Phate

by Jason Alan

  “Nevertheless,” Drinwor said, “lives and love were lost…” He looked past his companions, to the mountain of bones. It looked different now. Now it loomed like a foreboding monument, a powerful reminder of what had happened here. And while he looked at it, an image of the story flashed through his mind. He saw the mountainous pile of bodies…all those bodies… And then he saw them suddenly decay down to their bones…so many bones…

  And somewhere beneath those bones was Murdraniuss, the Lord Banshee.

  In that moment, Drinwor realized he was soon to become a part of the demon’s story.

  “How do I fight Murdraniuss?” he whispered in a monotone voice.

  “You? Fight?” Morigos sputtered. “Fight we may have to,”— he motioned to himself and Morning’s Hope—“but you will not. You must flee into the hall after I draw Murdraniuss away from the entrance. What happens next, only the fates can tell!” he added with his telltale cackle.

  “Draw him away?” Morning’s Hope glanced to the mage. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “I will offer myself to him.”

  Vu Verian’s voice echoed with laughter. “You’ll offer yourself to the Lord Banshee?”

  “Yes,” Morigos said. “For long ago, he demanded my life so that he might enslave my soul. He never forgets these things. I have some value, you know!”

  Vu Verian couldn’t help asking, “Under what circumstances did you meet him, pray tell?”

  Morigos bent his arms about his crooked staff and held it in a close embrace. He spit, chortled, and said: “There was a time when my former master desired entrance into the Hall of Voices. He tried several times, but could never get past the banshee. And then, the last time he tried, he asked…er…commanded that I accompany him. Unbeknownst to me, he had already made a bargain with Murdraniuss that would allow him to enter the hall.”

  “What was the price?” Drinwor asked.

  “The soul of his slave,” Morigos grunted in response.

  “You,” Morning’s Hope surmised.

  “Yes,” the dark elf confirmed. “My master entered the hall and the banshee came for me. But I was not so willing in those days to surrender my life. Before the screaming demon could unleash his unholy voice, I fled!” The mage cackled and choked for a few seconds before continuing. “Then my master returned from the hall, having been turned back by those beings of light that guard it on the other side. And he fled, too! Ha! We both escaped, having never paid our price to Murdraniuss. But now—”

  “Your master?” Vu Verian exclaimed. He turned to Morning’s Hope. “Do you realize what he’s saying? May the Gods return! He’s led our enemy right to—”

  “Be silent for one second!” Morigos snarled, causing the mystic owl’s feathers to ruffle. “Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to say—I will offer myself to the banshee and he will come for me, for he will not be able to resist the prize that so long ago escaped him. That should give you the chance to bring the boy to the hall’s entrance.”

  “Did you conceive this plan?” Morning’s Hope asked.

  “I suggested it to your Fallen Angel, and she agreed. That is why I accompany you.”

  “I see…” Morning’s Hope said.

  “Where’s the entrance?” Drinwor inquired, his eyes tracking all over the island.

  “It’s at the base of the mountain,” Morigos replied, pointing to the center of the island, “at the end of a pathway that starts at the beach and leads through the—”

  “Listen to me!” an infuriated Vu Verian demanded, unwilling to remain silent any longer while the dark elf spewed his lies. He flew between Fleeting Shadow and Morning’s Hope, screaming, “I knew Morigos would betray us, but I didn’t think he’d be so bold as to openly defy us!”

  “He has?” Morning’s Hope wasn’t so sure.

  “Yes!” Vu Verian shouted. “The traitorous, lecherous, vile, rotten bastard! Whom do you think he speaks of when he speaks of his master? Don’t you all understand? Warloove knows of this place! He’s been here!”

  “Do you not listen to anything?!” Morigos squealed. “I’ve made it quite clear! It matters not where we fly, Warloove could find us anywhere, fool!”

  Oh, you can believe that Vu Verian had heard enough out of the dark elf mage! A thousand spells of violence coursed through his mind, and it didn’t take long for him to choose one.

