Piercing The Darkness (Guardian Series)

by JW Baccaro

  “What I represent can never be destroyed…Fallen.”

  “Fallen— aye. You see me as I truly am, Nasharin. I’ve stood in the presence of your God; I have roamed the layers of the Heavens, stood as Guardian, and fought in the war of the Angels. Now you think you are going to destroy me? This time, I will make sure you are dead. I will cut you limb from limb.” He raised his energy, the scars along his body shinning red, and a black fiery aura appeared, elevating his presence.

  The two stood upon the mountain for a long time, glaring one another. One evil, cloaked in Darkness—the other good, enshrouded by Light. They looked like two stars among the heavens about to collide, or even mythological gods and all eyes were upon them.

  Finally, Abaddon hurled forward a punch.

  Darshun caught his arm, turned sharply and flipped him over his back, the Fallen Angel crashing onto the mountain. Abaddon quickly rose, launching two more punches, one fist going for Darshun’s face, the other his diaphragm.

  Darshun deflected both with his forearms, leaving Abaddon wide open, and then struck his elbow against his chin, punched him in the ribs, jumped high and spin kicked him in the chest.

  Abaddon soared through the air, helplessly for at least fifty feet, finally crashing onto the mountain, rolling and tumbling over the jagged rocks. He lay face down for a moment, as if unconscious, then finally rose to his feet, spitting out a bit of blood.

  Darshun remained in his place, awaiting his opponent.

  Abaddon met his eyes and smiled deviously. Then—disappeared—reappearing behind Darshun. It seemed to startle him, and with a fist clenched ever so tight, he pummeled Darshun in the center of his back, between his large wings. Darshun hurled forward, trying to ignore the sting, but then came Abaddon from above, his hands folded together, and wailed the Guardian across the face, knocking him into the mountain rock, forming a crater.

  Abaddon ascended a little higher, his dark wings moving to and fro as he formed a fiery sphere, its yellow and orange colors quite beautiful—surrounded by a mist of red lightning streaks, and hurled it into the crater where Darshun had lay, perhaps unconscious. The sphere hit, exploding a good section of the mountain, causing a slight avalanche.

  “Oh—no!” Minevara screamed, watching from below.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Olchemy assured her. “The Guardian is fine. Look.” He pointed into the sky.

  Minevara and many others trying to follow his finger, and there he was, alive, hovering above the Fallen.

  Sensing the energy, Abaddon raised his head. “That was quite fast Nasharin. You have a tendency for avoiding such attacks. Now…”—he grinned—“let see you dodge all of these.” Abaddon raised his hands, an eerie expression dominating his Fallen Angelic face; his eyes flashed, violet, dark-red and blue lightning began to fall from the sky, targeting Darshun.

  At first, Darshun could sense the attacks before they hit, the negative energy calling them into being, raising the hairs across his body, and perking his wings. This gave Darshun the advantage to dodge many of them, moving across the mountain peaks, while the oddly colored lightning continued wrecking havoc, blowing debris in all directions.

  Becoming angry at Darshun’s apparent ‘flawlessness’ Abaddon soared into the sky with his hands alit, as if he were going to attack, distracting Darshun for a moment or two, just enough to buy Abaddon time to send a horde of lightning into Darshun’s body.

  As the explosion erupted, through the fire and the flames many could make out the skeletal structure of the Guardian, shining a bright bluish-white, then shadowed by black smoke. Whether this was some type of effect the lightning had on his body, or perhaps was the process of transforming the Guardian’s body into ashes, as of yet, could not be known, not while the thick smoke cloaked the heavens.

  Abaddon, on the other hand, was wiser, and watched Darshun descend to the highest point on the mountain, landing face down. He lay still for a minute, and then began moving his hands, his arms, and finally rose, brushing the stones off his garments. Besides a few burn scars and a bloody left cheek, he seemed fine, and could overhear many down below cheering aloud, relieved that their Guardian was still alive.

  “Impressive,” Abaddon sneered. “Though were you to receive another attack like that, I doubt you’d be standing shortly after.”

  Darshun smirked. “Even you would not be so unwise to waste such energy a second time. You are short of breath as you speak."

