It is said that the birth of a child, often brings peace and good tidings, even calls for a celebration perhaps.
However, such reality did not seem to be the case here.
....
A sharp, piercing baby's cry cut through the sterile, futuristic atmosphere of the high-tech labor ward, sending shockwaves of tension rippling through the room.
Expert health practitioners, adorned in sleek, advanced dical suits, rushed in a frenzy to attend to the beautiful woman, her face pale and drenched in sweat. She laid weak on the floating, glowing d-bed, her body struggling to keep her alive. Her vitality far too spent.
Complications had plagued the delivery. The woman had carried within her a seedling too powerful, its energy having wreaked havoc in her body system.
Her insides were ruptured and bleeding, as the destructive force within the infant had torn through her body. Despite the d-tech's best efforts, the damage was extensive, and the atmosphere was charged with anxiety and dread.
The child, lying in a sleek, temperature-regulating incubator, continued to cry, his eyes still tightly shut.
Yet, even in his vulnerability, his cries reverberated like a banshee's wail, sending an unsettling chill through the ward. There was sothing catastrophic about the sound, and the aura surrounding the newborn was unnerving, its intensity outrageous.
Outside the labor ward, the atmosphere mirrored the growing chaos within. The once-sterile, deep blue skies had turn a swirling, violent purple, lightning cracking through clouds as storms of destruction erupted.
The very air vibrated with an oppressive, destructive energy.
Health practitioners exchanged nervous glances, fear threatening to overwhelm them. For every second the child cried, the destructive force intensified, rattling the entire facility. Machines short-circuited, glass shattered, and the advanced tech designed to stabilize the environnt began to malfunction.
The health practitioners hesitated, visibly trembling, as they approached the incubator, terrified by the sheer aura of destruction emanating from the newborn.
The d-beds began to hover erratically, lights flickered wildly, and cracks began lining across the structure, it was quite obvious that the building wouldn't hold on for long. Worse was that every attempt to calm the infant seed futile, and the tension among the staff reached a fever pitch.
"Get a specialist in here....now!" one of the doctors shouted, her voice trembling with both urgency and fear. If they were in a better position, they would think she had lost her mind. She was the doctor, what specialist were they supposed to get?
Just then, an old man burst into the chaotic room, his long, untrimd beard billowing unnaturally as if caught in a wind of his own making.
His aura was like the surface of a still lake, calm, yet brimming with a profound depth of power. His face, though weathered, was solemn and composed, betraying no emotion as he surveyed the scene of destruction with sharp, knowing eyes.
'Another problematic child?'. His steps were swift, and fluid, moving with grace that defied explanation. In a blink, he was in front of the incubator, just in ti, as it exploded, shards of glass bursting outward, ready to wreak havoc.
However, before the shrapnel could strike anyone, the old man's presence alone seed to arrest them in mid-air, his will grounding the fragnts into harmless dust.
The room, still tense with the child's overwhelming aura of destruction, began to stabilize under the old man's influence. His calming energy rippled through the ward, slowing the wild electrical surges, the flickering lights, and the oppressive atmosphere. For a mont, there was peace.
With deliberate care, he reached into the glowing remnants of the incubator and held the newborn in his hands. Thin, crimson threads of energy materialized around the baby, designed to soothe and contain its power.
But the calm didn't last long.
As if sensing the energy attempting to bind it, the child's cries rose to a deafening pitch. The crimson threads of energy wrapped around the infant's tiny form trembled, then shredded apart, dissipating like vapor under the sheer force of the child's will.
The old man's brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained mostly placid. He had not expected the threads to hold for long, yet they were destroyed faster than he had anticipated.
It was quicker than expected, but it was enough.
The old man muttered a spell in rapid succession, and a portal shimred into existence, its edges crackling with unstable energy as it opened to a mystical hall, glowing with hues of purple and crimson.
The portal strained under the force of the child's overwhelming aura of destruction, but the old man held it together with sheer force of will. Without wasting any ti, he stepped through the portal, before it closed behind him.
He appeared before a vast pool of crimson liquid that didn't even as much as ripple, when the destructive force of the child descended upon the hall, shimring like molten rubies.
Above it, a large, crimson-colored bead hovered, pulsating with a serene, vitality rich energy that seed to calm the very air around it.
The old man moved swiftly, carrying the crying infant towards the pool. With great care, he gently placed the baby on the surface of the crimson liquid. To his relief, the child floated effortlessly, carried to the center of the pool, directly beneath the hovering crimson bead.
For a mont, the bead shimred, then released a soft, ethereal light that descended upon the child. The light enveloped the infant, glowing brighter and brighter until, finally, the baby's cries began to soften.
The once-deafening wails faded into a gentle whimper, and then silence. The child, who had radiated pure destruction, now lay calmly under the soothing glow of the bead.
The old man let out a long breath, the tension in his body easing. Despite being an ancestor of the mighty Crimson Family... a Saint, no less, even his imnse strength had been insufficient to control the infant's terrifying aura.
He gazed at the child, now peacefully floating in the pool, and wondered how powerful the child would beco in the future.
A slow smile crept across his face, brightening the lines of his worn features. "He might just be the one we need to regain our forr glory," he thought. The old man's heart swelled with pride and ambition.
The crimson bead continued to pulse softly above the child, as if in agreent with the old man's thoughts, casting its serene light over the quiet hall.
Slowly, the old man walked towards the child floating peacefully in the pool.
The baby, calm and serene, appeared to be in a deep, restful sleep. The soft, ethereal light from the crimson bead bathed its small body, while the crimson liquid in the pool was absorbed steadily, strengthening the child.
This pool was the most precious treasure belonging to the Crimson Family, as well as the crimson-colored bead, which was of unknown origins and was even more valuable.
With a deep breath, Azarel began to draw intricate symbols in the air around the child, his movents precise and deliberate.
He murmured soft incantations in the ancient spell language, the air responding to his will as dynamis flowed and weaved with his words.
This was not a decision he had taken lightly. Although the child was powerful beyond asure, that power was also a detrint. Left alone, that power could not only destroy the child but everything around it.
The spell Azarel cast would seal the child's energy, locking away its destructive potential until the right ti. As he chanted, his skin paled, deep wrinkles forming on his face, his once sturdy fra slowly bending under the weight of his spellwork.
This was a sealing spell that required lifeforce rather than dynamis–the natural energy of the universe.
After what seed like an hour, the spell was finally completed. The air shimred faintly around the child, signifying that his energy had been sealed successfully.
"Azarel," a man called softly, stepping forward. He had been waiting patiently, his presence almost non-existent.
Ariel looked almost identical to Azarel, but with a more refined and clean appearance. His sharp eyes and sword like brow, the opposite of his brother's sagely eyes and bushy brows.
Azarel turned towards him, his body frail but his eyes still burning with wisdom and vigor. He gave Ariel a tired but genuine smile.
"It's big trouble for us this ti..." he said, his voice aged, and his smile weary. His eyes, though hollowed with exhaustion, still glowed with an inner fire. There was no regret in his expression, only the acceptance of what was to co.
Ariel nodded in understanding. "Indeed," he replied, his voice steady and calm. "First the Orc child, then the Ethereal, now him..... I heard the Blood elves also had a birthed phenona like this one".
"The Nagas too, the Onyx and the Valgorians" Azarel affird. "This'll surely attract unwanted attention to Ares".
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