by JW Baccaro
Everyone’s attention became diverted by this phenomenal, especially the Demons. The disturbance in the earth’s energy was so dramatic, so vivid, that many began to think that the whole world was falling apart.
Abaddon didn’t sense the presence of the Angelic, but indeed felt the cause of this force, it was something strong, something incredibly powerful—and it ascended from underground.
The Demons flew high, nearing one another, looking around nervously. Fortunately, Kaylis had been spared by this distraction. The Succubus left well enough alone, climbing into the sky with the others, wanting to understand the cause of this great force.
Nayland and Minevara regained consciousness, though could hardly stand, and many others had long made their way over to them, including the High Wizard, Caelestias, and Queen Aeryka.
“Look!” Caelestias said, pointing to the heavens, witnessing a host of beings whenever the lightning would flash. The Humans and Dwarves saw them too in fact, everyone stood witness to them, everyone except Abaddon and the Demons.
“Are they the—Angelic?” Aeryka asked.
“Aye,” Olchemy answered.
“So your words proved true,” Caelestias said. “Heaven has unleashed her fury.”
He turned to him, looking hard into the elvish lord’s eyes. “No, they are not here to battle.”
“Then what?”
Olchemy set his gaze back to the sky, to the host of the Angelic. “It is said that when a great change is about to take place, good or bad, the Arch-Angel appears, but, it is also said that when the Guardian of the Seventh Realm makes his fist appearance, the Angels of Heaven shall come to welcome him.”
“Olchemy, what are you saying?” Caelestias asked.
“I’m saying—the Guardian has finally arrived.”
Out of the rubble of Astaroth, in between the spaces of rock, shot beams of white light. The rubble began to shift and then a force of energy blew the stone and debris into multiple directions, like the eruption of an underground spring, bringing forth the light in its most auroral form—so bright it blinded everyone, including the Demons.
The storm settled, the Angelic visitors vanished, and all phenomena passed, many regaining their sight. What they witnessed next nearly took their breath away.
In the sky, hovered the most holy of all created entities, an Angel. It looked to be male, having a set of wings four-tone in color: the down feathers blue, the greater and middle coverts dark blue, the inner tertials silver, and the outer tips white, the wings extending about nine to ten feet. His locks of long thick hair shined a silver-white, along with his piercing silver-blue eyes. His skin was cream-colored; clothed in a white robe resting at the knees, the fabric rippling in the wind, and white cloth breeches; silver plate mail covered his upper body, along with silver plated calf-high boots, and across his chest, illuminating dark blue light was a plated x, with a matching girdle—sword in the sheath.
Like the Nasharin race, an aura of silver-white flames burned around his presence. He looked powerful and astonishingly beautiful! The strangest part? A she-elf clung to his side.
“Who is he?” Abaddon said, a bit of panic in his tone. “Can it be—no! That is—impossible!”
“That Elf,” Caelestias spoke, “that is my sister, Kelarin. She is alive! But who is carrying her?”
“Darshun Luthais, the Guardian,” Olchemy answered.
“How can that be? He looks like an Angel from the heavens! You’re positive you are not mistaken, and that perhaps one of the Angelic remained behind in our defense?”
“Search your instincts. You know it to be true. This is the form he has been given, the highest level a Nasharin can reach, Transcendence, and he reached it by more than a means of physical training. His spirit has evolved. Nasharins, after all, come from the race of Wizards, and Wizards from the Angelic. Therefore, somewhere within our spirit and blood, there exists a fragment of Angel, and Darshun has unlocked it. Now he is truly the Guardian of earth.”
Caelestias remained speechless, as did everyone else.
~~****~~
The five Demons at first, experienced a wave of fear, brushing through their bodies like a cold chill. However it soon passed, overtaken by curiosity and they flew toward the Guardian.
In a second, he was gone, disappearing from their very eyes, now standing on the ground in the midst of the army. “Kelarin, spare all that you can to ease the suffering and weary,” Darshun said.”
