Piercing The Darkness (Guardian Series)

by JW Baccaro

  The silvery star-shaped necklace became the Golden Crystal on its own, and with as many serpents as could be, they all stuck their fangs into it, piercing the density of its form. The Golden Crystal began flashing, the candles around the Altar relit; the flames elevating a good six feet, this time hellish blackened fires. While the Unholy Altar attempted to absorb the energy, additional golden lights flashed, shining as bright as the sun. Then a massive surge of heavenly power shot out of the Golden Crystal, striking the ceiling, melting the rock to lava, and pursued a path upward with a diameter of seven feet, creating its own tunnel. The room trembled; lava and debris began to fall.

  Hurriedly, Darshun ran out of the room and by chance, found a small hole alongside the tunnel wall. He stepped in with Kelarin, then glanced back at the cave—witnessing golden flames melting the Altar. For a moment, he thought he heard terrible agonizing roars of beasts and demons; and in a vision he’d fortunately been granted, he saw the battle grounds above.

  The Dark Crystal, along with the four corrupted Wizard Crystals, became enshrouded with golden lights, appearing as five shining stars in the sky, and then—exploded with the loudest booming anyone ever heard. The dark cloud, which had almost reached the first landscapes to the east, west and south, quickly vaporized, returning the quiet night sky.

  Abaddon, the Demon Lord, bewildered and confused, collapsed into the rubble of his falling castle Astaroth.

  The Dark Crystal and Unholy Altar were gone— the horror had ended.

  Darshun sat still with Kelarin in his arms, waiting for the smoke and debris to clear. Once passed, he looked at the naked body of Kelarin for the first time without any distractions.

  Nearly all her blood had been sucked out from the holes in her throat, palms and upper thighs, the serpents doing. She seemed to be nothing more than skin over bones, a creature so beautiful, so unique, suddenly gone forever. A soul whose purity brought about her very destruction.

  “It is over my dear Kelarin…” He gently rubbed her brow, caressing a hand across her eyes. "You were right, I held my faith until the end, and it is finally over. You do not have to suffer any longer." He cupped both her hands into his palms. "But neither shall it be you who dies today. You, my Angel, have saved my life and reawakened my spirit so many times, how disgraceful would it be that I allow death to keep you. I am your Guardian and I love you with all my heart. It is this love which I give to you, my love, my life…" He closed his eyes and reached deep inside himself, to the innards of his soul, and began to transfer his lifeforce into her body, calling back her spirit.

  Yellow light shined forth from his palms, making its way around her, forming a beautiful aura, and her body slowly began to draw new life. How it hurt, casting away his spiritual essence. Despite this, he kept his mind strictly bent on his passion for Kelarin, the smile she was known for, the love she gave to all living creatures—and especially the love they shared together in the marriage bed of his dream. Their wedding night a once possible future that Darshun knew was more than just a ‘dream’ and it soothed his spirit immensely. He remembered the smell of her hair, clove, the touch of her skin, the sensation of being inside of her, and becoming one. He loved Kelarin more than anything. Absolutely no fear existed in him, facing death in order to restore her life. The more life she gained, the closer to death Darshun fell, his lifeforce pouring out like a rushing dam, into his chosen vessel.

  Seth Caelen had done this once too, in attempts to save King Loreus from the Dark King Tanarokai.

  Darshun also understood how to unleash the gift, and now it was accomplished.

  Kelarin opened her eyes and resting atop her chest was a lifeless Darshun, still gently clutching her hand, his face at peace with his usual blissful smile.

  “Darshun?” she asked, knowing he would never answer. She knew what he’d done and there was nothing more she could do for him—her Dar was gone.

  No vision had prepared her for this possibility…No warning.

  She sat up, resting his head onto her lap. Gently, she closed his eyelids. "Darshun—I was suppose to die, not you!" She wept, spilling teardrops onto his face, the drops rolling down his cheeks. "You sacrificed everything, even your very life. But you were not supposed to die. Do you hear me? You were not supposed to die!" She kissed his lips, wishing she could breathe life back into him. "Oh, my Guardian. My Darshun. May Abidan reward you and keep you forever.” She remained in her place, clenching his slightly-warm hand and rubbing his head, her tears saturating his body. The loss seemed too much to bear.

