A Land in Shadow

by Daniel Whitman

  Suddenly, Nalgene burst from the ranks of undead, water swirling about him in a crackling storm of energy. A shield of water twisted about him, and wherever he beckoned great torrents of steaming water washed over the undead, and brilliant strikes of lightning thundered into the battlefield below.

  “AYE, YE BLOODY DOLTS!” Nalgene hollered, his gruff voice cutting through the chaos of the Shadowfront like a crystal knife through paper. “DON’T YE BE DYIN’' ON ME NOW!”

  He raised his hands, and swirling jets of water cut through the undead, allowing the others a moment to escape. His glowing eyes flared, and a mighty bolt of lightning crashed into the rotting abomination, devastating it in a nova of energy and gore. Nalgene rushed over to the companions, his godly aura disappearing as he neared. Scratches and bruises dotted his body, but he paid them no mind. Even Nalgene did not escape unscathed.

  “C’mon, we gotta keep movin',” he said, healing water flowing from his outstretched hands to the others. “We don’t have time to be sittin' here and healin'. Ye gotta be gettin' up and movin'!”

  The water washed over the others, mending their major wounds. Pain racked their bodies, but they were still in the fight. They were still able to reach the stronghold. There was still hope. The draconian nodded to Nalgene in gratitude before rushing over to help Andromeda to her feet. The feline was badly injured, and limped on one leg, but there was a fire in her eyes. The draconian smiled. Margaret helped Fasto along. The poor orc was mangled beyond belief, and his broken arms quivered violently. But there was no time to celebrate their minor victory. The endless horde of undead was already closing in.

  The draconian turned, his eyes fixed upon the mighty stronghold before them. They were growing near. Just one final push, and they would be free from the dark clutches of the Shadowfront.

  “Let’s go,” he commanded, pointing his golden dagger at their salvation, and rushing forward to meet the oncoming horde.

  Without hesitation, the others bolted after him. Together, in the heart of eternal darkness, they cut through the ranks of dreadful minions of Shadow. Ro weaved with his dagger, nimbly cutting away at the undead. Bolts of lightning thundered from his maw, carving a path through the wall of decay. Andromeda slashed with her halberd, hacking away limbs and pooling the ground with a thick blood. Her body constantly faded in and out of the shadows, avoiding fatal strikes time and time again. Margaret stood with Fasto, unleashing icy shards to support the headliners. Fasto attempted to fight, kicking at vile creature that managed to break through the others. Behind them was Nalgene, his tremendous power washing away legions of undead and rejuvenating the others whenever they fell victim to the weapons of the Shadow. As they pushed, other Sparks joined their crusade, creating a solitary spear plunging through the black hide of darkness.

  But, suddenly, as if the very heart of the void had materialized, the Shadowfront went black. Not the pale, shining black of a cloak, nor the thin, transparent darkness of the night. Nay, this black was thick, tangible. It devoured any remnants of light, and tore at the companion’s souls, chewing them into oblivion. It was suffocating, oppressive. It was Shadow. But as soon as it had appeared, it was gone, leaving the world stumbling in its absence.

  A thin, frail gnome floated high in the air, his eyes two purple embers. Tentacles of shadow oozed from him, writhing about and slaughtering anything that was unfortunate enough to get caught within its inky grasp.

  SmibSmob had succumbed to his unholy darkness.

  Chapter 13

  SmibSmob hovered above the chaotic battlefield, a black tempest of death swirling around him like a seething storm. Dozens of dreadful, shadowy tentacles reached forth from the frail gnome, unleashing a hail of devastation upon everything below. His vile aura gnawed at all life, tearing at others’ life force and rejuvenating the dark gnome. His eyes were emotionless pits of purple. There was no sympathy, no empathy, no awareness. Only the desire to devour, and to decimate anything and everything.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, hidden behind a fortress of darkness, the gnome knew it was wrong. He had lost. His power had overwhelmed him and had taken a life of its own. He had to fight back, but it felt so good, so exhilarating. Perhaps he should just stop resisting. It was far easier to just annihilate everything in his path. But the lives, and the cost of such wanton destruction … No, this was freedom. This was what he desired.

