One-Shots [Boboiboy]

Fallen Legacy

Ancient magic.

He fould feel it combing through the forest, strands of mystical arts brushing in the veins of each leaf that brustled in the winds.

He looked up, pieces of sunlight dotting on his face, the winds carressing his cheeks and hair, carrying leaves of emerald in its wake.

It was time.

* * *

"Lord Jupiter, I summon thee, for we are under siege by the Greek," the priest chanted, fires of gold emblazed on the altar, illuminating the golden statue that stood with pride. "Soon, Rome will be overrun, so we seek your aid, for we are the final remnants of your legacy."

As the priest's assistants held up silver platters of gold and jewels, offering them to the god of the sky, a wind picked up within the temple, and the flames were snuffed out.

The golden statue glowed from within, like a ball of light slowly transcending from inside. A burst of lightning struck the floors before the priest, and a teenage girl stood amongst the smoke and embers.

The demigods understood well and clear, for this was the final battle for their tradition. The god of the sky was no more, and his daughter will now stand as their new patron.

* * *

War; they wanted war, the Greeks chanted, hollering through the open sky, and their Oracle was the centre amongst them all. They called upon the god of Death, for they were ready to die. They would sacrifice their flesh and minds, all to protect their legacy of the fallen kingdom.

"Lord Hades, we summon thee. Accept our offering!" The Oracle exclaimed, wearing a toxic-green shawl, her arms raised as hundreds of demigods knelt before her.

But there was no one that answered their call, not a single peep from the Underworld. Instead, the Oracle turned to the goddess of rainbows, and called out to their followers.

"Hail, the children of Death; the dark lord summons you!"

This time, however, the god of death responded. But the god of the underworld had long faded, and a boy stood in his place. 

Hundreds of mirrors opened around the Oracle, but they were not reflecting her, but instead reflecting the answers of many demigods, responding to their summons.

The boy spoke to the Oracle: "I am the child of Death, and I will aid you."

* * *

"My lady." The priest knelt before the god-incarnate, her hands gently held. "Will you lead us to victory?"

The girl did not nod, nor were her eyes placed on the mortal in front of her. "Rise, demigod." She turned towards the altar, the statue of her father melting into molten gold. With a flick of her wrist, the gold lifted itself like quicksilver, and it hardened into the shape of an eagle; the symbol of the roman legion. "I will not allow us to fall. You have my word."

"Furthermore," she continued, turning to her kneeling followers, "you are to address me as the mortal name Ying, for I will hide amongst your ranks in disguise."

* * *

"No need for formality," the child of Death spoke, as if he was conversing over coffee. "I promise you I will defeat our enemy."

The Oracle's lips were tightly pursed, though her shawl hid her tight expression. The demigods' swords were raised, cheering for the child of Death.

"Whom do we address you as, my lord?" The Oracle asked, still kneeling.

"Hm," he pressed his finger on his lips, in deep thought. "Just call me Gopal. I don't see why not!" Gopal whirled around, the ground beside him cracking. A fissure was spread open, and tendrils of shadow crept through, slithering on the grounds as it carried a chaiot foward, pulled by black horses with vampiric fangs.