I͜ ̯h͚a͕v͔e͜ ̗r̬u̬n̼ ̭t͍h̻r̺o͍u͈g̱h̻ ̟c͚o̱u͉n͈ţl̗e͎s̖s̮ ̺t̫e̘s̻t̰s̯ ̦a̜n̡d͔ ̧p̗e̜r̤m̡u̻t͉a̧t̯i̯o̬n͚s̜.̭ ̩E̹n͓d͙l̳e͔șs͚ ̻f̥a͙i̜l̜e͕d̨ ̧h͔y̼p̡o̲t͖h͚ȩt̜ḭc͚a͖l̡ ͖s̢i̡t̞ṵa̡t͚i͜o̙n͍ṣ.̤
̱I̡d̪e̜a̝s͈ and frͅąg̝m͔eͅn͖t̳e̦d̢,̫ ͙m͎i̞n̜i̘s̤c̢u͜l̢e͎ ̥sͅp͚ḙc͍k̭s̟ ̞a͉l͙o͈n̻g͚ ̤t̥h̹e̻ ͙d̖e͚l̺i̩c͉a͖ţe̖ ̬f̻a̭b̢r̹i̯c̲ ͅo͎f̠ ͎ṟe̳a͓l͍i̞t̡y̬.̼
͚Ţh̳a̧ṱ ̭i̲s͎ ͖what I am.̼
̞T͍h͇i͖ș ͚p͕l̮a̠c͓e̝.̦.̤ ̗t͕h̗i̦s͖ ͜v̜o̲i̱d̥.͕ ̪M̩y͓ ̗f̠o̼r͎m̨ ̡c͎a̝n͕n̤o͈t͉ ̰ço͎n̤t̙įnͅu͓e̬ ̢t̝o̙ ͉b̹e͇ ͙s̲u̞s̗p̯e̺n̝d̦ẹd̨ ͍i͉n̙ ̣t̙h̖i̞s̬ ̤w͈i̳n̠d̲i͜n͈g̭ ͅb͎l̗a͜c̥k̘n͚e̲s͍s̹.̥ ͍E̹v̲e̠r͉y̙ ̠ḩọuͅr̢,̠ ̦ẹṿḛŗy̦ ̰m̯i̱n̝u̹t̺e̪,̲ ̝s̬ęc̣o͙n̰d͙ ̺a͙n͚d͜ ̥m̺i̧l͓l̡i͚sͅe̮c̢o̰n̖d͎ ͉t͜h̩ạt̹ ̫p̼a͈s̳s͚e̥s͈,̫ ̪I̢ ͅf̰e̮a̩r̘ ͈I̬ ͉l̻o̦s̱ḙ ͕m͎o̮r̠e̡ ̗o̩f̞ ̩w̦h̙o̤ ̹I̯ ̳a̙m̗.̲
̘R̤ḁt̻h͚e̦r̬,̫ ̡w̜h͕o̜ ̧Į ̙w͇ąs̟.̫ ͕T̠h̫e̤ ̥s̤c̲i̢e̹n̨t̡i͙s̯t͇ ͎l̬o̞s͉t͜ ̥t̻o̫ ̦t̜h̟e̺ ̩c͓l͚u̪t͜c̝ẖe̙s͙ ̳o̥f̱ ̻t̟h̖eͅ ̘v̘o̹i̹d̬.͇
̱I̯ ̯w̥o͕n̟d͎ḙr̦,͕ ̝w̧h̝a̭t̝ ͜i̖s͖ ͔l̫o̝s̭t͈ ̱i̪f̠ ̲y͚o̩u̡ ̠c̱a̗n̺n̪o͓t̢ ̺r̮ḙm̺e͍m̡b̖e͙r̡ ̲i̯t̨ ̧i͓n͕ ̼t̘h̰e̘ ͅf͎i̺r̹s̝t̯ ̪p̮l͖a̩c̠ḛ?̢
̥I̯f̱ ͎I̺ ̳a̳m̳ ̙w̖h͉a̠t͇ ̞I̬ ̲h͚a̖v͜e̡,͜ ̥a̼n̮d͔ ̫w̮h̘a̯t͕ ͍I̡ ̻h͍a̱v̮eͅ ͍i͜s̙ ̻l͇o͇s̭t͉,̠ ̜t̠h͎e͙n̫ ͇w̖h͓o̯ ̜a̻m̹ ̹I͖?͎
͇D͈a̤r̲k̠,̳ ͅd̩a̘r̟k̻e̦r͇,̩ ̪y̘e̻ț ̢d̦aͅrͅk͖e̫r̮.͚ ͎T̼h̥ḛ ̡d̪ạr͖ḵn̞e͜s̳s̱ ̲k̭ḛe̖p͇s̳ ͚o͍n͓ ̤g̼r̦o͖w̖i̮n̪g̣.̤ ̖T̟h̹e͈ ̲s̲h͈a͓ḑo͖w͇s͈ ͓c̰u̖t͙t̖i̮n͇g̦ ̧d͕e͙ȩp̞e̪r̤.ͅ ̥E̞v͔e̲ṉ ̢t̗h͚e͍ ͍f̧a̬i̝n̞t̨ẹs̺t̟ ̧h̲i̝n̗t͓s̗ ̧o̳f̞ ̡m̥y͇s̬e̩l̦f̨ ̼a͍r̼e̮ ͙a̯ḇs͉e̱n̼t̗ ̞f̪r̡o̻m̠ ̝e̮v̢ęr̩y͔t̝h̖i͓n͎g̼ ̡t͜ḩa͎t̺ ̲i̘s̫.̜ ͔F͇r͈i̢e̡n̺d͕s̮.̠ ̭F̯a̺m͙ḭl͙y̜.̥ ͅAͅl̗l̰ ͉g̻o͔n͍e͎.̹ ͍ ̞
