With a grunt of rage, the vengeful Astraeus ripped the poisoned dagger out of his flesh, the consequences and pain not fazing him in the slightest as pulsating veins and throbbing meat were carelessly torn apart.


    The light which had slowly filled his dead eyes, the light donated by the person he trusted, he confided in, he found hope in, perished.


    Replacing this torch of hope was a blade of pure hatred towards the people who betrayed, who used, who deceived him in this evil, wicked way, their actions in complete disregard with any decency or benevolence, an absolute opposition to her demands. You’re defying her … You’re defying her. You’re evil …


    “You’re evil. I must purge evil. Mother wants that,” said Astraeus with a calm voice which neither spiked nor plunged in pitch, thus possessing an even more frightening effect on the two enemy mages who expected insults, accusations or simply screams of wrath. But Astraeus’ pain was entirely different from what these professional assassins were familiar with.


    His pain was no longer painful. Years of it had inured him to agonies far beyond the mortal plain.


    “Eternal - No escape - Never,” mindlessly mumbled the boy to himself, not noticing how the painful contorted and twisted face of his former friend vanished in a single second and was replaced by a smug smile, an upright posture and broad arms as if going for a lovely embrace. The local distance was the only thing temporarily stopping the Domitor from decapitating the traitor albeit he wasn’t ready to call him that yet.


    “Hello my good friend,” asked Facinerosus in the voice Astraeus had become so accustomed to, the sound of which he had learned to love.


    He detested it.


    Every word his nemesis uttered.


    Without replying to Facinerosus, the broken boy asked: “Were all of your emotions fake and staged? The crying when I announced our possible future? The joy on the mountain trip? The pride when you showed me your accomplishments? Was all of it … just a job for you?”


    Containing his diabolical laughter, Facinerosus or rather the man imposing him, mockingly replied: “They were certainly fake. Did you really believe someone like you could truly have friends? Have people who value you? Have people worry about you? No. NO! I laughed at you, definitely not with you, when you revealed your desire to travel with me. I have to admit Astraeus Domitor, you’re quite a cunning fox. Breaking my disguise by offering something absurd enough to make a trained experienced spy like me laugh truly demands a lot of skill. How unfortunate that none of your pathetic skills to be a laughing matter weren’t converted into skills to prevent the deaths of the thousands of people who you’ve murdered, mercilessly slaughered-”


    The assassin’s rant of hate was halted when the tip of a dazzling blade appeared right before his eyes, sparks flying into the air and his eyes, slightly injuring him, when his comrade deflected the rapid flail of the prince with a smash downwards, the metal of the holy weapon clattering against the forearm protectors of the tall figure.


    “Shut up,” whispered Astraues.


    Quickly recovering his authoritative and superior composure, Fas asserted: “Sorry, speak up a tad bit. I couldn’t comprehend you, my deeeear.”


    “I said, SHUT UP!”


    Astraeus’ statement was supported by him dashing towards the two enemies, Exsecrabilis furiously, swinging across the sky, unpredictable and swift to confuse his opponents to his best capabilities, the sharp axe whizzing and tearing through the air.


    But just like before, the moment he closed the distance, something repelled him, flinging him into the sky until he slid along the floor, scratching his bare arms after his tunic had singed down from the friction.


    Why are you chuckling? Stop laughing! Stop smiling! I-I-


    “Traitor! I’ll wipe your smile off your face and torture you before I kill you!”


    This daring announcement was yet again met with even more laughter, enraging the impulsive boy even more, an afterwards clearly calculated move.


    Taking a long step backwards, he infused his feet with magic and propelled himself forwards, appearing before the two men within a second, ready to strike the people responsible for his misery, aiming for the small boy’s neck, ready to slice through it, the sight of victory, of a gory bloody massacre, already exhilarating the aspiring mage.


    But just before Exsecrabilis’ blade touched the hideous enemy’s head, a powerful force dragged Astraeus back to the position he had started as his feet burned excruciatingly, the friction on solid ground evaporating his boots as he slid across the forum, oblivious to the shrieks behind him.


    It’s his magic. I’m sure he does something with my body or weapons once I’m in proximity. Some form of shield or aura which repels me, or rather something on me.


    Fully ignoring Astraeus, the tall slender man treated his injured comrade, pouring red liquid into Facinerosus’ greedy maw, which Astraeus recognised as a healing potion before turning back to face the young prince, a content smile on his rough, scarred face.


    The boy responsible for more deaths than countless wars of Regnium combined hadn’t attacked in the moment of weakness, sensing that the treatment had simply been a diversion to tempt him into attacking, a crucial moment to repel him with much more force, just like before. Whether or not this gut feeling was true, Astraeus would never discover.


    Sly bastard. You seem like the better fighter. And you … like the better liar.


