Post by lordtwinblade on Nov 30, 2008 12:38:15 GMT -6
Chapter One: A Malevolent Invitation
A gust of wind caused the torch to gutter angrily, sending glimmering sparks wafting down from the tower’s battlements toward the snow-capped mountain below. A dark shape floated up through their midst, sending them swirling in random directions as it rose to land silently on the parapet. The beast tucked its wings in next to its body, allowing its passenger to slide down off its back. The armored titan, easily twice the size a normal man, dropped to one knee, looking both left and right to ensure that his intrusion had gone unnoticed. When he was sure that the world remained unaware of his presence, he rose, his armor emitting several muted creaks.
The behemoth stepped through an open doorway in the side of the tower, ducking his head as he did so. The room beyond was lit by a honey glow, ripples like the reflection of water traveling across its cold stone walls. Five pillars rose in the center of the chamber, adjoining the vaulted ceiling. In the center of their formation knelt a person, wrapped in a thick black cloak. Above the individual hovered a sphere of pure, pulsating energy.
The dark giant grimaced beneath his helmet and squared his shoulders, glaring up at the impudent spark that flared like an overconfident lightning bug, unaware that the very quality it flaunted made it a prime target for predators.
And this predator, the titan thought, a crimson grin splitting his face, is very, very unforgiving. He took a step forward.
“You came.” The voice from the kneeling figure was female, clear and beautiful, yet distant. “As I knew you would.”
“You could not have thought otherwise.” The man continued advancing until his stood only a few feet from her. “I do not forget betrayal easily, Priestess.”
“Nor should you.” The woman’s speech remained neutral, uninflected, as though her thoughts were focused on something far more important than this paltry interchange.
“Then you know what I intend to do.”
The woman nodded, turning towards him for the first time. “Yes. I sent the guards away.”
A mirthless chuckle escaped the giant’s throat. “You knew I would kill them if they stood in my way.”
The priestess did not answer. She simply gazed into the crimson slits in the titan’s helmet, her eyes glazed and disinterested, as though scrutinizing an old, meaningless scroll for something new. The towering shadow resisted the urge to look away, meeting her eyes directly. After a few moments she turned away from him, inclining her head towards the sphere in the center of the chamber. “I know you are a ruthless being, and have no patience for those who will not serve you.”
A whisper of energy gathered in the behemoth’s crimson-clawed fist. He flexed his fingers, enjoying the sensation. “And will you serve me?”
The woman sighed, her back still turned to him. “You need not ask that question to know its answer, Caius.”
“Indeed not.” The reply was like a snake’s hiss, quick and sibilant. The tower crossed the space between them, power crackling as his gauntlet grasped the back of her neck. The priestess gasped as the energy surged through her, and she fell to one knee. Above them, the golden mass began to dim, then darken, as thought someone had injected poison into its veins.
“You will serve me.”
The honey glow, chased to the center of the sphere, hemmed in on all sides by the blackness, was extinguished.
___________________________
The shriek of metal scraping metal filled the air as one sword slide down the length of the other, striking its crossbar with bone-crunching force. The recipient of the attack winced and backed off, retreating out of range of his opponent’s massive blade. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, dripping onto his neck and making his collar itch unbearably. He switched his sword to a one-handed grip and summoned a ball of energy in his right, which he hurled at his opponent.
The other man moved slightly, stepping behind his massive ebony greatsword, which rested point down on the ground. The spell struck the steel and disappeared. A grin spread across the man’s face just beneath the skeletal half-mask as he stepped out from behind his weapon and hefted the five-foot-eight-inch blade onto his shoulder.
“Care to try again?” A light breeze ruffled the aggressor’s crimson hair and caused his blood red cape to flutter excitedly.
The blonde-haired swordsman licked his lips and took his weapon in both hands, sighting down the length of the blade at his foe. I have to move quickly. Adjust my angle frequently. I need to outmaneuver him.
“No?” The man’s black armor glistened in the sunlight. “Fine, then I will.”
Before the blonde swordsman knew what was happening the red-haired foe was within striking distance, and the titanic blade was spiraling towards him. The fiend had grasped the weapon’s hilt in a backhanded grip, using no force other than his own momentum to swing it. The young man dropped his own weapon low to protect his legs and felt the shock travel all the way up to his shoulders. The sword tumbled from his nerveless fingers and skittered across the plateau, stopping only a few inches from the edge. The swordsman clambered to his feet, only to find himself in midair again. The dark attacker crouched low before him, the weight of his greatsword resting across his hips, one hand still on the hilt. The other was on the ground in front of him, supporting his weight. He looked up at the other man from behind his death’s head.
“I would advise you to give up, Neo.” He grinned again, the smile made even more hideous by the contrast between his flesh and the bone that sat atop it.
