Phate

by Jason Alan

  “How so?” the dusk elf asked.

  “That it always comes to war, that there are no more generations to sacrifice, and past generations must sacrifice again…that war now claims not only the lives but the eternal souls of those who have already lost everything…” Her head bowed.

  Drinwor’s curiosity was piqued by his dragon’s solemn statements. “I still don’t quite understand. Who’s already lost everything?”

  Morning’s Hope lifted her head and pointed skyward with a wing. “Those who ascended with you from the Hall of Voices. Those dragons. They have lost.”

  Drinwor gasped. “The golden spheres in the white universe were the spirit dragons! The Hall of Voices, of course! I hadn’t realized until now.”

  “Yes, those dragons have already fought and died for light. Now they come to fight and die again. It was your arrival, the arrival of the Son and Savior of the Stars, who bade them back into the living world. Now they will surrender their eternities; for any beings who have died, then venture unborn back into the primary universe, cannot die again. All who perish in this battle will lose their souls to nothingness. One birth for every death: that is the way of all souls. But these dragons will aid us nonetheless, and I will be powerless to abstain from letting many tears fall.”

  Drinwor’s face went pale as he watched the massive dragon swarm fly straight for the Devil’s Wind. “They will lose their souls…for me.”

  Morning’s Hope clenched her claws and shook them, uttering, “Yes, they give up their eternities for you, and for everyone. It must not be in vain!”

  And then a great shaft of heavenly light came slanting down from the high sky as if to accentuate her noble words. It sliced right through a sorcerous storm and illuminated the head of the dragon swarm, which now neared the edge of the cliffs close to the fringes of the Devil’s Wind. The winged defenders of Phate bellowed ancient battle cries, then angled to fly around the brilliant shaft. The light thickened, brightened with a flash…then faded away. But something remained in its place, hovering amidst the dragons. At first it was difficult for the companions to tell what it was; the dragon swarm encircled it, obstructing their view. Drinwor squinted trying to discern its details. It was huge, tall, and white. It looked like many things joined together, like a bundle of twining sky elven arms pointing to the stars, like…towers.

  It could only be…

  “Your Vren Adiri!” Morigos observed.

  Morning’s Hope was relieved. “The spirit of the Fallen Angel is with us.”

  The dark elf smirked. “Is it?”

  The companions hovered in place as the last of the volcanic dragons passed overhead, and the Devil’s Wind continued to spread as Nenockra Rool prepared to put his first foot onto Phate.

  And thus, we arrive at our climactic end! One more chapter to go, and the longest one yet. Wherever you are, in whatever time, on whatever world, I ask that you take a moment and pray for our heroes’ souls, for the great battle was about to begin, and I must admit, I fear my forthcoming words...

  My father once told me the persistence of hope is faith, and to be faithful is to be steadfast in the face of despair. If I’m to be faithful, he said, I must be strong. If that is true, then I must gather all courage, defeat the enemies of my soul, and awaken that which has lain dormant within me. I must fear no sacrifice, no darkness, no death. I must believe in the universe, and in myself. I have learned to hope, but for the sake of all eternity I must learn to be faithful…

  Drinwor Fang

  Emperor of the Sky, Son and Savior of the Stars

  Wielder of the Sunsword Surassis, Destined Last Hope of the Universe

  The universe shuddered as Phate’s galaxy plunged deeper into the massive cluster of black holes. More suns were snuffed, more worlds were crushed, and a trillion more lives slipped beneath the surface of the eternal sea of nothingness. Now all destinies were imperiled, and darkness was threatening to endure for all time. As long foreseen, as long foretold, the Emperor of everyone’s fears, Nenockra Rool, was returning.

  But all hope was not lost.

  Not yet…

  Although Phate itself had long suffered, and the might of its civilizations had all but disappeared into the cadaverous dust of history, it was this world’s inhabitants who would fly high the standards of light, and stand fast against the dark tides of eternity.

  And now it was time.

  Time for the ultimate battle to save the universe to commence.

  Time for the fate of this story to unfold.

