Piercing The Darkness (Guardian Series)

by JW Baccaro

  Then, someone he would have never expected emerged over the crater, stationed on a Centaur, Talvenya.

  Looking down, meeting his eyes, her heart unexpectedly sank with a host of tears filling her eyes. For she’d been certain her anger would only increase upon his sight, and feared vengeance may take hold. But there Darshun lied, in a hole of stone, helpless like a child, like—she’d once been when surrounded by the Samaeltho. She gathered Darshun was probably thinking she might kill him, and oh how easy it would be, to slide down the hole and slit his angelic throat.

  No, not today, Darshun would live, he was going to destroy Abaddon. There will be other days to continue her strife with him. Sliding down the rock, she reached into her inner cloak and retrieved the Helothia, the ‘miracle flower.’ Tossing back a few locks of hair, she stepped over Darshun, placing a boot on either side on him, her face expressionless.

  “…Talvenya,” he croaked out, sounding almost defeated by her presence. For this was her style when she killed, to let her victim know she was the dominant, the dominatrix, triumphantly standing above the defeated.

  But then, she began rubbing the flower in her hands, and a shinning white light pierced out from the spaces between her fingers. Talvenya reached down, touched his chin and opened his jaw. She set the colorful flower into his mouth, resting it atop of his tongue. “Eat this, Darshun.”

  Its taste strangely familiar, like the tea Aurelius had once given him, bittersweet and Darshun hesitated, wondering the nature of the flower.

  Talvenya grabbed his hand and placed it onto her heart.

  Darshun whimpered from the pain in his arm.

  She gazed at him like a mother might, or perhaps a wife, concern dominating her gaze. “Please, Darshun, trust me, trust my heart,” she whispered, a solitary tear strolling down her cheek. “I am not here to hurt you.”

  Unsure of the intentions, something told him she was telling the truth, and was now different. Slowly, he munched on the flower—at the same time another figure overshadowing them, stationed upon Favonius, the King of Loreladia, dressed in his beautiful golden armor, the Sword of Purity in his right hand. Then, the healing powers of Talvenya, or rather, Ceutaiche, began to take shape, surging through Darshun’s every pore, healing the heavy damage inflicted upon his body. He looked at Talvenya, his eyes widened.

  “It has been a long time since you smiled at me like that, Darshun,” Talvenya whispered.

  He rose, extended his wings, and ascended out of the crater, startling Talvenya by grabbing a hold of her to take her with him. He landed beside the two Centaurs and King Loreus.

  “Take the sword, my Guardian,” Loreus said, passing him the handle.

  Confused, he reached out for it, and once within his grip what seemed like a thousand ages began to pass through his mind—a thousand ages from the past, each and every individual entrusted to the Golden Sword of Purity, the evils they faced, the victories they won, the peace they brought—to Loreus and his uniting of the Centaurs. All things and events leading up to this moment.

  Now it would be Darshun’s turn, his moment to shine to redeem the dishonors and wickedness his race once introduced into the world. The sword began to shine, illuminating the darkness of night around them. Darshun opened his eyes, burning a golden fire. “It is time. Let us end the evil that plagues this realm. He has trespassed long enough.”

  ~~****~~

  As the smoke finished rising to the heavens, and the scattering debris settled, the warriors came out from hiding, climbing out of trenches or stepping around large boulders—elements that had protected them from the aftermath of Kaylis’ explosion.

  There Kaylis lay, in the arms of Nayland. For after the attack was over with, the young Nasharin fell from the sky, drained of energy. Nayland watched the entire time and took it upon himself to catch his body, shielding his fall, with the help of the Wizard also. “Kaylis, can you hear me?” Nayland spoke.

  Slowly, the young Nasharin opened his eyes. “Bro—brother?”

  Smiling with joy, Nayland responded, “Yes, it is I, your little brother.” He set him down gently, in a section where the rock was not so rugged.

  “Is it over?” Kaylis asked.

  “No, but you sure stalled him. Loreus should’ve reached Darshun by now. I believe he will be coming.”

