The Destinia Apocalypse (The Starguards - Of Humans, Heroes, and Demigods Book 4)

by Raymond Burke

  “I thought I might find you here,” Spheron growled in his Lorevoice. He had to admire Millennius even in his Lore state. He was a golden burning vision.

  Millennius didn't acknowledge his presence, continuing to stare at the scar which sealed tight the portal back to their home worlds. It resembled a moon-sized black jagged cosmic string floating free in space. But wherever it orbited, travelled, or landed, it would always lead back to their doomed universe.

  “Suppose we went back?” Millennius asked, in his own gruff voice, “Would it change anything?” The sadness rang through.

  Spheron put a hand on his leader’s shoulder. “It’s too late for that, my friend.”

  As if still thinking to himself, Millennius pondered, “What would we find if we opened it up? Would the Lore trapped inside have devoured everything? Will we find any survivors? A new civilisation arisen perhaps?” His voice sounded hopeful, but died as he shook his fiery mane and lamented, “I have failed everyone, Spheron.” His golden eyes bore into the Breach's dark heart.

  “No, Millennius, you have not. It was prophesied. We would be the last Celestian Knights. But we have a legacy, both from our first born and the last born on Earth. I have seen it. And . . . I have also seen Phasia . . .”

  He was cut off as Millennius turned sharply to him. “Phasia? She lives? And what of Synther?” His golden face grew darker with anger.

  Spheron braced himself as he told Millennius of the newly-born Astrals, Phasia’s taking of the younglings under her wing, her comforting words to him, the war for Magna Aura, and then the hardest part of all.

  “When I followed them to the strange world, well. . .” he didn't want to say it, “There's an alliance. They. . . betrayed Xathanius. He is dead. Murdered by Destina, her sons, and the Traitor Synther!” He meant to continue, but didn't have a chance.

  Millennius exploded in rage, his aureate light enveloping Spheron and space around them. A roar eclipsing the birth pangs of a supernova boomed from within Millennius and the cosmic background warped into a multi-hued starscape.

  There was a sense of unending vertigo.

  Spheron had never seen a portal like it as they emerged over the Surge world Spheron had told Millennius about. The ground looked different though, as if it had been recently bombed, with Surge bodies disturbed from their resting places.

  Spheron walked Millennius over to where Aeon had fallen. His body was covered with dirt and metal debris from whatever had happened here.

  Millennius looked down calmly at his son’s body, energy fizzing from his mouth like oral tears. He bent down and gouged a deeper hole in the ground with an energised arm and laid his son in it. He then filled the grave in.

  A silent prayer for Xathanius was spoken by both. Millennius then lifted his head toward the heavens and roared again, golden energy spewing upwards as he commended his son, Xathanius—Lord Aeon of the Astrals, to the universe.

  His outward mourning over, Millennius asked: “Destina, Synther, where are they?”

  “Synther seeks a new Lore horde to attack the Astral Chronopolis and Destina and her sons are on Earth somewhere in the distant future.”

  “And Phasia?”

  “She watches over the Astrals.”

  Face set in determination, Millennius said, “I shall intercept Synther and destroy him As the dominant Lore, I should be able to take control of the horde and use them against Destina.”

  “A credible plan, Millennius,” Spheron approved. “Then I will observe Destina and discover the Antiqchronals she seeks,” confirmed Spheron. “We should then rendezvous over Destina’s future Earth and prevent the Storm of Stars from awakening.”

  They clasped arms, as of old, to seal their mission plans.

  Millennius then opened his spectacular portal and to Spheron’s amazement it split into two, sending him along his intended destination, while Millennius headed to the Chronopolis.

  As Spheron sped through the temporal field, he thought about what Phasia had said about Zane. He was sure Phasia was trying to tell him more than she said. He reminded himself to check on Zane once he figured out the whereabouts of Destina and her sons.

  “All the time in the universe and still I am rushing about,” mused Spheron.

  The Astral Dimension

  The Lore closed in on the Chronopolis.