Without waiting for his answer, the man stood. Neo balled his hand into a fist and shot another sphere of energy toward the enemy. This time, the other man punched his fist straight into the attack, dispersing it with brute force.
“I really-“ The man stepped forward and kicked the swordsman in the temple, knocking him to the ground. “-wish you wouldn’t.”
The last thing Neo saw before darkness claimed him was a leathery black wing stretching over him.
Black lightning swept over Neo like a tide, ripping through his skull and grasping his heart, threatening to still its frantic patter. He gasped for breath, but the lightning paralyzed his lungs.
Just as quickly it was gone. Slowly, life crept back into his pain-wracked limbs; breath seeped into his trembling chest.
The Apprentice Magician said it would be an easy mission. Painless. Neo would have laughed if his chest didn’t ache so much. Where was Tyra now? Dead. Breaker and the Amazoness Paladin, Delilah, were probably also dead. They’d gotten separated inside Balter’s fortress.
Neo shut his eyes, but it did nothing to alleviate the ache in the backs of his corneas. Memories flooded into his tired brain, and he was too weak to stop the avalanche of thought. Soon he was drowning in his own account of the tale.
___________________________
Balter’s castle was built into a mountainside, fortified by heavy turrets, designed to repel attacking armies, but not small parties of infiltrators. The team had slipped carefully past layers of castle defense, only to be given away when they were reaching their goal.
The Goblin Elites had descended suddenly, killing Tyra before she could move. The others had retreated, and Neo had dived over a low table to buy himself some time. When he rose, the other two were gone, and he had been forced to fight his way up to the plateau. That was where he had encountered the foe that had conquered him.
It had all been pointless. None of it had mattered.
___________________________
Black lightning surged through him. Spasms of respiration gripped his chest and he choked on his own saliva, unable to control the throes of his pain-wracked body.
He had no idea how many times the process had repeated itself. How many times he had nearly lost himself in the haze of thundering energy.
The pain backed away. It did not leave, it never completely left, but it faded back, like a boxer retreating into his corner of the ring. It would soon return, to continue a fight that, Neo could no longer deny, it was winning.
The door to his cell creaked open. Neo vaguely remembered what existed outside that door, recalled shadows of a world that existed beyond his universe of nerve-searing pain.
A man stepped inside. Neo looked up into the eye sockets of that bone mask, and recognized someone. He remembered fighting the man. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged gently at the corners of his mouth.
“Good day, sir. I trust you have been enjoying your stay?” The man inquired, crossing his legs to sit before the crippled warrior.
“Enjoying…”
The fiend grinned maliciously. “Of course! What is there but fun to be had in this cubicle of excitement?” Not waiting for an answer, he hurried on. “Balter was very displeased with you for trespassing in his realm. He wanted you killed.”
Balter…the name sounded familiar. “But you convinced him otherwise?” Neo croaked.
“I did.” The man leaned back a bit, as though congratulating himself. “Unfortunately, our dear lordship is so very uncompromising on the subject of punishment. Which is how you ended up here.”
This information whirled around Neo’s head. He could scarcely handle any sort of intelligence in his current state. “But…why did you do it?”
There was a moment of deep, penetrating silence. Neo became acutely aware of the pain in his eardrums, still singing a shrill, whispered tone. After a time, the man’s lips moved almost imperceptibly.
“Because the world is about to change.”
The man got to his feet and turned, his arrogant bluster gone for the moment.
“Wait!” Neo cast about, searching for something, anything to stay his visitor a moment longer. “I don’t even know your name!”
The fiend turned, and smiled, this time genuinely, or so it seemed. “I am called Sable.” The door creaked shut, its bolts slamming home.
___________________________
A man crumpled against a cold cement wall. He could not remember whom he was, why he was here, why the black lightning ripped through his body. He had no memory outside of this place. The only memory he owned, the only thing in the entire world, in this tiny world, played out in his mind.
“I am called Sable.”
Sable. Sable. The name and the face, hidden behind a half-mask of bone. Nothing more.
Sable. The name echoed in his brain, creating a sort of inane, singsong rhythm against the sides of his skull, keeping time with the shocks that wracked his body.
The lightning receded, and the black-armored memory – Sable, the man’s tired brain intoned – stepped into the room.
“Good morning, Neo.”
“Sable.” The man’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, and even that caused an inferno of irritation to rip up his throat.
“You remember me.” Sable’s voice was pleased.
“I don’t-“ The man dissolved in a fit of coughing. “I can’t remember anything else.” He rasped.
The black-clad entity smiled. “Good. For what comes next, you need nothing else.” And, to the captive’s astonishment, he stepped aside, extending a hand towards the open door.
It must be a trick, part of his mind screamed. He’s suckering you!
But why would he trick me now?
Why did he lock you up in the first place?
The man ignored the recalcitrant gray cells and unsteadily got to his feet. He managed a few steps before his knees gave way. He fell forward, and Sable caught him by the shoulders, slowing his descent.
