Phate

by Jason Alan

  A brief moment of silence passed between them, then Herard nodded and patted his dragon. “Let us fly.”

  Zraz reared.

  “Farewell, brave Emperor.” The Fallen Angel stepped back. “Your courage emboldens all the universe.”

  “Farewell, Angel of Light,” said Herard, “We will keep the demons away from here as long as we can.”

  And with that, Zraz leaped into the air and flew to the cloudwall. The lightning before her subsided, and she passed through, thus leaving the tranquility of Vren Adiri behind forever…

  Herard and Zraz reentered the sorcerous storms.

  Cold rain stung their faces and thunder scolded them with its insistent bawl. The winds were wild, the black clouds awhirl. All around them the Mountains of Might stood as blackened heaps of gloom. It was disheartening. Having just come from the soft white of Vren Adiri, the night’s darkness seemed all the more sullen.

  At least the storms had subdued the outbursts of the volcanoes, Herard thought. The molten tantrum appeared to be over. The glow from the rivers of lava snaking through the rocky lands below was dim. Here and there thin plumes of ash-filled smoke twisted up through the rain, causing Herard’s nostrils to twitch.

  And Herard’s own scent caused the nostrils of something else to twitch.

  Warloove’s dragon leaped from a nearby peak, for the hunt had begun anew.

  Disappointed but not surprised at the swift resurgence of dragonfear, Herard leaned forward and said, “Quickly, to the north, we must draw them away from Vren Adiri, away from Areshria.”

  Zraz nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

  She banked, then angled upward into a thick storm cloud. She knew her predator would still be able to see her, but hoped that the storm would at least hinder its pursuit. With Herard urging her on, she shot through the clouds and wove around the mountaintops, racing away from Vren Adiri as fast as she could. Her streamlined body slid smoothly through the sky and, for a time, Herard was reminded of her agility of old.

  But she couldn’t keep the pace up for long.

  When she reached the northernmost peaks of the mountain range, the effects of the Fallen Angel’s mending slackened, and she slowed. She could feel the weakening threads of her mortality start to unwind. It was happening quickly.

  She was dying.

  With her waking eyes she began to see things as if she was in cloudform. The glister of eternity shone through the darkness, beckoning her from beyond. She could hear mystical voices—the ancient call of her progenitors echoing through time and space, encouraging her to let fail her mortal trappings and join them between the stars. After all the pain she had endured, a part of her greatly desired this, but presently she resisted the urge.

  Ah, loyal Zraz.

  Although her soul was for eternity, whatever was left of her life was for Herard.

  The enemy dragon closed the distance between them. They could hear its grunting breaths, its flapping wings, thus causing the Emperor of the Sky to declare, “We must prepare to fight!”

  In a weakened voice, Zraz whispered, “Until the last, my Lord…” And then the demonic beast glided into the clouds beneath them, prowling like a shark just below the surface of the sea. It matched Zraz’s every movement…then launched itself at her.

  Dragonfear struck them so hard, Herard jolted in his saddle.

  Zraz lost her breath and sank into the clouds.

  Herard yelled, “Turn about! Turn about!”

  But Zraz had not the strength to maneuver so quickly. All she could do was curl herself into a ball as the enemy creature rose up to destroy them. Herard looked down. For a split second he whiffed the acrid stench of acidic spittle, felt the heat of infernal fires, and glimpsed a gaping maw large enough to engulf his dragon in one bite.

  The maw snapped at them…

  …but miraculously missed.

  The terrible beast shot up past them like a geyser of satiny shadows. Zraz bumped its side as it brushed by, then unfurled her limbs as she dropped down beneath it. She fought to regain control of herself, but the last grains of the angel’s healing magic sifted away, and she was drained. She continued to struggle, anyway, her wings flailing limply. Herard could bear it no longer.

  She had struggled enough.

  “Ease up Zraz, ease up. We have succeeded. Let go.”

  The demonic dragon shrieked, angled over, and came diving down.

  “But…you, my Lord…”

  “Let go, my friend. Let go.”

