Malus: World of War I

Prologue

It had all started with a single curse.

Two wars had been waged adjacently, within different realities, spurned by a mutual force and ceased by man's will to live. The Dark Curse had made itself known in the skies as it twisted and warped the fabric of two doomed worlds. And when the heavy veil of violet smoke cleared off, its work done, in its wake was left a new reality, divided by a great barrier, impenetrable even by the greatest of magic, except that which made it. Memories altered and new destinies donned, Existence had begun anew, another chance given to humanity and greater powers of old alike.

But like all things forgotten, the catastrophes left in the dark were all but destined to surface again, great and terrible trials anew soon to follow.

AZKABAN, THE NORTH SEA, 1:39 AM

Stone as black as the night, bearing neither its nocturnal allure nor its silver ornamentation, stood proud and foreboding against the harsh waves that crashed from all around. The structure of Azkaban rooted itself miles and miles into the ocean floor, expanded and strengthened by the war between Muggles and magicians that raged across the world. Prisoners who had chosen to take up arms against magic were barred from daylight in the millions, many more awaiting the long sentence. And one special cell waited with tight chains and eager Dementors: the cell for the Bane of Magic, Judge Claude Frollo.

One cell, unvisited, recently occupied, located in the deepest bowels of the prison, bore new blood. He knelt in the corner with the bearing of a warrior, accepting, but refusing to succumb. His knuckles were curled into fists like iron, his mind sustaining the fortitude of titanium. This deep within the prison, the air was thin, so he took his breaths conservatively. Fellow inmates with wills indomitable had cracked under the claustrophobia and madness that the prison's ghoulish vanguards bore within minutes. He had been in there for hours, and the Dementors had come to know that they were the ones with reason to fear, every one of them recoiling and departing in a flurry upon meeting his icy glare. Could he leave if he wanted to? He had no interest in testing, just as the Dementors had already made up their dark minds that they wouldn't try to stop him. And unbeknownst to either party, very soon, Siegfried Schtauffen wouldn't need to.

From beneath a mess of platinum blonde hair, Siegfried turned his eyes toward his cell door. With his prodigious peripheral vision, he only needed the smallest motion. A dementor was frolicking about the cells, tormenting the inmates yet again. If the cries and the wailings echoing through the dark, damp halls weren't the great clue, the fact that they came from all cells but his was the greatest. It was revolting.

"Away!" Siegfried shouted. And the wailings stopped. He could hear the Dementor whisking itself away back into the darkness, post haste.

Immediately afterward, the man raised an eyebrow. He could hear footsteps. No human guards came this deep into the asylum. It was becoming far easier to breathe. And the shoes of the new guest sounded light, bearing an elegance not quite of royalty. Azkaban was being visited by someone from one of the first world countries, rich enough to afford footwear shoes and a sturdy supply of oxygen for the prison itself, the man determined. He prepared himself, for whomever it was had stopped in front of his door.

The door opened. In stepped a man wearing a gray business suit, a black shirt worn underneath with a pink tie to accompany, and brown, flawless pants, carrying a black stool. But no other distinguishing feature was more recognizable than his brown ponytail and his wily grin, ornamented with a mustache and a fine looking, neatly trimmed goatee. David Xanatos was easily recognizable.

"I know I'm not your usual visitor," Xanatos started casually, bearing a voice with a silky smoothness, a stark contrast to the normal wailing of the prison. "But I'm pretty sure you'll find me better company."

Siegfried looked away, not a bit of interest to be had or shown.

"Whatever you have to offer, keep it and leave."

Xanatos merely smiled in response, moving directly in front of Siegfried before making a turn to face him. The warrior curled his knuckles, so even Xanatos knew this was a time for some caution.

"I said leave," Siegfried said, his voice rising fiercely.

"I will. But first, I think you just might want to hear what I have to say."

"If I don't kill you, the guards can remedy that technicality."

"I don't think so. I just bought the prison."

And with that, Xanatos set the stool down. He took his seat, his back straight and rigid, but his posture still one of affability, one meant to make Siegfried feel welcome and at home.

"And redemption's hard to find in a prison cell."

Siegfried's eyes widened ever so slightly, for the quickest of moments. He'd expected such research to have been conducted on him, but such offers always caught his attention. Xanatos raised his head a bit, a smug grin on his face. He had noticed the newfound interest, Siegfried realized, but he still strove to conceal it. People of Xanatos' kind, powerful, cunning, barely predictable, and harboring an agenda, were of the last he wanted to have any involvement with.

