By: Connor Pohlman
Chapter I: The Red Emperor”
Zaxxus thought about all the work that Elder Milan had done over the past weeks. A statement of gratitude swelled in the Emperor, but his pride wrestled down his tongue before it could take action. The flames that erupted in the vases were vanquished, dying out on their own accord. The structure outside called to him as he watched it, tempting him with the promise of solace. He slid open the glass door on the wall and left his cape flapping across it.
Zaxxus placed the first foot onto the sandy terrain, his boot reuniting with the sacred grounds for the first time in years. He walked towards the dead center of the colosseum, the grains and rocks crunching beneath his feet. The bottom of his boots left imprints in the ground, the same ones that people once paid a fortune to witness. He reached his destination and halted. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled even greater. The breeze that had graced the Aresreach night skies for the last few days remained in the air. The warm chill lured him with its call, his scarred skin begging to feel its touch. A stubborn pride filled his body, holding a bind on his arms, keeping them tightly hung at his sides. Zaxxus felt obliged to keep his helmet on his head whilst standing inside of the sandbrick monster. It was a hateful respect that bound him to honor his birthplace — the place that had sculpted and forged his very being. He was still a prisoner to it, even now.
The arena was a shell of its former self. It appeared to have been abandoned for many years now, and for that, he was prideful. Zaxxus looked around the empty arena, taking in the surroundings. He submitted to the intriguing vastness of the great space above him, raising his head to gaze upon the large body of the universe. Blue, green, purple. The constructions of color actualized an ambiance of wonder, acting as a blanket to the absence of anything beneath it.
Hidden behind a cluster of shadowed planets, moons, and burning stars sat The Ez-Myll. The Void. Even barely visible, the beauty of its unknown darkness planted a sense of insignificance inside of Zaxxus, but only for a moment. He allowed his eyes to close calmly as the celestial lights of the night sky warmed his face. The blues, greens and purples entered the openings in his helmet and washed over his skin. The silence that filled his ears was deafening, in every sense that he hoped it would.
When he had ventured out to this spot, he expected the flashes that hid deep in his head to emerge once again, rearing their ugly head and striking him unexpectedly, but the moments that he had lived on these pervertedly sacred grounds would not enter his mind, even if he wanted some to. He was cursed with his solitude, and not even his own memory obeyed his will. It was his punishment for standing where he did, Zaxxus thought. It had been plaguing him since he opened the Citadel door and made his way down the steps only moments ago. Recently, the insides of his head were crowded, filled with maddening nonsense from all eras of his life. Standing in the center of the pit now, though, he realized. It was the only place where he did not hear the raging sounds of war.