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Ch:5- Before the Sun Rises



Azark Went slowly up the stairs to his room, he had no bags or extra clothing to carry, but he felt a weight unlike any other. It was anticipation. He didn't want to wait five days for his training; he didn't even want to sleep. The boy's mind was too filled with knights and heroes. "I'll be one of them one day...ill help people...ill save people...I will finally be able to fulfill my dreams mother...ill do you prouder than you ever imagined...just wait and wish me luck", he thought to himself. The child wanted nothing more than to please people, to help others...to make sure no one suffered the loss he felt two years ago. "I'll become a mighty knight...ill be clad in the blackest of shadow forged amour...my swordsmanship will surpass that of anyone in this country...ill learn magic, to harness the many powers of this world...ill travel and banish evil once and for all...Shadow...The Lord of Darkness...The Mighty Necromancer...The Desrolian Remorse...Shade...You are my target...you will die...your reign of pursuing terror will be brought to an end...I swear it on my life..." And with that, Azark pushed on his door, and to his surprise, it opened without the key," Faulty locking...not so safe..." But as he said this, he looked up from the door into his room. There, a darkly cloaked woman stood in waiting. Then she slightly raised her torn, faded, wide brimmed hat and took a slight glance at the look of Azark. She said then to herself," Only a kid? Hmp...They send a professional assassin like me to kill something as pathetic as...wait..." she stopped for a moment and took a closer look at the stunned boy, examining his every detail, she continued talking, this time to the boy," You!?...One red eye...long, shimmering, black hair...A blade half your size...Are you of the Van'Hoven line!?"


Azark now began looking at his seeming enemy, examining her flowing black cloak, dagger clenched in her fist to her side, bright white hair that came elegantly from her hat, falling to her shoulders and parted down the center," This is not something I expected my first day in Haotin...do you people always have to ruin my best days? I was truly happy...finally...in two years I felt real happiness, I found my destination, my ticket to protecting those whom I love...YOU! If you want to kill me...attack me...we will fight....I WILL win..." The woman proceeded to laugh at the boy's seemingly falsely claimed strength and then beckoned him," Ha! Boy, you need'nt speak so boastfully...you'll die quickly with my dagger through your heart...you wont feel a thing darling" she then laughed for a moment, holding her stomach to anger the boy even more.


Azark, now seeing this as an opening in her defense, pulled his sword from his shoulder and, with a flash of blinding speed, swung his great blade into the woman's side. He then, unexpectedly, missed, and hurtled himself to the ground in the weight of his weapon. The lady was suddenly above him, stomping down on his back as he lay helplessly on the ground," Child...you could have hurt someone with that wild swinging of yours...you'd best leave the sword to your daddy, you might poke your eye out" She said, talking down to him in a tone such enough to top a psychologist's temper over the edge. The Kissonotin shone brightly in his blade. This caught the woman's attention...then, talking under her breath, she said," I see...this is what they were worried about...no problem for me if he knows not how to use it." But Azark heard this. The blade shone with a great power and a black aura began leaking out, enveloping the boy's body. He pulled his arm from under his sword and, in a quick burst of strength, pushed himself up and the woman off of him. She fell to the ground with the unexpected force from the boy." I told you...you cannot win this battle woman...if you do not leave here now... I will be forced to kill you..." Azark said as his voice became also intertwined with another, a deeper one, and a darker one.


