The Loss Era of Custodians

Western Slope of the Northern Ridge

Day 21

[YOSU STYLE (OSU alpha-0.9) CTE Black Lily] 

- Transmission Open 

"Multiple Morgo's signatures detected; four in total. 

Advice: Move with caution; Case result: Surrounded; 

Aris, can you handle this?" 

"Is this some kind of joke?" I muttered, annoyed that someone doubted my abilities. 

"Waiting for Bait Factor Deployment."

"Deploying Bait Factor."

This world is cursed, not for the cursed but for those who spread it. People say that the world repeats itself every five hundred years, all brought about by the so-called Morgo's Disastrous—monstrous creatures that inhabit the fogged world.

"Aris; Bait deployed. Projected time for first confrontation – 5 seconds." 

5; 4; 3; 2; 1. 

"Aris prepare for combat." 

"As you say, my good-for-nothing princess." 

"Stop it. And don't you dare die on me." 

"In your dreams." 

- Transmission Cut

A cold breeze swept around me, bringing with it an icy fog that descended upon the northern ridge, freezing the air. Ice crystals formed on my eyebrows and in my hair. It sure is cold today, a day most suited for completing commissions and beating the enemy to the plum.

Sooner or later, the fog started accumulating on the flat ground where I stood; eight pairs of glaring black eyes in total, waiting for the mist to overtake me.

"Let pain come to thee and let there be left scoff-free," I whispered as a sudden pain from an itching tusk blanked my vision. A thin layer of ice froze my sclera; my pupil expanded, morphing and dividing until it found the shape of a snowflake.

The shadows grew darker, developing within the mist. Morgo's Disastrous were creatures that feared the light; even the gods of this land feared them, allowing their ice-cold rule to pave the way for their destruction. But this destruction would not last for long; we, the Custodians of these wrecked monsters, have a duty to eliminate every single one of them. This is a promise we of the Custodian Brotherhood share.

By the looks of it, I had been surrounded by a squad of wraiths, a Higer-1B class, born from the remnant wishes of the dead. Dealing with them was a hassle; they were immune to physical as well as elemental Arcanium spells. The only true way to destroy them was to deplete their Arcanium reserves, something an Arcane Mage like me was well-versed in.

"Gelida Cataclysmus, Fricarious," I murmured, my breath crystallizing in the frigid air. Ice spread rapidly from my body, a glistening wave of frost covering the ground. Ice spikes rose from the ground, piercing through the icy surface.

The shadowy foggy figures of the wraiths started swirling as their smog bodies materialized over the ice-covered ground. This was expected; collecting their Arcana-composed bodies was the only way to eradicate these ash-like forms.

"It's cold," I mused, feeling the chill seep into my bones. Slowly, ice began to creep across my face, the frost forming intricate patterns on my skin. The cold tendrils moved steadily downward, over my neck and shoulders, numbing me. Bit by bit, the ice spread over my body.

[YOSU STYLE (OSU alpha-0.9) ETC Black Lily] 

- Transmission Open 

"Sophia, you never told me the Morgo's were wraiths," I began, my breath forming a cloud of frost. "I'll have to..."

"Seriously? Here I am, shocked that you didn't die of hypothermia. Sending coordinates of the nearest Order." 

- Transmission Cut

On the 8th day of the long winter, the earth below our feet gave rise, crumbling through the mantle, demolishing and fracturing any building that stood along its fracture lines. The busted fissures of ancient lava gave birth to the so-called Morgo's Disastrous, at least that is how the folk story goes.

Not even the great 'Morgo; The Corked' was able to give a definite answer to the question of his disastrous origins.

Some say they are malevolent spirits; 

Some say they are dead remains; 

Some say they are dead wishes; 

Some say they are converted rice bags; 

Some say they are monsters of the past; 

Some say they are the personification of death; 

Some say they are pawns of the devil; 

Some say they are echoes of the lost ones; 

Some say they are the sentient feelings of passersby. 

Even after five hundred years since their discovery and three hundred years since the isolation of the Custodian, there is still a blank hole left in the origin of the Morgo's Disastrous.

T