The Gods of Glassacre CH1: Beckoning Darkness

A light begins to descend in the distance. The ruby sun casting a crimson sheen over the scorched earth. The dark plumes of smoke rise from the ground and taunt any living thing, begging for them to take a chance at one final breath. A charred fox scurries in front of a man looking towards the destruction, its fur coat popping with fresh embers. The man picks up the creature, shedding a single tear to see the fear and pain in its eyes. He mutters a silent apology to the creature before snapping its neck and putting it out of its misery.

The man, having seemed to have barely reached the age to be considered so, looks again to the fiery landscape with his deep blue eyes. His tasseled black hair is covered in soot, the gray making him appear older. A fresh scar touches the crease in his neck and falls slightly to the right, reaching down to his gleaming armor. The armor fits loosely around his broad shoulders and bulky calves, providing enough room for him to move freely as he glides across the charcoaled soil. The armor is well worn, having seen many battles. In his right hand, a brilliant shining sword moves loosely as the man twists his wrist, readying for the battle ahead. Around his neck lies a pendant. The pendant glows a brilliant lightning blue that matches his eyes. He reaches towards his neck to take a closer look at the jewelry that he so proudly wears. Inscribed are the words ‘Heart is the power of all.’

Caught in his own head, determining what the best move forward is, the man doesn’t notice a woman place her hand on his shoulders. “Zilis,” she says, “the time shall shortly be upon us. Are you sure you’re ready for what lies ahead?” Zilis looks at her with a forced smile. In his mind, he knows he’s not ready. What lies ahead is the most dangerous enemy he has ever faced. “Yes, Zeracia,” Zilis says with faux confidence.

Zeracia is the most beautiful woman that Zilis has ever laid eyes on. Her long, brown hair falls to her shoulders, waving in the wind. She is plated in the most fine of golden armors. She is slender, and the armor fits her to show her physique in finely tuned detail. Slung across her back is a quiver made of dark, brown leather. Despite the plainness of her quiver, her bow shows the true master of archery this woman is. Etched from top to bottom in her already strung bow, are exquisite elven runes, none of which Zilis can read. But what impresses him about the carvings in her bow, is the fact that the bow is made of steel. Steel is quite rare these days which goes to show the importance of Zeracia to the elven people. The most awestrucking thing about her though is not the perceived royalty or riches, nor the near immortal beauty of her personage, but the determination that emanates from her emerald green eyes. Around her neck is a similar pendant. As with Zilis’s pendant, Zeracia’s is made to match her emerald eyes. Similarly as well, hers has a message carved in the green ore. ‘Knowledge wins all.’

“We mustn’t back down,” Zeracia replies, knowing full well that Zilis is having second thoughts. “The fate of the world lies in our hands. If we give up now, all those who have perished up until now will have died in vain.” Zilis swallows hard knowing that what she says is true. He gives her a quick nod and they both look out towards the horizon once again. Upon closer inspection as they look out, the outline of a burning castle can be seen. They know this is where fate has led them. Everything has brought them to this point. Pain, loss, death, it has all played a crucial role in their journey.

Before he is given the chance to turn back and leave it all behind, Zeracia urges him forward and they begin the remaining trek to the castle across the burning plains. Beneath their feet, carcasses of dead animals crackle and pop, the stench poisoning their sense of smell. The smoke burns their eyes as they navigate the now rough terrain. Zilis imagines to himself what the land used to look like before it was destroyed. He imagines a lush green forest, filled with animals as far as the eye could see. He imagines a rushing river, the mist spraying up and wetting his dried out cheek. He allows a faint smile to reach his lips, and Zeracia takes quick notice of her companion and his out of place smirk.

“You know, I used to come here as a little girl. There used to be flocks of birds that would come here at the first sight of winter in the north. The trees that used to stand here were so tall that it could take all day to climb to the top. Of course, that was centuries ago. Now, that’s the only memory I have left of my former life.”

