Piercing The Darkness (Guardian Series)

by JW Baccaro

  Nayland never felt something so painful, so devastating before, the blow shivered his every bone, especially his skull, feeling like it’d been split in half. He smashed onto the mountain hard—that in itself causing a crater. He was finished.

  Abaddon looked to the others, so pathetically lying still, yet breathing. “They need to know fear, before they die.” His eyes became circles of blackened flames and his voice took on another tone, a maddening tone. “I am finished toying with all of you. Now is the time to witness my wrath, to understand why the ancients feared my kind from the very beginning.” He transported to a higher elevation on the mountain. He could see the army below, still gathered together, watching the battle, and the pathetic warriors attempting to rise up.

  Caelestias was helping Olchemy, the Centaurs helping the others, and interestingly the King and Queen of the Dwarves made it back to the spot, somehow avoiding the avalanche he’d caused their way.

  “Little Dwarves,” he scoffed, “They are like rodents crawling out of the waste! Does not matter, they all are about to die.” He raised his arms toward the heavens and a series of rocks, colossal-sized boulders and sections of landscape upon the ground.

  Some came a little too close for Captain Mythaen’s taste, driving back the army, and finally lightning out of the ground, ascending into the sky, causing a rolling thunder, all gathered together. The different elements merging into one massive size spinning sphere, fire brewing around it, an exact replica of Darshun’s Fire Star, only—fifty times bigger! The noise it made seemed terrible—absolutely horrendous, like a thousand earthquakes, a hundred tornadoes, and the mother of all thunderstorms. The energy continuously caused the sky to rumble like the Gods of Thunder were descending; even the army down below felt its heat.

  “What is he doing?” Minevara shouted. “What is he trying to prove?”

  “That he could have killed us all the moment of his choosing,” Olchemy surmised. “As reverted back to his Angelic form, and given immortality by the original Fallen Angel, this world truly does belong to him now. Only the Guardian could have stopped him.”

  “What do we do?” Queen Aeryka asked.

  Olchemy merely looked to her, and she knew the answer. For there was nothing they could do, there existed no force that could cease Abaddon’s most deadly, and final attack.

  He won. Death was moments away.

  “This world…” Abaddon shouted in sadistic laughter, “…Is mine!” He threw down his arms and the Fire Star began it descent.

  The light from the star overshadowed them as it drew closer, and Abaddon could hardly wait for the massive explosion, then he would take it upon himself to pick apart the army below, one by one, or perhaps section by section. The thoughts brought him into a state of ecstasy. He truly had won the Second Great War, and the events turned out better than he could’ve ever hoped. He may have lost some of his power and control over creation due to the destruction of the Dark Crystal, and his soul may belong to his Master Lucifer, nevertheless, as long as he lived he would remain free, ruler of the earth for all the ages.

  An unexplained noise rose and echoed from under the star, a great rumbling noise that apparently halted it in its tracks.

  Abaddon snarled, wondering the force intercepting it, for surely it could not be one of them? He flew down a little closer to investigate, and felt baffled, bewildered at who he saw, believing his eyes were playing tricks; they were not, and he knew they were not.

  Just a few feet under the star hovered Darshun, an aura of white light shinning around him. His arms were raised toward the sky, his mind focused on Abaddon's attack, holding it in place. Then, with an energy reaching the depths of the sea, he launched the Fire Star high into the sky until it could no longer be seen, abandoning the heavens forever, into the darkness beyond.

  Abaddon roared in fury and rage, stumped at Darshun’s revival. Then, he noticed a few new comers among the group, one of them an individual he believed to be dead; her appearance dramatically different, along with her energy. "Talvenya?" Flying down to their level with maddening speed, his feet imprinting the stone when landing, he asked, "What is going on here? I demand you tell me, Nasharin!"

  The Guardian exchanged glares with him, yet remained silent.

  “Darshun!” King Loreus shouted, tossing the Sword of Purity to him.

  Darshun snatched it by the handle.

  Abaddon stared at the sword perplexed, admittedly a bit nervous when its golden steel began to illuminate.