  And by the grace of the heavens, I hope to see you, my courageous friend, safely on the other side…

  Once a haven for those who were lost, the resplendent sky elven palace of Vren Adiri now flew as a bastion for those who would fight. Its cloudwall dispersed to but wispy rings, it hovered in plain view over Ulith Urn like a king come home to find his country overrun with evil—an evil Vren Adiri would not tolerate. A thousand spirit elf sorcerers stood upon the terraces of its many towers, their voices lifted in song, their fingers flickering with white flames. The dragon swarm parted before them, and they threw their fires into the heaving head of the Devil’s Wind. A tremendous explosion ensued. The dying damned cried out…

  …then a million infuriated roars followed.

  So, there would be a fight to dominate Phate, after all!

  Evil turned its vile eye to Vren Adiri.

  Eager to terrorize the attacking palace, hordes of demons clawed their way to the top of the Cliffs of Moaning Wishes and leaped out of the Devil’s Wind. As they amassed around the unholy grounds of Ulith Urn, they spewed and spat thousands of streams of black fire up towards Vren Adiri. Explosions rocked the palace’s walls, sheets of flame consumed the towers, and the horrific whine of vaporizing souls mingled with the ecstatic cheering of unholy beasts.

  Watching from a few miles away, the companions flinched upon viewing the spread of dark fire about the graceful walls of the palace that had so welcomingly harbored them.

  “Elf-towers destroyed in one volley!” Morigos cried out.

  “No,” Morning’s Hope returned, “those walls will not so easily fall.”

  “We must join the fight!” Morigos urged.

  “No!” Morning’s Hope shot back. “Not yet! We wait for the one! Others will deal with the demon rabble.”

  “Rabble?” Morigos laughed. “You call the might of the Dark Forever rabble? Apparently, I am not the most insane among us! Your fortress is destroyed! We fight alone!” But just as his words were sputtering from his mouth, the demons’ fire fell away and, to Morigos’ surprise, Vren Adiri’s towers were still intact. Though heavily damaged and marred with black burns, the palace flew boldly forward. “Strike me blind as well as deaf! I’d eat my words if they weren’t so foul!”

  “We will never be alone,” Morning’s Hope swore, her glorious eye glistening with sparkles of hope.

  And then, as if to punctuate her point, a vast number of huge, slanting shafts of white light came down from the heavens and illuminated the entire western edge of the continent. Sorcerous storms were dissipated within those heavenly beams, and the demons climbing over the cliffs gave pause. The shafts of light thickened, brightened…then faded away. Ah, but thousands of sky elf palaces remained in their places, though. Countless thousands. All with colossal towers of scintillating white, and hosts of spirit elf sorcerers anxious to unleash holy fires into that blasphemous demonstorm! The palaces drifted down, lined up and hovered over the cliffs’ ledge like the great pillars that guarded the gates to the realm of the Seven Glories itself.

  “Your palace has multiplied!” Morigos noted.

  “They’re here to protect the Son and Savior of the Stars,” Morning’s Hope said. “They’re the foundation for the might of Phate! The sky elf kingdoms were abandoned but not lost. The spirit elves have taken control!”

  “Now do we fight?” Morigos pressed.

  “No!”

  The dark elf sighed. “You really do lik
e to make us wait!”

  Drinwor stared forward in silence, unable to believe what he perceived. It was dizzying. The sight of a single sky elf palace was exhilarating enough, but thousands of them? With Morning’s Hope still holding position miles away from the fray, he watched the ensuing battle with silent awe, wondering if Areshria was out there…

  The five hundred thousand volcanic spirit dragons divided into relatively even-numbered flights and took formation between the palaces, the eldest souls among them cawing to the spirit elf sorcerers for instruction. The sorcerers responded to the dragons in their own draconic tongues, commanding them to maintain their flanking positions until called upon. Then the spirit elves conferred with one another. Their combined wisdom, garnered over ages untold, quickly arrived at a single, simple determination.

  The time for assault was at hand.

  The elves murmured.

  Their murmurs conjoined into a single song.