  Abaddon laughed. “Don’t you worry about me, Guardian, I’ll uphold just fine.”

  Slowly, Darshun began to levitate off the peak. His wings were not carrying him, they were not even moving; rather it was his focus of energy transporting his body, his eyes continuously on the Fallen Angel.

  Abaddon clenched his fists, his body beginning to tremble, overcome with frustration and anger due to this new opponent.

  There Darshun floated seeming to be calm, focused, never turning an eye, not even a blink!

  His demeanor and valor was driving Abaddon insane. “You dare think you can rival me?” Streaks of blue lightning began to crackle around him. “You…DARE?!?!” he roared, then disappeared, and reappeared behind Darshun.

  Only this time, Darshun seemed ready and threw back his elbow, the bone smashing into his chest, disrupting his breathing all the more. Next, Darshun turned around and caved in Abaddon’s ribcage with a solid left fist. Then, swung his right arm and struck the other side, then folded his hands together and bombarded him across the face with a devastating blow that pummeled him onto the mountain, churning up yards of rock, the loose stone burying him.

  Awaiting Abaddon’s return, Darshun focused his energy, the silver-white aura shining bright.

  A hand sprung out of the stone, followed by another, and then came Abaddon, bursting out in a fit of dire rage, his wings shifting speedily, blowing away all loose gravel. “You!” he growled, his dark eyes flashing red. “How did you know?”

  Darshun raised a brow. “If you are referring to countering your last faulty attack, well it was simple. The secret to your speed is teleportation, not actual speed. If one focuses carefully, one can sense where the opponent shall emerge. It may only be half a second’s notice, but that’s enough time to counter. What I am trying to tell you, Abaddon, is…You are not all that fast.”

  Abaddon growled ever so loudly it became even questionable whether he was one of the Fallen or perhaps a mad animal. “You—I will repay you for everything you’ve done to me, Guardian. Do you hear me? For everything you have done to me I shall increase a thousand fold!” From the waves of energy he was putting out, sections of the mountain began to split, and a dark fire engulfed the Fallen’s presence. “No. More. Games.” Abaddon the Fallen unsheathed his sword.

  The tool looked massive, as Darshun remembered with black flames dancing along the steel, accompanied by yellow-orange flames burning spherical within the blade just above the handle. Darshun could have sworn to witness a familiar red eye appear within the center of that fire a moment or two, before disappearing. The Guardian also drew his sword, the blade elevating in silver flames; the white crystal embedded within the steel—set above the handle glowed like a beautiful star.

  The two charged one other and began clashing weapons. The blows were extraordinarily powerful as they shook the mountain and even the ground on which the army stood. Back and forth, they continued to duel, engaging with fierce strikes, quick jabs and thrusts, long heavy arcs, each blocking the other’s attack—silver and black flames scattering everywhere, illuminating the heavens. Even the elements were being affected, lightning split the sky and the stars from afar seemed to shift.

  Darshun deflected another blow—a jab aiming for his heart, then swung back in a wide arc, putting a great deal of power behind it.

  The blade smashed against Abaddon’s—the Fallen blocking just in time, avoiding the severing of his head, but the pressure nearly shattered his arm. His sword slipped from his hand.

  Darshun came at him ag
ain, thrusting his sword straight through Abaddon’s diaphragm, piercing out his back. Abaddon roared from the pain as Darshun held him still, then Darshun withdrew his bloody sword and watched Abaddon descend helplessly, crashing on what was left of the highest peaks.

  “Yes!” Minevara shouted. “Windtros did it!”

  “Maybe…” Talvenya commented.

  The others said not a word.

  Darshun hovered in the air, closing his eyes, focusing his power. Abaddon was wounded, but he could sense the Fallen Angel was still very much alive.

  As the blood continued to spew from his body, Abaddon inflicted the wounds with his own fire, cauterizing them. His heart was throbbing, though not so much from a loss in energy, but rather a dire anger. “Curse him!” he snapped, stomping his foot, looking up at the Guardian. “Curse you!”

  Darshun remained silent, and put away his sword. Both his hands began to shine, one red, the other blue. He connected them in sort of diamond-like shape, conjoining his fingers. Atop and thumbs below, the light intertwining, becoming a beautiful violet—he extended the form at Abaddon.

