The Legend of the Constellar King

ibian farmers protesting against Thallerion.

SAPAR HEADING TOWARDS WENDLOCK

The Wendlock, where the Ossibian farmers had been expelled, now revolted, led by King Matar. Lord Sapar spearheaded the protest against Thallerion.

"Hahahaha, look at now! The King of Thallerion is already plagued by misfortune!" Sapar's voice rasped to his fellow protesters. "Haha, that's what arrogant kings get... they're cursed!"

"We will fight against Thallerion, for the sake of the Wendlock lands!" Matar declared, standing on a stage facing the crowd

"Haha, the Corvus entity has heard us! Now is the perfect time to attack the Thallerion farmers in Wendlock!" Sapar crowed, holding his pet raven, smoke curling from the cigar in his mouth as he stroked the bird's feathers.

"Father, I'm sure Xerxez's entire army won't be able to respond to save those poor Thallerion farmers," Fhajo remarked, a sharp, raven-like smile twisting his lips.

"Kill their farmers, for they drew blood from ours!" Fhajo commanded the soldiers. "So show them how you exact revenge. We want to see a raven's revenge upon them!"

The father and son stood atop the stage, Sapar in the center, Matar on the right, and Fhajo on the left. Many believed Sapar's lineage possessed a true hidden mystique, particularly their control over ravens. Even the secrets of other nations were known to them through the ravens scattered across all lands, only the frostic regions are not reachable by ravens.

"Let's go!!! Attack now!!! Hahaha haha!!!" Sapar roared to Matar's soldiers, joined by the Ossibian farmers protesting against Thallerion.

The emergence of the Corvus entity in his mind was like a twilight filled with circling ravens, the surroundings cloaked in an oppressive darkness by the man's power. In reality, though, Matar had merely felt an overwhelming drowsiness and slumped, asleep, in his throne. Yet, within that dream-like state, he clearly saw the person he was talking to. He couldn't make out the face, however, as it was perpetually obscured by tendrils of thick, suffocating smoke. The man's voice was a chilling rumble, as deep and fathomless as the ocean, sending shivers that seemed to claw their way up Matar's spine. From that dreadful voice, he heard about an impending, devastating war.

"If the Thallerion race wages war against you because of Sapar's rash actions," the voice spoke to him, each word a cold pronouncement, "you will surely be utterly defeated by those people! Their strength will crush you!" Matar listened intently, absorbing every terrifying syllable during their conversation.

"When Xerxez, the King of Thallerion, in his arrogance, declares a challenge, simply send a letter stating unequivocally that you are not afraid. But, with cunning, dictate this: 'only after six months from now.' On that precise day, the Peronican will deliver his child, a pivotal event." This was the entity's chilling command. "If the king, in his impatience, agrees to your confrontation happening six months from now, you must go immediately to Moonatoria, without delay, before that appointed time arrives."

A wide, almost predatory smile stretched across Matar's face when he finally awoke from his profound slumber, still seated on his throne. He kept his newfound knowledge and insidious plans to himself for now, a silent conspiracy brewing within him. He would wait, with calculated patience, for his father to return from his current endeavors of harassing the Thallerion farmers. Matar knew his next move, a complex, brutal chess game. He was simply biding his time, waiting for the opportune, blood-soaked moment to quietly and smoothly execute his meticulously crafted plan.

Sapar and Fhajo had also arrived in Wendlock, their presence casting a dark shadow over the land. From their vantage point, they saw with seething anger that the Thallerions were now brazenly managing the fertile crops that once belonged solely to the Ossibian farmers.

"Those insolent, land-grabbing Thallerions!" Sapar shrieked, his voice laced with venom,

"They are greedily claiming Wendlock, defiling our ancestral lands!" They stood on a high, windswept plateau, their eyes fixed on the bustling Thallerion communities in the plains below. Sapar had brought not just a formidable force of soldiers, but also a furious mob of protesting farmers. However, their true intent wasn't mere protest; it was to unleash unbridled chaos, to maim, and to utterly destroy the Thallerion crops.

"Destroy all their crops, every single stalk! Cut them all down to the very roots! Trample every last vegetable underfoot until nothing remains but mud! Burn the rice fields until only ash stains the earth!" Fhajo bellowed, his voice thick with malicious glee.

"Beat the farmers mercilessly until their bones shatter, and kill without hesitation if you deem it necessary. Let their screams be our music!"

"Yes! Leave no one untouched by true, agonizing pain!" Sapar declared, a dark, satisfaction blooming on his face as smoke, hot and sulfurous, billowed from his nostrils. "Charge! Let the massacre begin!!!"