“I can’t…” The man looked into Sable’s eyes, seeing past the mask. The pupils behind those ghastly holes were surprisingly warm and compassionate. “Will you help me?”
“You have but to ask.” Sable slipped his arm under the man’s, and lifted him, almost effortlessly, from the floor.
___________________________
A chill breeze swept through the mountains, carrying with it a swirl of pale snowflakes. The two hulking stone guards didn’t so much as flinch as the surge of cold washed over them. They watched as a small, green armored man strode confidently up the rocky path towards them.
As the man approached, one of the guards called out in a gravelly voice. “Halt. Not a step closer.”
The armored man obeyed. Wind swirled around him, toying with the corners of his black cloak. The guards stepped forward to bar his way, extending mammoth spears forged of granite towards him.
“Who are you, and what business do you have in the Land of the Mountain King?”
The man threw back his hood, revealing a dark-skinned face and long black hair, tied back behind his head. A band of green steel adorned his forehead, protecting his temples.
“My name is Mataza. I come as an emissary from his Lordship, the Dark Emperor. Your king is to surrender his lands and people to the rule of my master, Caius, and they will be spared.”
A hollow crackling noise issued from the stony chests of the two guards, like the beginnings of an avalanche. “Our lord Granmarg will never submit to anyone. You are bold, little man, to declare such things in the kingdom of the Rock Monarch.”
Mataza smiled a small, mirthless smile. “These things are not simply idle talk. Look around you. If you do not submit, the very foundations of these mountains will be split asunder, and the destruction that will be wrought will be on your heads.”
One of the sentries took a step forward. “You would do well to still your tongue, little man. I do not care for your tone.”
“And you would do well,” Mataza replied, taking a step forward, “to stand aside and let me pass. I don’t want to hurt you.”
At this the first sentry roared, “YOU don’t want to hurt US?” He towered over the green-armored antagonist, standing at least thrice his height. “Brother, I think it is time we send this impertinent insect back down the mountain, where he belongs.” Both titans grasped their spears and attacked.
Mataza drifted back, avoiding both strokes. As he came to a stop a strong gust of wind blew his cloak back, revealing a long katana hanging at his waist. Placing a hand on its hilt and the other on the neck of the scabbard he threw himself at the closest stone sentry. His feet struck the warrior in the arm, and he kicked off, rising up next to the giant granite head.
The sword flashed from its sheath, striking upwards to cleave the head from its shoulders, and then came down, slicing the right arm off, separating it from the body at the shoulder. Mataza landed, returning his weapon to its container as his feet hit the ground. The headless sentry staggered forward, its spear still gripped in one hand.
Mataza rose as the second sentry turned to face him. The rock warrior raised its spear for a second assault, but before it could strike, a blazing javelin of flame lanced out of the sky to stab him in the chest. His body imploded, the spark melting his chest and propelling the molten fragments outward. A second fireball slammed into what was left of the first sentry’s body, destroying it as well. The angry red light from both kills cast a long shadow behind the single warrior as he started up the mountain towards the home of the Mountain King.
___________________________
“My lord! We are under attack!”
Granmarg ascended the carved stone staircase to the ramparts in an instant. His granite boots slammed against the hewn stone walkway as he rushed to his vassal’s side.
Émigré was a slender woman, tall for a human. She was garbed in segmented silver armor that gave way to matte gray padding around her joints. He white hair was flying in the wind of a large beast’s passing, and she slung her massive sword over her shoulder. Her gauntleted hand pointed down at a rampart below, where dark shapes swarmed up to attack his stone soldiers, who fought valiantly but were quickly losing ground.
“What are they?” He asked, though he knew she had no answer for him.
“Whatever they are, they’re gaining ground.” Émigré’s voice was grave, and her sea-blue eyes showed her concern, even as she cinched her red facemask tight over her nose and mouth.
“Then let us see to it they gain no more.” Granmarg placed his hand on the battlement and began to draw a spike of stone out of it. The spike rose up to meet his hand, bulging out at the bottom and resolving into a stout haft. As his gauntlet closed around its base, the bulge on the bottom spread out and sharpened its edge. When the Rock Monarch pulled it free of its mother, the spike had become a full-fledged battle-axe. Hefting the weapon, the king placed his free hand on Émigré’s shoulder. Though she was tall, the top of her head only came up to his chest plate. “Give them no quarter, no matter what they are.”
As he finished speaking, another creature stepped onto the rampart. This one was a golden statue, with the face of a grinning demon. A large wheel assembly was attached to its back, which crackled with magical energy as it knelt before its lord.
Granmarg turned to the newcomer. “Exxod, come with us. Let’s join the fray.” As he spoke, a great black dragon wheeled overhead, spraying flames down onto the hapless soldiers below.