  The youngest and most short-lived Guardian of the Seventh Realm, Darshun Luthais, was dead.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A DARK PROPHECY

  The battle upon the field of Milrotha ended promptly after the five crystals were destroyed. Abaddon’s castle turned to rubble and all witnessed the Lord of the Demonic fall with the stone. The creatures among the army of darkness, now free from Abaddon’s control retreated from the army of the Light and ran toward Mt. Blackshrine.

  The Light was merciful and did not pursue them; instead raising their voices triumphantly, shouting Darshun’s name over and over again. Then, the different races: the Humans and Dwarves, Elves and Centaurs, and even the Nasharins along with the Wizard Olchemy greeted one another and gave thanks. It all seemed too surreal that this day had come, not only winning the Second Great War, but also having once again been united together.

  As for Seth Caelen and the surviving dire beasts, he led them back the way they came, never speaking a word to any among the field, only giving a smile, and disappeared into the wilderness with the animals following his lead, the green auras surrounding them all faded amongst the trees.

  Besides pondering the meaning, Magnus quickly turned his attention on another individual, his son Kaylis. "My boy! My boy!" he hollered over the commotion, rushing toward him and giving the young Nasharin a firm hug.

  Kaylis thought he had been seeing things, even during the battle. He figured it might be just another man having a strikingly similar resemblance to his father along with a similar fighting style and magic—a sorcerer turned good maybe? Surely not, for there was no doubting his identity now, staring face to face with him, indeed it was Magnus Winveil. "Oh father, but—how?" Kaylis mumbled, dropping his jaw. "I saw you die. Both Nayland and I saw you—"

  "Let that be explained when we come together for celebration," Magnus said, placing a hand onto his shoulder. "As of now, know that I am here, and am very sorry for our last gathering."

  "Then as you say," Kaylis responded, "let apologies be shared for another time." He wrapped his arms around him for a second hug.

  Magnus quickly pushed away, giving him a firm look. "You have not unlocked your element yet—but you are indeed a mighty fine warrior, my son."

  "That he is father," Nayland announced, coming up from behind with Minevara. She’d been helping him walk, for Nayland had lost a great amount of energy.

  Kaylis lowered his head, feeling a little shy. "Thank you?"

  "I have to ask, for my eyes may have been playing tricks on me. Brother, was that the Dark Queen of Asgoth fighting along your side?"

  Kaylis smiled, drifting into thoughts about Talvenya. "Your eyes witnessed the truth. Only, she no longer fights for the Dark."

  "Well, I don't know about that," Minevara blurted out.

  "I'm serious, she's on our side. Let me introduce her, wherever she may be," he said, looking to and fro.

  "I believe right there." Minevara pointed straight past Kaylis' head.

  ~~****~~

  About a hundred feet left of them, the former Queen stood, unmistakable. Her hair looked splattered with blood, portions of the amethyst armor the Centaurs had lent her was cracked, but what stood out the most was her violet eyes, still appearing to glow like two little stars, with a gaze of confidence and triumph.

  Whether it was fear or something else, no one seemed to remain close to her as she strolled past the victims she'd slain during the
battle. The pile of corpses went on for miles, so it seemed.

  It was indeed a great feeling to exterminate so much of the side that caused her bitter pain nearly her entire life. Now—there was the matter of the Light accepting her. The Elves, obviously, hadn’t a problem, having already done so by Lord Athanasius' command—though later on, Nayland and the others wondered why Caelestias had never spoken of this when first arriving in Syngothra. It was, after all, difficult to fathom at first. Her murders, torturing and deathly Rule had gone on for years.

  She arrived at their side, casting a gaze at Kaylis.

  "Many thanks, my lady," he said, kneeling before her.

  She said not a word, instead remembered when Darshun used to call her that, how at the time she was under the identity of Aurora. Darshun followed her around like a little puppy, caring for her, aiming to please ‘his lady.’ By those actions, she stood convinced it was all due to her spell, only to discover later, that Darshun indeed truly loved her—had truly loved her.

