by Jason Alan
“Go to cloudform!” Morning’s Hope cried. She had all-the-while been craning her neck to observe Vu Verian’s torment, but now had to swing her head forward just to keep herself balanced as tumbling demons and dragons bumped her sides.
“Slay him!” Morigos bellowed from afar. “Kill him before it’s too late!”
And then Vu Verian stopped moaning.
His anguished cries abated.
He stood up, his silken white robes turning into swirling wisps of dark smoke. His eyes were black, flickering with yellow fires that reflected the torment and hate that raged behind them. The deathly white flesh of his eerily child-like face pulled tight around a widening smile, and his lips parted to reveal the glint of newly sculpted fangs.
Drinwor could not believe his eyes.
He was shocked, mortified.
Vu Verian is Warloove!
WARLOOVE!
The newly awakened vampire laughed in glorious exaltation. Hands outstretched, he lunged forward with supernatural speed.
“THE SWORD IS MINE!”
Gasping, Drinwor swung Surassis wildly.
He was too slow.
Warloove stepped inside the sword’s arc, grabbed the handle and wrenched it from Drinwor’s grasp. Then he struck out with the pommel, knocking the dusk elf off his feet.
Drinwor was stunned.
Warloove was ecstatic. After a thousand years of suffering, the Sunsword Surassis was his! A power like nothing he’d ever felt surged through his raving soul, and he hefted the sword as Drinwor had, with both hands thrusting it high into the air. The runes on the Gauntlets of Loathing Light blazed like storms of red fire, and Sillithian Synnstrike’s golden form darkened to shadow. Then the white fire blade was snuffed from the inside, overtaken by a rising fountain of violent black flames that extended to nearly twice the original length.
Warloove screamed with unholy delight. “Victory! At last!”
Now, with his dark dreams poised on the brink of realization, the voice of Darkis flew into his mind.
You’ve done it! Now bring it to me! Bring it to me!
Warloove pointed the sword at the cowering dusk elf and cried, “Who are you to deny my eternity!”
Morning’s Hope looked back and growled, “No!” And again, she swiped with her foreclaw, but this time with the intention to slash the abomination on her back to slivers.
She missed.
Warloove had already leaped high into the air, shouting “Freedom! Freedom in the freezing darkness of eternity! Master, we are free!”
Morning’s Hope lashed out and snapped at him, but her head rammed into the side of a hardened black hide.
Geeter.
The Greater Demonic Dragon had snuck up beneath the companions and smacked the translucent aside. He caught Warloove on his back and shot forward.
“Damn you, demons!” Morning’s Hope screamed. She tried to give chase, but the winds were too strong and she was unable to maneuver. She was helpless. Everyone was as they tumbled toward the closing breaches. Even the mighty Devil King couldn’t fight the pull anymore. Nenockra Rool was leaned farther over and dragged headfirst back into the Dark Forever, a million demons falling in behind him before his colossal breach closed.
Arcynn Ahnna Jha, desperately trying to avoid a closing rent, spun over and spiraled aside, grazing the corner of the diminishing tear. She managed to elude it, but Morigos was unseated by her wild maneuver.
He yelled, “We are all slaves!” then was blasted unconscious by a bolt of energy that erupted from the breach’s crackling rim. His limp body spinning wildly, the dark elf Mage of the Moom was pulled down into the Dark Forever.
Geeter sailed in after him, with a howling Warloove victoriously waving the black-flamed Sunsword all the way.
Morning’s Hope slammed her wings against the roaring winds, desperate to remain in the free skies of Phate. The rift that had taken Warloove and Morigos was now taking her. It jabbed her with jolts of energy, pulled her closer, closer inside. With demons and volcanic dragons continuing to bump her sides, she strained and strained, refusing to be pulled in.
She shook her head, said, “I…won’t…go!”
Now the shrinking rift’s space wasn’t much bigger than she was. If she could just hold on for a few more seconds!
She managed to curl her head back and ask, “Is my Emperor still with me?”
