by JW Baccaro
The largest was the Demon of Strength, having a half-dragon—half-serpent-like face, shining red eyes, and a dark skinned, scaly—enormously muscular body.
Next, was the Demon of Anguish, whose body consisted of molten flesh with a vaguely humanoid head.
Then, the Demon of Fear, appearing strikingly similar to a Nightwing, only much larger, like a colossal-sized being of pure darkness with shining white eyes.
Beside him, flew the Demon of Wrath, another bulky figure having purplish skin, the face of a werewolf, glowing orange eyes, and spikes atop its head, along the shoulders and upon the edges of its tail.
Lastly, the Demon of Seduction, female in appearance, beautiful, yet hideous, having a slender figure, long dark-red hair stretching past her feet, vibrating in the cold wind, fingernails as long as daggers, pale skin, and deep blue eyes. All of them possessed large wings and soared toward the army, ranting and roaring with demonic screams that frightened most of the soldiers.
"Prepare yourselves!" King Loreus shouted, unsheathing the Sword of Purity.
Then inexplicably? The five flew over them as if no one were there, never casting a gleam, heading further north. The army turned to see where they were going and nearly fainted upon whom—what they saw! Atop Mt. Blackshrine stood a large, almost—beautiful figure—human-like in appearance, about eight feet tall, long dark thick hair, fiery orange-yellow eyes, and a set of black wings with a span of ten feet. As for clothing, it wore a simple blood-red loincloth over the under garment coverings. Everything else laid bare, no upper tunic, no foot material, and the body apparently unaffected by the elements of earth. Its skin appeared a golden-brown, leathery-like with an abundance of dark markings or scars that stood out amongst the snow-covered mountain.
One thing was for sure—whoever this was gave off a presence of power and darkness beyond the entire Dark army they just faced.
The five Demons landed before it and immediately bowed to the ground.
"Is that an—an Angel?" Minevara asked.
"Yes, one of the Fallen," spoke a stern voice, startling many with its authoritative tone. It was the High Wizard Olchemy, making his way to them through a cluster of Centaurs and Dwarves.
"You’re alive!" Magnus exclaimed.
"Fortunately yes, but my powers won't be much help for what we are about to face."
"What are we about to face?" King Loreus asked.
"The Fallen who stands upon Blackshrine is a figure we all know, at least in history."
"Who?"
"Abaddon."
"WHAT?" a least a dozen voices asked in unison.
"Abaddon the Demon Lord, in truth, is originally an Angel, one of fallen from Abidan. You all know the story of them."
"Abaddon is supposed to be the King of the Demons, his place of birth—the Underworld!" Minevara denied.
"Indeed, he is the ruler of the Underworld, though his birthplace is amongst the Heavens. See, after the fall of the Angelic, which Abaddon survived, he scurried away for his life, knowing the Holy Angels were exterminating every last dark entity on the Seventh Realm. He could not return to heaven, nor could he attempt to flee to another Realm, for the skies were being watched. Sensing a disturbance in the far north, a disharmony among the natural climate, he found the portal, a ‘tear in this dimension’ leading to other worlds. He entered through and stood upon the Underworld, quickly conquering the demonic realm. As for earth, well, you are all aware how facts can get distorted, imaginations become truth, and visitations from entities not of this realm sometimes leave faulty impressions on the visionaries….” Olchemy glanced over at the Dark Angel and paused.
All the mixed races seemed to hold their breath as they waited for his explanation.
“…As time passed, history took on myth, distorting the facts. Over time, Abaddon's creation, the Dark Crystal, manipulated his bodily form, taking on elements of the surrounding nature, the Underworld. It increased his power, nearly changing his entire entity. Now, Darshun destroyed the Dark Crystal and so caused things to go back to the way they were originally. Now he stands before us as whom he truly is, nevertheless still commands the race of Demons."
Glaring, Caelestias nearly shouted, "Why have you neglected telling us this, Wizard, if you knew all this time?"