“I will,” she kissed his lips softly and stormed off, kneeling down to Nayland and Minevara, placing her hands on both and within moments healed their bodies, then she made way for Talvenya and Kaylis.
Getting up, Minevara turned to look at the Guardian, bewildered. “Wind—Windtros?” she asked.
Darshun glanced at her, also witnessing many staring back, even the Queen of the Centaurs—her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Darshun could only wonder her thoughts—a Nasharin, having fulfilled the prophecy of old, having become the Guardian. He smiled, and then in a flash was gone, returned to the sky, hovering before the Five Demons.
“He’s going to take them on all by himself?” Nayland asked, stepping beside Olchemy.
“Aye,” the High Wizard answered.
“I can see he’s transformed, but those demons are not the sort to tangle with either.”
"Stop worrying." Minevara balked. "Look at him, he’s fantastic!"
"Nayland is right," Olchemy said. “This battle may be more difficult than we think."
“So, what do we do?”
“For now, we watch.”
Darshun hung in the air, his aura shining around him giving the appearance of a silver-white star. He closed his eyes and inspected his surroundings by all of his heightened senses. The screaming and moaning of soldiers below were carried by the wind, especially those remaining trapped in a state of fire and boiling. Darshun could smell death across the battlefield, and sensed what havoc these five Demons of filth caused—and how they were enjoying it.
Kelarin was quick to heal many, but she had a lot of work to do.
Finally, he opened his eyes, glaring down the enemies before him.
"Mmm, what have we here?" the Succubus purred. "An Angel?"
Darshun remained silent, only kept his gleam on her. His hands began to illuminate, burning with white fire.
"What, no introduction?" She laughed, thrashing her head side-to-side as though she were insane, her partially scorched hair swaying chaotically. "I have never seduced an Angel before. I am ecstatic!" She held out her arms. "I will take him, he's mine!"
The others backed off a bit, each holding a ridiculous smile across their faces, excited to see the Angel fall.
The Succubus drifted a little closer toward Darshun, looking directly into his eyes. Whatever she planned to do, however, made no difference.
Darshun clenched a fist and stormed forward, punching into her chest, the fiery fist bursting out through her back.
The look on the Succubus' face—of dire surprise and horrendous torture, for the white flames amongst Darshun's hand scorched her innards when it passed through.
Darshun tore it out, grabbed her throat, then with his other hand he grasped her leg and—ripped her apart. He let go of the members…The decrepit head, body and left leg descending toward the ground in separate places, scattered by the wind. Then, the members burned up in a sudden white fiery flash spawned from Darshun’s eyes.
The other Demons, realizing this opponent was far more dangerous than they originally thought, moved further away from him, conjuring an attack.
All who’d seen this—including Abaddon could hardly believe it.
Darshun’s one fiery punch was like a burning star striking a landscape, leaving nothing alive, and his strength—to merely pull apart a Demon? Without a doubt, his power had transcended.
Unsure whether or not to engage their new opponent, the four Demons looked back to their master Abaddon.
He observed everything from
the mountain peaks as he remained as still as a statue. “Destroy him!” he shouted.
Slowly, Darshun floated higher, increasing the distance between him and the enemies.
This time, however, they were not going to wait for him to strike first and so quickly stormed forward, each forming a magical sword of flame like the Demon of Wrath, launching a massive attack.
It became difficult to tell what was taking place for those upon the ground. All they could make out with their eyes was silver-white flashing light intertwined with four swords brewing in flames, slashing wherever the light shifted. There was no sound, no steel against steel, meaning Darshun must have been dodging and avoiding the Demons' strikes.
Suddenly, a massive force unleashed out of Darshun, a type of transparent energy, its waves felt by the strongest within the army, the force blowing the Demon's away, scattering them in different directions, disorienting their vision.
Once coming out of the state, their senses having returned, Darshun no longer remained in the sky. A few moments passed before they could relocate him, the Demon of Fear pointing its shadow-like arm toward the landscapes.
Darshun stood stationed on the ground, his arms crossed, looking up at the enemy, his face expressionless.
