"Yes!" Lynch smiled and answered the mass of red mist.
"Then... that’s good."
"Are you this demon statue?" Lynch asked, pointing to the pile of remnants on it.
"..." After a brief silence, the red mist slowly spoke, "I am actually not this demon statue, but I am yet him." The red mist slowly began to tell its story:
In the Great Arcanist Wars thousands of years ago, I was an arcanist—though I actually knew no spells. I only received this title because my father was one of the world’s most powerful arcanists. I was born the year the arcane wars began, and my entire childhood was spent amidst the flas of war.
At that ti, all the children of arcanists automatically entered the Arcane Academy to explore the mysteries of magic. We looked at hundreds of volus filled with profound knowledge, trying to uncover our connection to the Magic Origin.
But I discovered nothing. I was just a dull child with no understanding of spells. Yet I was the child of a Great Arcanist; I "had to" possess mana.
So my childhood was devoid of friends—they were all swimming in the oceans of the arcane; and devoid of family—they were locked in endless battles. All I had was one gift: this demon statue. As the war situation beca increasingly severe, dragons and demons began rampant in this world. The burden on the Great Arcanists’ shoulders grew unbearable, and my father created this Secret Silver Magic Statue as my 10th birthday gift.
That was the only ti I saw my father’s face. As for my mother, perhaps I saw her once when I was born. People I knew said she was the mistress of a Great Mage Tower.
But as soone without magic, I could never find that Magic Tower.
My childhood and adolescence were spent with this demon statue, whose command was to protect absolutely. It followed step by step, silently accompanying wherever I went.
My favorite thing was to chat with it.
I would talk with it about street snacks, cute little animals, and the clumsy clay sculptures I made, instead of those tongue-twisting spells, the deep and profound magic runes, or those loathso demons and dragons! When I wanted to fish, it was by my side; when I wanted to go for a walk, it was by my side; when I wanted to climb mountains to see the end of the earth, it stood by my side.
I thought this was enough, this was what I wanted.
But I was always the child of a "Great Arcanist." When our enemies could not threaten my "invincible and mysterious" parents, they ca for .
The only thing standing in front of was this demon statue.
They kept fighting relentlessly, and the demon statue raised its fists countless tis, each punch aid at those monsters with sharp claws, pointed teeth, and fiery breath.
I cried, for the first ti since receiving this gift. That year, I was 18.
The demon statue perhaps realized it couldn’t protect while eliminating so many enemies, so it held tightly, wrapped in its embrace, using its back to withstand the attacks of the villains ti and again.
I ordered it to let go of , but it didn’t listen—it always obeyed before.
So from the surface, we were beaten down to this dark region, where we found a passage. It shielded behind it and once more faced the swarm of monsters alone.
What if they captured ? Would my parents submit?
No! No! No!
In their eyes, there was only spells, only that damned arcane power, only that...
So I took my small wooden-carved knife and plunged it into my heart: that way the enemy would leave, and the demon statue would be safe.
I did not disappear; my soul still drifts here; I still watch this demon statue. It suddenly ceased all actions, ignoring the frenzied enemies, and rely stood quietly by my body, silently observing . Sparks from tal scratches continuously flashed from its body, that terrifying friction sound has echoed in my ears for millennia.
A demon stepped forward, raised the great hamr in its hand, and powerfully struck the demon statue. This kind of attack, the demon statue had encountered many tis, never once leaving a mark on its body.
Reviews
All reviews (0)