Cleru Neos
In the vast tapestry of common narratives, my story echoes that of a peasant. From my lineage stretching back through generations, from my father, mother, grandfather, and grandmother to even my uncles and aunts, the unbroken thread of poverty runs through our family's history. Our roots trace back to the heart of an all-human farmer enclave known as Serene Village, where the majority live a life of moderate means. However, my family's circumstances have been such that we couldn't even afford the luxury of a dragonoid helper. Born into the cycle of impoverishment, we seemed destined to inhabit a life of meager means, a reality that persisted until the tumultuous arrival of the Second Dragonoid War.
With a swiftness that defied comprehension, the conflagration of war engulfed us, reducing our village to smoldering ruins in the blink of an eye. Out of the once-thriving community that had housed thousands of men and women, a mere thirteen souls emerged as survivors. And amidst the wreckage and ashes, I stood as one of the fortunate few.
Recollections from that moment remain hazy; I was but a tender four or five years old. What lingers, though, is the sensation of being trapped beneath debris, the air stifling and the world blurring around me. Then, as if by some providential intervention, the weight was lifted, and before me stood my savior. His visage was etched with tears—the tears of Yuri Dragunov. In his tearful gaze, I discovered a mixture of relief and compassion, as if he had safeguarded not merely a stranger, but his own flesh and blood.
Yuri became my guardian, nurturing me as though I were his own kin. As the war's cacophony reverberated, we embarked on a ceaseless odyssey through desolate, radioactive cities, driven by the hope of uncovering fellow survivors. Each step took us deeper into the aftermath's grim aftermath, where the dust of destruction seemed to settle like a shroud over all we once knew. Among the debris and desolation, we chanced upon another innocent soul. This time, it was the figure of Zac Schneider.
In the embrace of our newfound bond, our trio persisted in our search, burrowing tirelessly through the remnants of shattered lives. And then, as if fate's hand was guiding us, we uncovered the forlorn remnants of yet another existence—a child marooned within an underground labyrinth. A cataclysmic explosion had stolen away all other souls on that fateful train ride, sparing only two individuals: a human child, Alder Windstrafe, and a dragonoid girl named Emy.
We embarked on a relentless journey, traversing cities and deserts, navigating war-ravaged zones, and pressing the boundaries of our world to its very edges. Amidst this arduous undertaking, a singular purpose guided us: survival intertwined with the imperative to extend a helping hand to those in dire need. But as we now grapple with vastly altered objectives in the present day, I find myself contemplating the unfathomable shifts that have shaped our trajectory. Why has destiny woven this intricate tapestry of events?
In the hushed moments by the firelight, Dragunov once revealed his own narrative to me. The echoes of a bygone era resounded in his words, a time fifty years past when the First Dragonoid War cast its shadow. Amidst the tumult of that conflict, he found himself orphaned, his parents swept away in the tide of battle. Details about his formative years remained shrouded, but it was the subsequent tragedy that etched profound scars upon his soul. A loving wife and two cherished children, a son and daughter, were the center of his universe. His occupation as a scientist within the Human Alterran Empire saw him tasked with the creation of a new weapon, intended to quell the rising insurrection among the dragonoids prior to the war's eruption. Yet, the threads of fate wove a cruel design as the Dragonoid Liberation Front seized his beloved family, wielding them as leverage. In their iron grip, he was coerced into fabricating a destructive bomb that would spell doom for his own kind.
A haunting chorus of inevitability surrounded his actions as he yielded to the harrowing demands that jeopardized his family's lives. The Human Military Marine Corps, alerted to Dragunov's plight, attempted a daring rescue operation, but the outcome was calamitous. The captors exacted a merciless toll: Dragunov's wife fell victim to a dragonoid's blade. Fueled by grief and rage, the dragonoid ranks retaliated, staunchly defending their asset against the empire's forces. The tide turned when the human military, pushed to their limits, harnessed the devastating power of Dragunov's own creation, the bomb that obliterated the dragonoid threat. In the aftermath, it claimed not only the lives of the enemy but also those of Dragunov's precious children.
