Alfirean Age Book 1 - Inheritor of Strength

Epic Battle

As Alfonso reached the top of the hill, he activated the voice amplifying gem in his helmet and shouted forth his challenge, “Vackzilian, your day of judgment has come!” The earth shook as his voice boomed.

His challenge echoed across the valley, bounced off the tower walls, and blended with the lonely moaning of the wind. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then everything stilled: the wind stopped; the lightning ceased. The cloudless sky darkened. Goosebumps formed on Alfonso’s arms as he held his breath and waited in nervous anticipation.

Then, with a resounding boom of thunder, the wizard appeared out of thin air.  Alfonso's stallion reared in fright, and he lurched forward to grab hold of his horse's mane. 

As the wizard stepped forward, a wave of dark power flowed over Alfonso. The man's steely cold eyes pierced him, and the air caught in Alfonso’s lungs.

Vackzilian’s skin shone pale and gaunt as if it hadn't seen the sun in decades. His long, narrow features crafted pools of shadows under his eyes, while his robes, rippling like liquid metal on his lean frame, glowed a deep midnight blue.

The wind tore at Vackzilian's long grey hair, and his thin lips curled in an unearthly smile. “At long last, you appear, mightiest hero of the land. Decades have I awaited you. Countless nights have I spent preparing to defeat you. And now, the future is at hand, for this day shall mark the beginning of my glorious reign.”

His yellow eyes flashed, and his stance widened as he prepared to strike. “And once you are gone, nothing will stand in my way.”  

Regaining his breath, Alfonso stared at him in bewilderment. Waited for him? Prepared for him? The mightiest hero of the land? What in Eldrin's name was Vazkzillian going on about?

He wasn't strong, nor was he a hero. In fact, he could barely stay on his horse underneath the weight of his rented armor, much less fight in physical combat.

Alfonso grinned—Vackzilian’s words were nonsense—but somehow, the first part of his plan had succeeded.

On with phase two.

Lowering his sword, Alfonso pointed his blade at the wizard, and in the loudest, most confident voice he could muster, shouted:

“Vackzilian, I have come to put an end to you and your wicked deeds! Today, you will die here by this sword of mine. No dark magic or twisted spell can stop that!”

Vackzilian cackled, his evil-sounding laughter twisting its way through the air and falling like jagged shards of ice against Alfonso's ears. Curling his fingers, he brought his bony hands up to chest level. The air crackled with static electricity. The temperature dropped. And his hands started to glow blue, then yellow, then orange.

This was it. This was Alfonso's only chance to win. Calming his mind, he prepared to cast a spell of his own, a spell Alfonso’s family had used for generations. This was the key to his victory, the only way he could win. If he didn't get this right, everything would be finished.

The world exploded as Vackzilian flung out his arms, and the sky blossomed a dark red as a flaming orange lightning bolt burst from his fingertips.

Arcs of flashing thunder shook the hill beneath their feet as Vackzilian’s spell careened into Alfonso and slammed into his chest with the fiery brightness of a thousand suns.

Indescribable pain wracked every inch of Alfonso. His body crumpled over; his lungs seized, and he desperately gasped for air as he leaned over his horse's withers, trying to maintain his balance.

The rotten stench of charred flesh and melted titanium rose from his armor. His eyes blurred, and with the sound of the blast still lingering in his ears, Alfonso felt his heart stop.

He was dead.

This wasn’t how Alfonso had planned it out. He hadn’t realized Vackzilian might be powerful enough to blast straight through his armor in one attack. He had thought…

All of a sudden, Alfonso's body latched hold of Vackzilian’s magical energy and began to greedily devour it—refilling its empty reserves and mimicking its actions of a scant few hours ago—just like Alfonso had hoped it would.

Regaining a smidgen of his strength, Alfonso at last cast his family spell—the one he had been secretly preparing; the one which enabled him to use someone else's energy to reinforce his own life force—and the imprinted spell pattern on his brain blazed into action, sending out trillions of minute instructions.

As the spell activated, Vackzilian’s stolen energy poured into his white blood cells, reinforcing and fortifying every muscle, ligament, and bone. His heart pounded back to life; his eyes corrected themselves, and for that brief moment, Alfonso felt more alive and vibrant than he had ever felt in his entire life.