  Ah, but before he could unleash any sorcery, the sun fell completely behind the horizon. The change to the world was sudden and dramatic. As the black ghost of night arrived to haunt the sky, the Shards of Zyrinthia brightened and the clouds beneath them swirled into wraithlike shadows that wept with storms. Howling gusts of wind came whipping across the sea and the bone mountain flickered with reflections of lightning.

  Vu Verian groaned in agony, for the now the darkness of night itself scorched him. His whole body wavered and in some places turned into mist. But he resisted the urge to go to cloudform, for he desperately wanted to lash out at Morigos and burn his atoms right out of the sky. But the pain of night was so unbearable it was disabling. He was unable to act, but continued to struggle nonetheless, the awful sound of his groaning disturbing them all.

  “Vu Verian,” Morning’s Hope said, “you’ve done enough today. Do not suffer the night. Let go, my friend, go to cloudform, go to sleep!”

  Vu Verian did, but only because he absolutely had to. He could resist the night no more. But before his disappearance, he managed to utter: “What’s this? Morning’s Hope, beware…there is a shad—” And then he slipped completely away, as if his body had been devoured by the dark. Now but a cloud, he shot into the sky and was quickly lost amongst the swirl of storms.

  “I am not rotten!” the dark elf yelled after him. Then he looked down upon himself. “Oh…well…yes I am. But I don’t stink so bad.”

  Morning’s Hope regarded Morigos with a vacant stare. “Warloove has been to this place?” she stated more than asked.

  The dark elf mage nodded. “Yes.”

  The translucent dragon looked worriedly to the sky. “So, he may find us after all.”

  Morigos failed to stifle a little chuckle, then shook his crooked finger at the dragon. “Are you sincerely so surprised by this? How many times do I have to say it? It doesn’t matter where in the world we flee, Warloove will find us. Did everyone get that this time?”

  “It is not so much that I don’t believe he can find us,” said Morning’s Hope, “but I cannot believe the Fallen Angel would have allowed the gauntlets to have been acquired so soon, or so easily.”

  “If he comes, I will help you fight him.” It was Drinwor, his tone meek but determined. “I have more reason to fight him than anyone.”

  Morigos cackled. “Anxious to fight something, aren’t you?”

  Morning’s Hope whipped her head around. “Drinwor, no!” Her mind instantly filled with numerous reasons to dissuade him, and they poured out of her in a streaming torrent of rambling statements, some of which were: “He’s more powerful than anything you’ve ever encountered!” “You must infuse the sword with a soul!” “You’re too important!” “We cannot endanger your destiny!”

  Then she ceased, horrified to silence by the look on Drinwor’s face.

  The dusk elf looked like he was undergoing some kind of demonic possession. The emotions that had begun to simmer with the utterance of Warloove’s name now boiled over, and angry tears exploded from his eyes. Rage crumpled his features and his smoky skin paled to white. His chest heaving, he stood up and screamed with all fury:

  “He murdered my father!”

  It was a primal hatred he unleashed, an adrenaline-fueled utterance more growled than spoken, surprising even Drinwor himself. Never in his life had he vocalized with such an indignant tone. His words still echoing across the sea, he followed the statement with a quieter but equally intense inquiry. “How am I to fight all the Dark Forever if I cannot even face this one foe?”

  “Good question!” Morigo
s observed.

  “Morigos!” Morning’s Hope whipped her head about. “Silence yourself, or I swear you will bathe in flames!” She raised a single talon, intended to scold him further, but checked herself. With the collective sanity of the little group all but unraveling, she needed to exercise at least some measure of restraint over her own emotions. She closed her eyes, slowly exhaled, and silently reassured herself.

  She was dragonkind, and she was woman.

  She would calmly retain control.

  She reopened her eyes, and looked to Drinwor. He was slumped in his saddle-throne. His chest was still heaving, but the anger appeared to have fled his face. Bless the boy, he’s settling himself down.

  He looked up at her, shaking his head. He dropped his hands on his lap, said, “I’m sorry. That was…insanity.”

  “Sometimes a little insanity keeps one sane!” Morigos couldn’t help but point out.