Cocooned within a reinforced capsule, Dragunov survived the blast, a solitary remnant amid the desolation. The world mourned him as a casualty, oblivious to his existence until his resurgence as a duke in the tumultuous Third Dragonoid War.
Haunted by the weight of his creation's terrible legacy, Dragunov committed himself to a different path, resolved to rescue lives rather than extinguish them. Once a noble soul, his story took a darker turn upon encountering Him.
Our quest led us to the ruins of a cathedral on the southern fringes of the empire, its once-majestic spires shrouded in a blanket of unyielding snow. Unlike any sacred place of worship, this edifice bore enigmatic hallmarks of the arcane—illuminati symbols, the sinister mark of the beast, and statues invoking a sense of primal dread, from rams to dragons and knights. Yet, the depths of the cathedral concealed an enigma, a door adorned with eyes that glimmered like a spectral rainbow.
Upon the creaking of the door, a surreal tableau unfolded before us, revealing a man submerged within a macabre font of blood, his form suspended in a state of eerie suspension. Awoken by our intrusion, his languid form stirred, drawing our attention, and he extended a morbidly welcoming greeting, inviting us into his unsettling abode.
"Behold the name Necross," he intoned, his voice laden with a haunting timbre. "From the depths of an eternal slumber, you have roused me. As the tendrils of Requiem Aeternam release their grip, I stand before you, ready to bestow upon you a boon."
Dragunov, his gaze carrying the weight of unspoken yearnings, seized the moment to convey his fervent desires. "Necross, I beseech you to mend the fabric of my shattered family. Let the fires of war be extinguished from this world."
Necross, an entity forged from shadow and gore, regarded Dragunov with an enigmatic expression, a mirthless smile playing upon his lips. "Your aspirations, Dragunov, are a tapestry of noble intentions, woven from the threads of humanity's deepest longing. Alas, with my current dominion, I am bereft of the means to manifest such profound changes. The path to your wish's realization is paved with a distinct set of prerequisites, and for these, I must solicit your cooperation."
In earnest, Dragunov's voice resounded, tempered by resolve. "Name your terms, Necross, and I shall submit to them."
A macabre chuckle emanated from Necross, his demeanor an unsettling blend of otherworldly knowledge and chilling amusement. "The ritual known as the Necross Ascension is all that I require—a ritual of elemental simplicity. The gathering of souls, 666 million, 666 thousand, 666 in number, each claimed by the hand of murder, shall serve as the catalyst for my reclamation of eternal power. The identities of the perpetrators are inconsequential; only the sum of their lives, extinguished, is of consequence. Upon amassing this grim bounty, my omnipotence shall be reinstated, and then, and only then, will your wishes find fruition."
As the audacious terms hung in the air, Dragunov's contemplative gaze met Necross's piercing gaze. A bitter laugh, chilling in its implications, danced from the lips of the blood-drenched figure. "In your perception, Dragunov, perhaps the proposition bears a semblance of reason. The trade of six hundred million lives for the promise of boundless peace, the redemption of your cherished kin, appears an equitable exchange. A triumphant conclusion, a utopian tapestry unfurling before you."
In that moment, a decision loomed—an unenviable calculus that balanced an unthinkable sacrifice against a utopian ideal. In the tenebrous chamber, Dragunov grappled with the darkness of his past and the tantalizing light of an idyllic future, his choice hanging poised, the very balance of destiny in his hands.
The encounter with Necross ushered in a profound transformation in the course of our lives, steering us along uncharted trajectories. The arcane gifts bestowed upon Dragunov by the enigmatic entity unfurled newfound wealth and influence, altering the very fabric of his existence. This newfound prosperity enabled him to throw his unwavering support behind Zac's burgeoning armory enterprise, a venture that rapidly propelled him into the elevated position of a young duke. Not to be left behind, Alder and I also saw our aspirations realized, empowered by Dragunov's benevolence. Our dreams of becoming honorary soldiers found fertile ground, taking root and flourishing under his auspices.
