Guardian's Temper

The pool of shallow water stood still in its simple stone fountain, its grey sides turning to a sparkling blue haze as the spiral of runes were brought to life. The purified water began to darken as it reflected the void it pierced through until the flickering gaze stabilized into an idyllic forest scene, the southern sugar forests of Atlantis.

As I could now see, the human had been flung hundreds of feet through the air, by an alicorn no less, and was now learning of his altered state. Seeing it in action, I couldn’t help but give a well deserved chuckle at the simple brilliance of it. Many other champions would be crafted to perform great works of magic in tandem with great speed. Mine, however, was a champion unlike the others. A creature of nearly pure defense, unable to be destroyed by any form of physical attack. It would take great works of elemental or magical might to do him harm, and once he would be able to more consciously control how he replicated his cells, he would be an awe inspiring weapon. Combined with the fact Alderam now possessed the ability to mimic the shape, color or sound of any object he put his mind to, as well as absorb loose material to increase his own mass. It left me safely within the boundaries of the rules. After all, Scorpan outright had the ability to fly, whereas Alderam Luther could only approximate the ability to glide, leaving him unable to kill Tirek’s piece from the outset.

Zooming in, through the pool, I was able to see all the little human’s reactions: his bewilderment at a sudden increase in power without even beginning to grasp the potential of it, the fear of having a body so unlike what he once had...

‘So much like myself, all those forgotten years ago, excepting that *I** had been able to choose my path.*’

The echo of that ancient memory popping upon the wellspring didn’t last for more than a heartbeat before it vanished, but its effects would linger, dulling my mental acuity. Taking one last glance at the pool, I saw he was heading north, towards the mountains, and soon enough to the capital city of Atlantis itself, a hub of energy both magical and mundane. The forces at play would, at the very least, send one of the champions of harmony there. Mr. Luther would do well enough without my watchful gaze for some time.

Leaving the small chamber, I canceled the channel of energy, the runes inlaid along the pedestal darkened back to the grey of the surrounding stone. An ethereal Hellfire claw stretches out from my left horn, the blue-black light shimmering across the ebony stairway, as the stone door closes silently shut. Forgoing the use of levitation, I elect to walk down the spiral stonework, my cloven hooves treading silently forward.  Down three quiet flights of my tower study, a silencing spell having long since been enchanted on it, the stairwell gives way to an open archway and I am once again greeted by the city, my city, of Tambelon, the shining jewel in my crowning failure.

Stepping through the archway, I am bereft of the quieting aura of the tower, the dead wind mocks me, caressing my deep blue fur, as it freely moves through and away from my sanctioned prison space in Tartarus.

The clicking of bone upon stone work comes from behind, and then stops.

“Your bidding, master?”

My eyes stilled trained upon the swirling soul draining eddies of black and grey mist beyond the ramparts. The crisp tone of my skeletal razorback had taken years to perfect, but it sounded as though it were alive. Though, anyone familiar enough with such a creature would have been hard pressed to recognize it by vitality and cultured voice of the speaker. Pulling myself away from the amusing distraction, I replied, “Set the tearoom, I will be there shortly.” The steady clicking of retreating feet replied, and I was again left to my thoughts.

Having already begun musing upon the past in the tower, I allowed the sight of my city to bring back the memory of that failure. While expanding my mind’s eye, the hand of time circles back and begins tolling the anthem cry of my assailants. Despite all the deadly spells I had sent raining through the air, they  actually had been singing. Dodging nimbly about every death-dealing blow with the ease of water twining around a boulder-filled stream, and they had been singing all the while. And rather than change my tactics, I had let my emotions get the better of me and merely drawn in more power from Tambelon to increase my rate of fire. Those winged fools could have been brought down by a mere increase of gravity, or a blanketing swath of power instead of individual lancing bolts, but I had let them get the better of me, and now I was confined to Tartarus, never allowed to personally step foot out of it so long as the city I had bound myself to resided within its grasp.

Noting the repeating motion of the mists, the half-formed ideas of greater demons and things much worse flew about just beyond sight. A new warden must have been given charge of this sector of space. A seasoned one would not have given into boredom and changed the set pattern, thus risking to mentally stimulate their charges. Leaving the uninspired view, I crossed the stone skywalk to the guard tower turned tea nook, the air stagnating inside and allowing the scent of tea to permeate every pore both stone and wood. Drinking in the smell, I moved over to the utilitarian-designed stone bench and matching table. The tea sat within a very old mug that, in just the right light, one could just make out the last flecks of paint that had once adorned the outside of the great clay cup. Grasping with both my hooves, I raised it to my lips and quickly drained three quarters of the steaming brew. The aftertaste that only five lumps of sugar and two teaspoons of honey could affect brought me a measure of satisfaction. Taking a pause I swirled what was left of my tea before I finished it off in a single gulp and then gently placed the clay mug down upon the stone table before leaving once more for my tower. The break had done its job, and now it was time to get back to observation, there were many other creatures to gain knowledge of, and precious time to do it in if I was to have enough kingdom left to be a king.

***

While I stared into the fire the weight of my reality was finally sinking in. It was too dark to see anything outside the small ring of green fire light, courtesy of whatever sort of chemicals suffused the sugary scented wood. I had abandoned a world that, by all rights, I was quite fond of, on the chance of seeing a magical world. The  building sense that all the fantasy worlds I’d read all throughout my life gaining the possibility of actually existing. But the way I’d acted, so boldly, and without fear of the unknown. A whole of existence that I had always known couldn’t possibly exist, and I had bluffed my way into getting pushed into it, as though it held no possibility of danger.

Flicking my right hand in front of me, I pulled my concentration to the palm and felt my hand smoothly move from a human sized crab-claw to a circular saw, hammer, and a slender three-fingered alien hand; before I let it all go and watched my hand turn back to an even duller-shaded grey goo.

My head hurt, and not just from the overly sweet-smelling smoke, like caramelized sugar. A very large part of me was thrilled nearly out of thought by the possession of Clayface’s powers, or some facsimile thereof. However, the little Marvel boy in me staunchly rebelled at this conclusion, but I needed some starting point to at least attempt working off of. I needed something familiar, if only the imagined works of some artist I would never meet, more so now that I was in an entirely different world. After all, fully formed chocolate doesn’t grow on trees. Not in the real world.

Taking in a deep breath to calm myself, I quickly choked it out when I saw my chest expanding like the throat of a frog. That was when it went white, and then black as I felt something in me simply fall to pieces. The world tilted slantways, and twisted in an increasingly tighter spiral until something cold crunched beside my head.

‘What are the rules?!?’