  She did.

  She lurched, pitched, and then gave herself to the winds.

  The nightmare creature veered aside right before it would have overtaken her, then flew some distance away. Zraz was barely aware of this. “Herard,” she uttered, “I see your son…the stars…and, oh, the light of dragons!”

  And then she said no more.

  Her blue eyes faded to white and her last breath left her with a discharge of lightning. Her wings crumpled, and she folded.

  Guardian of Areshria, protector, friend, and companion of Emperor Herard Avari Fang, the ancient cloud dragon known as Zraz died over the volcanoes rimming the Mountains of Might. She fell, another star lost to the cold, dark eternity that awaited all stars on the fringes of the dying galaxy.

  The enemy dragon kept its distance, circling her falling body in a wide, descending path. It shrieked threateningly, but didn’t move in for the kill. Herard hated the tease of this taunting, and found it crueler than if the dragon had engaged him head on. He screamed out a challenge, but got no response. He was glad the beast would never sink its talons into Zraz’s living flesh, though. Now his enemies could never harm her; they could only defile that which she no longer needed.

  Zraz’s body began to tumble.

  “This is it,” Herard whispered.

  His world turned over and over and all was a blur. The rush of winds sounded like a tornado and he gulped for air. Throbbing nausea pressed the back of his eyes and he fought to remain conscious—no easy task as the dragonfear itself was stifling even under “normal” circumstances. As the tumbling of Zraz’s body became more severe, the fear of a suffocating death seized him. The weight of the ancient beast would be a most unpleasant thing on top of the crushing blow the ground was sure to bring. With great sadness he let go of the reins and floated free of Zraz’s carcass. The wildness of his descent stabilized, and she plummeted down beneath him.

  And then the world grew even darker.

  They had fallen into an enormous burned-out volcano whose mouth was obscured in the storm clouds, and whose sides were shrouded behind walls of mist and rain.

  This was not by accident.

  Herard and Zraz had been corralled.

  But Herard was unaware of this, unaware of what was around him. He was fixated only on what was beneath him, not beside. Peering down, he could see the spindly peaks of some sickly trees reaching up for his dragon’s body.

  So, he was to meet his end in the arms of some forgotten forest.

  So it shall be.

  He watched Zraz’s corpse smash into the dead wood. The trees’ boughs cracked and splintered, but their intractable trunks held straight, impaling her hide like well forged spears. She was ripped open, her organs exposed, her blue blood splashing the trees.

  Herard closed his eyes and plunged in behind her, anticipating the bleak hands of nothingness. He thought of his son, and then he thought of a name: Vu Ver—

  But before he could finish the thought, he slammed into the interior of his dragon. Her organs ruptured on impact, cushioning his fall, and he was completely submerged in blood. He groped and clawed at the inside walls of her body for a few seconds, fearing the afterlife was like drowning. But when he poked his head up from the surface and opened his eyes, he understood.

  “May the Gods return,” he gasped, “even in death you save me.”

  He gave himself a moment to recover his breath, then reached for the trunk of a dead pine and pulled himself from his dragon’s bowels. H
e climbed to the ground, and once there, he peered through the trees, into the blear of mist and shadows that lay beyond. It soon occurred to him that there was no wind, and virtually no rain. Strange. During his fall, he recalled being buffeted by a rather strong—

  What was that?

  He shot a look over his shoulder.

  Something…moved?

  He looked up to the pines, and was seized by a chill.

  Their dead limbs swayed even though the air was bereft of a breeze.

  Even the stars die, and ever do their selfish ghosts haunt the house of eternity.

  Larian, Sky Elf

  Once Emperor of the Sky, now Lord of the Lost Stars

  Now, my brave reader, we take some moments to journey to another part of the universe, where the Devil King’s diabolical plans for ascension began to take form….

  A century of torture.

  That was the price to become a shadow demon.

  For one hundred years the being called Drekklor had been chained to an infinitely long wall in some unholy dimension and tortured. For one hundred years his body had been ripped, raked, and sheared apart, only to be put back together so that it could be mutilated again…and again…and again.

