by Jason Alan
And with that, the Fallen Angel left the Chamber of the Staring Sun. She floated down a massive corridor that led to the grand entrance hall, her radiance flickering on the walls behind her like the reflections of a thousand torches.
And then she disappeared.
Drinwor felt as if another chapter in Phate’s history had disappeared with her. Overcome with emotion, he slumped to the floor. There he stayed for some time, watching the shadows of evening further darken the walls. The spirit elves’ songs fell away, the phantom flutes faded, and he thought that this night would be the loneliest of his life, for the brightest two beings he’d ever known were gone from the world.
Quite a lot for our Drinwor to digest, isn’t it? A lot for you, too, I know… To discover so much about oneself while dealing with so much loss is incomprehensible to those who have never lived through such experiences. But the universe has a uniquely discerning way of burdening its beings with only that which they can handle. I hope you are handling it well. I know you are, brave reader. How Drinwor would handle all this, well, we’ll just have to read on and see…
And so, eventually, out of the corner of his eye, Drinwor noticed a glowing light carving the outline of a door in the wall to the side of him. The space inside the door faded, and two pairs of misty, disembodied hands appeared within, beckoning him forward. Spirit elves? Hopefully! Drinwor stood up and stared at them curiously. They kept up the gentle encouragement until he walked over and passed through the doorway. Once inside, the hands faded.
He was in a bedchamber. It was softly lit by a pair of candelabra that were affixed to the wall. The furnishings were pristine white and perfectly smooth, reminding Drinwor of his own room in Areshria. The bed itself was an ivory-framed bundle of large silken pillows; an inviting refuge for his wearied self. He didn’t have to think twice before exhaustion sent him sprawling to it, where, uncharacteristically, he immediately fell into a deep sleep.
And on this eve, his sleep was deep and peaceful, for unbeknownst to him, his dragon was right outside the chamber, where she silently watched over him throughout the entire night, guarding his dreams until the coming of dawn…
The Greater Angelic Dragon drifted out of Vren Adiri’s crystal doors.
She coasted over the gemstone floor and landed on the spot where Zraz had lain the day before. She winced upon noticing traces of the cloud dragon’s blood, and sorcerously dissolved the stains with a wave of her foreclaw. Then she regarded all about her. Night had fully fallen. The cloudwall wrapped the realm like a shadowy shawl. A cool wind brushed up against her luminous face and the steady moan of faraway thunder sounded like some distant warning. Glints caught her eye, and she looked to the enclosed sky.
Vren Adiri’s guardian dragons had leaped from their perches and swooped in over her head. They sang to her. It was unutterably beautiful. No song the angel had ever heard moved her like this farewell chorus of dragons.
She watched the dragons for another minute, then turned to view the palace one last time. Wrapped in ribbons of cloud, its towers looked peaceful, the spires glittering with tiny points of pale light.
The dragons’ beautiful song, the sight of her palace…
She was moved to fiery tears.
“So, I have come to my end,” she whispered. “I give the universe my spirit and my soul, and in the name of the Sunsword Surassis, may my story be remembered and ever told. I swear, oh, guardian of the stars, I will find you.”
Her eyes ablaze with conviction, she looked back at the singing dragons. “Goodbye, my dragonkin. And goodbye, blessed Herard. May your son forgive us, and may she watch over his soul for all eternity. Farewell forever, Phate…”
And then she spread her fiery wings and leaped up toward the stars.
The guardian dragons gasped.
There were some dragons even the skies couldn’t contain.
Now but a streak of golden light, the heavenly dragon shot out of the atmosphere. She wove through the destroyed remains of Phate’s sister world, then curled around Rong and the Four Apostles, accelerating as she went. Soon she surpassed the dying sun, and left the solar system far behind.
When she came to the edge of the galaxy, the black holes tried to seize her, but she was too quick for them to grab a hold. She escaped their tremendous pull and flew on even faster. Traversing pathways that distorted both time and space, pathways only angels knew, she achieved speeds few machines or beings had ever dared, and eventually came to the heart of the universe, where the oldest galaxies lay.
