Being a passionate
student of the Flux, Yipion had read nearly every book in the Library, but he
had never read about those monsters, or even any semblance of the energy they
emitted. A dark, powerful energy that drained the very life essence of those
touched by it. Yipion now understood what the voice had always said about the
‘pigs’.
They were not from
that World. He had to act.
Looking over the
shoulder at the putrid Tomuy, Yipion left and up the mountain he rode. The
Black Mountain was one of the biggest peaks of the World. It and its sister,
the White Mountain had been crafted by the Eagle, a mighty creature said to
have two spirits, one dark and evil, and one kind and good. It liked to sit and
watch the mountains, as to please both its sides.
The ground was ashen,
as if a big ball of fire had rolled over the hills and scorched the surface.
Yipion felt grimmer and grimmer as he rode the steep slopes. Avoiding the
roads, he had to leave his horse, unfit for rocky terrain. From then, every
step he took was a risk, but with it a cry of hope was shouted.
He saw the enemies in
the distance, behind the trees, in their huts and outposts. He realized their
evil nature. Creatures conjured for some dark purpose. He could kill them if he
wanted, but he knew just who was up there, up the hill. The one he had to kill,
and he would need all his might to take upon the master of the Warlords.
For a few days Yipion
climbed, and climbed. Until he was found.
Hell broke loose.
Battle raged on the hill, as Yipion tried to climb it further and further. The
voice helped him, singing powerful enchantments as they ran. Enemies fell and
rolled down the mountain. Others attacked their brethren, and rocks loosened
from beneath their feet.
“Boy! Another!” the
voice yelled inside his mind. It referred to a massive winged creature gliding
down the mountain. Its neck was longer than the body, the skull exposed: no
eyes, only sockets, its thousand teeth sharp as blades. Up its body lay small
towers and nests rid with enemies using long range weapons and attacks. It was
a flying fortress. It seemed somehow similar to the ones which attacked Yipion
in the tent, with the same kind of scales and limbs full of eyes, teeth and
labia. Except this one was bigger, much, much bigger. It could carry ten of the
others in its mouth. A true behemoth.
Yipion was perplexed,
the sight of the monster terrifying. And so he called upon the spirit Ol-amâ
once again, and it heeded.
The beast came flying
down on Yipion, but quickly rose again, as if stung by a burning spear. Yipion
could only think of the army around him, but the voice was taking care of it
with powerful spells. And so Yipion once again called upon Ol-amâ, and this time,
he imbued his sword with the spirit’s power. With a giant leap, he landed on
the beast’s bone head, and ran up its neck as it tried to shake him off. On his
torso stood thousands of enemies, ready for the battle. But the trio decided
there was no battle to be had, and with a mighty stomp, Yipion blew the dark
soldiers off the behemoth’s back. It was time to end it.
Ol-amâ was once a
great magician, which cleansed the minds of the impure, people who thought bad
thoughts and wished naughty wishes. He was a protector of the good and on his
account the World was countless times saved from itself. He wished no harm to
anyone, only to put people’s minds to peace, unite them with nature and the
beauty of the World. Now he continued his fight against evil, on a much larger
scale. In his time there were no demons or giant aberrations like the one his
master stood upon. But he was up to the task.
The power Ol-amâ
channelled into the sword was a pure one. One that was crafted to convert evil
spirits, and bring them to the light. And so, as Yipion struck the beast right
between the shoulders, it poisoned the monster’s body with mystic energy, shutting
down its nasty essence.
With the power of
Ol-amâ, the beast was dominated, and now controlled by it. Yipion thanked the
spirit, but it had its own agenda. To survive, spirits need life force. An
energy only living things can provide them. Yipion fell to the floor, weakened.
The voice tried to heal him, but it would take months for the prince to recover
from such a payment.
What mattered now was
that the beast was under their control, namely the voice’s, for it had seized
its mind and spirit.
The enemy army fled in
fear, and from behind the mountaintops came more behemoths, huge, wings wide
spread. They would easily be conquered, and soon the battle would be won. There
was only one thing left on Yipion’s mind: Hamut.