With energy careening through his veins, he straightened his back and brandished his sword at Vackzilian. A glorious flame blossomed to life around its silver blade as he channeled a fraction of the immense energy flowing through him into the weapon.

The sneer on Vackzilian’s face faded. He stared at the blade, his eyes narrowing, then at the blue stream of energy flowing from his hands into Alfonso. Realization struck him, and his face curled in disgust. “Fool,” he snarled. “Do you think to take what is mine and use it against me? Such petty tactics will never work.”

Vackzilian flung his hand toward the sky.

The violet-blue lightning racing up his tower curved in midflight and cascaded down into the wizard.

At once, Alfonso‘s body loosened its grip on Vackzilian’s power as the wizard tried to cut the flow. But Alfonso was prepared. He had known full well that Vackzilian’s capabilities far surpassed Olivia and Harold’s, and if they could stop the flow of energy, so could Vackzilian.

Grinding his teeth, he dug deeply into his remaining reserves of strength.

What felt like broken glass ripped through his mind, and his blood ran cold as he called upon the f*******n spell, a spell which used life energy to feed itself: a spell which literally cost years of the caster’s life, years Alfonso didn’t have or care about.

With a hoarse cry, he screamed, “Sever!”

A black stream arced down his sword’s blade and blasted off towards Vackzilian.

Vackzilian saw it coming and tried to block it with a channeled shield, but the unstoppable silencing spell pierced straight through the barrier and crashed into the wizard's head.

A muffled explosion shook the ground, and Vackzilian’s once arrogant eyes filled with horror as he realized what Alfonso had done.

He rushed forward as if he would attack Alfonso with his bare hands, but as Vackzilian's energy continued to drain from him, his knees quivered and his footsteps faltered. Hate and anger poured off him in waves. His yellow eyes blazed in fury. His hair whipped about his face like a maddened animal attempting to escape its bonds. With one last staggering step, the wizard collapsed to his knees, and his mouth opened in a wordless scream.

Alfonso had won.

All he had to do was stay alive long enough to finish Vackzilian off.

But it wasn't meant to be.

Casting 'Sever' had exhausted every last drop of Alfonso's life energy. Even with the insane amount of magic flowing into him, it was not enough to repair the damage from his own spell and Vackzilian’s earlier attack.

All that Alfonso was began to fade away. A fog covered his mind. His heart slowed. His limbs became like molten lead. And with each shuddering breath and thudding heartbeat, he drew closer to the brink of death.

As his body inexorably caved in on itself, agony wracked him, and he crumpled over, clutching at his chest.

Alfonso panicked. In desperation, he tried to channel Vackzilian’s stolen energy to his wounded breast, hoping to counteract the damage. But it was like grasping at an ocean; the waves of energy ran straight through his fingertips and rushed to his gaping wound where they fed Vackzillian's brutal attack, strengthening it.

Then the world tipped around him. Sky became land, and land became sky as his saddle shifted underneath him. You’re falling! his mind screamed at him as if through a long tunnel.  He reached out his hand, trying to grab the reigns and regain his balance. But his numb fingers missed, and the heavy weight of his summoned armor pulled him from his saddle and plunged him towards the ground below. Alfonso watched as his hands flailed at air and the blue horizon loomed before him in slow motion.

For a brief moment, time paused, and Alfonso floated in weightlessness between heaven and earth. Olivia's smiling eyes and sweet face appeared to him, accompanying him in his final moments, and he closed his eyes.

SMACK!

The air resounded with a thunderous c***k as Alfonso’s bones snapped upon impact. He gasped as white-hot pain flashed through him and ripped his consciousness apart. Pulled into an abyss of overwhelming agony, Alfonso blacked out.

Seconds later, he came to and stared unseeingly at the sky. The smell of blood and ozone lingered in the air; the sound of distant crows carried on the wind. And as he lay there helplessly, Vackzilian’s spell continued to tear through him, destroying him from within.

The light in his eyes began to fade away.

This is it. I’m dying, Alfonso thought, laying his head against the ground.