"And who would have believed me, Caelestias? You? In this world of beauty and vile, righteousness and wickedness, and organizations that fight over which race is holiest and most authentic, not a single solitary soul would have written this down as 'historical' in a scroll. To most, an Angelic of Abidan must retain its beauty, or it could not be from Abidan. To say otherwise would be an abomination. These unlawful ideas are what separated the Light from one another in the first place. There is more to the world than black and white."
"…Perhaps, though these surprises materializing suddenly might just turn the outcome of this around entirely—in the Dark’s favor that is."
“Olchemy,” Magnus called, stepping forward. “You mentioned 'power,' that his Dark Crystal had increased Abaddon's strength. Do you mean to say Abaddon is now weaker?”
"Weaker yes, but for us that does not matter, he is Angelic, possessing powers we can only fantasize about. And free to use them all. Before he had a plan, wanted to rule this world and transform its imagery in likening to his Underworld. The destruction of the Dark Crystal ended that. He no longer cares about this world, and will seek destruction before the coming wrath of his holy brethren. For ancient times speak that no Angel remaining in its heavenly bodily form can seek havoc across any Realm.”
“But do not the prophets say Angels—good and bad are all around us?” Minevara asked.
“Aye, though not in bodily form; not to a degree that they can set up dominion. They must exist in a spiritual state. Even the Angelic cannot defy the rules of their nature. They are bound to it, which is why they must attack with other methods such as casting faulty visions, possessing bodies, or setting negative influences into the minds of men, or any creature capable of evil.”
“So, all we have to do is what for a miracle!” Caelestias hollered, raising his arms high. “Fear not, for the Heavens shall open and out of the clouds will descend a host of Abidan’s Angelic. In all respect, great Wizard, we cannot hope for such a thing.”
“There only needs to be one,” Olchemy answered, “and he shall arrive shortly.”
“And if this mystery Angel doesn’t?”
The Wizard remained quiet.
“That may just be another ‘faulty tale’ as was our interpretation of Eldenith. Besides, we cannot wait around for that. There are five immensely strong Demons to reckon with—and all of us have lost nearly half our strength. We’ve walked into death!"
"Lord of Ashhaven, be calm,” Queen Aeryka spoke. “We are not defeated yet. Besides, where is the one who destroyed the Dark Crystal? Surely, he can lend mighty aid.”
“Darshun is nowhere to be found,” Talvenya interrupted. "Even so, how much help could another Nasharin do against what we now have to face?"
“Well…”—she unsheathed two long swords, black and red blood still dripping from them—“I’m not giving in. Hope always remains.” She looked at Olchemy. “You understand that.”
But Olchemy said nothing, and cast his eyes back toward the enemies.
"Welcome back, my children," Abaddon said, his low grumbling voice echoing down the mountain. He pointed to the army of Light and all five Demons turned their eerie head to gaze. "Make them suffer severely!" he hollered, fists clenched.
Overhearing, Minevara panicked. “What are we going to do?”
"We fight, woman!" Talvenya snapped.
“But—we will not last long at all. As Olchemy said, most of this army has little strength left. That is why Abaddon is attacking, and he will cause us to suffer greatly before our end. We haven’t won anything! Windtros may have saved the world but we are all about to be wiped out!”
"Yes, maybe," Talvenya commented, easing her tone. "But I am not goin
g to let them just do as they please," she transformed into her Goddess stature and set her fiery gaze toward Minevara, accompanied by a smile. "Let us go out our very best, sister of Darshun."
Witnessing Talvenya's awesome form and strength, she began liking the fact that she was on the Light's side, and her short, simple choice of words inspired her. She transformed as well, so did Nayland and Magnus, powering up to their maximum while everyone else prepared as well, bracing themselves.
The five Demons ascended into the sky and flew above the army, circling them for a long time, watching, glaring, and snarling at specific individuals. The heathens could smell the fear of the Humans, the anxiety of the Elves, and the distress of every creature. In a sudden violet flash, one of them soared downward, the Demon of Seduction. Over three hundred men scattered, opening up a large empty space. She landed in the middle, arms stretched out, and dark-red hair blowing wild.
The other four remained in the sky, hovering. Each seeming to wait their turn—playtime had begun.
