Piercing The Darkness (Guardian Series)

by JW Baccaro

  Damacoles indeed proved to be a powerful adversary. He dragged Nayland’s weapon over by the scythe blade and picked it up. “I am going to kill you with your very own 'toy,' " he said and began attacking with both axe and scythe.

  Nayland ducked, dodged, and maneuvered around them as best he could but the King was overwhelmingly fast, his swings coming from every angle; it wouldn’t be long before he’d strike a blow. Nayland, however, was far from finished.

  To the King’s surprise, he leaped high into the air and at the same time, kicked the King in his face with one foot, and in his chest with the other. The weapons fell from his hands and he flung back about ten feet before losing balance and tumbling to the ground. He’d gotten the breath knocked out of him and his face stung from a large gash. Rage filled his spirit and he leapt to his feet.

  Nayland now possessed both of the weapons. “This belongs to you sorcerer.” Nayland threw the scythe over to him.

  He caught it by the handle. “Why did you—do that?”

  “Because I fight with honor, and never shall I use a weapon that has slain innocent souls.”

  “Blah!” He spat. “There is no honor in the present world anymore, Nasharin. Victory by any means is all that matters.” Then he set his eyes upon a pile of dead Cullach and Goblins, his eyes flashed red.

  Inexplicably, the disgusting corpses arose, moaning and growling. They picked up fallen swords around them.

  “Kill this Nasharin,” Damacoles commanded.

  They obeyed and started to attack.

  One by one, Nayland quickly struck them down, but just like at the city of Zithel some months prior, when he’d fought the Zombie Cullach spawned by the sorcerer Morgh, these corpses were put under a similar type of dark magic; they simply regenerated, stood back up and began fighting him once again.

  To make matters worse, Damacoles set another zombie spell upon fallen members of the Light, Men, Elves and Dwarves arose by the dozen. Clearly, this was meant to mock, for Nayland recognized many from before the battle began. Now they were under a dark spell. Their eyes looked soulless, full of fury. Over and over, he had to tell himself these weren't fallen allies, rather, lifeless bodies controlled by sorcery. Still, he couldn't help but to cringe each time he killed one, if it were right to call it a ‘kill’ for they continuously got back up.

  The zombies were beginning to overwhelm him, and he knew he must slay the King in order break the spell. But he had another idea. He took two death stars from his belt and converted energy into them until engulfed in black flames.

  Damacoles gazed on with interest.

  Then, as the zombies were clustering together to attack in full brute force, he threw the stars at the ground before them creating a great explosion. Many caught on fire hobbling around aimlessly, blind from the thick smoke. Those that had avoided the flames madly stormed at him, saliva foaming out their mouths.

  Nayland then cast a mighty wind and quickly encircled it around the mass, its power increasing the intensity of the fire, spreading the blaze to every zombie.

  Eyes popped out, arms and legs fell off, and skin melted—the stench horrible. It was almost as if fire had been the cure for this spell.

  Nayland hoped it would be over soon, for their moaning and grumbling—even though they were mere puppets controlled by the sorcerer—sounded as if they were in severe pain.

  Moments later, their charred bodies fell to ash, the fire settled, and the last of the wind blew the ashes away.

  Nayland turned to Damacoles. “Shall we now continue?” he said.

  Damacoles became angry; his hands alit with blackish-blue energy. “Die!” he shouted and began casting energy blasts.

  One after the other, Nayland dodged or ricocheted them with his axe.

  Becoming even angrier, for this insect should not be causing him such a delay—the Dark King caused abrupt explosions all around Nayland.

  The ground upon which he stood trembled, split, then sunk into the earth; the surrounding dirt, snow and ruble collapsed and sealed the majority of the hole back up, though other craters lay everywhere.

  Slowly and insanely he laughed. “Buried alive, poor Nasharin."

  “A tragedy that would be indeed,” Nayland said, his voice coming from behind. “If it were true.”

  King Damacoles turned around but no one was there. He glanced side-to-side, listened for the slightest movement, but still no sign of Nayland. “Coward!” he shouted. “Where have you gone to?”

