Внутреннее тестирование Вики/E-XV — различия между версиями

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The shock wave produced by the scream instantly dissipated the gigantic cloud of dust and propelled Belenor several meters backwards. Crashing heavily into the sawdust, the Fyros howled in turn. Brandille's scream was piercing his skull, from which waves of pain spread throughout his body. Was this what the Zorai felt when the growth of their mask was not supported by the magic of the Kamis, as he had imagined in the story he had once written? Whatever the answer to that question, the Fyros had never suffered such torment. To endure this pain was inconceivable. There was not a chance he would escape. Thus, he who had imagined himself being devoured by one of these creatures, was finally going to be killed by his friend, right here. With his mouth distended, his eyes revolted and his arms spread wide, Brandille did not stop howling. Her body was vibrating unreal, faster and faster, until it was eating away at the bark around her. But Belenor was not the only one to suffer the wrath of his cry. For for several dozen meters around, the kinchers were falling like flies, crushed by Brandille's implacable cry. Reaching the limits of his endurance in handling the Sap, Belenor felt his heart slow down. He was no longer in position to regenerate his self-destructed cells. And as a black veil began to blur his vision, the screaming stopped.
 
The shock wave produced by the scream instantly dissipated the gigantic cloud of dust and propelled Belenor several meters backwards. Crashing heavily into the sawdust, the Fyros howled in turn. Brandille's scream was piercing his skull, from which waves of pain spread throughout his body. Was this what the Zorai felt when the growth of their mask was not supported by the magic of the Kamis, as he had imagined in the story he had once written? Whatever the answer to that question, the Fyros had never suffered such torment. To endure this pain was inconceivable. There was not a chance he would escape. Thus, he who had imagined himself being devoured by one of these creatures, was finally going to be killed by his friend, right here. With his mouth distended, his eyes revolted and his arms spread wide, Brandille did not stop howling. Her body was vibrating unreal, faster and faster, until it was eating away at the bark around her. But Belenor was not the only one to suffer the wrath of his cry. For for several dozen meters around, the kinchers were falling like flies, crushed by Brandille's implacable cry. Reaching the limits of his endurance in handling the Sap, Belenor felt his heart slow down. He was no longer in position to regenerate his self-destructed cells. And as a black veil began to blur his vision, the screaming stopped.
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À moitié inconscient, le Fyros ne sut pas combien de temps il mit à se relever. Fiévreux, nauséeux, la bave aux lèvres et le regard vitreux, il passa une main tremblante sur son visage. Remarquant la couleur rouge de celle-ci, il comprit que du sang avait coulé en grande quantité de son nez, de ses yeux et de ses oreilles. Cela expliquait certainement l’horrible céphalée qui lui martelait le crâne. Totalement désorienté, il regarda autour de lui, profitant de la levée du brouillard pour se repérer. La monstrueuse vague d’insectes géants avait déferlé depuis le bas de l'avenue Dyros en écrasant tout sur son passage. Désormais muée en une mer morte, elle était tout juste agitée de quelques spasmes nerveux. Une mer dans laquelle Xynala s’était noyée. Si lui avait survécu au cri, il ne faisait aucun doute qu’elle aussi. Elle le devait… Titubant dans la direction supposée de la Fyrosse, il jeta un œil au cratère creusé par Brandille, dans lequel son corps avait disparu. S’il craignait pour la vie de Xynala, il savait Brandille toujours en vie, bien que très faible. Il le sentait, sans comprendre comment ni pourquoi.
 