  “Are you sure?” Minevara asked. “It is awfully far where my brother lay.”

  “I am sure, Minevara. I think everything is going to be all right.”

  A shadow emerged over Kaylis and the young Nasharin turned his head to see his father.

  Magnus knelt down beside him, placing a hand atop his forehead. “That was quite an amazing attack you did, my son. I am very proud of you.”

  “Father, I think I’ve finally gotten a taste for battle, the energy felt—good—I guess I should say.”

  "Whether you choose to follow in our traditions or another path entirely, I will love you just the same, my son."

  Kaylis’ eyes began to water, for the longest time, his father’s current words were all he’d ever wanted to hear. Finally, after all this time, he truly made his father proud in the best way, taking part in the art of battle, in the Nasharin arts, facing off against a creature on a completely different magnitude of strength, and yet, standing up to him.

  “I love both of you, both my boys,” he said, rubbing the top of their skulls, knotting up their hair.

  Minevara stood back and watched, delighted at their happiness, a family united. The only thing that could make the moment better would be the arrival of Darshun.

  Of a sudden, Olchemy held out a hand, motioning everyone to be silent and remain still. Tilting his head, it appeared he was listening to something; the others attempted also but any noise over top of the wind seemed difficult to make out.

  Soon, Magnus overheard it too, and looked over at the Wizard.

  “What’s got you both so spooked?” Minevara asked.

  “A heart beat,” Magnus replied, “His heart beat.”

  “Already?” Kaylis said, trying to get up; his body immediately failing him.

  “Stay where you are Kaylis,” Magnus commanded.

  “I have no choice; I can hardly move a muscle.”

  “Where is Darshun?” Nayland wondered.

  “It may have been they never made it over to him,” Caelestias answered. “It was a dangerous route, not to mention a lot farther than where we had to travel to counter Abaddon. The aftermath of our destruction—especially your brother’s may have even spawned an avalanche that side of the mountain, and they may all be dead this very hour, the Centaurs, King Loreus and the Guardian.”

  “Caelestias, can you be any more encouraging?” Nayland shouted.

  Then in the upper canyons, the heartbeat the Wizard had been listening to grew louder and louder, releasing a terrible feeling of evil once again, the evil of Abaddon intertwined with Lucifer, the forbidden spell taking shape once more.

  Then, nothing—all grew deathly quiet. They stood still, listening for the slightest movement, wondering where that vile of an Angel would emerge.

  “Get down!” shouted Magnus, suddenly smashing his body into Nayland’s, intercepting a concentrated beam of dark energy shooting down from on high. The energy cut through Magnus’ chest like a sword, holding him in place a few moments before dispensing. Without a struggle, Magnus collapsed.

  “Father!” Kaylis screamed.

  They looked in the higher elevations and there the Fallen Angel stood, on a peak—his body once again reformed. His dark wings extended ever so far, and the widest most evil grin rose on his face, the skin stretching from eye to eye. “So wonderful to be back,” he spoke, his eerie voice echoing down the mountain. “Oh, and do not despair about your Nasharin ally, you all will be joining him soon. But first…” He turned around sharply, a raging fire surrounding his angelic presence; stretching forth an arm, he unleashed a stream of blistering red energy that cut through the mountain rock like steel through wood, an
d continued wrecking havoc all the way to where he’d left Darshun—then, an explosion ran high.

  The attack seemed strikingly similar to what the former Dark King Tanarokai could do with his Soul Crusher, except this was ten times more devastating.

  Abaddon faced the remaining warriors. “That takes care of the ‘heroic’ Guardian.”

  Minevara’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped. “Windtros—WINDTROS!” she screamed, chaotically turning on her power. The others shared her enthusiasm, and with what little strength they had left, including the Centaurs and Dwarves, they all charged together—except for Nayland.

  Immediately, he knelt down to his father, gently tuning him over. Half his chest had a hole the size of a watermelon, the wound cauterized, many organs disintegrated. For the moment, he still breathed, but without a healer present he had little time. “Father please hold on. If I can get you down the mountain, Kelarin can heal you.”

