The journeys of Hans as he form the eight who will save of doom Altea...

1. This story is inspired by hundreds of other fan fictions that I have read of DN, hope it will be up to
scratch :)
Prologue – A Destiny Decided
He waited, frozen, knee deep in white flurries of snow. Tiny patches of ghostly moonlight pierced the
thick smears of stubborn clouds, casting dancing shadows upon the waves of uneven snow. He
waited, silently, unmoving, almost as if he were a statue, for anything, anything at all to happen. The
night chilled his bones, froze his inners, and as he alone braced a Mana Ridge winter night, spots of
darkness began to intercept his vision, blurring the dark outlines of a church he had helped to build.
His breaths came in short puffs, instantly crystallising as he did. Frozen streaks of long gone tears had
sunk into his deathly pale white cheeks where there had once been a cheerful spot of crimson. Hands
clasped, head bowed, he dared not to hug himself for any remaining warmth that had not yet left his
body. Death, he dreaded, was near. And he could for no longer keep himself away from being
consumed by it.
But he could not stop; his wife and children depended on him to put food on the table, to put books
into their hands and clothes onto their fragile bodies. As he kneeled before the magnificent oak wood
double doors of the church, blurred images raced past in his head, as if they were in a hurry to leave
him. No matter how desperately he tried to hold on to them, he could not. As if they were just beyond
his reach. Choked on inner tears, overcome by emotions of sadness, of loss and betrayal, he kneeled
watching a film of happiness, of sadness and darkness.
A lasting image of his family had streaked across his mind like a comet, dragging across the empty
realm that was the cosmos of his imagination. His merrily, cheerful yet beautiful wife, dressed for an
outdoor excursion. Ah he remembers that day, the day when his wife looked stunningly beautiful, the
day when he told off his eldest for pushing around his brothers, the day when he sat in a circle of
fulfilled happiness, a ring of warmth, of family and love, and told of the stories of when he was
young. All that seemed a distant dream, and he could only lust after the joy it had once brought him.
Darker shadows had appeared in his peripheral vision. He could no longer make out the exact shape
of the double doors he had embedded his love into crafting. His eyes were heavy. So heavy and too
much so, keeping them open became a task, eventually a burden that cannot be carried. Amidst
extinguished torch stands that led up to the church he kneeled, upon the coldest night of the darkest
winter month. A solid, unmoving statue in a storm of snow, an island in a swirl of white fury. Winds
pierced his body like newly sharpened knives, a howling force that knew no forgiveness. Its roar
screamed of his sins, and it howled for his punishment beyond his inevitable death.
Fake warmth crept into him, like flu, it spread throughout his body, comforting his dying cells. It
brushed gently against his inners, like a deceitful fox, it toyed with him, searching for an opening in
his collapsing mind to seize and constrain his fragile heart. Time was running out, and yet he had
been here from sunrise until it had well sunk beneath the mountains, awaiting the mighty mountain
gods to hurl it into the sky once more.

2. So he waited, but death was near. And he was running out of time.
*
“Mommy, where’s daddy?”
It was a late, dark night in the coldest winter month. Her boys fidgeted restlessly in the
uncomfortable absence of their father over an untouched dinner. It was warm inside their cottage;
stone walls, and a roaring hearth sheltered them from subzero temperatures outside, where she
knew her husband was, killing himself trying to save his family.
She had married him eleven years ago, a strong,well-muscled man that she felt was love at first
sight. He was gentle, yet strong and mature. His voice reminded her of sweet, perfumed smell of the
roses that she had in her garden when she was a little girl. His dark, wavy hair reminded her of the
beauty of the ocean. His eyes, like a beacon, sparked blue electricity that could either radiate gentle
heat to warm her heart or become thepiercing intensity of the sun. His love gave her strength, and
his sorrow she shared and took on. But on this miserable night, his weight must be carried by
himself, for she was not near, and was not allowed to be near enough to uphold a part of his sins.
