by Jason Alan
It was a strange feeling, this helplessness, he thought.
Fighting continued raging everywhere.
Dragons burned demons, demons disintegrated dragons, and every second a thousand deaths occurred. The dying shrieks of lost souls filled the air like frightening thunder, the scent of blood and smoke weighed heavily on the winds, and the sky beyond the battle further darkened as the dying sun set itself upon the shelf of the lost horizon.
The coming of night filled the companions with dread.
But nothing was so dreadful as Nenockra Rool.
Specter demons disguised as storms encircled him like rings around a planet, defending his flanks with lightning. Sky elf palaces orbited his torso and each of his legs, their surviving sorcerers unleashing whatever spells they could before their towers plunged down and exploded on the ragged rocks that made up the bed of the Disintegrated Sea. The demons who fell dead from the sky got eaten by the demons lingering between the Devil King’s toes and, all around, the wreckage and bones piled up into mountains themselves.
But to the companion’s surprise, Nenockra Rool was ignoring the battle.
The ungodly king of evil was leaned over, his arm still buried in the breach he’d come from. Drinwor thought it looked as if he was pulling on something from the other side.
“What is he doing?” Morigos yelled over the tumult.
“I don’t know,” Morning’s Hope said. And then she was distracted, having to blast a dozen demons from the sky. Morigos and Vu Verian flew to assist her; green fire flew from the mage’s staff, blue beams from the owl’s eyes.
Drinwor couldn’t take his gaze from Nenockra Rool.
Every ounce of his being was begging to discharge his full strength through the Sunsword. So much energy and adrenaline coursed through him, it was maddening! If his spirit had been a sun he thought it would have right then gone supernova. He pointed Surassis at the Devil King, wishing him to die.
Distracted by a disturbing sensation, the unholy ruler of darkness turned his great head, gazed through the madness of battle…and saw the small but intense white flame of Surassis.
He did not like this.
His eye twitched.
Drinwor screamed.
Morning’s Hope twisted her head around just in time to see a thin veneer of flickering orange energy wrap itself around her Emperor.
Morning’s Hope was confounded. “What manner of magic is this?”
Vu Verian flew up beside her. “It’s the Lord of the Dark Forever, he’s seen us!”
“Light us all on fire, he will!” Morigos bellowed.
The mystic owl called out, “Drinwor, stand down!” He pointed a wingtip toward the Sunsword. “Let go of Surassis, let its light diffuse!”
“No!” Morning’s Hope screamed, “he would be consumed!”
“He is being consumed!” Vu Verian shot back.
“Be silent!” The Greater Translucent Dragon thrust her wings out threateningly, growling, “I warned you not to interfere with the savior or his servants! Be silent or begone!”
Vu Verian shook his head and moved away from her.
Morigos somehow managed not to comment.
Morning’s Hope looked back to Drinwor, pleading, “Oh, my Emperor, say something!”
All Drinwor could do was scream.
His body felt as if it had been submerged in lava, and the slightest movement compounded the pain. He was burning…burning… “It is unbearable!”
But just when he thought he would melt into another smear on his dragon’s wound infested back, a rush of silver fire coursed down from the hilt of Surassis, streamed across his limbs, and stifled the orange energy. The scorching effects of the Devil’s King glare subsided, and the agony went away.
Nenockra Rool was mystified.
How could this being not burn?
“Yes! Fight him!” Morning’s Hope urged as she rose through the demonstorm, climbing closer and closer to the Devil King’s head.
Drinwor was vaguely aware of her words. His attention was focused on the silver fire, which had enwrapped his entire body and was now seeping into his skin. It wasn’t painful in any way, but it was disconcerting…
He looked up to Morning’s Hope. “What is this?”
“Surassis,” she uttered with reverence, “it protects you!”
“It’s doing more than that!” Drinwor exclaimed as the cool fire infiltrated his organs and entwined his heart. It felt as if another spirit was taking residence next to his own. In essence, that was true. Surassis was merging the three elements together: the One Life, the One Soul, and the sword itself.
