by JW Baccaro
In the spur of a moment, Levieth clapped loudly and his Wyvern appeared behind him, a hundred feet or so in distance. He turned his back on Damacoles, walked to his beast, and climbed onto it, fixing his position in the leather seating atop its back. Taking a final glance to the Dark King, he spoke in a firm loud tone, "It be wise to go to your army, they await your command." With that the Wyvern took flight, soon disappearing behind the peaks of Blackshrine.
Before making his way to the battlefield, Damacoles took a few moments laughing, mocking the High Wizard's warnings, and also believed to have outmatched him in intellect.
However, in truth, Levieth realized he was speaking to a dead man which no magic could break, not even Abaddon's.
Damacoles proved to be a creature whose stench was as high as the stars of heaven, and it would be a miracle indeed were he to survive the battle of Milrotha.
Though he did touch on a spot that pricked the High Wizard's heart, something which he hadn't thought about for what seemed like an eternity, his son Olchemy, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, who chose Light over Darkness, Abidan over Abaddon; one who would forever remain an enemy. For the first time, he truly wished things could have been different.
~~****~~
Olchemy arrived, his red Dragon landing in front of the army. The High Wizard of Light climbed off to share the news.
Nayland was first to approach him. "Well, what entirely are we fighting against?"
"The natives among Syngothra, Cullach and Minotaurs, which numbers alone dwarf the army we faced at Asgoth. Then of course, every creature Abaddon called out; the western Cullach, Draconians and Dark Elves among the east. Humans from the west, and Trolls of the southern region. There are also many other creatures that have come out of the woodwork, which I myself cannot identify, but no doubt serve the Dark. Altogether, we are facing an army of probably one million, not counting the High Wizard Levieth, who makes up an army alone. I must reserve all my energy for him."
“So, it is one million against fifty thousand,” Captain Mythaen said. "Ah, be as it may, this battle is meant for a diversion. Giving Dar clear passage into his destination is all that matters."
"Defeat cannot be ruled out just yet," Nayland said, grinning. "The Dwarves are coming as are King Loreus and the Centaurs.”
“If King Loreus can convince them,” Favonius interjected. "The words of Lord Athanasius proved correct; they've become a stubborn race!"
"He shall succeed,” Olchemy promised. "Besides that, there is something else—nothing is fiercer or fights more bravely than an army prepared to die. Let it begin."
So it did, the army of Light marched further into the field of Milrotha, lining up in war formation.
Olchemy sat upon Uriel beside the army, awaiting the arrival of Levieth.
Caelestias, Captain Mythaen, the Nasharins and Favonius stood among the front lines along with many other elites—warrior men and Aryeh—as well as every other common soldier. But whether elite or common—one thing was for sure, all stood eager for battle.
The Dark could be seen more clearly now and it was just as Olchemy said, there were hundreds of thousands! They’d already taken their stations and the lines seemed to go on and beyond, an unimaginable number.
~~****~~
"My King, why not send my race alone out there to crush these weaklings?" the general of the Minotaurs roared. "It shall not be a problem."
"Patience mighty soldier," Damacoles ordered, "You’ll get your fun. I plan on toying with these fools before annihilating them, so all will understand how weak the force they call the Light truly is. They will be begging for mercy but none shall receive anything but torturous death." His tone sounded brilliant, mad and sadistic.
Grinning, the general responded, "We've been waiting for a King like you a long time. I trust you will prove better than they who were originally chosen to rule the New World, the petty Tanarokai and Talvenya. I shall serve you as a God."
Adoring the sound of that Damacoles answered, "Then go to your station and await my command."
"Yes, my King."
Fixing his eyes on the departing general, he remembered his former student Daemon speaking those exact words, "I shall serve you as a God." Oh, how he loved it, and was well pleased to hear the adoration again. After the battle however, when all will have witnessed the decimation he made of the Light, the entirety of the Dark, including Levieth and one day Abaddon himself—will be saying those same words, acknowledging that there is none more powerful or cunning than he. He will be known as, ‘Damacoles the Terrible’ outdoing Mirabel’s pathetic title.
~~****~~
Silence dominated the battlefield as the two armies stood still, glaring at one another like a duel between two elite warriors about to spring into action.
Then a horn blew except it wasn’t from the Dark, neither was it of the Light, rather it was coming from within the forest behind the Men and Elves. Suddenly, hundreds of Dwarves came marching out of the tree lines, clothed in silver to gold and even sapphire plated armor, carrying axes, war hammers, swords and shields. In the end, there must have been thirty thousand.
King Sirach and Queen Judith, accompanied by Captain Baruch were among the front lines and they made their way to Caelestias and Captain Mythaen with the rest taking positions among the battlefield. All rejoiced.
“Three races once again united,” Olchemy said as he watched the Dwarves warm-heartedly great the Men and Elves.
“You didn’t think we’d miss the last battle for earth did you?” King Sirach shouted, waving an axe in the air.
“Of course not,” the Wizard answered with a smile.
"I'm rather excited to kill some disgusting creatures today," Queen Judith said. "Bring on the Dark!"
"You speak quite truly my Queen, ha ha! Let the battle begin!"