Zilis catches on to her comment of her age, but he quickly decides it would be rude to pry further than she’s already revealed of herself. Like Zeracia though, Zilis has only one memory of his former life. He doesn’t know how long ago it was, nor if it’s even real anymore, but he quickly reminisces as the memory enters his mind. He sees himself in a barn with another boy of similar age. He guesses they’re no older than ten years old, but he’s never really been good at guessing ages. The boys each have a long wooden board in their hands, whittled in the shapes of swords. They giggle and cheer as they playfully swing the swords at one another. The boy that Zilis has always presumed to be his brother, falls to the ground as he trips over a mound of dirt while swinging at Zilis. His sword flies to the side and the boy quickly grabs at his scuffed knee. The smile fades from his face and he slams a fist into the ground. Rage quickly fills his eyes and he looks at Zilis with a look of disdain. Zilis raises his arms in surrender, knowing that what happened isn’t his fault. The boy rises from the ground and charges Zilis. Zilis has no time to respond and is tackled to the ground. The boy begins to beat him, bruising Zilis’s face and leaving blood flowing from his nose. As quickly as the feelings of anger and hate had filled his eyes, the boy’s face was suddenly filled with fear. He stumbles back and begins to apologize profusely. He turns and runs out of the barn, tears streaming his face. Zilis tries to reach for him and cry out, but no noise is released and the memory begins to blur.

Zilis snaps out of his daze and realizes that he and Zeracia have covered quite a bit of ground. He looks forward and sees that the castle is fully visible to them now. It looms largely overhead, casting a damning shadow to all those that dare to enter its domain. It’s clear to see now just how much devastation has been wrought by the fires that continue to swarm the exterior of the granite walls. Blocks of stone have fallen to the earth, leaving burning craters around the perimeter. The dried up riverbed that surrounds the monolithic site is filled with the bodies of animals and humans alike, their charred corpses leaving skeletons exposed to the elements. The bridge that crosses it is laid with bodies impaled by arrows and swords, the sight of it sending an alarming chill down Zilis’s spine. He looks up the castle walls again, wondering to himself if the walls before him will also claim his life. He’s been a participant in many wars, but he’s never felt the fear of charging into battle. He’s witnessed untold amounts of death over many decades, but he’s always known he would emerge victorious. He knew this time would be different. He knew this battle could be his last. He had heard the rumors of his oncoming foe’s power, and the idea of facing him was unsettling.

Zilis let out a damp sigh that quickly evaporated in the stale air. He quickly gathered some courage and marched towards the looming castle doors. He furrowed his brows together and looked back towards Zeracia. “How do you do it? How have you gone into battles like this for centuries and not bat an eye when death stares you in the face?”

She looked him straight in the eyes, compassion filling every word she uttered to him. “The thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that if I die, the gods will remember me. They will make my sacrifice known for the millennia to come.”

Although Zilis knew this message was supposed to be comforting, in Zeracia’s own strange way, yet a part of him felt like there should be more to live for. He instead felt the growing voice inside saying there was more to die for. He trusted in the wisdom of the gods but he also felt alone and abandoned by them. They had never once answered his desperate pleas to remember his old life. They never seemed to show interest in the internal struggles he had faced for the decades he had been serving under their power. He smiled politely even while internalizing these feelings, not wanting to leave Zeracia’s efforts to the dust. “Thank you. Thank you for standing with me,” Zilis muttered to her. Zilis reached in for an ill timed hug and the two entered the fear inspiring citadel.

As they entered the harrowing doors of the fortress, the extent of the damage to the castle was immediately apparent. Though they knew judging by the exterior that the castle would be in shambles, they were in no way prepared for the havoc that lay before them.Wooden beams were crashing down from the ceiling above. Granite bricks that stood larger than a small giant littered the crushed floor. The stairs on either side of the vast great hall were in shambles and missing more than half of their steps. Glass from the hanging chandeliers crunched beneath their feet every step they took. As they entered the next room, they saw what used to be a dining hall. The scenery was much like the great hall before, but there was one key difference that separated them. This room was littered with bodies. None appeared to be run through with a spear, nor were any torched by the flames that surrounded them. A ghostly calm enveloped the room that left a sense of quiet foreboding. As Zilis inspected the corpses more closely, he realized that these people were not killed by the battle that had preceded their arrival. Not a scratch was to be seen on any body, nor a hair removed from the tops of their heads. Each corpse was lying face first in their bowls. As he grabbed the scalp of what appeared to have been a boy no older than twelve years of age, his heart dropped into his stomach. The boy’s face was ashen gray with hints of rusted green around his eyes. A white foam bubbled from the corner of his mouth, fizzling out as it touched the hot air. Zilis then realized that they must have been poisoned and killed before the battle had begun. Zeracia walked over to the door that entered towards the kitchen, but before she pushed the door open, she drew her bow and readied an arrow. She looked back towards Zilis, visible confusion on his face, and she pressed a finger to her lips, indicating that he should remain quiet. She motioned for him to move slowly to the left in which he cooperated. She kicked the door open and shot an arrow towards some movement in the room, but the active blur easily dodged her arrow. Before drawing another arrow, she realized the shadow ahead of her was just a small creature.

