Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

Aurel's Awakening: The Aftermath of Ascension

The world slowly returned to him, flickering back into existence through blurred vision. A dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, and the rough linen of the bed scratched faintly against his skin. His body felt like a leaden weight, pinned down by an exhaustion unlike anything he had ever felt.

The first face he registered was Rindel, sitting silently beside the bed, his posture rigid and watchful, an unwavering sentinel. Nearby stood Eryn, his expression calm, composed, and undeniably present, patiently awaiting Aurel's consciousness to fully return.

"Hello there, Master. Good morning," Eryn greeted, his voice steady and familiar, carrying none of the uncertainty Aurel himself felt in this moment. Aurel blinked, then took a deep breath.

"Hello, Eryn. And to you, Rindel," he replied, his voice slightly strained as his mind cleared, reconnecting with reality. "Where am I?"

Eryn's Explanation: Two Days of Recovery

"You lost consciousness after that incredible feat—dominating all those mecha soldiers at once," Eryn explained. "It's been two days already."

Aurel's eyes closed for a second, letting the weight of the statement settle. "Two days?" he murmured. No wonder his body felt like lead, his coordination weak, and his mind still struggled to piece things together. "That took more out of me than I thought."

Then, a realization struck him. "Where are the mecha now? How are they?"

Eryn didn't hesitate. "They entered your pocket dimension. I instructed them to, and it worked. It seems they listened to me—or to Rindel as well. We guided them there."

And then—the reveal. "I can also access your pocket dimension, Master." Aurel's brows furrowed for a second, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it smoothed away into understanding. This was unexpected, yet somehow, it felt right.

Aurel's Trust: No Doubts in His Anima

For a second, Aurel simply stared at Eryn, absorbing the words. "For real?" he asked. A pause, then a slow nod and a faint smirk. "That's good news to me."

There was no doubt in his mind, no hesitation, no fear. He trusted them absolutely, knowing their loyalty was unwavering, that they existed solely for him. The mecha could wait. First, he needed to meet the two Abyssal.

Aurel's Weakness: The Toll of Chaos

Eryn stepped forward, assisting his master carefully, steadying his movements like a soldier helping a fallen commander regain control. Aurel's headache lingered, a dull ache behind his eyes. His body was still sluggish, his coordination failing slightly as he reached for the bedside table, his fingers fumbling with the glass of water. But his mind was sharp, his will steady. And now, the Abyssal awaited.

The Oath of the Abyssal: Aurel's Unexpected Ascendancy

Aurel entered the room expecting a simple meeting, perhaps discussions of strategy, preparations, or upcoming war plans. What he didn't expect was Lysara. The cunning strategist, usually an unseen force working in the shadows, had hurried here the moment she heard the news of his ascension, summoned by Vyran's urgent message. Her sharp eyes immediately fixed on Aurel, a rare flicker of intrigue in their depths.

Nephra welcomed Aurel warmly, his tone carrying the weight of admiration. "You've recovered well, and your success speaks for itself," he stated. "Lysara will be joining us from now on—her expertise is invaluable."

But before any further discussion, the three Abyssal—Nephra, Vyran, and Lysara—did something Aurel never expected: they stepped forward, and then, they knelt.

Aurel's Shock: The Abyssal Kneeling Before Him

Aurel blinked, feeling his breath hitch slightly, his mind struggling to process what was happening before him. "What is this?" he asked, his voice uncertain, not in fear, but in pure disbelief. "What are you doing? This is awkward."

Abyssals—the strongest beings in the South, rulers in their own right, feared throughout the land—were kneeling before him. This was wrong in so many ways; it defied all natural order he knew. And yet—it was happening.

Vyran's Declaration: The Chosen Child of Chaos

Vyran, always the most unpredictable, spoke first, his voice carrying the weight of something final, irreversible. "Aurel, after witnessing what you are capable of, we now acknowledge you as the true Chosen Child of Chaos. We hereby declare our sworn loyalty to you."

Aurel's Inner Turmoil: The Reality of What's Happening

"They... are serious?" Aurel could barely comprehend it, his mind racing. "What is wrong with these Abyssals? They are the strongest warriors of the South—and now, three of them are kneeling before me? This feels so wrong on so many levels."

For a brief moment, doubt flickered—was this some sort of ploy, manipulation, deception? But then, Nephra spoke.

Nephra's Assurance: Loyalty Without Malice

"We know you are in doubt. You do not trust us," Nephra said. "But we assure you—our loyalty is true. We will serve you. Though it is only the three of us now, we will convince the others to follow as well."