There she curled around many suns and skimmed the skies of numerous worlds, searching, searching for the one. Many beings saw the most brilliant of shooting stars that night, and thereafter swore it had a voice. It had, for the angel cried out to the cosmos as she flew, calling for the centurion of the stars.
She searched and searched and called and called, but could neither find him nor get him to respond. She began to despair.
“Where are you? I must find you! My strength ebbs, my spiritual light fades.”
Indeed, her time was running out. Where in all the galaxies could the centurion be?
She carried on, her desperate voice but a ripple in a sea of infinite silence…
Eventually she was heard by other angels. They hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t Phate’s angels fled with all the others? What was she doing? There was no defying or defeating the Dark Forever! Nenockra Rool’s power was absolute. Let him be, and pray he didn’t enslave them all.
And yet, this lone, dying angel continued to call.
She was daring to hope, and that was something the rest of them had forgotten how to do.
Their immortal heads hung in shame, the other angels knew they at least had to help her, so they gave her a clue…
The Greater Angelic Dragon saw all the stars in the galaxy fade.
All save one.
This one star remained shining true.
With all the strength she had left, she flew to this star and found a world that had recently been embroiled in the center of a cosmic war.
Oh, what a battle it must have been!
Destruction was everywhere, the surrounding space bespattered with swirling nebulae. The world itself was damaged. The exploded remains of a hundred thousand capital starships encircled it like a metallic asteroid field, and its moons were split and spiraling out of their orbits. Redirected comets were crashing into its polar caps, and its continents flashed with massive fires.
But the angel heeded none of this, for upon its surface she saw the last centurion of the stars.
She called out one final time.
“My Lord! The universe needs you once again, for all that is light might yet diminish into eternal dark, and the trillions of souls you have saved might be lost. I beg you, oh guardian of the heart of the universe, seek out Phate.”
And then, with her energy spent, her radiant form dispersed across the atmosphere, a glittering cloud of golden sparkles fading against the pitch-black backdrop of eternal night.
She was gone.
No living eyes ever saw the Fallen Angel or the Greater Angelic Dragon again. But her spirit was not forgotten, nor did it completely fade. It forever remained in the hearts of those who held onto the side of light in our Cosmic Fairytale...
Soular Centurion 7 stood on the shore of a synthetic sea.
Beneath his feet lay the ruined body of Oloron Vah, the self-proclaimed Dark Overlord of the Universe, who had terrorized the neighboring galaxies for over six hundred years. Moments before, Soular Centurion 7 had cut him down while the last of his destroyers burned up in the atmosphere.
The battle was over, the war had been won, and the celebration had begun.
Behind the centurion, millions of beings reveled in the streets of a crystal-steel city. Before him, artificial dolphins leaped from the sea, and a legion of spirit warriors danced on the waves, their laser weapons creating a holographic show that mimicked the final fight in the twilight sky above them. The planet�
��s defender starfighters returned through the atmosphere and its naval warships set courses back to their bases.
And then something curious happened.
Although the buzz of battle chatter had disappeared from the airwaves, the centurion now detected some new transmission coming through. It was weak, riding on some strange frequency. Having no further need to communicate with this system’s military commanders, he was going to disregard it. But the little transmission persisted. After some investigation, he discovered its signature didn’t match any associated with the surrounding worlds. With nothing left to do, the centurion decided to receive and analyze it.
Although the transmission contained the literal last words of the Fallen Angel, his microprocessors edited the emotion out of it and turned it into something he could more easily understand. To his surprise, it contained relevant data. A line of digital code flashed from right to left across his field of vision.
(From now on, for the sake of understanding, I will do for you what the centurion’s microprocessors essentially did for him. I will translate and edit the text he saw into something readable.)