  Understanding what he was doing, Abaddon trying to stable his breathing, ascended until he became parallel with Darshun, about a thousand feet across in the sky. Equivalently, Abaddon made the same form; the absence of light—a host of blackened flames elevating beyond his hands; they released their attacks—each with two colossal streams of fire. The flames clashed in mid-air, the unnatural elements ‘connecting’ as though they were solids, striving to push the other back.

  By way of connection, Darshun could feel the wrath of his opponent, his anger and despair.

  Abaddon could sense the feelings of Darshun, his spirit burning in a righteous fury; surrender or defeat non-existent. This battle was to the death; Darshun would never quit until Abaddon became forever—dead.

  The fires continued to clash, lighting the heavens, neither warrior showing any signs of weariness. The sky began to crackle, the mountain and landscapes tremble. The soldiers below felt the heat off shooting from the duel. It became sheer chaos, the fires roaring like thunder, both determined to destroy the other.

  Then, a weakness began to settle within Abaddon's arms, for the amount power he was unraveling against his opponent was nearly everything his Fallen Angelic body possessed—and proving to be not enough. He slipped back.

  Darshun's beam then began to overtake.

  "No, I will not be defeated by a Nasharin," he growled. "Not now, not ever!" His eyes flashed and he unleashed everything he had—everything, sparing not even his reserves. His dark stream of flame increased in size.

  This overwhelmed Darshun's and began pushing his back. Darshun struggled, the force like a sliding mountain, the muscles in his arms beginning to tear, the pain an excruciating burning.

  Excitement poured over Abaddon's face; he knew Darshun was failing— he could not hold back the fire; another minute and his body will give way—he'd be nothing except a pile of ashes. Abaddon would have to retreat from the overuse of his power, of course, but he would have another day to take on the remainder of the Light. Nevertheless, victory against the Guardian seemed inevitable.

  Focusing his energy, every last detail, Darshun remembered all the evil Abaddon caused upon the earth. The manipulation, the torture, the killings and the plague of his own race, the Nasharin race. No matter how much strain his body would succumb to, no matter what damage, the Guardian was not about to lose this duel. Abaddon had caused too much pain, the trespasser upon earth—the Seventh Realm. With a tidal wave of force, Darshun unleashed a colossal amount of power, his violet fire becoming white, as pure as snow, the stream growing twice the size of Abaddon’s. “Today, your reign of wickedness ends!” he announced over the crackling flames. Thrusting forward his arms, the stream overtook Abaddon's, quickly pushing it all the way back to the Fallen Angel himself, covering him in a firestorm.

  The sheer intertwining of the elements caused an explosion, the force pummeling a charred carcass hard into the mountain.

  Darshun withdrew his attack, breathing heavily, and slowly descended onto the peaks. There Abaddon lay, lifeless, his corpse smoldering, the stench like nothing Darshun ever smelled, almost—pleasant? Difficult to describe for he had been an Angel, after all.

  Abaddon was dead. Finally, the Demon Lord was—dead.

  Darshun turned around from the cheering below. They’d been watching the entire time, and knew it was over also. He smiled; about to raise his sword high when—a disturbance rose in the air, a type of energy he once felt by way of a vision. Immediately, he looked at Abaddon.

  His body still lie face down, charred, but he was dragging his hands over the jagged stones, curling his fingers.

  "Strange," Darshun pondered, "He has no life force. I sense nothing. And yet—he moves."

  The dark markings across Abaddon's body, all of the strange Angelic symbols and writings began shinning red, flashing on and off, and a strange thumping sound, like a heart—a heart of evil, began beating, vibrating the stone under Darshun's feet.

  Abaddon's "lifeless" body grabbed the handle of his sword, pulled it from his sheathe and Darshun nearly fell over at what he saw within the spherical object amongst the steel, a black heart, the veins like streaks of lightning, shining blue, and the surrounding diameter consisting of dark-red flames. Out of that sphere, drifted a shadowy mist that cloaked Abaddon's body. All that could be seen were the red flashing symbols, the light piercing the darkness.