  Crackling energy coursed through his veins, and his heart thundered in his chest like a beating war drum. Every sense was on edge, absorbing him in a world beyond any other. The grimy, dusty scent of thick blood filled his nostrils, driving him mad like a bloodhound. The bitter, vile taste of decay filled his mouth, threatening to suffocate him. The endless, droning sound of battle rang harsh in his ears. He could hear the cold wind, the clashing of steel, and the horrendous screams of the dying. He wanted to scream, to free himself from this overbearing world of death and destruction, but he could not. He was alive. This is what he lived for: the raw, shadowy power that rested deep within him.

  Below him, the battle raged on. Countless undead ebbed and flowed like a singular wave of rot, constantly crashing against the mighty stronghold. But how long would it hold? The Shadow cared little for the loss of its twisted minions. They were cannon fodder, a mass sent to die in a billowing tower of flame. But every loss of the Flame was a harsh blow. Every death of a Spark struck like a searing iron. How long could they possibly hope to last?

  The gnome snickered, a vile and twisted cackle. He did not care. It could all crumble and burn, for all he cared. He was alive. He had his power. That was all that mattered. Everything else was merely an illusion, a distraction from the true purpose of reality. To devastate everything under a blanket of shadow.

  But one thought irked the gnome, a thought hidden deep within the dark abyss. Life was about loving, and caring for others, not slaughtering everything for the sake of entertainment. And yet, it felt so good. It was satisfying to watch everything flee in terror in the wake of his power. It was satisfying to crush everything under a swirling fist of darkness. Then a thought broke into his mind.

  What am I doing here?

  He chuckled, and an evil smirk twisted his lips. It was always more enjoyable in person.

  Without a second thought, the gnome leaped from the air, crashing into the broken ground below like a falling meteor. His head whipped up, the surrounding commotion barreling into his senses like a raging stampede. The shambling feet on the bloodied ground. The unholy groans of the undead legion. The stench of rot and decay. The brush of wind of the slashing blades. He smiled. This was where he belonged.

  Roaring, a trio of hulking zombies charged at the seemingly unprotected gnome, their bulging muscles twisting with every stride. Their maws open wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth and long, snake-like tongues. Their claws flashed, and they lunged for the gnome’s exposed body, their maws clamping shut with staggering force.

  But the gnome was not there.

  Deftly twisting about, the gnome avoided their attacks, each fanged mouth or slashing claw missing by a mere hairs-width. He smiled. Two black tentacles lunged forward, grasping two of the attacking zombies in a fatal clutch. The tendrils pulsed and shifted, never quite agreeing on a set size. A wave of dark energy coursed through the vile appendages, and with unrivaled strength, the tentacles squeezed, crushing the unfortunate zombies into a shower of blood and gore.

  The third zombie slashed at the gnome, its yellow claws whistling by the gnome’s head. Raising his hand, a mighty lance of darkness formed within the gnome’s grasp. Turning about, he plunged it into the zombie’s decaying chest. The lance pulsed, releasing a vile nova of energy into the zombie that devoured the creature’s insides, leaving a gaping hole where the zombie’s ribs once were. The rush of revitalizing energy coursed through the gnome, rekindling his eternal blackness. He smiled. It certainly was more enjoyable up close.

  The ground quivered, and the gnome’s empty eyes shot up, searching for
the source of the commotion. Another mass of undead attempted to rush at the gnome, their maws open wide at the promise of flesh. The gnome paid them no mind. He had more important things to worry about. His wicked tendrils shot out, annihilating each one of the approaching undead, bending and breaking the pursuers with unholy strength and tossing their broken corpses about as a dog would a newborn rabbit.

  The ground quaked once more, drawing the gnome’s attention. A deafening roar washed over the battlefield and a gargantuan skeleton giant stomped toward the gnome, its feet crushing dozens of lesser undead. The gnome watched the approaching beast with a cautious respect. He had not forgotten the last time he had attempted to best one of these towering behemoths. It had not ended well for him.

  Time for some revenge.