"But protection is easy."

Xanatos let out a brief chuckle, leaning over to better face Siegfried; he wanted to see what the man would do in response to his next remark.

"You don't look like you need protection."

Xanatos blinked, but when he opened his eyes once again, he saw that Siegfried's arm was now a mere few feet from his neck. The billionaire didn't make a move, knowing this situation well enough to know Siegfried wouldn't try for a true killing stroke. And he knew the course of a conversation well enough to know that he was leading Siegfried right where he wanted him to go.

Siegfried stopped right next to Xanatos' neck, a jagged rock making the lightest of contact with his skin.

"I never said it was for me."

Xanatos directed his left hand to Siegfried's arm, pushing it down lightly and giving it a gentle pat, wishing to show no signs of hostile intent and a completely benign meaning.

"You make a valid point. But what would you say about a cure?"

Siegfried slumped back against the wall.

"Not even you can offer one."

Siegfried dropped the rock, looking upon the hand that had once broken a child's skull against concrete and tried to strangle him.

"Not for this curse."

Xanatos merely resumed his grin. Siegfried tried to shrug what he saw off, but even his seasoned mind couldn't tell whether the uninvited guest was about to make a bluff or not.

"You'd be surprised. Magic, witchcraft, whatever you want to call it. It's a powerful currency."

Suddenly, the look Siegfried directed Xanatos' way became more sharp, more focused. He knew where this conversation was going and he knew it was going to a place of his liking. And he hated it.

"You wish me to believe that despite Frollo's grip, you can carry magic across the borders?"

"Of course not," Xanatos said. "I can carry it because of Frollo's grip. Giving the world a system is just encouraging people to find loopholes."

"I wish for nothing to do with that war that you profit from and you're offering me a drop of its blood money. Brilliant. You can cut off my hand as a compliment for your next step."

"I suppose you could say I am offering to cut off a hand. But I'm going to replace it with one that you can control."

Siegfried tensed up further. How he longed for such liberation.

"Why should I trust you?"

"I've done my homework on you, Siegfried. As far as I'm concerned, you're one of the greatest warriors alive. You've outplayed some of the brightest generals anyone has to offer, outmatched platoons on your own. And you've more than taken the extra miles. Certain friends of mine who like gladiators and the games tell me everything about it. How does a man defeat five tigers by himself anyway?"

Siegfried lifted an eyebrow.

"I don't remember doing that. Nor do I have any care for killing for fortune."

"And you don't have to. I'm no murderer, Siegfried. I'm only taking from this war what I can. For me, my wife and my child."

Siegfried stood, towering over Xanatos, who remained in his seat, looking up at the glaring warrior. Such a glare was perceptive, unfaltering, one that reminded him of just how perfect this warrior would be for what was to come.

"I'm not interested. Congratulations on your latest investment."

Xanatos merely put on a sly grin, his composure flawlessly maintained. Siegfried knew such a look. It was one of a natural-born, bonafide manipulator, analyzing him in return, and knowing exactly which gears to force into motion.

"The way the world is now, you can let it do what it will to you or you can fight to change your destiny. You fight for atonement, something you can easily get if you take my offer."

"And what will I be helping you fight for?"

"Easy. A fate that no one but me can control. We can both work toward what we want. What you have is my word. And what you WILL have is no limits, not even any for me to set."

Siegfried straightened himself. Xanatos was persistent and as much as he wished to refrain from the savagery of this war, there was too much he was right about. He weighed all that had been said against the many risks he would be bringing to people uncountable. But the decision was quickly and easily made. As much as he hated to admit it, isolation would not allow him to find his path back to the light. Only a brave step into the mighty world would give him what he sought.

Xanatos smiled. He had convinced him.

"I follow no code but my own. And when you decide to cast me aside, there will be blood. I'll take your offer. Give it with the knowledge that you are master of many things, but never me."

Xanatos stood enthusiastically.

"Excellent! I know you're not one to trust in a man like me, but you can believe one thing."

"And that is?"

David Xanatos moved toward the door, turning the knob and nudging it open. All that Siegfried could see was a stone wall. But he knew the world that lied ahead, the struggling realm beyond the walls of a prison that he, among others, would come to face.

Soon, in the necessity of redemption, he would be thrust back into the world of war.

"You just might enjoy what's coming."