  It changed to a mist, and then one by one each of the five symbols came alive, piecing with vibrant colors, followed by the symbol of the Nasharin race, the woman crushing the serpent’s head with her bare heel.

  “That sword—those images,” Abaddon whispered, “They are symbols of the five races of Light, Wizards, Elves, Centaurs, Dwarves, and Humans. But, what is the Sixth?”

  Overhearing Darshun shouted, “The Nasharin race. Redeemed on this day, Abaddon. For no longer shall my people be known as the ‘accursed race’ but the race who saved the earth and destroyed the evil that threatened it. For you, Abaddon, are a trespasser onto my realm; your offense has gone on long enough.”

  Now, for the first time since he met Darshun, Abaddon sensed familiarity about his spirit, sending chills down his spine. “Your essence—where have I felt it before?” he asked.

  “I am the child you held in your hands long ago, the child you handed over to be sacrificed the eve you took Loreladia. However Mirabel the Great, accompanied by Seth Caelen slaughtered your Cullach in the town of Arman and rescued me.”

  “Mirabel the Great?”

  “My father.”

  Abaddon visibly trembled in fear.

  “I am the one your very own Gods of darkness warned you about, that if I should live, disaster would follow, a prophecy foretold by the Dark that has come to pass.”

  “Who—who are you?”

  Darshun’s eyes flashed. “I am the Guardian of the Seventh Realm.” Darshun charged at him, soaring through the air with incredible speed.

  Abaddon stepped back, clenching his teeth in anger and fear, then drew his sword, the blade elevating in blackened flames. He ascended into the sky to engage the coming Guardian.

  The two warriors met, each hurling his weapon against the other, colliding in a thunder-like clash, Darshun’s blade shattering Abaddon’s into a thousand pieces, and the golden explosion propelled Abaddon back down to the mountain. He crashed and tumbled over top the rocky elements, then skidded along the pathway leading to the others, his wings were disintegrated, his body black and burned. Face down in the stone, he could hardly move.

  A hand grabbed his scraggly, partial burnt hair and yanked him up. The face he met was not Darshun’s, but Talvenya’s.

  “You!” Abaddon snarled, blood trickling from his mouth.

  “Yes, I,” she replied, then with her other hand snatched him by the throat, lifted him higher and kicked his chest, the blow hurling him away quite a distance.

  Abaddon landed on his back, beside the lower portion of his broken sword. He tried reaching for it, but a boot came crashing down onto his hand, crushing the bones, then grinding them into jagged rock. Again, Talvenya, her body now shinning orange-red, was revealing her ultimate strength.

  Abaddon screamed from the pain.

  “How does it feel?” she asked casting a harsh gaze down at him, “How does it feel to be overtaken, Abaddon, by one who is mightier than you? How does it feel to be dominated?”

  “Curse you!” he spat. “You are nothing to me, woman, a peon, an insect! Once my powers revive…I will cause you and this entire planet to suffer in ways that shall make your night terrors seem pleasant! Excruciating pain you will experience, and I will make it last for years. You hear me woman—”

  “Be silent,” she commanded, kicking his jaw, splitting the bone in multiple spots. She stomped a boot onto his chest, applying great pressure until there was a crackling on the sternum, then drew her sword and sever
ed his arms and legs. She released her foot and watched his angelic blood squirt out.

  At first, he hollered an agonizing cry, but it quickly changed over to laughter, a sick, maddening laughter like he’d lost his wits. “Go ahead, woman, finish me, plunge your sword into my throat, sever my head, it will due you no avail. You think you are righteous? You think you are justified, and loved by the Light, now that you serve them? Do not be fooled, you are no different than I, Talvenya. The deeds I commanded you in the past, the killings of men, women and children, annihilating entire villages—that you most eagerly obeyed, when you served me, sealed your fate forever! There is no going back, no returning to Abidan, he will deny you, as he denies me, you will always be an enemy to the Light. Your wickedness runs just as deep as mine. No matter how you choose to live in the present, your past shall forever remain a thorn in your side. You are, and always shall be, evil.”