  “Why, I am right here great King…directly in front of you.”

  “Ahh, invisibility. I see…Too afraid to face me Nasharin?”

  “Of course,” Nayland whispered into his ear.

  Immediately, Damacoles turned around and swung the long scythe, hoping to see a head roll. He struck nothing.

  “Oh! You were sooo close,” Nayland mocked. “Try a little harder, a little faster too, if you can.”

  Damacoles lost his temper and began to viciously swing in each and every direction, never once touching his opponent. “Pathetic fool, I HATE YOU! You say you fight with 'honor?' Show yourself and prove it!”

  Nayland appeared before him. “I do fight with honor. But going up against an opponent such as you, one can not help but go beyond the 'rules.' Oh…Immaculate sorcerer, Damacoles the great, the mighty. In fact, be it I survive this duel, I do hope one day to become as you, the ultimate warrior."

  Damacoles could not tell whether he spoke truly or mocked. Whichever it was, his blood continued to boil, wanting this Nasharin dead.

  Nayland saw this confusion in his eyes and decided to tell it bluntly. "Forgive my rhetoric. I suppose I'll speak the truth. I could have already slain you, if I so desired. Instead, I've been feeding off your foolish pride and anger.”

  “Liar! I can’t be beaten!" He clenched fists, nails digging into his palm, trickling blood. Drawing out inner rage, focusing his mind on the Blackened Arts, he formed his death move—the same attack he used on the Draconian the very first time stepping into Abaddon's lair, the Tornado which sheers flesh and bone apart, exiting the remains into another dimension. The whirlwind flashing with blue lightning hovered over his hand, this one massive in size, at least twenty feet in diameter. "Now you shall learn what happens to those who test my patience," he said and sent it across.

  However, Nayland being a master of the wind, of the Air Magics, countered by casting a ‘wall’ of wind, blowing as though a hurricane had been set loose.

  The two storms clashed, forming blackness within the midst, chaotically tearing one another apart, omitting such a dreadful whistling sound, common to what natural storms make, only much louder and far nastier, churning up snow, stone and debris. It drew many eyes and no one had a clue what was transpiring. Like two Gods of wind these storms fought, each trying to absorb the other's power and push on through to their master's target, until finally using up their energy and blew out like a candle flame.

  "No!" Damacoles shouted, "It's impossible! I cannot be defeated! I cannot be defeated!"

  Nayland wasted no time and charged; they met with a clash and in fury and rage as they fought long and hard; axe against scythe, scythe against axe. Nayland seemed to be getting faster and faster while the King slower. One last powerful blow sent Damacoles to his knees, hands stinging and clearly exhausted. He couldn't hold onto his scythe any longer as it fell loose from his fingers, imprinting the snow.

  “It is over,” Nayland said, standing over him. “You’ve lost. Your power is drained and you are no more a threat to me or my friends.”

  Bewildered, and unwilling to accept defeat entirely Damacoles countered by saying, “You think you've won? You haven't won, Nasharin fool. My Minotaurs have yet to enter the battle. They're the highest in number and skill. I've merely been toying with your army the entire time. Once I give the command, they will crush you and your pathetic army.”

  "Ah yes, you've 'toyed' with us, as you've done with me; overconfident in pride."

  He raise
d an eyebrow.

  "I know how powerful you are, Damacoles. I sensed it from the beginning. It was probable that this duel might have ended in reverse, with you standing erect and I on my knees."

  "I should've killed you at the start. You would not be kneeling like I, instead your carcass food for the birds! Mercy, ha. Another weakness the Light betrays."

  "Mercy? Oh no, far be it from me that I should bestow such a blessing to you. Instead, here's a revelation to ponder: You are no warrior, in fact it remains clear you've never even had a true challenge."

  "What are you saying?"

  "There's more to winning than 'physical' strength. Mind, body and spirit must merge together, become intertwined. Otherwise, warriors fight like you, blinded by their own selfish pride and haughtiness. The mind allows us to think clearly, control our emotions, the body endorses our strength, and the spirit enlightens the heart, directs the path. United together, and you have a true warrior of any nature. You, on the other hand, are a conceited child. Conceit not only blinded you, but clouded judgment, scattered thoughts. Each failed attempt drew you more and more to rage, until weariness and weakness was all that was left."