  After warning the Astrals in the throne room, Spheron the younger had charged back out to defend the colonnades, the defensive gates to the inner citadel. He could feel the creatures cloying at his neck around his shield, but he held out like his father had taught him. The Lore had come from nowhere. And Synther was at the head of them. It confirmed the treachery of Archron and Netherlord and the probability that Aeon was dead.

  Damn them both, he thought. They were as traitorous as Synther.

  The Chronopolis was a temporal bubble-dimension, built mostly by Helexius' dimensional hexes and Spheron's engineering and forcefield technology. Outside of the Pyrathedral, chronal temples, residences, and courtyards were a series of forcefield walls and colonnades also created by Spheron as an early warning system and buffer trap against any unwanted visitors, such as the Lore. He knew all the little quirks and shortcuts to ward off the Lore, but still the Lore kept coming. He had to do this alone as he knew the other Astrals were inside maintaining the rest of the Chronopolis’ temporal integrity and defences.

  As Spheron watched, a golden star appeared within the dimensional sphere, above Synther. As it travelled closer and closer at great velocity, Spheron realised it was a Lore, and no ordinary Lore at that. His father had secretly confided in him what he, Millennius and Destina were becoming, lest it became necessary to destroy them if they returned to Earth. Spheron’s heart sank when he saw Millennius, for he knew he could not hold out against both Synther and Millennius. Spheron the younger guiltily desired that it was his father coming to his rescue.

  Suddenly Spheron saw new hope. To his great surprise and relief, it was Synther who bore the brunt of the attack from Millennius as he ploughed into the Traitor Synther, driving him down into the depths of the pocket universe. The bright light in the depths of darkness was a glow of life. Of justice. Of Millennius. And now Spheron was not fighting just for his life or for the Chronopolis, but also for Millennius.

  The Lore had tried to follow and assist their master, but Spheron realised that this was his chance to defeat the Lore and give Millennius a chance to kill Synther. He drew the Lore in, using every ounce of his strength, his powers and body, to corral the Lore around him. He could feel his life slipping away, but he had to give Millennius all the time he needed.

  Spheron heaved with all his might, trapping the Lore within his forcefield, dragging them down with him. They gladly burned him. He willingly endured them. He could barely see or hear from his injuries; all he knew he had to do was to keep the Lore away from Millennius. And after almost an eternity, with his last breath, he saw him: Millennius victorious.

  The golden Lore rose up from the depths of the temporalscape bathed in the dissipating aura of the blue energy that had once been the Traitor Synther. He roared with triumph. Looking down upon Spheron, there was a moment of gratitude; a connection of equals.

  Millennius said something, but Spheron could not hear him.

  And then the golden Lore vanished into a portal, which opened liked a golden halo.

  “My honour . . .” Spheron saluted in return, before collapsing in death.

  ***

  Millennius was dead.

  He had arrived in the thick of battle, the Lore clustered around the Astral forcefield master, Spheron the younger, at the head of the Chronopolis entrance. Millennius saw his target and dove in, focused on Synther who managed to sense him at the last moment.

  Synther spun. In a flash of frenzied blue he challenged Millennius, secure in the knowledge his Lore would follow him and rip Millennius’ atoms apart. But as Millennius violently clenched him around the neck, using his great wings of golden energy to drive
Synther down into the temporal squalls, the underlying foundation of the Chronopolis, Synther sensed he was alone. No other Lore had joined him. Synther shrieked in anger, and not a little fear. Ambitions had to be reshaped.

  The temporal squalls were no misnomer. Although the Chronopolis was supposedly sequestered upon a uniform mix of temporal soup, there were areas which were disturbingly knotted up and tangled; time ran in reverse or split or froze. At first the Astrals tried to correct this as the squalls would rotate or move randomly into the only two portal corridors into normal space. However, they realised that the squalls were the perfect additional defence to the Colonnades. No matter Synther and the Lore had bludgeoned their way through the calmer anti-tachyon fields, the squalls had at least protected the underbelly of the Chronopolis, which rode the squalls like a city-ship on the high seas of the cosmos.

