A Harukean's Realization

There, he was left for dead... The Drakanite woman has had her way with him, leaving him down and exhausted within the constraints of the wooden rope that binded him to the tree...The cold air chilled at his body, leaving it numb and tingling as nerves began to die off.

He struggled to condone to even the simplest of tasks, pulling at the rope was impossible with the lack of stamina. With the loss of his left eye, leaving an open socket in the cold breeze, he could only howl in agony.

...How...
How could've let himself fall victim to -this-. How could a mere Valmasian, bring him through this much hell. Was he truly weak? Was he unable to amount to what Valmasians were capable of? He picked his head up, right eye watering to catch some sort of... Movement? Three entities... PEOPLE!
He was saved!

He knew he was... Or.. Was this just his thoughts and fanaticism getting to his head. No! These were indeed people, but.. Not to sort of people he was hoping for. These men were armed with stolen weapons, armor from unfortunate travelers to pass by their patrol. Senju was optically incapable of detecting such, however, it wasn’t long before it was made obvious.

“Look, boss! A body!” shouted out a voice, slightly shrouded in ambience, and echoing through head.

“Yeah, probably anoth-” Senju’s head rose limply, startling one of the figures.
“He’s alive!” finished that same entity.

The one amidst the two leaned in, tilting his blurry head for Senju for a closer look. “Now, where have I seen your face before, boy?” The familiar voice croaked to the Harukean, suddenly with a terrifying quality to it. A pause ensued, and suddenly something grabbed ahold of Senju’s chin, forcing him to look up for the men that stood above him.

“Oooooh, yes.” The statement was smooth and drawn out with a hiss, recognition was acknowledged, and all of the pieces were being put together. “Told you I’d find you, boy. This time, your ass is mine.” The sound of metal unsheathing sung to his ears, now forced to endure the thought that the bandit leader was back, ready to execute him as he remained restrained… Victor.

Something waded by his face, allegedly the sword he was to be executed with… Of all places, he turned out to have the worst of luck. To die now… Would bring shame to the Harukean name… Would bring shame to his people…
<i>”What sort’ve avenger am I?...”</i> He thought to himself, allowing his body to go limp. Darkness encircled his form, and time slown to a halt, leaving him suspended in a torrent of his lost memories resurfacing to play-out to him, one by one.


A tall silhuette standing high above him, glaring down upon his form- a shake of the head showing disapproval. What… Was this?
“...So, are you ready, Harukean?” asked a voice. From within the darkness, he fell in free-fall, turning his head in the direction of the voice. Gradually, his body came to a halt, allowing him to walk upon the void of darkness that swallowed his consciousness. With every step, the clap of water splashing bounced off invisible walls, growing in volume as he neared the source of this voice.

“You’ve been striving for vengeance, striving for the justice of our people for years, and still have been lacking the truth…” Called out the voice.

“What are you talking about?” Senju responded in question, only to be replied to in silence. A strong, prolonged moment… Of unadulterated silence. It left him feeling isolated in this new ‘world’ within his mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, images portrayed out to Senju. Men, Women, and Children, all of which of obvious Harukean origin, ran in horror from what seemed to be…

A horde? No… A massive lot.. An army!
“Your people, Our people… Have been forced under oppression for years. It has been in history that he fought, it has been in the prophecy that he fight… But now, in our final, dying moments, we retire to Valmasia for a new home. You, Harukean… Are one of the few whom stand between revitalization of our peoples, and our extermination…. Will you take up your place? Place as a magi? Place as a Harukean? Will you stand as none other than yourself, and assume your destiny….”

More silence carried in, Senju, head lowered stood in the darkness, staring at the ground with such words forced to the surface. The image of Hikato’s corpse flashed to his mind, triggering the tightening of his fists. “I…”
Yet another image flashed into mind, Bon Haruke, dead within the Trystle caverns outside of Tilandre.. The haunting image of a mere child, forced his fists to tremble.

Neveris Haruke, killed within Wychwood by a Glacium Knight, it brought water to his eyes. A single teardrop descended for the blank ground below…
And finally, Vieron Haruke… The one whom fought back…. The Last Harukean Oracle… Executed by Frostvallian authorities.  His chest thrusted out slightly, veins popping out of his arms and neck, and an overall shuddering feeling possessed his form. One… Angry… Harukean… Had finally picked his head up, tired of the memories, tired of the hauntings, tired of the torture, tired of oppression… It was going to end.

“I will stand, I will fight...and I -WILL- save our peoples…” Something took a hold of his form, intoxicating, however abundant now. More abundant than it ever had been… His darkness that once surrounded him, had finally manifested into his ultimate weapon, in-mind, and in-spirit. Years of hatred and striving had built up to this day…
His battle with occultism and depravity for his mind and body was won, in his favor… Atleast, for now.

“I WILL STAND AS A MAGI! I WILL STAND AS A PROUD HARUKEAN! AND I WILL…” His right eye shot open in the physical world, having awoken from the depths of his consciousness to the sight of a risen broadsword, descending for his form. “FIGHT! IN THE NAME OF OUR PEOPLE!” His sudden outburst was followed by a boom of bass incomparable to his outbursts prior. It was… Different now. The tree-rope crackled at first, strained to their utmost limit, before disintegrating into a wave of outgoing splinters, pelting his would-be executioners with the ring of gravitonic force pushing them away.