“Dwarves,” Caelestias muttered under his breath. “Gotta love ‘em.”
The next few moments were uneasily still, motionless, like the quiet before a storm.
Then the army of darkness began to chant and pound on large drums, the pattern seemed eerie, the sound waves ripping across the field. While this music played on about ten thousand Syngothrian Cullach riding upon Arctic Worgs charged out. The soldiers of Light remained in their places as the enemy came closer and closer to them, eyes ravaged in hate, drool gushing out of their mouths, both Worgrider and Worg.
"Let them cast their fire now," Damacoles said, remembering the defeat at Asgoth. “And they’ll realize how powerless those silly little flames are against my wrath.”
However clueless Damacoles was, this time there would be no Angels lending a hand.
“Ready…” Caelestias shouted, archers holding up their bows.
The Worgriders came right upon them, their stench overbearing.
"Fire!" the Lord of the Aryeh commanded.
Arrows fell like rain, slaying thousands of charging enemies, plunging through skulls, piercing hearts; they fired a second time killing thousands more, not one shot had been in vain. What was left of them, finally reached the Light but their numbers were only in the hundreds. Though some Men, Elves, and Dwarves were viciously ripped apart by the fangs of the Worgs, or mutilated by the nasty Cullach swinging their battle-axes and long swords, the Light still made quick work of them.
In a matter of ten minutes, the first portion of the Dark lay scattered along the field, every one of them dead, their blood marking the snow.
Admittedly surprised by the Light’s strength, King Damacoles commanded ten thousand additional Cullach, ten thousand Draconians and five hundred Trolls to charge.
To counter them, about half of the Light charged as well and the two armies clashed with utter tension and fury.
The final battle had truly begun.
CHAPTER FOUR
NEVER-ENDING NIGHTMARE
Darshun had been traveling since the very first speckles of light pierced through the clouds of a morning sky. Venturing down the rocky slope, he’d stea
lthily made his way to the forest, his senses on high alert, watching for any peculiar movement, feeling for the slightest tingle of negative energy.
On one occasion, he felt such among the clouds. The energy felt strangely familiar; he searched his memory trying to place it, then suddenly whoever or whatever it was disappeared…Leaving not a trace. Feeling the skies naked once again, he came out of hiding and continued, journeying through the remainder of the clustered forest with hundreds of tree species he didn't recognize, until finally reaching the end.
Mt. Blackshrine now came in sight; coming west down the slopes of the landscape were cries of Men and Elves, even Cullach, Draconians and other creatures, meaning one thing—the battle between the two armies had begun.
He feared for the companions he knew personally, especially Minevara, but remembered what many of them had said to him on more than one occasion—not to worry about such things, as it takes away focus on the ultimate goal.
So, quickly did he set aside the fear, ignoring the cries and ventured across the open land, approaching Blackshrine. He saw the entrance to the Unholy Altar immediately. The Gargoyles made it unmistakable. On each side of the entrance, they sat or perhaps to put it another way, stalked, squatting upon two stone posts. They possessed large wings, oval heads, sharp fangs, dark hollow eyes, and their arms hung low, hands open as if they were about to grab something, or shred it to pieces with their direly long claws. Both creatures remained perfectly still.
Darshun stared at them, getting the feeling they were staring back. After all, Olchemy did say they were alive.
Suddenly, their eyes lit up red and their stone-like bodies moved.
Darshun stepped back, rapidly drawing his sword.
Claws extending wide, they swooped down slashing at his face.
Darshun ducked and moved aside.
They circled around, increasing speed and watching from the sky like a bird ready to take its prey. Then as one dove toward him, hideously screeching, prepared to rip out its victim's intestines, the other closed in from behind.
Expecting a flank attack, Darshun turned around and just in the nick of time swung his sword, chopping the Gargoyle in two. It’d proved closer than he was expecting. Then a great pressure struck his shoulders and before he knew it, the other one lifted him into the air with its legs, claws pierced through his skin. The pain became awful. He’d underestimated the speed of these Gargoyles and wished he’d transformed from the start.
Higher and higher it carried him; over a distance he saw the battle of Milrotha taking place, lifeless bodies lying upon the field, sounds of raging steel carried by the wind. Struggling to get loose, Darshun retrieved his right arm, tearing his garments and some of his flesh. Pain could hardly be a factor with so much adrenaline rushing through his veins.
The real problem—where this thing was taking him? His guess, the Demon Lord! Now having a free arm, he unhooked the shield from his belt and smashed the Gargoyle's leg. Screeching, it took a swing at him.
Darshun held up the shield but one strike from the claws tore it to shreds.
Next, it reached down, grabbed his throat, released its foothold and held him out in the air, staring straight into his eyes.
"Release me you disgusting fowl!" Darshun yelled.
Casting an evil grin, it decided to grant his wish and the tightened grip around his throat withdrew.
He helplessly fell from at least a thousand feet. Cold wind drawing tears and stealing his breath away, an unexpected but natural Elvish instinct took over, he activated elements within the air, bringing into existence a type of cyclone which surrounded his presence and roughly guided him down. It happened so fast, he wasn't exactly sure how he did it, just that if he might live to further study this magic, then next time he will learn how to land properly, for once he hit ground the wind of the clone blew him a good fifty feet away.