  The giant thundered closer, each foot step seeming like a powerful earthquake to the gnome. The giant reached down, grabbing an undead from the ground, and whipped it at the gnome. A black tendril shot up, swatting the projectile from the air. But the giant was already atop him, its skeletal foot plunging down to crush his thin body. Irritated, the gnome dove to the side, just managing to avoid his certain demise. A wave of dust and grime washed over him as the giant’s foot crashed into the ground, blinding him to the surrounding battle.

  As he struggled to get the dust from his eyes, his other senses took over, each ascending to a new heightened potential. The scuffs of the feet on the ground. The stench of death all around. The slight ripples in the air as an undead rushed at him from behind.

  The gnome’s gasped in alarm, but it was too late. The bulging undead barreled into him, driving him into the cold ground. Yellow claws scratched at his flesh, and jagged teeth plunged into his shoulder, sending waves of agony through his thin frame.

  How dare it!

  It was unacceptable! He desperately struggled, attempting to crawl out from under his oppressor. While immensely powerful in the ways of devastating spells, he had little physical strength, and no hope of overpowering the bulking zombie.

  Another ripple cut through the air. The skeleton giant had returned, its massive foot raised, ready to finish what it had started. The gnome had to move fast. His thin hand shot up, and he clutched at the zombie’s arm, unleashing a devastating wave of shadowy energy into his transgressor. The zombie went soaring back, landing somewhere in the surrounding battle. The rush of revitalizing energy jolted through the gnome, stitching his wounds and cleansing his thoughts.

  He felt the shift in the air, heard the rush of the wind. It was the giant. He had to move. Diving once more, he just managed to avoid the skeletal behemoth's crushing stomp. Dust clouded his vision again, and he was once more cast into a world of his other senses. His black tentacles lashed out, striking at the giant’s leg without much success. Frustrated, the gnome leaped up into the air, desperately rubbing his empty eyes to clear the grime and dust. While it was certainly more enjoyable up close, he was hardly willing to risk his life for such a petty emotion.

  It was time to annihilate the pesky thorn. It was time to defeat the undead giant.

  Rising into the air upon a cloud of shadow, the gnome scanned his eyes across the battlefield. The giant stood in front of him, its hollow eyes burning into him. A mass of writhing undead swarmed at the giant’s feet, looking more like a sea of rotting arms and heads than a horde of individual enemies. Rows of skeletal archers rained rusted arrows at the gnome, but shadowy bolts of energy cut them from the air before they had any chance of injuring him. Not far from the gnome was a spear-head of mismatched soldiers, cutting through the Shadowfront to the massive stronghold to the east. A silver draconian led the charge, his golden dagger and lightning breath piecing into the rotting ranks. A shadowy feline darted about behind him, slashing at undead with a curious halberd. Two orcs manned the center of the formation, unleashing a barrage of icy shards and fearsome kicks at the surrounding fray. A handful of Sparks had joined in the charge, and supported the silver draconian to the sides, desperately cutting at the undead in a vain attempt to reach their beloved Flame.

  Pathetic.

  But at the heart of the spear-head was another gnome, mighty torrents of swirling water surging from his gnarled fists. A pang of love sparked in the gnome’s mind, and he had the fleeting thought that he should be with the others, fighting towards the promise of Light. They were all ragged and beaten, bloodied and exhausted, and would be hard-pressed to reach the Flame alone. No doubt he could be of great assistance to them.

  His shadowy power wavered. But before he could regain control, it snapped shut, enveloping him in its unholy grasp. The gnome smirked wickedly. He had more important things to worry about. There was still the annoying pest of a giant.

  The gnome turned to face the menacing giant, its cracked skull staring down at his frail form.

  How insolent.

  He raised his hands, and a mighty orb of twisting shadow formed above his head. Reaching forward, he cast the massive spell at the giant, watching it crash into the yellow skull with a grim satisfaction. The giant lurched back, its head cracking back under the weight of the spell. The rush of energy pooled in, invigorating the gnome. He had changed his mind. It was plenty enjoyable to do battle from the air.

