Phate

by Jason Alan

  The demons acquiesced.

  With more energy than ever being focused on ripping the sky apart, the cracks widened and, in some places, the dimensional walls completely gave. Black lightning burst from the breaches and rapid successions of demonic thunder drowned the sounds of all else. Now huge holes hung over the Raging Sea. The red vapor gushed from them like blood pouring from a host of slit throats, and a crimson haze spread out in an ever-enlarging cloud.

  “Success!”

  The Dark Forever was free!

  Syndreck unleashed a moan of ecstasy as thousands of demons came streaming through the rents. There were behemoths with chests like rippling, lava-caked hills; and monstrosities with multitudinous limbs that clenched wickedly jagged weapons; and juggernauts whose maws housed fangs that were so long they continuously cut their own chins as their gibbering mouths spewed with bloody laughter. The demons fell into the Raging Sea, piling like the bones of Murdraniuss’ victims. The specter demons that had preceded the others slipped into the four winds and spread across the world like an airborne plague, infecting the lands with extinction.

  Indeed, the conquest of the universe was beginning!

  Syndreck the Brooding fell weeping to his knees. Words he had waited so long to utter fled the bleeding gates of his lips:

  “Master, I have freed your demon horde. The light of the stars will diffuse within flames so dark they will blind those foolish beings who wallow in the ignorance of all they believe to be righteous. I see blood where once there was water. I see power where once there was weakness. I see your visage where now there are no Gods at all. Yes, master! Come forth and claim the universe! It is yours to shape! Yours to amend! I am your slave, and in servitude will follow you to the ends of existence. I will scribe your declarations with the blood of our enemies, and watch as they hopelessly suffer before thee!”

  Then Syndreck heaved a bloody sigh and stood up.

  Looking back into his pot of necromancy, he saw the vengeance of Zyrinthia, the meteor storm, blasting down upon the shield that protected Ulith Urn. He heard the impacts, and felt his tower shudder as the shards vaporized right over his head. Then the cauldron’s images showed him different parts of the world. He saw cities and forests swept over by fire; he saw beings and beasts scampering for safety as everything around them turned to ash; he saw a thousand struggles for both good and evil unfold before his uncaring eyes…

  Then the images changed again, and Syndreck saw his own courtyard.

  Between his writhing, storm-battered towers, the dark elves were attacking the centurion from the stars. Floating mages cast emerald, crimson, and azure energy beams. Commanders on giant bats flew over the compound, screaming orders to those on the ground. Invisible warriors wielding invisible weapons lunged and stabbed and screamed and died as the spaces above them filled with fire and souls! In the center of it all was Soular Centurion 7, moving slowly, purposefully forward, even as he slew.

  Syndreck thrust a finger into the cauldron. “Nenockra Rool! The one from the stars threatens us! Please, master, please help me destroy this one!”

  And though no words came from the Devil King, he answered. Over the Raging Sea, a thousand winged demons suddenly changed course and raced toward Ulith Urn, all the while mocking the meteors that evaporated like snowflakes before their mighty flames.

  A legion of invisible dark elf warriors rushed Soular Centurion 7, their attack supported from above by invisible mages. Their disguise was virtually perfect. Even the glint of their enchanted weapons was intangible, as were the fires that arced over them like a hail of invisible burning arrows. They came straight in, confident their camouflaged advance would herald the centurion’s destruction.

  And yet, unbeknownst to them, the cosmic warrior could see them all.

  To Soular Centurion 7, invisibility was nothing of the sort. It was a feeble trick, a measly mask against mortals who could only see what was firmly affixed to their current plane of existence. The dark elves? Ha! If anything, their invisibility only made them easier for the centurion to perceive. They actually glowed in his eyes.

  – INITIATE DEFENSIVE STANCE ANDROMEDEUS 4 ALPHA 5 –

  He easily repelled their attack, his cosmic sword slashing at supersonic speeds. The hail of fireballs went sputtering down into the depths of the black hole-blade. The legion of warriors had their torsos vaporized, their heads sent tumbling to the ground. Never had these slaves of sorcery encountered a technological warrior such as this.