“He’s out with his friends my dear, but only for one night, he will return tomorrow. Here, here, why
don’t we eat out food, hmm? It’s getting cold and I’m not reheating your seconds!”
A weak stab to lighten the atmosphere, she realised. In her own desperation to find comfort in
misgiven lies, she had misinterpreted her children’s intellect. None of them had touched their food,
a look of hurtful sadness lingered in their young, innocent eyes. Though their countenance knew not
how to express such an emotion, their eyes told her of infinitely more, a despair so severe, so
extreme, and so troubled lingered in those dark pupils she so often found with her own, and smiled
upon.
It was a lie, she knew. Her husband was not coming back.
Finally stumbling upon the hateful truth, hot beads of tears flooded her eyes in a sudden deluge.
Shame, guilt, sadness, anger had overcome her cooled sense of self-control. She had told her
husband she would be strong for him, for the children, yet here she was, broken, weak, and
supported by the strength of her own infant offspring.
Her children rushed to her, and held onto her like a lifeline. She hugged back, not daring to let go,
and held them tight and fast whilst crying out her sorrow filled heart. Howling and screaming into
the night, her distress was unheard in a buffeting storm that roared infinitely more ferociously.
So this is how you can find your atone for your sins? She had asked herself.By killing yourself and
leaving behind you a broken family?
Hundreds more had asked the same question in this village deprived of strong men; her husband
was one of the last of the Believers of the church to undergo the Test. The rest…well, none had
survived such a test, for it was designed to be so. Those left behind and untouched were the mad,
the old or the young.

3. None of them realising a doomed fate was closer at hand than they had ever dreaded; threatening
to devour the peace of all of Altea.
*
Saint’s Haven – prior to Black Dragon’s siege
“My lord, I’m afraid I have grave news. A shameful burden I must bear you upon this hour, but I felt
that this must be heard, for it is of uttermost importance.”
“No need for such amenity Duglas, speak you your urgence.”
“As you say my lord. Our troops to the north, the recon teams have been lost, our rear, right, and
inner right flanks have been depleted due to enemypre-emptive attacks. My fear grows each day as
the reports become graver, and each time the messenger less willing to return.
“Furthermore, our troops scouting the east, the west and the south have reported a situation of stark
similarity of disturbance. Those are the regions of Hermalt, the Black Mountains, and the elven
villages. Recently, an influx of elven refugees have flooded our gates, though the tongue in which
they speak is not common to us, our governors have a vague, yet grave understanding of their
meaning. It is my fear that the Abyss has been awaken once more. Our only salvage are the regions
to the north, among the sacred lands of the Tree of Life, Arendel. If the Tree of Life falls…I’m afraid
my lord, that our fortress will not stand a lasting, circulatory assault.”
Silence.
“I understand. I thank you for your hard efforts Duglas, truly, sincerely. This mutiny must be settled,
this abomination destroyed, for it shall be a vicious tumour that will spout poison if ripened. Rally our
troops, all of our forces, call upon our faithful allies, the magicians and the priests, our most powerful
paladins, our most ferocious warriors and mercenaries, most deadly sharpshooters, for this has
become a war against this spawn of the Darkness. A terrible being that all those living must help
fight to defeat. With haste, conjure you some banners, bird you these messages, warn the villages of
inhabitancy of a great danger. A conference must be held to all citizens of Saint’s Haven at the noon
of tomorrow. Hurry, and with haste, my loyal and faithful General, rally our troops I say, rally our
troops!”
Saint’s Haven – Streets
The hollow silhouette of a silent church stands in the absolute silence of the winter night. High
windows sat on magnificently carved marble sills, depicting of the legend of the Six. Its coloured
panes embedded with glistening jewels, emeralds as green as the fields of Ironwood, sapphires so
blue they make the sky seem oblivious, rubies so deep a crimson they made the glorious sunsets of
Hermalt nothing more than a common.