The creature looked up with dark, soulless black eyes. The creature was only about ten inches tall, sprawled on all eights. Its fur coat was a bright silver, glistening in the glow of the background flames. It looked up towards Zeracia with a snarl, its blood stained fangs dripping with frothy saliva. Its snout was covered in pink, infected scars. Its silver fur was decorated with black stripes. Its coal, black tail was peppered with white spots. As she lowered her bow, the creature’s snarl dissipated and it quickly ran off. “Everything is clear here. It was only an infant Dicoon.” Zilis let out a sigh of relief and made his way into the next room. This room was garnished with torn tapestries that told the story of the ancient kingdom that used to be ruled by the monarch of the great lands. Zilis tried to understand the lore told in the art draped over the concrete walls, but the damage was too great and Zilis did not have the patience to wait around to decipher what was left.

Zilis swiveled his head and looked around the room once more and saw a steep staircase that led to the floors above them. Zeracia walked in the room behind him and quickly noticed the staircase that had caught his eyes. Zilis’s eyes welled with tears of anger and he pushed any feelings of peace and mercy from his mind. “This is where it all will end. Today, I will have my revenge.” Zeracia, knowing well that the anger in his mind and heart could cause more damage than good, placed her hand on his shoulder. His shoulders raised with each heavy, staggered breath. His face was beginning to turn red hot with the anger that flowed through his very being. “This may be the end,” Zeracia said, “but let not revenge take hold upon your heart. You must remember that we are not here to take back what we have lost, but to ensure the survival of all the inhabitants of Glassacre.” Zilis nodded in approval, even if he felt he was being slighted in the vengeance he felt was owed. He retreated to his mind and began to calm his senses. The red began to flush from his face and his breathing became much more collected. He gathered his senses and once again proceeded forth with the confidence needed to complete his mission.

Zilis tarried for just a moment more, reveling in the thoughts of what could come from a victory in the upcoming battle. He decided it was futile to imagine a brighter future, knowing in his heart and mind that there was a great possibility that this would be the last time he raised arms in battle. With his hand tightened around the polished hilt of his blade, Zilis raised his shoulders and puffed out his chest, and made his way up the dimly lit staircase.

The journey to the top was long and arduous. The stairs were littered with human bones and all sorts of exotic vegetation. Zilis was taken aback in surprise when he realized this was the only part of the castle that hadn’t been overtaken by the inferno. As they neared the height of the stairwell, the air began to thin and become surprisingly chilly. Rounding the final corner of the stairs, light began to pour in from the roof of the castle. The light was no longer the red that cast itself across the sky as seen from below, but rather it was a brilliant, yet soft white glow. Zilis shielded his eyes from the light as he breached the doorway that stood between him and the outside world. The sudden howling of wind was deafening as it roared in Zilis’s ears. He flexed his jaw a few times in order to rid his ears of the painful pressure. His eyes slowly came to focus and he now longer had to shield his eyes from the light. As his surroundings cleared up, Zilis’s attention was turned to a lone figure standing next to a tower top that rose from the opposite side of the roof.

