by JW Baccaro
"Never," Levieth snarled, his eyes flashing.
Rather than wait for another attack, Olchemy led the offense. Tapping into elemental powers, he gathered energies from all four magics: green, blue, yellow, and reddish-orange lights merged together into a sphere, then shot forward.
To counter this, Levieth stretched forth his staff releasing a type of shield causing the energy to explode.
The force from it dramatic, their dragons shifting away from one another.
Uriel flew through a mass of cloud and upon coming out, Levieth was nowhere to be seen. They soared around in the sky, ignoring the elements of the storm; still, there was no sign of Levieth or his Wyvern.
Then echoes of Levieth’s voice came in the chaotic winds, scurrying to and fro, left and right, up, down, perpendicular—every direction!
“He’s trying to disorient us,” Olchemy warned. “Ignore his words!”
Suddenly, Levieth descended out of a gray haze just above Olchemy and down shot a sphere of black energy, striking Olchemy in the chest.
The blast was powerful, unexpected; Olchemy slipped off Uriel.
Uriel grabbed the back of his robe with his teeth, holding him in his mouth. “Master!” he roared.
Olchemy shook his head. “I am all right. Quickly, I must get back on top.” Uriel tossed him into the air, descended fast and Olchemy fell onto his back, catching his balance “Thank you my friend.”
Reunions were cut short when Levieth attacked again, this time hurling balls of fire, similar to Darshun's Firestar only smaller and existing in large numbers. They fell quick, like shooting stars.
Olchemy could barely manage to block them, some striking Uriel, though the Dragon's body could handle much more than that.
“What does master wait for?” Uriel said, lashing out at Olchemy.
“What do you mean?”
“Master holds back. It knows Levieth is your father. It understands master wishes to save him, but master cannot take this battle lightly. Levieth is too dangerous, he kills too many innocent souls and forever is his spirit bent. If master wants victory, then master has to fight his father with everything master has got!”
Uriel spoke the truth. Since the corruption of Levieth, many innocent souls have perished by his hand. Whoever got in between the Wizard and his lust for power met destruction.
To Olchemy's dismay, this included even himself just a few months ago, when Levieth defeated him at Mt. Flame, leaving him for dead, believing to have killed him, his only son, his only heir; blood of his blood. There had been times when Olchemy thought that maybe, just maybe, a little bit of good still dwelled within his father, possibly laying dormant. Perhaps so, but no matter, Levieth's darkness had lasted long enough. The conflict must end here. “So be it,” he said, eyes shining.
The Wyvern flew parallel, aligned to Uriel about a hundred feet away. Levieth raised his staff, a blackish-purple light forming around it, electrifying the air. “High Wizard of Light, you wish to test your strength? Now is that time!" Levieth roared.
Olchemy raised his staff too, beautiful golden-white rays coming out of it. “Very well, Wizard of Darkness. May this be the end to your betrayal.”
Focusing such large, overwhelming amounts of power, they unleashed in unison, casting beams of energy at one another, the beams clashing in mid-air. There they remained, with neither being able to push the other’s back—on and on they struggled, unleashing more and more power. The force of it scattering the clouds apart, the cracking thunder overwhelming many below, shaking the very landscapes.
"Father, you can still turn back!" Olchemy shouted over the havoc.
"I will never return to the Light. I've made my choice. Abaddon is my only Lord. My son—is dead."
“Then it is as you say, you've made your choice." Olchemy's eyes became as golden fire and he released the full extent of his energy.
Levieth’s beam began to dramatically slip away as Olchemy's overtook it. Desperately, Levieth struggled to keep his energy at bay, but the harder he tried the more overtaken he became. How could Olchemy be so strong, he, at one time his pupil? The golden-white energy only a few feet away, another moment or two and Levieth would be disintegrated, he could barely manage holding his arms up. So, rather than lose to his own son, he shouted a strange word in the old Dragon language not even Olchemy understood. It was spoken to the Wyvern. It answered the call by swinging its spiky tail.
