The Demoner Series: The Trails

Chapter Sixteen - Chronicle Map

  I look at the open book in my hands, counting the clans of Demoners. Some located at specific points of the map, some all over the diagram.

  There are the Human clan, Org clan, Elf clan and Dwarf clan spread around the map. A date is printed on the side and a chart of respective populations located at the top.

  "Is this the world map?" I ask, frowning as I register this information into my mind.

  "Yes it is," Terrance answers. Pointing to a small red spot at the east of the graph, Terrance continues, "This is where we are."

  We are like a speck of dust in the map, I comment in my mind.

As if at its will, the map begin to change, the date on the page increases in time. The dwarves' population bar begin to drop, their fields shrinking and gathering into a large patch.

  The green spots makes its way to the empty territory as an indication of an org invasion.

  The red gathers to the far east, forming multiple large bands. It is obvious that humans are aware of the org's aggressive movement.

  As the dots shift around the portrayal, the yellow stays put at their position, completely oblivious of the changes.

  My eyes dart around to watch the diverse  adjustments of inks. Suddenly, everything happening before me seems familiar. I realise that I'm watching the start of the Cold War.

  "Amazing, isn't it?" Terrance asks, taking note to control his voice to a low peaceful whisper. His eyes are glued to the book, widening and firmly keeping the keenness to spot every contraction. It is almost impossible to grasp the rapid movement and momentum of the blurring demodulation.

  I nod in reply, trying hard not to break my concentration to watching the fleeting modifications.

The time continues to increase to an accelerated speed, every dots flickering around. It finally slow down to an extremely slow speed, changing little to nothing.

I take note of the day of events this map is showing currently. 31 December 3287, it reads.

That's today! I think to myself. The org have pushed far to the center of the globe and the dwarves retreat to the South. The clusters of humans form multiple large groups, ours being the largest. The elves have migrated further North, avoiding the invading orgs.

Lights flicker and dots appearing or disappearing. Most part of the paper is now covered in fluorescent green, the bright colour overtaking the others.

Overlapping, forcing and terrorising.

  It sparks something in my mind and memories begin floods over my brain. "Here, sir," says a lady's voice in my head.

I can see a lady, dressed in a snow white dress. Her oval face and smile sparks a stoke of memory in my brain. A bright halo hovers above her head, smooth and black hair seems to be streaming down from her head.

I notice myself in a battle ground, filled pitiless, brutal slashing and swift, reckless spells flying around.

Orgs, elves, dwarves and humans drop like heavy stones, releasing a fog of dust to the air of yelling and battle cries. Catapults launching massive boulders to the battleground, shattering into small but fatal bits of rocks.

Dwarves firing muskets around, flashes of ignition blinking at random timing. Terribly muffled but awfully loud blasts could be heard. Orgs tumbling down at the impact of the leaded ammunitions, making their last roars in pain and hatred before being part of the forming carpet of corpses.