  And before long this song crescendoed into the loudest sorcerous chorus Phatians had ever heard. A million fingers brightened with sorcery and, in a sudden burst, one hundred thousand streams of sparkling energy shot out in front of the palaces. The streams converged and spread out into a great sheet of multicolored flames that formed the surface of a blazing airborne sea. Oh, it was a brilliant beauty, I tell you! Fleets of mystical fire galleons materialized atop this sea and sailed forward, pitching fireballs from catapults of flame. The whole conjuration surged down into the Devil’s Wind, ships ramming and waves crashing. A ten-mile wide line of explosions, which burned hotter than any fires the demons had ever danced in, made the edge of the cliffs light up like the surface of a sun. The advancing demons were blown back into the Devil’s Wind as a burning shower of charred and bloody limbs!

  The demons’ advance was stalled…but only for a moment. The next wave lashed back with savagery.

  Their hearts lit with hate, their mouths lit with fire, multitudes of demons sprang out of the crimson vapor, poured over the cliffs, and scampered onto the Wicked Plains. The wizard lords among them raised their arms and a new host of sorcerous storms was conjured in the skies above them—tendrils of shadowy mist whipped around the palaces’ towers. Massive flocks of flying fiends burst out of these diabolical clouds and flew screaming into battle.

  May the Gods return, the number of demons was staggering! Each palace was attacked by tens of thousands.

  With the spirit elves blinded by the spectral storms, multitudes of sorcerers were sliced to pieces before their brethren could even command the flanking dragons to fly in to protect them. When the dragons did come, they flew heedlessly into the vile clouds. Cackling demons slammed into them, ripped off their wings, then splattered their molten husks against the palaces’ walls. Specter demons infiltrated them through their ears and skewered their ethereal organs. Larger demons swallowed smaller dragons whole.

  And then the battle became even more desperate, for the demons’ wizard lords targeted the palaces with precision lightning strikes. Electrified forks of emerald energy erupted from the spectral storms, exploding huge sections of wall. Entire towers crumbled to the ground. Spires blew apart. Some palaces were knocked from their positions and collided into each other.

  It was dreadful. A massacre was close at hand!

  Ah, but not so fast, for then Vren Adiri’s strongest souls refocused their mystical minds and adjusted their strategy. Telepathic commands were henceforth sent into the gloomy winds. The besieged dragons were ordered to flee the storms and reorganize above the palaces. The dragons immediately obeyed, dashing straight up into clearer skies while the palaces floated forward out of the clouds. With the flying demons jeering at them for fleeing, the spirit elves turned about, thrust their glowing arms into the sky and cast thousands of sparking energy bolts into the centers of the storms.

  The attack was formidable.

  Jeers turned into screams as the demonic clouds burst into flames. The lightning flared out of control and hordes of demons were set ablaze. Then, following the instructions of the spirit elves, all the volcanic spirit dragons simultaneously turned their heads down and breathed molten fire, scorching the already burning storms. The spectral clouds blew completely apart, and demons already dead exploded.

  The storms were utterly vaporized.

  More commands came from the spirit elf sorcerers. Over two hundred thousand fiery dragons of light dove down like a great squall of molten winds, come to blast the demons that were fast spreading across the Wicked Plains. The dragons all breathed simultaneously again and, in minutes, one hundred square miles of plateau were set on fire.

  The demons reveled in it.

  Although direct contact with the dragons’ flames could destroy them, the supplemental fires spreading across the Wicked Plains hadn’t quite that strength. Actually, those kinds of fires only invigorated them. Laughing demons leaped up, snagged dragons who had dared fly too low, and dragged them down into their deadly midst. Burning carcasses falling out of the sky brought yet more dragons down, and melee combat ensued. It was a bloody, snarling, growling, confusing, desperate fight! Claws sliced through heads. Eyes were stabbed with talons. Fires burned limbs and limbs were used to beat out the fires. Demons fought even after their heads were severed from their bodies.

  The cries were horrifying…

  …but nothing could match the singular sound of a soul being lost. When a volcanic dragon died, its lava skin would pour down from around its disintegrating spirit, and the pitiable moan of a soul condemned to nothingness would echo across eternity…

  Since the battle had begun, the companions suffered those awful cries over and over again.