"I will never surrender to a weak boy like you! You have seen nothing!" she shouted at him, then with her eyes shining black, she yelled the incantation," Axphil Furltre!" Just then, five blades formed from the shadows, floating around her in perfect unison. Quickly, whence they all circled her a few times, the blades flew forward towards Azark's newly risen body. He, like the volley of arrows from so long ago, flung his own weapon into the air, following it was a screen of light that banished the shadowy assailants as they touched. "I harness the elemental powers of Kissonotin...no matter what you may decide to throw at me... I will counter... and I will win..." Azark said as he took the time of his enemy's shock to run up to her and speedily dice a small wound in her stomach. She grabbed her cut and attempted to mend it with another dark spell, but in her activation, Azark slashed again, this time, vertically, cutting through a tendon or two of the forearm that she was holding her weapon in, causing her to drop in and grasp herself in pain. But relentlessly, Azark continued, slicing and barely missing cutting of full limbs, knicking a wound into her now and then. Soon, she ran out of room to run, previously aided by the spaciousness of the room, she was now backed into a corner. Face to face with the young knight now, she began speaking before he were to kill her," Stop! I will leave, return a failure in my assassination... My name in Sin... you'd best remember it, because I will be back again...but things will be different next time..." she cut herself off for a moment, to allow one last attack from the boy come, only to break a hole in the wall big enough for her escape. She slipped out of the wall, freefalling the thirteen stories to the ground, disappearing into the shadows half way down. Then, from nowhere, her voice tailed Azark's ears. Finishing her words now, she said," Next time you will die boy... I will wait five years...I hope you will learn to control your power... I look forward to fighting you again in the future..." but the voice faded out into the darkness. Azark was left, only half in control of his own mind and body, standing aimless in the darkness of his unlit room. "What just? Where did she? How did I?" he asked himself, but his answers would not come. Azark just proceeded to drop his blade, allowing the power to be taken from him, pick up a lantern from the wall, light it, hang it back up, and then take a look around him. There were cuts in the walls, chunks taken out of the floor, and the small stone statue that once stood in the corner was shattered into many pieces." I know not how I will explain this one....ha-ha" Azark said, his voice returning to its boy-like tone. He turned to his left, now seeing a large bed, threw all care to the wind and lay down. Instantly now, the boy feel asleep, exhausted from his previous fight.


He dreamt now about more things he was questioning, more stories he had wished to foretell, and more lives he were to save...he dreamt of three figures, a female with a cloudy past, a boy with a small dream, and a prince who had no thoughts of royalty...these people seemed to be strong...they seemed to be courageous....they seemed to be his friends.

Ch:4- A Time to Live...




"...It has been two years since that day, the day I lost my eyesight, the day I felt true pain, the day I knew the real cold in the silence of death and power.." Azark announced clearly, and continued," I will never forget the feeling of strength and magic I felt as I gripped the hilt of this blade, the energy of the jewel rushing through me, the feeling of the sword dancing about their bodies. That was the most painful day of my life, but I finally saw the world for its truths, and I have never seen it again through the same eyes...That is all...I hope you will accept me as a squire at this castle, I have always loved to learn more about my sword...and to do something with my power." Azark finished telling what he recalled of his recent past to the high council of the castle. This estate was an "audition" place for new knights in the not so nearby town of Haotin. "Where do you come from?", asked then the elder that was presently running his hand through Azark's long black hair. "My family name is Van'Hoven," replied Azark," I come from a village near the shore of the name Azrail; I was told once it was named after one of my ancestors. After the events two years ago, I passed out and was found by a road-weary wanderer. She helped me gather a few things from what was left of my half burnt, bloodstained, and body flooded village. After this, she sent me off on a road in this direction, gave me a heading, and told me to look for a flag that bore the seal of a Dracolich. Once there, in the town of Necrolia, I was greeted very warmly by its inhabitants. They knew who I was amazingly, and took me into a local Inn. Soon, after they tended to my unhealed wounds, they asked me my request. I told them 'I want to be a knight, and learn how to properly help people with this power' and they gave me supplies for a short journey and informed me of a righteous school of knighthood and directed me here...this is my story, and I hope you will accept me"


The elder returned to his seat and took another fine look at Azark, his eye, his scars, and his faulty attempt to sew his own pant's and shirt's holes. He examined closely the crimson cornea that shone with great passion and truth, and remembered the soft feel of the boy's hair, and its unusual color. The man leaned to his left and whispered something into the ear of the council man with a smirk. That man then smiled and looked deep into Azark's eye. Slowly then did he answer Azark's question," Yes boy...you have been accepted as a squire under our highest knight. We will supply you with lodgings at the castle's local housing and your training begins in five days. I hope you will find it acceptable here... Mr.Van'Hovan, soon-to-be, High Knight Of the Dark Glyph..." The man smiled even larger and taped on his desk. As is they were waiting on the other side of the door, three men appeared through it, gesturing Azark towards them, towards the bright sunlight outside. "Come with us sir, we will show you to your room" The boy, filled with joy and pride, followed the men with a smile warming the room around him.


