When I awoke, hours later, it appeared that healers had been working on the wound on my forehead. To my dismay, however, I would discover that I was marked in my duel with a long, deep scar raked across the top of my face. This scar is Her brand. That is what the clerics whispered in fear as they examined me. The moment I knew I was cursed for the first time, I was eager to resist the notion. However persistent I was in my disbelief and insistent I was of my lifetime of devotion to purer ideals, it was not enough to stay the dreadful interrogations that followed.
Once my flesh was mended to the fullest extent possible, the priests released me into the hands of the templars. Since I lost consciousness, several bore witness to the end of our duel. Having been told nothing since I awoke, I assumed that nothing had occurred that was of any fault of mine; the exception being my agreement to participate in the duel at all.
My assumption was viciously disproven.
I was required to tell my schoolmates for the remainder of my time at the Academy that the templars were gentle in their interrogation, but I no longer have any reason to perpetuate this lie. The full power of my inquisitor was justified by the Academy in their effort to learn what caused my behavior. I was burned with their light repeatedly in their crusade for answers, but I could not make sense of anything but the pain.
Despite this, however, I did not begrudge them for my treatment nearly as much as I begrudge them now for not having finished me off. My anger is clearly not rational, for I have since learned that if my life had been in jeopardy, they would have been dispatched by the evil spirit the priests were now convinced I carried within me. Even so, a part of me still hangs on to the notion that they were likely unaware of this. For if they did know the danger I posed to them, I doubt they would have risked attempting to maim me.
When they were finally able to accept that I knew even less than they, the templars told me what had happened. Several witnesses had gathered since my blackout to tell the story of my actions. Bellarose, fellow students who were passing through the opposite end of the field on which Ethan and I had clashed, and many Templars all reported what they saw. After sorting out the bias and mistaken falsehoods, these guards weaved a full account of what happened from the facts.
After the gash was opened in my head, a river of blood gushed down my face. I then staggered to the ground, prompting a chorus of triumphant laughter from Ethan and his two associates. Soon, a crimson pool had formed at my head, however, turning their amusement to shock. They would join Bellarose in her panic. As I read up to this point, I rolled my eyes to discover that the boys' fear was for themselves, rather than my safety.
While I bled out on school grounds, an argument had begun between the four students. The group was evenly split on the decision to either send for help or flee. I took this to mean that at least one of Ethan's friends had something of a conscience. Or perhaps he feared getting into more trouble than he surely was in already. Whatever he thought would not save him.
Bellarose ran to find help, while the conflicted boy knelt over to help me. He did not think to remove the sword still clutched in my right hand. If he had, I might not have been able to suddenly whip my arm upward and slash at his chest. That is what the report told me I did and as the boy staggered backward and shock, I stood up. What I purportedly did after that gave me quite a shock.
I licked some of the blood from my face and said. "Delicious! But one never enjoys his own blood as much as another's!"
I then proceeded to kill all three of the young men one at a time. My first victim, the boy who consented to helping me, was stabbed in the chest. The second of Ethan's friends tried to flee, but was quickly incinerated with a wall of flame of my conjuration. Seeing that escape was not an option, Ethan opted to continue our duel. But it was no contest. The fight ended with me slitting poor Ethan's throat and burying my lips in the flood of juicy crimson blood that he spilled.
After Ethan died, the templars attempted to subdue me. But my rampage did not stop there. The report continued to describe the events as I slew four templars and injured another. I only seemed to stop as I nearly turned my blade on Bellarose. Finally, once I had calmed down, the injured templar managed to knock me out once more.
My last days at Hem Academy were littered with assurances that the elders will be merciful. Surely, since I was not in control of my actions, what had happened to my victims was not to be considered my fault. No, it wasn't my fault. Even in my darkest times, I knew that. My friends and I discovered what the true cause of my dilemma was in that time. At first, it seemed as if the entire faculty was evading us. However, coinciding events conspired to lead us to the answers we all needed.
Miles was a member of our group that many would consider out of place. He always received poor grades, rarely talked to anyone, and spent a lot of time alone. But our friendship him was one of great convenience, as his uncle was a senior instructor. This instructor expected his nephew to keep the company of some of his fellow trainees and he chose to favor us because he found our personalities to be "the least repugnant."
To us, however, this meant that we were friendly with someone who could help us. When we confronted the teacher with our questions, he gave me fair warning that we would regret finding out the truth. I do believe it was understood that this warning was for the benefit of my friends. I would not be escaping the truth. Though I asked them all to leave, they insisted on being told as well what was happening to me. My protests were shouted down, and so the elder spoke to us.
Long ago, Maula, the Goddess of Death, set foot on Comalan, aiming to undo the creations of her father and uncle. With her army of darkness, she trampled through the great continent, spreading death with every step. But she was not without opposition. Mortal champions who respectively represented her mother, Serenity, and father, Ragos, formulated a plan to defeat her with an enchanted halberd.
They were aided by Artix Maloran, the first prince of Resta and the elven queen Orion. However, each of them had sworn vows to Maula, long-forgotten in the wake of her atrocities. For their betrayal, Maula cursed them, claiming that she will one day enslave a descendant of each. They underestimated her in her weakened state and failed to heed many warnings not to marry. They would spawn a powerful bloodline of magisters, spellwarriors, and templars and doom two of their descendants due to their union.
When my father and mother arrived at the academy, I learned from my father that I was the second of the family in whom the curse had manifested. Though I shared a fate with my sweet cousin Adamora, I did not share her response. I felt no fear; I felt only anger. This anger would not abate before the headmaster announced that I was to be expelled for dueling. So I never said goodbye to anyone but Bellarose.
When I left, it was never to see any but two of my friends again..
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