  Millennius clung fiercely onto Synther in the squalls, wings of iridescence beating like fiery plasma blasts, great jets of blistered matter and energy spewing around them. He could see every twist and turn coming; areas of reverse time temporarily causing Synther to revert back into his Celestian form and thus be burned by Millennius; areas where time would split, tearing pieces of Synther away. It was excruciating pain for a Lore to be so quantumly stripped apart alive and left to drift on the solar winds. But Millennius revelled in what had to do, even at his own expense.

  A static temporal wave rolled over both of them leaving them frozen for a picosecond, locked in mortal combat, tumbling in the rapids as a rush of accelerated time washed over them. It threw them through interweaving squalls of slow time, no time, reverse and accelerated time: Millennius was drowning Synther in a temporal quagmire.

  Their energies intertwined; thoughts and emotions as fluid as their bodies sifted between them. Synther barred his energy teeth in glee as Millennius glimpsed into his dark mind, seeing the harsh vision of Synther killing Xathanius.

  >It was my pleasure to end his life!< Millennius heard in his mind.

  “Rrrraaaargh!” Millennius tore wildly, clawing and gouging into Synther, who felt delirious with pain, just to see Millennius in more pain than himself. Over and over again, Synther flashed the vision of Xathanius' death into Millennius' mind.

  >You took my worlds, my sister, and my destiny from me, Millennius< Synther psyed. >And I will take everything from you, piece by piece< He leaned back leisurely deeper into the squalls, giving into Millennius' rage.

  Oh, pure satisfaction! he sang to himself.

  Synther felt his soul, Lore or otherwise, slipping away. Millennius was going to squeeze the very life out of him and then let his body be torn apart like a nebulous filament in a solar storm. He knew there was only one thing to do to survive; surrender was not an option, but neither was dying.

  Synther sensed a large null void approaching, a roiling bubble of nothing. His eyes locked with Millennius' own in mutual hatred. He knew Millennius could also sense the temporal freeze zone coming, but still Synther managed to manoeuvre Millennius toward it to that it would strike Millennius straight in the back.

  Millennius could not avoid the trap. He let his voluminous wings take the brunt of the burn as time stood still. But even as time slowed, slower than imaginable before stopping completely, Millennius realised Synther’s ploy. But it was too late.

  The zero-time wave hit Millennius, his body freezing cell by cell, agonisingly slowly, while Synther wallowed in real time for a blissful nanosecond. And before the time wave possessed Synther, he did what he could only do.

  Synther exploded.

  Millennius’ eyes glassed over as time stopped, his own fires dowsed for a split second as the first explosive rays splashed over him.

  Synther felt the release, his energy dispersed toward Millennius. It would not kill Millennius outright—oh no—that would be far too hard. It would not kill Synther insomuch either, that would be far too simple. This would be beyond both their experiences. And Synther preferred it this way.

  Time began again.

  Millennius felt his Loreself blaze in rage as blue hell spread amidst him. He was being invaded by the core energy of Synther himself, the bio-Lore energy virus which Synther carried within himself from birth and which gave him his power. Mingling with Millennius’ own energy, it scoured his mind, embracing his body.

  Millennius felt himself going insane. His head burned even more, his mane of flame flaring blue then green then gold. A battle ensued for his will, his mind, his very being, as he felt Synther course through him, violating him, choking, writhing, and corrupting his core.

  “You will not have me!” vowed Millennius into the tumultuous squalls.

  He fought back, reining in the Traitorous beast, beating it down, suppressing its heart, scorching its soul, shredding the dark Time Knight's energy within himself, even as he tumbled over and over through the squalls.

  “Arrrraghhhh!” he roared into the depths of time with an expulsion of finality even infinity would have yielded to.

  And then it was gone.

  Millennius closed his great Lore eyes, searching inward to find a trace of Synther. But he was gone save for a blue evaporating haze which hung around him. Satisfied, he now had to fight his way out of the squalls and into the Chronopolis bubble. It was a hard fought path through the regions of damaged time, but Millennius surfaced from the squalls as if emerging from a deep, horrific ocean. He roared to announce his entry into the fray. What he saw made his heart sink.

  Spheron had just battled to the last. He stood alone amongst the broken colonnades. Lore were still evaporating around him like ghostly corpses within his forcefield.

  He looked at Millennius with joy in his heart having given his life so the Lore could be destroyed.