Drinwor stood up. He was still unaffected by the winds, but his countenance had dimmed to normalness. The silver flames were gone. His armor was slick black, his eyes midnight blue. His appearance of increased age had left him, but he looked pale and drained. His expression was a mixture of shock, anger, and vacancy. He answered Morning’s Hope rather absently, whispering, “I’m with you, my love.” He felt so weak and empty. His immortally-charged energy and strength and resolve seemed to have vanished with the sword. What was left of him felt hollow and purposeless, like an old champion whose glory existed only in the memory of triumphs from years long gone.
He was the One Life, without the One Sword.
It was more than he could bear.
“Hold on!” Morning’s Hope said, fighting the last great rush of winds.
“I have failed you, father,” Drinwor uttered whilst grasping his sword charm.
“No!” Morning’s Hope assured through her grunting, “you have succeeded! The universe is safe! We have won! Nenockra Rool has been cast back into the Dark Forever and Phate and the galaxy are saved! There’s still a chance for blue skies to blaze! Drinwor, my Emperor, my salvation, my soul, we have won, we have won!”
“But I am lost…” he whispered.
The breach was nearly sealed now; it narrowed like a shutting eye. Morning’s Hope was so close to it, her snout broke through its plane. Drinwor stared down into its shadowy depths, muttering, “Surassis… My sword… My soul…”
And then he bolted.
He ran across his dragon’s back, scampered up the long curve of her neck and, with all his strength and agility, leaped headlong into the Dark Forever!
“NO!” Morning’s Hope screamed before she dove in after him. The rift sealed shut. All the rest of the cracks in the sky closed and disappeared. It was silent but for the faraway whine of demons who gathered into packs and disappeared into the less threatening night…
I sit here slouched and breathless in my chair, and I’d be lying if I said I shed no tears to write this: but for the sacrifice of our heroes, the Devil King, Nenockra Rool, could not ascend into the universe.
It was over.
The battered world of Phate would see another day.
Although Drinwor Fang had fallen with his dragon into the Dark Forever, and the Sunsword Surassis was lost, the universe would not on this night be enslaved. The black holes continued to pull at the stars, but the stars pulled back. For now, the oceans of echoing darkness were silenced. All across the galaxy, fathers and mothers continued to love their children, and over their heads blue skies continued to blaze. Billions of benevolent beings carried on as the Son and Savior of the Stars had, with hope, compassion, perseverance, and a little helping of humor mixed with a good measure of faith.
And when dawn’s glorious glow crept over the Continent Isle of Volcar, a group of twinkling blue lights shone through the Zyrinthian Asteroid Belt.
Something long gone was returning, but was still far away…
The dying sun carried on.
Its time was coming.
But not on this day.
And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you, oh, triumphant reader, for accompanying me on this adventure and giving me the courage and conviction to continue on to Volume II, and tell of our heroes’ fate.
Farewell, perhaps we shall meet again…
The rubble of Ulith Urn trembled as something silvery and gold lifted up through the cracked stones and destruction. Soular Centurion 7 stood, his dusty armor glinting on one shoulder, a single, lonely little gleam.
His vision was clouded. Oh, th
ere was enough dust and fire to cause nearly anyone’s eyes to blink and burn, but the galactic guardian’s vision was simply malfunctioning. His head twitched, and a long-resonating ‘beep’ echoed across the devastated ruins and plains.
– OPTOMETRICAL REPAIR IN PROGRESS –
In moments, scintillating waves of red and blue passed before his ghostly eyes, curtains of electrical repair unfurling to the floor. Soon he could see clearly, with only occasional flashes of lightning-like lines crossing his field of vision. No matter. For now, his sight was sufficiently repaired.
He looked about. The amount of death that lay before him was staggering. Millions of demons spread across the Wicked Plains. They were a field themselves, really, a plateau of claws and torsos and heads slit here and there with rivers of black blood that flowed through the Disintegrated Sea, dripped from falls as black and glistening as the obsidian rock they slathered. Fires raged, though not so angrily with nothing to fuel them and not much left to burn. Intertwining the myriad columns of smoke were the ghostly blue outlines of the towers of Ulith Urn, once dying now again dead. The sky was a stew of confused storms. Black winds enwrapped green gusts, grappling as if for air to breathe. And all the world seethed and quivered as if it swayed through a drunken stupor, for Phate itself was exhausted with yet another war beneath its belt.
