Champions: No Sacrifice Too Great — Part 3: Courage, Blood, & Prophecy

Greetings Champions and Challengers!

By now you should be aware of the great crisis happening in Massina!

As an exclusive to those who read the lore, I will give a major clue to get you started here. The Emperor’s nephew has been kidnapped by the nefarious Dr. Prometheus. And it is up to you, the community, to find and rescue the hostage. Winners will be awarded participation in the live role-playing game that is to come later, and inclusion in the final Lore of Season 2.

But — Why, you may ask, is our good doctor acting so… badly? Part 3 will give you the answers you crave.

First, let’s recap the story so far. A long time ago, the universe was created by Alteus… okay not that far back. So far we know that the Imperial line traces its beginnings back to the Titan uprising, and the sacred blood of the first Emperor (Volcanus.) In order to test subsequent Emperors, a series of Trials was created.

Young Emperor Giotto, having witnessed the traitorous assassination of his father Calogero, trusts only his best friend Vitus, a streetwise urchin, to help him navigate the dangerous obstacles– including an attack by sewer crocodiles, a brief interlude in the impoverished city of Dross eating stone soup, and a frenzied assassination attempt by the Shadow agents of Maiax at the Barbican gate of the Cauldron of Fire. But now they find they are both caught in the undertunnels…

Read on and enjoy!

WriterRyan

Champions: No Sacrifice Too Great…

Part 3: Courage, Blood, & Prophecy

by Johnny Casamassina

As he tumbled backward through the opening in the Barbican gate with his friend’s shoulder dug deeply into his gut, Giotto felt the fiery sensation of adrenaline pumping throughout every part of his body. To him, the physical world slowed down considerably, leaving only his mind to continue racing from the events that had just occurred. All his thoughts flowed simultaneously … How did the Shadow find them? The might of the Guardians of the Sacred Fire was incredible! Had they truly made it through the Gate?

But then, in the same moment, as he felt a rush of pain shoot up his spine from his collision with the floor, time returned to its proper pace and he arrived at the real conundrum present. Vitus, who had heroically tackled him through the gate, was there breathing heavily atop him. How did he survive breaching the gate? The Guardian, Lissa, was quite clear when she said that only members of the royal bloodline could pass through the Gate’s wards safely. The power of the Guardians was unmistakably awesome, so it seemed quite improbable that there was a blindspot in their gaze. He was both thrilled to know that his close friend was still alive– and confused as to how this could be possible.

Exasperated, Vitus groaned, “Well, I can honestly say that was the most intense shit I’ve ever experienced! Are you okay?”

As Giotto started to open his eyes, the blinding white light that filled the room they were in forced him to shut them quickly again. “I’ll be better once I can breathe and see again. Can you maybe get off me now?”

As Vitus shuffled off him, Giotto continued to stammer. “Have you… uh, checked to see if you are still all in one piece? The wards on the Gate should have killed you.”

Vitus gave himself a quick once-over and reported, “Yeah, I’m fine. And… you’re welcome by the way.”

Giotto began to thank his savior, but before he could get out another word, he was interrupted by a loud hissing sound from above. The noise was sharp and deafening, and as they looked upwards, they saw a circular panel in the ceiling begin to slide away and open. Considering how they arrived here, they really hadn’t gotten a chance to take in their surroundings much until now.

They seemed to be in a small antechamber type room that had no visible exit, save for the panel that was opening above them. The colorless walls and ceiling soon took on the reflective blue glow that began to emanate down from the opening above.

The men stood in awe as a bright, blue iridescent orb floated down in front of them as the panel closed behind it. Once it was before them, it seemed to manifest portions of itself into the shape of a face. Although it never resolved into something clearly visible when they looked directly at it, the face was there and it was imposingly present. Its most dominant feature were its large, piercing eyes that seemed to scrutinize every single detail about them.