͓H͈m̫m͈.͍.̰.̩ ̢T͇h̘i̳s͙.̖.̣.͈ ͅ'̨r̼e͍a̫l̯i͚t͚y̹'͎.͚ ̹T̮h̢i̪ș ̙i̜d̤e̠a͈.̼ ̙T̩h͓i̘s͓ ̢iͅt̖ȩr͖a͇ṯḭo͖n̲ ͈u͇p̼o͖n̫ ͉t̹ẖe͓ ̮w̢o̦r̙l̪d̖.̟
͜I̩ ̲a̡m̜ ̱m͈a̭d̳e̙ ̖t͎ǫ ͕n͈e͚v̱e̲r͙ ̝b̳e̩.̤
̲T̲h̹e͇r̫e̼ ̹a̖r̦e͔ ̜t̡e̜a̼r̙s͖ ̟i̘n̜ ̹t̙h̰i͔s̭ ̹o̺d̫ḍ ̝t̟i̺m͇e̱.͔ ̗P̠e̠r̭h͎a̻p̗s͍ ̢I̖ ̲c̪a̢n̦ ̥c̭h͚a̦n͇g̤e͎ ͎s̥o̻m̙e͓t̼h̟i̱ņg̜ ̡a͙f͕ṱe̖r̙ ͇a͜l̻ḻ.̼
̖.̝.͙.͜H̲o̙p̹e̱f͎u̥l̮l̰y̲,̗ ̧s̳o̤m͓e̖o̳n͍e͜ ̧w̯i̤l̩l̮ ͓b̤e̪ ̳d̜e͈t̫e̘r̗m̮i̮n̠e̫d͙ ͅe̤n̞o͔u̠g͔h͓ ͅt̥o̖ ̳t̗a̫ķẹ ͉m͎ḛ ̳h̘o͎m̩ę.̧
̲͉̮̬̬͚͓D̢̼̙̮͔̳̘̗̟̙̟̦ͅǫ̤͈̖̱̬̥͉̭̙̮̪ͅn̢̢͇̜̙̘̝̣̘̗̱̥͔'̧̨̤̪̘̤̞̳̩̠͓̭̟t̢̤̬͙̖̠̙̲͖̫̤̫͔ ̢̘̲͕̠̹̦͍̲̞̯̲͜f͕̺̪̰͎͔͙͓̼͕̙̳͚o̭̤̙̬̥̩͇̻̬͎̩̫ͅr̘̠̘̭͙̮͎̟͎̯̯̪͜g̨̯̲̲̲̦̥̪̯̣͕̜͙ȩ̨̩̼̳͙̜̜̬̞̬̘̣ţ̡̨͓̙̦͙̜̜̜͕͓̙ ̙̞̹̘̗̙͔̥̯͚͈̠̟m̧͓̝̤͕̥̟̳̟̻̹͍ͅę̞͇̗̭̫͕̺͈̠̱͈̤ ̨̝̱̮̦̤t͇̟̰͚͇͎o̧̢͍͎͎̰o̱͉͇͓̮͈.̢̢̢̩̯̰̪̝͚̪̹̭̳
Long ago, there lived two races: Monsters and Humans.
The many years of growing tension between the two different races snapped and war broke out between them. The two endlessly clashing forces finally struck in a series of battle; all of them in rapid succession. Magic against magic, weapon against bullet. Monsters and humans alike falling dead by the feet of their peers but forced to go on.