NO!

His mind screamed, piercing through the fog.

Vackzilian’s not dead yet!

Alfonso's eyes flew open. His thoughts sharpened in a sudden burst of clarity. That's right. I can't die yet! Gritting his teeth, he summoned all his willpower. Then reaching inside, he grabbed hold of Vackzilian’s energy and pumped it into his chest.

For several seconds, it worked—his eyes cleared, and the world regained its crystal-clear focus. He could see the jet-black tower climbing high above him, and far below, in the dusty earth, Vackzilian crawling towards him. Then the fog returned with a vengeance and his vision blurred. No!

I can't die yet! he shouted to himself again as he held on with every last bit of his strength.

Wave after wave of unbearable pain slammed into him. Still, Alfonso clung to life, determined to see it through to the very end. What seemed like an eternity of suffering passed as he embraced that pain, using it to keep his eyes open.

Only seconds more, he thought.

At long last, the wizard stopped moving.

Alfonso gasped and sighed in relief. But as he let himself finally rest, the unthinkable happened.

Vackzilian’s magic stopped flowing into him.

For some reason, Alfonso’s body hadn't absorbed all of the wizard's energy. Which meant-

Alfonso had failed to kill him.

Vackzilian rose from the ground like a menacing shadow ready to engulf the land. He wiped his torn, blood-smeared fingers against his robes and glared at Alfonso in triumph. Breathing heavily, he sneered, “You have failed.

"I should slay you where you lay and let the crows feed on your corpse, but letting you live as the weakest man alive will be a punishment far worse than death.”

He stumbled the last two steps over to Alfonso, and standing above him with a look of triumph in his face, kicked him hard in the side.

In a jumble of broken arms and legs, Alfonso helplessly tumbled down the steep hill. He had failed to kill Vackzilian, and now it was too late. His sacrifice would mean nothing. His loved ones would be left alone, penniless. Pain and sorrow consumed him. With every turn, his sight grew dimmer, and the last of his life’s force seeped from his shattered body.

As his broken form reached the bottom of the hill, Alfonso's heart shattered. And with his last breath, he whispered, “Harold, Olivia... I'm sorry... I failed.”

Darkness engulfed him and all consciousness faded away.

***

Harold stood in front of the Brockovich manor, talking to Mr. Byrne about selling produce from the estate's greenhouse when a thunderous shout echoed across the land.

“Vackzilian…day…come!”

“What was that?” Mr. Byrne asked.

“Hmm, I am not sure,” Harold said, looking off towards Vackzilian’s tower where the voice had originated.

“You don’t think someone is foolish enough to be challenging Vackzilian again do you?”

Harold rubbed his chin as he mulled it over. The last person who had challenged Vackzilian had turned up three days later missing both arms and a leg; furthermore, all of his ribs had been cracked. By some miracle, Harold had managed to save his life, but it was not an operation he liked to recall. “Let us hope n-"

The horizon lit up as an orange and red arc of lightning flashed. Seconds later, the manor and the entire estate shook as the resulting thunder drove Mr. Byrne to one knee.

“Eldrin's teeth,” Mr. Byrne gasped. “That was some attack.”

A sick feeling hit Harold in the gut. Vackzilian had just claimed another victim. No one could produce a shield strong enough to block a spell that powerful, and Vackzilian didn’t miss. He gritted his teeth and swallowed down the bile that rose from his stomach.

Another shout rang in the distance, but it was drowned out by the stampede of hoof beats pounding up the lane. Harold grabbed the hilt of his sword; the sound did not bode well.

Pivoting on his heels, he spun around to see Olivia and Zachariahs leading a squad of soldiers. He relaxed his grip.

What was Olivia doing with Carlos's town mayor?

Olivia’s horse skidded to a halt in front of him, sending up a cloud of dust. Sweat lathered the poor creature's side as it heaved in exhaustion.

“Olivia? Why are-”

“No time to explain, just get on,” she shouted, her voice brimming with panic, her fingers tightly grasping the reigns.

Her bloodshot eyes shone with terror such as Harold had never seen before, and they were staring straight at...

At Vackzilian’s tower.