  “It’s no use now my son,” he said, coughing up a glob of dark-red blood.

  “Listen to Nayland father,” Kaylis said, trying as best he could to get up, but he could not.

  “My time on this realm has come,” Magnus continued.

  “No father, Nayland can do it. He’ll get you to Kelarin.”

  Magnus shook his head, the life in his eyes beginning to fade. “I am glad I got to see you Kaylis, and you too Nayland, my sons. Not everyone gets a second chance to have their spirit be remembered in peace, rather than anger. Now I must depart from you and go to be with my dearest Sorrel; reunite with sister Viliah and my oldest friend and brother—Mirabel.”

  “No, there is still time father,” Kaylis whimpered, worming his body closer. “There is still—”

  “Kaylis!” Nayland said, putting up a hand and giving him a look to back off. It hurt Nayland to do this, especially the look Kaylis retuned to him, as if asking ‘why’ accompanied by tears strolling down his cheeks. However, Nayland understood his father, knew he was ready to depart from this world, and finally be at peace from such a long barren life lived in war and death.

  “Look after Kaylis,” Magnus said, though only loud enough for Nayland to hear. He gazed to the sky, the shinning stars of heaven. “My two great sons…” His eyes fell still, and his breathing ceased.

  “Is he gone?” Kaylis asked, getting not a response. “Nayland is father gone?”

  Nayland glanced over to him, nodding once. “Aye, father is gone.”

  “Then—our effort was for nothing—my effort, which made father proud, was all for nothing!”

  Looking at him long and hard, Nayland rose up, seeming a bit taller than Kaylis remembered. Energy began flowing around him, and his storm gray eyes flashed. “Not for nothing.” He whistled loudly, calling the stallion Shadow to his side. Climbing onto his back, he gazed up toward the battle, witnessing the others getting pummeled into the rocks by Abaddon.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To finish what our enemy started, or die trying.” He patted Shadow’s mane. “Come on my friend, one last ride together. Give me your fastest speed. Onward!” he shouted, and off Shadow stormed.

  “May Abidan be with you,” Kaylis whispered, then fell upon his back, unable to move his thrashed body any longer.

  Olchemy, Caelestias, and Minevara had been unleashing everything they could think of…Fire, lightning, ice, energy attacks, clashing of weapons—nothing worked or even fazed the regenerated Fallen Angel.

  Abaddon enjoyed countering the blows, inflicting them with similar attacks, enough to damage their bodies, though not destroy. He kept toying with them, laughing sadistically as they shouted aloud in pain.

  The Centaurs launched a storm of arrows; they were easily deflected by a massive wave of transparent energy.

  King Sirach and Queen Judith charged from different directions, scurrying around nooks and crannies in the mountain, attempting to lop off Abaddon’s legs with their battle-axes.

  Abaddon caught their scent, carried in the wind and raised his hand, releasing a force to unravel the rocks surrounding him, just as he took to the sky and landed on a different location. He watched the pathways beneath the Dwarves give out, their little bodies falling with the avalanche. Another blast of heat shot him from behind.

  A weary Olchemy stood there, staff held out, smoking rising from its tip.

  Abaddon smiled, his eyes flashed and suddenly Olchemy’s staff split in two, the effect throwing him back.

  Caelestias stormed in from the opposite direction, wielding his sword.

  Abaddon drew his own and the first clash shattered Caelestias’ to pieces.

  The elvish lord stepped back, his eyes shinning green, and once more he attempted to lock Abaddon in place with his Aryeh magic, making him vulnerable; then he would swipe the Angel’s sword. If they could not defeat him, then perhaps they could flee with his tool of power, until another strategy be thought up for banishing him from this realm.

  The forest-green flames descended, but Abaddon was quick to get out of their path, merely charging straight for Caelestias himself, punching him in the gut and then across the face— Caelestias fell to his feet.

  Yet, another warrior stormed Abaddon’s way, once again the female Nasharin, Minevara attacked with what she had left, blowing a heavy mist of ice, the particles covering every member of his body only to melt with a fiery heat the Fallen Angel unleashed—she sank to her knees.

