The phantom horse snarled and grunted, its figure shimmered, and it resembled more a shadow than a living being.
Malus tossed the skull to the phantom rider that placed it on its bare neck. The skull burst into blue flame, hovering above the figure.
“Very impressive, sorcerer!” the advisor beamed with an evil grin.
Malus issued the phantom rider his orders and watched it run through another open black portal, leaving behind only a wisp of black mist.
“I love my job,” Malus grinned with sadistic pleasure as he turned back to the victim on the rack and extracted a hot brand. “Now it’s time for us to continue our little conversation.”
THIRTY TWO
Micah and Vlad pressed forward towards the Dying Lands barely speaking a word to each other.
The ground was a dead grey and dotted with charred skeletons and ruined buildings. The sky was clouded over and darkened. There was no moon in view and strange noises echoed all around.
“How far is it to this temple?” Micah inquired impatiently.
Vlad hadn’t said a word in hours and was lost in thought.
Will he kill me when I’m not useful anymore?
He looked at Micah cautiously.
“The temple should be coming up soon, but we must be careful not to stray off the trail or we’ll end up in the ruins of The Capital,” Vlad explained, trying to hide his anxiety.
Micah eyed him curiously. He could sense Vlad’s growing suspicions.
“What’s in those ruins that we should be afraid of?” he asked, halting in his tracks. Vlad stopped and turned to him.
“The demon Greed lives there with his immense army, and he is not fond of outsiders,” Vlad explained.
Before Micah could respond he stopped himself. A loud battle cry was heard close by.
Vlad grabbed Micah’s hand and ducked behind a ruined wall. He shushed him, pointing through a small peep-hole in the stone.
Micah looked through the opening to see a large shadowy figure on horseback. The entire rider and horse resembled a shimmering shadow, only the rider’s head was a blue flaming skull. The horse grunted as the rider scanned around before dismounting.
As he walked closer, Micah’s sword began glowing red. He quickly covered it over with his black cloak, but it got brighter and was just as visible. The rider looked directly at the wall where Micah and Vlad were hiding.
“He knows we’re here!” Vlad yelled as he jumped out from behind the crumbled wall. Their only chance was to attack together.
“I don’t sense much power in it,” Micah reassured Vlad. The phantom horseman looked directly at Micah and drew an iron mace also wrapped in that strange eerie fire.
Vlad tried to pull the weapon to his hand with his magic but it did nothing. He was nowhere near as strong as Lydia was.
Micah stormed towards the rider, impaling him with his red glowing sword. The phantom dropped and immediately evaporated.
“That was… easy,” Micah muttered in a state of surprise. Vlad looked at him with bewilderment.
“It was almost like it threw the fight,” Vlad stuttered. That seemed a little too easy he worried.
Micah looked up to see the shadowy horse standing obediently a few feet away. “Should we use the horse?” Vlad inquired.
“The faster the better I say!” Micah beamed, barely able to believe his luck.
Micah leapt onto the shadowy horse and Vlad joined him. He whipped the horse’s reins and it sped off down the dusty trail. The wind blasted their faces from the sheer speed of their mount.
Micah couldn’t believe his good fortune. He could get to Lust’s temple and catch up to Umbra easily now.
Nearby in the ruins of The Capital, Greed sat intently on his throne. The echoes of the night lulled as his advisors convened.
“Perfect!” Greed grinned, leaning over his crystal scrying orb. His plan had worked—Micah had taken the phantom horse from their decoy soldier.
His advisors were gathered around the map table discussing their next move.
“My liege, what do we do now?” Affluence inquired. He looked at Greed expectantly.
“Simple. All we have to do now is wait,” Greed grinned. He looked down at a gem ring on his finger and gawked vainly at his reflection.
“Soon, soon we will have exactly what we want,” he rolled the gem in his claws and reminisced.
Dominance!
Lost in thought, he was once again standing on the final battlefield of the Twilight Wars. He stood behind Wrath, clad in a gold breastplate, his hulking figure barely contained in it. Greed’s own armor was far more decorative, adorned with the riches he had plundered; his black scales shimmered in the sunlight. He fidgeted with his scimitar in its holster, eager to start the fight.
Clouds began gathering over the battlefield, the sky was darkening. The ranks of trolls, ogres, golems, and all matter of loyalist monsters grunted in anticipation.
The call rang out and the battle began, the rain-washed field became a tangled chaos of swords and arrows within seconds.
Greed hammered armored elves with his mace, light-headed with euphoria. He stomped on an injured soldier lying on the ground. The man crunched under his hoof.
He loved seeing all of the misery and suffering. He relished the spoils from each battle: the shiny jeweled weapons, territory; he was living a dream he thought would never end.
The battle had continued for hours, casualties on either side were piling up. The skies seemed to rain red with blood, the field was awash in it.
Word circulated that the demon lords were being sealed, Greed didn’t believe, this nor would he let it distract him from the slaughter.
No mortal can kill a demon lord! He had firmly believed.
He looked atop the overlooking cliffs. His mistress, Zuul was perched on the end of her seat. Why was she so anxious? He wondered.