Azark was now outside on a bright day, he looked around to respect it later, to familiarize himself with his surroundings, finding all sorts of things even at a glance. There were trees alive with green, bright blue flowers planted masterfully in the barren ground, the buildings were painted in bright designs of red and built gracefully of grey stone and white bones, and the sky was a bright blue, not a cloud in it. The sun was shining warm on his face; the sound of a trickling stream could be heard. Suddenly, a clash of blades shook his great euphoria and reminded him what he was there for...to learn to fight from the best of the best, the strongest of the Desrolian Knights. The boy looked over the hill that lie in front of him, looking out from its peak to see the many children playing with sticks in imitation of the men to their far right who were training at the blade. The sound of laughter was fluent as Azark walked by the men and women, children and animals. Familiar smells of fresh bakeries and new iron being forged into various shapes were drifting on the breeze. Memories of not so long ago filled his head, the ringing of laughter and chatter took over his ears; an undoubted smile was freshly planted on Azark's face. Wooden houses rose higher than any the boy had ever seen around him. The great city filled his heart with hope as he walked loftily at the rear of his escorts.


"We have arrived" said the front most man in reply to Azark's thoughts," I hope you will be most pleased with your lodgings" He moved his arms as if ushering the boy inside the tall stone building. A small lady with glasses greeted the boy warmly, telling him to come closer and handing him a small skeleton key with a little card attached to it. It was hanging from its ring, and read, "From the council of Desrolia. Room 13. Floor 2"

Pt 1-Ch:3- Azark's First,True , Battle
Current mood: Wanting to know the truth.


Ch: 3- Azark's First, True, Battle


Hours later, Azark was awakened by the heat and light of a flame along with blood curdling screams rattling through the floor. He cracked his eyes slightly to find his mother's lifeless body staring blankly at him. Azark sprung to his knees and grabbed his mother by her shoulders, pulling her up to his face, yelling ," MOM! Mother! Wake up!! Mom! There's fire over there mother! You gotta get up!!" His voice began cluttering with tears, he choked up and began to cry, balling his eyes out into his mother's chest. He had noticed a deep stab wound in her stomach, a long slash on her arm, and an arrow or two sticking from her back." She's dead…" Azark mumbled…" no…she…she can't be dead…no…who? What? MOTHER!?" Azark quickly ran out of tears to cry. His eyes dried into anger, red becoming crimson and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Azark looked to his left, dropping his mother's body, and reaching for the sword he grasped tightly the handle. Azark was then again imbued with even more power, the jewel filling his veins once again with the elixir of strength everlasting. Grasping the sword, Azark was consumed with a urge to fight…to redeem…to destroy all that stands in his path.


He ran out of the house through a hole in the wall he cut as he was dashing. Breaking through the wall, Azark was greeted by a small army of undead and rouge ne'ere-do-wells, they all diverted their attention to the boy, glowing in a bright aura, eyes shining red. The horde came rushing towards him, swords, maces, axes, spears, and spells all ready to annihilate him. A volley of arrows rushed towards him whistling as they flew through the air, a line of black neared and neared, suddenly being all burnt to their tips with the swing of Azark's blade. It had ruptured the power of fire and blasted the wood, incinerating their mass in an instant. The horde had continued to near, snarling and roaring, a spear spun towards Azark. The boy flung out his arm and allowed the tip to cut deep into his mussel, blood dripping quickly from the wound. Azark emitted a roar of anger and pain, running head first into the approaching horde, an undead solider slashed at him, to only have his sword cut in half, and in a split second, a blade slicing through its skull, splitting it down the center. Azark swung his blade swiftly around, blocking a giant's axe, knocking it out of its hands, making it fly into the body of a near by solider. Azark then thrusted the point of his wepon into the beast's chest. Suddenly, with a quick slice to the side, he tore it in half. He continued to dice the beasts, wounds rapidly built up on his body, but somehow, the jewel gave him strength to live. After a few more minor wounds to the legs and the destruction of his enemies, a brigade of a few Shadow Knights, those whom were trained personally by the great Shadow himself. These were elite warriors under his direct command and were now slowing trotting twords the small boy. Azark took a step back, he had only heard of these things in stories of his ancestors, fear was quickly overcoming the boy, but with a sudden jolt of power from his Kissonotin, he braved on. " you…you have killed my mother…my family…my friends….I shall avenge them…now…with this sword I hold…I will destroy you…" Azark said with the voice of not only a ten year old, but the determination of a emperor.


