Island of Adnia: Origins

CHAPTER V – SIDE B: THE HAUNTED SWAMP (3)

CHAPTER V – SIDE B: THE HAUNTED SWAMP (3)    

The beast emitted a fearful roar that quickly translated into electrical currents, in raging lightning bolts, burning lethally the grayish field. The amber lights of Amsiret's hands lost power as he tried to fight the forgotten legend.

A spell pushed the god towards the vicinity of the dry trees; there were no exits, no escapes. The god took refuge as best he could, behind the shadow of a giant stone, while the bothered beast searched for him incessantly.

 Whilst the frustration, covering his ears, the sight of the god of air was coincidentally fixed upon the center of the stone, and caught an engrave; clearly visible on the sculpture.

"For gold to find, the darkness must traverse the mind"

"What the hell does that mean?!" shouts the god of air.

Suddenly, the stone shatters into thousand pieces, when it was struck by the grim effulgence of the ancient breath of the beast. This time, he would not forgive the god, who started running to the sideways; he found a tree where he quickly hid, but it was a matter of time, before he’d be caught. And if he was, it would mean the end of his journey. Devoured without mercy, by the delirious shadows of a wretched calumny.

"Wait," exclaims Amsiret, "the shaft!"

The god of air deciphered the small sign. Or at least, he thought he had. He considered that, perhaps, through the darkness of the water well, the gold was found; made sense in his mind, for the protection of a beast. Although, risky for his instincts, for if there was nothing at the end of it, it would mean certain death.

Amsiret had to hurry, for his gaze foretold an electric lava coming closer to him. Sprouting around; as the flames took over the ground. The beast's attack was infallible. The god defended himself as best he could, as he decided to run towards the shaft. Reaching it hastily, amid the fire of the infernal creature's attacks.

He poked his head into the well, but saw nothing at the bottom of it. He looked back, and the beast was hovering over. His mind told him it was the end. His heart begged him for surrender, before the adrenaline of gloom. But his instincts were whispering to him for the jump; assuring he would cross the darkness.

The man jumped inside the cursed shaft, quickly; his screams took over the large, ample well. In the end of the eternal instant, he strikes at the bottom with an iron surface. The stunned god tried to illuminate the underside, where his body had just crashed; and when he did, he sees a square door embedded in the ground.

The creature plunged into the huge pit likewise; falling rapidly to devour its inescapable victim. The god clenched his right fist, as it emanated a white energy field; glowing in the depths. He tried to hit the door with his strength, he pushed it with his might, he threw his lights at it, but it didn’t open.

In the eminence of despair, the god saw a silver key in the right corner; he grabbed it, and opened the iron door, passing through it, and closing it from the other side at the exact moment where the beast was going to devour him; right in its two faces.

The beast crashed into the door three times from its side, until it ceased. The god stood up as he could, and thought he had passed to another chamber of the swamp; but when he looked around, he was again in the hidden passages. Back on the wet and unpleasant trails. An inversion of dimensions, which only dark magic could craft.

Meanwhile, Arac passed his challenge easily; upon the tranquility of a vivid meadow, full of orange flowers, and juicy berries. His fall took him, surprisingly, towards a pleasant place of the swamp. He walked through it, confident, but aware. The god of plasma was hard to fool; and in the face of such temperance, of such stillness, it seemed way suspicious for his taste; so he kept his eyes wide open, during the pleasant tour.

 As soon as he reaches the end of the meadow’s walk, he meets three creatures of an unknown nature for his eyes; they had a strange appearance, long features, black pupils, and a foul odor. They looked like mutated leaves, into upright mortals. They seemed harmless, and they prostrated themselves before the proximity of a large copper door, entwined between solid roots; indicating the end of the extensive and precious journey.

Arac intended to escape in silence; he had enjoyed his walk, had seen the exit door clearly, and was ready to go out without major problems. He passed in front of the creatures, paying no attention to them. Reach the door, but when he tried to open it, it was closed.

“Is it pride, innate in a king’s heart?” asked one of the green creatures.

“Pardon?” says Arac.

"Is it the farewell, indifferent for a hero?" exclaims the second creature.