In basic terms, this is what he read:
– ANOTHER TARGET NEEDS DESTROYING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE UNIVERSE; COORDINATES CURRENTLY BEING CALCULATED, SITUATION BEING ASSESSED –
When the calculation was finished, he was given the location of a planetary system whose galaxy was being consumed by invader black holes. He learned that upon this system was a necromancer, a being who intended to utilize the crude yet efficient power of sorcery to tear through the dimensional walls and release the Dark Forever into the primary universe.
This necromancer was the target.
The world was known as Phate.
Soular Centurion 7 computed all the possible outcomes should the target fail to be neutralized. The outcomes were all the same…
– TOTAL UNIVERSAL ANNIHILATION –
If the necromancer succeeded, the Dark Forever would overrun the universe, thus enslaving all creation within an everlasting age of torment.
And (of course) there was little time.
The centurion stepped from Oloron Vah’s body and leaped into the sky, leaving a million worlds to revel and rejoice in a victory they never could have imagined as being so relatively insignificant.
Life is but a momentary spark snuffed between the fingertips of eternity.
Darkis
Condemned Alien Overlord, Warloove’s Master
And now, back on Phate, the onset of night awakened those most vile. While the Fallen Angel fled to the stars, and Drinwor slept, and Syndreck and Drekklor continued to prepare Ulith Urn for the coming of the Dark Forever, the loathsome Warloove set out for the Gauntlets of Loathing Light.
Come hither, my friend, come deeper into this story and witness the dark elf vampire’s crazed awakening…
“Master, I can see the trail of the Gauntlets of Loathing Light!”
Retrieve them, Warloove, and feast your fangs on the fools of Phate. The blood of any who defy you is yours, their souls are the Dark Forever’s, and the Sunsword is mine. Do not fail me again. Go now, and feast your fangs on the fools of Phate!
Geeter flew like a dagger through the throat of the night.
His hulking wings struck the air so hard it sizzled. That such a massive creature could fly so fast was unbelievable to those few who glanced in fear toward the sky and saw him. With his master solidified and standing atop his back, he sped across the Wicked Plains, dove over the Cliffs of Moaning Wishes, and skimmed the surface of the Raging Sea, plunging unhindered through the tips of its titanic waves.
“May the sun never seize my dark freedom!” Warloove cackled as he flung black fire from his claws, disintegrating the mists that dared to douse his face. “Ah, I can all but feel those glorious gloves wrapping my fingers, the Sunsword in my grasp. Long have I desired to feel that… Yes, yes! Fly, through the oceans of the night, fly!”
And fly they did, chasing the trail of the Gauntlets of Loathing Light, which shone as a fading vaporous line in the eyes of the vampire and his demonic dragon.
Although the Fallen Angel had sent the gauntlets away from Vren Adiri early that morning, she had not counted on them tracing a lasting line in the sky that only those who dwelled in darkness could see. Apparently, even she did not know the full measure of their mysterious powers.
And now she would never know of her oversight.
Warloove and Geeter followed the trail northwest across the sea, far from the Continent Isle of Volcar.
After a time, they passed into the forsaken realm of Vorz Abyzz. Warloove knew of this place. It was perilous. Here, gigantic oceanic wars had long ago raged, and the waves and skies were still wild with lingering sorcery. Warloove wondered if whomever they pursued hoped that some tragic fate would befall him should he and his dragon venture into this dangerous realm.
“I think not!” he screamed. “There is no danger any being on Phate can endure that I cannot!” And with that, he urged his dragon to fly even faster.
Into peril they went.
Seas of blue fire rose up beneath them, and through swirling clouds of noxious vapor did they chase. They smashed aside the suspended corpses of decaying dragons, and darted over haunted warships crewed by burning ghosts. They curled around sentient tornadoes that clashed with spectral typhoons. Abyssal beasts leaped from the waves to devour them, but nothing could seize nor slow them—Geeter was too fast; Warloove was too strong.
Though they chased through all this wild realm, they never strayed from the gauntlets’ trail.