The Demon of Seduction glanced around at the soldiers, sensing their fear. Her eyes began to shine; she raised her hands to the heavens. "There is nothing to fear, dear lovers. I am your Goddess, listen to my voice, let it take you; obey my commands." Her soft, soothing tone echoed amongst them.
It seemed to seduce a good number, filling their minds with the sweet sensation of love, causing many to think of their wives back home, how they would do anything for the women they loved.
"Come to me my servants..."
With no hesitation, at least a hundred obeyed the command.
At first, the others thought they were going to attack, but the closer the soldiers went, one after the other, began dropping their weapons.
The wisest knew what was in motion, and began shouting aloud, telling them it was a Succubus trap, and not to trust her—she was the enemy—no one would listen, and the others were too far away to intervene, especially with the men clustering around the Demon. Any attempts of attack might harm them. What would become of the men in another moment? Those of understanding screamed their loudest, as much as their tired lungs would put out, hoping to break the spell.
Olchemy and the rest of the elite were too far away to understand what was happening, though knew something drastic indeed was taking place and were rushing over.
Finally, the three hundred soldiers stood around the Demon of Seduction—the Succubus, and she began to speak into their minds, with a slow, eerie, sensational tone. "Kneel before your Goddess. At my feet you all belong."
They obeyed.
She held opened her mouth and blew out a strange dark green gas—continuously that quickly swirled in between the men like serpents until completely surrounding them, cloaking the soldiers from the outsiders.
Breathing in the ‘heavenly’ scent they began succumbing to illusions about their new founded “Goddess” of being at her feet, adoring her, worshipping her; most of all desiring her.
She walked to the nearest soldier, grabbed his face, staring at him a moment with a grin, then kissed him and sucked on his tongue.
While a man becomes aroused under the seduction of a temptress, so did he for this Demon of Seduction, and she threw him to the ground, tearing off his armor, tasting his skin, getting herself inside of him as a female makes love to a male. Only this was not lovemaking in the least! This was evil, the way of the Succubus, her nature, satisfying her lust, stealing away one’s energy, one’s lifeforce.
While doing this to the poor helpless soldier, because of the effect of the dark green gas well embedded into the minds of the men, they all began feeling the same sensation, as if they too were making love to their new “Goddess.” The soldiers collapsed to the ground moaning, like one massive abomination orgy.
Those among the outside, though not entirely sure what was taking place, nevertheless knew unholy powers were at work within that cloak of dark green.
Unexpectedly, the green gas erupted into green flames, those too close to the phenomenal were disintegrated immediately.
“Get back! Get back!” Captain Mythaen shouted.
The fires did not burn long, but once settled a mound of skeletons lay smoldering. In the middle, sat the Succubus, still on top of her victim, ‘inside’ him, the last remaining man with flesh. She was laughing, her smile crude, and then she shouted a most disturbing moan, like someone in a state of everlasting ecstasy and the poor soldier’s flesh bubbled up and melted away under her, leaving behind a pile of smoking bare bones.
Still having a bit of semen on her fingers, the Succubus licked them and then ran her tongue over the charred cranium beneath her. “Mmm,” she purred, and then stood up, kicking the bones aside, loving her domination over the men. It was a breath of fresh air, for after being sealed up for thousands of years within the Lake of Fire she needed the energy, taking from the soldiers; and her sexual desires—which was her dark nature—was now fulfilled. More than ever, she was ready for war.
The onlookers fell to anger at the site of their fallen comrades and prepared to let loose a storm of arrows. Then, a horrifying screech from above drove their attention away from the Succubus. They gazed to the heavens and witnessed the Demon of Fear descending toward them, its white eyes shining, glaring, its body of shadow overwhelming. It landed and immediately ignited its power, the power of fear. One look into its eyes will cast instant, frantic fear into one's soul—so much that many men dropped their weapons and sunk onto the cold snowy ground, shivering dreadfully. There were no real reasons why they were so afraid, no explanations, just simple—dark—raw fear, dominating their spirits.
Then, because of this helplessness the Demon of Seduction attacked, using her long dagger-like nails to rip out dozens of soldiers' throats, soldiers who never even sought to defend themselves due to the fear.
"Don't look into its eyes!" shouted Caelestias. Finally, the elite had arrived.