  The dark elves retreated.

  They didn’t fear this alien foe, but they recognized that he was more formidable than anything they had ever faced. New measures would have to be taken, new strategies employed. The elves regrouped, and formed a wide ring around the centurion. They would attack again…but a bit more cautiously. Oh, they knew no matter what they did many of them would die, but they would not give Soular Centurion 7 the satisfaction of trouncing them utterly. No. Never that. They were dark elves of Phate, servants of Nenockra Rool!

  If nothing else, this invader from the stars would stumble before they themselves would fall.

  They screamed unholy war songs and launched another attack. But this time, the Mages of the Moom fired their flames, then flew for the cover of the towers. This time, the bat riders loosed their weapons and spells from farther out, then angled away. This time, the fighters of the Black Claw broke off into smaller groups, then staggered their advances—each wave scurrying in, striking, then darting backward while another wave came in from another side.

  It did not matter.

  It was the same as before: The Sword of Molecular Destruction claimed all within its range.

  The battle mages who veered away were pulled screaming from the sky, the gravitational forces of that devastating blade dragging them down into its black oblivion. The waves of fighters helplessly sprawled end over end into the slicing sword’s arc. The bats spun down out of control, their wings vaporized, their riders unseated and halved. Wave after wave continued to pour in, but each attack was as futile as the one before it.

  For the dark elves, it was an inescapable massacre.

  The centurion continued pressing forward, a silvery reaper exacting the death of all.

  He was close to vanquishing all the wicked elves when his proximity alert signal went off, warning him of something new…

  – LARGE HORDE OF INTER-PLANAR BEASTS CLOSING RAPIDLY –

  It was distressing. These demons would murder yet more seconds, thereby lessening his chance to neutralize the necromancer before Nenockra Rool himself was free. And he knew for every demon he killed, a thousand more would take their place.

  The fate of the universe was in jeopardy, for even Soular Centurion 7 could not defeat the Dark Forever’s countless millions alone. For a fraction of a microsecond he again considered using his atomics. He could easily raze the entire compound and everything in it: the remaining dark elves; the approaching demons; the towers of Ulith Urn and the necromancer they harbored. But that would also mean the destruction of himself. No. It wasn’t feasible. His latest calculations showed that now, more than ever, it was imperative that he survive.

  Although I cannot say much on this now, my reading friend, I will tell you that the future needed him just as much as the present.

  – 77.3 PERCENT CHANCE RESCUE OPERATION PENDING –

  The microsecond after he decided that the annihilation of himself and everything around him wasn’t feasible, he concluded that there was another option, albeit one he hadn’t utilized in a long, long time.

  For the first time in a hundred million years, Soular Centurion 7 sent out a distress signal—a multi-dimensional message that expanded with supra-light speed into many planes of existence.

  The chances that anyone or anything capable of aiding him would respond in time to help were infinitesimally small, but such daunting odds never dissuaded he who had often seen such impossibilities blossom into being.

  For Soular Centurion 7, the univers
e was a place of endless hope.

  And lo and behold! His hope was justified.

  His distress signal was received immediately after its transmission, and he had his answer soon after that.

  – ZEERZEEOZZ CONFIRMATION—REINFORCEMENTS ON THE WAY –

  He would not fight alone.

  Phate would open its heart to him and send forth its noblest spirits.

  I hadn’t expected the centurion’s battles to be so tense, or so desperate. Indeed, if he falls, so do all… And, as the fate of eternity hangs by a veritable thread, I can only hope that our Drinwor successfully navigates his way through the Hall of Voices. But honestly, I fear for him. That is a place which lies on a different plane of existence. Its wonders are bountiful, but I fear its beings may hold unforeseeable horrors for the Son and Savior of the Stars… But alas, there’s nothing for it, so onward, my friend, forth we go.

  To not realize one’s dreams is a shame; to not reach for them is a tragedy.