The Grand Alliance soldiers around him were beaten and broken. He wandered casually towards another chaotic skirmish, his jeweled mace at the ready.
Before he got there he felt a sharp pain in his back, he had been speared by a swordsman’s javelin. The swordsman wore silver armor and had a flowing black beard. He bore a strong resemblance to the knight of Myst City, Gladius, but this was centuries prior.
Greed had been around long enough to realize that heroes like that were often reincarnated.
He had fought this soldier who had adeptly clipped Greed’s shins and slowed him down immensely.
The swordsman had leapt out of the fray just before Greed was enveloped in a purple illumination; a young Astralode had conjured a binding array around him.
The last thing Greed remembered before blacking out was the blinding purple light engulfing him.
The next time he awoke he was standing in The Temple of the Damned surrounded by Wrath’s sorcerers. His other brethren were also released from their prisons.
Wrath had gathered them together, informing them that Zuul had been sealed away. This news was received with mixed responses; Pride was actually elated at the prospect and made no effort to conceal his desire for power. Wrath had demanded that as second-in-command to Zuul, he was in charge. It wasn’t long before the demon lords were squabbling over territory and leadership, eventually separating. Only he and Apathy remained loyal to Wrath.
Zuul had been defeated, sealed away in Pandora’s Box. The demon of the apocalypse defeated! It didn’t seem real. Wrath’s only concern ever since was hunting down Pandora’s Box.
THIRTY THREE
Umbra snuck past the sentry towers outlining the camp of the molten-core bandits’, reaching an old wooden bridge. He was amazed by the bustling activity as he peered down below.
Glowing red lava flowed and cascaded through the giant crevasse. The rock walls were
lined with platforms and walkways, red drakes flew around carrying buckets of lava. Many ogre guards patrolled the camp.
What are they up to? Umbra wondered.
He saw a basket and pulley system and leapt into it, lowering himself slowly into the hell-fires below.
The various ogres patrolling nearby were clad in red emblem-covered tunics, carrying war hammers. He tied off the pulley and dropped silently onto a canopy covering a platform.
“What you think master wants with slave?” one of the nearby ogres asked the other.
Umbra peered over the edge.
“I don’t know,” answered the other guard scratching his bald head.
Who is their master? Umbra wondered as he continued to spy.
“Well, we can go down to the slave pens and see her. She is pretty,” one ogre suggested.
“No stupid, we guard here!” the other one grunted, clubbing him on the head with his fist.
Umbra clenched his fist, his body lit up with strange purple symbols. He felt immense power pumping through his veins. He was ready to jump when suddenly he was struck with a vision.
He was looking through the eyes of somebody else, a battle was raging below. The carnage was unbelievable.
He recognized one of the warriors, Gladius! Their weapons and armor were very strange. The weapons were crudely made; their armor looked a lot heavier and unwieldy.
Am I seeing the distant past?
For some reason he really enjoyed watching the battlefield. The gore and carnage gave him a rush of euphoria. Strangely he wasn’t in the fight, but merely watching it from above.
Purple lights lit up around the battlefield as immense roars were silenced.
They look like binding Circles!
The warrior that resembled Gladius was fighting a monster when a circle had lit up around it. He was hunched over and panting as the monster was engulfed in a flash of light leaving only a lifeless statue.
There was another familiar face. Astralode!
He looked a lot younger this time, around the age of a teenager. He was still wearing the same purple cloak he had seen him in.
How am I seeing this? Umbra wondered as the vision continued.
Suddenly, Umbra’s view was raised almost like the watcher stood up and leapt off the cliff landing perfectly below. Surrounding soldiers from both sides stared up in fear.
With a single swing of a familiar obsidian sword, waves of soldiers were knocked away, tossed about like puppets. Arrows sailed towards him but were burnt up before they could even hit.
With the swing of his other hand another mass of soldiers were engulfed in a wave of shadows.
Why is Micah’s sword in this vision? Umbra’s concern grew further, not for himself but for his old friend. What did we get ourselves tangled up in?
Was this a demon? He thought. But the host was far too tall to be human. The arms crackled with a black flame and claws tipped each finger.
What is this? Umbra was panicking. What’s happening to me?!
He snapped back to reality to realize he’d fallen off the canopy and landed right in front of the two guards.
The ogres looked down at him with stupid smiles. “We have another one now, master will be so pleased with us!” one exclaimed.
Umbra sighed in frustration. Give me a break!
THIRTY FOUR
The ogres leant down to grab Umbra, without thinking about it he threw his hands up to cover himself.
His body lit up once more with the same strange, purple symbols. He waited and nothing happened.
Looking up he saw the two ogres frozen in pain. Their bodies were dissolving into dust. One tried to run but collapsed when his feet crumbled, falling to the floor.
Within seconds the two ogres where nothing but blackened ash.
Umbra looked at his hands. The strange symbols were glowing on his skin again. He felt energy surging through his body and an unnerving feeling. Despite the heat of the lava crevasse, he felt cold—empty, and immensely angry.