  
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Puis, le sol trembla. Une énième fois. Regardant vers le bas de l’avenue, Bélénor se laissa tomber à genoux. Les Portes Sud étaient en train de vomir un monstrueux essaim. Un raz-de-marée gigantesque, d’ailes, de dards et de crocs. Cette fois-ci, point de Brandille pour leur sauver la mise, seul un miracle pourrait les préserver du cataclysme à venir. Levant la tête et fermant les yeux, Bélénor dédia alors une pensée à chacun de ses proches. À Varran et à Melkiar, qu’il aurait tant voulu revoir une dernière fois. À Tisse et à Garius, qu’il rejoindrait bientôt. À Xynala et à Brandille, à ses côtés, jusqu’au bout. À Penala, évidemment, qu’il espérait être à l'abri. Même à son père et à sa mère, qu’il aimait, malgré tout. Finalement, il consacra sa dernière pensée à Messen Dyn, le vieux moine kamiste qu’il avait assidûment côtoyé ces dernières années. Ainsi, les yeux fermés et le visage rivé vers l’Astre du Jour, il se mit à prier les Kamis, et tout particulièrement le Kami Noir. Puis, il pensa au Kami Suprême, quel qu’il ait été. Après tout, qui d’autre que lui pouvait réaliser des miracles ? Plusieurs secondes passèrent ainsi, à attendre la mort en priant. Et alors, contre toute attente, Jena répondit au Fyros. Dans un grincement céleste. Au-dessus de Fyre, désormais baignée dans la pénombre, un gigantesque engin volant de la Karavan venait de faire son apparition. Bouleversé, Bélénor leva les bras vers le ciel et fondit en larmes. Jamais il n’avait oublié ce que Melkiar lui avait dit, ce jour-là, attablé dans la taverne.
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Half unconscious, the Fyros did not know how much time it took him to get up. Feverish, nauseous, drooling and glassy-eyed, he ran a trembling hand over his face. Noticing the red color of it, he understood that blood had flowed in large quantities from his nose, his eyes and his ears. This certainly explained the horrible headache that was pounding his skull. Totally disoriented, he looked around him, taking advantage of the lifting of the fog to find his bearings. The monstrous wave of giant insects had broken from the bottom of Dyros Avenue, crushing everything in its path. Now transformed into a dead sea, it was just agitated by some nervous spasms. A sea in which Xynala had drowned. If he had survived the scream, there was no doubt that she had too. She must have… Staggering in the supposed direction of the Fyrossa, he glanced at the crater dug by Brandille, in which her body had disappeared. If he feared for Xynala's life, he knew Brandille was still alive, though very weak. He could feel it, without understanding how or why.
  
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« ''Je déteste la Karavan, autant que les Kamis… Ils se prennent pour nos maîtres... Et cela durera, tant que nous continuerons à les nommer « Puissances » ! Car aussi longtemps que les homins s’enchaîneront à eux, aussi longtemps ils resteront des esclaves à leurs yeux ! Moi, j’ai déjà fait mon choix, ce jour-là : plutôt mourir libre que de vivre asservi !'' »
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Then the ground shook. For the umpteenth time. Looking down the avenue, Belenor let himself fall to his knees. The Southern Gates were spewing out a monstrous swarm. A gigantic tidal wave of wings, stings and fangs. This time, there was no Brandille to save them, only a miracle could guard them from the coming cataclysm. Raising her head and closing her eyes, Belenor then dedicated a thought to each of her loved ones. To Varran and Melkiar, whom he would have so much liked to see one last time. To Tisse and Garius, whom he would soon join. To Xynala and Brandille, by his side, until the end. To Penala, of course, whom he hoped would be safe. Even to his father and mother, whom he loved, despite everything. Finally, he devoted his last thought to Messen Dyn, the old Kamist monk whom he had so assiduously spent time with in recent years. So, with his eyes closed and his face fixed on the Day Star, he began to pray to the Kamis, much especially the Black Kami. Then he thought of the Supreme Kami, whoever he had been. After all, who else but him could perform miracles? Several seconds passed, waiting for death and praying. And then, against all odds, Jena answered the Fyros. With a heavenly squeak. Above Fyre, now bathed in darkness, a gigantic Karavan flying machine had just appeared. Upset, Belenor raised his arms to the sky and burst into tears. He had never forgotten what Melkiar had said to him that day while sitting in the tavern.
  
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Au fond de lui, et malgré la déférence qu’il témoignait aux Kamis, Bélénor comprenait la position de Melkiar. Mais que pouvaient les homins, seuls, face à tant d’horreur ? Comment pouvaient-ils se libérer de la servitude des Puissances, sans perdre tout ce qu’ils avaient acquis jusqu’alors ? Quelles que soient les réponses à ces questions, en cet instant, le Fyros avait déjà fait son propre choix : celui de la vie.}}
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"I hate the Karavan as much as I hate the Kamis… They think they are our masters… And that will last as long as we continue to name them 'Powers'! For as long as homins chain themselves to them, so long will they remain slaves in their eyes! As for me, I have already made my choice, that day: rather to die free than to live enslaved!"
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Deep down inside, despite the deference he showed to the Kamis, Belenor understood Melkiar's position. But what could the homins do, alone, in the face of so much horror? How could they free themselves from the bondage of the Powers, without losing all that they had acquired so far? Whatever the answers to these questions, at that moment, the Fyros had already made his own choice: that of life.
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Шаблон:Внутреннее тестирование Вики

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