  "You don't have to kneel before her," Minevara whispered into Kaylis' ear. "She's not the Queen anymore."

  Meeting her eyes with a look of pity Kaylis responded, "With the number of enemies she took out, we all should be kneeling in gratitude."

  "Never in a thousand years," Minevara balked.

  "Kneeling isn't necessary Kaylis," Talvenya finally said, though kept her gaze remained strictly on Minevara. "However, it does fit your character."

  "What would you know about his character?" Minevara asked, squinting her eyes.

  Ignoring the question, she instead commented, "Sister of Darshun. Like he, you display much beauty."

  Surprised by her comment, even a little flattered, nevertheless, she answered angrily, "Runs in the family, woman. And I'll hear you speak nothing more of Windtros."

  "Unclog your ears, I speak of Darshun—"

  "Windtros is his elvish name!"

  Talvenya gazed at the snow-covered ground and sighed, enduring the sudden cold breeze that tickled her bones, symbolic to the way many probably still felt toward her, cold. "I didn’t come over here to quarrel," she said, looking back to Minevara.

  Minevara stepped closer. "You almost killed my brother twice. I have heard the stories—witnessed the second attempt myself. So, as you can understand, I do not approve of you."

  "Oh knock it off Min," Nayland interrupted, playfully nudging her aside with his hand. "I tried killing Darshun once too. Let it go. All has ended well."

  She glared at him, turning her head, hair whipping fiercely. "Just because she helped us win the battle does not mean I will—"

  "Darshun won the battle," Nayland spoke. "Whether we would have survived on this field will never be known."

  Talvenya stared at Nayland, his dark eyes reminding her a little of Tanarokai, though only in feature. He was a warrior far beyond her ex-companion, and so strange a mind he had, unreadable, even to her, which is why she never liked him. Vulnerability is what she feared most; having not a clue what went on inside his head—gave her chills. Although, he seemed like a fine individual and now, a little less grimly than she remembered.

  "It isn't polite to stare woman," Minevara hissed, stepping in front of Nayland.

  Talvenya started to laugh. "Apologies, I cannot hold it back any longer. So childish at heart you are, sister of Darshun. A little amusing too; would make a good slave at my side, entertaining me when boredom strikes. Pity for me, I no longer take lives for such reasons."

  Minevara clenched her hand around the handle of her sword, the blood-stained blade resting in its sheathe. "I'd sever your head before you'd have a chance speaking one faulty spell."

  "Minevara enough," Nayland scolded, feeling she was being disrespectful.

  "Yes Minevara, listen to your mate. You'll live longer."

  Minevara meant to respond but was interrupted by a cluster of other soldiers storming over, on one side it was Captain Mythaen, Caelestias and a few other Humans and Elves, the other side King Loreus, Queen Aeryka, and a host of Centaurs—Leriana included. Queen Aeryka was trotting alongside her son Favonius, once again reunited, but whatever words had taken place between the two were as of yet unknown.

  "King Loreus," Caelestias said, "You are a man of your word." Looking at him, and then to Queen Aeryka he respectfully bowed. “Great Queen, blessed be you for seeing the truth of the Sword, and for your great courage and honor. We give our deepest thanks.”

  "Do not rejoice," Aeryka commented. "This war is not over—perhaps far from over."

  Raising an eyebrow, accompanied by irritation he answered, "The Dark is still, not a creature stirs. The slain are beginning to stink. So, please explain your maddening words!"

  Looking aside at King Loreus, as if to ask why it is the elvish Lord calls her ‘mad’—Loreus was quick to respond, "He always speaks that way, wherever he sees truth. Forget it."

  "Am I mistaken?" Caelestias asked. "Your words are indeed 'mad.' Explain them at once."

  "Very well, Caelestias of Ashhaven," Aeryka balked. "The Spell of Destruction has passed, but the master of evil has not."

  "Of course he has! The vile fell with his castle, his power is no more, for there exists no Dark Crystal."

  "You see," Aeryka said, looking to the scarlet haired Leriana, her son and the rest of her people. "This is why we do not alter scrolls for the convenience of understanding the language easier. You lose meaning."