  Morning’s Hope cringed, and barely restrained herself from swiping the mage right off his dragon. “Drinwor, it’s all right.”

  The dusk elf averted his gaze from her and fixed his stare in the clouds traipsing over the nameless sea. “The truth is, I’ve been struggling to suppress my anger all day. And there’s something else, something else inside. I can’t describe it. It’s a desire, a yearning that goes beyond revenge.” He drooped his head. “I don’t know, I just want to get this hatred out of me. Warloove. Every time I hear that name my heart sinks a little deeper into my chest. I want to rip him apart…I…” He shuddered, unable to continue.

  Morning’s Hope moved her head closer to him. “I know, my Emperor, but for now, you must not get entangled in a confrontation with War—with him. You must leave him for me and Morigos to deal with.”

  Drinwor bowed his head, whispered, “I understand.”

  “Actually,” Morigos chimed in, “if we can finally stop wasting precious time and get the boy into the damned hall, neither one of you will have to deal with him. If he does come here, he’ll likely come straight for me.”

  “Why will he come for you?” Morning’s Hope asked.

  “Because your sky elf friend was right—I am a traitorous bastard!”

  “So, you mean to hold off all of our enemies by yourself?”

  Morigos shrugged. “If it comes to that.”

  Morning’s Hope tilted her head, and pondered the mysterious dark elf’s intent. “What is it with you? Do you truly care for nothing? Why are you so anxious to die?”

  Morigos snickered. “I’m not anxious for anything. Though cursed with the annoying encumbrance of this disease-ridden body, I refuse to succumb to Warloove’s infliction. No…no sickness will ever claim me. But if I should be so lucky as to meet my doom in fire, then I welcome it. I deserve it. I want it!” He looked straight into the eyes of Morning’s Hope and concluded with: “Fear not for my fate, it was signed and sealed hundreds of years ago, scrawled and stamped in the blood of those unfortunate innocents who crossed my murderous path.”

  To this, Morning’s Hope only nodded. Then she flapped her wings and lifted a little higher from the beach of bones. Fleeting Shadow matched her, and Morigos lightened his tone and said, “I go now to draw out Murdraniuss. Listen for my signal, noble dragon, it will sound right before the banshee’s cry. When you hear it, you must protect your young Emperor, and then, if you survive, with all speed bring him to the hall.”

  Morning’s Hope nodded. “I will. And protect yourself, you—”

  And then a soul-shivering shriek came from somewhere within the storms, echoing across the nameless sea and rattling the beach of bones.

  All flinched, for a split-second thinking Murdraniuss had released his wail.

  But it wasn’t the banshee.

  No, Drinwor recognized this shriek (and so should you, my loyal reader!). It was the sound that had convinced him to leap from his home and come tumbling to the unknown world. It was the sound of the dawning of his fear, the musical accompaniment for the first truly horrific thing he’d ever experienced.

  He would never get used to it…

  Morning’s Hope uttered, “I can’t believe it.”

  Grumbled words crept from Morigos’ cowl. “No one listens to me, the lunatic dark elf, the crazed puking one. Right. I think I said it a hundred times, but no one ever listens. Despite my repeated warnings, we’ve wasted too much time. Now we are under attack. Enjoy.”

  And may the Gods return, he was right, for although they couldn’t yet see their enemies, on came Geeter’s dragonfear.

  And, my friend, on the other side of the continent, another sort of attack was also commencing.

  May the Gods return and help Phate, for the Dark Forever was here…

  The burden of a thousand failures can be utterly vanquished beneath the weight of one success.

  Fyrax Ooshoa

  Veteran of the Iron Skull Wars, Sage of the Levitating Marshes

  The sky over the Raging Sea was bleeding. Poisonous red vapor leaked from the rift torn open by the shards and flowed into the waves. Hence, before a single demon stepped foot onto Phate, the Dark Forever claimed its first victims. The abyssal creatures that swam through the tainted waters came dying to the surface, their bodies bloated, their insides exploded by the infiltration of the deadly substance.

  And soon more cracks appeared in the sky.