Which meant it was someone they knew.

Someone he knew had attacked Vackzilian!

Without a second thought, he grabbed Olivia’s outstretched arm and swung onto the horse, leaving the bewildered Mr.Byrne behind.

Olivia twisted the reins, spun the animal about, and pounded back down the lane.

Harold raised his voice above the cacophony of hoofbeats, street vendors, and bird calls as they galloped through the village streets leading towards Vackzilian's tower, “Who is it?”

Olivia didn’t answer.

Instead, Zachariahs pulled his horse close to theirs and pressed a crumpled piece of paper into his hand.

Steadying himself, Harold unfolded the paper and read it.

The world swirled around him as his eyes skimmed the letter— once, twice, three times. No. This was impossible! Alfonso wouldn't be so foolhardy as to do such a thing. He couldn't be.

Harold's frantic thoughts paused. But of course, he could.  Alfonso's heart was bigger than the Northern and Southern Oceans combined. He'd always put others' happiness and well-being first, regardless of his feelings, just like this morning when he was more concerned with the state of the girls than that of his own.

Harold's mind flashed back to the massive bolt of lightning from earlier. A numbing sensation spread through his arms and fingers; a heavy feeling settled on his chest, and he struggled to breathe through the crushing weight. They would be too late. No one could survive such an attack. But maybe...

As they crossed into Vackzilian's land and passed through his bizarre kaleidoscope of landscapes, Harold lost all track of time.

Since the day the young master had been put in his charge, he'd watched little Alfonso grow and become the man he was today. Harold had never had any children; instead, Alfonso had served in that capacity, becoming the son he'd never had. He had raised him, taught him, and guided him through the difficult times, especially when the young master's parents passed on.

If anything happens to him...

Harold's chest loosened as an icy clearness settled in his mind. If anything had happened to him, Vackzilian would pay.

At last, the ever-changing scenery fell away to reveal a dry, barren land, and at the core of its black heart stood Vazilian's tower. As the group made its way through the twisted trees and charged atmosphere,  ashen dust rose beneath the furious pounding of the horses' hooves, sticking to the animals' lathered bodies and stinging their eyes and throats.

Harold's eyes stung, and his lungs constricted, though not from the dirt. For in the distance, he saw a small form lying at the base of Vackzilian's hill. Inside, he prayed it was not the boy he knew and loved, but every galloping stride brought him closer and closer until he came face-to-face with reality: a glint of dark gold hair, a flash of a pale, mud-splashed face, and a torn, bedraggled royal garment confirmed his worst fear. It was, indeed, him.

There, twisted like a broken ragdoll crumpled in the dirt, lay Alfonso.

“NO!!” Olivia wailed. She threw herself off her horse and rushed to Alfonso's side. With shaking hands, she took his body in her arms, placed her fingers on his limp wrist and at the base of his neck. Her eyes glowed as she cast Ra'vah, searching for any sign of energy, for any hint of life.

Harold knew what she would find. Alfonso was dead. A gaping hole in his chest, and the blue tint of his lips, spoke the truth of the matter. No healing spell, no medical procedure, could bring the young master back to life.

He saw the instant Olivia reached the same conclusion—her eyes dimmed, and her shoulders collapsed. Loud sobs rent the air as Olivia took the master into her arms and rocked him back and forth, cradling his broken form.

Zachariahs and the soldiers stood in stunned silence, their expression one of horror, sorrow, and anger mingled together.

crack!

A loud c***k filled the air as Harold, in his grief and heartache, gripped the hilt of his weapon so hard the gem embedded in its hilt shattered.

The noise stirred Zachariahs from his dazed state, and he gazed up at the wizard's tower. “Do you think he succeeded?”

The blood in Harold’s body ran cold. He turned his steely gaze towards the obsidian obelisk. “I don't know,” he growled. “But I’m going to find out. And if he didn't…”

Fire seethed from Zachariahs's hands as he finished Harold’s train of thought, “Then we will finish him.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the ranks as the soldiers comforted themselves with the thought of revenge. As one, they kicked their horses into a frenzied dash up the treacherous hill, leaving Olivia behind to grieve over the fallen Alfonso.