As they began to back away, the entity undulated as it spoke. “Greetings, worthy sons of the royal line of Vulcanus. You are here seeking the rite of sanctification, but first you must successfully prove your worth by completing the Trials of Anointment. As the Proctor of this examination, I will oversee and record your exploits for all time.”

Before they could even begin to respond, the tranquil antechamber dissolved away, revealing a carnival of death all around them. They were somehow now standing on a floating stone pathway above the bubbling lava flow of Mount Vulcanus. Additional pathways splintered off in all different directions from their position and were boxed in and flanked by a countless array of death-dealing traps and devices of destruction. Spike pits, crushing boulders, flame spouts, and razor-sharp buzzsaws were laced into every possible traversable section of the gauntlet. Many of the perils on the course were littered with broken, mangled bits of bone and flesh– remnants of Giotto’s less successful ancestors.

The Proctor continued. “Your first test is the Trial of Courage: a test to see if your spirit is strong enough to persevere against the fear that dominates the weak. To pass, you must successfully reach the exit through the golden door at the far end of the room. The Trial begins at once.”

Fear surged through every fiber of Vitus’ bones, and he screamed out at the Proctor. “But, there’s a mistake… I’m not meant for this test! How can this–”

The Proctor swiftly cut him off. “If you survive this Trial, I will answer your question.”

As soon as this decree was made, an insurmountable wall appeared behind them and began to grind forward. There was no way out but forward now. Even the bravest of Champions would feel terror here.

Even though he had prepared for these Trials his whole life, Giotto couldn’t escape the wave of despair that enveloped his heart. He saw his death at every turn. He saw his friend– who was always so in control, so measured– literally crumble into a pool of jelly. And, as that fear rushed in to drown him, he remembered the words of his father and his mentors. He remembered their faith in him. In these memories, he found the strength he needed to move forward.

And, at that moment, he was able to see it: a giant skull of some Titan, long-dead. It protruded out at the far end of the room with its mouth agape, spewing out lava. But between bursts of fiery death, Giotto spied a golden door, lodged between its jaws. Reaching the door without being melted like wax would require perfect timing, but he knew what he needed to do.

“Vitus! The skull! The door is in the skull!” he yelled out.

“We can’t make it through this! It’s impossible!” Vitus screamed as the wall began to close in behind them.

“We are not meant to perish here! Now, stay close and follow my lead!” Giotto commanded as he clapped his hand onto Vitus’ shoulder, to rally him to action.

And, as he took off towards the goal, Vitus followed, realizing that their only chance now was to go forward. As they made their way down a cracked pathway that was crumbling away beneath their feet, they came upon a section that was populated with rusted sawtooth blades. These obstacles were somehow spinning between the open sections of the path, and the pair of runners had to hurdle them to get past.

They were then met with a section of spiked walls that closed in on the path and were intended to crush and impale them at the same time. They deftly navigated through them and many other scenarios as they approached the section leading to the skull. At one point, they barely escaped being crushed by a gigantic hydraulic press that had definitely claimed a few victims in the past. Giotto even tripped over the brittle remains of a skeleton that was surely a distant relative and sent the disintegrating remains up in a cloud of bone dust that sprayed Vitus in the face as he followed behind.

Seeing his friend coughing on the remains as he struggled to keep up, Giotto reassured him, “Well, at least we made it farther than him!”

As they got closer to the skull and the golden door, the heat and fumes from the surrounding chasm of Mount Volcanus was becoming more and more intense. The lava flow pouring out of the skull’s mouth was also adding to the intensity of the heat. It would soon be too much for either of them. Vitus yelled forward as they approached the mouth, “We’ll only have a second to make it through between bursts!”

Once they were within sprinting distance of the golden door, they paused to look back for a moment only to see that the giant wall of spikes that was pursuing them was still closing, now at a faster clip. There was no more room for hesitation. They gave each other a look of confidence and nodded in affirmation of their next critical maneuver.

“One, two, three!” Giotto exclaimed as the men dove at the golden door just as the lava flow had cleared the opening. And, as they tumbled through it together, they took in a sigh of relief as the door, and the Trial of Courage, closed behind them.