With a deafening roar, the horses galloped towards the unsuspecting plains, their hooves striking the earth with a thunderous force, like massive boulders plummeting from a great height. Sapar's men, consumed by a feral rage and an insatiable lust for vengeance, hurled themselves into the fray. Fhajo and Sapar remained on the desolate plateau, their figures silhouetted against the setting sun, watching with grim satisfaction as their men carried out their heinous wishes. Then, as if summoned by the impending doom, the crows arrived – not just a few, but an overwhelming, inky storm that descended upon the plains. They began to feast, pecking ferociously at the fruits, snatching and devouring terrified chicks mid-squawk.

But what unfolded next was truly gruesome, a scene ripped from the depths of a nightmare.

The crows, with an unnatural intelligence and a horrifying hunger, began to attack the wounded farmers. They descended upon them, their sharp beaks plunging into soft flesh. Many farmers screamed as their eyes were mercilessly pecked out, leaving them blinded and writhing in agony. It was as if a macabre feast had begun, the crows gorging themselves on the fallen. They swarmed over the dying and the dead, tearing at the flesh of the massacred farmers, their beaks dripping with gore. Even the terrified, whimpering sheep and squealing pigs, their throats slit, became part of the gruesome banquet.

The Thallerion farmers suffered an unspeakable, abominable fate at the hands of Sapar's forces, their torment amplified by the relentless, demonic aid of the swarming crows who seemed to relish in their destruction. A few, by some miracle, managed to escape the slaughter, fleeing into the encroaching darkness. But for those who dared to fight back, who bravely stood their ground, only agonizing death awaited them.

"Haha! Finally, the crows are full! Return to Ossibuz, my dark allies," Sapar cackled, a chillingly intimate bond shared between him and the feathered harbingers of death.

"Crow! Thank you, master! The flesh of the Thallerions tasted exquisitely delicious!" a crow shrieked, its beak still slick with fresh blood, its voice a guttural rasp that, eerily, only Sapar could hear, a secret communion of evil.

"Do we need to attack the woman?" The crow said sensing the survivor not too far away.

"No, just let that woman tell her king what we did here on Wendlock." Sapar smoke gently touched the crow feather and then flew away in a flock.

Sentheria and her companions moved with a sense of urgency, their footsteps echoing softly in the dank, stone corridors of the Cypriox dungeon. The air was heavy with the cold smell of mildew and old iron. They were immediately spotted by guards whose stark white armor gleamed under the flickering torchlight. A bold, red cross was painted on the breastplate of each one. The guards raised pistols, their barrels etched with the menacing likeness of an eagle's head, a design that Sentheria knew originated from the distant lands of Elanthro. She could almost feel the insidious energy of the bullets—each one a silent threat, capable of sapping the strength from any winged being.

With a flick of her gnarled staff, Sentheria conjured a shimmering, green orb of energy. It hummed with power, forming a protective shield around them just as the guards fired. The bullets, instead of penetrating, struck the orb with dull thuds and fizzled into nothingness. The Cyprioxian guards' shots were useless against the barrier.

Despite the absence of a key, the rusty iron bars of Coventher's cell shuddered and groaned as Sentheria's magic worked on them. They swung open with a screech of tortured metal. "Who are you?" the priest asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. He squinted, unable to make out the features of the hooded figures.

"We're here to break you out," Sentheria replied, her voice a low murmur. She dramatically cast her cloak aside. Coventher's breath hitched. Her face, though unlined and youthful, was a stark contrast to the deep weariness in her eyes. Despite her 149 years, he could see the subtle pain in her every movement—a fleeting grimace as her knees ached, a sigh that spoke of easy fatigue, the inescapable burden of old age.

"Your youthful face hasn't faded, Sentheria," Coventher said, a hint of wonder in his voice as he finally recognized her. His eyes fell upon the unconscious forms of the guards scattered on the cold, rough dungeon floor. The smell of fear hung in the air. "What did you do to them?" he asked.

"Hehe, nothing much. I just flicked them with my staff," Sentheria's voice was playful, a light sound in the heavy silence. "Punched them hard with a big green fist that my magic created."

Coventher was truly amazed. He carefully stepped over the guards, the heavy fabric of his priestly robes rustling against the cold, grimy stone. "We need to hurry," he said, his tone now urgent. "Before the Cypriox soldiers arrive. It will be hard for us to transform if we get hit by their bullets."

"Ah, the Aopudes," Coventher murmured, a wistful look on his face. "A magnificent race, protected by the Apus Entity." He looked at Sentheria. "How's Arthen doing?"