Chills ran down Zilis’s spine and the hairs on his arms stood on end. It wasn’t fear nor anxiety that brought about this tension, but anger once again swelling in his heart. Zilis clenched his teeth and let out a low growl that came from deep within his body. The figure in the slight distance suddenly rose up, standing tall and proud, almost as if he knew that he was no longer alone. He took a slow step backward and turned towards Zilis and Zeracia. They relaxed just enough as to not impose a threat, but enough that they were still ready for any attacks that could possibly come their way. The dark figure began to make his way towards them, each step sending soot into the air. As each foot left the ground, imprints of the figures boots were left in the dirt, an audible singe being released into the air. When the figure was about seven yards away from them, his grotesque features were clearly visible to them. He was clothed in sleek, black and silver armor. It was stained in dark, red blood, some of which still slid down. It wasn’t clear though if the fresh blood belonged to him, or a recent kill. The boots strapped around his feet were made from thick, black leather. The soles of the boots burned with a hot orange, the ground sizzling beneath his massive feet. A long, torn cape flowed down past his knees, the wind whistling through the holes. The hood of the cape was pulled down around his thick and throbbing neck, multiple scars decorating his throat. His face was quite square, his chin protruding at a sharp angle. His eyes were a deep hazel color, the whites tinged with red from contact with the smoke in the air. His head was crowned with dark, matted black hair. His nose was slightly crooked, looking like it had just been recently put back into place after a nasty break. He opened his mouth to reveal bloodied yellow teeth, all perfectly lined up, his tongue sweeping its way across them to taste the blood that filled his gaping maw.

Hanging from his left hip, a broadsword made from brilliant steel was wet with red blood. The golden hilt was dazzled with jewels of all shapes and sizes. Most notable of the jewels was the one placed in the center of the hilt. It glowed bright violet, pulsing with every breath the man took. The jewel almost seemed to be alive, as if it had a consciousness of its own. Zilis found himself entranced momentarily by the beauty held within the gem. The man let out a low, heinous cackle when he noticed how distracted Zilis had become. “I was wondering when the two of you would show up. Obviously it wasn’t quick enough to save the last of kingsmen stationed here,” the man said with a hideous smirk. “I have done almost all that Ragmada has required of me. Soon, ultimate power will be mine.”

Zeracia was the first to react to the message that had just been given to them. She recognized the name the man had used, but was unsure as to where or when she had heard it. She looked over to Zilis and he seemed to have the same puzzled look on his face. “Necrotus, whatever you have planned, we will not let any more bloodshed befall the innocent people of Glassacre,” Zeracia said defiantly. “You have already caused so much pain and sorrow for this so-called Ragmada, but no more will it spread across the face of the land. You will not be leaving this castle alive.” Necrotus seemed thrilled by this sudden opposition that stood before him. Despite his excitement, Necrotus very quickly brushed Zeracia off and turned his attention over to Zilis. “And you, young man, have not aged a day since the last time we spoke. Not since that day that you took everything that I aspired for out from under me,” Necrotus hissed with disdain. Zilis was now even more confused than he had ever been. He had never met Necrotus as far as he was aware. The only knowledge he had of Necrotus was the information that Zeracia had imparted to him.

“How could I have taken anything from you if this is our first meeting?” Necrotus chuckled at Zilis’s rebuttal. “I assure you, Zilis, that this is not the first time we have met, but it will be your last. Perhaps though, as my blade impales your heart, you will begin to remember what you did to me.” At this statement, Necrotus punctuated his threat with more sinister laughter. Zilis drew his broadsword at this and planted his feet firmly to the ground, taking a precautious stance in the event of an attack. Zeracia followed suit, drawing her bow with a beautifully carved wooden arrow. Necrotus took no heed to this and pointed forth his blade.

Zilis quickly lost his patience and threw out all the training he had been given. He charged Necrotus with lightning quick speed, but was effortlessly batted aside with a swipe of Necrotus’s blade. Zilis fell to the ground with a thump, being quickly surrounded in a pool of blood. He looked down at his abdomen where the sword had struck him and was met with a gaping hole lining his stomach. He was appalled that the blade had sliced through his armor so easily. Despite the extent of his wound, Zilis was not afraid. His pendant began to glow a bright blue and the wound on his stomach began to slowly knit itself back together. The strings of flesh slithered over the escaping blood, intertwining themselves with the skin on the opposite side.