"Master look out!" Uriel shouted, shifting his body, so that the poison stinger of the Wyvern stuck into his side instead of hitting Olchemy. As the toxin flowed through the Dragon's blood, he roared out in pain and began to descend, breaking apart the energy beams. Uriel fell fast, Olchemy struggling to hold on.
Crudely smiling, Levieth went after them, called forth lightning; its current flowed around his staff. He aimed at a disoriented Olchemy, gripping onto his Dragon for life, unaware of the coming danger. "Farewell, Wizard of Light." He cast the lightning, its mighty surge pouring out of his staff.
It struck Olchemy, he shouted in agony as every inch of his body, outward and inner burned.
The blast had also affected Uriel, but not in the way Levieth had hoped. He’d gone into absolute rage, letting an ancient instinct take over, revealing the true nature of a Dragon and showing all who heard and witnessed his roar why men of old have always feared such beasts. Eyes glowing red, smoke arising out of his nostrils, he opened his mouth and shot out a massive arson of flames; the fire engulfed the Wyvern's body entirely, along with Levieth and they fell like a shooting star.
Both Dragons hit the ground, throwing the Wizards from their backs and tumbling a great distance over the cold hard landscape before coming to a complete stop, rolling over boulders and knocking down trees. The Wyvern was dead, burnt to a crisp; Uriel still breathed but was completely out of commission.
Olchemy lay beaten and bruised from not only the fall, the battle also. Face down in the snow, a shadow crept up behind him. He slowly turned, pain shooting through his chest, and clashed eyes with his father. He too was badly injured; blood gushing out of his nose, one of his eyes swollen, part of his skin and nearly all his robe had been burnt, smoke drifting off the garments. Even so, there he stood, raising his staff.
"You would strike me while I am down and in this state? Surely, you are a poor excuse for a Wizard. I did not want to believe it, but perhaps you’re right. You are not my father anymore. He would never commit such a disgraceful act.”
“Silence!” Levieth shouted wishing to hear no more. He thrust his staff forward, trying to cast a simple fire spell that would have easily down the trick but a mere sparkle of red popped out and then—nothing. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his power. "I cannot gather my strength. What is the meaning of this?"
Finally, Olchemy gathered to his feet and gazed long and hard at the frustrated figure before him, still trying to conjure a spell to kill his only son. "You have no more power. Your failure has upset the Gods you worship."
“I worship Abaddon, no other!” he snarled, thrashing his staff onto the snow in hopes for something. “He hasn't power over my Wizardry!”
"As long as you worship Abaddon, then you also worship the Fallen which surround us, and the one whose name isn't worthy to be spoken, whom Abaddon also answers to. He is the author of sorcery. This is the hour most 'sacred' for the Dark, and you have failed. There's nothing more that can be accomplished by your stained hand, so the sorcery has been withdrawn, taken back."
"You're mistaken! Have you also forgotten that my nature is Wizard? I will kill you where you stand!" He thrust forward the staff—again having no results. It’d become as useless as a mere piece of wood. In a fit of rage, he cast it to the ground, shouting, “It cannot be!”
"The Light has taken that privilege back also. You've behaved so vilely and unholy, blaspheming Abidan's name, and have attempted killing your only son a second time—a curse in itself! Therefore, the Light will no longer put up with you and has taken back t
hat which you hold so dearly, power."
Levieth, pondering all these words, looking at his hands, appearing old, used and wrinkly, as though he was nothing more than a simple elderly man, never again to experience the rush of strength. A mere soldier of any race, male or female could easily bind him now, hold him in confinement, dominate his entire life. How could it have been true? How could he have at one moment the entire world in his hands, standing ready to rule alongside Abaddon, and now have it completely taken away? Were his lord to see him now, surely he'd be cast aside like a pathetic beggar, perhaps put to death. Maybe death wasn't such a bad idea, rather than live out the rest of his life imprisoned.
As if reading his thoughts, Olchemy spoke, "If we win this war, father, I will not see you bound to imprisonment. This chastisement is enough for justification. Please, come back. I am still your son, and you are indeed my father, no matter what has happened in the past.”
