Shadows Reborn (2nd Book)

Chapter 30: Sanity's Veil

To think, Althalos too possessed the same color of irises in the past, when only now his orbs had undertaken their final transformation, from the amethyst and ruby of Merec, to the pure blood red, and now the black shadows that were the paragon for his power.

"Fire away, my friend," Althalos replied, waving an arm around nonchalantly.

Seraith watched the proceedings from where she lay by the fire, interest sparkling in her iridescent eyes.

"What do you need these for?"

Althalos looked at him, challenging the dragon by the way of a staring contest between them, a serpentine pair of reddish orbs fighting against demonically black ones. The smile grew bigger, and he chortled slightly, looking away as his shoulders shook.

Such gaiety. Why? Even the demon lord himself expressed confusion over his sudden happiness, even at such a topic like this.

The world itself would bow before you soon enough, and I find it amusing that a lowly farm boy managed it all.

Amusing, isn't it? The Lord of Shadowy Death that can only be Merec agreed with him, a light chuckle that echoed his drifting into his mind.

It is, my Lord Master. It is.

"Althalos!" He again turned his head, staring back into Miasmador, hearing the low grumble in his throat, and the wisps of smoke winding out of his nostrils. "Would you care to answer my question?"

"Sorry," He apologized, though quite frankly, he did not mean it in the least. "Well, the scroll and stone is to do my Lord's will."

His blunt and swift reply sent Miasmador plummeting down into more holes of curious-inducing beasts, and his curiosity only increased when in fact it would've decreased, as is obvious to anyone else.

"Really? Just that, my friend?" Miasmador's response was filled to the brim with the all-too obvious sarcasm that befits one of his attitude, and even his scaled eyebrow was a clear point of his doubt.

"You are hardly so demanding, Miasmador. What triggered this lust?" Althalos asked now.

"I want answers, boy, and you are the Champion of Merec, the harbinger of his coming."

"What?"

"You, boy, and you alone, have the power to summon Merec from his prison into this world, to Magnus," Seraith explained to him in a low tone, looking away from them and observing the night skies, admiring the stars above, whispering so low that not even Althalos could hear her.

"So it shall be."

'What are you saying, Althalos?" Miasmador questioned him, now trapping him in one of his claws, bringing it down upon the young Shadow champion with the brown hair.

"When the Shadows speak, the faithful shall follow," He told him, his shoulders shaking as tears gleamed in his black orbs, and a laugh sprung out of his throat. He shook his head, in spite of the thorns grazing Miasmador's talons, his laughters intensifying as tears flowed down his temples, landing on the ground in a silent drip.

"Why are you laughing?" Seraith's tone was calmer, and showed less emotion, but was still as curious as Miasmador's, and as angry as his. "This is not a matter to be discussed lightly, especially considering your stance."

"You are all so funny!" He turned his head, and Althalos swore to himself that he saw something fling by, as if a passing shadow, but he shook his head, his laughters continuing.

Have you gone insane, my Champion? Came the voice of Merec, very much amused, light chuckles interrupting every word spoken by the timeless god of Shadowy Death.