At a tender age of seven, I was ushered into a realm of martial instruction, partaking in private sword lessons that would shape the contours of my destiny. In a twist of fate, I found myself sharing a class with none other than Princess Serenity Elkyria, an unlikely camaraderie forged by a shared swordmaster. Through this connection, the seeds of friendship were sown, and over the years, our bond deepened as we navigated the intricate dance of companionship and shared ambitions. As the sands of time carried us into adolescence, an unforeseen tempest loomed on the horizon—the outbreak of the Third Dragonoid War.
Amidst the chaotic upheaval of war, opportunities for growth and transformation presented themselves with a relentless fervor. Zac's arms dealing enterprise surged, riding the tumultuous tide of demand, while Alder's dedication as a soldier of the empire honed his prowess on the battlefield. Dragunov, too, diligently fulfilled the sinister pact he had forged with the otherworldly Necross, his tally of lives taken in service of that demonic contract steadily mounting.
The throes of war cast a blinding spotlight upon my existence, positioning me as a guardian against the onslaught of dragonoid assassination attempts, most notably aimed at the vulnerable princess. I emerged as her steadfast protector, an unwavering bulwark against the tides of danger. Amid the chaos, a profound connection blossomed between us, an unspoken affection that transcended the bounds of circumstance. As I ventured into the crucible of peril time and again, wounded and battered, it was Serenity's tender care that nursed me back to health, solidifying the tendrils of emotion that bound us.
From this nexus of shared experience and ardent emotion, a new aspiration crystallized within me—a desire to ascend to the echelons of the esteemed dragon knights. Yet, amidst the backdrop of endless conflict, a shadow gradually unfurled across my perspective. The countless lives snuffed out by violence, even the innocent like the princess herself, cast a grim reflection upon the path Dragunov had chosen. In the face of such unrelenting brutality, I could no longer deny the truth: the course Dragunov had charted, the very path that had enriched our lives, was fundamentally awry, leading us down a road of darkness and moral compromise.
Amidst the tempestuous currents of our lives, a pivotal juncture emerged, prompting my definitive divergence from the mantle of Dragunov's influence. A radical departure from my stepfather's dominion was imperative, and so I severed the bonds that once connected us. Braving the uncharted path to the Dragon Knights Academy, I embarked on this endeavor with a resolute heart, forsaking any semblance of support from the man who had been both a guiding light and a harbinger of darkness. Fortunately, fortune smiled upon me in the form of Jasmine, an unwavering companion who accompanied me on this solitary journey. As the academy doors swung open, an unexpected patronage emerged, veiled in secrecy—the princess herself, surreptitiously alleviating the weight of my financial burdens.
Notwithstanding the apparent chasm between us, Dragunov persisted in his role as a paternal figure. His actions, though driven by intentions ostensibly rooted in my happiness, often transgressed the bounds of morality, rendering forgiveness an elusive sentiment. One particularly egregious instance marked his descent into morally fraught territory—an unsanctioned assassination that paved my way to the coveted position of Princess's Guard, an honor previously held by the felled dragon knight.
This event would reverberate through time as the inaugural note of the Dragon Knights Tournament, an epoch-defining contest that would wield immense influence over our collective destinies. Yet, with the passing of time, the contours of Dragunov's priorities began to blur and distort, a once-compassionate soul giving way to the insidious trappings of sadism and recklessness. His domain stretched insidiously, akin to a puppet master hidden in the shadows, manipulating the lives of those around him—Zac, Alder, and even myself.
Yet, as the tendrils of control tightened, a revelation emerged that would shake the very foundation of Dragunov's grasp. Unbeknownst to him, his puppeteer strings were themselves ensnared in an intricate web of manipulation, woven by none other than Necross, the enigmatic entity that had crossed our paths. The grand orchestrator of events, it seemed, was not Dragunov alone, but a malevolent force beyond reckoning, pulling the strings of fate to unfathomable ends.