Just a little while left to go through this place, this temporary period of suffering, and they'll be free. Their weary minds could not keep awake their aching bodies, the moon lulling them. Its tug and pull of waves, sailing them to their dream world. The bodies of the Desert Assassins were huddled together, try to fight this most frigid desert's night.
They curled up next to the side of heat, a small and humble blaze. Its body spasmed in a mad dance, mortal ears hearing as its bones echoed sharply with crackles and pops. Very carefully was every shivering body watched, under the surveillance of her unwavering vision at all times.
That monitor was her; the loving, invisible mother who kept guard over their unconscious bodies. Lamia stood closely beside Raphael like their ankles were shackled together, watching over her precious children as their eyes grew too heavy to carry any longer. She then looked down upon Raphael, hoping to see that he had joined the others.
But alas, he was barred from their imaginary kingdom, from their idyllic world devoid of pain. His body laid upon its right side, his hand under his head like some kind of makeshift pillow. The waxed lamp that hung in this sky reflected off of his eyes, his mind wandered as far as this tiny world to that celestial orb.
He could not get even a wink of sleep, feeling as the night disintegrated by the second. Slowly, ever so slowly did the night dissipate into the infinite light, the dastardly sibling of the sun cowering away. Silently, they proceeded onward in their odyssey, across seas of sand and endless sky. They marched on until their feet met grass, their eyes capable of seeing a ruined sanctuary just over yonder.
This place was the horizon, a heavenly vault ashen and faded. That was it, their destroyed city of Lumbridge -- a homestead once treasured and full of hope and love, now all but forsaken. It echoed the dreams never realized, the promises left broken, and the lives lost...
They crossed the river, taking in the decimated view. From grass to bloodied stone, their footsteps rung through this hollow day. Ruined buildings laid everywhere the eye looked, this debilitated place brought to cinders, whispering softly its pain and history.
There were still a few bodies laying out on the streets, shunned from the pile. Their flesh frigid and sallow, their utterly terrified expressions irrevocably cleaved into their faces like pen to paper. The mass of black cloth rolled down the red stained pathway, their eyes looking on in horror at the unspeakable transgressions of their merciless enemies.
They could still smell it, the burning air. Its morbid scent of smoldering flesh so terrible that even their tongues could sense it, an inconceivably disgusting thought. Outstretched did Daevarro's gaze pour out from his face, the decimation of this place -- his home -- took its toll upon his young mind. His face contorted to reflect such a feeling, a sorrow that began to work its way into his heart.
A terrible feeling lingering in this dwelling, Daevarro turned his eyes over to Raphael, who was just to his right. Raphael kept his eyes out in front of him, though it was like he was forcing himself not to look. It was like his neck were made of stone, restrained, unmoving. He had to keep himself focused, both mentally and physically. But despite what his appearance told an observer, inside was much different.
He was still here, remembering each moment as it happened. This place was still ablaze, he was still running through these streets, he was still fighting, still hearing the poor souls begging for mercy. If only he could tell his past self, tell him that it was futile to hope, that there was nothing left. Lamia took notice of this change in him, seeing as his eyes began to scan his environment.
Behind them, within the crowd of black, the merchant-turned-assassin Kereske and the angry Lamian Shakir had their firsthand looks on the devastation brought down upon this humble capital that championed all of humankind's hopes. But what they had seen wasn't even the beginning of the savagery, it was then that their eyes now laid witness to it.
A ruthlessly grotesque hill of bodies before them, watching as their charred, brittle flesh just peeled off of them like leaves on a dying tree. Lumbridge's former residence stacked up like a mountain straight out from the worst of night terrors, this source of the city's overpowering searing smell. Their faces horrifically aghast, a cold shiver rattling them to their core.
Going into detail, they could tell that they must have been alive when they were set ablaze, given the positions of some of the bodies. Shakir's eyes grew as wide as baseballs, swiftly fastening his right hand around his mouth as he began to feel his dinner charging up his gullet. "Oh, dear goddess!" he weakly exclaimed, frantically casting his eyes away.
Daevarro remained silent, looking down at the ground, a deep, dark cloud of melancholy over head. Calvin crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Dem gods," he said with strong disapproval. "Jus' gettin' more an' more 'artless..."
Shinon glared sharply up upon an adamas vexillum standing in the center of the hill, proudly proclaiming this atrocity in the name of the Imperial Kingdom. "Tch..." he angrily growled, teeth grit and bare.
Kereske looked upon the bodies and softly sighed, closing his eyes. "This is our unfortunate reality," he lamented. "It is as the state of Al Kharid and all others under the thumb of the gods, adorned with the winged lion or not. They show no mercy to us, show no care, and are cruel beyond words..."
The angry Lamian recovered somewhat, turning now to his brothers and sisters. "...The most we can do for them now is pray," Shakir continued. "Pray to
Jeen caza áljin betun,
pray so that this may never happen again."