"He can still fly, but aging really does change things," she replied with a sigh. They quickly found their escape vehicle—a crude basket hidden in the shadows behind the church. "Get in, Coventher. I feel a presence, an eye watching us." As she spoke, she raised her staff and fired a bolt of green energy. The air cracked as the bolt shot toward a high branch, hitting a black bird that fell lifelessly to the ground.

"The Corvus Entity!" Coventher exclaimed, his body tensing. "Be careful. Someone is using that raven to spy on us."

"Haha, your senses are as sharp as ever, witch." As the words left his mouth, a thick, black smoke began to seep from the ground, smelling of sulfur and rot. A flock of ravens burst from the smoke, their wings flapping frantically as they swirled in a dizzying, disorienting circle around the group. They were now trapped inside an illusion created by Matar. The world shifted. The air grew heavy and cold, and the flickering torchlight turned the surroundings into a nightmarish, blood-red landscape. Beneath their feet, the hard-packed earth became a graveyard, and the sickening smell of decay filled their nostrils. Corpses, twisted and broken, lay scattered across the ground. Only Matar's echoing voice could be heard, a chilling sound that seemed to come from all directions at once. "He's led us into a trap," Coventher said, his voice laced with fear.

"Stick close to me, everyone," Sentheria commanded, her voice a steady anchor in the madness. She sat down on the ground, the cold of the earth seeping through her clothes, and began to chant a powerful incantation to fight Matar's dark magic.

"Do you really think the Corvus Entity will let the chosen of the Phoenix live again?" Matar's voice sneered, a disembodied mockery. "Why don't you just forget about Orion, like the Thallerions did?"

"Aren't you afraid the Crux Entity will curse you for entering this land?" Coventher challenged, his voice now firm.

"Hahahaha, if I told you, we're no longer in Cypriox."

"What!?" They all gasped, their eyes wide with shock and terror.

"We're in a hell I created just for the six of you!"

"If that's the case, then your attack is misguided," Sentheria calmly replied as she finished her incantation. "Remember, each of us holds an entity's power." Her tattoos, etched across her skin, began to glow with a brilliant, pulsing green light. From the light, green spirits emerged, roaring with the fury of ancient guardians as they surrounded the group.

"We can get out of this illusion," Coventher declared. "I'll use the Crux divine light to erase this place."

"And the four of us will face the rising corpses," said one of the companions. As if on cue, the dead began to rise from the blood-red earth, their limbs creaking and groaning. The ground cracked open, and monstrous, terrifying creatures crawled out, their torn flesh reeking of death and decay. They were a grotesque sight, their bodies crawling with fat, wriggling worms the size of palms.

They groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through the ground. "Just give me enough time," Coventher said.

"Don't worry," Sentheria assured him. "The green warriors are surrounding us."

"Haha, without that staff, you're useless, witch!" Matar's voice boomed, full of contempt.

"The moment I see you," Sentheria shot back, her voice a low growl, "I'll shove my staff down your throat so you know my power isn't just from this."

A horde of corpses, a cacophony of scraping feet and rattling bones, charged towards Sentheria's group. But her puppets, made of green energy and connected to her forehead by shimmering, ethereal threads, moved to intercept them.

Minutes passed, and the number of corpses seemed to grow exponentially. Even when they were hacked and torn apart, their severed limbs and torsos continued to move, a testament to the dark power animating them.

"Just a little longer," Coventher said, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He closed his eyes, opening his consciousness to connect with the Crux Entity. A torrent of knowledge flooded his mind, granting him a complete understanding of its immense power.

A blinding, divine light began to pulse from his body, warming the cold air and pushing back the oppressive darkness. His eyes shone with a fierce, sun-like brightness. A luminous circle formed in his hands, buzzing with a palpable energy as he raised it into the air.

"You can't destroy this place," Matar's voice screamed, her voice echoing with a frantic urgency throughout the dimension.

"Let's see," Coventher said, his voice now clear and powerful. "Here goes!" He slammed the ball of light into the ground, and a circular wave of light erupted from the impact, expanding rapidly like a bubble rising from the bottom of a lake. The light surged outward, hotter and brighter, melting away Matar's grotesque illusion.

When they looked around again, the smell of decay was gone, replaced by the fresh, earthy scent of a forest floor. The air was cool and clean against their skin, and the world was once again silent. They were in the middle of a forest they didn't recognize. Matar was gone, having fled without a trace, her presence vanishing like smoke.

"That power was incredible. How did you do that?" Sentheria asked, her voice filled with awe. Coventher was the first person in all of Cypriox to wield such immense energy, a power he had always kept hidden due to the strict rules of the religious Cyprioxians.