Granmarg growled and the beast whirled around, passing just below the battlement. Without another word to his comrades, he leapt into the air, his battleaxe gripped in both hands. The beast cried out in alarm as the heavy monarch landed on its back, and then screamed far more shrilly as the axe bit into its spine. Granmarg roared and brought his weapon down a second time, feeling it snap the creature’s neck. The beast swerved and began to tumble toward the mountainside.
Granmarg waved his hand. “Come!” He shouted, and kicked off the monster’s back. Émigré and Exxod followed him down, dropping fifty feet to the rampart below.
Granmarg hit the battlement and began swinging. The attackers, some sort of gray monsters with sharp claws and teeth, were sent flying by his powerful strokes. Exxod followed behind, using his massive fists to crush any of the assailants his lord had missed. Émigré’s weapon flashed brilliantly in the firelight, cutting a swath through her foes. The stone soldiers, seeing their leader among them, gave a rallying cry and started pushing the monsters back.
Suddenly another shape manifested out of the clouds above. This beast, unlike the first, was red in color, and had a long, slender body. Out of its head jutted a single white spike, and its blue eyes flashed with draconian intelligence. It opened its mouth and unleashed a stream of lightning towards Granmarg. However, as the deadly projectile sped towards its mark, it suddenly encountered resistance in the form of a semi-opaque wall that sprang up, blocking its progress. The dome of energy stretched out over part of the battlement, cutting Granmarg, Émigré, Exxod, and several of the soldiers and attackers off from the rest of the battle. A little irritated, the dragon swept its attack across the rest of the battlement, killing indiscriminately.
Granmarg slammed one of the attackers to the ground, snapping its neck with his bare hand. He turned the creature’s face to one side, gazing dispassionately into the wide, black eye socket. As the last of the enemies were wiped out, Granmarg glanced up at the dragon, still wheeling overhead. He would have to be the one to take it down.
“Exxod, lower the shield-“
Before Granmarg could finish his sentence, there was a violent, wet ripping noise, like someone tearing a soggy towel in half. Granmarg turned and found himself staring into a strange multi-colored shape, floating impossibly in the air between himself and Exxod. The shape appeared to be two-dimensional, flat, but that could be a simple trick of the light. The colors began to flare brilliantly as something stepped through, out onto the stone rampart. Granmarg drew back his axe.
“Hello, brother.”
There was a flash, and the Rock Monarch swung his weapon. His stroke was met, and as the dust cleared, he locked eyes with a pair of crimson slits in a dark helmet.
“Caius…” He breathed.
The Shadow Monarch stepped forward, pushing his stone counterpart back a step. Behind him the portal continued to flash, indicating that more creatures were pouring through.
A steel boot slammed into Gammorg’s chest and he stumbled back a step, swinging his blade low. Caius stepped away and let the attack sweep by. The two circled one another, like a pair of hunting cats establishing dominance. The strange creatures formed a circle around them, hemming them in but not daring to step within striking distance of either monarch.
In the same moment, both kings stopped. They raised their weapons; Granmarg, his stone axe, Caius, his crackling purple scimitar. The blades met between them, discharging a spark of energy. Withdrawing the weapons, they stepped back, and then charged.
___________________________
Émigré swung her titanic sword again, and Mataza danced back out of range. Sweat collected on his forehead, and he hastily swiped it away with the back of his hand. Nervously, he adjusted his position, waiting for her next move. Her weapon reminded him of the Dark Crusader’s black claymore, which was enough to scare anyone. The samurai had to remind himself that this enemy and his comrade were completely different; this woman’s sword weighed almost nothing, it was thin and constructed out of a light metal, probably the same kind that made up her armor.
Where Sable relies on his momentum, she can swing her sword with her slight muscle mass alone, he thought, rolling beneath a horizontal swipe. I need to get her off-balance, or she’ll cut me to pieces.
___________________________
Granmarg’s axe skidded across the battlement to strike the edge of the shield. Caius swung his sword upwards, carving a long gash in the Rock Monarch’s chest plate and knocking him off his feet. In moments the gray creatures were swarming over him, pinning him to the ground.
Just a few dozen feet away Exxod was crushing one of his assailant’s skulls. He saw his king fall and lunged towards the Shadow Monarch, whose back was turned to him. Caius rotated, turning around to face the charging titan.
The idol passed the king, who raised his weapon and shifted imperceptibly. Like an unstrung puppet, Exxod crumpled, a mass of uncontrolled limbs. As his body hit the stone beneath him, his shield snapped out of existence, extinguished with its master. His head rolled to a stop next to Granmarg’s.
Satisfied, the Dark Emperor turned to his fallen brother, banishing his brand as his did so. He placed a hand on the Rock Monarch’s chest. Black energy danced across Granmarg’s body, and where moments before he had fought the ghouls that piled atop him, now his movement stilled. Caius stood, breathing in sweet victory, as high above him, the White-Horned Dragon crowed.
