Year & Month: 33481, -----
SYSTEM ERROR
Time: 2200 PM
Current Condition: Critical
Blood Level: Extremely Low
It is advised to respite for the time being and not over exert yourself.
SYSTEM ERROR
TIME ESTIMATED BEFORE BODY SHUTDOWN: FIFTY-NINE MINUTES AND FIFTEEN SECONDS.
SYSTEM ERROR
SY__EM _RR_R
PLEASE REPORT TO MEDICAL NURSE AND ENGINEER
PL___SE RE_OR_ TO M__D_CA_ N_R__E A__ _G_NEE_
The small, modulated voice glitches, wobbling towards the end and shutdowns with a beep. A tall, lanky creature groans, peering down at their chest and grimaced - droplets of rain rolled down the machine’s black, empty screen and the wires stuck out in various directions. They catch a glimpse of a figure at the end of the path, they began hopping over to them but whimper as their left leg gave out beneath them. They catch themselves with their weapon, grasping it tightly as they regain balance - they staggered their feet, swaying a bit as they try to the reach the end of the path.
"Mikil! Al'sémcaī arròbabatetya sÌ umiramori! Sesno ćue èormośdak!" The lanky creature roared, limping to the edge of the cliff as they tried to balance themselves with their weapon. Everything ached. Their left eye was swollen shut, blue liquid dripping from their mouth while gashes littered their body, oozing blood and flowing while it drips to the ground. Their armor was severely cracked, it seemed as it was one chip away from completely shattering; it clung on to the soldier's body tightly, yet if seemed as if it were about to fall. The rain beats down at their body violently, seeping through the wounds on their skin and cracks of their armor; they clench their jaw at the pulsing pain that shoots through their body.(Our army is dying! We must retreat!)
The soldier gazes at the figure that stood over the ledge, studying at the battle beneath them. Their silver armor was dripping in rain, scratches embedded into the surface and teal splattered across it; though, the rain never washed away the dried gore that seemed forever permanent. They clutched their steel sword, their hand swayed while they slashed at the air.
A scoff escapes Mikil, rolling his eyes while he peers at the beaten creäture. “Hmm, quékiye vervidish', Jinaro?” Mikil lowly inquires, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. Jinaro arches an eyebrow and looks out in the vast field of battle. Their eyes widen, their breath hitched in their throat, processing the grotesque scene: thousands of bloody corpses stretching more than the eye can see, bloody limbs scattered everywhere, so many buildings and houses destroyed and in ruins. Yet, the soldiers still fought valiantly against each other, the citizens running as far as their legs can take them before being brutally pierced with a blade. (Hmm, what do you see, Jinaro?)
“Una Voyna…,” Jinaro whispers, a frown forming on their face. They catch a glimpse of a fellow trooper plunging their weapon into a civilian’s chest, the person’s blood curdling scream ringing throughout the field as they fall to their knees; terror written across their face while tears stream down their face . Blood squirts out and stains the soldier’s armor, but they thrust the weapon deeper and shake off the person. The civilian’s body slumps to the floor, dead - yet the trooper had a grin their face as they ran off. Jinaro shuts their eyes, trembling as they purse their lips. “Debemy ćue ostanovit'sya i retirarpit’ ….” Jinaro mutters, swallowing bitterly, “La arròbabatetya ćue èormośdak, moy Korol!” (A War… We must stop and retreat… The army must retreat, my King!)
“Netno... Sesno ćue poźhojar pelruki!" The armored figure jeers, glaring at the soldier at their feet and kicking them off. "Vytu zyalmó un jurayaga, solditar: Pelruki bytiyeavos' al'sémcaī istekshiytima dykhaniye, ubiystvo al'sémcaī bytiyeavos' sesno caípadat de istoshación, Protegar al'sémcaī lyudi.."
(No...We must keep fighting! You took an oath, soldier: Fight till our last breath, kill till we fall from the enemy’s blade, protect our people.)
The fallen soldier stared in disbelief, their eyes narrowing while their lips curl into a scowl; shakily, they grabbed their spear and stood up as they balanced themselves onto their weapon. "Tyestá loco....," Jinaro mutters, pursing their lips and swallowing dryly. "No yesii quetot sÌ vytu delaniye, moy korol, yo dezhen preguntar: Zachem.....?"(You are crazy... But if that is your wish, my king, I must ask: Why?)
