Crossing Forbidden Lines (Guardian Series Book 2)

by J. W. Baccaro

  The two swords levitated over and Darshun noticed something he’d missed before or the very least did not focus on so much.

  Between the handle and blade of each appeared the shape of a half moon, dimly shining a gloomy gray like a storm in the night. Seeming to race toward one another the swords clashed, merging together and forming one enormous sword with an image of a full moon upon it—luminously shining white then changing over to dark red.

  Abaddon took the weapon and put it in his sheath—the sheathe being nothing more than a casing of scales, naturally shaped and connected to his body.

  “What are you?” Darshun asked.

  “I am Abaddon, the King of the Demons,” he answered. In an instant, he disappeared and reappeared in front of Darshun, punching him hard in the chest with what felt like two tons of steel.

  Helplessly, he was flung across the room crashing into the wall, splitting the stone and then tumbled to the ground face-first. As torturous pain shot through his body he wondered what just hit him and how his opponent had gotten the best of him. Darshun could barely manage to stand. Why couldn’t I sense his movement?

  Wearing a nasty grin, Abaddon now pointed a finger his way.

  Darshun remained still, waiting to dodge the blast he knew would be coming.

  In a flash, Abaddon fired a beam of dark energy striking him in the chest.

  It singed his skin and he tumbled back to the ground, moaning in pain from the burn sinking into his bones. I don’t understand. I can’t counter his attacks. And his power has increased dramatically. Ah, be calm Darshun. Concentrate. He stood up and focused his energy, his blue aura lighting up much of the damaged lair.

  “Come on, show me some more of that great Nasharin strength,” Abaddon mocked.

  With sword in hand, Darshun charged his opponent but suddenly stopped cold from an awful pain in his gut. Crouching over, he saw Abaddon’s fist jabbed into his stomach. How this happened Darshun felt oblivious to the answer. One moment, Abaddon was standing twenty feet away, the next his monstrous fist is ramming into his belly. He spat out a mouthful of blood.

  The Demon then rose up a leg and brought down his heel onto Darshun’s back plunging him to the ground.

  His blue aura vanished and he couldn’t move a muscle. He moves so fast. I can’t even detect him. His speed and power, it couldn’t have increased that much. It is impossible!

  “What’s wrong Nasharin?” Abaddon asked, stomping on the back of his head, driving Darshun’s face into stone.

  A piece of jagged rock caught his forehead and under the grinding pressure it began to take the skin off. He screamed as the flesh separated from bone, not to mention his nose and cheekbones beginning to crush.

  Abaddon released his foot.

  Like a helpless old man Darshun tried getting up, but his poor arms could do nothing to lift his body.

  “Let me help you Nasharin.” Gripping the back of his neck, he lifted Darshun a good twelve feet in the air, staring into his nearly lifeless eyes. “You weakling,” he mocked, shooting out a flash of fire from his dark gaze, blasting Darshun’s face, the heat causing him torturous agony as he shouted the top of his lungs. Abaddon tossed him to the ground and began firing multiple beams of dark energy from his finger, striking the Nasharin in his chest, arms, legs, stomach and to his bloody, scorched face.

  Again, the burn seeping into his bones and he fell back, crashing against the wall.

  Next, the Demon Lord cast a levitation spell.

  Darshun’s powerless body floated up, about ten feet where he hung as a dead man.

  Abaddon approached, grabbed a clump of his dirty blue hair and lifted, so they met face-to-face, Darshun’s eyes were barely open. “Where is the ‘great’ Nasharin now?” Then he cruelly began punching him repetitively—in the face, belly, chest, the lower, middle and upper back, his legs and arms.

  The beating became so fierce Darshun thought every bone in his body must be broken.

  Then Abaddon released the levitation and as Darshun dropped like a pin, he kicked his ribs, casting him across the room like an out of control eagle crashing to the ground, face down, perhaps for the final time.

  “You thought you were going to destroy me. You should have accepted my offer. You could’ve had everything. But like a typical Nasharin fool, you rushed into a battle you had no chance of winning. So many of your people have died by my hands, all of them thinking they could outmatch me. Do you realize now that I am a God?” He drew out his colossal sword and black flames engulfed it.