Shuffling through the night, a lowly crouched, inhumane dark shape draped with a dark traveling
cloak that could barely be seen, a net ofroughly woven leather thatreflected the dull sheen of
moonlight that could hardly penetrate the thicket blankets of stubborn clouds of a stormy night; its

4. movements jerky and artificial in a queer attempt to imitate a human child. It bound through the
dank streets of Saint’s Haven, cloak with it, lifting in the defiant gale of the night. Underneath the
absolute darkness of its hood, a distant path-lighter torch caught a blinding gleam of white and
silver, unmissable yet missed all the same in the dead of a miserably bleak night.
The shape proceeded, taking greater care to hide its mysterious presence in even blacker shadows.
No ordinary man would be able to spot such a spy stealing through the streets of a silent Saint’s
Haven.
It stopped abruptly at the foot of the residence of the High Bishop, peering around the dark for any
signs that it had been found or recognised as it crouched low to the ground and gave a long,
animalistic sniff. It continued, and proceeded up a set of majestic marble staircases. The normally
elegant twines in its craft seemed to twist in agony, and moaned its contempt with the procession of
it. With one last, sweeping glance of the darkened streets, it slipped through the unlocked, oaken
double doors decorated with the crossed crest of the High Church, and with a soft click the holy
bolts were set into place, locking the secrets of Bishop within its sacred walls.
Saint’s Haven – High Bishop’s Residence
“By hell Ignacio you have become more hideous than the time I last saw you! Dear Devil!”
“Quit your sorry blabber! Get on with it! What news has you to have woken me at such a troubled
hour? It best be something of importance because I will stripe you of your miserable skin if
otherwise. Now, tell!”
“Well, I has wonderful news Your Excellency. Our forces have penetrated the flanks of the pitiful
Royal Army, and will strike down the heart of its forces at dawn on the morrow. Our ferocious,
vicious, blood-thirsty, vicious – “
“You said that already. Stop this! Tell me of an abridged version.”
“- deadly, unstoppable forces shall be victorious. Our troll brethren to the west shall trample those
simpleton soldiers of the royals, our vicious reptilian brothers shall spit their poison upon these ugly
walls of your palace –“
“Enough! I’ve heard enough. What of the north?”
“Of Arendel?”
“No, of your arse. OF COURSE ARENDEL! What of the Cyclops and Ogre forces? What are their
locations? Their status? What has happened, since last week, I have lost my – connection with them,
how of – “
“They have been demolished.”
“De – demolished? By whom?”

5. “The hated, the loathed, the terrible, the killer, the man with the powers of a dragon, the one with
flowing, golden hair, the one that holds the Gold Sword of Divine.”
“- Gold sword of – Geraint?”
“The very same.Take care of him Your Excellency, or civil war will erupt, for my brothers will not
endure such an insult to their greatness, and a magnificent army of unstoppable force shall be
ruined at your incapable hands.Take care of this nuisance, for his presence alone seems to stand
between us and our inevitable victory over the humans.”
Quick as a snake, a coil of blinding scarlet struck the shape underneath the cloak, illuminating a
heavily decorated room laced with gold and silver. A mosaic of the Six imprinted on the ceiling
reflected the furious red, gleaming an aura of evil as opposed to its heroic, historical legend that had
brought about the peace during the Dragon Raid. This terrible serpent of scarlet lightning embedded
itself into the creature, casting a huge, monstrous shadow that displaced from the stump of a figure
of the Bishop. His eyes glowed a terrible crimson, his pupils dilated so the pitch blackness of them
seemed to devoid the light in the room. His face contorted with controlled rage, deep scars carved
his face into that of a horrific monster, terrible were his features, inhumane. He snarled; a horrifying,
animalistic sound that covered the agonising squeals of the writhing figure.
