The army of men, fifty strong, scattered in terror as the dark knights crested a large dune and descended upon them. Their archers immediately fired at the Enkhatar, letting loose an impressive swarm of arrows. But, their efforts were futile. The dark knights shrugged off the arrows, sweeping their weapons into the ranks of the men and blasting them apart with their maces.
Sulemain rode through the mass of them, cutting them down with his wicked blade and hissing with a hellish ferocity that struck fear into the hearts of the doomed warriors.
The leader among them tried desperately to maintain order, shouting commands at his men to spread out and attack the strange, unearthly horses. Though most of them remained fearful and on the verge of fleeing, some of them complied.
The leader removed the gem from his cloak, gripping it with one hand and calling upon the power of Imbra. As the gem gained energy, Sulemain narrowed his gaze at the leader. He raised his sword into the air and charged, heading straight for the terrified man as he finished his chant.
A bright flash of red magic burst from the gem, smashing into Sulemain and blasting him off of his mount. The startled horse, black and terrible, reared back and fell to the ground. The rebel men fired their arrows at it as it struggled to regain its footing, finishing the wretched creature for good.
Sulemain rose back up to his feet, his eyes glowing red with the fury of Hell itself. The leader began another chant, this time summoning a strong wind to conceal himself and his warriors. He glanced around to take in the positions of all of his men, noting that they now fought bravely against the Enkhatar; each one willing to give his own life to protect his brothers.
“You will not see the temple!” the leader shouted to Sulemain as he closed the distance between them. “Imbra will return and your reign of terror will be over!”
Sulemain continued his march, his sword poised to strike the man down. But another flash appeared from the gem that stopped Sulemain in his tracks. The dark knight shielded his eyes from the powerful wall of blowing sand that appeared from nowhere.
“Begone!”
Sulemain, blinded, thrust his sword forward. It sheathed itself in the leader’s chest, silencing the man’s incantations. The sand in the air immediately fell back to the ground as the winds died down. The dark knight pulled his sword free of the leader’s chest as he glared into his eyes. Silently, Sulemain reached out and retrieved the gem, watching as the man collapsed into the sand.
As his warriors finished off the rest of the rebels around him, Sulemain held the gem into the air, gazing into its crimson depths. He cackled when he saw its power, and reveled in the thought of twisting its purpose to destroy its own creator.
Soon, Imbra would die.
Jodocus wandered wearily in the afternoon sun. He had slept very little the night before, having been alone and afraid since Aeli disappeared after the battle with the banshee. Now, as he stumbled along the forest trail, his senses became dull with fatigue, and his stomach growled furiously. He knew that if he did not find something to eat soon, he would perish.
Though having never truly used his magical abilities, other than during the battle, the thought occurred to him to use them for survival. The night before, he had touched on this concept by creating a magical cloak to shield him from the night’s chill and hide him from predators. It had worked, and now he thought that the same powers could be used for other aspects of survival.
Sitting cross-legged on the forest floor, the boy focused his thoughts on food. He extended his awareness, picturing fruits, nuts, and berries in baskets. He projected his hunger on the forest around him; his need for nourishment coming before anything else.
The forest heard him.
It was only a few minutes later that small animals began to appear around him, timidly bringing things like blueberries, walnuts, and almonds, and placing them a few feet away. A squirrel that came closer than the rest brought a small bunch of celery stalks, which would provide him with some much needed moisture.
Jodocus gathered the fruits and berries, eagerly popping them in his mouth and voicing his gratitude with a soft “yummy.” He also enjoyed the celery, feeling the cool juice wet his parched mouth. Though it was a minor relief, he was still thirsty, and knew he would have to find water soon.
He stood, extending his awareness once more; gauging the direction in which he could find a stream, creek, or even a puddle of water. Feeling strengthened by his small meal, he started off to the west, where he sensed water.
Hidden in the brush nearby, the moorcat followed his charge, padding silently behind him at a comfortable distance. Though Jodocus was aware of his presence, the boy did not seem concerned. The moorcat himself was also unconcerned, as this child appeared to be something more than just a mere mortal. He was a child of the forest, and of the heavens, and was here for a purpose.
The moorcat would look after him.
Within the depths of the Great Pyramid, The Lifegiver spun a web of dark energy around the entity that stood before him. Wisps of black and purple flame sputtered and swirled in a vortex, surrounding the figure and penetrating its mass. Dark flesh formed over its incorporeal shape, giving it substance and strength, and the clouds began to gather into the shape of a cloak that would conceal its vile nature.
As the creature took shape under The Lifegiver’s direction, it began to tremble with the signs of life. It brought its clawed hands to its face, turning them around to take in their shape. Its eyes formed like infinitely deep pools of nothingness, and its mouth opened to take in its first breath.
When The Lifegiver had finished, the creature fell to its knees. It was man-shaped, black, and horrifying to behold. The ethereal cloak began to gather around it as it looked up at its creator, and The Lifegiver, pleased with his new child, finally spoke.
“My son,” he said; his voice a deep and echoing whisper. “Rise.”