  A century of torture.

  That was Drekklor’s price.

  When the century was over, the place where he was imprisoned went silent. Well, it wasn’t the place, really, it was he who no longer made a sound. His own screaming had ceased, for he no longer felt any pain. Now he had no flesh to hurt. He had become a thing of shadow, a thing vaporous and sleek as the wind. His mind was as sharp as a blade, for the years of pain had cleared his conscience of compassion. Malice lurked behind the emotionless voids of his eyes, and his hateful heart pounded like an angry fist against the inside of his spectral chest.

  He was loosed from the chains that bound him, and the imprisoning wall disappeared. Ah, but once again, it was a matter of perspective, for in actuality, it was Drekklor himself who had disappeared. But he had no sense of this—some greater power had sifted his spirit into the primary universe.

  Now he floated in the infinite sea of space. But poor Drekklor had little time to enjoy the veritable peace of the primary universe. He was just beginning to consider his new surroundings when the dark matter before him started to swirl. A vortex-like circle was forming, its interior billowing with crimson clouds of crackling vapor. It expanded rapidly, space rippling away from its edge like water from a quick moving hull. It grew and grew to a galactically colossal size, and a giant oblong sphere of darkness appeared in its center.

  Drekklor was transfixed as he realized what it was.

  It was a moon-sized eye of the most morbid black.

  Had Drekklor still been mortal, he would have right there burst into flames, for this was the murderous eye of his master and creator, the Supreme Ruler of the Dark Forever, the Devil King, Nenockra Rool.

  You see, although the Devil King was unable to tear through the dimensions himself, he had come so very close; and scattered here and there throughout the universe were these interdimensional windows, places where the walls between the planes of existence were thin enough so that he could see through them.

  Now Nenockra Rool peered at his new creation, and he spoke with a voice that shook the very foundations of existence. It was a guttural, echoing growl, uttering a language Drekklor had never before heard, but somehow understood.

  Roughly translated, this is what it said:

  “My demon. From the shadows I have shaped you into a thing of silence and speed. With you I will reach into the universe and plant the seeds of my salvation. There is a thing you must do, a place you must go to. It is a place no other can reach. In the deepest pit of the darkest region of the universe, I hid the one who will deliver me from exile, the mortal necromancer, Syndreck the Brooding. You must retrieve this necromancer and bring him back to planet Phate. Give him to the deep elves so that his soul may be secured within the provided body. Then help him, Drekklor, help him to raise the Dead Towers of Ulith Urn and tear open a dimensional breach that will free the Dark Forever! Listen to him. Do as he bids, for he is the one who will initiate my ascension into the primary universe. And then, when all is in motion, I sense that I may have another task for you…”

  Drekklor wondered about this Syndreck. He wondered how a mortal held any power beyond the infinite might of his master, wondered how something so inherently weak could hold any sway in the foreseeable course of destiny. Tentatively, he asked, “Is this mortal—”

  All at once Drekklor was struck with the pain of a million violent deaths, reducing him to a shriveled, screaming thing. The pain lasted only ten seconds, but the agony of those seconds went beyond the entire sum of his hundred years of torture. And then, as quickly as it had come, the pain vanished. He screamed a little while longer, though, for the mere thought of what he had just felt was enough to instill him with lasting terror.

  Yes, Drekklor would never forget—though immortalized, he was not impervious to Nenockra Rool’s ire.

  The Devil King bellowed, “Foolish slave! You serve unquestioningly! GO NOW!!” Then he laughed, the echoes exploding far away worlds whose destruction tipped the cosmic balance closer to evil…

  Fearing further wrath, Drekklor immediately shot out into space, leaving the interdimensional window to diminish and disappear behind him.

  As he pulled his essence through the icy fringes of the universe, Drekklor came to know what it was to be a shadow demon. He could see for thousands of miles in any direction, in any plane of existence. He could push and pull with a strength that far exceeded his pathetic mortal body. And lo, he was fast! Unbelievably fast. He found that he could leap from star to star, instantly race across galaxies and catch the light of suns long diffused. He had no fear of death, he was already dead. He was of the shadow demons, and he reveled in his new powers.