— —

Thankful to still be alive, Giotto patted himself down to check if he was also still in one piece as Vitus frantically patted out the flames scorching his pants.

“They ought to rename that to the Trial of Goddamned Insanity!” Vitus said through exhausted breath.

“Ha! Now, we know what it is to feel as a Champion does! I’ve watched many brave gladiators fall in the Bone Grinder event over the years! But we have faced an even fiercer test and we stand here victorious!” Giotto boasted triumphantly as he beat his chest with his sword arm.

Vitus rolled his eyes a bit at his friend’s bluster, but couldn’t disagree that he also felt a level of exhilaration from overcoming the incredible challenge. He had to admit he’d never truly understood the Empire’s fascination with glory in the face of death. To someone like himself, who spent most of his life working to deftly avoid situations that could end in his death, those who welcomed it seemed a bit ridiculous. He really didn’t have much time to waste at the moment, as the room that he and Giotto were now in began to shake and transform almost as if it were trying to adjust itself into focus.

After the strange visual shifting ended, the two men found themselves standing in an arena that was similar, in many ways, to the Colosseum Eternal. The skeletons of several warriors lay in piles throughout the area– Giotto and Vitus recognized a few of the races and families, but others were foreign to them. Once again, they heard the familiar hissing sound above them as another circular panel opened to reveal the Proctor floating down to address them.

“Well done! You have survived the Trial of Courage!” the Proctor announced. “Before I initiate the next Trial, you have earned the right to ask a question. I’m sure you both have one.”

Giotto and Vitus gave each other a cautious look, both suspicious and wary of what disclosure might be laid bare by this strange being. Each of them rose up a few times to speak, but then found a different reason to stop each time.

“Well, where has all your courageous bravado gone now?” the Proctor declared. “Out with your question! I will not give you either the chance again!”

Giotto could contain himself no longer. “You said this man is of the Royal line of Vulcanus!” he blurted out, gesturing at Vitus. “How is this possible?”

The Proctor’s eyes gleamed as he began to speak. “The possibilities are endless, but he IS a member of your bloodline!”

Vitus, suspicious and confused, added, “That’s not an answer! What makes you so sure of this? Simply because I survived the wrath of the Guardians?”

Now the Proctor turned his gaze to Vitus and paused before speaking. “I know my own blood! In ages past, I was known as the Grand Creator. My blood… My Essence was the seed which produced the roots of this world and the Titans that rose from it! That blood now resides in both of you!”

Giotto fell backwards aghast and whispered the name reverently: “Alteus.”

Even as a lingering spirit, the Grand Celestial’s presence was awe-inspiring.

“Yes, and my spirit now remains to ensure that the line of Vulcanus is worthy to carry on in my name!” the Proctor decreed. “Fittingly, you will now face the Trial of Blood. In this, you will prove your worth in battle and sacrifice, which provides the fuel for the creation of tomorrow.”

The Proctor looked up towards the ceiling which began to rain down droplets all over the arena. As he and Giotto were caught in the sudden downpour, Vitus watched the strange liquid hit his palms, and then recoiled. “It’s blood!”

The Proctor continued, “My blood will now bring forth your opponents just as it bore the both of you! To pass this test it must be spilled again!”

With this last statement, some of the skeletons on the arena floor began to regrow their flesh and muscles. Giotto and Vitus instinctively positioned themselves back-to-back and drew their blades– Giotto wielding his gleaming xiphos, and Vitus holding twin hook-shaped daggers.

On Vitus’ side, a large corpse that looked somewhat like a Karkadon began to take shape, but instead of a horn on its nose, large tusks protruded down from its top jaw. It held some sort of a large two-handed sickle that it was preparing to swing.

“What the fuck is that thing!?!” Vitus gurgled as he was now completely saturated in blood.

“I don’t remember seeing it in any of my history books, that’s for sure! He doesn’t look like he wants to be friends though,” Giotto said ruefully.