The reality of it all hardened his heart. “No! It can’t be true. It just—can’t! I am the High Wizard Levieth. I serve Abaddon, God of earth, master of every being!"
"How could you have abandoned wisdom for madness? There was a time you understood limitations of the creation. As you and I, Abaddon is also created, and has limits. That beast stands nothing in comparison to Abidan, who is without beginning or end. Whether it be today, or another day, the Demon Lord shall fall."
"I've never seen your God of Light, Olchemy. My eyes lay witness to the one both you and I had resurrected. He satisfied me with power, something the Light had never done."
"The Dark fed you your lust, your desire, your sin, and like a glutton fool you ate. What has it left you now?"
"I was second place to Abaddon. My fate is your fault!"
"You brought this upon yourself when you handed over your soul. He is a being of hate, and nothing good can ever come from such a thing. One day this world will enter a glorified state, I pray you are with us to see it."
"And what kind of a world do you mean? A world with rainbow skies and candy-coated trees?" he mocked. "Ha! Such weaknesses and tame ideas are why I cling to the side with power, the Dark!"
Ignoring the rhetoric he went on, "A world of peace, joy, fascination and wonder, and a place where we can all live free and in harmony; where sisters and brothers, daughters and mothers, and—sons and fathers can rejoice with one another. Please father, there is still time, I beg you, as your son, come back to the Light.” He held out a hand.
Levieth glanced at the battle in the distance, then gazed off into space. At first, his eyes seemed to be at peace, the goodness Olchemy had always felt within him still remained. But almost as soon as it begun, rage overshadowed the heart. His father’s mind and soul, falling back into hatred because of the one thing that had been emptied out of him, power. "I am Wizard, not Human. And a Wizard without power is useless, a mere slug on the ground.” He met his son’s eyes. “Do you expect me to be content like this? Strength is my drive, my will. The strongest survive, and rule with an iron hand."
"Then turn that strength into love, for there is no greater strength than that."
He shook his head. "Even now, you stand pathetic. I have lost my Magic,”—his tone darkened—“but I will never, absolutely ever abandon my pride!" He turned to walk away, heading toward the section of woodlands free of the battle.
"You will die out there father."
Turning once more to face him, a nasty glare shone from his eyes. "How my life ends will be by my own will. Not yours, not even your God of Light. The one last pleasure I can rejoice in is to know I will never see you again. I disown you. I already have long ago. May disgrace forever surround your life." Saying that, he turned and hobbled away through the snow, never looking back.
Olchemy felt crushed inside, defeated in a sense. He’d hoped to bring his father back, but it was obvious he was too far gone. Whatever good which lay dormant—just vaporized. From his wounds and a bitter cold Levieth would die that night, die in his sin, which ironically, he’d always been a slave to. “So be it father…So be it.” He hurried over to Uriel. The red Dragon was lying still, though breathing. “Are you all right?”he asked, touching his scaly brow, brushing off a bit of snow that had blown up on it from the heavy crash.
“Yes master, it lives. Though it is no more use here.”
The High Wizard fell beside him. “That makes two of us.”
Uriel saw the pain in his eyes, the sorrow in his heart and knew exactly why. “It is sorry it ends this way between you and your father.”
Olchemy faced the woodlands Levieth had set off toward, now disappeared in a snowy mist. “So am I, my friend…” he said, anguish in his tone, “…so am I.”
~~****~~
Caelestias, Captain Mythaen and King Sirach had been leading their soldiers well, fighting the Dark with everything they had, unwilling to surrender or retreat. Nayland, Magnus, and Favonius fought side-by-side, taking down every opponent in their path, but above all—Minevara was perhaps the most feared warrior among the army of Light.
Her determination and rage cut through the Dark like a wildfire; when things became too tense she'd occasionally transform and cast many to flames, causing their bodies to explode like she’d done to the Vampire. Or, she would attack with ice spells, crystallizing three Trolls that had ganged up on her, then return to her normal state to preserve energy. She knew no fear, felt no pain, and clearly seemed prepared to die. Some thought of her to be a Berserker woman, and every now and again, Nayland would end up fighting along her side, glancing over at her flawless skills, happy to be next to her, to do battle with her.
