Pyrestriker Chronicles revise

Pyrestriker Chronicles

Prelude
Magic... We think of it to be nothing more than a mere faerie tale. Many centuries ago, the people of that time would probably have killed you for blasphemy, just for speaking of what we know today as “technology”. It's the classic case of seeing to believe. The truth, as it will be revealed in about another millennium, is that overpopulation and over-resourcing our planet is to blame for our over-dependency on technology, and the death of the magics that were once part of this world.

In the year 2386 A.D., after over 300 years of so-called “peace” between the nations of Earth, WWIV will have broken out. Fear of our own weapons will have kept everything down to straight combat for over a decade. It will be at that point that a simultaneous decision between several nations to launch the nuclear weapons would result in the largest nuclear disaster ever to hit the world. After a matter of weeks, a population of 98.7 billion people would be reduced to a mere 4-billion. The resulting years afterward would continuously deplete the population down to a mere 200-thousand or so, the only survivors being those who had developed an immunity to the lesser extremes of the radiation pouring out of the planet. Of course there will  also be those of power who would conceal themselves underground for the next forty years, but over that time had grown to be a weaker version of the past human race, with the lack of sunlight and proper nutrition.

This would mark the 50-year period it would take to regroup the main collections of people that had survived and thrived. They would then set up a new dating system, starting at year fifty. The new calender would start on what would seem to be the first day of spring, and known as the A.W. (After War) year system.

By the year 750 A.W., the number of people will have began to rise once again, though still quite sparse. Small-sized communities separated by miles of recuperating wilderness would be linked only by the slightly-worn dirt paths that were once highways hundreds of years ago. Due to the rise of supernatural powers, and creatures that had not been spoken of being seen since before the dark ages, the tables will be turned. Technology will be the myth, whereas magic would be fact. This will spark a new series of religions, as well as help incite the lesser-known practices of today, the most common of which would be Wicca and Cabalism.

And now, in 956 A.W., in a time where the arcane now reigns supreme in everyday life, restored by the technology that had helped diminish it in the first place, we join our character Arsignus Christos. His path just may save the world from another disaster, even greater than the one that had so drastically changed the world almost a millennium ago.





Chapter 1
The Right Thing?

The light of the setting sun forced its way in between the breaks of the the curtains in the window. Arsignus watched the specks of dust that floated in the rays, like a polluted stream. His thoughts roamed around his mind, uncategorized and random, much like the dust in front of him. He turned over in the hotel bed, looking at his one piece of luggage that he carried with him. It was long, and wrapped in burlap.

The voices of children echoed through the streets. It could be told that they were playing. The laughter stopped when two men started into yelling at each other, incoherent from the reverberation. Quickly the clanging and shearing of metal began, to which Arsignus looked outside his second-story window. The two men were engaged in a swordfight, running practically all over the place. Children were running out of their way, screaming in a panic as Arsignus grabbed his sword as a precaution. Just as he got back to the window, a child had chased after her dropped ball, and tripped as the two men were about bring the fight her way.

Arsignus jumped out of his window, and kicked himself into a roll off the bottom of the hotel, grabbing the child in the process to bring her to safety. As he looked back at the two men, there was only one still alive. Again, the screaming of children erupted, as the ground below soaked up the blood, an expanding crimson. “That'll teach you to try and steal my rum!” the man screamed, grabbing his bottle and taking a swig. Arsignus got up and drew his sword from the burlap. The hilt was gold, and the blade staggered into an almost flame shape at the top; gradient from blue at the base to red at the tip.

The man looked over at him, grinning. “You want some of this too?” the drunken man proclaimed, taking a mediocre battle stance. He was sort of swaying, his courage fueled only by his intoxication. “Get in your houses, children,” Arsignus said, “And don't look out here. You shouldn't have to see this.”

“Aww, is there a pwobwem Mr. Consi.. Conscien... Ah, screw it. You're a dead man!” The man came charging at Arsignus. Arsignus, however, stood there, calm, until at the last moment, he jumped in the air and kicked himself into a flip off the wall. The man's sword hit the wall just before Arsignus landed on the man's head, and jumped off from there. From there the man went wild, swinging his sword like an animal. Arsignus dodged every overly dramatic swing with ease.

