A small planet in an incredibly distant galaxy, overrun by the
forces of darkness, stood on the brink of destruction. Although the
bodies of the planet's inhabitants only just grew cold in the depths
of their subterranean cities, their killers already planned to leave
for their next destination, their next sacrifice.
No more will we ever be alone, for in the abyss of death, the
countless souls of the slain will join us...
* * *
The very earth bled as a throng of clerics sang, their voices the
shrieking out across the war-scarred land, invoking the ritual of
their dark lord. There could have been several thousand of the
chanters for all Mishaela knew, for the deity whom she served easily
persuaded weak-minded souls to join their cause. All of the darkly
robed clerics formed a complete circle around a small group of
individuals in its center. There was one such circle in three places
around the fiery world in which they now inhabited, the three points
in which the energy of the entire world resonated strongly.
Mishaela's heart raced as she watched the ritual being performed,
though it was at least the hundredth time she had done so, and yet it
always made her heart race, knowing that so much relied upon her
portion of it. One mistake in the procedure divined from their deity
would be enough to kill them all. A red haze filtered the incredibly
bright sun, while dark charcoal clouds swirled in the skies
erratically, even as a sickly hot wind coursed through the desolate
valley, once the location of a vast city, now laid to rest under the
years of war.
Beads of sweat trickled down her sunburnt, white-blue skin as the
wind played with her long, silky violet hair. She clutched the folds
of her dark blue robe closed, allowing them to protect her from the
scorching temperature of the burnt wasteland. Dark bags limned her
naturally red eyes from the countless days spent without sleep. Her
duties to her Lord included more than being a general of his armies or
a priestess in the service of their deity, for she was the only one
with enough power to see into the future with any amount of accuracy.
Before the sacrifice of any realm, she would have to locate their next
destination and determine the power of its denizens, which could only
be determined at the end of the ritual. Often, they arrived unprepared
for their enemies. One several such occassions, their dark armies
nearly perished, but the power of His prophet always brough new allies
to their cause.
The forces of Darksol, in which Mishaela served as a High General,
now occupied a red planet which its natives had named Rigel. Its sun,
a hulking beast of intense energy, was far enough away to spare the
planet's existence, but not enough to make the surface survivable for
any prolonged amount of time. If it were not for the temporary shield
she and her minions had placed around the atmosphere, they would have
all begun to burn away. The sparsely populated citizens of the large
planet Rigel lived deep underneath its surface, down in the cool
caverns of their underground cities. The few cities above the ground
were used for prisons by the soft-skinned underworlders, or were
filled with intelligent lizards who Darksol had absolutely no power
over.
In the countless years she had served the darkness, she had often
found it difficult to complete her brutal tasks, but in this realm of
stinking lizardmen and foul-mouthed subterranean elves, her conscience
was hardly even nicked. Warrior after warrior had fallen to her
legions, and almost as many to her magic alone, and she was only too
happy to speed the natives' natural mortality. Every last drop of
blood spilled from the helpless denizens of Rigel fueled the dark
energy coursing through the air now, the same power which Darksol
utilized.
The dry air of the planet's inhospitable surface and the heat of
its blazing sun forced Mishaela to pull the hood of her robes over her
face protectively, activating the robes' magic energy, sending
chilling waves of cold down her body. The robe which every member of
her order wore not only maintained their body temperature and
protected them from caustic gases, but also defended them against
piercing weapons. It would take a direct attack to the face, or a
powerful crushing blow to harm them, and luckily for her, very few
enemies had ever come close enough to do that, but they were always
dispatched by her feverishly loyal guards.
Mishaela long ago would have been slain by the same forces she now
served had she not earned the power she now possessed, joining her
parents, sister, two brothers and lover who were all murdered in
sacrifice so many centuries ago. The promise of immortality was more
than enough for her to forget those slights made by her lord. She
freely chose to grant Darksol her powers in exchange for her life.
Now, but a few of the fruits of her choice laid before her: an
entire world ravaged by the forces which she helped command, one of
hundreds whose destruction she furthered. The final rite to end
Rigel's existence was now being invoked to open the dimensional
portal, allowing Dark Dragon, the God of Chaos' corporal form, free
reign over the planet, which inevitably called for its destruction.
The God's prophet stood in the center of this circle of power. He was
called Darksol; no one knew his real name, if he had every possessed
one. He existed simply to bring about his dark God's will, an empty
soul spending eternity to bring about the return.
Fidgeting under Darksol's gaze, Mishaela knew it was time.
"I am ready, Magus Mishaela," he spoke with a deep, booming voice
that seemed to cut the air. Standing nearly nine feet tall, the demigod resided within the body of an ancient ogre, the finest specimen that the now deceased planet of Oenkasa had to offer. Although hideous with his pale yellow skin and beady, black in black eyes, his body was ferociously strong. Naked to the waist, Darksol breathed heavily, already exhausted from the trying ritual he had been conducting under the heat of the powerful sun.
