2 Chapter II

Blackness...locked up secrets...demons...the Dyarkness...Mons...a storm...a staff...a monster...

Tristan was in a room, smoke rose up, like wispy tendrils dancing round his body, almost trapping him. He looked around him, he stood barefoot, on wet grass, it was cold, so cold that it almost froze his feet. There were people around him, dancing it seemed, they were not Dyarknesslayers like Mother of course, none of then wore Diad rings. Their faces constantly changed, and moved, one moment fair and beautiful with glowing golden skin, the next, resemblant to that of a dying frog, with eyes sown shut, head bald and almost greenish eerily peaceful. Footsteps could be heard from a distance, gradually growing louder, rising to a crescendo, louder, louder -

Tristan lurched up and out of his bed with a sweat. His eyes wide open. He looked around, what time was it? Urgh, He'd barely even caught 15 minutes of sleep. It was still dark outside. Today was it, the last day that he would ever see his mother, he'd already lost his father, but now his mother?

They hadn't, they simply hadn't. Someone, somebody was out there, somebody who wanted to frame his mother for something that they'd done, someone who his mother would trust. Tristan's rapid and desperate breathing slowed as oxygen slowly clambered back into his lungs. Something rung at the back of his head, what did his dream mean, who were those people with the changing faces? What did the footsteps mean?

Suddenly, it came to him, as the faint tapping at the back head grew louder. It was all that was left of the dream, odd, was he hallucinating? He listened again, this time, he heard the humming of runes, and the cackling of fire, and realised, that it wasn't coming from his head at all. Well, if it wasn't in his head, then it must've come from within the Sanctum Sanctorum. Tristan's hand slid out from under the blanket, for a while, it was mainly him fumbling around the floor for what he was looking for.

Nope. That was a sword handle. Nope. That was his parchment of spells. Yes! There it was. His fingers enclosed around the familiar cold sharp edges of his crystal. Tristan slowly elevated it off the floor towards him. It still marvelled him to this day, how celestial the blue looked, sometimes, he lost himself in the rolling waves of sapphire. Once again, he rested his eyes and willed the crystal to glow. Soon enough, a blue hue lit up the cramped bedroom. Light bounced off of every object there, the ice white vase depicting an old Dyarknesslayer myth about three brothers, the rack of swords hanging off the west wall, the glaring mosaic of Valourus with his mighty staff, and the family insignia, the majestic unicorn pushing for the sun.

Tristan followed the sound to his door, that meant that he was going out, he turned back to grab a fist full of caltrops. He pocketed them, and closed the door behind him. There were more footsteps now, he could faintly hear voices. He followed the sound as he crept down the winding staircase. But now it was not only the sounds of footsteps and unfamiliar voices that Tristan could hear. A much closer low rumbling could be heard from the roof, suggesting an imminent threat. Tristan shone his sapphire up, to be met with a single yellow and decaying eye, that only suggested one thing...

DEMON!

The great burly monster peeled itself off of the celling stretching out it's wings, immediately, Tristan crashed left into one of the doors, the light from the sapphire was spinning around wildly now, as Tristan's hand trembled. He made the mistake of looking back, the demon had already recovered from it's fall and was about a metre away from the door. Tristan was rooted. it was about 5 seconds from him.

5... The only thing that was still really working in Tristan's body was his mind and his eyes. of course it was a demon, could tell from the singular eye, which also canceled out many demons from being this creature.

4... While his mind told Tristan to run, run as fast as he could, his legs were apparently dead. His glowing gemstone slipped out of his hand.

3... His mind gave up on forcing his petrified body to move, and moved back to cataloging the demon. Ok singular eyed demon, that indicated that it was a cycliptic monster.

2... The wings meant that it was also part gargoyle, and this was affirmed by the greyish stony skin.

1... Tristan suddenly realised two things, the first, that the demon was a Mycylliod demon and the second was that he had no weapon to counter the demon if it crashed into him, as he predicted it would, that was what the impressive armada of horns was for if he recalled, he would have no close combative weapon to counter the attack. So Tristan did the only thing he could do, he dived.

The demon crashed into the washing machine with a sickening screech of iron against bone, as the poor machine was shred to pieces. Miranda would not be happy, he winced. the demon extended it's wings, to fill extent, taking up the full room, as it struggled to remove the machinery from it's head. Through the Mycylliod's intense struggle and flailing though, let a clear shot at it's head. Tristan fumbled around his pockets, he knew he'd put them in there somewhere. Finally, he found it, Tristan wrenched the roman pronged caltrops from his pocket, ripping his pants in the process. He concentrated, Gandalf's (the sanctum's mentor) voice, on throwing a weapon that wasn't supposed to be thrown.

Hold the weapon by the prongs with two fingers.

Flick the wrist back.

Relax your shoulders.

Concentrate with your mind on your magic to enhance your strength, this is a weapon not to be thrown, yet you still insist to throw it so listen.

Good, now THROW!

The caltrops whizzed through the air, a blur of bronze, until it embedded itself in between the Demon's horns, drawing out spewing golden ichor. Drip... Drip... Drip... the demon fell to it's knee's. Tristan turned away, he knew the consequences if he didn't. once a demon is killed, it channels all of it's spiritual chaos energy that it has, out of it's eyes in a demonic barrage known as the Demon Glare. If any person looked into the demon's eye's at the time, they too would immediately crumble to dust and become a demon themselves.

Tristan counted 'One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi'

Then, and only then did Tristan decide to turn. all that remained from the demon, was a shredded washing machine, burn marks on the floor from the ichor (celestial blood from angels and demons) and a charred caltrops. Tristan grimaced, as he raised the window slightly, and swiftly disposed of his throwing star that was supposed to be only laid out on the ground to slow enemies of the Roman Empire. The sharp bronze prong pointing up once was as sharp as a harpoon, now this was something the Tafe could play with. Oh the things ichor did to weapons. He grimaced at the cold and turned back to retrieve his sapphire.

"No!!! No no no... Don't go, I'll help you, please just grab hold of me."

The voice seemed to come from right behind him. Tristan turned, brandishing anther caltrops. It was a boy, about the same age as him, pale skin, glowing as if the moon was shining on him, when the curtains had just been closed by Tristan. His eyes were shut closed, but his face showed nothing but him being genuinely scared. Raven hair flowed down and over one of his eyes and forehead like a river of diamonds.

But if the mysterious boy took notice of the caltrops brandishing boy in front of him, he showed no signs of it. His hand was outstretched, Tristan though as if to reach for something that wasn't there. Slowly, Tristan lowered himself to his knees, his eyes connected with the boy, blue eye's sparkling with amusement. Tristan's curiosity go the better of him eventually, and he eventually clasped the boys hand for two things, to see how the boy reacted, and to see if Tristan was hallucinating after the shock of fighting his first demon on his own.

Tristan got the answer to both those queries. For one, the boy was definitely there, as for his reaction, the more childish part of Tristan thought his reaction was priceless. His silver eyes flung open in surprise, his mouth also wide open, as he tumbled backwards starting backflipping, but ending up rolling away from Tristan completely startled. Until he hit is head on the back wall, a nasty bruise would most likely appear in a few hours, Tristan predicted.

"A-a-am I i-in the academy?" Magnus' voice half filled with shock, half fear echoed through the whole sanctum.

Tristan bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, he winced, surely with a voice as loud as that, the whole sanctum would hear. Mother would not be happy about Tristan creeping out at night. And the mysterious boy would only add to the fire...

Random Question of the Chapter:

If you were to describe your personality in one word, what would it be?

MA: Extravagant