Then a flicker came from above…
Soular Centurion 7 lifted his head.
Rong met his eye.
Ah, Rong, that moon that loomed so hugely in the Phatian sky, its four little apostle brothers encircling it faster than what the centurion had earlier perceived. Interesting, this moon. Such a cold eye it was, yet also so warm and alive, peering through the asteroids and clouds, the storms and dust. The centurion gazed at it for a moment, then noticed some bluish glints beyond it.
These weren’t stars, he knew.
– OBJECTS APPROACHING FROM BEYOND THIS SOLAR SYSTEM –
Somewhat intriguing, these glints, but of little import…for now.
The centurion turned to regard the Disintegrated Sea.
Quite an impressive sight, he had to acknowledge. For any being, be it immortal or no, it was some feat to annihilate something as substantial as an ocean. He glimpsed yet more dead millions, or at least what remained of them, lining the seafloor like a fleshy bed of seaweed. He noticed some live ones, too; demons hungrily chomping on the heads of their fallen brethren, or sucking what blood they could from what bodies still held some sustenance. Some clambered into the distance, or climbed the cliffs. Some flew away. And some tried to pry open the vanished dimensional rifts.
Then something rather odd happened.
One of the centurion’s recent digital transmissions flew across his partially damaged eyes.
– RESCUE OPERATION PENDING…IMPERATIVE TO PROCEED –
Was that so? He processed what little information this transmission provided, calculated the percentage chance that his involvement would sway the fates one way or the other, and determined his proposed next course of action to be true.
He eyed the demons futilely scraping at the weary sky, and stepped to the edge of the cliff.
From perhaps, oh, some mile away from Ulith Urn, the Demonlord, Champion Warrior Vorkoron, slivered his red glowing eyes at the centurion. Slick, sleek, and black as pitch was his skin, like the blood that flowed over the cliffs. He was crouched low, idly picking the bones from one of his favored kin to chew on, his burning glare steady as stone while Soular Centurion 7 fixed his own eyes upon the scene.
He watched the galactic invader leap over the cliffs; a glow of gold, a flash of silver, swallowed by some passing sentient storm that had neither the power nor the desire to tangle its windy entrails around that immortal being.
Champion Warrior Vorkoron stood, a grating growl issuing from deep behind his overlong fangs. He stretched up straight, his head rising to fifty-seven feet, his horns piercing the sky ten feet higher than that. He snapped his claws and bellowed a cry.
It was heard.
Minute by minute, one by one, demons came slithering out of the smoky surroundings. Some were as large as unholy temples, some were smaller than a speck of dirt.
All kneeled before Vorkoron.
And then, as the sun rose like a crying eye of light, Vorkoron led his gathered horde to the edge of the cliffs and mounted a giant winged beast, with combat, death, and the centurion in the forefront of his devilish mind…
The End of the First Book of Phate
“THE COSMIC FAIRYTALE”
Comes Next,
“THE DARK FOREVER…”
Arcynn Ahnna Jha – A large, winged beast with six legs and a hide of white spotted over with glimmering specks, Arcynn Ahnna Jha is the last known of a rare breed of unicorn, a starlit unicorn. Though now she spends much of her time in hiding, she has some connection to the heroes in the first Book of Phate, having aided them in times of great need. *see Starlit Unicorns
Areshria – The largest sky elf palace on Phate, its tallest tower stands ten miles above the high clouds. It is the pinnacle of sky elf ingenuity. Once the capital city to the sky elves, populated by millions, it is now all but empty, occupied only by Herard Avari Fang and his bestowed son, Drinwor Fang. It is rumored that the legendary Sunsword Surassis is hidden there. At its peak, it was a flourishing metropolis full of artisans, musicians, and practitioners of the most wondrous magic. Now, with the exception of its two inhabitants, it is said to be occupied by nothing but ghosts of a brighter age.