  Thissian Thisrax

  The Immutable Monk of Mordington

  Drinwor Fang opened his eyes.

  He was surrounded by colorful stars, thousands of turquoise, saffron, and lavender points twinkling in a milky white sky. As he gazed at these stars, he had the distinct impression he’d seen them before. But where…?

  “Ah, yes!” He suddenly remembered—he’d seen them in his dreams. “But how can this be?” He stared at the stars for a little while longer, pondering the possibilities until his gaze was drawn downward. Interesting, his feet were fogged over with billowing white vapor. It appeared as if he stood on a little cloud. Interesting indeed…but a little disconcerting as well.

  “Hmm…not feeling very secure about this…”

  He tapped his foot, ever so gently, mind you, fearful that even this slight movement would send him plummeting into the white unknown. Relief warmed over him, though, for he felt a spongy but relatively firm surface beneath his toes.

  “Well, it seems solid enough.”

  He noticed that his tapping caused little threads of silver energy to spread out from his toes and race to the cloud’s ends. Not quite knowing what to make of that, he shrugged, then looked back up to the starry white sky.

  It was all surreal.

  “Perhaps I’m dreaming now…”

  He half expected to hear the fluid voice of Morning’s Hope cut through his consciousness and rouse him awake—Wake up, my Emperor, wake up—but it never came. No, he knew he wasn’t dreaming. And Morning’s Hope wasn’t with him, she—

  Oh, no! Morning’s Hope!

  That terrible image of her locked in Geeter’s grasp suddenly sprang into his mind. Then he recalled the fire flung at his feet and the ungodly being who had leaped down and chased him through the winding avenue of bones.

  “Warloove!”

  May the Gods return, had the dark elf vampire followed him through the portal?

  Drinwor whirled about, kicking up wisps of vapor. But there was nothing there—no dark figure flitting amongst the colorful stars, no shadows or sizzling funnels of smoke. No, thankfully, Warloove was nowhere to be seen.

  That was good, but Drinwor still couldn’t help wondering about the fate of his dragon. What had happened to her? Was she even alive? He called out, “Morning’s Hope!” his voice reverberating as if through the empty corridors of Areshria. Perhaps she would hear him, just as he had heard her beneath the surface of the nameless sea. Again, he cried, “Morning’s Hope!” but there was no answer, only the echoes of his own voice rippling into the far reaches of this white infinity.

  In defeat, he whispered, “By the grace of the Gods, survive. Please, Morning’s Hope, be alive.” He crouched, and reached down with his fingertips and swirled little circles in the cloud. “I wish this was all a dream.”

  “It is no dream, Son and Savior of the Stars.”

  Drinwor stood with a start. “Who said that?”

  There was no response, but when he glanced aside, he saw many luminous spheres of golden light dart up over the cloud’s rim, causing him to recoil in surprise. Their glimmering trails crisscrossing one another, the golden lights circled his head like curious fairies, then whisked away to the whiteness beyond. They were enthralling and beautiful; Drinwor imagined they were heavenly spirits, for what else could fly through such a glorious sky?

  “Hello?” he called after them.

  “They are silent, but not insensate,” came the voice from an indeterminable origin.

  Drinwor swiveled in his spot. “Who speaks to me? Who are you?”

  “He who caught you with a cloud,” the voice replied. “But the more important question is: do you know who you are?”

  Drinwor was hesitant to answer, hesitant to reveal anything about himself to a stranger he couldn’t even see. But what else was there to do? Float around on his personal cloud for Gods knew how long? No, he was in the realm that allegedly housed the Hall of Voices; he would trust that the source of the voice was benign. He cleared his throat, lifted his head, and with as much authority as he could muster, said: “I am Drinwor Fang, Emperor of the Sky, Son of Herard. I have traveled far, and I seek the Hall of Voices.”

  “Greetings, Drinwor Fang, but that does not answer my question.”

  The dusk elf was taken aback. “What do you mean? I just told you who I am.” He spun about, still trying to determine the origin of the soft yet powerful voice. It was impossible to locate, though; it seemed to come from all around.