The two Demons glanced up, smiling at them, delighting in the competition. Then, the Demon of Fear began attacking the soldiers closest to it, slashing its clawed hands of mere shadow every which way. Its claws passing directly through men like rays of light, causing a delay of damage where at first, the victims remained intact, the damage hitting three or four seconds later. An opening up of their flesh, body limbs falling off, decapitations and layers of intestines spewing onto the ground—most never knowing they’d been struck until falling to pieces.
Lord Caelestias roared in anger like never before, quickly charging toward the heathen, while many others charged the demon of Seduction, who continued to claim victims.
Now the other Demons decided to ‘join the fun.’
The Demon of Strength launched a host of fiery spheres that exploded when hitting the ground, but he didn’t kill anyone, instead caused much of the army to scatter. He landed, gleefully staring a hundred down, then raised his arms, made two fists and crashed them onto the frozen wasteland. The ground cracked like thunder, split like an earthquake and broke up in a thousand different directions; shards of ice and chunks of frozen stone and dirt came crushing, piercing and burying poor souls everywhere.
The demon of Wrath had his fun too, though no one would know it, this demon was incapable of smiling, even crudely, instead there sat a permanent look of dire rage over its face. He cast an angry roar as loud as thunder, forming a magical sword engulfed in flames he charged into battle, slashing the nearest Humans and Elves. Though never a fatal kill, only a cut along the shoulder or a slash over the leg, causing their bodies to ignite with fire—an everlasting fire, so it seemed, for the flames would not cease, the individuals did not die, only collapse to the ground rolling to and fro in agony.
The other side of the field, Dwarves and Centaurs were suffering similar agonies as the ugly Demon of Anguish devoured souls into bubbling boiling flesh by the mere touching of its hands—as if they’d fallen into a cauldron of heated oil. Like the victims that were being set on fire, this ‘boiling’ also seemed eternal. Many shot arr
ows through its rotten flesh, stabbed it with swords and axes, even clobbered its ugly head with a war hammer, splattering blood and brain matter onto the ground. All to no avail, for the skin of this Demon simply regenerated.
In place of its head, formed a face in imitation of a Dwarf, then would quickly switch to a Centaur, then back to another Dwarf—all of which were dreadfully suffering on the ground, thrashing back and forth in a state of boiling from the Demon’s earlier attack. Then, its regular, ugly most vile face re-spawned. Seemed this Demon drew its energy by keeping the others bound in its spell, and as long as they suffered in it, no one was sure how to stop this heathen. Those who got close enough to glance into its eyes were taken back into the past within their minds, reliving the sufferings of their most dreadful eras in life, driving some to insanity—so much that they attacked and killed one another, falling into paranoia.
The battle was horrific, absolutely horrific while the Demons only seemed to be toying with everyone. Not even the elite was putting up much of a fight except maybe Caelestias and Talvenya, though not all had entered combat yet. Nevertheless, with the already exhausted army taking loss after loss, suffering after suffering.
It seemed the words of Minevara may prove true—Darshun may have stopped the Spell of Destruction, but the victor of the Second Great War might very well belong to the Dark.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE GUARDIAN IS BORN
Darshun found himself walking amongst a field of majestic splendor, where as far as the eye could see, existed an ocean of beautiful hills, plains and meadows, painted by a wondrous variety of bright colored flowers. The thigh-high grass under his bare feet seemed the smoothest, softest touch he’d ever experienced, like walking upon a mound of the finest silk pillows.
The sky was a fine aqua blue, aligned with rich puffy white clouds while rays of sunlight beat down onto the landscapes, alighting the beautiful green paradise. A wind blew, Darshun taking in the clean crisp air, enjoying the smell of the grass and other strange, unidentifiable scents—probably the shining red, orange, violet, pink, yellow and blue flowers. Where he was or how he’d gotten there remained a mystery; the last thing he remembered was holding Kelarin's hand and giving up his lifeforce for her, then, this place. Had something erased the transition from earth to here? He wasn't sure. The only thing he knew was that he was dead. He must be, right? After all, he felt himself die. Though, how is it that he still possessed a body? The wisest of scholars claim the spirit is a non-physical entity.