    The poor boy regretfully looked at Facinerosus, slowly convincing himself of their current situation’s inevitability, of his friend’s utter deviousness, of the non-existence of the love which he had deemed mutual.


    Suddenly the mage busy with containing Astraeus spoke: “Young prince of the Domitors, I hereby announce your involuntary participation in our hunt. Run … or fight. It’s your decision. But know one thing! If you flee,” a broad swing with his arm towards the masses of spectators, who Astraeus cursed for not possessing the slightest bit of reason and running, “they will all die.”


    Smiling at his initial revelation, the slender man continued: “Furthermore, as a gift for your prowess and a sign of respect for the man who burned down two towns in less than a decade - hell, a year - I will tell you my name.”


    Coughing once, the older seemingly well-mannered man resumed: “My name is Darniagonus. You don’t know me. But I know you. And that’s why I can firmly state that today has two possible outcomes. Either me and my impudent colleague die or your young head is delivered to our leader, of course severed from your body and nicely wrapped into a silver-stringed handkerchief.”


    The cheeky giggling from Facinerosus at the older man’s proposal annoyed Astraeus whose mind was racing, as he tried to find any connection who those men could be or what their goal was, his initial rage from before had subsided as the calm rationality of a battle-hardened veteran shone through and triumphed against the brash wrath after betrayal.


    Sure, they want to kill me. But many souls harbour this desire. What differentiates them from thousands of others? Father, your devious mind would know exactly who was seeking your death amongst the millions who did. Why can’t I have this ability?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    As he suspiciously eyed and evaluated the hostile mage, Astraeus deduced multiple things.


    Long hair which seems to hide some sort of tattoo, probably the affiliation to an organisation. Maybe the jags belong to a flower or a geometrical object. Trained arms, firm upper body, no fat at all, a regular fighter. A trained killer. Killer who focuses on his legs for the final blow. Toned, long and muscles twitching and bulging. He definitely concentrates on supplying them with enough blood. From the look of it, even consciously overstimulating them. Why would he do that? To finish me within a single attack …


    Returning his gaze upwards, Astraeus realised that any further analysis would be futile simply for the fact that the distance between them left little to analyse, except the roughest features.


    “Astraeus Domitor!” Shouted the man over the forum. “The hunt has been on for weeks. Now I conclude it, for the people. And even if I don’t, you are not safe! Never will be! Your mere existence is a danger I and many others cannot allow! There is too much destructive potential within you, little devil. Too much for anyone to handle or contain. Embrace the light and experience salvation at my hands, youngling! Pay the price for this world to exist! Die for us to live!”


    Confused by the man’s delusional words, Astraeus lifted his guard, a move which proved fertile a single moment later when the tall mage charged towards the prince in a disciplined straight manner, his trail never deviating from this straight line, a fact which put the Domitor at unease due to the stupidity and obvious trap hidden beneath this diversion. But judging from the initial movement, Darniagonus was going to perform an uppercut, a crucial hit on the chin below, purposely not using his legs to keep their power a secret..


    Yet the attack would never happen since a very slight throb in the waves of natural magic radiated from the lithe man’s body, a final confirmation, an ultimate assurance of Astraeus’ dread.


    Whoever wanted him dead had sent someone who perfectly countered him, the man with nigh infinite magical reserves. They had sent someone who could deflect or repulse magic at the activation of his own magic aura and the channelling of his refined magic in any body parts he liked.


    Ripping Exsecrabilis with both hands in a low arch towards his swiftly approaching enemy, Astraeus focused on the man’s hands and indeed. Magic was accumulating around them, as Astraeus understood that the assassin had found a counter to his unrefined excessive amount of pure magic which he uncontrollably exuded during times such as battle where his concentration was focused somewhere entirely different, containing his power the least of his worries.


    Slicing through the air towards the human whose head the axe was just about to smash into oblivion, Exsecrabilis trembled in delight at the chance to devour life and curse humans once again, just like it had for decades.


    But the legendary weapon wouldn’t receive the chance to consume since suddenly it was ripped backwards, its prey painfully distancing as its owner was flinged backwards into the air, feet dangling around violently with the boy comprehending that this fight would be harder than the brutal bloodbath against the dragons.


    Flying through the air, Astraeus noticed a man with brown skin and hair who smiled while running into the house the prince was just about to crash into. Admiring the human’s bravery, Astraeus collided with the building, nearly tearing through it, but the solid stone prevented his mortal body from passing the very real and very hard bricks.


    With a last look into the sunny sky, Astraeus’ world went dark as debris and rubble tumbled down on him, the thought about the numerous lives his action, his experiment at determining his enemy’s power, had cost, dominating his head as he cursed his own reckless fighting style which may suit his durable body but not suit the fragile world.