  "I don't need a lecture from you. This isn't over, I promise Nasharin!"

  "Maybe not. But whether death for my people comes today, always remember this moment, ponder the time you were defeated in your first led battle, ironically striking not a single kill, and losing to the first soldier you challenged. A shame not even the former King and Queen of Asgoth had ever befallen. This is how you will be portrayed when the scribes write down the actions of the Second Great War, putting them into scrolls. History indeed will remember you…as a weakling. Farewell, child of conceit." He turned to walk away.

  Damacoles, on the other hand, remained in a fit of unsurpassable humiliation after being spoken to with such condescending words. He was not, could not let this Nasharin live. He stood up and retrieved his scythe. "No one speaks to the King in such manner," he whispered his hands shaking. "You don't understand," his voice became louder, "I am perfection. I am the ultimate sorcerer, having no equal, and I…" His pupils became blistering red, "I—I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!" Putting all his strength into his arm, he threw the scythe, it continuously flipped through the air heading straight for Nayland's back.

  However, aside from overhearing his ridiculous shout, Nayland sensed the disturbance in the air and easily moved aside, dodging the archly blade and long staff-like handle. He then grabbed his last death star off his belt, converting energy into it within seconds, and threw it at Damacoles.

  It hurled straight into his gut and blew him to pieces. His charred crown landed next to Nayland’s feet and Nayland brought down his axe and chopped it in half. The recently crowned Dark King of the world was dead.

  While the main battle continued, both armies sensed a terrible power coming from Castle Astaroth. Then the top of the castle—the snake’s mouth—opened and there stood Abaddon. The five crystals were levitating around him. With the rising of both hands the crystals ascended into the sky. The four corrupted Wizard Crystals formed a circle and the Dark Crystal hung in the center of them. Abaddon began to speak in the demonic tongue; his voice loud, fierce, terrifying and carried by the wind across the battlefield, so that everyone heard it. This meant two things—the sacrifice was dead, and the Spell of Destruction had begun!

  The forces of Light began to fall. Men, Elves, and Dwarves died by the thousands, side-by-side. The army was on the verge of either retreat or annihilation. For no more reserves were left.

  Then something even worse happened. News of King Damacoles’ death reached the general of the Minotaurs and he decided to storm into the battle with all his soldiers. No more games as the former King had been playing—victory would be met quickly.

  The horn blew, the exhausted Cullach and Draconians scattered off the field, and thousands upon thousands of fully energized Minotaurs charged in, the force of their bodies trembling the ground like a massive earthquake. Whatever amount of hope the Light possessed was completely blown away. When the Minotaurs clash, death would come quickly.

  "Nayland?" Minevara said, fixing her eyes on the coming onslaught.

  "I know. It won’t be long now, but I am not going to retreat. We came here to help Darshun no matter what the cost. If death is our fate, so be it."

  "Let us die together then," Magnus piped in, "going out with one final clash. How about it son?”

  “Mortis-noir,” Nayland said, meeting his father’s gaze.

  Magnus smiled. “Amenua."

  “Mortis-noir Amenua,” Minevara joined in. “And when death does come…so be it!”

  They all transformed, bringing their energy to the max.

  Their words seemed to reach every soul and renewed the army’s strength, at least enough for one final showdown. They prepared to charge, then suddenly a horn blew from behind, and a second one followed.

  “That’s a Loreladian horn!” Captain Mythaen exclaimed.

  “And that second one—is Centaurian!” Favonius gasped. “Can it be?”

  They looked back and at the edge of the forest were four individuals: One a woman on a large black and white tiger, suited in armor. To her side sat Kaylis, upon his own warhorse. One who stood in the middle was King Loreus, clothed entirely in golden armor, wielding the Sword of Purity, which shone like the sun. But rather than a mare or stallion, the King sat upon a large female Centaur, the Queen! mighty in stature.