Suddenly, Sillithian Synnstrike flashed, and Drinwor flashed, too. And when both glares subsided, Drinwor appeared to have turned into a being composed entirely of the silver flames. His eyes were visible as brightly glowing ovals of white, and his demonskin’s sigils, now inscribed with multicolored flames themselves, hovered a short distance in front of his chest. His hair hung from his head like sparking bristles, and his fingers seemed melded into the handle of his sunfire sword.
“The boy is exploding!” Morigos yelled.
“It is the emergence of the Son and Savior of the Stars!” Morning’s Hope proclaimed. Then she slapped her wings and dared to fly yet closer to Nenockra Rool, whose head now filled all their view. “Do it, Drinwor!” she called out, “release the power of the sword!”
Drinwor heard her voice echoing as if from far faraway, and she appeared to be veiled with the same fire that immersed him. In fact, all the world seemed to be flickering with starry flames. But nothing was obscured; every outline was as sharp as could be. And everything seemed to be moving slowly—everything except Drinwor himself. It was as if time had allotted him a new space in-between its seconds, a space where he could freely roam. He strode forward and, with the energy of the sun surging through him, aimed Surassis at Nenockra Rool’s leering face. The sword gushed with power…and begged him for yet more energy.
This was it.
The sword wanted his essence, his life force.
And now, just as that realization sunk in, Drinwor heard a strange little voice, like a whispering hiss coming from deep inside the sword. It said: “You don’t have the strength to destroy Nenockra Rool! Dare not defy him! Try and you’ll die!”
What in all the universe was this? It certainly wasn’t the voice of Surassis! Or was it? No, no, it couldn’t have been. This voice was chilling, ghastly, like the voice of a shadowy villain of a nightmare sprung free in his mind.
“Use the sword and die, Son of Herard! Use it and die!”
Drinwor’s energy and determination dwindled. For a fleeting moment he wondered if the voice was Warloove’s. But how was that possible? Whatever it was, it kept hissing at him, reminding him of his mortal fears, reminding him that underneath it all he was just a boy who was indeed afraid to die. He was confused, frightened. He shook his head, whispered, “I can’t,” to no one in particular, “I can’t do it…”
“If you do you’ll die!” the hissing voice reaffirmed.
Morning’s Hope swung her head around. “Drinwor! Now!”
“Destroy him, boy!” Morigos screamed from aside, Arcynn Ahnna Jha whining with pain as claws scratched her white hide.
“Morning’s Hope!” Drinwor screamed. “The sword…it isn’t right!”
She couldn’t hear him, for at that moment the Devil King released a bloodcurdling growl as he leaned forward and pushed his fiendish face down through the battle. Oh, what frightful thing! Sky elf palaces exploded against his cheeks. Thousands of demons and dragons perished between his tower-tall teeth. His jutting chin parted the sorcerous storm clouds and all had to beware of looking too deeply into his eyes. Yet closer and closer came his face…
“Now!” Drinwor’s companions all screamed at once.
“You’ll die, Son of Herard! You’ll die!”
Tears of light exploded from Drinwor’s silver-fire eyes. “Morning’s Hope…I’m afraid!” he w
hispered through the roar of all else.
And then, as if she’d heard him, Morning’s Hope screamed, “Drinwor, you’re the savior of my soul, the savior of my kind! Release the energy of the sword and set our spirits free! Fear no fate, for I am with you for all time!” Then she looked forward and in defiance cast these words at Nenockra Rool: “Curse the Dark Forever! May the universe shine beneath the golden light of the Seven Glories for all eternity!”
And then, for but a fleeting moment, Drinwor closed his eyes and thought about the Hall of Voices. He recalled all those galaxies shining through the back wall. He thought of those beings, of all their hopes and dreams; and he thought of his friends and father. He remembered his pledge to himself and to them—that when the time came, he would sacrifice for all.
He was Drinwor Fang, Son of Herard, Emperor of the Sky, Son and Savior of the Stars!
His courage may have faltered, but it had not failed.
He exhaled heavily, opened his eyes…
…and again heard Drekklor’s voice…
“You’ll die, Son of Herard! You’ll die!”