  The sounds of plated boots, stepping over top the rocky path approached, and a presence overshadowed them both—Darshun, who held the Sword of Purity.

  Its golden rays falling onto Abaddon, burning his skin like an overly powerful radiant sun. He began to moan, followed by frantic screams, fearing the presence of that blade, accompanied by the Guardian holding it.

  Darshun gazed over at Talvenya, staring at her a moment, his face expressionless, as hers, then focused back on Abaddon.

  Gasping heavily, with fear trailing every breath, he growled, “You haven’t won, accursed Guardian. Whatever damage you inflict, is just another surge of your energy gone, where I shall always return—”

  Darshun stepped onto his face, covering his mouth with the sole of his steel plated boot. “You have spoken enough, trespasser,” he said, his silver-blue eyes flashing. “Face your judgment.” Darshun plunged the Sword of Purity into the red sphere of Abaddon’s shattered blade, piercing the demonic steel once again, and the heart that mystically lied within. A mass of black blood came shooting out, excessively spraying onto the mountain.

  Blood also oozed from Abaddon’s mouth, and an expression of dire terror filled the Fallen Angel’s face, as his body began to decay rapidly, soon becoming nothing more than a mound of dust that blew away in the wind.

  Finally, the Second Great War was over; the Light prevailed—the burden Darshun carried for what seemed like an eternity lifted. He converted back to his normal form, and fell upon his back, exhausted. Then—like a child he laughed until his insides hurt.

  Talvenya stared at him with widened eyes, remembering that this is who Darshun truly was—a child. Not immature, rather a child of pure blissfulness, like he’d been when she first met him, someone so unlike a Nasharin, or even a Guardian, but this is what made Darshun’s spirit so beautiful, unique. For truly, he was one of a kind—and he’d done it, he destroyed the greatest threat the earth had ever faced.

  It was over.

  “You did it,” she said, staring down at him.

  “No,” he responded, looking aside at the others, then meeting her gaze. “We all did it.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE JOURNEY HOME

  The spirit of Abaddon found himself in a plane where the sky was like fire, the landscape smoldering rock, the high mountains black, and a thousand demonic beings gathered around their new master…Lucifer, the original Fallen Angel, standing in front of Abaddon. The former Demon Lord had been defeated, lost his rights to the Underworld, and was Lucifer’s for the taking.

  “Your spirit belongs to me.” Lucifer grinned.

  Growling, Abaddon tried ‘drifting’ away, but Lucifer raised his arms and a painful wind, piercing and cold, blew the spirit of Abaddon against Lucifer’s body, and the personal energy seeped into his physical features, disappearing forever. The new powers brought Lucifer into a state of ecstasy, filling his every pore, learning secrets only Abaddon had known, and further information about the Seventh Realm.

  The demonic minions jumped up and down like maddening animals, sensing the new tasteful darkness within their new master.

  “Yes, my children,” he announced, his tone seductive and beautiful—even for them. “Like Abaddon, you will have your chance.”

  ~~****~~

  The sun slowly rose, its light shining across the snowy landscapes of Syngothra, illuminating the darkness. Strangely, the warmth seemed bit higher than usual; the rays a bit brighter, already melting the ice scythes dangling off the rocks of Mt. Blackshrine. Perhaps the heavens were declaring the start of a new era—and it was about time! The elements of evil had dominated for far too long. Once again, would peace pollinate the air, drifting its aroma to every mountain, lake and field amongst the Seventh Realm.

  After comforting Nayland from the loss of his father, Darshun and he set Magnus’ body over Shadow’s back and the group ventured down the mountain to meet the Humans, Elves, Dwarves and Centaurs.

  All rejoiced upon seeing them, frantically rushing to their sides to lend aid, for surely the heroes were exhausted. They knew that upon this day, victory belonged to them and to the Light, even if Magnus and Captain Baruch were not joining them at the moment.

  However, there were still many soldiers among the battlefield lying in agony, scattered around, some with half their faces sheered off by the claws of the Demons, others whose flesh rarely differed from charcoal or burnt sugar, and still others who were slowly bleeding to death from the stomach.

