Chapter 102: 85 - Archon II
Azalea’s question, sharp and direct, hung in the air.
Was she always this inquisitive?
Most high-class magicians, let alone peasants, wouldn’t dare ask such a thing. Even an Arcanist Mage would hesitate.
Azalea’s gaze, newly vital, was unsettling, digging at wounds I thought had long since sealed.
Archon, huh... should I tell her?
The truth was a barbed hook, ready to tear, but I barely hesitated.
Considering the lurking danger, and the fact that Azalea’s reconstructed consciousness wouldn’t be truly whole—wouldn’t be like this if it were Kairi, as she was meant to be—without a complete understanding, she had to know.
If I could only convince her to get out of here, safe from that wicked bastard and the others, it would all be worth it.
The truth, however, wasn’t kind. It was cruel, ruthless. Unforgiving.
No, that wasn’t quite right.
The truth was cruel and ruthless, yes, but it was also filled with a brutal form of kindness. That’s what I told myself, a sugarcoat for the bitter pill. The truth was kind because it ripped away illusions, forcing us to confront reality, offering a harsh lesson that sparked growth.
So yes. I would tell her. I would tell Azalea the truth about the Archons.
Every agonizing, necessary detail.
My voice dropped, the very air around us thickening with the force of my long-suppressed rage, a low, fervent murmur that I knew Azalea couldn’t possibly comprehend yet. The weight of centuries of bitterness pressed down on me, making my chest ache.
"They are a blight, Azalea," I hissed, the words tasting like ash and venom on my tongue. My voice trembled, barely containing the fury that had simmered for so long, a slow-burning fire in my veins.
"Their very existence is a lie built on the suffering of countless others. Every ounce of their gilded power? Stolen. Wrenched from innocent lives, from ancient lands, from forgotten pacts, all to build their corrupt empire. An empire they parade as righteous, as just, as divinely ordained."
"Why?" Azalea asked, her voice small, completely lost. As if she could ever truly grasp the depth of their depravity, the sheer scale of their monstrous ambition.
How could she, with her newly formed mind, understand a history that had consumed my entire being?
My eyes blazed, reflecting a torment that spanned more than my own lifetime, a pain that echoed through generations. I saw the faces of those lost, the landscapes scarred, the magic twisted and leashed.
"Arthur is just another brick, Azalea. Another filthy brick in their towering edifice of deceit!" My gaze locked onto hers, demanding she understand, demanding she see what I saw. "
"They promise order. They promise power. They promise stability, prosperity, enlightenment!"
My voice rose, dripping with scorn.
"But all they bring is ruin! They shattered sacred pacts, ancient vows forged in blood and starlight. They betrayed trust that was freely given, and they tore apart lives with their arrogance. My life. My family’s lives. Countless others."
The weight of old grievances cracked my voice, each word a shard of glass ripping through my throat.
"They came with smiles and promises of peace, of shared knowledge, of a brighter future for all. They spun tales of unity, weaving them like golden threads around our unsuspecting hearts. My ancestors, fools that they were, believed them. They opened their doors, shared their secrets, allowed the Archons to walk among them as equals. And what did the Archons do in return? They learned our vulnerabilities. They mapped our ley lines. They cataloged our magical strengths and weaknesses."
My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms, a phantom pain echoing deeper wounds.
"And then, when they had extracted every last piece of usable knowledge, when they had absorbed enough of our power to make themselves truly invincible, they turned. Oh, they didn’t declare war with trumpets and banners. No, that would have been too honest. They simply began to absorb. They twisted our laws, corrupted our sources of magic, withered our lands from the inside out. They made our very existence illegal, calling our ancient practices ’dark arts’ while they themselves wielded power far fouler than anything we had ever conceived."
"You’ve seen Arthur in his true form, haven’t you?" I demanded, not waiting for her answer.