Many of the Lamians gathered around Shakir, mobilizing their congregation. The members of the former Resistance watched on as they started their group prayer. They dropped down to their knees, placed their hands out in front of them, and planted their faces into the ground. Murmurs of the Lamians' strange prayer emitted into the air, spoken in their foreign language.
"I am afraid that I must bear disappointment," Raphael's ears then heard as Lamia spoke, hearing her voice from his left. "The Sólszemek yearn only the utter extermination of all kind, as they brought to mine. 'Tis but a circle, cycling evermore. Only if the chain is broken will such a reality come to be."
Being the only one capable of hearing her, Raphael acknowledged the goddess' statement as the grave truth of it all. But frankly, the young man wasn't exactly paying the utmost attention upon Lamia. Yes, his purple eyes gripped hard upon that pile he had seen before, the mangled, coiled-up faces of the innocents who fell that day.
And especially did his eyes look, take notice of that little girl whom he promised to protect. He can still pick her out from the crowd of rotting corpses, all of the same color. Their identities unknown, all particular features of their faces burned away, but their screaming expressions stuck like glue.
The little girl Marie had lost her arm during the gluttonous flame's gorging, half of her face was missing with it. Regardless, Raphael could still make out her arm reaching out, waiting for her protector. And even as the flame devoured her and those of glowing eyes watched her suffer like bloodthirsty savages, she awaited her savior.
But the only thing Raphael could find solace in was that their torment was over, they were rid of the monsters who put them into this iniquitous kiln. He took one brave step towards the scalded girl, but his feet ceased as he heard and felt something get trampled under his heel. He quickly recoiled his foot, lunging his eyes southward.
Reflecting off of his stern irises was an object; a very small, flower-shaped piece of metal attached to a baby blue string. This object's appearance rather battered and bloodied, but it drew Raphael's attention. He knelt down beside it, cupping it in his hand.
The silver-haired young man's eyes grievously cascaded down its body, feeling its injured, ash-covered exterior speak to him, whisper all of its history. It was a sorrowful scenario, feeling as this object's weight was augmented tenfold due to this situation. Raphael quickly glanced forward, seeing as what was left of Marie's face and arm aiming straight for this brooch.
This object belonged to her,
this
was her savior. Despite the odds, despite it all, this small little object survived... It weathered, persevered, endured all the agony and grief. Quite the impossible feat, it sounded, but all too true was it found. His purple eyes looked back upon the brooch, seeing himself reflect off of its dirty surface.
As his eyes met his own, he could finally say to himself, finally admit... He failed. Yes, Raphael knew he was a failure, he couldn't protect the innocent lives that were so maliciously severed. He made a promise he couldn't keep, and it pained him so greatly. He failed everyone, he failed the cause, he lost it all...
But such suffering, like the reality he knew, was ephemeral. Despite the hatred, despite the anguish, he and his allies did the impossible and lived. Perhaps the cause was extant, perhaps there was still something there. He carried those memories of what happened here close to him, swearing to remember them each and every second of his life.
He closed his eyes, wandering in the endless black that was his mind. More and more, he was defenseless to images of the past striking him fast and hard like fighting a boxing match with both hands tied behind his back. Everything he had been through, everything he had seen this past year all came calling back to him...
His hand around the brooch fastened firmly, his facial expression intense and adamant. He reminisced sorrowfully, angrily upon those days. This journey up until this point, him leading the Resistance, all the sacrifices, all the lost. It was a trial, a life cycle, one that finished when Raphael Béla perished along with his comrades.
Indeed, Raphael Béla died that night, his throat sliced by the legendary blade of she who commands the Solasúians. But he rose that night, not really realizing who or what he was anymore. But on this day, in this very second, he knew. It was a long, dark path, a birth canal which would see him... born again.
His face letting loose a stern look, confidently raising to his feet. He held strongly to that brooch, a reminder of the past. He would always remember that day, always remember all those who selflessly laid down their lives for this fight for equality and freedom. He knew now who the enemy was, and who needed to be purged in order for this world to change.
He opened his eyes for the very first time, filling his lungs up with air as a novice. He turned to his comrades, the only people that mattered to him. They saw a change in him, and not just in his stance. His beautiful purple eyes, full of resolution and conviction, appeared vibrant with a brilliant aura.
He had the glow of his eyes just as any of the Solasúian kind, but his unique purple shine was the true confirmation. Yes, he was truly a descendant of the Barn bloodline... He appeared composed and stern, calm and firm-handed, but those were like bandages on a mummified body. The rot had worked its way through him, this reanimated person that he was. He sought justice for those who suffer and live, and for those who suffered and died.
"Let's go," he said to them, unwavering and unquestionably valiant. Listening to their newly committed leader, everyone nodded their head. The newborn young man twisted off, turning away from the pile of corpses. He would always carry that image in his heart, walking towards the exit out of Lumbridge.
Behind him was a mass of black cloth and his allies of the former Resistance, loyally under his command. He marched on now, clenching tightly to the object of the past, one that reminded him the old life he lived. He shed off that old skin, discarding it along with the remains of his old life, his old world. Now he was revived, awake, he was now... Raphael Divus Barn.