Now he understood: Drakana, the One Soul, had been cursed, possessed by a demonic entity.
But it was a soul nonetheless, and the sword still had enough power.
“Then die I shall, fiend, and you with me!” Drinwor shot back, his resolve returning, his innate strength and goodness overwhelming this hissing voice of fear. With both hands holding the sword high, he looked up to Surassis and said, “For blue skies, father.”
And then he gave himself to the sword.
As his awareness drew inward, his chaotic surroundings seemed to disappear. Now his essence fled down a hallway of golden fire, and beyond that was an even greater light, a light like the one that greets dying eyes—brilliant, white, heavenly, and burning with flames that would endure beyond all time. It was the point of release, the place where the One Life and the One Soul would combine their essences with the One Sword and go blasting forth, releasing an explosion that had enough strength to annihilate all evil from the world! He flew down this hallway, going faster and faster. And then…
And then he saw the One Soul.
It rose up out of the golden fires right in front of the point of release, a ragged black wraith whose tendril-like limbs wavered as if they swam through some demonic sea. It spread out, blocking Drinwor’s path, its very presence cursing the sanctity of the golden hallway.
“Come, boy,” Drekklor screamed, “come for me and find your darkest fears! Embrace your death!”
Drinwor screamed too, and accelerated, intent on smashing into this cursed thing and plunging them both into the realm of release beyond!
But then something distracted him…
His instincts warned him of a new presence, very close to him, and he felt threatened.
Right before he would have overtaken Drekklor, Drinwor withdrew his essence from the sword. The cursed soul and golden hallway fell away, and he blinked, his awareness returning to his physical surroundings. He was still on his dragon’s back, and standing right before him, returned to his sky elven form, was Vu Verian.
“What…what are you doing?” Drinwor asked.
Vu Verian glanced at the darkening sky and flinched, for nighttime was nearly upon them. He looked back to Drinwor, held out a hand, and calmly said, “Give me the sword. I will do it.”
Drinwor was speechless.
Morning’s Hope curled her head around. “What’s going on? Vu Verian! Do not interfere.”
“Always a bother, this one!” Morigos sputtered as he circled above, his staff firing at any demons that approached.
Vu Verian ignored them, his stare fixed on the dusk elf Emperor.
Then the world grew darker.
The sun was slipping away…
The sky elf lurched forward, grimacing as the first strands of night pressed him toward cloudform. “Quickly, now,” he said, “for soon I will not be able to aid you.” A shadow passed over his features and he scowled.
Drinwor shook his head “no.” He looked about, to the demons and storms and Nenockra Rool. “I can destroy all of this!” he exclaimed, his silver hair lifting in a spectral wind, his star-like eyes glowing as brightly as ever.
Vu Verian stepped yet closer to him, reaching out with a shaking hand. “Drinwor! I command you—Give me the sword!”
“No!” Drinwor yelled, “I can do this!”
“Death to you, Son of Herard!”
“No!” Drinwor screamed at both the hissing voice and Vu Verian.
Morning’s Hope roared, “Leave him be!” Then she reached back and swatted at Vu Verian with an open foreclaw.
The sky elf sidestepped the strike, then strode boldly forward. “Damn you, give it to me!”
Drinwor recoiled.
“Morning’s Hope!”
It was Morigos.
Morning’s Hope looked forward…
…and right into the great eye of the Devil King. It was horrible, like gazing into the maw of a haunted black hole. The Sunsword’s radiance disappeared into it like the light of a swallowed star, and all that twinkled within was darkness. It was the eye of death, the eye of defeat, the promise of an infernal destiny! Beyond Phate, the cowering angels of the universe quivered with fear as the scourge of the Dark Forever stood on the edge of conquest!
Morning’s Hope looked away from the eye, and in that moment, the sun finally plunged beneath the horizon.
A chorus of howls arose from the plains of Phate, the voices of the undead come to celebrate the birth of another night.
Vu Verian joined them.
He unleashed a primeval cry of anger, then stumbled closer to Drinwor, demanding, “Give me the sword!”