Azark Ran forward, his blade held sharpend end out at his side, he jumped and raised his weapon at the three knights walking solemnly toward him. He came down strongly only to meet the blade of another, he was deflected and sent to the ground. The knight reduced the boy's attempts to a pathetic excuse for a child. Azark got back to his feet, shaking and rattling, his skin paling from the loss of blood. His hair was drenched with the blood of his enemies, and he was dripping pain from every limb. The jewel glowed an even brighter light in response to his pain, granting him even more strength as he neared death. He grasped the sword one last time, dashing to the knight at his left, swiftly being blocked. But this time, Azark took his blade from the other's before he could be knocked back yet again, and swung into the side of the knights armor, piercing it and cutting into his skin that lie beneath. The enemy grabbed his side, dropping his own wepon. Azark finished the job swiftly with sharpend sword to the neck of the knight, smoothly slicing it into two. A rain of blood stained his blade. The boy, now driven to blood lust, picked up the knights scimitar from the ground, holding the two weapons easily at his sides, and then launching forward in a mad twist, diving in for the slaying on his next enemies. He locked blades with another, to be pushed back again this time, his second sword being banished from his grip. And in the confusion, the knight we was currently fighting moved swiftly to the side, allowing his comrade to cleanly slice down into Azark's eye, a pain unimaginable. Azark screamed and without hesitation swung his blade madly, cutting the, rightfully in his mind, filthy attempt of a knight, diagonally into three pieces. The last remaining was now watching in horror. "You…your next…you will die for this...slowly and painfully…I will banish your soul from this earth!" Azark muttering words he did not understand, speaking in a toung expected for someone at least triple his age. Azark's one working eye was glowing, a possessed look in it, shimmering with a anger and pain unseen by normal people in his time. Azark slowly picked up a spear sitting close to him, throwing it precisely into the stomach of his enemy. As the dark one attempted to dislodge it from where it resides in his belly, Azark appeared behind him, his blade of ancestry in hand. "You will die now…your soul will be freed from the grasp of evil, I shall repent your body and mind…may you rest in peace" these were the last words of the small boy before he plunged his sword deep into the enemy, killing him instantly. Only moments later, after Azark killed his final assailant, he passed out again, falling to the ground with a loud thump.



Stay alert for my next chapter! ( Ch:4- A Time to Live...)

Ch: 2-A Strong Awakening


"Azark! Come inside!" his mother yelled to him, urging him to come in before the heavy storm brewing in the clouds. Azark sighed loudly and dropped his wooden sword that he had crafted by a mason in town," Awww! Come on Mom…rain won't hurt me, not like there's a greedy hydromancer picking a fight with me!" he exclaimed. Azark then walked into the house to find his mother standing in his midst with a great heirloom of a sword, imbued with a large, what seemed to be, glowing shard of some jewel. "It is your Tenth birthday son" she said happily," and I want to tell you how truly proud of you I am, you will one day be a great fighter, an esteemed knight…I want to send you to the castle on the hill, to begin your training. I've already spoken with the master of the academy…you were gladly accepted!" Azark stared blankly at his mother's abrupt willingness to send him off, to allow his knighthood, to say goodbye. "I…Um…Errr…say that again? I think I misunderstood you…I...I can study the sword!?" he said awkwardly with a tone of disbelief consuming his voice. "Yes son, you have the eyes of a lovely fighter, I know you will quickly adapt to a new life…I know you've wanted this since I have told you stories of your ancestors and legends of great adventures. Your wish is being fulfilled, you can finally-"his mother said, her voice being taken over by tears, but gaining control, she finished," be…able to protect your village, to soon become a fighter, armored and bladed….take this…" Azark, now even more shocked in disbelief, reached out, attempting to grasp the handle of the intimidating sword his mother was now presenting him. As he grew nearer, the jewel began to glow, brighter and brighter, reacting to his presence. His mother, noticing this, began to tell yet another tale, of shards and monsters...


"With this blade son, you will grow strong, with this jewel, you will feel everlasting. It is of Kissonotin, A Jewel of power greater than that of even the greatest knights in castle yonder could ever obtain. One had been gifted to the family long, long ago, some call them shards of the warrior, and others call them stones of might. Whatever the name, it is an ancient treasure, one of a power to banish the greatest of demon, and slay the mightiest of dragon. It was once a beautiful orb of a great magic, the magic to bind all elements together, to allow monsters and men to live in peace with one another, the power of peace…and of destruction. With this treasure, I send you to the school of knights…A darkness is brewing in the distance…I can feel it…you son…you must train with this blade and take the path of your ancestors, Awaken the long dormant power of Kissonotin! Do proud the Van'Hoven name!"