“Speak not to me in such a disrespectful tongue, monster. It is because of my efforts that your
armies have been able to process so far into the heart of the sacred lands. It is because of me that all
those villages that your monsters have pillaged lacked resistant men; it is because of me that there is
an army at all.Heed not lightly my warning, for if you insult my dignity once more, I shall transform
your unworthy carcass into dust with the sacred lightning, to be scattered into the winter night
where you will not reform to haunt me more.If it were not for Elena’s insistence that you are to
live…nevertheless.
“This news is grave, our strongest forces destroyed by one man. What destruction can he inflict
upon our lesser forces? The damage will be catastrophic…no…I must plan to derail his cause, a
witfulstrategy, yet convincing to the fullest…yes...I see.
“Very well, you shall return to Elena, inform the Red Army of a dangerous presence that will destroy
her and her laughable army with a sweep of his hand. Describe to her your tale Tell her from me:
recruit the Minotaurs that nest upon the Autumn Shores in the Abandoned Grey Ruins; the
manticores of the Retreat, the ghouls of the Forests of Death, the Undying Wraiths of the
Catacombs, for only their strength combined will give us a glimmer of hope that this ridiculous army
of hers will succeed in taking Saint’s Haven.”
“And wh-what will you do in the meanwhile, Y-your Excellency?”
“I shallplot the death of the great Dragon Swordsman Geraint.”

6. Two
It’s been nine long years since the day my father has been claimed by the goddess during the Test.
Fellow villagers murmured behind cupped hands of what he has done to deserve death before such
an unbiased judge. The goddess, so it was said, only brought ultimate jurisdiction upon those who
have sinned dearly in the expanse of their lives, and my father being one of them didn’t bode well
for the reputation of our family, of what secrets may lurk in the darkest corners of our humble
abode.
It was a winter day I remember, one that is best spent inside, where by the father told of the heroics
of countless heroes that have passed down in legend, of fairy tales that spoke of great courage and
ambitions of a handsome protagonist, where the family could enjoy the little time they had together
– before the toils of Spring will pull them farther apart than the distances between the fields and
home. And the mother cooked sweet, delicious foods that made the mouth water to the smell.
Where the children played before the hearth, where there’s always enough food to go around,
where danger is always far away, battles to be fought and won by the Royal Army.
T’was the coldest day of the darkest month, snow had drifted from the heavens in great flurries of
pure white. A raging gale had blown our ancient horse cart over in the back where we had kept our
Fluffoloes; even they, with a fur so thick to make any passing by work-horse jealous, huddled in a
tight herd to keep warm.
I remember, how mother had told us, me and my four brothers, to stay indoors, by the fire would be
the best. Keep warm, keep dry, and not to open the door for anyone but our father, who she had
promised would return before dusk – she was sure he had not sinned so heavily, yet how wrong she
was.
Our mother spent the entire day kneeling before the statue of the goddess in the back, amidst bales
of hay and grains of wheat and barley stored for the winter. A pair of goats watched in earnest as
she prayed for the safe return of our father. Oh I remember how I heard the endless sobbing, finally
drawn by curiosity to see the wrong – only to see my mother crying out her heart whilst smashing
the statue of the unwavering Goddess into a million, broken stone pieces.
My mother had passed away four years prior; apothecary said his herbs did not work because her
illness is in the mind. How a fragmented mind can kill I still have no clue. My brothers have moved
off, seeking their fortunes elsewhere – the eldest is now a scribe in the Royal Court, the youngest an
apprentice blacksmith to Belin, the notorious Saint’s Haven Blacksmith renowned for his uncanny
ability to break a traveller’s equipment. Only I remained behind at this dingy cottage to serve out my
purpose as a loyal son - looking after the house which my parents worked so hard to pay off, cooking
meals for mynon-existent family every day, I looked after the Fluffoloes, the goats, the chickens, and
I tended the fields that my father had left behind so long ago.