A gust of wind caused the torch to gutter angrily, sending glimmering sparks wafting down from the tower’s battlements toward the snow-capped mountain below. A dark shape floated up through their midst, sending them swirling in random directions as it rose to land silently on the parapet. The beast tucked its wings in next to its body, allowing its passenger to slide down off its back. The armored titan, easily twice the size a normal man, dropped to one knee, looking both left and right to ensure that his intrusion had gone unnoticed. When he was sure that the world remained unaware of his presence, he rose, his armor emitting several muted creaks.
The behemoth stepped through an open doorway in the side of the tower, ducking his head as he did so. The room beyond was lit by a honey glow, ripples like the reflection of water traveling across its cold stone walls. Five pillars rose in the center of the chamber, adjoining the vaulted ceiling. In the center of their formation knelt a person, wrapped in a thick black cloak. Above the individual hovered a sphere of pure, pulsating energy.
The dark giant grimaced beneath his helmet and squared his shoulders, glaring up at the impudent spark that flared like an overconfident lightning bug, unaware that the very quality it flaunted made it a prime target for predators.
And this predator, the titan thought, a crimson grin splitting his face, is very, very unforgiving. He took a step forward.
“You came.” The voice from the kneeling figure was female, clear and beautiful, yet distant. “As I knew you would.”
“You could not have thought otherwise.” The man continued advancing until his stood only a few feet from her. “I do not forget betrayal easily, Priestess.”
“Nor should you.” The woman’s speech remained neutral, uninflected, as though her thoughts were focused on something far more important than this paltry interchange.
“Then you know what I intend to do.”
The woman nodded, turning towards him for the first time. “Yes. I sent the guards away.”
A mirthless chuckle escaped the giant’s throat. “You knew I would kill them if they stood in my way.”
The priestess did not answer. She simply gazed into the crimson slits in the titan’s helmet, her eyes glazed and disinterested, as though scrutinizing an old, meaningless scroll for something new. The towering shadow resisted the urge to look away, meeting her eyes directly. After a few moments she turned away from him, inclining her head towards the sphere in the center of the chamber. “I know you are a ruthless being, and have no patience for those who will not serve you.”
A whisper of energy gathered in the behemoth’s crimson-clawed fist. He flexed his fingers, enjoying the sensation. “And will you serve me?”
The woman sighed, her back still turned to him. “You need not ask that question to know its answer, Caius.”
“Indeed not.” The reply was like a snake’s hiss, quick and sibilant. The tower crossed the space between them, power crackling as his gauntlet grasped the back of her neck. The priestess gasped as the energy surged through her, and she fell to one knee. Above them, the golden mass began to dim, then darken, as thought someone had injected poison into its veins.
“You will serve me.”
The honey glow, chased to the center of the sphere, hemmed in on all sides by the blackness, was extinguished.
___________________________
The shriek of metal scraping metal filled the air as one sword slide down the length of the other, striking its crossbar with bone-crunching force. The recipient of the attack winced and backed off, retreating out of range of his opponent’s massive blade. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, dripping onto his neck and making his collar itch unbearably. He switched his sword to a one-handed grip and summoned a ball of energy in his right, which he hurled at his opponent.
The other man moved slightly, stepping behind his massive ebony greatsword, which rested point down on the ground. The spell struck the steel and disappeared. A grin spread across the man’s face just beneath the skeletal half-mask as he stepped out from behind his weapon and hefted the five-foot-eight-inch blade onto his shoulder.
“Care to try again?” A light breeze ruffled the aggressor’s crimson hair and caused his blood red cape to flutter excitedly.
The blonde-haired swordsman licked his lips and took his weapon in both hands, sighting down the length of the blade at his foe. I have to move quickly. Adjust my angle frequently. I need to outmaneuver him.
“No?” The man’s black armor glistened in the sunlight. “Fine, then I will.”
Before the blonde swordsman knew what was happening the red-haired foe was within striking distance, and the titanic blade was spiraling towards him. The fiend had grasped the weapon’s hilt in a backhanded grip, using no force other than his own momentum to swing it. The young man dropped his own weapon low to protect his legs and felt the shock travel all the way up to his shoulders. The sword tumbled from his nerveless fingers and skittered across the plateau, stopping only a few inches from the edge. The swordsman clambered to his feet, only to find himself in midair again. The dark attacker crouched low before him, the weight of his greatsword resting across his hips, one hand still on the hilt. The other was on the ground in front of him, supporting his weight. He looked up at the other man from behind his death’s head.
“I would advise you to give up, Neo.” He grinned again, the smile made even more hideous by the contrast between his flesh and the bone that sat atop it.
Without waiting for his answer, the man stood. Neo balled his hand into a fist and shot another sphere of energy toward the enemy. This time, the other man punched his fist straight into the attack, dispersing it with brute force.