  Darshun sensed the pain of them almost immediately.

  “Kelarin hadn’t the strength to heal them all, Dar,” Captain Mythaen stated, guessing his thoughts. “Most of the men she healed were the ones suffering in constant flame and anguish, cast by the Demons. It took a lot out of her quenching those wounds.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She ventured back across the field and stands alone in meditation. She asked not to be disturbed.”

  Darshun raised his brows. “What is she doing?”

  “I don’t really know Dar, but she specifically insisted on not being interrupted.”

  “High Wizard! High Wizard!” a group of Humans shouted. “Your Dragon, he is calling for you!”

  Disliking their frantic cries, Olchemy glanced to Darshun, passing a look of concern, then hurried as fast as he could, with Darshun right behind him, making their way across the trodden ground, venturing far to the other side of Milrotha, where Olchemy left Uriel, hoping he’d recover enough to at least stand by the time the battle had ended.

  Both of their hearts sank when they saw the Dragon. His red scales appeared as a sickly purple, his body was dehydrated and his eyes were so direly blood shot it’d taken away his sight.

  Gently, Olchemy rubbed his brow. “I am here my friend.”

  “Master, the poison from the Wyvern burns too much, it cannot hold on any longer,” he said while thick white foam accompanied by a greenish paste oozed out his mouth. “It is sorry.”

  Olchemy rested his head against him. "I know. It's all right." He remembered his Dragon quickly changing positions in the air, so that the stinger of the Wyvern struck him instead. Had Uriel not done that, Olchemy would be the one gasping on his final breaths this very moment or perhaps sooner.

  "The nature of a Dragon, to die for his master, a rare and noble act indeed," Darshun surmised.

  Olchemy raised his head toward Darshun, exchanging a look of sorrow, and even gratitude for his kind words, but wished things could have been different. He lost his father; he did not want to lose his Dragon also. However, fate doesn't yield to our desires. "Thank you for saving my life, Uriel. If only there was something I could do."

  Uriel puffed smoke through his nostrils—it seemed to be the final breath he would take. Then, in the sky something amazing began to happen. It came from the east and at first, appeared like a great cloud of darkness, but as it drew closer—all recognized what it was, or what ‘they’ were: hundreds and hundreds of great eagles accompanied by Asiel the silver eagle. Asiel landed upon Olchemy’s shoulders and dropped a familiar leaf into his hand—
a leaf from one of the healing plants of Arundel Mountain and the great eagles were carrying bundles of them and giving them to the mortally wounded.

  Olchemy gave the leaf to Uriel immediately, setting it onto his large tongue. "Swallow," he commanded.

  Uriel raised his blood shot eye, lacking the meaning, but obeyed and within a few moments, his body was healed, his strength renewed. He stood up hastily and roared as if he'd just awaken from a thousand year sleep.

  “That is what Kelarin was doing!” Caelestias exclaimed. “She was calling for the eagles.”

  “Not only them, but father also,” Kelarin informed while walking up to her brother's side, “For he was the one that gathered the healing plants together and guided the eagles here.”

  “Father? Where is he?”

  Kelarin pointed above and there came Athanasius, riding upon the golden eagle that once took Darshun to Shajin Island. They landed with the Elder sliding down its feathers, his boots imprinting the snow.

  Kelarin ran and wrapped her arms around her father, hugging him tightly. “Oh father, how I missed you so!” she cried, meeting his peaceful teal gaze.

  “There, there now my child,” Athanasius soothed. “Everything is going to be fine, thanks to this young Guardian standing before us.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without my companions," Darshun stated, "Without your prayers, and without anyone who fought in this war. I thank you all." He gazed to the Heavens. "And especially my father. Perhaps now, the earth can live in peace.”

  Smiling, Kelarin walked over to Darshun and kissed him on the lips.

  ~~****~~

  After burying the fallen heroes, the eagles offered to fly everyone home. The Centaurs having no desire to be off the ground, and the Dwarves who lived close-by anyway, politely refused, as well as Astra and Shadow.

  The Humans and Elves on the other hand accepted, and all began the return journey.