  Darshun glanced to his side, seeing his own sword which fell from his grasp a while ago, fortunately lying close to him. I cannot give up. He grabbed the handle and slowly rose to his feet, trying with every scrap of will he could spare to ignore the riving pain his body lived in at the moment. He closed his eyes and concentrated, calling out his reserves until his blue fiery aura returned.

  “Ahh, so you do still have some fight left.” Abaddon observed. “Interesting.”

  “You are not going to—beat me,” Darshun spoke. “You hear that Demon? I don’t care how powerful you are. I WILL NOT LET YOU WIN!” Darshun swung his weapon. Abaddon dodged the blow with a quick side step and before Darshun knew what was happening there rested the black fiery point of the Demon Lord’s sword at his chest. Startled, Darshun backed away.

  “The battle could have ended there boy,” Abaddon taunted. “You must be faster than that.”

  Seething with anger Darshun began attacking multiple times, throwing his sword every which way.

  The hideous Demon still stood while each strike seemed to be easily avoided. Not even the slightest scraping of a scale could he hit. The Demon Lord seemed to be just too fast.

  Darshun then froze in his tracks, locked in fear for when he’d attempted another swing Abaddon quickly intervened, halting the blade of his sword at Darshun’s throat. It was then when he realized he truly didn’t stand a chance. He’s toying with me. He could have decapitated me or stabbed out my heart the moment of his choosing. And I have nothing beyond my Ascension—the prize of my training, the reward from putting my body through such horrid anguish. All those hours—days of surviving the island, conquering its tests—all for nothing! Olchemy was right. Kelarin was right. I am no challenge for Abaddon. No challenge at all. He fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes.

  “Do you see how pointless this battle was?” Abaddon announced. “No earthly being can rival my power. I am immortal and cannot be defeated. A new dawn is arising. This world shall fall and I shall be its new ruler, forever. The Light is no more.”

  I can’t win this battle. I truly cannot. Father, Seth, Olchemy; I have failed. He held his necklace in his hands while remembering the vision the Golden Crystal showed him of the end of the world—the end of the Light and all true love, only to be replaced by darkness. The earth and all of her creatures, I let them down. And Kelarin, the most beautiful, caring creature I have ever met, was counting on me, with such faith in me than I so deserve. He closed his eyes, pushing out a host of tears. I should have listened to you Kelarin, but I gave into my frenzy. Now, because of my selfish pride, my biggest fear is coming to pass. The world is going to fall and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. I had my chance, but evil claimed my soul. I—failed.

  ~~***~~

  At that moment, deep into the woodlands of Syngothra, Kelarin could feel Darshun’s mental anguish and it moved her to tears. There she sat, bound within a cage upon a chariot, thirty Draconians marching on the outskirts, plowing through the snow. With a hand placed over her heart, she looked out past the steel bars, toward the eastern sky.

  “Oh, Abidan,” she whispered, “Please, if it be Your will, let it not end like this. Give Darshun the strength to surpass this test, these horrors that dominate his spirit. Do not allow him to abandon faith—even at this hour, when all hope in his eyes seems lost. He needs You. Please?” She fell back at that moment, gagging from another dose of pain, anger and despair seething from Dars
hun’s soul.

  He’d been badly damaged by the monster he unwisely challenged, the Demon Lord Abaddon. Darshun wanted to die, Kelarin knew this, felt it and direly wished for nothing more than to exchange him her spirit, if it may bring him out of the darkness—even if in return for such a gift meant Kelarin descending into it.

  Then through the great Fir trees she saw glimpses of figures hooded and cloaked in white, blending in with the snow, and fierce silver gray eyes. They moved with such grace, creeping up to the transport without a noise surrounding the Draconians. Kelarin knew them at once. They were the Aryeh, most elite of the Elves from her father’s clan.

  Like a sudden storm came a host of arrows, shooting from all directions at the Draconians, deadly accurate making quick work of the majority. The others scattered, trying to find cover and the Aryeh charged in with their long swords hacking the enemies to pieces. It happened so fast the Draconians hadn’t a clue who or what hit them. Yet the commander of the transport, suspecting whoever these attackers were, they only wished to rescue Kelarin. He drew a knife and opened the gate of her cage to slit her throat.