Nenockra Rool lifted his free arm and made to swat down and destroy all the light that blinded him.
Soular Centurion 7 had not survived billions of years by relying on one system. The Cauldron of Carcass Control’s poisonous swill was damaging him, immobilizing him…but it did not have the power to destroy him. Now signals were transmitted all throughout the functioning cybernetic portions of his body, and his gold-flecked blood raced faster through his exterior veins. A battery of backup systems was charged up while most of his primaries were shut down, and his ghostly attributes grew in power.
He cooled.
– BYPASSING DAMAGED INTERNAL CIRCUITRY WITH CORPOREAL ESSENCE VAPOR –
His motor functions returned.
In one swift movement, his torso swiveled completely around and snapped straight up, yanking his head out of the gurgling liquid. The maneuver was so violent, Syndreck’s skeletal hands were separated from his wrists, and the necromancer was thrown down right in front of the galactic warrior. With twitching bony fingers still gripping the back of his helm, Soular Centurion 7 lifted the Sword of Molecular Destruction high…
…and brought it slashing down.
“Wrecker of fate!” was all Syndreck the Brooding could manage before the sword cleaved his skull in half and sucked his soul into the black void of its blade!
– TARGET NEUTRALIZED –
Indeed, it had been done.
Syndreck the Brooding, master necromancer and wrecker of planes, had been defeated by the galactic guardian of the stars. Without a dark spirit to empower it, the remains of the necromancer’s skeletal body crumbled to dust. The dust sifted through the cracks in the floor and blew away, disintegrated sometime later in the stray fires of a slain spirit sorcerer.
Syndreck’s magic faded.
The vortex tower of lightning fizzled out and all that was left of Ulith Urn exploded—the Cauldron of Carcass Control, the temples, the towers, and Syndreck’s floor.
With nothing to stand on, Soular Centurion 7 fell hundreds of feet to the courtyard, and disappeared beneath tons of blasted rubble…
– ACTIVATE MOT…MOTARY…ZZRMPH… –
Syndreck’s hold over the sky was gone.
All the cracks, rifts, rents, breaches, and tears let ou
t a kind of moaning yawn and began to seal themselves up from the ends.
The Devil’s Wind was sucked back into the rifts like an atmosphere escaping into space, and everything above the Disintegrated Sea was engulfed in a hellish cyclone.
The sorcerous storms dispersed.
Demons and dragons were tossed wildly about.
Beasts smashed into the sides of the Devil King, then tumbled into the Dark Forever.
Some sky elf palaces managed to turn aside, float free of the rushing winds, while others were caught, their towers crushed as they were pulled into the closing rents, their spirit sorcerers screaming at the horrors of their fate.
Just as Nenockra Rool began to swat at the companions, his claw was stayed. The arm that had been struggling to free his weapon was yanked inward to the shoulder, and his great body toppled sideways toward the breach.
Morning’s Hope was caught in a funnel of wind and struggled to keep righted. Arcynn Ahnna Jha was dragged out in front of her, Morigos cackling as he desperately hung onto the unicorn’s neck.
Drinwor was unaffected by the winds.
He could hear all the chaos around him, but his attention was focused solely on Vu Verian, who was also unaffected by the whipping gusts. It was as if these two stood in a pocket of calm space that existed only atop the translucent dragon’s back, while all else around them was a storming chaos.
“Stay away from me,” Drinwor warned, slowly backing away, the sword held out to his side.
Vu Verian matched his steps, opened his mouth to reply, but instead only grunted in pain.
Nighttime overtook him.
Having resisted the urge to go to cloudform, his slim, tall figure began to contort. His fingers curled wickedly inward and he leaned over, his knees buckling. Agonizing groans flew like grumbling shadow demons from the cavern of his throat, and he mumbled through them, “The night reaches out and torments me throughout the day! It demands the surrender of my soul and I am a slave to the fortresses of darkness!” Then he smeared a stream of black tears across his disfiguring face. Moaning with pain, he fell to all fours, a tortured servant of daylight now bereft of the life-giving sun!