Re: Vampyrist’s Corner

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Weaving through the chaos above, Tristan makes his way to the throne room where Wyath is waiting. Wyath smiles, knowing that Bertrand has blocked all magic except his own. “I knew this day would come and either way it goes, I want to tell you I am sorry for what I have done to you.” He launches a burst of scorching light. To his surprise, Tristan catches it with his hand and redirects it to the ground.

“How? Every spell known to Arkania has been blocked. How can you redirect it?”

Now Tristan smiles. “Before you murdered my parents in front of me, they sent me away to another realm. A realm where magic works differently. We need runes to make magic work, but they don’t. They use words and sometimes even thought to craft mana. I learned a few things there in preparation for this day, including how to manipulate mana.” As he finishes, he lifts his hand and a burst of blue mana rushes out towards Wyath.

Wyath is so shocked that he barely manages to avoid the brunt of its blow, it blazing across his side. His brow furrows in rage and pain. He lifts his arms and launches a barrage of light at the young prince. But like before, Tristan redirects every attack and with each redirect, moves closer. Tristan is now less than twenty feet away from him. Wyath unleashes it all and Tristan isn’t fast enough. One blast gets through. Tristan goes down, his shirt in tatters.

Wyath smiles, but not for long, for Tristan stands again. The young man, undamaged, begins to laugh. “I have been gone for ten years, did you seriously think I would come so unprepared.” The last tatters of his shirt falls off to reveal an anitrune tattooed on his chest. A rune that negates the effects of Wyath’s attacks. Wyath stands incredulous “Then why bother redirecting them” Tristan again laughs, “To get close enough to do this.”

Tristan pulls out a knife and leaps forward, a light based propulsion rune at his feet. Wyath uses the same rune to try to dodge, but he is too close and not fast enough. The blade enters his ribs and he falls hard to the ground, skidding next to the throne. Tristan stops a few feet behind him, landing gracefully. He walks over to the dying usurper.

Wyath looks down at his chest, where red pours out of him. Blood comes out of his mouth, the blade must’ve hit a lung. “You know Tristan, when I said I was sorry, I meant it. I am truly sorry for what I did to you. I am sorry it was necessary for your parents to die.” Tristan’s face grows angrier by the second. “Sorry. Sorry! You murdered my mother and father and who knows how many other innocent people. How is any of that necessary, you bastard.”

Wyath coughs up more blood, “Your parents were stuck in the past. Magic was kept among those who could use it naturally and not given to everyone. We needed to industrialize, to modernize and with your parents alive it could not happen.”

Tristan did not like this answer. “So what. So we needed to modernize. That does not explain murder.”

Wyath’s face grew somber, “But it did. Your parents were beloved by all including myself. While they lived, the people would not follow anyone else. So they had to go. I’m sorry for that, but for the good of Arkania, they had to be removed. While we sat stagnating, the nations around us grew. They began incorporating magic and technology. They thrived and their militaries grew ever stronger. We are gifted with a high propensity of mages, but not even they could save us from a fully technological nation. So I killed your parents and I moved us forward.

We are modernizing. The people can use enchanted equipment to grow more, to produce more. We are thriving. Our military now has access to magic weapons. I only hope what I have done can save us from the upcoming storm that is war.” He coughed up more blood. Wyath was clearly almost gone. “Tristan, I may have done monstrous things, but I did them for the betterment of our nation. Please do not move us backward. You have every right to kill me, but do not undo my works. A war is coming and if we do not keep on the course I violently set in action, we will surely die.” With that, his head slumped and the usurper was dead.

Tristan was shocked by this information. Wyath, the man he hated, the man who killed his parents, seemed to be truthful in the end. He was dying, he had no reason to lie. He had seen some of this “modernization”. The troops had magical spears and the people had access to magical items. The country had seemed good. It was a lot to think about. He sat down on the throne, his rightful place, and looked down on Wyath’s bloody corpse at his feet.

Blood drips off his hands as Bryant breaks through the door. “Tristan, are you alright?”

Tristan half smiles, “Yes I am. Is it over?” Bryant nods. It took ten years, but finally, the rightful leader was back and the usurper dead. Tristan stands up ready to greet his new subjects, ready for the stormy days ahead.