Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story, Kirill Klevanski [great reads .TXT] 📗

“As for your request...” Ash’s heart began to beat at an alarming rate. The blood was pounding so hard in his ears that it was almost deafening. All he could hope was that he wouldn’t be driven out of the monastery. “I cannot comply with it.”

“But... Why?!” the mage exclaimed, his eyes ablaze. “I learned all the sixty-three wisdoms of Liao-Fen! I proved that my intentions were honest! I swore that I’d never again harm an innocent soul!”

“Calm down, young one, calm down,” Ling whispered. “Unfortunately, the way of the monk isn’t for you.”

“What makes you think that?” Despite his anger, a lump formed in Ash’s throat.

He imagined leaving the mountain, his conversations with Jing-Jing, the music of sisters Sen and Men, the laughter of the young students, and wandering the earth without a home or family, not knowing when he’d be ambushed by bandits. The lump grew as his imagination ran wild.

“I cannot tell you.” Ling’s voice was low and calm. “But Liao-Fen’s wisdom allowed me to see that the Gods have cursed you for the evil that your hands had brought to the lands of the Kingdom of Arabist.”

The mage twitched and grimaced. Another lecture about the damned Gods and their damned curses.

“In that case...” Ash blinked a couple of times, trying to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay. “In that case... Why did you ask Jing-Jing to look for me? Why him? You could’ve asked anyone else! Anyone else would’ve killed me without a second thought!”

The abbot rose to his feet and walked over to the young mage. An old, wrinkled hand grabbed Ash’s shoulder as his heart fluttered like a captive bird.

“One day, when you’re ready, you’ll find an answer to that question. Now listen, young mage, you’ll never have a home or a place to return to. Fate will forever drive you forth like tumbleweed. Wherever you set foot, the buds of flames and misfortune will blossom. The Gods have cursed you to be but a tool in their hands, and to sow death wherever it befits them. But, that is a tale for another day... Come, you should enjoy the last song of sisters Sen and Men... I feel like you’ll miss their music the most.”

Ash closed his eyes, trying not to sink into despair. He couldn’t believe that he’d have to leave soon, he couldn’t believe that the abbot could talk so calmly about such a terrible curse, even if he himself didn’t believe in it. He knew that a warlock could cast such an awful malefaction or that anyone with enough hatred in their hearts could manifest their emotions as a hex... But to hear that Gods hated someone so much?

No, he simply refused to believe it. He didn’t want to admit that he was doomed to be just a pawn in someone’s game. That he was cursed to live the fate of a fallen leaf, driven by a self-willed wind.

From the outside, he heard the tune of the song without words. He hadn’t heard this one yet, so he waited for the flute to play the last note of the soft, lyrical melody. Little did he know that he’d have to wait for that note for many, many years. Sometimes, he’d wake up at night, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and banishing terrible dreams, in which the music was constantly interrupted by a terrible whistle and a dull wheeze.

Instead of a melodious whisper, the flute produced a terrible screech. Less than a moment later, something pierced through the wall, dripping blood onto the floor. Ash, acting on instinct honed over years of fighting, jumped to his feet and grabbed his staff.

Ling was as calm as the statue of Liao-Fen that towered behind him.

The huge, heavy doors cracked and exploded in a shower of splinters, letting in a whirlwind of fire, followed by black figures whose tattered robes fluttered in the wind like the wings of a demon.

At the head of the group was a tall man. His heavy armor rattled with a metallic echo and his outstretched arm was covered with scales and topped with four yellow claws. What hid under the steel had perhaps once been a man, but no longer.

The hood hid the intruder’s face, but Ash met the gaze of the eyes hiding within its shadows. The beast might’ve been unnaturally tall, it’s power might’ve made the walls shake and the glass statue of Liao-Fen shatter to pieces, and the fire might’ve howled like a faithful dog following its master, and the creature might’ve looked like nothing Ash had seen before in his life, but he knew, oh, he knew well the look in those black eyes.

“Racker,” he whispered, eyes turning red.

The figure flinched. The clawed hand tossed the good back, revealing a hideous face. Covered with green scales, it was a cross between a human and a snake, with two slits for a nose. From the left temple to the right cheekbone, running over where the bridge of the nose would’ve been, were three scars — a memento from the siege of Zadastra. A forked tongue emerged from the parted thin lips and licked the sharp teeth.

“General!” Racker hissed. “Long time no sssssee!”

“Murderer,” Ash growled, as an unknown energy began to gather around him.

The stone floor groaned under his feet, the steel statues were covered with dents and cracks, and the air was constantly flickering with tiny sparks and flames that surrounded the mage like a fiery halo.

Racker laughed, sending a shiver down Ash’s spine. Even before, his laughter didn’t sound human, but now... Looking at his former lieutenant, the young mage sure that what stood before him wasn’t a human, but a beast torn out of the blackest depths of the abyss. Even the demons weren’t as vile as this wretched thing, whose armored tail