|= Prologue =|
—Jaiharan Subcontinent / The Graveyard Village / Shadow-Controlled Territory—
Zul may have crowned herself queen but she only rules the small bubble she calls a world—Ra'Sasha city, Trianite's realm—she may have fought bravely once, she may have won the first battle, and she may have dealt with the enemy closest to her, though she fails to remember the reason for why she started magic in the first place: the worry, the fear, the terror for when that glorious Shadow flag is on the opposite side of the battlefield.
Valdrec has been convicted of High Treason, a conviction only given by Trianite herself. It’s sad, really: his fate reduced to nothing but a jail cell, rotting in the gallows of the palace dungeon. But while Zul takes her revenge, it is time to plot mine.
“Everything is in order,” I proudly put my hands on my hips and basked in the reflecting sunlight that bounced off the demon altar. It was like the sun’s rays became a coarse, crimson red as they shimmered off the blood and skulls, which lined upon the edges of the table. With orange candles placed around it and chalk drawn in a pentagram, the ritual was ready. Another legend to slay, I thought to myself, my sword will only grow stronger. Stronger and stronger until I am the greatest swordsman in all of Jaihara!
A wide smile cast upon my face as I unrolled the scroll in my pocket. It had taken me years to decipher its mystic contents—the language was almost lost in history, and the parchment tattered and flaking as centuries upon centuries had finally caught up to the paper. “Te voco,” I read aloud, the words now glowing a sharp blue as the incantation progressed, “Deus qui falsus est.”
The skies began to darken, the clouds forming a blockade against the sun.
“Tu, Moloch, falsus;” I recognized the name. Moloch—that was the legend I was summoning today. He wasn’t like the other gods, etched into pillars to worship him, or written down in holy books for future scholars to read. No, this legend—this myth—was more elusive than the rest. He had escaped my grasp for too long, had seen his comrades of the pantheon fall to my blade. Now, it was his time. His turn to fall before me. “Nam et vincam.” I soaked in the final words. With a triumphant shout, I yelled, “et magna fiam!” The sentence echoed across the darkened sky. Lightning rolled across the clouds, coalescing into a pillar of light, which struck the altar with a great thud. Pure lightning illuminated the sky as the rumblings of the clouds plateaued.
“Moloch, the False one!” my voice shredded through the dying rumbles of thunder, “Face me! The one with four eyes, the one with four legs, and the one with four arms! Moloch, the False One!”
I gazed up and saw the pillar of light retract into the heavens above. It felt like an eclipse had been cast, stars twinkled in the twilight, and a great pool of light concentrated above the altar. There—I thought—there is the portal to the realms of the legends and myths and gods. There is where Moloch will descend to face me! The portal couldn’t have been more beautiful. I couldn’t have been more in awe.
Light sprinkled in the clouds—flakes of white hid the entity, which levitated high upon the sky. I could see the silhouette of his feet. Though now silence had overtaken the ritual sight, and the serene stillness of the air grew shivers down my spine. Why has it gone so quiet? Whispers of the lightning now died in the wind. The only thing I could only hear was my breath huffing in excitement.
It’s too quiet… What is Moloch doing up there?
“Moloch!” I called. “Face me!”
“No,” a semi-ethereal voice boomed in the air. “Go away!” What? Go away? You’re supposed to fight me!
“Moloch?” I questioned. “Come here and…” I raised my sword in the air, “Come here and face me, Moloch!” I wiggled the blade as if it could lure him.
“I said, no,” he sighed. Why did Moloch sound… sad? It looked like his arms were crossed as his back was turned away from me.
What kind of legend is this? I’ve never encountered a legend who said “no” to me! Am I offended? I… Is it me, or something? Well, he still looks a bit sad. Maybe something’s the matter? “Moloch,” I called again, “what’s… what’s wrong?”
“The other gods don’t include me,” he groaned. "Just because I’m the False One doesn’t mean I’m not as strong as them.”
If you aren’t the false one then why is it in your name? Moloch was an old Gedredelian legend that took forever to find. I had to scour through waterlogged texts to even find a sentence relating to him. The other myths and legends and gods had whole ancient civilizations built in their honor, which made them easier to track, of course. But Moloch? I recall first hearing of his existence and how everyone didn’t worship him because of his title. “Oh,” I put away my sword, sliding back into my sheath, “Moloch, don’t listen to them!” I shouted. “If it makes you feel any better, you were the hardest god to come across!”
“Really?” he looked over his shoulder, though his eyes evaded my view. “They say I’m not scary enough.”
“Nonsense!” I drawled. “I was terrified when I read your summoning scroll!” I inched closer to the altar, trying to console Moloch. “Don’t listen to those other gods, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
A faint sniffle flew in the air. “Oh,” he cleared his throat; it rumbled like thunder.
“Were you… crying?”
“There’s a lot of precipitation up here!” he retorted. “But… you’re right. I shouldn’t listen to them,” he nodded, descending lower into the air. There we go. I backed away from the altar, watching Moloch’s back materialize into being. His flesh was gray and scaly, with holes and scars cut deep within his back. I couldn’t see his face yet—only when his feet touch the ground will he be fully summoned. “What was I thinking?” Moloch said to himself. “Just because I’m the False One doesn’t mean I’m not a real God…” his body lowered and lowered, now hovering above the altar. “Right?” he asked. His feet were so close, just mere inches away…
“Oh,” I nodded. “Of course, Moloch. If it makes you feel any better, I’d worship you rather than those other gods,” I said with some disgust. “To hell with them! I’d choose you! Who cares if they call you the False one!”
His feet touched the ground, and the air around Moloch waved and fluttered as if the heat was emanating from him. His aura warped reality, sending ripples and waves, which finalized the summoning process. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, tinges of hope and curiosity, now breathing into the physical world.
My blade slid across its sheath, screeching in the metal which rubbed against it. “Of course not,” I thundered, licking my lips as I dashed toward this False fool. He gasped in a shriek, piercing the air as my blade severed his two left arms in an upward slash. And in the same strike, my sword flew over his head and tore his right limbs so that they plunged to the floor as I thrust straight through his torso. His four eyes daggered toward me, though his gaze wasn’t filled with animosity or hatred before a battle, but instead, a saddened and destitute face as I dug into his coarse skin. “And that,” I seethed, “is what makes you different from the others,” the tip of my blade reached the other side. “You lack hubris,” I declared. “But why do you even care that you’re called the False One?”
“No!” he bemoaned in pain, the sword slowly carving its way to his heart like a saw shredding wood.
“Every God in your pantheon is fake, you are just the fakest of them all.” My sword radiated in blue, the color of a legend’s blood. The inscriptions upon the base had lit in azure and cerulean hues, brightening as my blade’s hunger grew and grew. “There is only one true God,” I said to him as Moloch’s skin began to melt, “and that is the Lord,” my sword grasped the False One’s soul, shredding it as the final echoes of life faded into the realm of myth once more, “who I shall serve to the end of days.” And myths and legends and gods of the old had all been brought to life, from the figments of the most creative of imaginations, to serve as fodder for the sword and man who will become a legend of his own. “And that God, the truest of them all, is my Lord—” I proclaimed, as the heavens bellowed in an echo of thunder, “Lord Historian…”