  Just as Syndreck had hoped, the encouraged demons tore at the dimensional walls from the other side. They grasped the edges of the rents, and pulled…and pulled…and pulled. It took the energy of a million black holes to widen the creases by the width of a needle’s point, but widen they did, enough for the first legion of demons to slip into Phate’s sky. But these were not the club-clawed behemoths that would rip the world to pieces; no, these were the subtlest amongst them (if such a word as ‘subtle’ could ever be used to describe a demon).

  These were the specter demons.

  Gliding through the sky like sentient gusts of wind, these demons looked to the heavens and for a moment were lost in something akin to mortal wonder. For out there were the stars; out there was the universe they had waited so long to conquer. Oh, how pleasant the coolness of space would feel! Such vast emptiness, such unrestricted freedom! They squirmed with pleasure just thinking about it. They looked on the night a little while longer, then set their sights on the world around them.

  Upon the edge of the obsidian cliffs they glimpsed a shadowy complex of writhing towers. They knew within one of those towers resided the mortal who allegedly commanded immortal power: the necromancer, Syndreck the Brooding. It was he who had freed the vast legions a thousand years ago. The demons observed him with curious eyes. Although he was slumped unconscious on his platform, the echoes of his sorcerous voice still trembled all the plains before him, and the sky around his towers was filled with meteors that he himself had commandeered.

  The demons were impressed. Indeed, his power was substantial. And there was something else… Beyond the towers there strode a being unlike any they’d ever seen. Its broken body and weary soul ensnared in a worn wrap of technological armor, it moved slowly but purposefully forward, toward Syndreck’s towers.

  Apparently, Syndreck didn’t hold this being in high regard, for while the demons watched, the necromancer’s meteors went screaming toward it. Surprisingly, the alien didn’t move. It stood in stern defiance as the cosmic boulders approached.

  Now fascinated, the demons took another moment to watch the confrontation unfold…

  Soular Centurion 7 displayed no fear, his grey eyes staring unblinking at the incoming volley of shooting stars. His batteries surging with power, his translucent veins glowing with the light speed flow of cybernetic blood, he reactivated his sword and stood at the ready.

  The first shard shot down at him with blistering speed!

  – ENGAGE EVASIVE MANEUVER PATTERN CENTURIOUS 5.3 –

  The centurion leaped aside.

  The meteor cratered the plains beside him with a thundering, blazing impact. In a
n instant, many square miles of overturned reeds were incinerated from the fallowed fields by fire. What little remains were left of the Wicked Plains were also destroyed—bones to ashes, ashes to dust, dust to atoms.

  From space it looked as if a country had exploded.

  It nearly had.

  And yet, Soular Centurion 7 was unblemished as the cloud of dusty ruin settled down around him.

  His eyes focused upward.

  Another meteoric shard screamed in.

  – SYSTEM’S PERFORMANCE ACCEPTABLE. PROCEED WITH ATTACK PATTERN ARTIZIAN 27 –

  The centurion jumped a hundred feet into the air.

  With the Sword of Molecular Destruction held high, he punctured the shard before it angled down atop him, and it blew apart with a sparking explosion. He then fell through the raining rubble, and thudded to the ground. He was ready when the next shard came whistling in with a disharmonious din. It did nothing to him. He blasted it into powder, his space-sword a flash of black and purple.

  And then another shard came, and another, and another.

  They streaked in from every direction, diving down like avenging angels come to douse the light of the centurion’s immortal soul!

  Soular Centurion 7 scanned each of the targets for their size, speed, and distance from one another. With the data computed, he bent his knees and pivoted at the waist, twirling his torso all the way around to end up facing almost forward again. At the turn’s apex, there was the slightest pause, then he whipped around and sprang into the sky like a loosed coil. His starsword’s low murmur elevated into a howl, and with a swift upward thrust, he cleaved a shard in two. He then angled his trajectory aside and swung down from straight overtop, vaporizing another meteor, the molecular remains swallowed by his black hole blade.

  Thus, he proceeded to dance across the sky, vanquishing all the attacking shards. The Wicked Plains, immersed in a storm of melted stones, soon looked like the surface of a burning moon.