Already puzzled by the sight of their first challenger, Giotto was horrified to see another mystery creation forming in front of him. It had the frame of a large Whisperer, but its face was far more insectoid. Its giant clawed hands each clutched onto a spiked flail, and it began to whip them around in a Flemish bend pattern.

The Proctor found some enjoyment in their bewilderment and chided them, “Meet some of Massina’s great Champions from eons past. Even I don’t know where these challengers originally came from, but once they fell in battle here, their blood was added to the battle-worn tapestry of this world! Once forgotten by the sands of time, they rise again to fulfill the ritual of battle! I call upon you Champions Izz’ Septimus and Varltusk to put these hopefuls to the test!”

As he finished his words, the ancient gladiators saluted him and then proceeded to attack.

The insectoid champion continued to swing his flails again and pushed his position forward towards Giotto. The tactic was strategically sound, considering that Giotto’s back was pressed up against his companion’s. He couldn’t back up more without sacrificing Vitus’ position and he couldn’t spring away without leaving his flank vulnerable.

The other opponent demonstrated a far more direct and brutish style against Vitus, as he simply raised his sickle high above his head. He charged tusks forward, clearly hoping to swing downward and cleave the young warrior in half.

Vitus leaned his head back a bit so that his friend could hear him and said, “I think we should introduce these two to each other.”

“Agreed, they are made for one another. I’ll go left!” Giotto replied, and dodged the advance of the spinning flails.

Vitus rolled to the right at the same time as his attacker predictably swung his giant sickle down into the flails. The propeller-like momentum of the flails caught the sickle and sent it flying to the far side of the arena leaving the tusk-brandishing champion to smash all of his forward weight into his teammate, knocking him down onto his back, hard.

Giotto seized the moment and slashed the broad back of Varltusk, landing two well-placed strikes in a cross-pattern causing the Champion to writhe in pain. He pulled his blade back and prepared a forward stabbing thrust as a killing blow, but his opponent quickly spun around and swatted the sword out of his hands in the same motion. The Champion, who easily towered a few feet above Giotto, proceeded to grab him around the neck with one hand and lift him off the ground as his legs kicked and dangled below him. It reared its head back and prepared to gore the young Emperor with its giant stalactite-like tusks.

As Giotto gasped for air and prepared for the end, he noticed Vitus creeping behind his would-be killer with his dagger hook-blades poised at his sides. Going low, he swung both blades into the tender backside of the large Champion’s knees; and once the hooks had dug into its flesh, he tugged them back with all the force he had, tearing tendons and muscles free. The savage attack brought the big Champion down face first into the ground– its tusks propping its head up off the floor. Giotto was released from the chokehold and tumbled to the ground hard, clutching his throat from the suffocating pain.

Finally starting to recover from the hard hit it took a few moments before, Izz’ Septimus was now back on its feet and preparing to engage again. Vitus turned around to meet the threat, but realized his daggers wouldn’t be matched well against this champion’s spinning flails and armored carapace.

Still gasping for air, Giotto knew that he would need to act fast– and without his weapon he was at an extreme disadvantage. Then he noticed the fallen Varltusk at his feet. It wasn’t dead by any means. It was just disabled and in extreme pain. Giotto jumped as high as he could and brought his foot down with as much force as he could muster into the upper lip of the champion, just above his right tusk. The weight of the stomp came down at just the right angle to violently break off the giant tooth, as its rightful owner howled in excruciating pain. Giotto claimed his deadly and unorthodox new weapon.

Vitus had been knocked down onto his stomach by a vicious side-winding swing from the insectoid attacker. The force of the blow would have likely killed him, if Vitus hadn’t deftly spun along with the momentum of the swing, reducing the damage it did considerably. The Champion pinned him down by placing a foot on his back and leaning his weight into it. It then proceeded to raise up both of its flails to bring them down into the back of Vitus’ head.

