The First Descent into The Labyrinth (6)

The world was once again only two hues, white and black. The sky as dark as the abyss itself and the ground whiter than any snow ever could be. Yet despite this, Cyrus could see around him perfectly fine as if nothing were off about the world around him.

"Although this is not the real world, but the world within me" thought the dark Cyrus, who was looking around to see if his counterpart was here as well.

"It seems I am alone this time, odd but that is not my main concern right now. Where are my foes?" he wondered as he looked around.

Moments later, dark shadowed figures started appearing on the landscape around him. Within the span of a single second he was surrounded, not that he would have tried to run anyways. Slowly they approached, making strange clicking sounds and varying noises that hurt Cyrus' head.

Next came the visions; death and despair, mass graves and battlefields of horror and bloodshed, as well as innocents being put to the stake and burned alive…all in excruciating detail so much so that Cyrus thought he could smell the burnt flesh. This moved him not, in fact he was more annoyed by the annoying sounds than anything else. The advancing figures paused, Cyrus could almost see the visible confusion emanating from them before they began to advance once more…this time the visions no longer contained acts of cruelty but instead they tried other vices.

Lust, visions of the most beautiful and lust inducing women came to Cyrus next. Long flowing hair of every color imaginable, perfect proportions that seemed more fitting for a goddess than a mortal woman, and skin without any blemish or imperfection. They danced around Cyrus, moving their curvaceous bodies in a dance that would perhaps cause any other man to give in to his desires. Yet the current Cyrus, remained unmoved to say the least.

Wrath was next, as the night dwellers began to peer directly into the mind of Cyrus pulling out figures from his past and present. He saw a group of Legionnaires marching in the desert, backed up by Master Magus' of the Tower keeping them cool and speeding them along with Vita spells. They went from oasis to oasis torching each one with efficiency and ruthlessness, before searching the debris as if looking for something…or someone. After the third or so town that was easily crushed, a different story played out in the next one. As they launched their attack, the heat of the evening day was chased out and the ground began to be frosted over for miles on end. Out from the city walked Cato, with a ferocious expression on his face. Raising his hand, a rain of ice spikes fell from the sky killing a many of the unprepared Legionaries. The other camp responded in kind with their own magic, both sides trading blows as the Legionaries advanced slowly but surely as Cato retreated equally so. Eventually the fight reached its Climax, with a lone Legionnaire making it through Cato's defenses and beheading him with one fine move. Cyrus saw the head of his beloved mentor fall to the ground, even seeing the shock and despair on his face as it hit the now blooded sand. Cyrus, of course, remained unmoved.

Next he saw various other visions of everyone he had met being brutally murdered or defiled in one way or another, feeling nothing for any of them except a slight annoyance when Minerva's turn came. He felt a slight stir of wrath within, like a child whose favorite toy was snatched from his hands and smashed in his face. He easily quashed these embers, however, as Cyrus knew that it was just visions in order to break his will and that he could always find another toy anyways.

"How dull" thought Cyrus as the visions finally stopped. "Lust then Wrath, are we to do this until you tire yourselves out" said he aloud, his tone mocking to the extreme.

If the figures could understand him, he knew not, but they seemed visible agitated or perhaps they were merely preparing for the next assault.

With their odd sounds and noises now reaching a critical mass of sorts, louder and more obnoxious and hair raising than ever, they began what appeared to be their last-ditch effort to break their foe.

Greed.

Cyrus saw a lone man walking in the woods alone at night, seemingly uncaring of how ominous it was with the blood red moon and the willows that seemed to be claws reaching towards him. Carefree he was, even when a group of riders donning helmets of wicked beasts and demons rode towards him whilst raising black swords dripping with blood. Even their steeds that they rode would be cause for concern, as they were no mere horses but instead powerful wolves that breathed flames with each stride they took and the ground set alight wherever they ran.

The riders let loose a cacophony of war cries and shouts, that sounded like a flock of birds being tortured whilst alive more than anything else, as they circled the lone man cutting off any path of his retreat.

The man stopped, seemingly glancing around before letting loose an audible sigh.

"Fools, do you not understand how pointless your struggle is? No matter the number, no matter the tools used, and no matter the steed you ride all is pointless in the face of absolute power. All shall fall, all shall cower, and all shall obey" said the man, with a voice that sounded oddly familiar but also completely foreign to Cyrus.

The man lazily gestured with one hand while saying only one word,

"Arise"

The moment the word was said, as if he were Mundus itself, the ground around him began to tremble and break apart as a multitude of corpses arose from the ground. At first they were slow and unsteady, but with each passing second their movements became more efficient and their aura rose. Cyrus noticed a large well of magical prowess being unleashed by the man, directed towards each and every undead that had awoken.