“You really think that you can get away with killing someone over something as unimportant as a bottle of booze?”
“What's it to ya? It's none of your business!”
“Your kind, who resorts to alcohol and violence so quickly should not be roaming these streets!”

Arsignus then drew his first swing, cutting the man's blade in half. The man continued to swing a few more times before noticing, and dropping his dilapidated weapon to the ground, then himself to his knees starting to sob.

“I-I'm sorry,” the man said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Life's just so hard these days, you have to take what you can get.” (Sniffle) “Things just got carried away is all. Please don't kill me!” Arsignus took his sword to the man's throat. “You ever try that again, be sure your days are numbered. Got it?”

Before the man could even answer, his eyes had averted to the rumbling in the distance. A large machine, even larger than the city was approaching. Several dozen turrets on the machine all targeted the center of the city as everyone watched in awe. Nobody knew what it was; nothing like it had ever been seen. Suddenly, it fired all of the turrets simultaneously.

Arsignus' eyes got wide as he panicked and ran. Funny thing about how emotion can affect you. That freaked him out so bad that, even as one of the rockets fired from the turrets was aimed right for him, he was able to run slightly faster while dodging falling debris. However, within a matter of moments, the rocket hit a fallen wall just as Arsignus jumped over it, causing it to explode. Everything went black.


Chapter 2
Skeletons in the Head

“Arsignus! Arsignus! Come in for dinner!”

A young Arsignus looked over to his home, to see his mother calling him in. He ran in, his feet crunching the snow. “Coming momma! Is daddy going to be here?” He came inside to see a worried look on his mother's face. “No... I'm sorry, I do wish he'd make it home more often,” she said, as she placed a pot on the dark, wooden table. The house was lit by candles, which flickered with every moment, and the fireplace in the room behind his seat. They didn't have much, and they were lucky to even eat tonight. A tear began to drop from Arsignus' cheek. “Why is he never home, momma?!? It's not fair! We should be a family like everyone else!” He then proceeded to knock the pot onto the ground and run outside into the dark night.

Arsignus kept running until he came upon the temple. He slowed down, and looked around. Nobody was out, nobody to see him. Just the lights of the Aurora Borealis in the distance were to his company as he walked into the temple. There, a lone priest adorned in a black and red robe, was studying a scroll. He looked up, his white eyes making him only appear blind. “What seems to be the trouble? Shouldn't you be at home with your family, young Arsignus?”

“What family?” he replied, as he took a seat, pouting and dangling his legs, “It's just me and my mom anymore. Daddy never is home. I hate it there!” Another tear rolled down his cheek.

“Now there, there... You shouldn't say that. Your father works very hard to try and put food on your table and clothes on yo..”
“Well he doesn't try hard enough!”
“Arsignu..”
“It's true! Most days I don't even eat! I don't ever see new clothes! I'm lucky that I was able to get these shoes because I earned the money for them. I'm working for the extra money, and I never see dad! And when I do, half the time he doesn't have any money to show for it!”
“Times are tough, I know.”
“How come you live so warm and fed?
“Well, I attribute that to the tithes I get from the villagers, as part of serving to the faith. And it's not all glamor. Much of the money I receive goes right back into the community, helping people in your situation. Sometimes I give up my meals just to see people like you eat and stay fed. I know I have been blessed by ___.”

Arsignus looked up at the sword that had been completely encased in crystal, placed directly behind the podium as an altar to ___. It's tip, pointed down, was a fiery red, which died down to a cool blue near its base.  The hilt was made of a golden bronze, and seemed to give off a calming energy as Arsignus stared at it. “I'd like to study with you,” he said.

“Are you sure that you are prepared, young one? Before you can study, a test of the heart is required. You must completely and fully be able to dedicate yourself. If you cannot, then

(Sorry! That's all you get!)