7 lead mages had started planning; they couldn't win like this. They knew they couldn't. It was a matter of time before the raging monsters all ended things once and for all: a strange force had guided their swings. A different glint in their eyes could be seen even from several feet away. The monsters... they were growing
Panicked and unsure, they prepared a last resort for the monsters by baiting the summit of Mt. Ebbot. While the uphill battle was strenuous and near-impossible, the humans fought off impressively so. Bodies lined the mountain in heaps and some could even say that the heavens heard their cries, because the battle was already over.
The spell had taken effect. All of those with dust for blood had been dragged into the depths of the mountain below.
The monsters, enraged and confused were stuck in the mountain and scrambling to get out. Their screams and desperate cries heard by every soldier outside of the mountain as the mages had started sealing them into the accursed mountain. However, one of the 7 mages, with a soul of DETERMINATION had revolted against the others, fighting them off as hard as they could. Soldiers were felled and a red cloak was left more red than before.
He fought off the others and tried to free the monsters, but he had decided to interfere far too late. The spell fully casted and the barrier in place, he sank to his knees and looked down at the abyss below. It was over.
The other six, PERSERVERANCE, BRAVERY, JUSTICE, INTEGRITY, KINDNESS, and PATIENCE, looked at the defeated caster in disgust. They hated this; how his face remained a stark neutral whilst struggling to break free from their grasp. He was a very respectable mage once before, a trait that the others could seldom see and often feared. How could they?! The person who they had let into their council, gave them trust..! The one who they had opened their doors to! the one who said he'd give his word!
And yet he had the gall to throw that all into the ether! Those people... no... those demons. They could've brought all of the people to ruin!
Without even being able to activate their soul trait, it was obvious that they were going to lose... and yet even though there was an impending punishment he was still filled with DETERMINATION. All of that reputation was gone in an instant. The prestige in which they held him, the glory and the importance; all of it destroyed with the bitter taste of treason.
All around were signs of war, broken trees and scattered plant matter. Dust flying in the air, and blood stains ingrained into the dirt. They dragged their prisoner to the battered cells and restrained his magic. All of the soldiers too tired to continue fighting, and the people too shaken for even one more drop of blood to be spilt.
The mages had thought of a suitable punishment. This was treason, but there was only a handful of those with souls of determination left. To kill them off would be a waste of potential; especially without knowing how useful they could be. Perhaps they could still be useful, if used correctly.
"He was easily going to kill us all. We wouldn't have expected a thing either, and that is what I feared... Behind that neutral guise is the face of a Judas!" Said the Orange mage.
"He has shown us what lies in his SOUL. He has shown us how much he cares for the people!" Said the yellow mage. "We believed him so easily; he was going to lead us straight into the beasts, should Patience not have been there!"
“if we had lost because of him, more of our people's blood would have been stains on the ground below. We cannot let this pass! We can not let him go without punishment!” Said the Purple mage.
"I don't think that those restraints would hold him down longer. What do you propose?" said Yellow.
"A curse on his voice could work, then he would never be able to cast spells. If it were big enough, it could cover all those demons and give them what they deserve. Remember; we still need them. They could be useful in repairing our capital." said the Orange mage.
"Hark! We just created the barrier, and if we get too tired the spell might disperse!" Said the teal mage.
"We would need to connect the two somehow. Both would last until eternity, and they would be stronger than ever. " Said the Leader. The piercing sunset started dimming into a dark, star-filled night while they worked on the new spell until daybreak. The night after the war was so quiet it could even be considered eerie; death was still looming around and ready to strike at any moment and everybody was aware of it. The air smelled like death, the fresh scent of trees replaced with burnt ozone and blood. Whatever plants remained were covered in dust.
Many civilians went to see the outcome of their damaged lands. Farms all destroyed, livestock diminished, flora and fauna alike gone almost entirely.The leader garbed in royal blue, Irwin Cobalt, sent his speech to the people awaiting consolation.
"It is settled! We have trusted these demons long enough! They will never shout another spell again!" Said the Irwin, being met with cheers from the war-torn crowd.
That is how everything started. All of those born with souls of determination were now considered "red demons" and were robbed of speech. Children fled at the sight of them, while people glared and even attacked them. The curse was passed down on all of those with determination, generation after generation. Slowly, the days of mages and monsters and magic faded away as well as the knowledge of the existence of any of them.
The curse? not so much. Disorder and conflict followed the war: survivors of the battle and civilians suffered from the tolls of war and many wished to die after losing their loved ones. The 6 mages had decided to erase those memories; they were simply too dangerous. A town filled with people who could not be contained, all screaming and wanting their old lives back; they had no choice.
The deeply stricken trauma and the hurt inside remained. The magic in their SOULs all but faded.
Although it took many generations of effort, the 'red demons' were re-integrated into society.
But that didn't stop the pain.
The traitor had a child as well, their name was...
Present day- Mount Ebbot- 20XX