“I really-“ The man stepped forward and kicked the swordsman in the temple, knocking him to the ground. “-wish you wouldn’t.”
The last thing Neo saw before darkness claimed him was a leathery black wing stretching over him.
Black lightning swept over Neo like a tide, ripping through his skull and grasping his heart, threatening to still its frantic patter. He gasped for breath, but the lightning paralyzed his lungs.
Just as quickly it was gone. Slowly, life crept back into his pain-wracked limbs; breath seeped into his trembling chest.
The Apprentice Magician said it would be an easy mission. Painless. Neo would have laughed if his chest didn’t ache so much. Where was Tyra now? Dead. Breaker and the Amazoness Paladin, Delilah, were probably also dead. They’d gotten separated inside Balter’s fortress.
Neo shut his eyes, but it did nothing to alleviate the ache in the backs of his corneas. Memories flooded into his tired brain, and he was too weak to stop the avalanche of thought. Soon he was drowning in his own account of the tale.
___________________________
Balter’s castle was built into a mountainside, fortified by heavy turrets, designed to repel attacking armies, but not small parties of infiltrators. The team had slipped carefully past layers of castle defense, only to be given away when they were reaching their goal.
The Goblin Elites had descended suddenly, killing Tyra before she could move. The others had retreated, and Neo had dived over a low table to buy himself some time. When he rose, the other two were gone, and he had been forced to fight his way up to the plateau. That was where he had encountered the foe that had conquered him.
It had all been pointless. None of it had mattered.
___________________________
Black lightning surged through him. Spasms of respiration gripped his chest and he choked on his own saliva, unable to control the throes of his pain-wracked body.
He had no idea how many times the process had repeated itself. How many times he had nearly lost himself in the haze of thundering energy.
The pain backed away. It did not leave, it never completely left, but it faded back, like a boxer retreating into his corner of the ring. It would soon return, to continue a fight that, Neo could no longer deny, it was winning.
The door to his cell creaked open. Neo vaguely remembered what existed outside that door, recalled shadows of a world that existed beyond his universe of nerve-searing pain.
A man stepped inside. Neo looked up into the eye sockets of that bone mask, and recognized someone. He remembered fighting the man. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged gently at the corners of his mouth.
“Good day, sir. I trust you have been enjoying your stay?” The man inquired, crossing his legs to sit before the crippled warrior.
“Enjoying…”
The fiend grinned maliciously. “Of course! What is there but fun to be had in this cubicle of excitement?” Not waiting for an answer, he hurried on. “Balter was very displeased with you for trespassing in his realm. He wanted you killed.”
Balter…the name sounded familiar. “But you convinced him otherwise?” Neo croaked.
“I did.” The man leaned back a bit, as though congratulating himself. “Unfortunately, our dear lordship is so very uncompromising on the subject of punishment. Which is how you ended up here.”
This information whirled around Neo’s head. He could scarcely handle any sort of intelligence in his current state. “But…why did you do it?”
There was a moment of deep, penetrating silence. Neo became acutely aware of the pain in his eardrums, still singing a shrill, whispered tone. After a time, the man’s lips moved almost imperceptibly.
“Because the world is about to change.”
The man got to his feet and turned, his arrogant bluster gone for the moment.
“Wait!” Neo cast about, searching for something, anything to stay his visitor a moment longer. “I don’t even know your name!”
The fiend turned, and smiled, this time genuinely, or so it seemed. “I am called Sable.” The door creaked shut, its bolts slamming home.
___________________________
A man crumpled against a cold cement wall. He could not remember whom he was, why he was here, why the black lightning ripped through his body. He had no memory outside of this place. The only memory he owned, the only thing in the entire world, in this tiny world, played out in his mind.
“I am called Sable.”
Sable. Sable. The name and the face, hidden behind a half-mask of bone. Nothing more.
Sable. The name echoed in his brain, creating a sort of inane, singsong rhythm against the sides of his skull, keeping time with the shocks that wracked his body.
The lightning receded, and the black-armored memory – Sable, the man’s tired brain intoned – stepped into the room.
“Good morning, Neo.”
“Sable.” The man’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, and even that caused an inferno of irritation to rip up his throat.
“You remember me.” Sable’s voice was pleased.
“I don’t-“ The man dissolved in a fit of coughing. “I can’t remember anything else.” He rasped.
The black-clad entity smiled. “Good. For what comes next, you need nothing else.” And, to the captive’s astonishment, he stepped aside, extending a hand towards the open door.
It must be a trick, part of his mind screamed. He’s suckering you!
But why would he trick me now?
Why did he lock you up in the first place?
The man ignored the recalcitrant gray cells and unsteadily got to his feet. He managed a few steps before his knees gave way. He fell forward, and Sable caught him by the shoulders, slowing his descent.