  “Are you the one who cast that golden star?” he asked.

  “Rot in Hell, you vile creature,” she hissed.

  Abaddon laughed aloud, but then noticed the female’s eyes shift above high, as though another warrior was approaching. A whistling rent in the air, and as he turned around, his gaze made contact with a hurling axe coming for his skull. Abaddon reached out and snatched it by the handle.

  Some hundred feet up the mountain stood the Dwarf Captain Baruch.

  Abaddon grinned, his palm succumbing to a mass of flames, melting the Dwarf’s axe before his eyes. Then, before Baruch had any chance of escape, Abaddon pointed a finger his way, ‘locking’ his powers onto Baruch’s body, such bizarre powers. Abaddon pointed up.

  Then—up followed Baruch’s body, helpless under the Fallen Angel’s control. Baruch cried out as his body began to come apart, first his feet, next his legs, then hands, arms, lower torso, followed by terrible terrible screams of the poor Dwarf. His blood raining down, and then off popped his head—his lifeless bloody limbs falling over the rocks.

  “No!” Minevara screamed. “Murderer! Murderer!” In a fit of rage, she charged him, sword drawn.

  He reached forward unexpectedly, Minevara underestimating the length of his arm, grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.

  She whimpered, dropping the sword, fell to her knees, then Abaddon let go, putting a foot against her back and forcing her into the rugged rock beneath. With his foot still on her, great pressure against her spine, he said, “I must thank the one who attacked me with that star. His efforts only managed to rejuvenate my entity entirely.” He applied more pressure.

  Minevara feeling like her spine would break any moment, the side of her face pierced into jagged stones.

  “All your effort, all your hopes in your life, your war, your pathetic Guardian, have all been in vain. Such a pity, is it not? To have come all this way only to fail. This world is mine Nasharin!” Just as he was about to crush her to death, a disturbance in energy—likened close to his own, was approaching fast, accompanied by the sound of galloping hooves. “What’s this?” He turned around, seeing a figure enshrouded in black mist.

  The intruder’s eyes were a fierce red, and he rode upon a stallion. Nayland! Storming closer, on perhaps the fastest horse on earth, Nayland used Shadow’s back to lean his hands on, then swiftly threw his legs over, both his feet kicking Abaddon hard, one in the face, cracking his jaw, another in the throat, taking away his breath.

  Abaddon flung back, though managed staying on his feet.

  Nayland co
ntinued the assault, immediately landing another kick into his already damaged jaw, another against his temple, then the other temple, knocking Abaddon to and fro. He punched him in the ribs, his tightly clenched fist breaking more than a few. He smashed a knee into his gut, then jumped high and with a mighty sure of energy electrifying the air, Nayland drop-kicked Abaddon in the chest, the blow sending him a hundred feet across the mountain.

  Nayland wasn’t finished, and thrust forward both arms, unleashing a devastating wind, blowing rocks, boulders and every scrap of debris upon that section of the mountain atop of Abaddon, causing an avalanche to fall upon him this time. The sky flashed with lightning, followed by the roaring of thunder—an effect of Nayland’s—perhaps overuse of energy, that unraveled due to the loss of his father and the dire hopes of winning the battle. Dust rose up from the avalanche, the debris beginning to settle. Exhausted, arms still stretched forward, Nayland fell to his knees, and glanced at Minevara.

  “Nayland?” she called to him, surprised at his sudden burst of power.

  He smiled, but that smile quickly faded as a series of light shot out of the rubble in between the spaces of rocks.

  The rocks shifted and out stormed Abaddon, ascending into the sky, his face dominated by rage.

  With the last amount of strength he had left, Nayland slowly stood up, withdrawing his axe.

  Abaddon transported down to him, standing before the mysterious Nasharin, always managing to be full of countless surprises. “You Nasharins just do not know when you have lost,” Abaddon growled, clenching a fist. “You’re petty attacks are pointless. You’ve gained nothing!” He punched Nayland hard across his left cheek.