    Yet somewhere from within his subconsciousness a voice whispered: “You can’t die yet. Think about the people who’ll die if you don’t fight back. Think of the people who died on your journey. Think of their feelings once they realise that their deaths had been futile. Astraeus, there is still a war to win. Never forget that.”


    As the boy indifferently stared at the pile of corpses in the utter darkness of his mind, his gaze wandered upwards. With loud resonating thuds, more and more lifeless carcasses plumped onto the symbol of his self-perceived guilt.


    Guess I’ll go and give your deaths a reason. Maybe it’ll ameliorate your suffering, knowing that you helped purge the world of evil, knowing that your sacrifice made this cursed world a better place. Come on body, let’s go and slaughter Facinerosus and Darniagonus.


    Bloody knuckles attached to a wounded and gash-covered arm emerged from the rubble of the building as a figure erupted from the destruction, flinging the mighty rocks into every direction as he silently erupted from his own abyss.


    Stubbles slightly grown, blood dripping down his head, torso and limbs and a fiery rage inside the grey eyes, Astraeus emerged from the misery and death he had caused, towering above several fresh corpses, both men and women, both elderly and children alike, strewn around him.


    Scrutinising the dead bulks of meat, he didn’t find the man who had run into the house amidst them, but instead, after he craned his neck to check the street which led from the forum to the gates, he recognised two people standing several metres away from the ruin. Both alive. A pleasant difference compared to the remains of this ghost town.


    A tiny crying boy and a frantic frightened male stood there, unbelievingly staring up and down their bodies before the man started running for his life, escaping the carnage and havoc Astraeus would bring to Foditas as revenge for the false love and affection Facinerosus had granted him.


    Let’s stop this needless loss of lives. More sacrifices are not needed. Humanity has bled enough for today, wouldn’t you agree mother? Or has it? I’d really like to decapitate these humans right now, make them beg, make them suffer, make them pay for all the ruin they caused.


    But the needless loss of lives wasn’t finished for this cursed spring day. It only began.


    Blankly staring across the forum, Astraeus glared at his mortal enemies, rage bashing inside his mind with reason, a fight his rationality was about to lose.


    Much of the people had already dispersed, the forum mostly empty and the houses evacuated, much to the pleasure of Astraeus who didn’t want to kill more people than necessary. Now I’m even ready to directly kill humans … Pathetic. But despite his concern about morality and justice, the boy’s eyes still burned with hatred as the next of his old friend’s crimes appeared before his eyes.


    The first person he had wanted to trust since leaving his best friend during the obligatory year of seclusion had crossed the line not even the savage Astraeus had dared to cross.


    At the other end of the forum stood Darniagonus, still weaponless, and Facinerosus with a green emerald dagger in hand behind a giant bulk of people.


    Not the usual adults you’d expect to find in an industrial city like Foditas but children. Innocent, young children who couldn’t protect themselves, who still had most of their lives ahead of them, who whimpered and sobbed in utter fear of death, a death Astraeus could prevent, a death these children plead for with their teary eyes.


    With utter disgust in his eyes, a tear ran down Astraeus as the true colours of his deceiver revealed themselves to him, painting the person he lovingly used to call Fas in a horrendous light of pure unsalvageable malice.


    Drowning out the cries of fright from the fleeing people of Foditas and the solemn whimpering of the endangered hostages, Facinerosus’ voice rang across the battered gathering place: “I’m sorry my dear friend to resort to these evil methods but you surely understand that you’re a nigh invincible and nigh immortal foe. Which in conclusion means that your insustainable strive for power is the cause for all this death and carnage.”


    Quietly whispering to not let his enemies grasp the slightest amount of his sentiments, Astraeus gainsaid: “I never wanted this power, nor did I strive for more. I was forced to.”


    Just as he realised the wicked predicament he was in, fate had to add to the boy’s list of worries as a powerful blast of magic coursed through Foditas, before instantly vanishing again, followed by a loud rumbling which echoed through the town and quaked the earth, trembling the very foundation of the city.


    As if dreading to see what he already knew, the Domitor glanced up at Mount Culpa and closed his eyes in resignation.


    It wasn’t the realisation that he had another impediment or event to worry about but the comprehension that no matter how hard he fought, no matter how he beat his enemies, no matter how many innocent citizens he saved … it was all for naught.


    He could save hundreds by executing the troublemakers within seconds but it would be futile.


    The lava of the Culpa would simply devour the town with its people in a blazing ball of fire.


    And in this moment of dilemma, Astraeus felt an all too familiar emotion.


    Despair.


    —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    No expectations should cloud your judgement. Expect the worst yet prepare for the best. Someone doesn’t have to help you just because he used to or because you idolise him to the point of deification. Remain humble and rational. Don''t overestimate yourself. It’s a grave mistake of the powerful and influential. Yet even worse is overestimating another person’s kindness. It’s a mistake which could cost your life.