Where had my mother gone? To heaven with the goddess?Or to hell with my father? I will never
know. The whispers behind my back, the steely looks of denial as I passed had kept me firm without
friends. I became known as the boy whose father worked for the devil – since my father was the very
last in the village to undergo the Test; I was the only one who was remembered as the child of a
servant of the devil.

7. Three
“Hans is a hardworking, honest man, I have no doubt. It’s his father that is making his name a
household taboo. Did you know, he once tended my entire field by himself for a fortnight because I
was ill with the flu? I would be forever grateful to him for what he did, he put meals on this table for
a week, and that’s not something any man would do for a complete stranger.”
“You know how I feel about you talking about that man Charles, I don’t like him. He has got an aura
of darkness around him. Wherever he goes, the devil shall follow.”
“Yes but –“
“Dear! Not-here-over-this-table!”
Silence.
Every time I hear these sorts of muffled arguments coming from the homes of my fellow villagers I
must resist a terrible urge to explain, to purify whatever it is that taints my name.
Hans, that’s my name. Hans the man, Hans with the great aura of evil around him, Hans the
bogeyman who will tear your children to pieces then feed it to the devil that’s lives inside his heart.
Death, a consideration. A path taken by the weak hearted, frail willed. Yet it’s quick to relieve the
pains of the living,a thought that often crossed my distorted mind at the lows of my days. However
hard I pushed the thought away, it would always come back to haunt my purposeevery day.
Purification, admonition, atonement, expurgation, redemption. Words I have sought after for so
long that I could, even for a moment, be purified of whatever sins that contaminates my soul. I now
understood the reasons behind my father’s involvement with the Church. Why he seemed so
obsessed with sin, and evil, and good-doing. It wasn’t about self-acknowledgement, wasn’t about
satisfaction, wasn’t about rising in a spiritual world, and wasn’t about living after death or beyond.
He sought testimony, and justification in his sins that he had done in his life. Yet he had died
attempting to purify the darkness that dwelled in his tainted soul.
At first I was sceptic, when I was approached by Brother Thomas to join the Church, I denied. My
reasons were simple enough – I did not wish to die the same way as my father, with my name
forever imprinted in history as the man who was a messenger for the Devil. My refusal brought
about a wavefront of thoughts. Thoughts that toyed with the idea of a clean name, of a new man, of
Hans the man who did all the good, of a new, a better life where I could start over, and be myself,
living my life to the fullest, and not trapped, caged because of my father’s sins.
I visited the Church, and spoke of length with Brother Thomas.
It was then that I learnt, our village was not the only one that had been cruelly, yet cunningly
stripped of all its men. Hundreds others have suffered a similar fate, and tens of thousands have
died, to the cause of a mystery unknown, a secret undiscovered. I learnt of the stirring, of the
expansion of the Abyss, of the darkness that Altea faces, of the monsters that are forever
threatening to overthrow humanity.

8. I learnt of a plot to overthrow the Royalties, murmurs, rumours that flitter here and there, between
man and woman, and child. Of the conspiracies, and of the spies. Of the Dragon Cultists, of the
corruptions that seem to contaminate the very lands of Altea. Of the defections of fellow Brothers to
the Cultists, of rivalries, of grudges unsettled, of ancient legends that told of a new beginning,
legends that told of a perilous battle, prophecies of a party of eight that will save or doom Altea.
I learnt of the prophecy that referred to one of the eight. How it pains me, how it reflects me in its
unholy words. How I could refuse, when my destiny is already chosen?
“A child whose childhood is no longer,
A man denied, for the sins of a man.
On the verge of heaven and hell he shall linger,
To find the truth in lie where none living can.
Of courage, and ambition he shall speak,
Shall he choose to rise to the highest peak,
To uncover the tales of his past,
Find the meaning in the shadow cast.
In this Darkness reborn we shall cope,
For all those living in fear shall hope,
The legend of the Eight to be a truth unfold,
The rest whose stories are untold.
Of Hans he shall be named,
Not a beast but a man whose rage cannot be tamed.”