The king stiffened, pursing his lips and peering over his soldier, the corner of his lips lifted up as a crazed smile plasters his face. "Why?~" he sighs contently, walking over slowly to the wounded soldier. "My dear friend, it is merely for my pleasure.~ But, of course, the truth is that this is all to overthrow the king of Omicron and I can finally destroy that little shit, Axton, once and for all." A deep chuckle rumbles from Mikil’s chest, soon turning into a booming laughter as he unsheathes his sword and directs it at the soldier.
“Crazy? I'm on the verge of my sanity going extinct..! But my sanity is worth losing if it means I can finally rule over this damn kingdom!" With that, the king lunges at Jinaro, bringing down his sword with all his might - but the soldier brushes it off with their spear, grunting and thrusting their weapon at Mikil - the spear clanging with the his armor and glancing off it.
“But killing thousands of innocents is not worth it!” Jinaro bellowed angrily, dodging the sword in one fluid movement. “I took an oath as a soldier, but you took an oath as a King!” Mikil growls, swiveling in his spot as he thrusts his weapon once more at the other. He slashes his blade back and forth, charging at Jinaro with a mighty cry, his menacing eyes filled with fury.
“As a King, I make this promise to my subjects!” The soldier began, their spear meeting with the King’s sword with a clang. “I will protect you from the strongest of storms!”
“I will aid you in times of need, filling your chalice with the finest of wines whenever it may empty!” Jinaro pulls their head back, dodging the sword and blocking the slashing blade.
“I will fight alongside with you, to never cower away as you fight my wars!” Mikil glowers at his soldier, gritting his teeth as he charges once again. Jinaro brings their weapon down, jabbing it at Mikil, but the spear grazes his armor.
“I will carry our kingdom, as well as the burdens and responsibilities that come with it! I shall stand under you as you all have for me!” The soldier evades the sword, whipping around and bringing down their spear, clashing with the weapon. The King growls, shrinking back and plunging his sword into Jinaro’s torso. The blade penetrates their skin, Jinaro hisses and recedes, grasping their wound as blue liquid trickles from it. They feel the thick liquid flow through their fingers, his heart pumping their blood as it never ceased to pour out. They study their hand as it stains with teal, blood. The soldier frowns, looking up and catching Mikil advancing towards them.
“And if I were to ever break this oath, kill me where I stand as I am no longer worthy of the crown!” Mikil’s eyes widen, he narrows his eyes snarling his teeth as he brought down his sword; the soldier blocks the blow with his spear once more, shakily pushing the sword away. Jinaro pants, sinking down to their knees and collapsing onto their hands, his spear still tightly grasped in his hand. Winded from the fall, they grab the King’s leg and pull him down to the ground with the remaining strength they had left in them; Mikil yelps, dropping to the floor with a thud and groans. The soldier mounts the fallen man, pressing his weapon against Mikil’s throat. “To never hesitate in the time of my death, my dear friends…”
Mikil chokes, feeling his blade press against his throat and graze his skin, blood trickling and rolling down his neck. A low, guttering roar rips from his throat, shoving the weapons away from him and throwing Jinaro to the side; they gasp. Mikil climbs on top the soldier, surging back his sword and clashing with their spear; the soldier heaves, blocking the attack.
Jinaro’s spear shivered under the brutality of the Mikil’s incredible strength, his arms ached in agony and cried for rest. The wounds that littered his limbs and torso opened, blood flowing freely while his muscles burned, as if his body was being engulfed by the fires of hell. The soldier grits their teeth, ignoring the agonizing pain, he clenches his hands and pushes the sword away from him. “I have failed my kingdom and my subjects, the kings before take my soul and make me suffer for eternity; the title king I do not deserve….,” the soldier strains out, his arms trembling violently as the spear was lowered once more. Mikil’s nostrils flare, knocking the spear out of the soldier’s hands nimbly; he forces his blade down into Jinaro’s neck.
“What point is there winning if there is not a life to subjugate..? Killing them all of as if it’s nothing?!” The soldier clamors, the blade hooking onto their neck and piercing their skin, thick, teal blood dripped from the wound but gushed out like waterfall as the blade sliced deeper into their skin. “You’ve generated genocide!”!