“I don’t think–

“Is it perhaps the throne, what really wants the mind of a god?” asks the third creature. “Or is there more fear, in the soul of the warrior?”

“What the hell are you talking about!” exclaims Arac.

"To find the gateway of destiny, you must forget the gold and the garment." says the first creature. “The chosen one, is not just one. It is the whole.”

The god of plasma did not like the creatures' attitude, and emanated a purple attack toward one of them. However, the power bounced off the creature abruptly, and reflected back towards Arac's chest. The blow makes him hit a trunk; a tree covered in poisonous traps.

"We did not come to block the path of the father from the violet light," exclaims the second creature. “We come to expand it, for his own mind clogs it.”

“Silence!” shouts Arac, enraged.

Arac started casting spells from his wieldy hands, but all of these were bounced back towards him; and curiously, he did not stop. He couldn't, for his own impulses betrayed him. All the evil he emanated, gravitated towards him. Hurting himself; surrendering to the presence of the creatures who walked slowly near him.

The god was stunned, upon the corner of dry booths. He compressed himself more and more, as space cornered his soul with the sigh of all his fears. The voices of the creatures now spoke directly into his mind; leaving him lost in mystery, terrified by his helplessness.

“Leave me alone!” yelled Arac.

"Close your eyes, god of plasma," exclaims one of the creatures. “Clear your mind; your consciousness must be numbed; an a*******n of your spirit must be performed, so you could bear the pain that awaits you after that door.”

“Get away from me, you nefarious!” exclaims Arac. “I will not allow anyone to do anything to me!”

“We came to help you” the creatures respond. “For your destiny, must be bigger than you could’ve ever imagined.”

The god of plasma finally closed his eyes, almost against his will, as he entered into a dream. Inside of it, he was lucid and aware. He was sitting in a temple, alone. He had finished meditating. He got up from where he was, and instinctively tried to search for anyone who could be nearby. Nobody was there, but through a window, the god saw a shadowy silhouette below a tall stalk of tangerines. The man decided to leave the temple. It was raining hard. Heaven was closed. The grass was fertile, profitable. The plants did not suffer from the drizzle; they celebrated with her. They danced in the harvest. They flew over in joy. They learned in gratitude. And so, the man reaches the hidden figure, who was with a sack full of beautiful fruits, between the cold winds of afterlife.

“What are you doing here?” asks Arac.

“Well, look who had finally arrived!” answers the strange man. “How are you? I thought you would never come. I am gathering fruits for my beloved. This is the only tangerine tree we have, and after centuries, it is giving the best of them once again! You want one?”

"It's raining hard," answers Arac, “it is not a good day to harvest.”

"Every day is a good day to harvest," the man replies, “you just have to learn to find beauty within. In between the land and the marshes.”

The man then gave a tangerine to the god. He felt praised; for it looked juicy, and appetizing, so he decided to take a bite.

“What is this!” shouts Arac, spitting. “It's too acid!”

"I knew you wouldn't like it!" answers the man, laughing. “You haven't changed in all these years!”

The mysterious man then, took out a white cardigan from the sack of its fruits. A beautiful garment, and it denoted an energy of reconciliation. An anoint to rupture. A proposal to understanding.

“Here, put it on, and help me finish collecting these tangerines.” exclaims the man.

The god of plasma, strangely, put on the hand-cooked garment; it was still a little too large. A memory came to him, immediately, for despite many things had changed for his life, the white blouse seemed to demonstrate, he was still the same.

"Well, it looks great on you," says the man. “You will make your mother very happy when she sees you.”

“How is she?”

"He's better than ever," the man replies. “But why don't you look it by yourself after this, my son?”

"I'm just visiting," responds Arac. “I don't think I’ll too much time.”

“Arac, no matter how many rimmers had passed; how many springs you’ll ever see, your heart will never know time. And your mind will never escape your memories. For this, is why we live for, in the keenness of our spirits.”

The god of plasma awakes in a rush. He was on the ground, covered with disgusting insects. He shook them off roughly, and got up as fast as he could. He was on the other side of the prairie. Somehow, he passed through the copper door, and it returned him to the dark passageways of the swamp. The journey for the millennium necklace, continued.