Orc Tyrant

The dead are gone, the living are like this

The ancient wise men said these things, or similar things, and Diego often wondered whether he had a certain power like himself-he called it a talent.

As the years passed, sometimes he gradually regarded that power as a curse.

When he was young, he looked out from the tower, overlooking a crazy land, and the storm full of unprovoked energy, recalling those words read in a dilapidated ancient book on a dilapidated desk .

For so many centuries, he has read through every text from the forgotten era in the many great libraries in Pacha's world, but he believes that until now, he has not really understood those words.

Kayla, Mansha, Kain.

The one-hour mountain road has steadily ascended, and now it has gradually become steeper, and the sound of the wind has become louder and louder, as if it was amplified by the cliffs that pierced the sky on both sides.

As always, Diego’s gaze was attracted by the peaks of this mountain range. Its too tall peak disappeared from the field of vision. The steep mountain stretched indefinitely to the empty sky, and the brown-yellow sky had become Charred dim orange red.

It is impossible to imagine any natural process that can create such a huge mountain range. Its proportions are too perfect, its shape is too elegant, and its smooth arcs and lines are completely unnatural. Diego has never seen such a perfect mountain since he left here. Craft.

Everywhere in the mountain road, you can see the perfect creation of geometry, as if the creator of this mountain has studied the sacred proportions that have been carefully calculated, and shaped the earth and rocks according to them. The spiral pattern on the rock wall shows the perfect arc. The stone pillars are arranged at equal intervals, and the angle of each cliff and rift is ingeniously arranged according to the accuracy of mathematics.

Diego has guessed more than once what kind of great cause requires such amazing meticulous care of the landscape.

The entrance of the gorge conveyed the sound of wind to him like a funnel. Like a random drum beat, Diego’s gradually strengthening analytical ability quickly identified the pattern.

With every breath, every heartbeat, he could feel some kind of existence gradually approaching.

Biologists attribute human brain activity to some kind of electric current, but Diego prefers to believe that there is another thing that controls their will—for example, the soul.

He strode into the incense-like mist. Milky white smoke drifted around him, sometimes condensed into a certain face, and sometimes transformed into a certain thing. These are memories from the depths of Diego's soul.

His mother warned him in the suicide note that he can only return for the second time in his life. When he walks out of here again, everything he used to be familiar with will leave him.

"May Asu Yan's blessing protect his children from hatred..."

Diego chanted the prayer to raise his mind to a lower state of mind, to help his strengthening physiological functions calm down, so that he could better process information in a hostile environment and respond without fear.

His perception of the surrounding things is rapidly increasing, allowing the essence of the entire world to be revealed in his senses, but in this mountain range, the earth appears dead.

If there is a mirror, then Diego will definitely see that his face is undergoing drastic changes, his skin becomes smooth, his facial features gradually become perfect, his sharp eagle eyes are turning into elegant almond eyes, and his ears are mysteriously changed. The force pulls to point.

In other words, even if he does not need a mirror, he can feel this change, especially when he notices that his sleeves are getting shorter and shorter, his height and limbs are growing, but the muscles under the skin are decreasing. .

There was no pain in this process, only some kind of illusion that was almost intoxicated. His soul seemed to be filled with a lot of wine, but this feeling was dangerous, and Diego knew this.

He suppressed the depraved pleasure and looked up to see the dim light of torches and campfires, and the earth was shaking like the heartbeat of a mountain range.

When stepping out of the phantom fog, the canyon became wider. Diego saw a group of people standing on the slope, like warriors guarding the gate. They had no feelings for them, no hatred or fear, and they were in a state of mind. He has transcended these things.

Dressed in sunset-colored robes and leather breastplates, and armed with slender javelins, those warriors are no different from the barbarian tribes, but instead of facing out of the canyon to drive out the invaders, they are looking at the depths of the canyon, some in his sight Other things.

Diego mobilized his fingers to hold the gun tightly. The soldiers in front did not turn around after hearing the footsteps. Diego knew that they would never turn around.

He crossed the line and came to the front, looking at their faces, which were covered with smooth glass masks. Those expressionless and vital masks were like the marble sculptures placed in the Purple Palace.

Diego sighed, mourning for them and for this valley.

Everyone is dead, only he walked out, can breathe, and his heartbeat. This is a miracle in itself, especially now.

It is here to kill itself, no doubt.

In the distant past, at that moment, Diego could feel its anger and its deep greed.

Some people say that power is fleeting, but there is a power that does not, because once acquired, it can never be returned.

His abilities are different from everything that humans have, and it allows it to put itself to death from the other side of the far side, but it finally gave up. It has to look in his eyes when destroying itself and taste the richest of them. That touch of smell.

His mother's suicide note called him a great enemy, and Diego never knew its name.

And that was his bad luck.

Diego didn’t know what crime they thought they had committed. They thought he had betrayed, but Diego knew that he didn’t. It’s true that he did not. No one in this ancient tribe wanted to betray—he just Do everything possible to save his people.

But the end still came to that point, like a father about to kill his favorite son.

Diego destroyed his tribe, this place he once loved, this place where he was born and nurtured, he destroyed everything he had tried to save.

He deserves to die, maybe even worse.

But at that time darkness had permeated everyone's mind, and the degeneration spread like a plague. He could feel the dryness in their souls. The sin of despair and longing would only cause more disasters.

He escaped, closed the door from the outside with the key, and threw everyone to the enemy in the dark.

Now, he reopened the door, just to take out the destructive power inside, which is also the last proof left by their bereaved clan.