  What frightened Darshun was this energy, it was—familiar to him, he felt it once before, witnessed the being it dwelled in—Lucifer! Then, it struck like a nightmare, recalling when Lucifer tempted Darshun in taking his own life, promising it was the only way to make amends with the Light, with Abidan, until the beautiful Kelarin interceded and denounced him— the original ‘Fallen’ he who's name Olchemy would never speak. Was it Lucifer's heart? And what was happening to Abaddon?

  "Something is wrong," Olchemy said.

  "Why is Darshun just standing there," Minevara asked. "What's he doing?"

  Olchemy did not answer, but closed his eyes to concentrate.

  The flashing symbols ceased, and within the cloak of darkness came the laughter of Abaddon. A sudden wind blew away the black mist, and there Abaddon stood, alive and fully healed, holding his sword, that heart still beating, the dark-red flames trailing along the remainder of the colossal blade. "Greetings, Guardian," Abaddon spoke.

  Darshun said nothing, simply stared, his face expressionless.

  “As I once told you, Nasharin, I have no limits. There is nothing I cannot achieve.”

  "You are wrong. Everyone has a weak point. There are laws to Divine Rule also. Whatever spell you conjured up, whatever vile heart beats within your weapon, I'll find a way to diminish it, along with you, Abaddon."

  He laughed, though it sounded more like a grunt. "You still do not understand. I am God of this realm. I am destined to rule it. The Seventh Realm has been given to me. Your energy may exceed mine, but no matter how strong, fast, or wise you have become, you will eventually lose all your power. Where I…You see will not. My power is eternal!" Without warning, Abaddon stormed forward, hurling a punch with his loose hand, catching Darshun's chin. The bone cracked and then Abaddon knocked the large handle of his sword against Darshun's forehead.

  Darshun fell back, dizzy, unable to counter the next attack Abaddon unleashed, a devastating kick in the chest, the blow throwing him like a mere object, whistling through the air.

  Before allowing the Guardian to tumble, Abaddon soared after him, flying faster than Darshun's helpless body, and now coming from the other direction, he wailed him in the chest yet again, except this time with his fist.

  Darshun hurled back the other direction, finally smashing into a mound of rock. He felt no surprise how Abaddon had gotten the best of him, his energy had decreased dramatically from the prior fight, while Abaddon's had fully regenerated—a mystery in itself. Pain traveled throug
hout his new Angelic body as he lay face down in jagged stone. Slowly, he raised his head, overseeing a mass of red light overshadowing him. He looked up to find the source.

  Abaddon formed a massive sphere of energy, hovering in the sky, lightning flashing around it. He motioned his arms downward and down the sphere descended, coming for Darshun.

  With a sudden wave of power driven about by desperation, Darshun rose, ignoring the bodily pain, and ‘caught’ the sphere using his mind, holding it in place, hovering above the mountain. Excruciating agony ripped through his head as he continuously kept the sphere from destroying him, and with perhaps every amount of focus he possessed, roaring like a mad beast, he hurled it back at Abaddon. Pushing and letting go with his mind.

  Abaddon quickly flew out of the way. The sphere shot high, like a comet soaring across the heavens, then gradually sank to the ground, exploding the landscape, leaving behind a large smoking crater. Fortunately, it was the opposite side of the army, though the small groups of Cullach and Minotaurs hording around that area were not so fortunate.

  “You truly are a mighty warrior,” Abaddon said, surprised by Darshun's counterstrike. "Even with all our differences, I commend you, Guardian. But now…"—his face became sadistic—"it is my turn to make you suffer." He pointed his finger at Darshun and fired a beam of concentrated black energy.

  Nothing new to Darshun as he remembered this same attack when fighting him the first time back in Castle Volborg. Though, the pain it caused felt horrendous, burning to the bone. The beam scorched his chest; he stepped back, trying to stay on his feet, until a larger one struck, knocking him to the ground, the burn spreading to every bone amongst his body.

  Abaddon descended, his dark wings overshadowing Darshun in the moonlight, taking the look of an Angel of death. He placed a foot on top of Darshun's head. “You have fulfilled the prophecy only to die, Nasharin Guardian. How does that feel?” he said and began putting pressure on his skull.