  Only she did not move or even attempt to put up a fight—she just sat there on her knees, meditating upon Darshun, weeping for him as she could feel the ever increasing pain in his soul, the pain of loss, failure and hopelessness.

  The commander rushed over, yanking on her hair and just as he placed the knife against her throat came an arrow piercing the back of his skull. Lifeless, he fell at her feet, and one who she’d not seen in fifteen years took her by the hand, gently helping her out of the cage.

  To Kelarin, everything happened in slow motion with little sound but a melody singing silently in her mind, a beautiful yet depressing melody, fitting for the moment. She wanted to be next to Darshun, wanted to die for him, take away the anguish and torture, so he might know happiness again. But she could not…she placed a hand over her bleeding heart and lowered her head the tears wouldn’t cease.

  “Kelarin,” said he who rescued her…her brother. “Something more than bloodshed is severely troubling your soul.”

  She gazed up at him her face drenched in tears, unable to smile. Kelarin fell into his arms and whispered, “Darshun please—fight!”

  ~~***~~

  Kelarin, my Angel, Darshun thought even now he could feel her presence. You brought me out of the darkness once before, saved me, and because of my pride and conceit I neglected to escape when I had the chance. I knew the crystals had been corrupted, but I disobeyed your wisdom eager to fight Abaddon, believing I could defeat him. Now, because of my delay, you have been sent off to die a most brutal death in Syngothra by the hands of heathens. The thought caused him to tightly clench both his fists, allowing anger to rise like a volcano. I cannot let your sacrifice be in vain.

  Suddenly, a new fire began to burn in his heart. No, I mustn’t let him win. I cannot let him destroy this world. He stood up, casting Abaddon a gaze perhaps darker than the vilest Demon. “I WILL NOT LET YOU DESTROY EVERYTHING I LOVE!” he shouted, then roared so loudly it nearly shattered Abaddon’s ears. At that moment a blue and white energy flowed, sparked and shone around his presence.

  To Abaddon’s surprise, a shadowy figure of what seemed like an Angel hovered above Darshun. Its eyes shone bright white, glaring at the Demon.

  What’s this, a sign of some sort? A manifestation of the Nasharin’s spirit? Then, recognizing the Angel’s face, recalling that he only appears prior to the coming of a great change—Abaddon suspecting the change, he shouted aloud the Arch-Angel’s name, “Michael!”

  The Angel disappeared.

  An explosion rocked the castle lair. All of Darshun’s anger, love and desperation sprung life back into his spirit and his aura burned brighter than ever. His eyes became chaotic spheres of dark blue fire. Without warning, he charged Abaddon and clashed his fiery sword against his, the blow pushing him back a few feet. Darshun attacked in fury and rage.

  The clashing of swords roared like thunder and black and blue flames shot out in all directions. Back and forth they attacked, clashing, blocking and dodging one another’s blows.

  Darshun gave his all, everything he possessed and it seemed he did beat his opponent down, or at least driving him back into a corner.

  Until Abaddon brought forth an even greater amount of power for even now as impressive as Darshun’s strength was, Abaddon still held the advantage, calling upon the Dark Crystal, the energy of a thousand souls pouring forth.

  When he finally drew out the full extent of his power, Darshun felt indeed horrified.

  It seemed as if the energy arose from a never-ending well of darkness. With one final swing, he broke Darshun’s sword in half, slashed him across the chest and stabbed him in the stomach piercing through to the other side of his lower back.

  Black flames engulfed his entire body and the innards where Abaddon’s sword pierced, the burning anguish seeped into every bone and pore. Thinking he’d known pain before he now screamed in excruciating agony, his cry sounding so unnaturally mortal it didn’t seem right for such a level of pain to exist.

  Abaddon ripped out the sword and the flames died.

  Darshun collapsed to the ground. His aura vanished completely and he returned to his normal state. Feeling death would be certain he slowly began to crawl toward the edge of the lair where the wall was blown out. If he were to die, he rather it be in the river other than this heathen’s territory.