Giotto, tusk in his hands like a snapped-off spear, charged at the soft, exposed underbelly of Izz’, driving the tooth deep into its flesh. An eruption of blood exploded from the wound and as the Champion fell backwards from the blow, the viscous fluid continued to spew out.

“Impressive! Now, let’s not waste that,” The Proctor said with undisguised approval, as a golden chalice magically appeared. The chalice then floated its way to the blood geyser, and drifted underneath, filling itself up halfway. He continued, “Now, finish off the other one. His valor today deserves an honorable death.”

After recovering his xiphos, Giotto ceremoniously drove it down into the back of the helpless tusked Champion’s neck, killing him instantly. Once again, the chalice appeared to collect the offering of blood from the fallen warrior.

“Well done! You work well together!” applauded the Proctor. “You have passed the Trial of Blood.”

— —

Giotto helped Vitus to his feet and they exchanged looks of respect to one another, each realizing that the outcome could have been very different. But, a short moment later, the arena around them started shaking. The tremors grew quickly in intensity as the walls, ceiling, and most of the floor began to crumble away to reveal the inside of the volcano that surrounded them. As they used one another to steady themselves, only a small circular platform remained, and they found themselves in the heart of the great magma-filled mountain.

“The end of your examination is nearing its end. All that remains is for you to undergo the Trial or Prophecy,” explained the Proctor. Then his orb-like form began to shift and stretch. More defined features began to emerge, as a large frame began to unravel itself down from the being’s neck.

Giotto and Vitus stood in awe as the Grand Creator assumed his true form, even if it was just an echo of himself… A Celestial spirit still helping to forge the future of the world it created through the administration of these Trials.

The pedestal the men were standing on was about level with the Grand Celestial’s waist as he towered over them inside the volcano. It was still too hard to make out any of his features, but his giant eyes along with their piercing gaze still remained as dominant and imposing as ever.

“Take heed, descendents of Vulcanus,” he spoke. “Once initiated, the Trial of Prophecy never truly ends. The other two Trials, once accomplished, are over. But the revelations of this Trial will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

The golden chalice that collected the blood of the fallen champions swirled towards the men as the Proctor continued. “Drink my blood as your great ancestors have and you will be sanctified with my power. But with that power, will come the knowledge of what was, what is, and all the possibilities of what could be. Are you prepared for this privilege and curse?”

Giotto quickly stepped forward. “I am ready Lord Alteus!”

Vitus hesitated, realizing his only other option was probably to just throw himself into the volcano, finally stepped forward and reluctantly agreed. “I am ready.”

They looked at each other for a moment, recognizing that they were at the precipice of something much larger than either of them could fathom. Giotto took the initiative and drank from the chalice, handing it to an uncertain Vitus to follow next. The blood was thick and took effort for each of them to gulp down. They both clutched their guts as the pain drove them both to their knees and, as their eyes rolled back into their heads, the prophecy began to reveal itself.

— —

Calmness… Stillness… That was the only way to describe the initial sensation they felt when they began their journey in the prophecy. It was a welcome departure from the twisting agony they endured to gain admission here. They were in transit, floating somewhere.

They seemed to move, feel, and sense in a slower, more deliberate fashion than normal while the world around them whirled by at speeds much, much faster. It was clear to both that they were experiencing this moment together, and they could feel their first destination approaching.

As the fluid motion around them stopped abruptly, they snapped into place softly and began to take in the scene before them. They were in a royal bedroom chamber in the Imperial Palace. Many servants were bustling around the room, clothed in white tunics, each performing a different duty. Near the large bed, Giotto immediately recognized his father, Calogero, even though he appeared as a much younger man. His young father wore a face of extreme concern, and he was clearly in distress. He was holding the hand of his wife, who was straining and weezing as she laid in the bed.