Mikil pauses, he shuts his eyes and grins a malicious smile; his eyes flash open, insanity twirling in them, full of anger and bloodlust. The soldier stares in horror as the whites of Mikil’s eyes turned into black, his irises shifting into a golden yellow, glowing dimly as deep, dark laughter rumbled from within the King’s chest, his shoulders shaking. “Stupid, pathetic Cyrox..,” Mikil purrs, slowly forcing his blade deeper. “The Kings before me were nothing but cowards! Letting every damn kingdom take what they desired from our land just because they were to afraid to be defiant and assert their dominance in the circle of life!” Mikil plunges the sword into the soldier’s throat, studying as Jinaro’s eyes widen and his jaw slacks open; they gasp for air and weakly grasp the blade of the king’s weapon.
“I took the oath of a weakling! But now, I take the oath of a gallant warrior!” He surges his sword, slicing through Jinaro’s throat and watching the life drain from their eyes, their arms and legs falling limp, the blood pouring out and dripping to the dirt floor. His head tumbles to the side, thick, teal liquid squirting from it. Mikil picks the corpse’s head and scoffs, studying and taking in the last emotion written on its face: complete and utter horror.
“As a warrior, I make this vow to my enemies and my allies. I will fight and protect those who cannot. But I will not put my head down at the one who dares take and destroy my home!
I won’t cower away at the sight of war, I will fight alongside my allies and watch my enemies succumb to us and lose.
I will not send my subjects to fight if they can hardly do so themselves. Instead, I give the duty to take care of my kingdom and watch it bloom to an unstoppable force.
You have all carried my ancestors burdens for generations, but now it is time I return the favor. No longer will you have to do a job you do not deserve to work.
For a thousand years, and more to come, I promise to make our kingdom known for greatness - not for weakness.”
With that, the King leaps from the cliff, landing onto the red and blue-stained ground with a chilling smile, raising the corpse’s head above him. The slaughtered-shouting hushed, the soldiers ceasing their actions and looked towards him. The rain fell harshly in chaotic drops upon the blood-thirsty crowd, their lips curling into frowns and sinister grins as they catch glimpse of the teal liquid dripping from Mikil’s sword and the head of a Cyrox.
“My brothers and sisters, let us take this kingdom from the damn coward they call king and make it our name know to the world! Fight for the throne of Omicron!” The shouts and cheers of the soldiers leaves a pleasant smile on the King’s face, tossing the head to the side among the other corpses and raising his sword. “Charge!”
~~~
On a planet, millions of light years away from the Milky Way galaxy, there was a kingdom; it was known as the Kingdom of Omicron, the largest kingdom on Heraclius. It was made up of many small cities that ran up the rocky terrain of the land, crop fields that connected to the outside of the kingdom and guarded by Nihirriians; they lived in floating-atmospheric dwellings that littered the sky, so close they can grab the shooting stars. Literally, thus their titles, ‘Guardians of the Starry Skies’. However, at least five castles make up this kingdom, four of these belonging to the nobles: the Ecains of Chakkirorn, the Dereaths of Cardalathi, the Aiczeins of Irika, and the Cyroxs of Nihirrii. Each rule their own district of the kingdom, from the castle down to the undergrounds that dwell beneath them. Yet, none of them truly possess the title of a high rank royal family, for millions of years they have always been the families that were never worthy of a royal title that was higher than Viscount and such. The only royal family that lives at the highest point of the Kingdom, the ones that truly ruled, were the O'haras; ruling over the districts, the kingdom, and of course, the planet.
The O’hara family wins at every single battle-ceremony, returning a week later with the golden gemstone in hand, and at that moment they are worthy of the title: King or Queen of Heraclius. But yet, no one truly knows where the other children have gone. Some say they are transferred to the allies’ home planets, others say they decided to drop their duties and live free in the wilderness that Heraclius has to offer. But only few think that they have been killed by the O’haras - thus why they are always victorious. Though, nobody knows the truth, choosing the most likely and realistic rumor to believe; some have questioned the royal family, but none have succeeded in receiving an answer at what has happened to their beloved noble children. There are few civilians that go into the woods that the children have gone in, but none have ever returned as soon as they stepped foot into the forbidden land.
There is a tradition that every family must follow, a tradition established by the first inhabitants of the planet. Every 150 years, when the blood moon sets on the west horizon of Cyrox Castle, the eldest children of every noble family - including the prince - must meet in the wooded area fifty miles from the entrance of the Kingdom: Rimlan Grove. They must be suited in their family’s armor, yielding their soul-bonded weapon, and splashed in rose-quartz water for good fortune and success. They are given time until the blood moon is full to find the golden gemstone of Azoite, and if neither of the children return in time, the current ruling family will be on the throne for another one-hundred fifty years.
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