Attempt Eight

By Andres Bellot

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The wall was engraved with seven vertical lines, and the man who stood before it reached into his cloak and grabbed his dagger to scratch in an eighth. While the grey linen shirt and black wool pants he wore underneath the cloak were obscured, they were the best pieces of attire he had to tackle the upcoming cold. Putting his dagger back into the leather holster attached to his belt, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small blue jagged crystal. If he had counted correctly, he would have seven crystals left after this.

He dropped the crystal onto the floor and it managed to bounce a few inches off the ground before his foot came crashing down onto it. With a twinkling sound fluttering through the air, the crystal shattered into particles of light and all traces of the crystal vanished soon after.

Reaching again into his satchel he pulled out a crumpled-up piece of paper, haphazardly flattening it out revealed a clock drawn out in a magic light blue ink. The magic allowed the ink to move itself on the page, acting as a real clock would. Quickly deciphering the writing as the clock’s hand moved, he concluded that it was just about noon. He already knew this, of course, but checking had become a habit.

Shoving the paper back into his satchel, he put on his black boots and ran outside of his small shack. He now stood on his makeshift patio; his entire shack being held up by incredibly large and strong branches up high in a tree. He had made this makeshift home himself a long while ago, and though it wasn’t very large it was certainly enough for him. All he really needed was shelter, his stringed instrument, and his satchel. The stringed instrument hardly ever left the shack and today had been no different. The man stood out in the open as the sun beamed down on him and the surrounding trees, the heat was nigh unbearable. The cloak certainly wasn’t helping much either, but he would need it soon.

Regardless, he stood and waited. The wind managed to cool his body temperature down ever so slightly, though it wasn’t enough. The wait was always his least favorite part. Looking off in the distance he could see the incredibly dark clouds which loomed ever closer, their appearance proved to be a stark contrast to the heat where he currently stood. He recounted his necessities in his mind, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything while he still had time to make some last second revisions. Briefly checking through his bag he saw his blue crystals, four palm-sized red orbs, and the green oval gem he had found long ago. He determined that he should keep the gem on him for good luck, despite there being no evidence of such a benefit, and has kept it with him since. All his items were where they should be, and so he closed the flap of his satchel. For a moment he admired the skilled stitching of his name into his bag, which read: Arven. 

Brushing his scruffy hair out of his eyes he saw a purple glimmering butterfly fluttering about, leaving similarly colored particles in its wake. This was what he was waiting for.

When the butterfly flew near, he reached out his right arm and gently touched it with his pointer finger. 

The world around him began to shift and in an instant, he was no longer atop the trees with his shack, but in a new location that he had become all too familiar with by now. There were several floating pieces of a strange grey rocks acting as platforms, one of which Arven found himself standing on now, and all around him was something akin to a galaxy. The temperature was freezing.

Though it was clear this wasn’t simply outer space, at least not one that Arven was familiar with. This was another dimension entirely, what should have been stars instead looked to be glimpses into entirely other worlds. While most of these stars were too far for Arven to truly see into, some of which were near the platforms which he stood on. He began his walk, hopping from platform to platform when need be, looking off at the stars in the distance. He managed to see into a star that provided a view of what he could only describe as a kingdom. Though unlike the kingdoms of his world, this world’s ‘kingdom’ has massive buildings adorned with pointed arches and ribbed vaults. Everywhere he could see had some sort of complex design and decoration, though something about the view was also almost nightmarish in nature. Arven looked away from that star and instead turned his attention to another star, closer than the last but not close enough to reach. This star provided a glimpse into a world very different to the last. This world seemed to have its own kind of kingdom as well, yet the buildings were not nearly as well ornamented as the last. The buildings seemed to all have a minimalist nature to them, lacking all the extravagant elegancies that the other world had. Most buildings were a rather dull grey, and often rectangular in some form. Arven looked away from this star as well, finding that he had arrived at the only star he truly needed. This star was in arms reach, and within it he could see a mountaintop and a pyramid-like temple that he knew all too well. This star would lead him back to his home world, and right to the foot of that temple.

Though he wasn’t quite sure how the passing of time worked in this dimension, he figured he didn’t have much time to waste regardless. Reaching out to touch the star, as he had done several times before, he caught a glimpse of something that he hadn’t seen before. Far out in the distance, far beyond most of the stars he could see, was the silhouette of a large figure looming in the distance. Arven was unable to make out any specific characteristics of the figure, though he didn’t have much time to examine it either. Finally touching the star, the dimension around him seemed to shift once more. His new surroundings were exactly what he knew they would be.