When they finally surpassed Vorz Abyzz, it was as if the sea and sky sighed in relief. The sorcery that had everything in such an uproar subsided. The fiery waves gave to serene waters, and the dead no longer danced upon the surface, but merely lay still and silent far beneath.
“Onward, my pet, do not slow,” Warloove insisted; for who knew how much farther they would have to fly?
Geeter acquiesced, and continued to shred the skies with his wings, thus carrying them swiftly forth.
After a time, the gauntlets’ trail curved straight north, to a land even more desolate than any I have yet described. Now, directly ahead, the rocky rim of this land’s deserted shoreline lay beneath a dense cluster of rain clouds. The temperature dropped rapidly as they approached. The icy wind’s wrath was relatively mild, but strong enough to dash the once straight trail into a fast dispersing swirl.
Warloove was alarmed, for he knew time was growing short. “By all the stars I yearn to see,” he said through a whispered hiss, “do not lose the trail, or we forsake my eternity!”
Geeter launched them into the rain clouds.
Once concealed, they glided inland like a storm within a storm, their eyes ever fixed on the gauntlets’ dwindling trail.
Warloove squinted with a sudden suspicion. “I just realized—there is only one stronghold left in this region of the world. Could the gauntlets have been taken there? It is no place for an angel; no place that would harbor… Wait a minute…” He lifted his head, spread his arms, and spoke as if to some god. “Master, is it possible that others have the same ambition as we?”
A monotone voice colder than the winds sounded in Warloove’s spectral ears.
If that is so, then be quick, and stop at nothing. Unleash all your rage upon those who stand against us! Go, for my patience is at its end, and my galaxy awaits!
“Yes, Darkis!” Warloove brought his gaze ahead. “Faster, my demonic dragon! We must find them before the trail is lost, before the arrival of dawn, if we are to succeed!”
And then came a damning clue as to their whereabouts.
A ring of flickering purple lights appeared through the clouds straight ahead. Ah, Warloove’s suspicion was right! He pointed forward and called out, “There! I knew it, they’ve taken the gauntlets to Forn Forlidor!” Now his eyes flickered like fires, and he thrust his arms up through his cloak of smoke. “So, Sorciuss, you, too, dare to betray
me.”
In the depths of his mind, he began composing a song of sorcery. It was to be an especially diabolical song, and he couldn’t help but laugh. His voice rolled like thunder over the ears of all he would slay. Geeter joined in his master’s elation, and let loose a shrieking wail.
Now the night itself would grow fangs and strike…
To some, the Iron Fortress of Forn Forlidor appeared as if it floated on the surface of an invisible lake. In actuality, it floated in midair, hovering over the center of a mile-wide crater. Long ago, an enemy sorcerer’s meteor had blasted away all the ground beneath its foundation, but its protective magic had held it in its exact space.
Forn Forlidor’s enemies and emissaries had since been forced to fly.
The octagonal foundation was rimmed with a battlement that rose to four hundred feet. Eight silver towers curled up and inward from each corner like giant scimitars, their spires nearly touching at the tips. Giant braziers at the top of each spire stung the sky with violet fires that had ceaselessly blazed through ages of wind and rain and storm. The fortress itself was set in the center of the courtyard, a ten-tiered pyramid of onyx whose nine ascending levels were sorcerously separated and hovering above one another. The pyramidal peak pinnacled some six hundred feet above the base. With the exception of the fixed base and motionless peak, all the sections slowly rotated in opposing directions to one another.
Once the fortress had glistened with dark magnificence, but the molecule-shifting wizard warriors who had constructed and cared for the place had long vanished from the world. Now it was dingy, lifeless, and dull.
King of a lifeless land floating over its own waiting grave, the burning black crown of Forn Forlidor was soon to be tested by our story’s most vile…
Typically, the fortress was as lively as a graveyard, for its current inhabitants were concealed inside; but on this fateful night, hundreds of combat mages patrolled the top of the battlement.