“I can’t…” The man looked into Sable’s eyes, seeing past the mask. The pupils behind those ghastly holes were surprisingly warm and compassionate. “Will you help me?”
“You have but to ask.” Sable slipped his arm under the man’s, and lifted him, almost effortlessly, from the floor.
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A chill breeze swept through the mountains, carrying with it a swirl of pale snowflakes. The two hulking stone guards didn’t so much as flinch as the surge of cold washed over them. They watched as a small, green armored man strode confidently up the rocky path towards them.
As the man approached, one of the guards called out in a gravelly voice. “Halt. Not a step closer.”
The armored man obeyed. Wind swirled around him, toying with the corners of his black cloak. The guards stepped forward to bar his way, extending mammoth spears forged of granite towards him.
“Who are you, and what business do you have in the Land of the Mountain King?”
The man threw back his hood, revealing a dark-skinned face and long black hair, tied back behind his head. A band of green steel adorned his forehead, protecting his temples.
“My name is Mataza. I come as an emissary from his Lordship, the Dark Emperor. Your king is to surrender his lands and people to the rule of my master, Caius, and they will be spared.”
A hollow crackling noise issued from the stony chests of the two guards, like the beginnings of an avalanche. “Our lord Granmarg will never submit to anyone. You are bold, little man, to declare such things in the kingdom of the Rock Monarch.”
Mataza smiled a small, mirthless smile. “These things are not simply idle talk. Look around you. If you do not submit, the very foundations of these mountains will be split asunder, and the destruction that will be wrought will be on your heads.”
One of the sentries took a step forward. “You would do well to still your tongue, little man. I do not care for your tone.”
“And you would do well,” Mataza replied, taking a step forward, “to stand aside and let me pass. I don’t want to hurt you.”
At this the first sentry roared, “YOU don’t want to hurt US?” He towered over the green-armored antagonist, standing at least thrice his height. “Brother, I think it is time we send this impertinent insect back down the mountain, where he belongs.” Both titans grasped their spears and attacked.
Mataza drifted back, avoiding both strokes. As he came to a stop a strong gust of wind blew his cloak back, revealing a long katana hanging at his waist. Placing a hand on its hilt and the other on the neck of the scabbard he threw himself at the closest stone sentry. His feet struck the warrior in the arm, and he kicked off, rising up next to the giant granite head.
The sword flashed from its sheath, striking upwards to cleave the head from its shoulders, and then came down, slicing the right arm off, separating it from the body at the shoulder. Mataza landed, returning his weapon to its container as his feet hit the ground. The headless sentry staggered forward, its spear still gripped in one hand.
Mataza rose as the second sentry turned to face him. The rock warrior raised its spear for a second assault, but before it could strike, a blazing javelin of flame lanced out of the sky to stab him in the chest. His body imploded, the spark melting his chest and propelling the molten fragments outward. A second fireball slammed into what was left of the first sentry’s body, destroying it as well. The angry red light from both kills cast a long shadow behind the single warrior as he started up the mountain towards the home of the Mountain King.
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“My lord! We are under attack!”
Granmarg ascended the carved stone staircase to the ramparts in an instant. His granite boots slammed against the hewn stone walkway as he rushed to his vassal’s side.
Émigré was a slender woman, tall for a human. She was garbed in segmented silver armor that gave way to matte gray padding around her joints. He white hair was flying in the wind of a large beast’s passing, and she slung her massive sword over her shoulder. Her gauntleted hand pointed down at a rampart below, where dark shapes swarmed up to attack his stone soldiers, who fought valiantly but were quickly losing ground.
“What are they?” He asked, though he knew she had no answer for him.
“Whatever they are, they’re gaining ground.” Émigré’s voice was grave, and her sea-blue eyes showed her concern, even as she cinched her red facemask tight over her nose and mouth.
“Then let us see to it they gain no more.” Granmarg placed his hand on the battlement and began to draw a spike of stone out of it. The spike rose up to meet his hand, bulging out at the bottom and resolving into a stout haft. As his gauntlet closed around its base, the bulge on the bottom spread out and sharpened its edge. When the Rock Monarch pulled it free of its mother, the spike had become a full-fledged battle-axe. Hefting the weapon, the king placed his free hand on Émigré’s shoulder. Though she was tall, the top of her head only came up to his chest plate. “Give them no quarter, no matter what they are.”
As he finished speaking, another creature stepped onto the rampart. This one was a golden statue, with the face of a grinning demon. A large wheel assembly was attached to its back, which crackled with magical energy as it knelt before its lord.
Granmarg turned to the newcomer. “Exxod, come with us. Let’s join the fray.” As he spoke, a great black dragon wheeled overhead, spraying flames down onto the hapless soldiers below.
