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The Flameblood - Part II - The Apprentice

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Given the major timespan between this story and its prequel, I've included a link to the prequel in here so you can read that before reading this sequel.


My eyes, used to the dark and dust of the Dungeon, cannot stand the bright purple light that pours out of the orb I grasp. But I cannot look away.

In the orb, I see scenes of heroes crushed in the coils of monsters, of innocent creatures trampled underfoot by the hordes, of death and destruction of everything good. But I also see triumph. And happiness. The monsters' joy at defeating the invaders to their world.

I see all my dreams crushed in an instant: they are the invaders and we are the innocents. There is no hope for unity between monsters and humans, no hope of peace. So what can I do? I can fight as a monster. With my kind.

A rumbling voice speaks around me: "See, little one, what your dreams are. You will train with me, gain the skills you need, of magic, of hate. You will conquer the humans once and for all. Show them that the land of Terraria is not theirs - has never been theirs - WILL NEVER BE THEIRS!"

Eater attendants appear at the doors. One speaks in its raspy language: "I shall teach you magic, how to control the flames you were born in. You will stand no chance."

The other speaks, then: "I will teach you how to evade, how to hide, how to spy on your enemies. You are not meant for charging into battle with swords. You are meant for hiding on the sidelines, loyal to your own forces, but behind enemy lines."

And so my training begins.

Time passes, much time. Very much time. The world changes around us. I age, and I can feel myself becoming stronger. I can now teleport great distances, almost to the ocean where dangerous currents writhe, almost to the underworld where fiery monsters train and hate. My fireballs can now demolish the iron-hard stone that comprises the Corruption, and burn humans within meters of them. Yet I never meet my teacher - the master of teachers.

And the question worms its way into my mind. Am I good enough? Does it care? Am I just a tool of its own, to be wielded as chosen? I brush the thoughts aside. I would not have grown so powerful if it had not cared.

People arrive in the land of Terraria, strong people, valiant people, kind - dare I say it? - people. They take mercy on their enemies, and surmount the obstacles they face.

I realize I fear them. There is the strong-looking flail wielder, smashing those zombies into dust with but a flick of his wrist. And the two warriors from another land. I fear their swords and guns of red metal. And the spearman - excitable though he may be, he is a fearsome foe to face.

And there is also their friend, the slim, clever mage. He wears armor woven from the flowers and grasses of the jungle, and fears nothing. He has defeated Skeletron with but his books and wands, and has unlocked a trove of knowledge from the Dungeon below. Are my relatives alive? Yes, they are. They would not have shown themselves to these usurpers. The stronger creatures of the Dungeon are forbidden by ancient law to show themselves while the jungle remains undisturbed.

I fear them. I fear the good in them. I have not heard my master's voice for many days. Is it possible- ? No, it is mighty. It would not be defeated by mere children in shiny clothes with sparkling weapons.

But could it? It is this thought that makes me wander to the edge of the Corruption - a place I have been forbidden to go, the part that borders the Dungeon.

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