  “Foolish boy.” Abaddon followed after him. “From the start, I felt no desire to inflict this much torment. However, you left me no choice. And for what? I have already corrupted three Wizard Crystals. The fourth is coming. This world is mine. The only hope you had would’ve been to truly take my offer. Such a shame. A great king you could have been, having powers with depths most creatures cannot fathom. Instead, you threw it all away all for nothing. Pride, it has always been your people’s greatest weakness. And here I held such great hopes for you. Like a moth rushing into the flames I lured you here by feeding your frenzy, little by little unraveling my immaculate energy, knowing you’d challenge me. I wanted to witness for myself the skills of he whom I wanted for a king, whom I wanted to seduce, admittedly never thinking in the end you would still decline my offer. In that attempt, my seduction failed.”

  Darshun ignored his words, the pain seemed too great and now all he wanted was to die lying in the free world, outside of the lair.

  “Yet, despite all your hatred toward the Dark, you put up a worthy challenge. I’ve never before been forced by a mortal to reveal my true power—my true essence. I could make your present torment last for days, but because of your unique strength I will end your existence painlessly, consider it a mercy killing. Far less tragic than what awaits this world.”

  Having dragged his wounded and scorched body over bits of stone and debris, Darshun finally reached the edge. Looking down, he saw only fog but could hear the river. Then, perhaps to leave his enemy with one final annoyance, he placed his hand on a dagger in his girdle, one he’d taken from the armory.

  Unaware, Abaddon stood above him, rising up his enflamed sword of darkness. “Goodbye Nasharin.”

  He swung down at Darshun’s head but with one last ounce of strength Darshun pulled out the dagger and drove it threw Abaddon’s wrist.

  Roaring from the sting, he dropped the sword as Darshun fell back and rolled off the edge.

  Abaddon took out the dagger and held his bloody wrist, watching Darshun descend into fog.

  He plunged into the cold river. The force of the currents brought him up to the surface and carried him down stream…up and down he moved helplessly through the rapids. It grew darker, foggy and his body became numb. Memories flashed through his mind of times he’d spent with his father, uncle and friends with nature even Aurora and especially the beautiful she-elf he’d come to know—his Angel Kelarin.

  Unfortunately, the prophecy he seemed destined to fulfill—failed—just as he always believed he would. Thos
e who called him “the chosen one” he let down also, again like he predicted. Now the loneliness of the river would be his grave. All these things he pondered when in the distance, coming from upstream toward Castle Volborg a figure rode upon the dark waters. Was it Abaddon chasing after him to ensure his death? No, it was another, a figure riding a long odd-looking boat. Then it hit him—he loomed close to death and he rested in the Azriel River. It would be the Angel Azriel, coming to take him to the next world.

  Azriel quickly drifted toward him, a pale hand with long dark fingernails reaching down, grabbing Darshun's arm, pulling him onto the boat.

  Hooded and cloaked in black, Darshun could only make out his eyes—dimly glowing white—as the Angel stood over him peering closely. Unlike seeing Azriel long ago as a child, fear did not overtake him, especially after facing off against a Demon such as Abaddon. The only thing he feared would be when he was delivered into the presence of Abidan, his God—The God of the Light, only to explain his utter failure. “Please, please!” Darshun begged, with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please do not bring me to Abidan. I deserve him not. I deserve nothing. If all possible, let me just cease to exist. Bring me into darkness—into eternal sleep, forever.”

  Azriel made no response and turned around, facing the front of his boat.

  Darshun lay there listening to the rapids, which seemed to get louder and louder, like water rushing into his head. Then all grew to darkness.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mysterious Elder

  The wonderful smells of herbs and vegetables cooking within a stew, intertwined with strong musky odors of animals drifted to Darshun’s nose and awakened him. He opened his eyes. It appeared to be a beautiful day. Beams of light were shooting down from an early morning sun, illuminating through the trees of a thick forest and glistening off the river near-by. The river! Yes, he not only saw the shining blue water but also could hear the currents which meant he was still alive.