Granmarg growled and the beast whirled around, passing just below the battlement. Without another word to his comrades, he leapt into the air, his battleaxe gripped in both hands. The beast cried out in alarm as the heavy monarch landed on its back, and then screamed far more shrilly as the axe bit into its spine. Granmarg roared and brought his weapon down a second time, feeling it snap the creature’s neck. The beast swerved and began to tumble toward the mountainside.
Granmarg waved his hand. “Come!” He shouted, and kicked off the monster’s back. Émigré and Exxod followed him down, dropping fifty feet to the rampart below.
Granmarg hit the battlement and began swinging. The attackers, some sort of gray monsters with sharp claws and teeth, were sent flying by his powerful strokes. Exxod followed behind, using his massive fists to crush any of the assailants his lord had missed. Émigré’s weapon flashed brilliantly in the firelight, cutting a swath through her foes. The stone soldiers, seeing their leader among them, gave a rallying cry and started pushing the monsters back.
Suddenly another shape manifested out of the clouds above. This beast, unlike the first, was red in color, and had a long, slender body. Out of its head jutted a single white spike, and its blue eyes flashed with draconian intelligence. It opened its mouth and unleashed a stream of lightning towards Granmarg. However, as the deadly projectile sped towards its mark, it suddenly encountered resistance in the form of a semi-opaque wall that sprang up, blocking its progress. The dome of energy stretched out over part of the battlement, cutting Granmarg, Émigré, Exxod, and several of the soldiers and attackers off from the rest of the battle. A little irritated, the dragon swept its attack across the rest of the battlement, killing indiscriminately.
Granmarg slammed one of the attackers to the ground, snapping its neck with his bare hand. He turned the creature’s face to one side, gazing dispassionately into the wide, black eye socket. As the last of the enemies were wiped out, Granmarg glanced up at the dragon, still wheeling overhead. He would have to be the one to take it down.
“Exxod, lower the shield-“
Before Granmarg could finish his sentence, there was a violent, wet ripping noise, like someone tearing a soggy towel in half. Granmarg turned and found himself staring into a strange multi-colored shape, floating impossibly in the air between himself and Exxod. The shape appeared to be two-dimensional, flat, but that could be a simple trick of the light. The colors began to flare brilliantly as something stepped through, out onto the stone rampart. Granmarg drew back his axe.
“Hello, brother.”
There was a flash, and the Rock Monarch swung his weapon. His stroke was met, and as the dust cleared, he locked eyes with a pair of crimson slits in a dark helmet.
“Caius…” He breathed.
The Shadow Monarch stepped forward, pushing his stone counterpart back a step. Behind him the portal continued to flash, indicating that more creatures were pouring through.
A steel boot slammed into Gammorg’s chest and he stumbled back a step, swinging his blade low. Caius stepped away and let the attack sweep by. The two circled one another, like a pair of hunting cats establishing dominance. The strange creatures formed a circle around them, hemming them in but not daring to step within striking distance of either monarch.
In the same moment, both kings stopped. They raised their weapons; Granmarg, his stone axe, Caius, his crackling purple scimitar. The blades met between them, discharging a spark of energy. Withdrawing the weapons, they stepped back, and then charged.
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Émigré swung her titanic sword again, and Mataza danced back out of range. Sweat collected on his forehead, and he hastily swiped it away with the back of his hand. Nervously, he adjusted his position, waiting for her next move. Her weapon reminded him of the Dark Crusader’s black claymore, which was enough to scare anyone. The samurai had to remind himself that this enemy and his comrade were completely different; this woman’s sword weighed almost nothing, it was thin and constructed out of a light metal, probably the same kind that made up her armor.
Where Sable relies on his momentum, she can swing her sword with her slight muscle mass alone, he thought, rolling beneath a horizontal swipe. I need to get her off-balance, or she’ll cut me to pieces.
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Granmarg’s axe skidded across the battlement to strike the edge of the shield. Caius swung his sword upwards, carving a long gash in the Rock Monarch’s chest plate and knocking him off his feet. In moments the gray creatures were swarming over him, pinning him to the ground.
Just a few dozen feet away Exxod was crushing one of his assailant’s skulls. He saw his king fall and lunged towards the Shadow Monarch, whose back was turned to him. Caius rotated, turning around to face the charging titan.
The idol passed the king, who raised his weapon and shifted imperceptibly. Like an unstrung puppet, Exxod crumpled, a mass of uncontrolled limbs. As his body hit the stone beneath him, his shield snapped out of existence, extinguished with its master. His head rolled to a stop next to Granmarg’s.
Satisfied, the Dark Emperor turned to his fallen brother, banishing his brand as his did so. He placed a hand on the Rock Monarch’s chest. Black energy danced across Granmarg’s body, and where moments before he had fought the ghouls that piled atop him, now his movement stilled. Caius stood, breathing in sweet victory, as high above him, the White-Horned Dragon crowed.