He tumbled hard into the snow, face first, damaging his chin and bruising an already wounded shoulder, not to mention the breath being knocked out of him. Fortunately, his sword was near-by and after managing to get on his feet he darted for it as the Gargoyle rapidly descended; Darshun felt the dark abomination coming fast. The sword remained just feet away, he reached for it but a hard thump against his back knocked him onto the ground—again face first, the icy snow cutting open his cheeks. Wind passed over him. He glanced up realizing the enemy had not only kicked him but also grabbed his sword!
It ascended high, like an eagle, then came shooting down landing about ten feet in front of him, holding the sword, smirking.
Darshun had endured enough. No longer would he tolerate such mockery from an object of possessed stone. He transformed, igniting his weapon to flames in the Gargoyle’s hand.
Growing terrified, it cast the blade away and stepped back from Darshun.
He retrieved the sword, then fixed a burning gaze on the enemy. "Shall we finish this?" Darshun mocked, posing with his weapon, his stance flawless.
The creature suddenly turned and flew to the entrance of Blackshrine as if retreating, but did no such thing. Rather, after entering just a few feet it unexpectedly stopped, leaned forward and screeched ever so loudly, its cry echoing into the mountain.
The piercing noise almost shook Darshun off his feet. “What is it doing?”
The Gargoyle turned around, stepping out of the shadow and into the light, crudely smiling, then flew at him, claws ready.
Darshun leaped into the air, meeting it face to face and with one flawless swoop of the sword cut it in half.
The severed body fell, cracking to bits and pieces.
The Guardians were dead, and though Darshun passed this first ‘Trial of Blackshrine’, he remained uneasy.
“Why did he scream into the mountain?” he asked himself, walking over to the cave’s entrance. Looking into the dark passage, he stood still and listened. All remained quiet except a hollow wind. Then it came to him. "It warned them, that’s what it did. Encountering a stronger opponent, it must have sensed defeat and so warned whatever evil lies in this mountain that I would be coming." He couldn't have been any more right, and who knows what types of creatures lay in wait? "So be it, I long to slay this evil once and for all." He returned to his prior state. “I know Transformation is among my nature, but I cannot depend on it so much, the energy will be needed later, I’m sure of it. I mean look at myself, I’m panting excessively!” While speaking the truth, the majority of the problem was tapping into his elvish magic, as of yet he barely understood it, and it took a great deal of his energy. Despite each time, the magic has been needed and when called to action he’d proven to command it well.
Reaching into his pack, luckily still intact from the battle, he retrieved materials to make another torch. He stepped onto the passage while gazing through the partially illuminated tunnel. Thinking of the Undead Caverns, the Northern Mountains and the Demonstones, one thing came to mind—how much underground can a Nasharin take before going mad?
He began the journey, traveling deep into the ground, the path taking him through many twists and turns, ups and downs it seemed as if the tunnel was purposely shaped after a snake. Thankfully, the ground seemed smooth, with a few loose stones or large rock here and there. Time moved on, space becoming awfully narrow. He stopped to make another torch, then stepped forward realizing the walls beside him ended and he’d come to a bridge. He walked a few feet onto it, holding out the torch to his sides and looked at the surrounding areas.
They were hollow and empty, reminding him of the section at the Demonstone Mountains where he’d fallen over. Being careful to not make the same mistake, he continued forward. As of yet, not a foe could be seen. Then, about halfway across the bridge, he heard sounds of flapping within the air. The noises started off in the far distance, then came closer. Soon, the flapping was on both sides of him and they carried a fowl smell. Out of the darkness he saw what looked like—flying green eyes? “I don’t like this…”
Torchlight revealed the cr
eatures’ appearances and at first, he took them for giant bats, but they were something else entirely; revolting hideous creatures with human-like heads suspended by large leathery wings and long tendrils in place of hair. Their eyes were like a green fire, their fangs dripping saliva.
Swooping down to bite him, Darshun attacked with his sword killing over a dozen, dismembered pieces falling in the darkness, blood damping the floor.
They retreated in shadow seeming to not risk another attack.
He headed in a run to cross the remainder of the bridge.
Unfortunately, the winged creatures returned all too soon, this time with additional numbers. They swooped down fast, nearly taking off his face and clustered around him screeching, attacking, flashing their eyes…One even smashed its wings into him, so he nearly fell.
“I’ve had enough of this!” he seethed and transformed. Immediately Darshun sprayed fire, scattering them off.
Those he did hit fell like shooting stars into the darkness.
"I don't know whether you things understand my speech, but if you wish to live, stay away!" he commanded. While they apparently ‘obeyed’ it may have been for another reason—and it was!
For in the next moment, the mother of these things showed up. It looked larger, fiercer, and seemed the most disgusting of them all. Unexpectedly soaring in from behind, it smashed its giant wings against him knocking Darshun off the bridge.
Down he fell into darkness with this creature still in pursuit. Again, it attacked using its wings, knocking him to and fro, then flew circles around him while flashing its green eyes, disorienting Darshun's vision.
