Melasurey - City of Mystery

Melasurey is a city where nothing is impossible. IT is a places of power & magic. Some of these powers are of the light, and some of the dark. Powers of creation and powers of destruction. Neither good nor evil. Just raw power, twisting and curling with energy and chaos in its primal purity.

There are some unfortunate beings, creatures that pre-date civilizations that can sense, and track down these places of power. And if they wanted to, if they were willful enough, if they were cunning enough to deceive the molecules of life, if they were desperate enough, some of these beings would be able to steal the raw powers of the universe.

These people become greedy, though. After the first taste of unfiltered unadulterated magic flowing through their veins, they become violently addicted to the magic. They need it every moment of their lives, until their hunger consumes them from the inside, a horrible fire that starts from their hurts and ends in their ashes.

The city of Melasurey was one such place. One of the epicentric ones. It's the place where gods come to die, where demons and monsters crawl in the dark. It's the place where angels and devils meet in the intrigue of the night, and where men are NOT mortal. It's the place where gods are born, where light angels dance in the starlight.

Jestar knocked on the shack door, his face stern and amused. It had been a long journey. But he was finally here. He sensed the wondrous things that were going on around him, but he couldn't see them. Not yet.

The shack was a mass of wood barely held together by nails and sweat. The door opened, just a bit at first, letting out a dim shine of red light. An old, old eye looked out from the gap. Jestar met the ancient eye with his own, squinting slightly, his lips curling to form a smile. The gap widened, and red light streamed out. The eye had disappeared, and the threshold was empty. Jestar felt the barrier tentatively and found no blocks. He persisted inside and sought his prize.

On the chair was a… creature. It was shaped like a baby, except it must have been mixed up in some other gene pool before coming into this world. Its deformed face crunched up, it's obscenely short legs lying uselessly on the chair. It had long hands; one of them was healthy but thin, and the other was just skin and bones. It was clothed in a huge rag dirtier than Jestar's shoe.

Despite appearances, Jestar smiled. And asked, “Is it here?”

Who could have thought the little creature could speak? But, it did. And it had a perfectly normal voice. “Yes, it is. Remember your word, Lord Jestar. I need it.”

The 'Lord' Jestar gave a frozen smile, “I don't go by that anymore. But, that's another story. I remember my words. All of them. You'll get what you want, you cheat.”

The creature ignored his last words, and simply nodded. It turned its face to one of the walls, and its eyes blazed red. A flick of the finger and several clicks of the tongue, and part of the wall was replaced with a door, runes covering it from head to toe, patterned lines and ancient symbols splattered all over.

Jestar waved a hand over the door, and everything THUD on it disappeared. As soon as the runes were gone, the doorframe began to THUD rattle, slowly at first but the shaking became more violent each moment. THUD THUD

Another wave stopped the rattling, and there was only a piercing silence in the air. Jestar opened the door and walked through, finally coming face to face with the thing he'd been searching for.

The doorway had opened to a large plateau, dusty and red. Lying on the dusty ground stretching from one horizon to the other was a great being on brink of utter rot. The air was filthy and foul, stagnant and dead. Quite unlike the god. He was being held down by a thousand thousand snakes, each longer and bigger than the last, and no matter how much the god struggled, they only tightened their tenacious hold.

There are gods born every second. If they're lucky, they get to die.

Jestar smiled viciously. He stepped closer to the great being, his body perfusing with dark light energy. “The moment of my triumph, old fraud. It's finally here.” Within moments, he was standing on top of its chest, a sword in his hand, its tip sharper than moonlight. “Vi Veri Mortuus Deux Vivus Vici.” By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the dead god. He liked making pop culture references. But nobody every seemed to get them.

The sword dug deep, and wound even deeper still. Had Jestar not silenced the god before coming in, he'd be short of two eardrums and a lot of blood vessels. The god screamed silently into the red night, and it was louder than the end of the world. The god power flowed out of the gaping wound, and into Jestar filling his soul with endless vitality. For a moment, just a little bit of the burning white flow of energy left through the place where the door had been. Jestar remembered his words.

Melasurey is the place where gods are born, where gods come to die, and where they're taken to be killed.

The shack was no longer there- only rubble of wood and steel. Standing in front of it was a handsome woman no older than thirty winters. One of her hands was atrophied and bony. She held onto her rags with her healthy hand. Looking down on her damaged limb, she smiled. “Thank you, Lord Jestar.” Said the lady in rags to the night air. The only ones who heard her words were the light angels, and they were certainly chatty little creatures…


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