have never followed me if I was them. Solitude and envy are what I feel. Even this,’ he watched the burnt cigarette, ‘-like the poison I fondly smoke, is reduced to naught. What is the fate of the Adjudicator, what is my purpose?’

“Igna,” a deep suave voice echoed hexagonally, “-my heir.”

“Lord Death,” he flicked the cigarette and stared at the half-opened portal, “-have thee come to take my life?”

“Of course not,” the man casually skipped into the room dressed in a black suit, top hat, and holding an umbrella, “-said position is occupied by Undrar.”

“Thus, I’m not one to be called thy heir.”

“Details,” he shrugged and scanned the laboratory, “-what is this?”

“I couldn’t say,” he reached for another cigarette, “-an observatory, alchemist tower, researcher’s laboratory… or a lavatory for useless tasks.”

“Igna,” the suave man cut his gaze with a fierce retort, “-are you a nihilist?”

.....

“Suppose so.”

“Deary me,” lord Death snapped, a tea set summoned above a hovering assortment of bones made vague to match a carpet, “-it will not do.”

“Tell me, Lord Death, why have you come?”

“I can’t remember if I ever said I came to give your final lesson?”

“Me neither.”

“So much for your memory,” he poured tea and smirked.

“Never claimed to be a savant,” Igna respectfully returned the cigarette and picked up the cup instead, “-Lord Death, I’m not exactly sure what you’re after. If it’s something I can help, then, I’ll be happy-”

“Igna, don’t speak. Sip the tea and allow me a monologue.”

“Be my guest,” he took a seat and smelt the lovely aroma, ‘-this is heavenly.’

“What I’m about to say might have meaning, or else it might not. Don’t take it the wrong way, my heir. You have grown into the epitome of power. You’re strong, stronger than ever before. The Death Element pulsing through thy veins generate enough mana to supply a whole domain – which in fact it does. The remnants of thy broken heart, shattered during Persephone’s rescue, have gotten so much power it fuels the whole of the Shadow Realm with energy to spare. You chose well. I heard much about the devourers of worlds – Vesper’s team, Kronos’ heir, and Scifer’s monster army. Your journey to now was, let’s say, scripted. Would you believe me if I said all the problems and death thee experienced were a result of my meddling in thy destiny?” he stopped and stared, “-neither emotion nor the will to fake an offended response. You have grown apathetic. Forgive the last comment,” they sipped, Igna understood Lord Death’s test and the latter’s blatant attempt was so bad it seemed effective, “-true power, has been put into your mind by various people, is the ability to protect those you care for the most. I agree wholeheartedly with the need of protecting another. Where you strayed, Igna, is the part where you allow self-growth and independence. True strength is the ability to let go, and there, in the apathetic heart which beats anew, thee hath found an answer. I’m right, aren’t I? you’ve concluded. True power is true power. It is the ability to force any and all outcomes to your advantage. You saw it with Artanos, the battle of Ragno, your defeat. What did you do? You accepted and moved on – instead of Artanos, the focus was placed on those in front of you. The enemy’s army – a force who had your daughter captive. You chose victory over her life and didn’t once pay attention to the companion lost in Draebala. That is true strength. Granted, the definition is depended on a person’s upbringing and priorities. You, Igna, need to forsake the humanity thee so desperately hold. DON’T misunderstand. In no way am I saying to go rogue, what I refer to is the mindset of a human. You have transcended the mortal limits. You’re the Adjudicator, the Bringer of the End of Times. Enemy to reality itself. You don’t need to force thineself into a chosen path. You’re the Adjudicator, and like all things, is the one who decides what becomes of you and your power. Creation, Time, and Death are all yours to command,” the suave man’s face solidified into a white mask. Cracks pushed ash, and it crumbled, revealing a face he’d never expected, “-Creation?”

“Long time no see, heir to Death. I’m Creation,” he held the mask within his palm, “-I’m also Death.”

“Didn’t expect this,” he gulped the drink and blinked, “-were you not enemies?”