"The great serpentine beast? That’s what an Archon truly is. Not just some shapeshifting trick. It’s their very nature, Azalea. Their aura, their breath, their very essence... it literally sucks the energy from everything around them. It’s why places they linger too long become barren, why people around them feel drained, why even magic weakens in their presence. They are living, breathing, magnificent leeches. Kairi probably told you about this, back when your memory was whole. Or perhaps not, since you don’t remember now. But she certainly understood their true nature."
"They call us ’sorcerers’ with contempt, yet they are the true monsters," I continued, my voice gaining a scathing edge.
"They drained the very essence of our homelands, leaving behind barren wastes, stealing our Aetherflow until our own magic withered. They forced our people into subservience, into servitude, into the shadows. My family, keepers of ancient primordial healing magic, were hunted like animals." A cold, bitter laugh bubbled up from my chest.
"Divine? They’re nothing but parasites, fattened on the stolen life force of those they deem lesser. They are the ultimate con artists, Azalea. They don’t rampage like demons, tearing down cities with fire and claw. No, that’s too crude for them. They work from the inside."
My eyes narrowed, a sharp, dangerous glint in them.
"They worm their way into the heart of systems, promising ’improvement,’ ’efficiency,’ ’order.’ They’ll sit on councils, advise kings, infiltrate organizations like the International Magic Association – just one of countless bastions they’ve secretly hollowed out and corrupted. They present themselves as the rational, superior solution, the calm voice of reason, subtly redirecting resources, twisting policies, and eroding foundations until the entire structure collapses from within. And when it does, they’re the only ones left standing, ready to sweep in and ’restore order’ to the chaos they created. They are the disease and the false cure, all at once."
"And their superiority? Oh, they prove it every chance they get," I spat, my gaze flicking to the direction of Arthur’s pained growls, a fresh wave of loathing washing over me.
"Take Arthur, for example. He’s a prime specimen of their kind. You think it was just coincidence how many women fell for his charms? How many were drawn into his orbit, only to wither and fade after he moved on? It’s not just charisma, Azalea. It’s a calculated display of their inherent power to dominate, to consume. They are snakes, you see. Not just in form, but in essence. They have a seductive, playful, and utterly sharp tongue, perfectly fitting for a liar and a predator."
A guttural, choked sound ripped through the air, distinct from Arthur’s earlier growls, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossed my face before I pushed it down.
"I can hear you, you know!" Arthur’s voice, though strained and weak, somehow carried the indignation of his words.
Azalea was still in shock, if not outright disbelief, her eyes wide, processing my torrent of accusations. Good. Let her see the truth, even if it twisted her gut.
"But of course," I continued, my voice dropping slightly, the raw edge softening just enough to reveal a sliver of something akin to a painful, weary knowledge.
"There are good monsters. They are rare, so rare, that most have given up hope. They are often born of unforeseen circumstances, a mutation, a spirit that refuses to be corrupted by the Archon’s very essence. Or perhaps they are the last remnants of a truly ancient bloodline that resisted the corruption. You won’t see them flaunting their true forms, not if they’re smart. They hide, they live on the fringes, they pretend to be rude if not downright unfriendly."
I sighed, a sound that carried the weight of ages.
"Because to be genuinely kind, to show their true, gentle nature, would make them targets. Targets for the Archons, who would hunt them down, dissect them, turn them into tools. And targets for the fearful humans, who would condemn them without understanding. So they build walls, they snarl, they push people away. It’s the only way to survive, to protect the last flicker of decency they possess in a world that only sees the beast."
"And Arthur..." My voice hardened again, the brief softening vanishing as the immediate threat reasserted itself.
"He is not one of them. He is an Archon in its truest, most parasitic form. He drained the very essence of your mission, of your power, and would have consumed you entirely. He is part of their towering edifice of deceit, and he deserves every agonizing breath he takes under my power."
My Primordial Recovery magic might have saved Azalea, but it was clear that a different, far darker power had just been unleashed on Arthur.
A power born of ancient pain, meticulously nurtured, and finally, furiously unchained. A power they had earned, many times over.