The Demons conversed in their native tongue, most likely conjuring a strategy. They descended, surrounding him.
Darshun shifted his glare from one to another, reading their minds, witnessing the immense destruction they were responsible for in the first Great War. "There is no forgiveness for what you have done," he said, looking into the Demon of Strength's eyes. "No forgiveness for such blackened ill-repent hearts."
The Demon grinned, and threw a heavy kick, aimed for Darshun's throat.
Darshun easily caught it, clenched his hands into its skin and swung him spherical, striking the other Demon's before they had a chance to attack. Still clenching the Demon of Strength's large grotesque foot, Darshun set his left hand around its other leg and plunged him straight into the frozen ground head-first as though he were striking the ground with a war hammer, his body sinking in, churning up chunks of the landscape.
Unexpectedly, a scream could be heard in the distance.
Darshun turned aside, noticing the Demon of Wrath—one of the Demons' he pummeled earlier, soared straight into the army, grabbing a hold of the first individual it’d come into contact with, Minevara. He held her from behind, grasping her neck, rendering her powerless. Laughing obnoxiously, it soared toward Darshun, feeling confident it could now turn the tables in this battle.
The Demon did not have to wait, Darshun, spread his thick, four-tone colored wings and soared straight for it. Feeling startled, the Demon landed onto the ground, still holding Minevara. Many had been running for her rescue, including Nayland, Kaylis and Talvenya, but stopped upon seeing Darshun, the look in his eyes—frightening to even them.
As for the Demon of Wrath, its free hand began to blaze with fire and it set it beside Minevara's face, the heat singing her skin. It spoke no words, though it was evident what it wanted: If Darshun wouldn’t retreat the flesh from Minevara's face would soon be oozing along the snow. Obviously, the Demon could sense the love Darshun had for her, the emotions filling the very air they breathed like a gas. It grinned.
“Windtros—don’t—do not worry about me,” Minevara said, struggling with her words. “Just destroy this abomination…”
The hideous ‘Abomination’ began to laugh, feeling it did have complete control over the situation, a most perfect opportunity for the others to strike a fatal attack from behind, perhaps cut this blasted Angel's wing's to shreds, and then toy with the flightless nuisance for a time before lopping off every bodily member. The Demon of Anguish was just getting the Demon of Strength's body out of the ground—its face mutilated from the jagged rock—while these thoughts drifted through the Demon of Wrath's mind.
Then, the three began to drift closer, approaching Darshun from behind, silently—except for the Demon of Strength, his anger was seething from what Darshun just did to him. He could hardly wait to impale his fist through the Angel’s body, burst out his heart and stomp him to mush!
Like a feline's ears, Darshun's wings perked up, sensing the threat. He remained calm and stepped closer, toward the Demon of Wrath. The wind blew; his long wild hair began to glow, accompanied by his eyes—a most cold, stern and vengeful glare never abandoning the Demon. He raised an arm, white fire dancing along the hand, aiming at his enemy.
Nervously, the Demon singed Minevara’s skin to let Darshun know it was serious—Minevara crying out for a moment.
Nevertheless, Darshun showed no signs of surrender.
It became terrified, not knowing what to do, for if it struck her down, this angel would kill him. But if it did not—would he be merciful? At least long enough for the approaching Demons to counterstrike him?
The Demon’s chaotic and panicked thoughts were in vain—Darshun wasn’t going to take any chances or show any mercy, not this time, nor at this hour. This battle was to the death. He released the white fire from his palm, and as the element shot forward, it separated, one half striking the Demon’s arm and spreading to all its members, the second covering Minevara, quickly changing to a reddish-pink color that became a type of aura-shield, protecting her from the first half of the deadly sacred flames.
Minevara was free, raising her arms, looking at herself with the fancy energy surrounding her. It disappeared and she turned to Darshun, a little frightened. He only had to glance at her once for her to understand. She retreated to Nayland and the others, then they stormed back toward the army.
The Demon of Wrath went up in smoke, completely burned to ashes before Darshun’s feet.
