The Acknowledgment - Volume One

The Original Sin

                The hot, blazing sun hung low in the sky, casting a deep orange glow over the rocky terrain. On a sun-soaked boulder, a lizard basked in the fading warmth. It flicked its head upward as the faint sound of footsteps approached, a large figure slowly climbing the path. The creature darted off, scurrying up the rocks as the man paused near its perch. His nostrils flared, as if catching a scent in the air. His breaths came heavy, labored by the heat and the climb.

               "In a time after the Fall of Mankind," his deep, gravelly voice began, "alongside the rise of beasts like wear-beasts, both the Mystic and the Mysticless grew in power." He straightened up, the weight of years visible in his muscular frame, his white hair swept back by the wind. His pale skin, stretched taut over his bones, betrayed his age, especially in the creases around his sharp eyes. The man resumed his ascent, each step slow and deliberate. "They reached the peaks of mountains and the depths of their lands, conquering and exploring as they saw fit. The Deities, those sworn to uphold order, saw the rot of corruption spread through their domains." His lips tightened. "A corruption that could reach even them."

                He paused to catch his breath, his hand gripping the walking stick firmly. His body was used to these climbs, yet today, he struggled. "In their desperation," he continued, "the Immortals, those beings now called, 'gods,' sought a solution. Fearing their divinity was at risk, they came together. Created something new. A force they hoped could stand against Sin." His words were punctuated by the rhythmic thump of his walking stick hitting the dry ground with each step. "Thus were born the Blessed Yeagers, the ultimate hunters of beasts, and tools of war, destruction, and power."

                As he moved higher, the rocky path became steeper, forcing him to look up and assess his distance. His gaze shifted between the ground and the summit, the weight of his journey pressing on him. "They told me," he muttered, almost to himself, "that the Deities gave parts of themselves to create four Blessed Yeagers. Weapons, yes, but also vessels of their own pride and ambition." He chuckled grimly, his face tightening in recollection. "But the Yeagers, once born, were never used as intended. The Immortals, corrupted by their own power, sent these beings not to protect but to destroy. To wage wars, to burn realities where corruption had taken root."

                A fit of coughing overtook him. He clutched his chest as he coughed into his hand, blood streaking his palm. He wiped it away with his wrist and grunted, continuing despite the pain. "One Immortal, jealous of the others' hold a monopoly over the Blessed Yeagers, sealed themselves away in the Void. A realm of pure darkness where none other dared tread." His voice grew softer as he recounted the tale, but his steps did not falter. "From that darkness, the Primordial created new beings—Major Monarchs, Immortals of chaos and destruction. And from the light of a dying star, they created the Rulers—Immortals of preservation and peace."

                He approached a small clearing, his destination in sight—a rock formation, no higher than his knee. He slowed, placing his walking stick down against the stone and sitting carefully on its rough surface. The fabric of his robes, once vibrant, had faded, torn in places, yet he paid it no mind. "The Rulers and Monarchs waged war against each other," he continued, watching the sun dip lower, the sky streaked with deep reds and purples. "But in time, the Rulers discovered the truth—their Primordial created them for sport, for entertainment."

               A dry smile crept onto his cracked lips. "Civil war broke out. Only The strongest of the Rulers refused to turn against their creator. And from the ashes of the battle between the Primordial and their Rulers emerged the First Shadow Monarch. From The Primordial's death, their strongest, most loyal servant became a commander of the power of Death itself." He looked down at his wrinkled hands, fingers trembling slightly from fatigue. "The First Shadow Monarch, though filled with power, sought an earthly form. He found it in Ed Lev Robbins, a man who would become the Second Shadow Monarch and save his realm from the destruction of the Monarchs."

                His voice faltered slightly, as if the weight of these memories was dragging him down. "But the Primordial was not so easily vanquished. They returned, though much weaker. Returned from being scattered into tools used by the Rulers to this day," he explained. "The Primordial and others sought to kill the Shadow Monarch for ruining their entertainment and showing to other creations like the Monarchs and Rulers that their masters can be killed," it continued. "With the other Primordials under the coalition of 'Istarm,' or something like that-" he mumbled- "The Second Shadow Monarch was outmatched, but the same Blessed Yeager that sided with the Monarchs, returning with a change of sides," he chuckled softly. "Though they brought chaos, it was quelled by the Second Monarch of Shadows." he mused, "Under Mr. Robbins' less than better judgment, he decided to fight the Primordial of Monarchs and Rulers in a lone battle." His breath slowed, his body growing heavier with each passing moment. "All the while the Blessed Yeager took on the other Immortals," he rested his chin on his fist, eyes half-lidded. "Both the Second Shadow Monarch and the Primordial of Monarchs and Rulers died that day, but the 'Istarm,' were pushed back into retreating," he recounted. "The power of the Shadow Monarch remains unclaimed, waiting for a new host after their deaths, a key to doors yet unopened."

                His hands slipped from his lap, falling limply to his sides. The weight of his journey—both physical and mental—finally caught up to him. "I was told... it would be taken... by an unlikely soul... many centuries later..." His head drooped, his breathing slowed, and with a final exhale, the figure went still. Quietly, Death claimed him.