  Morning’s Hope was devastated.

  For every dragon destroyed, another piece of her heart was lost, and for every dying soul she shed a tear (though she sorcerously hid those tears).

  She glided closer to the battle, but still kept plenty of distance, holding the companions well over a mile away from the sea, where the fringes of the Devil’s Wind billowed. It still wasn’t exactly a safe place to be, for when the plains beneath them erupted with the dragons’ flames, she was forced to guide the little group another thousand feet into the air.

  As the companions watched, the battle continued to intensify. A hundred thousand more demons sprang out of the red vapor, and fire and lightning and storms and spells consumed the western edge of the Wicked Plains in a thunderous, violent wall of flashing death! Morigos repeatedly suggested they get it over with, join the fight, and perish in a hail of black fire, but Morning’s Hope repeatedly denied him, insisting they still had to wait.

  So, wait they did, just hovering in the sky, watching it all unfold.

  Morning’s Hope turned her head slightly aside, and said, “Are you still with me?” to her Emperor.

  “Oh, I’m with you!” Drinwor returned, his voice trembling with anticipation.

  The sight and sounds of battle had the dusk elf’s heart pounding. He didn’t breathe so much as he seethed. He was anxious with fear, but that fear was suppressed beneath an unbelievably strong urge to fight! What was this? Never before had he felt such an intense desire to engage in combat. No doubt it was to some degree inspired by all the anger he harbored over his father’s death coming to the surface, but mostly, it was the sword. He could sense Surassis urging him, almost daring him to rise up and unleash its holy blade. He whispered: “Yes, it is time…time for me to harness the powers that have for so long lain dormant within me; time for me to vent my frustration and rage; time for me to strike these murderous demons from the world!”

  The urge became too much to ignore. Too much…

  He gave in.

  He reached into his leg pouch, slowly withdrew the sword, and said, “I must be ready to fight!”

  Morning’s Hope turned her head full about. “Drinwor, what are you doing?”

  Drinwor freed himself from the saddle-throne, stood up straight, and held his face high and yelled, “Darkness, your sufferance sha
ll be my salvation!”

  And then something happened that shocked Morning’s Hope. Her dusk elf Emperor suddenly appeared to age.

  The smooth beauty of Drinwor’s face crinkled, and his jaw stiffened and squared with a seasoned warrior’s resolve. His silver hair lengthened and lightened, his smoky skin darkened, and the luster of his midnight blue eyes disappeared. For a moment they emptied to soulless black, then a reflective sheen passed over his sockets and orbs of silver emerged. Now his eyes were as shining steel, their wide and distant stare all encompassing.

  Morning’s Hope stretched her head closer to him. “Drinwor, by the Seven Glories…your eyes…”

  Drinwor drew up Surassis and by thought alone commanded its ten-foot blade of condensed white fire to surge forth and claim prominence in the dark turmoil of the chaotic sky!

  The little band of companions was illuminated.

  “It would seem our little Emperor likes his new toy,” Morigos posed.

  “Are you all right?” Morning’s Hope asked Drinwor, her eye wide with worry.

  Drinwor did not answer.

  He was looking beyond her by looking through her. All he saw, all he heard, was the battle. Grimacing, he defiantly thrust Surassis higher into the air, and it felt as if he was casting his own spirit into the sky. Such strength he felt, such confidence! Now he was invigorated beyond reckoning, himself a sword from which light would carve its signature upon the scrolls of darkness! He stepped forward, his voice loud and rumbling as words erupted from between his lips. “Come, Morning’s Hope, let us rid the universe of all murderers! Forth now! Forth with fate! Forth with the sword of my father!”

  “Yes!” Morigos concurred, “forward into battle!” He spurred Arcynn Ahnna Jha on. The starlit unicorn reared in midair, her wings spreading, her six legs ready to gallop across the clouds. She leaned forward—

  “NOT YET!” Morning’s Hope screamed. She whipped her head around to face the dark elf. “I won’t tell you again, Morigos! We wait for the coming of Nenockra Rool!”