Black Claw – The only remaining, and therefore most powerful, clan of dark elf fighters in Kroon.
Castle Krypt – Warloove’s spectral castle located in the bottom of a dead volcano, which resides somewhere in the middle of the Mountains of Might. Surrounded by Corpsewood forest, the castle is guarded by undead dark elf sorcerers, and laden with myriad traps and diabolical spells. It is thought that Warloove murdered the original inhabitant, an ancient shadowlight elf mage, and took the castle for himself, desiring it to be especially secluded.
Cave Port of Kroon – The bottommost level of the dark elf realm of Kroon, where great caverns lay, and a lagoon that leads to the Raging Sea resides.
Cauldron of Carcass Control – A huge, ancient pot of necromancy filled with putrid muck and body parts. Syndreck the Brooding uses it to rile up various diabolical spells.
Cliffs of Moaning Wishes – Sheer, mile high cliffs of obsidian that rim the eastern coast of the Continent Isle of Volcar. The upper reaches of the deep elf realm of Kroon exist behind them, and Ulith Urn stands atop them.
Cloak of Winds – Vu Verian’s magical shroud that renders him virtually invisible. He is at times able to stretch it out far around himself and cloak those near to him.
Continent Isle of Volcar – A huge landmass in the western portion regions of Phate that the Devil King and his legions ravaged during the first war with the Dark Forever. Ulith Urn stands on its eastern edge where the most furious fighting took place. The continent isle has the misfortune of residing in one of the weakest points in the universe, and it is worried that it is where the demons will come again.
Cold Blooded Caves – The vast series of dark elf caverns that exist behind the Cliffs of Moaning Wishes, beneath the Wicked Plains and Mountains of Might. Kroon is the outermost region of the caves.
Corpsewood – The dead trees that dwell in Warloove’s domain at the bottom of a burned-out volcano located deep in the Mountains of Might. Unfortunate beings caught in the forest are likely to see moving trees, ghosts, and undead dark elf sorcerers. The forest is swamped over with mist, and can drive one mad if they should reside in it for too long. The Castle Krypt lies somewhere in the middle of it, but only shows itself when Warloove wishes.
Cygorgia – A once proud and strong nation of cyclops warriors that fell from internal political dissension between opposing factions. Unable to resolve their differences peacefully, the cyclops battles left their conglomerate of cities in ruin. Surviving bands from diffe
rent families scattered across Volcar and lived mostly in isolation before they disappeared. Some cyclops were reportedly seen fighting valiantly in the war against the Dark Forever.
Dark Elves – A predominantly evil race of grey or black skinned elves who dwell in subterranean realms. A few, scattered bands of dark elves reportedly live on Phate’s surface, deep in the largest forests. There is a saying on Phate – “The deeper one goes, the darker the elves.” This holds true in both physical appearance and in demeanor. Surface dwelling dark elves tend to remain neutral, and avoid dealings with other races. Their subterranean kin are far less civil, and have at times mounted campaigns to assassinate beings in any territory of Phate. In latter years, after the war, the dark elf clans, once united, are now divided, and they delight in killing their own for mere sport. They eagerly await the coming of the Dark Forever, in hopes to ally themselves with Nenockra Rool himself.
Dark Forever – The lowest plane of existence in the multiverse, the hellish domain of the Devil King, an entire universe of evil in itself.
Darkis – A once powerful alien overlord from a distant galaxy, Darkis was marooned on Phate after being captured by his enemies, the Draxiah Meeh. He is master of Warloove, and dwells in the bowels of the Castle Krypt, working on repairing his severely damaged starship. He commands Warloove to retrieve the Sunsword Surassis, believing the sword’s incredible energy can empower his starship’s engines, so that he might escape Phate before the ascension of the Dark Forever.
Dead (Dying) Towers of Ulith Urn – Spectral towers raised by ancient necromancers in anticipation of the first war with the Dark Forever. From Ulith Urn, the necromancers helped tear open the dimensional walls between the primary universal plane and the Dark Forever. The area just beyond the towers, over the Raging Sea, is the weakest point in the multiverse.