The creature, cowled and cloaked in darkness, slowly rose to its feet again. Its breaths were raspy with the pain of tender new lungs, and its voice was a harsh, throaty croak.
“Father,” it spoke. “Why have you created me?”
The Lifegiver’s shadowy mass descended from the vaulted ceiling, wrapping itself around the creature as if to embrace it.
“You will be my divine eyes,” he said. “The Great Mother, in her insolence, has sent an assassin to murder my servants. Under the veil of divine magic, this assassin has traveled through her shadow routes to infiltrate the kingdoms, offices, and homes of those who are loyal to me. Because of him, the nations have revolted against me and now lie in wait for the Onyx Dragon to lead them in battle.”
“I feel your hatred,” the creature said. “And it inspires me.”
The Lifegiver’s deep laughter echoed throughout the chamber. “Good,” he said. “That pleases me greatly. Thus, I will give you free will. With that gift, you will perform your tasks more effectively.”
“Ask of me what you will, Father.”
“You will destroy this assassin,” the Lifegiver commanded. “He is skilled, and has been anointed by the Great Mother. But, you have my power. Do not waiver, despite his prowess. You can easily defeat him.”
The creature bowed its head, its obedience quite obvious to the mysterious man who stood in observance.
“I ask only one thing, Father,” the creature said.
“Name your wish,” The Lifegiver said. “And I shall make it so.”
“I ask only for a divine name; given by you, my father and master.”
“Your name,” The Lifegiver replied, “shall be Akharu.”
The creature smiled, rising to its full height again and staring up at its master.
“Thank you, Father,” Akharu said. “Your will be done.”
With that, The Lifegiver formed himself into a vortex that swirled with such ferocity that a portal opened within his mass. Akharu stepped through it, disappearing into the void. The Lifegiver then settled down into a swirling cloud of darkness, his conscious
ness aware of the nearby man.
“He will fail,” The Corruptor said from beneath his black hood.
“You have no faith in my children,” The Lifegiver replied.
“They have all failed. Akharu will too.”
The Lifegiver was silent for a moment as he drifted over to the Corruptor. The man made no move and showed no fear; he simply lifted his shriveled face and glared at the dark cloud before him.
“Go to Eirenoch,” The Lifegiver commanded. “A rift is growing there that should not have been reopened. Traverse this rift and kill whatever you find on the other side. When you are finished, seek out this Onyx Dragon.”
The Corruptor bowed silently.
“Your will be done.”
Aeli reappeared kneeling on the forest floor. Her staff was in her right hand, having been returned to her by the mysterious shadow people. As she regained her bearings, she looked up and saw that Farouk was seated cross-legged nearby. Though she was glad to see him, she realized that Jodocus was not in his company. Her heart sank, immediately quickening to a panicked thumping.
“Jodocus!” she shouted, frantically searching for her beloved child. “Jodocus!”
She started off into the forest, glancing back at Farouk; who sat unmoving in some kind of trance. She would not disturb him, she decided. He was likely communing with spirits unknown, and when he awoke, he would have more information.
Leaving the Grand Druid behind, she rushed down the forest trail, desperate to find Jodocus. Though she worried greatly, some part of her knew that he would be safe. He was, after all, a child of divinity.
The spirits would protect him.
Chapter Twelve
Tyrus the Blackhearted was born fifteen thousand years before in the far northeastern steppes. His people were of the first to rise from a life of savagery and primitive ways, and he, known to be superior to his tribesmen, was the first to bear the title of shaman.
From the time he learned to walk, Tyrus, who was then known as Torak, had shown the uncanny ability to control the elemental forces around him. When he was angry, he could summon fire. When he cried, he could summon thunderstorms. He even had the ability to animate stone and water; an activity he often used to play pranks on his tribesmen or to scare off rivals.
But, his one remarkable talent, which struck fear into the hearts of all who witnessed it, was the frightening ability to summon spirits or raise the dead to do his bidding.
The tribal elders had chastised him on several occasions for using this power. It was not ethical, they said; it was evil. Spirits were meant to stay in their own realms and not be brought to the Prima—as they called Earth.
Tyrus eventually saw this logic as he grew older and more responsible. He learned to control his emotions, and greatly increased the restraint at which he wielded his powers.
For five thousand years, Tyrus walked the Earth with this knowledge. He strived to learn everything he could about nature, the Earth, and the universe itself. Every year of existence brought him more knowledge, more responsibility, and more sorrow.
Though Tyrus possessed great power, he lacked the one thing that would have made his life worth living; a human soul. It was quite obvious to those who knew him that he was not born by normal means. Though his mother had been human, his father was unknown. The only thing she told him before her death was that she had been visited by a dark spirit in her sleep.
Tyrus had always wondered about this spirit. It seemed to be the one entity he was not able to conjure. Even after thousands of years of rituals and magical spells, the sage could never reach it.
It was only after a chance encounter with an otherworldly creature that Tyrus began to uncover the truth.
It was on an island far to the west, just off the coast of the mainland. Through the frozen tundra Tyrus had traveled to explore the northlands, and this island seemed to be the edge of the world. There, among the primitive giants and deformed beasts of the strange land, he felt the presence of something divine and powerful.