  Caelestias meant to comment but Loreus quickly intervened, “She speaks the truth. The Centaur people are well aware of the prophecies pertaining to this war and possess the oldest, perhaps original writings of the cleric Elf Eldenith. The prophecy, when read carefully, never speaks about the destruction of Abaddon, only his 'Dark Crystal' and his 'dominion' over evil. Also, the words near the end of the prophecy, which state: 'And Abaddon shall be no more,' do not exist in the Queen's scroll. Apparently, they were added. Translators of later generations personally believed it was speaking about Abaddon's actual destruction, but according to Aeryka, it is not."

  "Let me see this version you boast of," Caelestias insisted.

  "Sure, let us just travel back to Cestmir for you to observe, while everyone else here suffers a most brutal death," Aeryka was quick to say.

  "It is not with you?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Why would I carry such a sacred scroll into battle? We cherish our antiques; they hold deep meaning to us, as does tradition. Point is…The beast still lives. Though I have it memorized. Allow me to quote—"

  “Save your breath. Unless I see the actual scroll before me, I will not believe these silly notions. It is preposterous. Abaddon was in the heart of that explosion and fell with Castle Astaroth. It is impossible he has survived.”

  "Perhaps you do not truly understand what you are dealing with, seeker of 'truth.' Or is fear clouding your judgment?"

  The elvish lord flared his nostrils at her.

  “For the sake of argument, let us just say she is right," Nayland interjected. "If so, then Abaddon's bound to be hurting. Probably won't attack. Besides, he is one demon—wounded no less. We are a whole army.”

  “An army that has been fighting hours now and is weakened,” King Loreus commented.

  "Even so, the odds stack against him." Nayland turned toward Magnus, his father facing the direction of the smoldering rubble where Castle Astaroth once stood. "Do you not think likewise father?"

  He didn't answer.

  "…Father?"

  Slowly, Magnus turned to Nayland, concern in his eyes. “Remember the prophecy pertaining to the Demons Sirach had told us about, back in Avshalum?”

  “Yes, of course. They were to be released from the Lake of Fire, but only if the Spell of Destruction was complete. Darshun stopped it fortunately.”

  “No,” King Sirach shouted, pushing his little stocky body through the cluster of warriors, so that he stood amongst the center. “Overhearing the conversation lad—I must comment, the Spell of Destruction was complete."
/>   "What are you talking about?" Caelestias hollered, irritated at the ongoing surprises.

  "The sacrifice was slain, the ritual performed, the proper words spoken, the Spell of Destruction was completed! True, there wasn’t enough time for it to destroy anything. Darshun saw to that. But prior to its destruction, the power of the Dark Crystal was enough to release the Demons. And release them it did. They will be coming for us. Ha ha!”

  "You find it amusing?" Queen Judith scolded, tugging at his arm.

  "Ah, of course not." He fancily twirled his axe and a cold, almost eerie look befell his face. "I am just finally glad to have them out of our neighboring mountains, and long to have my axe drink their blood. Be it we survive five minutes against their fanatical strength."

  “What of Windtros?” Minevara said. “Surely our Guardian can help?”

  "That’s what brings terror to my soul,” Magnus noted. “I have been trying to locate his presence but am having no luck whatsoever."

  To this Talvenya spoke up, "Are you saying you can lock in on his energy the moment of your choosing?"

  "Normally, yes, it is a common ability shared among Nasharins. But he simply vanished off the face of the earth not long ago. Which means he's either cleverly masking it or—is dead."

  "No, Windtros is not dead. He can't be!" Minevara panicked, realizing she too could no longer sense her brother.

  "He's definitely missing then, and for that matter so is our High Wizard. Where are they?"

  Unexpectedly, fire and smoke rose out of the Demon Stone Mountains and a sound like a tornado rumbled in the air. Then the top of one of the mountains cracked, bursting into a fiery eruption.

  Five beings followed the explosion, soaring out from the crumbling rock, ascending high into the sky. Immediately, they soared toward the army of Light. Drawing closer, their appearance could be discerned. Each distinct, omitting strange senses, which gave off their abilities.