Giotto knew instantly this was his mother– but before this moment, he had only ever seen her likeness displayed in paintings and other forms of art. A lone tear spilled out onto his cheek, and he leaned into the moment intently as a lump of sorrow rose in his throat. Vitus, seeing his longtime friend react this way, guessed who this couple must be. But strangely, he also felt close to them as well for some unknown reason, and his concern for them was growing with each passing moment.

One of the nurses approached Calogero and whispered into his ear, and from his irate reaction it became clear that it was not good news. More of the servants crowded around the bed with different tools and the Emperor clutched his wife’s left hand with both of his and they prepared for a desperate effort.

Screaming, the Empress pushed with all her might as the midwife wrenched free a baby. It was not moving and it was also completely silent. Both were dire signs as the baby was presented to Calogero. It remained motionless, and the Emperor raised his fists to the sky, cursing the gods in desperate anger.

“My son!” cried the Empress, hoarse with effort. “Let me hold him!”

“There is no time, my lady,” the nurse cried. “There is another. You must continue to push!”

The Empress groaned in anguish as she was forced to once again brace for another push. And as she collapsed back into the bed, her screams were quickly replaced by those of the new baby that had come into the world. But the great queen was in desperate trouble– blood poured from her, and she began to convulse.

Calogero raged in helpless frustration, as the servants quickly sprang into action and tried to resuscitate the Empress. But with each heartbeat, her life ebbed away. As her son Giotto emerged into the world, she passed out of it, like the moon setting as the sun rose.

When it was clear the Empress was gone, the twin sons were brought to Calogero by a high priest who spoke quietly to him. “The eldest is a stillborn, your Majesty. This is a bad omen and will clearly be used against you by your enemies.” As Calogero tried to hold back his rage, the priest hurriedly continued. “Luckily, the other son lives to carry on your line. If you act quickly, we can discard the first and ensure all those present here are sworn to secrecy.”

“Discard?!” Calogero looked as if he were about to slap the man, but then hesitated and looked at his lost wife. He then looked upon his two sons and then back to her in calculated, painful thought.

He spoke to the priest in a low voice. “Dispose of the first. My line must remain un-marred by this tragedy. I make this decision for the benefit of the Empire.”

As they watched on in horror, Giotto and Vitus had no words. There was too much to process… Too much to manage… But, they weren’t given anytime to grieve or think or breathe as the world around them sped up again until it brought them to a dark, dank room in the Ministry of Bone.

— —

A cloaked figure hugged the shadows with a bundle in his arms. As his face moved through the ember glow of a torchlight, Giotto and Vitus recognized him as the same high priest who had advised Calogero– and a glimpse of a pendant on his chest betrayed him as a member of the Shadow cult of Maiax.

The priest handed the deceased infant to a tall, slender being with a gaunt, cerulean-shaded face. He wore dark, ritualistic scale mail and he wielded a long ebony staff with a pronged tip. The Necromancer was not evil per se, but his mere presence was enough to make even the bravest of Champions feel uneasy. Of all the services provided at the Ministry of Bone, his was the one that was considered the most provocative. His methods have always remained shrouded in mystery, but he specialized in reviving the dead for a hefty price of essence. Many grieving Maestros who had lost their prized champions in battle found themselves seeking out his dark methods.

He spoke in a cultured monotone to the priest. “It’s not often that I’m asked to bring back one so young. The price for this resurrection will be quite high, but I’m sure that won’t be an issue for an agent of the Shadowalker like yourself.”

The priest grew more nervous as the Necromancer identified his affiliation effortlessly. Still, he proceeded to draw a large sack of Essence from his robes and place them, somewhat nervously, into the obsidian bowl in the center of the room.

Without even glancing at the sack, the Necromancer affirmed, “Ah, I see the Shadowalkers want to buy my silence on this matter as well. I can sense some sizable Death shards in your payment. This shall be sufficient!”

“After the child is resurrected, he is to be delivered to his new guardian. A woman named Nameeah, in the city of Dross.”

“A fine place to raise a child,” the Necromancer said, with bitter sarcasm.

“Do not concern yourself with our methods, Necromancer, and we will not interfere with yours.” The priest bowed, and began to leave.