She was the most beautiful creature Tyrus had ever seen. She was not human; not of this world at all. She was something greater, and more divine. Her name was Allora, he learned, and when he saw her, his heart longed for her.
He watched her come and go for centuries, always staying hidden away from her sight and just beyond the edge of her senses. She was here for a reason, Tyrus knew, but what that reason was he could not guess.
The only thing Tyrus could connect with her presence was the odd distortion of space and time that seemed to occur on the island in cycles. It was as if a rift between realms would come and go periodically, and she was here during all of those times.
She was looking for something, but could not seem to find it.
Though Tyrus had almost built up the courage to confront her on pleasant terms, something had always told him that she would fear him. He could not bear to think of such things. His heart was heavy for her. But, he knew, the thought of having her as his love was impossible.
Over the years, his resentment grew. He came to hate her and her beauty. He knew she had come from a world much more divine and beautiful than this wretched, half-frozen world. She would look down on him, and cast him away like a dog.
And that is when he sensed the presence of the dark entity.
He began to grow more aware of the darkness as he continued to watch Allora in her travels. Whenever she appeared, the spirit would beckon to him. It was as if a part of the darkness was able to cross through the rift alongside her; without her knowledge.
He yearned to learn more of this entity that seemed to speak to him from beyond the realms. Using his innate powers, he began to probe into this other world from which the beautiful Allora had come. He would project his consciousness, feeling out the nature of this parallel world through his third eye. What he saw was the ultimate display of power.
Whatever this dark entity was, it had nearly destroyed this Allora’s world. It had drained the Mother spirit of its life, killed her Firstborn, and nearly wiped out Allora’s race. Their only salvation was the fact that they, themselves, were immortal. Even without the life force of their Mother, they continued to exist, albeit woefully. They would slowly lose their will to live, and would vanish into the darkness themselves; forever trapped in the void between worlds.
The concept excited the wizard greatly.
What sort of power could Tyrus himself gain from harnessing this entity? Was it even possible? Could he somehow bring this spirit into this world and wield it as the ultimate weapon. Such a power could conceivably allow one to rule the world. He could use the entity’s existence as a threat; a punishment for disobedience. He would be in complete control, and the world would bow before him.
But one thought occurred to him. If it were possible to control this spirit, then surely Allora would have the ability. Though he saw the weakness in her heart, he knew that her power was great. She could physically travel between dimensions; a discipline that Tyrus, even in his five thousand years, had not even touched upon.
Again, his resentment of Allora grew. He resolved himself to making contact with the entity directly. He would not wait for the rift to open; he would commune with it through the weakened fabric of reality.
In an effort to keep himself concealed, Tyrus constructed a stone shelter deep beneath the island’s forest. Here, he studied the waves of space and time, observing the moments when the two fabrics of reality were at their closest. During these times, he projected his thoughts through the ether; calling out to the dark entity.
Over time, he was able to strengthen the rift, but never fully connect the two dimensions as Allora was able to. But, in these times of strength, he felt the entity attempt to commune with him directly. Before, it was a mere beckoning; a simple awareness. Now, thoughts were fully formed. The dark entity spoke to him directly, promising power and greatness.
Tyrus was intrigued with the entity’s words, though he eventually began to realize that there
would be no controlling it should it cross over into this world. The entity would rule all, and Tyrus, though rich with power and prestige, would simply be a servant.
He could live with that.
The entity, whose name was revealed as Absu, instructed Tyrus in Allora’s methods of travel. It was revealed that Tyrus himself need not travel into her realm, but could thwart her efforts in his own. Absu was not aware of her purpose, however, and did not seem to care. His only concern was continuing his destruction of this particular world across the many fabrics of reality.
By crossing dimensions to the same world, the entity had said, his destruction would go mostly unnoticed.
For thousands of years, Tyrus watched Allora. She never seemed to be aware of his presence and eventually, he was able to get very close to her using his magic. His lust for her increased more and more through the years, and finally his madness overtook him.
It was a winter’s day when the wizard decided to make himself known.
While Allora communed with unknown spirits in a make-shift shelter, Tyrus appeared to her. Her immediate reaction was one of revulsion. His appearance was that of a beastly man; bearded and primitive. He was not of her race, she saw; not even of the current dominant species of man, but something older and ghastly.
Tyrus’ anger at her rejection was great. He flew into a rage and blasted her with ancient magic. Though powerful, she was unable to withstand the anger that drove his spells. Her attempts to cross back into her own world were continuously thwarted as the dark magician assaulted her mind. She fought desperately, trying to distract him while she opened a portal back to her own realm. Tyrus sapped her strength greatly, weakening her to the point where she could only open a gate to the darkness between realms. There, she felt, she could hide safely and regain her strength.
She was wrong.
In her haste, only her consciousness was able to cross over. Tyrus had bound her body to this world, and she was unable to resist. The dark wizard assaulted her body as she lie trapped in Limbo, and she was powerless to intervene, lest she became wholly enslaved to his will.
Into Oblivion (Book 4) Page 13