He stood, body running entirely on adrenaline, and unadulterated rage. The anger that had fueled him for so long… Now, these men were to feel the brunt of his wrath. He gave a solemn march for the three, half-naked and oddly enough immune to the cold that once weakened him prior, potentially only for a limited amount of time. It didn’t matter of now, for the armor stripped from his body seemed to roll for his form, lashing apart only to assemble upon his body.

First, the Yokai-Maile snapped in two, slapping it’s abdominal shielding, back cover following soon after, and smashing forcefully to fuse it back together under incredible pressure. The snow began to encircle his form, twisting around with growing intensity as though the wind affinity was put to the test.

“You lot, have made your final mistake.”
The tone in the Harukean’s voice was nothing short of grave, a serious groan-esque voice that gave a growling undertone. One bandit decided to charge first, head-on with a spear. Slowly, Senju turned to him first, unforgiving eyes locking into the defiant bandit warrior.

“You’re first.”
Arm extended out for the spear, he swayed it in an upward motion, parrying the spear upward missing the burned side of his face, and allowing the man to stumble into occultist. He stopped. mouth agape and lost for breath… Winded with such a short dash?
Something was stuck in his stomach? A fist caught him as his attack was parried, it’s occultistic embrace drained at the lifeforce it could on-contact, however, this provided as mere prelude to the sudden amassed power.

A trembling voice was aroused into broken shouting that seemed to stutter, before an all out shout, cut off- by a sudden burst of blood firing off from his back, two newly formed ends of the spinal cord protruded from the bandit’s back, intestines scattered into the skies, painting those beneath it with crimson rain. A bloodied hand was pulled from the impaled bandit, gravitonic forces empowered with occultistic potency was evident.

Just as the body fell, the occultist’s attention shifted for the other two, both of which backpedalling away. “Do you really think, I’d let you get away?” The furious magi asked, in a solemnly questionable tone. He begun his march once more…

“Wh-... What are you?”

The occultistic tendrils that traced around his form, growing as cosmic properties worked hand in hand to feed it greater excess of mana from his star above.

“I… Am a proud warrior of the Harukean Bloodline. I am no longer to be known by the Valmasian name I’ve taken up, but by my real, original name. I am Xalvador Haruke the Second, and I… Am your worst nightmare, Victor.” The fact that he remembed this bandit’s name stroke fear into the older man, stumbling backwards to the snow. Feet kicking off at the snow, boring into the ice beneath, he slowly managed to get to his feet in a frantic manner, only to trip- Pulled by forces without a face, to fall upon his own.

Effortlessly, like a spider encroaching on it’s prey ensnared in it’s web, he closed in, ready to finish this scuffle off, once-and-for-all. Even now, Victor frantically tried with all his mind to get back to his feet and run, a risen hand from Xalvador would be all it took… However, the last bandit, was not going to allow that to happen, not whilst blood pumped through his veins.

A sword swung for the Harukean, nipping his chest-region of his Yokai-Maile, rewarded with a fist to the face. The knuckles cracked into the bone on-contact, leaving him to stumble backwards for the snow and ice. The magi’s right arm extended out for the fallen bandit, fingers spread apart in preparation for an execution.

“WAIT, DO-” A flash of purple, and it was carried into motion. A sphere of darkness, black as void,containing a dancing flicker of mana-induced static jumped within it’s containment. Upon making contact with the fallen man, it squeezed upon his chest, tightening upon itself before combusting in a violent explosion of flesh, a violet smog that seemed to consume at the flesh exposed.

Now, there was Victor, whom managed to make it far off into the horizon. “...Next time, Victor… it ends…”
The two around him whom had fallen were down, and dying… But not dead. His critical condition required vitality and energy, and as of now, he was not proving to be picky, not whilst his life was at stake. His star blessed him with mana quite nicely, and with two meatbags, what more could he ask for.

He extended his left arm out for one, and his remaining one for the other, pulling them up to their feet with the aid of gravitonic forces, pulling them into his finger’s grasp. Within moment’s their heads were held with the likes of one of his hands respectively, their vitality soon to become his own.

Sanguine light illuminated the lining between his touch clasping over their lips, their physical form paying the costs for his restoration. Their skin wrinkled, withering, leathering into a deprived state of nature. Their eyes shrunk back into their skulls, hollowing out their flesh into pure vitality for Xalvador, regenerating his body to a minor extent.

The skin stretched out, to fit two skeleton-corpses, both dropped to the icy snow to be forgotten. These two, although almost brought his damnation, inevitably brought him to his salvation. Salvation from the pain, Salvation from the oppression, They opened his eyes to his true identity… And now, it was time to make his ancestors proud. He turned south, ascended for the skies, charging what he could from his star to commence flight…

“...May all know me now, as the new Arbitor and Oracle… Xalvador Haruke, the Second.”