Aurel's Final Check: The Abyssal's Truth

Still, Aurel didn't take their words at face value. He activated his sensing abilities, a subtle pulse of his own Chaos energy reaching out to each of them. He scanned, searching for any hint of deception, any ripple of manipulation, any hidden agendas lurking beneath their expressions. But he found nothing. No malice. No deceit. No forced obligation. Only certainty. Only absolute conviction resonating within their very beings.

The Pact of Exchange: Aurel's Next Move

Lysara stepped forward, extending a small, ornate token, its surface etched with the mark of Eclipsemoon—the unmistakable insignia of the Abyssal's information network. "Please take this," she offered. "This will ensure you have access to our intelligence system. Look for taverns bearing our mark—once you show the token, you will have access to all information you require. You may also request aid, should you wish."

Aurel accepted, turning the token in his hand, its weight carrying more significance than it seemed. "Thank you. This will be of great help."

Lysara, who had initially been gruff, skeptical, and distant, now held a different gaze. No longer cold calculation or quiet cynicism, but something softer, bordering on admiration, perhaps even beyond that. Aurel noticed, but didn't dwell on it. He had more pressing matters to focus on.

Vyran spoke next, his tone unwavering. "The kingdom is open to you anytime. We will support you—all you have to do is say the word."

And Nephra, never one to hide his intentions, revealed his curiosity outright. "I want to follow you, to learn more from you. You know I would still help you even if you didn't want me to." His words were honest, layered not with manipulation but with raw fascination—a scholar eager to dissect every mystery surrounding Aurel.

Aurel's Final Response: The Balance Between Distance & Trust

Aurel exhaled slowly, acknowledging their words without fully embracing them. "Please, go back to your normal routine," he said. "I will seek your help when I need it—but you have your own tasks, your own family. Continue to support each other. I don't want to get in your way."

Then, his expression softened slightly. "And I wanted to thank you. I seem to have more help now."

He continued, "I am going to the western territory soon, but first—I must fulfill my promise to Aric. After that, I will go west. I will find an end to the Malice Bloom."

The Final Gift: Aurel's Departure

The atmosphere shifted, no longer filled with the tension of negotiation, but with something far more personal—an unspoken understanding between warriors, leaders, and forces bound by fate.

Vyran led Aurel into a separate chamber, his steps light with barely contained excitement, like a child about to unveil a prized possession. And then—the reveal. Before them rested a colossal, sleek vessel, its dark frame reinforced with abyssal alloys, adorned with markings of war and precision. It wasn't merely a ship; its very shape hinted at something ancient and powerful, reminiscent of a coiled beast.

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"This, Master, is my parting gift to you!" Vyran declared, his voice practically trembling with pride, a wide, triumphant grin stretching across his face. "Behold the Dragon Wing! She's not just any vessel; she's a living Chaos creature, masterfully shaped and bound to my will for this very purpose! I poured my essence into her creation, and now… she awaits your true command!"

He practically bounced on the balls of his feet. "To gain complete control, you'll need to dominate her yourself, just as you did with the mecha! She is far more than metal and machinery; she is spirit and power! Just give her an order, Master, and you will feel her respond to your very thought! Imagine—a true dragon of the skies, armed for travel, survival, and war, moving as an extension of your own will!"

He then gestured to its ample interior. "Her storage is fully stocked: weapons for defense and offense, prepared for any unseen dangers; food and supplies to ensure self-sufficiency on long journeys; and the most advanced navigation tools—maps, records, everything needed to traverse unknown territories. I've already taught Eryn how to pilot her conventionally, of course, but with your touch, she will truly become unstoppable!"

Aurel felt the immense weight of the offering, not just in its material value but in Vyran's sheer, unbridled excitement. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement at the Abyssal's pride. "This is more than enough," he said. "Please refrain from over-indulging me. I don't want to stay or stray from my mission."

Vyran paused, processing the words, before finally nodding, accepting Aurel's boundaries. "Understood. May you succeed in your mission." As a final act of respect, he performed the Kingdom Salute, his movements sharp and unwavering. Aurel felt the sincerity behind it.

And with a simple motion, Aurel stored the Dragon Wing inside his pocket dimension. Vyran, despite having just witnessed Aurel's power firsthand, still stared, mouth agape, at the sheer impossibility of the act. Because no matter how much they had learned about Aurel... there were still things about him that felt beyond comprehension.

"I didn't want any more attention," Aurel explained. "I needed a way out, fast."