He turned his head slightly—just enough to see the shadows of the others.
Believing a head-on attack would not work against this new adversary, the Demons immediately ascending into the sky—Darshun’s eyes following them—and launched a most brutal attack of fireballs, pouring down like a hard combustible rain. All around Darshun they hit, some even striking him, erupting into chaotic flames with the ground splitting apart, craters forming and debris hurling in all directions.
The High Wizard Olchemy even had to materialize an energy shield to protect certain sections of the army from ricocheting rocks and colossal-sized chunks of ice.
They ceased their attack; a thick black cloud of smoke rose where Darshun had stood and rubble lay everywhere.
“As great as he seemed he did not last long,” Abaddon scorned. Though if anyone else overheard him, his ill-sounding tone, it seemed clear—even he himself did not believe the words.
The three Demons laughed obnoxiously, thinking they’d won, their ridiculous sounding voices echoing across the sky. Then, they quickly fell silent, for as the remaining smoke lifted a silhouette of the Angel could be seen, and when the smoke finally dispersed, and the landscape grew unclouded—there Darshun stood, unscratched and undamaged.
Darshun then roared in fury, his voice like a thundering tornado. His power shook the ground, his silver-white fire aura, his silver-blue eyes and the dark blue x across his chest burning ever so bright. “There is no forgiveness for what you creatures have done!” he announced, preparing to bring judgment. Spreading his wings, he ascended toward them in a flash and attacked without warning, throwing a series of punches and kicks, knocking the Demons to and fro, as if they were mere training objects.
Hissing madly, the Demon of Fear unraveled its element—fear, but not a trace of the emotion could be found within Darshun’s thoughts or memories. It seemed as if Darshun had never existed until his arrival twenty minutes ago. It slashed at him with its claws.
Darshun grabbed a hold of its black mist-like arms—somehow making contact with them as if they were true solids, deep blue electrical charges sparking throughout its shadowy members.
The Demon of Fear tried pulling away, crying out in its own fear as it looked into Darshun’s gaze.
Darshun
flashed his eyes and the shadowy figure vaporized in a mist of white light. He turned toward the other two—now back in the air from their previous beating, the Demon of Anguish and the Demon of Strength. They hesitated to attack, beginning to tremble. Darshun raised his arms, and within seconds, silvery-white light overshadowed them. They turned around witnessing a sphere of silver-white fire, ten feet in diameter, its heat beginning to singe their bodies.
Without a doubt, the Angel was controlling it, this—heavenly fire star.
Fearing for their lives, the Demons began to retreat, heading for their master Abaddon.
Darshun cast his arms forward and the Firestar pursued them.
Turning around, they saw the sphere of death coming their way, screeching through the air like a comet. Changing directions the Demons flew low, the sphere did as well. They ascended high, so did the sphere, wherever they went, wherever they flew—the sphere was always behind them, getting closer and closer, crackling the sky, its heat beginning to be felt. “Master!” the Demons screamed in their native tongue, terrified.
Abaddon didn’t intervene—he stood as a statue, his arms crossed, watching Darshun’s attack pursuing his ‘children’.
The sphere was just behind them now, their bodies weary, and only a hundred feet away from their master. The Firestar hit, exploded, its light illuminating the field of Milrotha, and blew both of the Demons away—a dusting of ashes fell from the sky.
Now Darshun set his eyes on Abaddon.
The Demon Lord met his gaze.
Extending his wings, Darshun flew over and landed before him, face to face once again.
“Now the battle really begins,” Olchemy announced, as they all watched. “The final battle.”
Darshun the Guardian stood still, burning in glory and pride, never shifting his gleam from Abaddon.
“So—it is you,” Abaddon spoke. “Who would have thought such a prophecy would pertain to a Nasharin.” Abaddon studied Darshun’s figure and knew he’d truly become a being of great power, enough to rival his own. How can this be? I thought I had killed him last time. Yet—he survived. He clenched his fists. “You just won’t die!” he growled.