A gallant new wind blew at their backs, hope still lived on. Whilst elsewhere, that same wind spread a chill like a ravenous disease, chewing through any fortification. A steely, exhausted brown gaze reached outward, grabbing places that laid in his future. Stomping down upon a wide hill of green earth were the hooves of a majestic creature, carrying on its back the furtive genius Telvern.
His hand upon the radiant stallion's shimmering blonde hair, he stared at nothing more or less than what was before him. His destination perched proudly atop the horizon, staring at him in all of its immeasurable glory. Governanti, capital city of the ultimate enemy of the humans... His place to go, the place chained to all of his suffering.
Telvern scanned the city very carefully, examining all types of strategies for getting inside. He meticulously took Governanti apart, piece-by-piece, looking for the best entry point. He thoroughly scoured the walls of the city, a large cascade of the blueish-white crystal-like substance known as adamas glistered vibrantly in the sunlight.
The adamas was very irregular in appearance, appearing like a waterfall frozen in time. It was poured upon the former stone-brink walls of the city called Varrock, encasing it like a thick layer of armour. But he took notice of the entrance, finding it unusually abuzz with people.
That might be the way to go, blending in with the crowd. Without further delay, he proceeded with the task at hand. He quickly hopped off of his dazzling steed, the graceful Unicorn Stallion.His boots planted firmly down upon the grass, his right hand upon the side of the horse.
He looked to it, who in turn looked to him with its gleaming, glowing golden eyes. "This is where we must depart," he told to it, his ally of undying loyalty.
"If thou wills it, thus it shall be," it replied, accepting its fate.
His deathly pale-skinned left hand reached out for the muzzle of its face, feeling its velvety-soft coat almost massaging every nerve in his hand. "You've my thanks once more, old friend," the genius kindly, quietly expressed, petting it as a token of his gratitude.
Staring upon its master as he showed his appreciation, the Unicorn Stallion slowly began to fade away into nothingness. Its shimmering body dissipating, its lustrous light slowly lost. It was called away, disappearing from sight.
Now that his unicorn had left his side, he was all alone. Nothing he wasn't used to, his thrust forward without hesitation. His legs became animated, walking upon the soft terra. He contemplated plans and means of escape, blue-penciled everything he thought he knew about this place. Surely things must have changed since his last coming to this city...
After a short while of walking and plotting, he was now at Governanti's gates. He merged with the crowd, acting as another droplet of water in this flowing creek pouring into the titanic lake. Hiding in plain sight, Telvern hid amongst the Solasúian nobles. But he then saw something else to the sides of this bustling current of bodies, something... unaccounted for.
Solasúian eyes targeted him, him and every other speck of dust. In fact, they were rather unique knights clad in black armour... Yes, it seemed the Loyal Knights of the Royal Family were guarding the entrance into the city. It made sense that they'd be stationed here, given the recent events, surely one would anticipate retaliation.
It seemed their distrust was born from his outfit rather than his face, perhaps new blood to the Loyal Knight cause. Regardless, it wasn't enough for them to call him out for it, allowing him access into the city. The crowd scattered in all different directions upon entering Governanti, Telvern tried to be as casually as he could once he was out in the open.
He played such a part well, even award-worthy, acting as just another person walking about. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and no one even realized it...
Governanti... Now that Telvern had been to the other side, he could rightfully declare this city to be almost identical to the former capital of the Solasúian race. In fact, it could almost be mistaken for its twin. The adamas had reached all the way to the outskirts of the city's streets, encasing the place like dazzling, sparkling ice.
The city was once only partially cloaked in the stuff, being segregated to the castle and the nobility district. But now the beautiful, crystal-like substance had reached the very jaws of the city. In thought, it was almost stunning to the genius. Yes, Telvern knew deep down that adamas required something far more than typical stone or metal to be crafted... It required life.
But knowing the history of their race, helping to craft adamas was among the highest of honors. Part of the soul of a Solasúian lingering here eternally, it was something most dreamed to achieve. But it seemed Balor was hell-bent on making this city the utopia him and his kind dreamt fondly of arriving to, or returning to as some would believe.
It was at least still as noisy as he remembered, the swift, constant chattering of the society he once belonged to. Of course, occasionally he could hear the hideous crack of a whip lashing upon the raw, bleeding flesh of another. This was followed by the pathetic moans, begs, and screams of the sufferers and those unfortunate to watch.
The sight of impatient Solasúian slavers beating and whipping their human 'employees' all too familiar to Telvern, so much so that such was not disconcerting to him. He was rendered completely desensitized to such brutality, even the decaying, rancid piles of corpses laying broken in the alleyways he passed didn't faze him anymore.
Alas, it was just another day in this city. The city was a haven of them, those without a conscience, and Telvern was among them. Walking in a calm demeanor, despite being in the enemy's arms, the genius began to take notes of his environment. His ears hearing the unfamiliar sound of his footsteps, the adamas making a strange hollow tap under his step.