Vyran, ever eager, offered immediate teleportation, giving Aurel the choice to leave Arkhanis instantly. "That would be great," Aurel agreed. "I'd love to explore more of Arkhanis, but... I can't be distracted."

The portal opened, swirling with controlled precision. Aurel stepped through without hesitation, and in a blink, he was back at the very entrance, where it had all begun. For a moment, he paused, taking in his surroundings.

"Should I use the Dragon Wing and fly out?" The thought lingered, tempting, but he dismissed it just as quickly. "No. That will attract too much attention. I guess I should travel on foot. Stay unnoticed."

He closed his eyes, feeling his power coil around him, shifting through his limbs. Chaos wrapped him, his movements becoming ethereal, weightless, like a specter threading across the ground. Then, he moved, his form ghost-like, his pace blurring in speed, his steps silent but swift.

"The last direction of Lord Aric that Nephra gave me was... there," he mused. "That is where I'm going." No distractions. No delays. Just the mission ahead.

Lord Aric Rugal: The Shadow of Vengeance

Once an honorable ruler, a man of virtue and fairness, Lord Aric Rugal had since become something unrecognizable. The death of his son had shattered the old him, forging a warrior consumed by a justice warped into vengeance. He was now willing to serve even the devils if it meant bringing down the Athenari and the Luminaries, operating without limits, without hesitation, willing to do whatever was necessary—be it deception, intimidation, or outright slaughter. Under his grim command, the Umbrafang had risen into one of the deadliest forces in the South. These ruthless hunters excelled in tracking, eliminating, and dismantling Luminarian operations across the region. They worked directly under Nephra, receiving intelligence from Lysara, executing their missions with precision, strategy, and brutal efficiency. For the Umbrafang, there were no moral restrictions; if it needed to be done, it would be done, no matter the cost.

Mission Priority: Eliminating Luminarian Influence

Their current orders were clear: intercepting Luminarian spies, destroying enemy bases, and hunting operatives colluding with the Southern forces. And now, a new target surfaced: an armored warrior, hailed as the new savior, arriving under the Luminarian banner, claiming to liberate the people from the Abyssal. This figure's face bore a striking resemblance to Ron.

Aric knew it was a fake, a manufactured mockery, but that didn't lessen the bitter sting of the revelation. He wasn't ready to confront it, the very image a torment that threatened to unravel his hard-won composure. He didn't know how he would react if he saw it in person, even though he was fully aware it wasn't the real Ron. For now, he would avoid this enemy, letting his anger simmer on other targets. His priority was something else entirely.

Aurel's Approach: The Collision of Paths

While Aric focused on intercepting Shadowblade forces, unaware of the growing battle ahead, Aurel was unknowingly walking into the very trap set for him. He would reach the Fake Ron first, facing a battle that was never meant for him, but one that would change everything. And as Aric pursued his own mission, the storm of war continued brewing, unseen forces converging toward a battle neither of them had anticipated.

The Gathering Storm: Aurel & Aric Converging on the Trap

The town was quiet, too quiet. Umbrafang moved in stealth, their forms veiled by Lythra's magic, slipping through shadows, infiltrating without leaving a trace. The mission was simple—observe, confirm, report: Were the Shadowblades and Luminaries working together? Were they preparing an offensive? Was the South under unseen threat?

But Gideon had already anticipated this. Every clue, every leak, every whispered piece of information—it was a trap. He wasn't just waiting for Umbrafang; he was waiting for Lord Aric himself, crafting a scenario so subtle that even the best hunters wouldn't realize they were being led into an ambush.

Aurel's Arrival: Unknowingly Stepping Into the Web

While Umbrafang spread throughout the town, laying low, tracking movement, Aurel was approaching. Given coordinates to this exact location, he was unknowingly stepping into the same battlefield, into the same stage Gideon had perfectly prepared. Except Aurel's arrival was not part of Gideon's plan. Aric was the target. Umbrafang was the prey. The South was the battlefield. But now, a new force was about to disrupt everything.

The Trap Takes Shape: Shadowblade & Luminary Meeting

The town stood in eerie silence, tension hidden beneath the surface as the Shadowblade operatives arrived, their figures cloaked in cutting-edge technology, their suits forged by the Royal Vanguard's advancements. Phantomblade, Aqua, Ripclaw, and Darktides—the most formidable warriors of their faction—stepped forward into what they believed to be an alliance-forming encounter.

Gideon's Welcome: A Well-Orchestrated Setup

Atop the central building, Gideon watched them approach, his expression composed, his presence commanding. "Ah, what a pleasant sight," he greeted. "I welcome you to our temporary base, Shadowblades—the heroes of the South."