“Yes, we are – such a revelation was made to ensure our safety. Death and Creation have been one and the same, two sides of the same coin. If we were truly enemies, didn’t it once cross your mind how you were able to call upon powers of creation effortlessly?”

“Yeah, it’s because of Origin, is it not?”

“No, sadly not. The Power Origin claim as his own, the power of creation, is inherent to you. He simply took the symbol and faked the control. Origin, as all things in the universe, came from us. He’s the true observer placed to watch over the birth and death of realities.”

“What then?”

“Igna, rather, Staxius.”

“…”

“Don’t think you fooled me.”

“…”

“Staxius,” Creation narrowed, “-you’re in control since Igna’s disappearance. No, tis not proper to say you’re in control, you’ve always been in control. One and the same.”

“The secret’s out,” he grinned, “-Staxius, Igna, Alfred, who cares about the name? We’re one and the same, however, if I were to put a name to the one present, it’ll be Staxius.”

“What happened to Igna?”

“The burden of loss. The burden of facing the reality of Sathanas and his close ally’s death. He relinquished his hold over our restraints. I broke loose.”

“Such the reason why I felt the haunting aura of Staxius’ unique Death Element. The epitome of death itself. What happens to Igna?”

“I’ll use his name, it’s very convenient. Though, I doubt Igna to return as himself ever again. A broken glass can never be mended – Igna was a man of good intentions. A perfect representation of what anyone strives for. Upon hearing myself break, I understood,” a frigid energy meandered, “-that, I was not good at dealing with losses. Artanos needs a worthy opponent – sadly, Igna’s ideals and way of life shan’t work any longer. I’m free,” dark lines slithered over his skin – ancient markings, cursed energy, “-for him not to feel sadness, I vow, to myself, I vow to you, Igna, you won’t feel pain again. Let me,” he opened his palm, “-let me show you how one makes reality his,” a white fireball glowed.

“Unfair,” Creation commented, “-here I thought my reveal was amazing. You had to come and ruin my show.”

“My bad. Alas, tis thy fault for revealing a truth I didn’t wish to accept.”

“Accept what?”

“The truth that I’m alive.”

“What does it matter?”

“It does,” he smiled emptily at the wall, “-I gave a last speech and everything. The rest I so longed for is gone. Igna, my innocent other self. You did great for your lifespan. Let me put you to rest,” two sides of him split in the middle, Igna’s friendlier innocent slammed against Staxius’ cold-blooded outlook, *come forth, Orenmir,* she blasted through the window and into his grip, “-may thy death bring thee respace,” the sheath slid, howls of the dead screeched – the resonance had the foundation quiver, the handle shook, a red-glow covered the blade, “-your true master hath come,” *stab.* clean through Igna’s half, the expression and glow dimmed – the outline disentangled into a single white dot. Staxius grabbed the orb, pinching it closer to his face, “-rest in peace,” he pressed, Igna’s remaining mana exploded into tiny particles.”

“Shall I assume Igna is gone?”

“Suppose so.”

“I don’t like the attitude, young man.”

“Neither do I,” he looked around with a stronger build and whiter hair, “-feeling the world anew is strange.”

“Staxius, what is your plan going forward?”

“… what about you, Creation, why are you here?”

“For this,” reality spit, “-come, Makina.”

“Yes father,” a beautiful angel hovered into the room.

“Meet Makina, the angel.”

“Is she the one from before, the babe?”

“Yes, she is. Makina, you see, was raised to evolve reality. Or something like that. From now on, consider her a part of your harem.”

“Not a harem.”

“Keep lying, Staxius, with an entourage of girls, one will assume the said truth.”

“Lord Death…”

“Anyway, this concludes my visit. I appreciate the sportsmanship, Staxius. You’ve supplied enough mana for a world I claim my own, a world where the fallen gods have a place to rest. I call it, Avengela – the new afterlife. Carry the burden well, my heir, I’ll follow the journey closely.”

The portal snapped, ‘-I’m awake, so long after the slumber. It’s going to take a bit of adjusting.’

“Are you my new master?”

“Makina...”

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