All Hail Barracutus *On Hold*

War is ripe for the planet of Sempiterna. For generations the twelve major tribes/species (Unless you believe in the tales of the Wizards who say there are thirteen) have very little knowledge of the meaning of the word "peace". Only recently has the tribe of the Svets Deus brought about an era of peace.
In the meanwhile, Barracutus, a normal Kyanos Diamon, struggles to solve the past about the ancient forefathers of Sempiterna. Though could the knowledge of the ancient forefathers be a bigger mystery than he had originally thought it to be? Read throughout to uncover the history of Sempiterna in the first book of an epic trilogy.

(New chapter released every week)

**Please feel free to comment if you believe I made any mistakes in grammar, spelling, etc. Also any constructive criticism and that stuff would be nice** ** Finally, Story Rating: 13+ (Subtle, some-what descriptive violence)**

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20. Chapter 18: Echo of the Past?

The twenty-three warriors of both Kyanos Diamons and Black Aliens continued on the wagon being hauled by dragons down a road for some time. Though they knew that they would easily be caught if they went on too long down the road. Abruptly, the dragons set off course and went through the rolling plains of black dust, marking the site of a large battle. Grimly, the warriors knew that this was not just a battlefield, but also a graveyard for the burned bodies that met their deaths there. After years, the black ashes were still blowing in the wind, and as they was blown across, they would sound of mourning souls, howling with the wind. The Diamons only feared that Figmus would come to this painful eternity as well.

Carefully, toward the front of the wagon, Nave, the Black Alien surgeon, and Minos tended to Barracutus. Though, going through the rough, bounding terrain was not the best for situations as these. Still, they had no choice; they needed to move on before the Svets Deus rebellion tracked them.

"You must take these and read later." Figmus's voice was resounding in Horribleecus's mind. Horribleecus pulled the tattered scrolls out. The scroll itself was of ancient parchment as if it had existed for thousands of years with wrinkles everywhere. It had been used many times to say the least. Slowly, Horribleecus opened the scroll, and his eyes widened as he quickly noticed that it was no ordinary scroll, for it had been written in blood. Such things were practices of the Wizards and considered to be heretical as it was a practice punishable by death and death alone. Horribleecus's face became full of questions, and he came over to Minos. He asked Minos in a lowered voice, "Is this Diamon blood in particular?"

Minos took the scroll and examined it. After a brief glance, Minos looked to it through his spectacles more closely. "I do not believe it is just Diamon blood," Minos looked to Horribleecus out of the corner of his eye and continued, "There is Diamon blood to be found in it, but it would appear that there are..." Minos squinted his eyes while he stopped.

"There are what?" Horribleecus asked impatiently.

"There are twelve that I can recognize, but the thirteenth is almost indescribable. I have never come across a blood type such as this. I... I don't even know where to begin. Where did you get this?" Minos handed the scrolls back.

"It was handed to me by Figmus before he left us. Where he obtained this.. and how, I have no idea. Though, he gave me the other scrolls, and they are all blank."

"Witchcraft," behind Horribleecus and Minos, the Black Alien's leader approached, "It is witchcraft. I have studied under the Wizards myself, but quickly I realized that my mind could not comprehend the capabilities that it held. I did not know how to write with the mind, thus I left; but rest assured, those scrolls will appear to us in time. Sometimes it is triggered by moods, death, enlightenment, and most interestingly: time itself. Do you not know of Figmus's past?"

"He was born an orphan," Horribleecus replied and continued cautiously, "An orphan and taken by the alienated Wizards themselves. Though he had only told us that he was taught philosophy."

"Philosophy and witchcraft are but one in the same to the Wizards. This is no mistake; read us what is given to us, Horribleecus."

Horribleecus opened the scroll fully, and the letters began to glow a golden red. He then began reading:

        "The First Chapter:

I have looked upon my scroll days ago, and knew that my action, that has taken place recently for you, was going to happen. I seek your forgiveness for secluding the truth from your eyes, but I had not been deceptive to you because philosophy is witchcraft, and witchcraft is then healing. My actions are my own, and I still take full responsibility for them.