  Eventually, he again heard his master’s voice. “Dare not waste my time with your self-indulgence. I said GO!” (Apparently, unfortunately, his master kept him under constant surveillance. Pity. It would have been much more enjoyable to be truly free.)

  Anyway, Drekklor didn’t hesitate; somehow knowing exactly where his master had bidden him to go, he immediately swerved about and shot deeper into space. He sped past many things, a mere blur as he passed the many galaxies that seemed to be fleeing an incomprehensibly huge span of emptiness that lay ahead. He flew into this emptiness. Curious. It appeared as if there was nothing here, not a star, not a—

  Wait…

  There was something here. Drekklor glimpsed a lone galaxy tucked into the far corner of this forgotten part of the cosmos. He flew up to it, raced around its outskirts, and viewed its dim, dying stars, its dull, decaying worlds. He couldn’t help but wonder why Nenockra Rool so desired to ascend into this dead galaxy, wonder—

  No matter.

  He suppressed his questioning thoughts, hoping his master hadn’t heard them.

  When he arced around to the other side of the galaxy, he found a place so thick with darkness it was difficult for even his supernatural eyes to see. “Master,” he cried, “There are holes in space, deep, black holes that swallow the stars!”

  “Go to them!” came the terrible voice.

  Drekklor didn’t particularly want to. They were disturbing, these holes. Nothing that sank into them seemed to survive. Hmm, well, nothing save that single little speck of life Drekklor now spotted in the center of the largest one. He flew in closer to inspect it. Could it be…?

  “Yes!” the voice of his master boomed from beyond.

  Yes, indeed. Drekklor had found Syndreck the Brooding. A smirk lined his shadowy face. Nenockra Rool was clever for hiding the necromancer in the center of a super-massive black hole. But how to acquire him? Drekklor sensed that even his own elusive form might struggle to maneuver in the midst of this collapsed star. He moved forward cautiously, angling around rather than flying straight in. If he could—

  He was caugh
t.

  The black hole’s gravity seized him like the tide of some angry cosmic ocean and pulled. At first, he resisted the pull, fearful he’d be torn apart. But soon he realized that he had the strength to endure such forces, and he allowed himself to be dragged deep into the black hole’s depths, until finally he came right up before the Devil King’s prize.

  “There he is! Oh, Great One, we have him!”

  Curiously, the Devil King’s voice did not boom in response, but nevertheless, there was Syndreck, curled up like a fetus inside a transparent grey cocoon. The cocoon rested in a little pocket of space that had been carved into the black hole’s central singularity. The body within was hairless and pale, swollen and decrepit, yet somehow alive, throbbing with breath. How this squalid bag of flesh survived where it was, Drekklor thought to be a demonic miracle.

  That the Dark Forever’s destiny is bound to such a piteous thing…

  Drekklor shook off the thought—it was time to release the necromancer. He reached out, his shadowy hands gently curling their vaporous fingers about the cocoon.

  Upon being touched, Syndreck’s limbs unfolded, thus rupturing the cocoon’s gooey cover and pulling strings of ooze apart. How fragile, how delicate Syndreck appeared to be! His eyes snapped open, revealing bloodshot orbs that shone like the shattered windows to a mind long lost to madness.

  And then something unexpected happened.

  Syndreck the Brooding began to laugh.

  Although he had to have been in agony, though his body was in danger of falling apart, he laughed. And soon his laughing elevated to nefarious cackling. Bluish bile poured from his mouth, and this seemed to amuse him further. Gurgling and choking, he cackled even harder.

  Thinking this must be the foulest mortal in existence, Drekklor was beginning to understand his master’s interest in him. For although the skin on Syndreck’s face was decomposed down to the bone, he could discern an unfailing confidence in the expression, detect a determination swimming behind the insanity of those eyes.