  “You told me what you are called, not who you are.”

  Drinwor chuckled, then in an exasperated tone said: “I don’t know, you tell me—who am I?”

  “I have already told you.”

  Drinwor rolled his eyes. “You’ve told me nothing. Nothing of yourself, nothing of this place. I ask again—who are you? And what is this white universe?”

  “This universe is what your soul chooses to see.”

  “Chooses?” Drinwor tilted his head. “I don’t know about ‘chooses,’ but I believe I have seen it before…though only in my dreams.”

  “There is nothing that is dreamed that cannot be.”

  “I’ve dreamed of many things.”

  “Then many things you may achieve…perhaps all things, for your sacrifice.”

  Drinwor echoed the word, ‘sacrifice,’ then shook his head, tired of the incessant bewildering statements. “I’m weary, and whoever, or whatever, you are, you’re confusing me. Apparently, I’ve come a long way to merely wind up in one of my own dreams.”

  “Do you desire a different setting?”

  The dusk elf laughed. “Yes, right, a different setting...”

  “Then you shall have it.”

  Drinwor froze. “Wait a moment, I wasn’t serious, I like this—”

  The universe changed.

  The white sky faded to a blue that passed through many darkening shades before settling into the most hauntingly beautiful black. All the colorful stars brightened to silvery white, and the wispy arms of a thousand galaxies emerged around them.

  It was breathtaking.

  Drinwor was just beginning to soak it in when his perspective suddenly shifted. Now it was as if he peered at the distant stars through the eye of some interstellar telescope. Oh, I tell you, he saw things even his dreams could not have conjured! He saw starships streaking like comets through the newly blackened void, with supernova dragons chasing their glittering ionic trails. He saw technological titans constructing solar systems around suns of silver fire. He saw watery worlds inhabited by mile-long artificial whales whose innards housed whole societies.

  The images instantly snapped back, and Drinwor’s perspective was returned to the little cloud.

  He was speechless, but he understood—it was a vision of the universe of yore, a universe teeming with life, before the predator black holes had sprung up like a pox to consume all creation.

  The voice sounded again. “Do you find this universe pleasing?”

  Drinwor trembled, then said, �
�Yes, I… With my waking eyes I’ve never seen such things. How can this be? Do I stand in space?”

  “No, you peer at it from the inside.”

  The dusk elf looked down, took a few deep breaths, then lifted his head and said, “Please, I ask one more time, who are you? No more riddles. Not now. And where is the hall?”

  The voice said, “You’ll soon discover who I am, but first I will show you the Hall of Voices.”

  Drinwor whistled. “So, I have found it…”

  Tortuous seconds slipped by, with Drinwor waiting and wondering in silence. A minute, and still no sign of anything that looked like the Hall of Voices (whatever in the Seven Glories the hall was supposed to look like!). Eventually, the impatient dusk elf asked, “Well, where is it?”

  “You’re standing in it,” came the voice.

  And with that, thousands of stars leaped from their perches, shot through the heavens, and positioned themselves all around Drinwor’s cloud. Oddly, although they had instantly closed a seemingly great distance, the stars were still no more than pinpricks in size. They twinkled brightly, then stretched into fine silvery lines that formed many complex shapes and angles, thus surrounding the cloud with a frame of starlight.

  “Does the universe ever cease to unleash with wonder?” Drinwor muttered.

  As if in answer, the frame filled in around him.

  A complex ribbing of transparent beams stretched above him, and soon thereafter a vaulted ceiling of starlight was formed. Translucent walls substantiated beside him, each laden with rows of clerestory windows whose crystal surfaces were etched with animated depictions of triumphant translucent dragons. Sculpted figures made of millions of tiny stars brightened the shadow galleries that had burrowed themselves into the walls. Spinning crystalline pillars, transparent fountains, and myriad other artistic architectural embellishments appeared all throughout the place, and the entire structure was made whole.

  This was the Hall of Voices.