He stood atop the large mountain which looked over much of the land, though he couldn’t quite see his own home from here. The clouds were dark and there seemed to be a sense of dread in the air. Of course, he knew why. He reached into his satchel, again pulling out the magic paper clock. The clock had hardly moved at all since he had touched the butterfly moments ago. 

Shoving his paper back into his satchel he turned around and took a deep breath. He knew what was awaiting him once he opened the large door to get inside the temple, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t fear it. He pulled out two of his red orbs, held them carefully in both his palms, then pushed through the door.

The sight was the same every time, Arven saw a man standing in the center of the temple holding two open tomes in each hand. His attire was formal and showed off his royal status, a status that Arven had grown to hate. This King, despite the look of royalty, appeared to be extremely disheveled. The orderliness of his clothing was in direct contrast to the rest of his appearance; this was clearly a man who had gone mad. In front of the King was a large sphere made up of chaotic energy being released by the tomes, a sphere which grew by the second. In case Arven needed a reminder, time was ticking.

As the King began to turn around, Arven wasted no time in throwing the first red orb at the King’s right hand, successfully hitting the tome and releasing a small explosion as the red orb cracked open. The King hissed as the tome hit the floor, now scorched and ruined. 

One more to go. Arven thought to himself. That last tome.

“Who are you!?” the King screeched.

But Arven did not reply, he had been through this before.

The King held the second tome close to his body and obscured it from Arven. Throwing the second red orb would not achieve anything from here, Arven would have to get closer.

As Arven attempted to close the distance between the two, the King turned to the sphere of energy and thrusted his right hand into it. His face contorted into a look of great strain, likely due to the pure concentrated pain reverberating through his forearm. Pulling his arm out of the sphere it was now scarred, pieces of flesh crumbling off as he moved. In his newly scarred hand, however, he now held a greatsword somehow pulled from within the sphere.

Arven attempted to throw his dagger at the King without any spot to hit in mind, and the King easily blocked it with his weapon. Arven followed up with his second red orb, simultaneously pulling out another orb with his other hand. The second orb hit the side of the King’s waist which let out another small explosion, though that didn’t do much to faze him. The King lifted his greatsword into the air above his head and swung it down, Arven narrowly avoiding the slice by jumping to the right. He then threw his third red orb aimed at the King’s face, which ended up missing and hitting the floor behind him.

The King swung his greatsword, hitting Arven’s left arm with the flat side of the blade. The force of the strike sent Arven flying into the sphere, and he could immediately feel his body being picked apart the longer he was contained within it. Unfortunately, he could not get himself out. Though he was all too familiar with the sphere and its capabilities, this was the first time he had experienced being within it. Unable to move, he figured that his time was up. In the midst of accepting his last few seconds of life however, he believes he sees something important. Blotches of color currently fill his vision and he cannot very well tell fiction from reality, but he thinks he sees the green gem from his satchel begin to vacuum up the energy that the sphere had consisted of. This thought, and sight, would unfortunately be fleeting as the blotches of color entirely fill his vision, marking the end of his life.

The King, visibly angered but also relieved, continued holding his remaining tome. Once the chaos sphere grew large enough, it would be unable to contain the pure chaotic energy within itself and erupt. This would prove catastrophic to the planet, and most of all life would be wiped out. The King looked down at his right hand which gripped the greatsword, his scarred arm returning back to as it once was. His regeneration was slow, but it worked wonders. No injury would keep him down for long, not even an injury as a result of being scorched by pure chaos energy. He knew he would survive regardless of what happened to the rest of the planet, and that would let him start anew. He could rule far more than just that of a single kingdom.

However, the chaos sphere’s growth seemed to halt. In fact, the sphere began to shrink. The King began to panic, perhaps he really did need both tomes to fuel the sphere? Or maybe that young man he sent into the sphere contaminated the energy somehow? The King was upset, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. The sphere shrunk until it entirely vanished, leaving nothing but the green gem in its wake. Just like that, the King had failed. He had no idea what this gem was, how it could perform such a task, or who that young man even was.

But in the end, it would seem that the young man got the last laugh.

The wall was engraved with eight vertical lines, and the man who stood before it reached into his cloak and grabbed his dagger to scratch in a ninth. While the grey linen shirt and black wool pants he wore underneath the cloak were obscured, they were the best pieces of attire he had to tackle the upcoming cold. Putting his dagger back into the leather holster attached to his belt, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small blue jagged crystal. If he had counted correctly, he would have six crystals left after this. More importantly though, this time he had a new plan. If that green gem really does vacuum up chaos energy, then that would be his key to victory. Perhaps it was good luck after all.

He dropped the crystal onto the floor and it managed to bounce a few inches off the ground before his foot came crashing down onto it. With a twinkling sound fluttering through the air, the crystal shattered into particles of light and all traces of the crystal vanished soon after.