  “Thank you,” Millennius said. “Your sacrifice will not go unavenged.”

  Spheron saluted him speaking soundless words, before collapsing dead.

  Knowing the other Astrals would arrive soon and discover him, Millennius swiftly opened a portal and disappeared. He had to find the Lore horde, harness them to his will, and then rendezvous with Spheron, whose namesake son had just sacrificed his all.

  How many sons will we lose? he sighed with great emotion in his heart.

  Onward, Millennius’ search began.

  An infinitesimal blue spark within the golden universe that was Millennius hibernated. Whatever, whoever, he was now, Synther was a part of Millennius. He was not sure how long Millennius would be able to go without purging him, but Synther knew he would know when the time was right to awaken and wreak havoc.

  Yes, Millennius was dead. Synther swore it.

  ***

  The temporalscape

  Spheron the elder had no problems in following Destina. She was careless, either she thought of him and Millennius as no threat or she didn’t care. There was also the third option that it was a trap, but Spheron knew Destina wasn’t much into subtlety.

  But as a precaution he stayed on the periphery of phase space for as much as he could, gleaning Destina had encamped millions of years in Earth’s future. There he witnessed Destina's and Archron's building of the fortress from a material Spheron could scarcely believe.

  Spearhead and his Surge had allowed Destina to transport thousands of dead Surge bodies, from the Surge world, whereupon the Surge absorbed any residual energy out of the bodies, converted the metal corpses into raw building material, and manufactured different structures. The fortress was almost a living being. It certainly obeyed the will of Archron, or more accurately the chaos spear, who could command the walls or roof to fold open like curtains to allow access and egress. It was an amazing structure, which Spheron’s intellect wanted to get his energised hands on, but for now his curiosity would have to wait. He knew what Destina and Archron were up to and they were staying put.

  But where was Netherlord? he wondered.

  Planet Home. Long ago.

  The Multiforce stood against Netherlord who smile curled into an ugly grin.

 
“Your father is dead,” he sneered at Aristedes and Zane. “Believe me, I should know,” he ended with a tone of finality, his grin extending.

  “That’s not true!” Windburst called out, leaving her brother's protective field before he could hold her back. She stood right at Netherlord’s chest, staring into his dark eyes, fists clenched, her eyes gleaming with ire.

  Netherlord could barely contain himself, laughing scornfully.

  “Or else, what? You’re a cripple!”

  “This!” Windburst yelled, pushing out her arms explosively.

  A torrent of energy raged from her hands, Netherlord sent flying through the air landing twenty meters away, smoke spiralling from a gash in his armoured chest. Windburst looked amazed at her hands and then at her brother, who could find no words. It was the first time Windburst had displayed any sign of Astral power besides her speed ability. A smile drifted across her face, tears filling her eyes, as she slowly made her way back to Time.

  Then the world crashed into slow motion as Time looked past Zane's shoulder.

  Netherlord had risen to his feet. And he was angry.

  Before anyone could react, Netherlord reached his hands up above his head, violently casting them down in a throwing motion.

  Windburst looked behind her, a cheerful, teary-eyed face turning into one of terror as air-renting energy hit her full force. She hadn’t stood a chance. Right before Time’s eyes, Windburst disappeared, her body disintegrating into energy—dead.

  Noooo!

  Spheron had arrived too late, this time.

  Netherlord’s trail had also been easy to follow as it consisted of dead world after dead world, missing stars, and huge galactic chasms of emptiness which Netherlord had created in order to open the portals for the Storm of Stars.

  But distressing to Spheron, was the realisation of the time period he was in. His Lore senses told him he was in the same period in which Aeon had died, but on another world. Spheron wasn’t sure how he knew. Temporal fields tasted, smelled, felt, sounded, and looked different to one another, developing characteristics like tree rings or imbalances depending on the energy in the space-time fabric. And this period had the distinctive flavour and energy banding from before, which on Earth equated to the twenty-third century. Spheron knew Aristedes and Zane were searching for their father, but they would have been distraught when they found out the truth. And it was particularly galling of Netherlord to have engaged Aeon’s children in this period.