  "I feared we'd be too late," Kaylis said taking to heart the death before them. “Can we still win?”

  “Never is it too late to judge the enemy, dear Nasharin,” Queen Aeryka commented. “And my condemnation is death.”

  "We have come here for victory,” King Loreus spoke, power and authority in his tone, “Not defeat. For on this day, only the enemy shall know fear.” He raised high the Golden Sword. "Onward for the Light…and the hope of the world! CHARGE!" he shouted.

  Out of the woodland, stormed not only the rest of the Centaur army, but herds upon herds of dire beasts, long thought to be extinct such as bears, wolves, tigers, lions, cougars, foxes, weasels, gorillas, badgers, wolverines, rodents—all led by a flashy green mystic rider upon a lion.

  It seemed as though an Angel had come down from the Heavens to give aid; altogether the numbers quickly reaching the high thousands, and once they caught pace with the Men, Elves, and Dwarves, everyone charged in together

  King Loreus remained in the lead, piercing the enemies' eyes with golden light. The Nasharins stormed on with the front lines too, taking places close to King Loreus, Kaylis, and surprisingly Talvenya. However, their thoughts did not stray upon her participation, for all knew on that day, on that side of the field of Milrotha, the Light stood united. Like thunder, the armies clashed, the killings began, and hundreds upon hundreds fell like rain.

  The Minotaurs, large as they were, barely matched up to the dire beasts, which ripped them apart, some limb-by-limb, especially the rodents; one clenching onto a Minotaur’s arm, a second his other arm, another his leg, and another his second leg, then tearing the limbs off while a weasel bit off the head, which was how the general fell.

  Numerous among the Light fell also, even some of the dire beasts caught off guard, for they were still highly outnumbered, and the rest of the Cullach, Draconians, Trolls and Goblins charged back into the fight. But above all, probably the warrior that day claiming the most kills—exceeding beyond Minevara, was Talvenya. She cut through them like fire upon grass, casting some to stone, others to dust—unleashing every spell the Blackened Arts had taught her—using it against the Dark. She also flawlessly took down Minotaur after Minotaur by the sword.

  Some recognized her, in total bewilderment. She, former ruthless Dark Queen of Asgoth, thought to be dead, was now fighting on the side of the Light? Be it so, few challenged the Goddess, rather, she challenged them, and not a single scratch fell to her; later speculation would be spoken that all her pain from which the Dark h
ad caused deep within her spirit was given back one hundred fold in this battle, the last battle there would be in the Second Great War.

  As of yet, there was a long way to go before either side might claim victory. The fighting persisted.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THROUGH THE FIRE AND FLAMES

  Darshun had been walking for hours and had become dreadfully tired, hungry and thirsty. Weakness was settling in at every square inch of his body, to even make another step proved a challenge, but he ignored the physical pains, drawing strength from mind and spirit, and kept marching forward. The tunnel began to slope and in the far distance, he saw a reddish-orange light. At first, he mistook it for fire, but being a master of that element he could not sense any fire at all.

  Cautiously, he made way down the slope until the tunnel flattened out and he saw the source of the lights—gemstones. Blood-red pyrope and fire opals were intertwined and embedded into the rock walls beside him, leading into a large circular room, stretching all the way around. It looked like a cave of fire, for the gemstones shone brightly as though they were reflecting sunrays. However, no sun existed down here; the stones were activated by magic, dark magic.

  Darshun stared at them, particularly focusing on one section of wall, then suddenly, as if he were glancing through a portal window, images of horrible disgusting creatures appeared amongst a world of blackened mountains, fire and ash. Clusters of beings soared in the sky, others roamed the smoky wastelands. Then, they stopped, turned their heads in unison, and gleamed at Darshun. He felt that this world was real, and these demonic-type creatures at this very moment witnessed him. They looked on with eyes of pure hatred; Darshun glared just the same.

  He shook his head and the images disappeared while only the gem lights remained. "Perhaps that was the Underworld, and these possessed stones allow Abaddon to communicate to other creatures there? Such disgusting creatures."