Azark's heart was racing, thoughts of battles and epic tales began coming into his head, his dreams, about to become reality. He was sweating in the mild weather, as was he shaking. The boy reached forward in a gasp, gripping hard the cloth bandaged handle, a surge of mystical power rushing through him. The feeling of being ripped to pieces and resurrected anew flew through his body, a sense as if his blood were being replaced with a weightless elixir. His eyes began glowing and his body was shaking, an aura of darkness suddenly surrounded his body, knocking his mother to the ground. The great power of his past was being drenched into his soul. A feeling of weightlessness encased his bones and marrow; a new amorphous happiness filled the room. The dreamlike feel of the moment seemed to stop time. Now the boy began muttering things in a smiling face, words of power and of past, the many truths were filling his head. The jewel not only gifting him with power, but with knowledge was consuming him. Suddenly it was realized by his mother, who immediately jumped from the ground, knocking the blade from her son's hands. Azark fell to the ground, aura disappearing, eyes shutting into a black sleep. He had been introduced to too much power for his small body to handle, too much knowledge for him to contain. Azark, just turning 10, had suddenly been introduced to the skill of an adept, seasoned, warrior, and the knowledge of a studied warlock.

Part 1.Intro





My name is Azark, and I would be pleased if you'll pay ear to my tale. Not so long ago, in a once peaceful land, four young people took notice to the challenge at hand. The destruction of their land. This divided empire was called Etainormia, Land of the Elements. Here resides islands of witch, obviously, are all governed by a specific elemental force. Enough of the tales of the land, we must get back to our heroes….Azark, Koga, Yukai, and Crest…four fighters of strength, bravery, and a power as old as time its self. Our journey was a very tiresome one…a very dangerous one… but nonetheless, one that would change our look on this deprived world.




I believe…I shall tell you my own tale first…now…where to begin? I suppose…I suppose I will start at the age of 5…heh, so long ago…so young…oh…I apologize…to the tale I shall tell!




Our first story takes place on an island in shape of a crescent moon. Desrolia, the Island of Darkness. This land, filled with shadow, is a relatively large island with many forests; most of witch are filled with leafless trees. The faint scream of a death can be heard nightly. Vampires and Lycanthropes hold their clans here. Although Dragons are sparse, an undead dragon can be found every once in a while roaming the forests. A small portion of this Island is set off with a barrier, this area, if not set off, would surely be a disaster to all mankind, Devlarsa , the most vile place on this world, bloodthirsty Dracopyres and Amazragons reside here. A variation of other nasty beast can be found here. My story will begin here in a small town near the rim of this monster laden land…I shall begin…



Ch: 1-Azark

Azark Van'Hoven was an ambitious boy, even at five he was always watching the knights of the castle over the hill train. He, A fatherless child, could never be enrolled in such a academy. None the less, Azark would always ask his busy mother. He would say things such as," Mom! If I can't fight…how will I protect you when the baddies kill all the k-k-nites in the castle?" and always swing around sticks and throw stones. Unbeknownst to little Azark though, his mother was planning on sending him to such a palace if she were aware his so said "baddies" were to show up in their village.


The town was filled with peaceful farmers, bakers, and the always bustling smithing family. Any time Azark would run into the town square, the sounds of bells and hammers ringing in his ears, the smell of ever baking breads and lush meats clouded his smell. The boy could always be found in the dark forest surrounding his self sustaining town. Running and training to be the savior knight of his dreams. The Van'Hoven name was much esteemed at one point in the little town. Long ago, before even the castle was built for knights, the legendary Azarain'th Van'Hoven, of the Dark Glyph they called him. Little Azark, filled with tales of his ancestors had always dreamed of mastering the sacred" Glyph" of his family's name.


A few years passed, Azark was eight now. His eyes were now turning from brown into a deep red, a trait of the Van'Hovan line. His mother saw him less and less, for he now, more than ever, he wished to fight. The boy was becoming strong in his own right, mentally and physically. When with his friends, Azark would always come home with a lovely smirk of victory on his face. His mother would ask what he had been doing while hanging pelts to sell at the market. His answer would often be along the lines of," I was in a big battle with Shadow, the great neck romancer, and defeated his horde of deadies!" or," I was battling a pack of hungry dragons and saved the village!" Regardless of his tales, he was always the winner, or soon after had a comeback.


Azark had begun developing an even greater cry for knighthood. The boy had also been developing good character, always doing the right thing. Time would pass until the boy was 10. Azark's hair was now long and black, he wore a grey garb of oversized cloth, and his eyes were both a bright red. These eyes of his, perfectly reflecting light and always gleaming with a spark of happiness were a sign of a great strength. Always had his mother thought, watching him grow, that one day, long into the future, Azark would be a powerful fighter, a legend of his time and many more to come. Soon, the both of their dreams were to be realized…

ninja