Phantomblade stepped forward, shaking Gideon's hand, his voice carrying steadfast certainty. "We fight the same battle—to cleanse the South from evil. We welcome your aid. The Vanguard has already been informed and has agreed to support you, approving our alliance."

Gideon's smile didn't falter, didn't shift—as if everything was falling perfectly into place. "Wonderful."

The Armored Warrior: The Face of Deception

Standing behind Gideon, the armored warrior loomed, his presence imposing yet familiar, a figure who had assisted the Shadowblades numerous times before. Phantomblade turned toward him, extending his hand in respect. "This warrior has helped us many times already. Today, we formalize our alliance."

The handshake sealed their unity, their trust placed in someone who was not who they thought. The trap was closing in.

Umbrafang's Silent Observers: Unraveling the Illusion

Hidden within the shadows, Umbrafang had already spotted the Shadowblade operatives, tracking their movements, watching, analyzing, and piecing together the situation. The mission was clear—gather intel, assess whether the Shadowblades were truly collaborating with the Luminaries, and verify the threat level to the South and Abyssals. But now, they saw something far more dangerous unfolding: Aurel was en route to the same town. The trap was not just for Aric anymore. The battle was about to erupt.

Lord Aric: The Suspicion Before the Betrayal

The room was dimly lit, the only sound the occasional hum of his communication device, relaying reports in rhythmic intervals. Lord Aric sat in silence, listening, analyzing, absorbing every detail as the Umbrafang spread across the town, their mission clear—track the Shadowblades, observe their meeting with the Luminaries, and gather intel.

"Report."

A voice crackled through. "West sector—no activity. Locals quiet. Shadowblade movement detected near the central square, keeping distance."

Another voice followed. "East side—same. No disturbances. Possible Luminarian presence spotted on rooftops, but no signs of direct engagement."

Aric frowned slightly. "Any movement from them? Are they gathering, or simply watching?"

"Watching, for now."

Another voice chimed in, a separate Umbrafang unit stationed near the outskirts. "Lord Aric, we've checked the outer perimeter. It's clear, but... it feels off. Too easy. Not enough activity."

Aric leaned back, arms crossed, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. "Not enough activity? Meaning what?"

Silence for a few seconds, then—"There are too few people here. The streets are... unnaturally empty, Lord Aric. It's as if the town was cleared out."

His eyes narrowed, processing the words, a grim certainty settling over him. This wasn't just 'off'; it was a deliberate absence, a stage set for something dark. He had fought too many battles, walked too many blood-soaked fields, to ignore the cold prickle of his instincts. This was too clean, too structured, too perfectly designed to be anything other than a setup. His gut screamed betrayal.

"I see." A deliberate pause, heavy with unspoken dread. "Continue monitoring, but stay sharp. Something's not adding up. Stay hidden, and do not engage."

The Quiet Before the Collapse

Another report came in, but this time, something was different. "Lord Aric, I can see the Shadowblade operatives—they are meeting with the Luminaries. They aren't even hiding it. It's happening out in the open." The soldier's voice was low, laced with a tremor of confusion and fear. "...Something's not right. This isn't how they operate."

The unease in the soldier's voice wasn't lost on Aric; it echoed his own rising suspicion. The public display, the brazen alliance—it was a red flag the size of a war banner. It defied every known protocol of both the Shadowblades and the Luminaries. This wasn't an intelligence failure; it was a deliberate bait.

"Check again—how many civilians are present?" Aric demanded, his voice tight, though outwardly calm.

Silence. Then—"Minimal, Lord Aric. Almost none. The few we saw... they looked like they were being herded away, or just vanished."

A deep, slow exhale escaped Aric's lips, a sound like a quiet death knell. "Then it's confirmed," he murmured, his gaze hardening into a dangerous glint. "This isn't a meeting. It's a slaughterhouse, and we're the lambs."

Aric immediately activated a secure channel, his voice cutting through the static with urgent command. "Abort mission. This is a trap. Extract all units, immediately!"

But his warning was too late. Seconds later—destruction. A crashing explosion ripped through the walls of the surrounding buildings, the force sending debris scattering like shrapnel as an army of Luminarians stormed in, cutting off any chance of retreat. The sounds of combat, screams, and clashing steel erupted, drowning out the crackle of his comms. Aric immediately reacted, grabbing his weapon, but the wave of enemy forces was already pouring in, overwhelming the space. The plan was set. The town was compromised. The war had begun.