During my training, the Wizards told me that I could not spread this knowledge, but I have come to withdraw their teachings. Barracutus is my exception; to do any other would end time itself. This is surely a bold statement, but this is what you are to say to the Wizards, for this is where you must go. It is there you will find the only healer capable to save Barracutus and thus, to save time.

The healer's name is Renovatio. She has been both my personal priestess and guardian, and she is capable of doing the impossibilities; there is no other, and this I know. She is as compassionate as she is spiteful, and so she has created the balance between herself. Your travels must be delayed and your priorities set. To this I leave thee with few words left to say when so much dwells in my mind.

*

Now I mourn for the death of a hero,

A champion who died at the swing--

The swing that left an unbearable sting.

The death brought pain and sorrow.

So, we were coerced to look toward tomorrow.

 

How bold was he: he who knows time,

It has left us without a trace--

A trace that we foolishly chose to replace.

In this world, we have lost our place.

So, we seek you, and we seek your grace.

 

We look at the rubble, which all is irrelevant.

His death lives on in our years forever--

Years forever, his actions will never sever.

In the end does his death truly exist?

So it would seem; but, his legacy does persist.

 

And now, we come trembling over for victory!

We thought our stars were to be rising that day--

That day when we all gave up our dismay.

Though how much did we cast away?

So, I say: our stars were falling and left astray.

 

In this time of joy, are we at our revelry or death?

I believe our hero would not die for this--

For this we find ourselves in an abyss.

We call out your name in hopes that you'd return

So that we can redeem: what our spirits yearn.

*

*

"Do you not hear my calling to go South?"

I asked this to thee on the day of our defeat--

Our defeat which we came to repeat.

Open your eyes; I see what we have come to

So, we kill and shed blood just to come through.

 

North of you was only our death of Storms

The mountains have no heart--

No hearts for those who kill and call it art.

We should come to a new start.

So that we may begin a new work of art.

 

Do you not see that we only venture into darkness?

This is all because we have chosen depravity--

Chosen depravity which in us leaves a cavity.

You will hear my booming word

So why does it seem that it goes unheard?

 

Corruption is now our friend... our home.

Now I come to you to retract our ways--

Our ways have done nothing that is worthy of praise.

We are now lost in an endless maze;

So, come back to my word and give it raise.

*

*

I have been left behind, but only in time.

I do not know when I will come back--

Come back to make things white and black,

Though I do know that evil will come to haunt.

So hear my voice: Do not let it taunt.

 

I can make no promises when I will.

Even that has been lost in the age--

The age which we are held in a cage.

I say to you: in time will come another page,

So do not give into the feeling of rage.

 

On the battlefied, I will come returning.

Though do not make haste for the falling--

The falling who we thought would be rising.

Do not wear thin on your souls,

So I say, 'Only time controls.'

*

Come to where your soul will take you; listen to the voice of the ancients who have gone before me, because now I am nothing but a shell of the past. Though, Barracutus must be saved, he must take his rightful place. Now I say to thee: "Eschatology is nothing more than the study of repeated mistakes because time has no meaning in itself: it is limitless."

 

"What does this mean?" Horribleecus inquired as he was staring at the scroll written in blood.

Barracutus became concious for a moment, and while coughing up blood he stated in a choking tone, "The voice of the ancients is commonly referred to as poetry... The last two words of each first line of..."

"You should rest Barracutus." Minos interrupted and laid him back down.

Horribleecus looked over the scroll again and slowly stated, "A hero knows time is irrelavant for victory or death. Go South of Storms into darkness: our home. In time, I will come returning."

The Black Alien's leader then declared, "South of the Mountain of Storms are the Dark Crystals. Though I cannot say I have seen any Wizards make shelter there."

Bucefulus, who was guiding the dragons on the plains, then turned around and shouted, "Then we go to the Dark Crystals." Horribleecus looked back to the scroll, and it was no longer shining in the golden red color it was when he was reading it.

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