  Regaining its footing, the giant lunged forward, its skeletal hand reaching out to crush the soaring gnome. Shooting forward, the gnome passed between the large fingers, just avoiding being crushed into oblivion. The white hand snapped shut behind him. Raising his hand, a powerful, black fist formed from the swirling shadows. Smirking, the gnome cut his hand down, causing the dark fist to slam into the giant’s vulnerable elbow. A gruesome snap radiated through the air, and the giant’s forearm was torn from the body at the elbow in a shower of jagged bone fragments. The forearm fell crashing to the dusty ground below, crushing a host of lesser undead under its staggering weight.

  The giant reeled back from the blow. Of course, it did not feel any pain at the loss of its arm. Nevertheless, it was not pleasant to have an arm severed. Roaring, it swung with its remaining arm, its iron fist rushing in the air to decimate the vile gnome. It would strike the annoying pest from the air like a fly.

  The gnome felt the rush of air as the fist soared toward his head, heard the whoosh as it rapidly closed in. He growled in frustration. While being in the air provided him unparalleled advantage over the battlefield below, his maneuverability was quite limited. It was quite difficult to nimbly jump through the air, as quite simply, the air did not provide much of a platform. He could not hope to dodge. So be it. His black eyes leering at the giant, he brought his thin arms up to cover his face. A wall of tendrils twisted together in front of him, creating a stone barrier. Nobody escapes a fight without taking a hit.

  Even with his barricade of inky tentacles, the giant’s punch struck like a battering ram, breaking through the dark wall and smashing into the gnome. He felt searing pain, and a flash of black. His ribs fractured, and his nose flattened to the side of his pale face. His arms crunched and cracked, breaking under the staggering power of the giant. Stunned, he went soaring back, blood pouring from his shattered face. It was all he could do to remain in the air. His mind wheeled about in frantic circles. Every ounce of his body pulsed with mind-numbing pain. His arms fell limply to his side, and his breath struggled to escape his caved-in chest. White dots danced across his vision, swimming in a blurry smear of gray.

  The gnome had grown arrogant with his dark power. He had felt invincible, as every wound he took had been immediately healed as he absorbed the strength of those around him. Unfortunately, there was only so much his power could mend. A snake could not reattach its severed head. He shook his jumbled head, desperately trying to regain some sense of his surroundings. All he could think of was the pain. All there was was the pain. The pulsing, radiating pain. He heard the giant rushing toward him, its steps thundering across the bloody ground, and its remaining hand raised to finish the deed. He had grown arrogant. He had felt alive with his terrible power, transcende
d to a realm above all others. Much good it had done him.

  The shadow began to slip, retreating into the dark recesses of his mind. He was falling, plunging from the air into the surging fray below. There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon be dead, whether from the impact or the ravenous horde of undead, he did not care. Arrogance was the downfall of kings, and he was hardly a king. Blood oozed from his body, leaving a red trail following him through the air. There was only the pain. He would never see his companions, nay, his friends again. He was just another victim to the harsh bloodbath of the Shadowfront, just another nameless corpse in the mountain of decay. He would never see his brother again.

  Nalgene …

  He would never see — no. He would see him again. They had all promised to reach the Flame, and he would do anything to uphold his end of the bargain. He would do anything to embrace his dear brother one, final time.

  Even if it meant allowing his power complete control over his body. Even when his power had overwhelmed him, there was still a small fraction of SmibSmob that remained, battling to surface in the endless abyss. But what if he just … let it win? What if he completely succumbed to his twisted side? He was repulsed by the thought. This is what Ashyla had showed him, and he had been terrified ever since. He hated his vile power, but what choice did he have? At any moment he would crash into the unforgiving ground. He would never see Nalgene again.

  This is for you, my dear brother.

  Tearing down his mental barriers, SmibSmob invited his power in.

  It was more than happy to oblige.

  The Shadow rushed in, devouring any remaining scrap of the pathetic gnome host. The gnome was gone. The darkness thrived. There would no longer be any pestering emotions, no longer be any irritating pangs of regret or remorse. The Shadow cared little for such pathetic feelings. All would be consumed by the Shadow. The dark being opened its eyes.