Noticing this, the Necromancer halted him. “Before you slink away, there is something you and your masters should know. The process of resurrection is never straightforward and those who return carry a mark. This is not something that everyone can see or feel, but it is there and it can be unpredictable.”

“Will this mark affect the receptacle?” the priest said, with suspicion.

“Hard to say,” said the Necromancer. “I make no guarantees.” Then he motioned towards the exit, in a signal to the priest that he was now invited to leave.

Once he was gone, the Necromancer carefully placed the tiny infant on the ritualistic table in his chamber, and proceeded to knock the end of his staff into the floor three times. On the third strike, the braziers surrounding the table ignited with azure flames.

As the top of his staff began to glow, he pounded it one final time into the floor and the table began to lower down into the chamber below. There, a giant worm-like beast was waiting, curled around the dias that the table was now resting in. It had no eyes, but it sensed the presence of a new offering and began to position its head near the infant. As it began to open its humongous mouth, it revealed thousands of giant teeth that were dripping with sticky, ectoplasmic slime. The rebirth beast was used to consuming whole Champions, so the task of ingesting this tiny baby was hardly challenging.

“This is just an appetizer for you, my beloved pet,” cooed the Necromancer. “We are certain to have more fresh Champions for you later today. A few favored ones fell in the Colosseum earlier this afternoon.” He gave the slimy beast a reassuring pat.

As the body of the infant passed through the beast, it was digested slowly, and coated in miraculous restorative juices as it snaked through the intestines. As it neared the end of its task, the rebirth beast rested its tail and anus on the table. And as that portal opened wide, it slowly spewed forth a few gallons of viscous ectoplasm and a screaming, live baby onto the table.

“Well done, my pet.” The Necromancer gathered up the baby in blankets like a ghoulish midwife. He mused at the infant, who now bore a new birthmark on its chest in the shape of a double-pronged fork. The brand, which only appeared after the resurrection, caught his eye. “I do not know what the importance of this child is, but I can sense it nonetheless. It may be advantageous to keep this one close as the years go on. ”

Vitus was shaking as he witnessed his rebirth. His mind raced through every thought and doubt he had ever had about who he really was. He didn’t need to since he knew it was there, but he pulled down his collar anyway to reveal the double-pronged birthmark. He had been discarded and forgotten and reborn via the hand of an agent of Maiax… But, for what purpose? To what end?

Giotto could only grasp at his own thoughts as he stood next to his older twin brother. They weren’t identical by any means, but neither was their upbringing. Fate had brought them together and they had always been close in their own way. But now, here they were… Even as a resurrection case, was Vitus the potential rightful heir to his Empire? Giotto wrestled with the feeling of guilt for him alongside the reality that he was also now a very real threat!

Again, they felt as though they were shooting forward in time and space…

— —

When they opened their eyes again, they were back in Mt. Vulcanus on the floating pedestal where the Trial of Prophecy began. The voice of Aleteus cracked like thunder. “You have witnessed what was. Now, you will foresee the possibilities of what is to come.”

He stretched out his left arm with his palm open, facing upwards. Above it, a vision began to appear. It showed the brothers leading an army of Champions against the hordes of Maiax, with an older Giotto hoisting his blade forward towards victory and Vitus, wearing the garb of the Emperor, at his side. As the vision continued, it showed the brothers victorious on the battlefield, with Massina finally cleansed of the Shadowalker’s threat. Giotto clenched his teeth as this vision continued on.

Alteus then stretched out his right arm in the same method and a new vision began. It depicted Vitus, in a strange laboratory filled with strange devices and experiments, building a dark army, and holding a giant book in his hands that was entitled “The Tome of War.” As the vision progressed, it depicted him and his army of shadow consuming the land and finally beheading the fallen Emperor, Giotto.