This was when King Damacoles decided to intervene, for the battle had gone on long enough without him, and his eyes were definitely fixed on Minevara.
Now it becomes interesting, Damacoles thought.
Without a word, he stormed onto the field, bypassing groups of clashing warriors, ignoring all souls except her. Faster and faster he ran, determined to reach this Nasharin woman. From the glowing hair to the dazzling aura there was no doubting her true nature. No one seemed to take notice of him, or perhaps no one dared to encounter, knowing who he was, at least in his own thoughts.
One Warrior did see him, he saw the Dark King closing in fast upon an unaware Minevara, Nayland. Fortunately, not far away, he stormed in front of Damacoles, stopping the King in his tracks.
At first, Damacoles planned on slaying ‘the fool’ instantly until his familiar face set in. “I remember you. Ahh yes, at the festival. I can never forget those dark eyes; the stranger from Loreladia who crippled my former students.”
“And I remember you…” Nayland answered, “…a man without honor."
Damacoles burst out laughing. "You fools are all alike. Listen, I care nothing about honor. Wining is all that matters.”
“This is one battle you will not win.”
“Who is going to stop me, you, a common soldier? Make no mistake stranger but my pupils you defeated were simple 'moons' of power where I, you see, am the sun. When you gaze upon me, what you witness is perfection, unsurpassed strength and skill. Ha! To even stand before me should cause you to tremble."
Ignoring his overwhelming stench of pride and remembering what Mirabel had once spoken, Nayland said, “One thing I learned from a great warrior, never underestimate your opponent…No matter how weak they ‘appear’ to be.” He transformed, the energy shaking the ground around them, his shadow flames elevating high.
“So…you are a Nasharin too? Ineed, coming out of the woodwork I see, you Nasharins. Deep down I knew there was something special here. Maybe that is why I haven’t chosen to kill you, yet. But when I do, you will surely die."
Nayland smirked, blown away by the King's haughtiness. Never before had he heard such conceit.
"Before I destroy you please tell me, where are Darshun and Mirabel hiding? I know they haven’t entered the battle yet. I've been watching."
“Mirabel dwells in a realm of glory. Darshun, on the other
hand, is soon to complete his quest and will put an end to your demonic lord forever.”
“Ha, such vain threats, I don’t care about sythe Abaddon, I care only for power and rule. After I have killed you and this pathetic army, and after the new world order sets in, I will continue to get stronger until I’m able to destroy Abaddon too. Then I shall rule this world!”
There was definitely something strange about this Damacoles. For what evil spirit who worked for Abaddon still possessed his own will? Quite interesting indeed…Nayland suspected this would be no easy battle. "Selfish pride. It will be your downfall."
“I have no weakness, only strength. Soon, you will realize this and beg for death before the end.”
“I don’t beg.”
The two warriors clashed; Nayland attacked, his axe burning shadow’s fire, and King Damacoles with his scythe, enriched by the power of sorcery. Both of them matched one another’s blows in strength and speed, and they fought on for a long, long while, with neither landing a hit.
Increasing energy, Nayland drove Damacoles back and in a wide arch threw a heavy swing to his chest. Damacoles side-stepped, and with a great big stupid grin he turned the tables, leading the offensive. He slashed Nayland’s arm, his leg, and nearly walloped off his head—if not for Nayland blocking in the nick of time, his axe taking a beating from the heavy scythe blows.
Trying to gain a better ground for an advantage Nayland jumped back. However, Damacoles quickly followed after and side-kicked him hard in the ribs, a crack sounded and Nayland fell, pain shooting through his body. Then the King plunged down the hard wooden staff-like handle of his scythe in attempts to crack Nayland’s head—he rolled out of the way and fancifully leaped up. His ribs hurt badly while he stumbled over. Damacoles took advantage of this moment and swung at his head.
Nayland held up the axe and blocked yet again, by a mere second. Though the blow was hard and his axe slipped out of his hands. When he reached down to retrieve it King Damacoles kicked him in the chest, knocking him into the snow, the ice crystals scrapping his face.