He wasn’t even sure why he was so angry. Much to his surprise, standing on his feet felt much lighter.
He rolled up his sleeve; it was covered in those same symbols. Lifting up his shirt he saw the same thing. He was covered in head to toe with them.
“What is this?” he stammered. He had seen them somewhere before.
The Grimoire Demonus! There was a picture of a demon covered in them from head to toe!
Am I turning into one of them? His breath was panicked now.
How does Micah’s sword fit into all of this?
He took several deep breaths and exhaled, blocking out the smell of lava and the noises all around. I have to calm down! I’m here to save Marin! The symbols on his body faded away slowly.
“As long as I don’t get too worked-up Marin shouldn’t see these markings.”
I have to learn what these are. He promised himself. Maybe Astralode will know. He felt his pockets. The scrying orb was gone! Damn! Marin must have it!
He looked around, he was standing on a wooden boardwalk fastened the edge of the immense crevasse. It was a steep drop over the flimsy rope barriers into the fires below.
At the bottom was a gurgling lava flow, wooden boardwalks hugged the rock side. As far as he could tell, all of the guards were ogres like the ones he had just vaporized by accident.
Identical banners dotted the bridges, the red emblem of the bandits. Immense scarlet drakes flew past carrying large vats of molten lava with their talons, completely oblivious to Umbra as they continued their labors.
Partially armored ogres with huge clubs strolled along the wooden bridges.
A stone temple sculpted into the side of the rock caught his eye.
Is that where they’re holding Marin?
He pulled his black hood over his face and tip-toed across the walkway towards it. The way was across a rickety bridge. In his haste he had left his pike behind where Marin had been abducted. He looked around for a weapon frantically, but there were only metal containers stacked against the wall.
“Oh well, this works,” Umbra picked up one of the buckets, focusing in his mind of the weapon he wanted. The metal bucket glowed, swirling fluidly, reforming into a long dagger.
Perfect!
He gripped the dagger tightly, hoping to ambush the guards one by one.
The nearest sentry stood a few hundred meters away with his back turned. Who’s running this bandit clan? These ogres surely weren’t.
A shadow-step should work! He focused his mind, the world around him dulled. The grey-tone world he entered was like being in a hazy dream, devoid of color. It was a small trick he had picked up from Lady Crow.
He was standing in the shadow-world now. He’d been told repeatedly not to stay in this state for too long or it’d sap all of his strength, leaving him stranded in this weird half-death realm.
Umbra ran towards the nearby guard, leaping onto his back, dragging the blade across the ogre’s neck. He muffled the ogre’s cry with his hand and dropped him on the ground, stepping out of the shadow-world.
Sweat beaded on his head from the exertion of that other realm. He was only a vague shadow to onlookers when he used that little trick.
The next few guards noticed him emerge from the shadow-world and ran towards him, their heavy steps shaking the entire boardwalk.
“Let’s see how you like a shadow-spear!” Umbra cried out, clenching his fist and making a swooping motion. His shadow shimmered beneath his feet, bursting forth as two sharpened shapes, impaling the two nearest guards.
Umbra stepped over the dead guards and continued on to the bridge. The next few guards were dealt with easily enough—Umbra had their own shadows attack them and strolled casually past.
This is so ea
sy! Umbra was surprised how much stronger he had become; his scar glowed brightly under his glove, the light flickering through the seams. Not a single guard had managed to sound the alarm.
They all carried a horn on their belts, but none of them could get to it in time. However there was a strange feeling that he wasn’t alone creeping down his spine even after the guards had been dealt with.
Umbra finally reached the doors to the temple. Stone gargoyles were perched on the roof looking down menacingly, their shadows flickered eerily.
Just in case they were living statues he decided to shadow-step past their view.
The inside of the temple was lit by burning braziers. Scary-looking statues were lined up against the walls and the clan’s banners ran either side of the obsidian-colored floor.
There were no guards.
This must not be the right place.
Umbra turned around to leave when he heard the echo of a woman’s scream.
“Marin!” He bolted down the hallway and up the carpeted stairs at the end of the chamber.
In his haste Umbra ran right in front of two armed ogre guards. They stood either side of a large stone door. Their grizzly expressions were partially covered by their bronze helmets.
Umbra raised his hand to attack, but the two ogres removed their crossed pikes from the doorway and ushered him in. Umbra walked through reluctantly.
THIRTY FIVE
Gladius and Fletcher had finally reached the outskirts of Darkwoods. They halted their horses by a nearby wooden sign.
The shining twilight of open sky in the Golden Plains filled their view as they emerged from the forest.
Golden fields of wheat and tan-colored grass stretched as far as the nearest hillside. A small dusty road wound its way through the oddly unkempt crop fields.
“It says here we have to cross this plain, and then Squalor Mire. Plateau City should be on the coast,” Fletcher explained. He sat atop his horse squinting as the brisk wind blew past carrying the smell of harvest.
“I really hope there’s no more of those creepy scarecrows out here,” Gladius grunted. He tensed the reins of his horse, speeding forward.
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