*
Vondell headed back to the quest hall and bought a few supplied from the merchants there. As many daggers as he could fit in his inner pockets, and a few ingredients. Alchemical herbs mostly; monster parts were rarely in stock as they were used as reagents in many different spells.
He would've done the transmutation at his villa had it not still been under reconstruction from the last time someone broke in —unfortunately taking on certain onyx directives meant creating very powerful enemies from beyond the veil. So he made his way to the third floor of The Hall, known as The Facility. An area dedicated to the various needs of the scions.
In reality, it was a single white room with four doors lined on the wall at the far end. Vondell quickly approached the third door, and presented his tag to doorhandle. With a hiss, the door handle twisted, and the door slowly opened.
The sound of metal striking metal rang loudly from inside. ~Someone's already here,~ he thought to himself, before entering.
A sweet metallic scent filled the dimly lit room. The only light came from the far end, a great furnace that took up the center portion of the wall. It looked like the firey maw of a dragon, stretching past the wall to devour the shadowed figure that stood facing it. The figure raised a hammer into the air before striking down with so much force that the air around it rippled.
"With that much force, we might not have a furnace tomorrow," Vondell called out.
The figure paused, placing his hammer on a workshop table beside him.
"Do these old ears deceive me?" a rugged voice asked.
The figure stood up straight. He stood taller than a door, perhaps only a stone shorter than Vondell. However, his frame was that of a giant; his back alone looked like it could carry the skies.
"Your ears are fine, Itzel," Vondell replied, walking to greet his old friend.
The two shook hands, a warm solid handshake. The last Vondell had seen of him, they were down in the oasis. Itzel and his guild had taken another path in hopes that they might meet the Ancient priestess first. But Vondell had been the one to steal the prize.
"You're well?" Itzel asked after a moment of silence had passed.
Vondell nodded slowly. The priestess had taken a month's worth of preparation to kill, and in the end, it was his healing grace that saved him.
"Very little can still injure me these days," Vondell whispered.
Itzel broke out in hearty laughter. It was the sort of loud bellow you might mistake for a beast. "Very little indeed," he said. Before patting Vondell on the shoulder.
"But still, an Ancient Priestess. I've fought beside many great men, but never one who could slay such a whore with his own hand," Itzel said, turning serious. "In fact, some question whether you are a man."
Vondell froze at this. "What else would I be?"
"Dhampir? Demi-god? One of the higher races?" Itzel replied, staring straight at Vondell. "All I mean to say is that nothing can truly be hidden under the sun. I have no qualms with your secrets, all men have burdens they would rather not share. But you have to decide what you are, and quickly. Because soon, you might not have that choice."
Itzel remained silent for a bit, staring at Vondell as if he expected an answer.
"Varcros?" Vondell replied instead, gesturing at the glowing blue goop that Itzel had been hammering on.
Itzel looked back at it, before hunching over to pick up his hammer once again. "The mining unit found it on the 86th floor. The golem, remember," he said. "Back then I still didn't believe we'd make it this far," he added, before striking against it once more.
It rang with a deafening clang, sending blue sparks skidding against the floor.
"It's common for the strong to doubt themselves," Vondell replied, before walking towards one on the workbenches to the right side of the room. It was a large table, with hundreds of lines etched into its dark wood. Various runes had been fashioned out of these lines, positioned at the four corners, and in a triangle formation around the center. At the edge of the table rested four glass beakers, and a candle at the close corner.
"My doubts were not of strength," Itzel replied with a huff, before clanging against the Varcross once again. "They were off leadership. Back then we had no one to look to... to bring us together," he added, slamming the metal again. "We had no king."
Vondell scoffed at that. He began placing all the ingredients he had bought on the alchemical table. "Cities don't need kings. And I know where you're going with this," he replied, pulling out a dagger from his inner pockets. "I already told you, I have no plans of becoming the primary," he said. The dagger began glowing red hot in his hand, whining as its blade deformed under some phantom heat.
~It's okay, Surth,~ he thought to himself, before slicing a red line across his palm. He placed his bleeding hand over one of the beakers, covering its bottom with a crimson layer.
The candle flickered to life with an orange flame, and a constant red mist began bleeding from the table's edges.
"Antras will fall if you don't take the throne. And all our work will have been for naught," Itzel said, clanging against the metal even harder than before.
"Antras will be okay. And it will be better off without me at the helm. There are things I have to do Itzel. Things more important than a small city on a very small continent," Vondell replied, before preparing the ingredients.
He plucked a few leaves from a blue sapling and snapped the root off a red one.
He threw the two into a second beaker, before pressing his bleeding hand against the lines of the table. "Activos," he whispered, and the lines began glowing a bright orange color. Two of the runes lit up; the flame, and the river.
Some of the blood in the first beaker turned to mist, and trailed into the second. With that, the three ingredients became a glowing purple liquid.
Itzel had stopped hammering and was now staring back at Vondell. "I know how it feels. To think you're the most powerful man in existence," he said in a faraway tone. "I used to think that the gods loved me more than anyone else. That I was destined for more," he continued, before placing the hammer to the side. "Don't let your strength blind you from what's important. The people in Antras love you. And trust me, there is not much of that at the end of the path you walk."
Vondell crushed a pink flower in his palm, before tossing it into the purple liquid. A third and fourth rune lit up; splitting earth and uniting winds.
The blood level in the first beaker lowered slightly, and the purple liquid turned a dark shade of pink.
"I don't want love, Itzel. And I know where my path leads. I've been walking it more years than you've seen," Vondell replied. He respected Itzel, but he grew tired of the man's pestering.
"And you were foolish for believing what you did. But I suppose at some point I was the same," he added.
"The gods don't love. They don't even know what love is."