As they witnessed these possible futures, the brothers turned to face each other, but before they could speak, Alteus proclaimed, “The Trial of Prophecy has revealed itself to you. Your fates are intertwined and each choice you make will draw you closer to one of these futures. You have both been sanctified by my blood and now possess the power to determine the fate of this world.”

Unable to control his emotions any longer, Vitus erupted, “This is not my destiny! I will not be forced to follow either of these paths!”

Alteus responded, “These are the paths…” but stopped abruptly. The Grand Celestial’s eyes fixated on Vitus. “It seems we are not alone,” he said. “I sense a familiar presence. It is one that I would have hoped to never feel again.”

In that moment, Vitus seemed to curl over on himself as his body emanated a darkness that cast itself in all directions. As he reared up in a crooked, but relaxed posture, he spoke in a voice that sounded friendly, almost pleasing, but certainly diabolical. “It has been a long time Alteus.”

“Maiax!” Alteus proclaimed in disbelief as Giotto instinctively dug his heels into the ground beneath him.

“I must thank the both of you for your help in getting my vessel safely here. Oh, and of course, by allowing him to partake in your blood. The power of this world is quite impressive, Alteus… It’s been so long since I had a chance to wield it. The fact that he is a son of the line of Vulcanus only makes this moment sweeter for me!” The Shadowalker shared, with a malicious happiness.

Maiax, now in control of the freshly sanctified Vitus, called forth his power and channeled it through his outstretched arms at Alteus as he cackled, “Your spirit will be stricken from this world and replaced by my loving embrace!”

As the grand form of Alteus was seemingly consumed by shadow, Giotto watched in horror as his friend… his brother… was puppetered by the Shadowalker. He thought of the visions he had just witnessed and couldn’t understand how this outcome could possibly fit into one of them. He thought of their journey together and all they had witnessed and experienced. But, in that moment, he realized that he had to act immediately in the chaos, as Vitus– no, Maiax– was eradicating Alteus.

He pushed off and threw his weight into his brother’s back and knocked him clear off the edge and down into the volcanic flow of Mt. Vulcanus. Giotto dropped to his knees and watched the body of his brother flail in anger, as he wailed and fell down out of sight into the magma field below. He looked around, and found he was alone in the chamber. The ghost of Alteus was gone, vaporized by the power of Maiax.

The Emperor felt sorrow and loss turn into rage and boil up inside him. He would return and claim his throne now– a sanctified Emperor– and use his power to purge every last lingering shadow from this world.

— —

Epilogue

The healer knelt at the foot of the bed and unwrapped the bandages from around her patient’s face. It had been a few weeks since he was brought to her, burned badly and nearly dead. He lay motionless on the bed, breathing ever so softly as she tended to him. His face was horribly scarred and misshapen and it pained her to see him this way.

Naeemah caressed him lovingly and whispered, “You are a survivor, my son. You will recover from this as you have overcome so many other challenges. You will rise and claim your rightful place in the world.”

She continued softly, as she placed an emotionless bronze mask carefully down onto his face. “This disfigurement is a gift. Through it, you may survive and hide in plain sight.. and fulfill your destiny.”

— —

Emperor Giotto sat upright in his throne as he motioned for his court to take their leave. His coronation ceremonies now over, only Lord Dagon and Headmaster Zera remained at his side.

“Summon the Master Inquisitor and prepare your finest legion of Champions, Lord Dagon,” the Emperor commanded him.

“At once, my liege,” Lord Dagon respectfully replied, and then turned to leave and carry out the summons.

As he neared the door, Emperor Giotto turned to Zera. “Prepare an Imperial proclamation for the city to be posted at once.”

“And what shall be your first decree, my Emperor?” asked Zera.

The Emperor chose every word with a simmering precision. “Every last remnant of the Shadow shall be eradicated from this world. There will be no safe haven for it to hide in… No dark corners for it to call home. It will be snuffed out with ruthless persecution by the glory of the Empire. Any citizen who is a sympathizer, sycophant, or otherwise complacent in the knowledge or protection of the Shadow shall be put to death.”