The undead looked around them, focusing on the enemies in front of them as eerie pale light began to appear in all of their eyes…growing in intensity and becoming less ethereal and more 'real'. Eventually Cyrus thought he even saw…emotion in the eyes of the undead. It was as if they were looking at their living enemies, scorning them for their weakness and anticipating the slaughter that would surely follow.

The ground around them began to wither and decay, slowly spreading outwards all the way to the riders and beyond. Not wanting to allow whatever it was the man was doing, the riders charged forth with a burst of immense speed seeking to dive past the flimsy blockade of undead and kill their controller.

This proved to be a fatal judgement for the riders, as the man merely snickered beneath his hood as the undead tore off one of their arms and flicked it once like a whip. Each arm morphed into a long bone spear with pieces of hardened bone jutting out of it all around, making it surely an extremely painful experience to be pierced by such a weapon. And pierce it did, as each undead braced themselves and pierced through both steed and rider with ease. Those behind the now impaled riders rammed into the backs of them, sealing the fate of the ones in front if any were still alive, and causing them to be thrown from their mounts.

What followed can only be described in one word: Slaughter.

The undead freed their spears and walked to each fallen rider, crushing their skulls like a bag of water. Those that had enough sense to stand once more, holding their blooded weapons that burst into flames with a hasty chant from the riders, were met with thrown spears hurtling towards them with a loud cracking sound. When the undead had thrown their spears, they simply reached down and grabbed some more bone to work with as there was plenty all around them now to work with.

By the end of it all the riders had their lives easily harvested and their essences absorbed in full. As the absorption continued and ended, the light in the eyes of the undead grew from a pale ethereal white to a clear and crisp color. Some even had the white in their eye sockets turn into a pale red, of which Cyrus could swear he felt the power that such undead exhibited.

"Quite a lot of material here, make use of it" commanded the hooded figure.

Doing as their master bid, every undead bent down and began picking and choosing the bones of the fallen. Some grabbed spines to turn them into long and sturdy spears, some took finger bones and fashioned them into knives and daggers, while the ones with a glowing red hue contained within their eye socket picked up entire bodies worth of bones and began to meticulously cover themselves in them. Slowly Cyrus could see the aim of these undead, as the outline of an armor entirely made of bone revealed itself. Using the arms and hands of several riders they created gauntlets, pauldrons, and the area in between. Using the leg and feet bones they created greaves and sabatons. The skulls became helmets and the rib cages were welded together to form breastplates and plackarts. Soon they were completely encased in a suit of armor, made entirely of bone. As a finishing touch perhaps, these particular undeads' eyes flickered with immense power for but a moment which caused their sleek white armor to slowly grow dark and black eventually even having metallic hues. The result: six massive armored knights emanating both death and despair, wielding large great swords fashioned from the skeletons of their enemies.

"I did not expect to gain some halfway decent undead from this encounter, what a joy" said the man in a dry voice, at odds with his words.

"Come, my servants. We have much work to do" commanded the man.

With a flutter of his cloak and hood, he turned around and began walking as his undead formed themselves into a neat and dense formation with the armored undead at the helm of it all. As he walked, a gust of wind blew through the woods revealing the face of the man to Cyrus for but a moment.

Messy light brown hair, dark brown eyes of unfathomable depth, tan skin, and hardened and aged features that still had a hint of youth contained within it. What met the young Cyrus' eyes was an older version of himself, commanding powers that he had long obsessed over ever since he first raised an undead.

"Such power…such efficiency…oh how I want that, no, how I NEED that. How I desire that so, how I require that so. I will do anything, sacrifice whoever I need and cast aside all that dares to hold me back in order to achieve such power! The empire can burn, my mentor bedamned, I NEED that NOW!" mumbled Cyrus, his voice raising in volume with each word until he was practically screaming it.

His mind clouded and will clearly shaken, the shadowy figures that had created the illusion shuddered in excitement as they pounced on their now defenseless prey. Yet to their displeasure and shock, their meal was interrupted in the instant that they had nearly reached their goal, by a bright blinding light that knocked all of them away several meters back even harming them causing them to screech in pain as smoke arose from their hidden figures.

A mocking laughter rang out through the empty space, awaking the greed filled Cyrus from his peril.

"Oh my sinister half, always chiding me for how weak my emotions make me. Look at you now, on the brink of death having to be saved by that which you look down upon" said a cheery playful voice, which could come from no other than the final half of the whole that is Cyrus.