The Magus clenched her hands in fear as she turned, motioning for
her guards to bring in a native. Clothed in a white robe from head to
toe, the prisoner was led into the center of the circle. Although she
could not see the person within, she already knew exactly what lied
beneath: the chieftain of the subterranean elves' son, the prince of
this realm. He was absolutely beautiful and had the dexterity and
strength of the best of Mishaela's own warriors. He had killed
hundreds of her troops before she seduced the elf with her magic. The
reason he was now covered was to protect him from the sun's violence,
for his pale skin would almost certainly blister under it.
Darksol took the prince by the shoulders softly the moment he was
close enough. Mishaela's guards went back to their places as Darksol
began whispering the incantation that would prepare the prince.
"Darker than night, it is thee I summon, my Lord of Death, slayer
of the innocent, bringer of the end. Oh world devourer, I call thy
name. Faelune tirleen esseldi!"
Mishaela knew what would happen next but flinched anyway as a
thunderbolt clapped from the skies, striking the circle's center, but
neither the prince nor the ogre were harmed.
"Prepare us, Magus," he called out to her, spreading his arms
back. "He waits by Hell's Gate."
Gathering all of her courage, Mishaela approached the avatar. She
nervously stopped to stand in front of them. In mere seconds, Rigel
would end as every world before it had. She took a deep breath and
forcefully took the sedated prince by the shoulders, lowering him to
the ground. Making sure his robe was sealed tightly, she laid him down
softly, taking his gloved hands and clasping them on his stomach.
"Thy extension stands before thee, Great Master," she chanted,
stepping over the prince. "Our forces are united and awaiting thy
arrival. We offer thee this fiery realm as a sacrifice to speed thy
coming!" From within her robes, Mishaela produced a silver dagger.
Mishaela then screamed at the top of her lungs, "Let the blood
flow!" With all of her strength, she plunged the dagger into Darksol's
breast, drawing a pained grunt from the beast. The magical dagger
violently jerked backwards as she pulled it out, letting the blood
pump out of the mortal wound.
She took a step back readying herself for the rest of the ritual.
Looking up, she watched the black clouds break, but quickly shied her
head as the searing sunlight burnt down upon them.
"Darkness!" Mishaela yelled, summoning her powers to cast the
spell required by the ritual. Black light replaced the sun of Rigel's,
covering the landscape in utter darkness. The cry of thousands in
simultaneous symphony screamed out as their lives extinguished. Each
warrior in the dark army had stood behind the priests and priestesses,
sword aimed at their hearts. Their murder was final requirement.
I COME--WELL HATH THOU DONE MY SERVANTS. RIGEL IS MINE.
Falling to her knees, Mishaela blindly turned to the prince's
body, taking his face in her hands. She had to bring about the
transferal now that Magus Leloon lied among the casualties of their
army.
DARKSOL, MY SON--IN THY DEBT I AM ONCE MORE--MY POWER THY PRIZE.
The sounds of Rigel's surface faded away, leaving nothing but
silence and the feel of the prince's head upon her lap, and his soft
face within her hands. Offering her right one to the darkness, she
felt the wet, rough hand of Darksol grab it so tightly her hand might
break.
"Ahhh!" Mishaela screamed as electricity flowed from the ogre's
hand, coursing through her body. Pain errupted in every pore of her
skin, and she fell over onto the prince, weeping with abandon. She
hardly noticed that her right hand now clenched nothing but thin air.
Gasping in air frantically, the prince spasmed forward against
Mishaela's chest, as she still laid over top him, slumped in
exhaustion. His muffled cough prompted her to sit back, resting her
right hand on the floor. With her left, she brushed her fingers across
his cheek.
"Is all well, my lord?" Her voice was nothing more than a whisper,
though she had not intended it to be so low. She felt him nod his head
weakly as his heavy breathing answered any other question she could
have had. This was the first time she had actually been the catalyst
for the transferal of Darksol's soul.
"What form have I taken?" Darksol asked in the prince's voice. It
was so drastically different from his last one that she wondered
whether he had taken the body at all, but his question satisfied hers.
"One of the subterranean elves, my lord," she answered, suddenly
asking herself why he would ask such a question. Had he not inspected
her specimen with care first? After all, he might have to occupy the
body for the next century or two if their destination turned out to be
another Rune.
"The spidery ones in the caves?"
"Yes, my lord," Mishaela answered, suddenly wishing she could see
him, to look into his eyes and see if he really did have a soul.
"You have made a fine choice, my servant," he replied, taking her
left hand with his. She almost gasped as he kissed it. "I now promote
you to Grand General of our forces. Leloon was but a hindrance, and
his loss will soon be forgotten in the glory of your ascension."
Stunned, Mishaela could only reply, "Thank you, my lord."
Releasing her hand, he simply lied in her lap. "I place my highest
trust in you, Magus. My life, and more importantly, our cause is in
your hands. Now tell me of our destination. The knowledge should fill
your head in a moment's time."
Time flowed by, each grain of sand falling, one by one until the
hour glass' bottom filled. Whether it were minutes, hours or months,
Mishaela could not tell...but she knew it would end when they
arrived at the gate that separated Darksol's dimension with the final
realm of Earth...
Not a single ounce of strength would be spared in their last
invasion, the last which laid between them and their ultimate goal,
the arrival of their deity, Eternal Chaos.