As Zilis was healing from his wound and slowly stumbling back to his feet, Zeracia let loose her arrow, but it never reached the intended target. Necrotus reached out his free hand and caught the arrow about six inches from his body. The arrow quickly dissipated into a cloud of ash and Necrotus wiggled his fingers to rid them of the remaining soot. Zeracia was quick to let another arrow loose, but knowing that the exact same thing would happen, as soon as the arrow began to fly towards Necrotus, Zeracia lept forth and charged him. The arrow was not enough of a distraction for Zeracia to divert Necrotus’s attention though. As soon as she reached him, her knife which was previously hidden beneath the bracer that decorated her left forearm, was aimed towards his throat. Necrotus casually lifted his hand and caught Zeracia by the throat, his hand nearly reaching all the way around, his fingers only inches from making contact with each other. Fear suddenly filled Zeracia’s eyes at the outcome of her predicament. She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but his hand squeezed tighter the more she fought for freedom. The veins in her face became visible as she struggled for breath, blue overtaking her flawless white complexion.

Necrotus brought his sword up from his side and ran it through her abdomen like a hot knife through butter. Her armor let out a deafening screech as it parted to make way for the blade. As the sword pierced its way through her body and out through her back, bits and pieces of intestine were left dangling from the bloodied edge of the blade. What color remained was completely drained from Zeracia’s face. Blood ran down her body and pooled beneath her, spreading at a rapid pace. Necrotus released his grip and dropped her into the scarlet puddle. As she lay struggling for air, the green pendant on her neck began to glow. Her back began to stitch itself back together bit by bit. Necrotus, now looking down and towering over a cowering Zeracia, placed his foot on her throat and looked at her with a sinister smile. He reached down and wrapped his thick fingers around her pendant, and with one quick motion ripped it from her body. Horror filled Zeracia’s eyes. With her body having mended itself just seconds before finishing up with her abdomen, Zeracia struggled to her feet.

Necrotus chuckled, amused that she would even dare to oppose him now, knowing that her power was no longer hers. He taunted her with the pendant, waving it to and fro, only to crush it in his hands with nothing but the brute strength he was gifted with. Zeracia felt the last drops of power leave her body and she fell unconscious back into the pool of blood. Zilis, now on his feet, watched as this series of events unfolded. Anger swelled within him and he let out a cry that could be heard above the raging fires and crumbling walls. As he began to run towards Necrotus, the floor beneath him began to shake unsteadily. A gaping hole opened up beneath him and he fell towards the castle floor. He struggled to catch himself and was constantly battered by falling debris. He hit the ground with a loud crash, leaving a crater in his wake. Large clouds of dust rose, guarding him from any prying eyes. Necrotus walked toward the edge of the pitfall, and as the dust settled he was able to see just how much damage had been done to Zilis.

His body was left in shambles. His neck was craned back at a one hundred and twenty degree angle, his lower jaw dislocated from the rest of his head. Blood ran down both sides of his mouth, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Both of his knees were inverted from their original placement. One arm was stretched along his back, the forearm snapped in five places. One leg was crushed below the knee by a large piece of cemented brick that had fallen, blood splattered from every angle around the block. Gore littered the crater, leaving no chance of survival. Necrotus was pleased by the outcome and began to walk back to where he had originally been standing. He knelt down before a makeshift altar and began a low, bellowing chant. He placed his sword in both hands and ran the length of the blade with his left pointer finger. The blade began to glow more brilliantly than before and a strong wind billowed around him from the north. Necrotus bent his neck backward so his face was towards the sky and his eyes sprang open. A deep, orange glow came from behind the whites of his eyes and enveloped his pupils. His chanting grew louder and more vigorous as the power seemed to surge throughout his entire body.

An orange aura began to emanate from the floor beneath where he stood. As the wind grew to a deafening howl, Necrotus began to lift from the ground, his toes touching on their tips. His arms suddenly went limp and the blade hung down, the point scratching the granite as it made contact with the ground. The chanting came to an abrupt stop and Necrotus’s head slumped to his chest. No more than a moment later, his head lifted with renewed strength. The aura surrounding him disappeared and he slowly descended to the ground. Upon the arrival of his heels to the surface, he rolled his head back and forth, loosening the tight muscles that coiled within. He looked around at the destruction around him with a new sense of pride. A smile enveloped his face, and with a voice not his own, but with the eerie voice of a woman, uttered the words, “I’m back.”