Nightslayer - Chapter Fifity-Six

 A fierce storm, full of savage lightning and swirling winds, struck at the same time as the Mother’s children.  Even as it broke, and even as he had to busy himself striking the head off of a crab-like monstrosity that skittered toward him out of the darkness, Aylander recognized the storm for what it was–another, more elemental child of the Mother, one that could be every bit as deadly as the things that came at them with their slashing claws and ravening mouths.  Would the storm drop a Black Twist–one of the violently rotating columns of cloud the humans called a whirlwind–from its belly, seeking to scour he, Thaddeus, and Zoe from the face of the earth?  Aylander thought it likely, and would be surprised if the storm decided to only drop one.

Despite the number of creatures that attacked them, the storm was the greater threat, here.  Essentially mindless, it would rage until its energy was spent, and Aylander knew of no spells that could affect it.  But was that really true, or was he only thinking of the powers he’d had before his time in the Abyss?  Back then, all Aylander had been was a Sword Priest, and had only had whatever spells and magical abilities he’d either learned, or been born with, at his disposal.  Even now, he still had all of those same talents, but didn’t they seem somehow less than they had been before?  Wasn’t his being able to conjure a flaming sword from thin air, and to blast aside the beasts that charged toward him with nothing more than a gesture and a thought, proof of that?  If he could do those things, wasn’t it just as likely that Aylander could do things that no mage before him had ever been able to do?

The battle against the Mother’s children went on, the creatures emerging from the darkness in wave upon snarling wave.  As Aylander had expected when the battle began, none of the Mother’s children came close to reaching them, each wave breaking apart under the torrent of magic and steel he, Thaddeus, and Zoe unleashed.  The storm continue to rage, however, and–during a brief lull when it seemed the monsters were pulling back in order to regroup–Aylander was sure he caught sight of a pair of Black Twists, illuminated briefly from behind by a flash of lightning, snaking their way toward them.  

I saw them, as well, Brother, Thaddeus’s voice said from inside Aylander’s head.  Is there anything we can do to stop them?

Not with ordinary magic, no, Aylander replied, slicing a creature that barely came up to his knee, but which had curved claws on its hands that were almost as long as its arms, in two.  Not even if we linked.

Can you do anything?

There was hesitation in Thaddeus’s question, and Aylander knew that, via the bond they shared through Thaddeus’s sword, his brother could sense something of the greater, internal changes that had happened to him.  Perhaps.  If I can’t, then there may be no way of escaping.  Which I’m sure will amuse the Mother to no end, as I’m certain she never intended for this attack to end our lives.

Brother, Thaddeus said, who is this Mother?

You call her Hel.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Aylander rushed out into the darkness, heading straight toward the spot where he’d last seen the Black Twists.  Strangely, even after he was out from under the halo of light Zoe had cast, Aylander found that he could still see just as well as if he’d never moved at all.  Things weren’t as bright as they had been, but nothing had been lost to his field of view–in fact, it seemed some things had been added.  Now, while it was true that Eltarans had better night vision that ordinary humans, not even that could explain why, even without the presence of lightning, Aylander could now clearly see the Black Twists that approached them.  And there weren’t just two of them.  There were four, each of them revolving about, and even sometimes crisscrossing the paths of, each other.

Aylander raced across the ground, unaware, for now, that his speed grew faster with each passing moment.  Beasts passed by him on each side as he ran, skittering and clambering out of his way, only a lucky few escaping the sweep of his sword and the raw power he cast from his hands.  And that was what it was–raw power, the very essence of magic, itself.  It was a chaotic thing–much more so than it had been back in the Abyss–and touching it should have utterly obliterated anyone foolish enough to do so, but, instead of destroying him, it made Aylander feel alive, much more so than he could ever remember feeling.

I am a conduit for this power, Aylander suddenly realized.  I can bring order out of this chaos.  I can make it obey my will!  And, if he could do that, what was there that he couldn’t do?  Probably more than I realize, he mused, his lips curling wryly.  But why worry about what I can’t do?  Let’s see what I can!

Aylander leapt into the air, rising high above the confused, seething mass of demonic monsters, and then streaked toward the Black Twists, which no longer seemed as ominous as they had on first sight.  What was he going to do?  He didn’t know–not for sure–but that hardly mattered.  With the power at his command–and, because he had first seized it while in the Abyss, when it wasn’t as strong as it was here, it was, indeed, at his command–a true plan wasn’t necessary.  Improvisation, coupled with instinct, would work just as well.

There, Aylander thought, sensing a knot of power in the sky above the storm which had given birth to the Black Twists.  There was an intelligence there, a mind, and Aylander smiled as he understood these Black Twists were nothing like the ones he’d feared them do be.  A demon controlled these–yet another child of the Mother–and, though it was stronger than the ones on the ground, it could still be dealt with in much the same way.  And so Aylander pushed himself higher into the sky, above the black storm clouds that boiled with lightning, laughing as he caught sight of the lumbering form of the Wind Demon that drove the storm.

“HEAR ME, DEMON!” Aylander roared over the storm’s cacophony, his voice reverberating with the power he commanded.  “YOUR POWER IS BROKEN!”

The Wind Demon bellowed and raised its arms, lightning flashing from its hands to streak across the sky toward Aylander.  The lightning struck him, and then broke around him like water around a rock.  Aside from a slight tingle on his skin, he felt nothing.  Making his sword vanish, Aylander spread both hands wide and pushed them out from his chest, bellowing in much the same way the Wind Demon had.  The blast of power he hurtled at the creature–a blast of power that flared with a kaleidoscope of color–struck and the Wind Demon screamed, a scream that became a wild shriek of wind as both the demon, and its storm, disintegrated.

Aylander laughed, again, then looked down at the ground far below.  Many monsters still charged toward Zoe and Thaddeus, but there were fewer, now, some of them, it seemed, having been blown apart by the same blast of power that had destroyed the Wind Demon.  Aylander had to fight the urge to go down and help.  Helping his brother and his Sorceress wife was not what he needed to do, just then, no matter how much he wanted to.  Far to the north, at a place called Gelevan Gorge, a battle had been joined, a battle that very much needed someone there who could do the things Aylander could.  Would going to that battle turn the tide?  Not likely, but it would buy those who fought it time, and time–time to wait for the arrival of the Nightslayer–was what they desperately needed.

Go!  Thaddeus’s voice said from within Aylander’s mind.  They need you!  Zoe and I will be there as soon as we can.

Aylander smirked.  Pray don’t take too long in your journey, Brother.  You have bigger prey to face this day than the pitiful monsters the Mother has thus far thrown at you.

Funny, Thaddeus said, and Aylander’s smirk grew at the effort he sensed as his brother fought, these things don’t seem that pitiful to me.

They may in time, Brother.  They may in time.  And then Aylander was gone.

Nightslayer - Interlude Three

 The Mother of Monsters–who had come to be known by so many names over the ages that she had forgotten the one she had been born with–smiled to herself.  A new Nightslayer had come into being for the first time in millennia, and there was every indication that this one was going to be a powerful one, indeed.  Would he, though, prove as easy to corrupt as the others had?  If not, it would be a welcome challenge, and, perhaps, allow the Mother of Monsters–whose most common name among the people of the world the current Nightslayer had come from was Hel–to finally have a chance of ridding herself of the boredom that had become her daily life of living with Magnus.  Magnus–who hated that name, and preferred to be called either the Hidden King, or the King in Yellow–wasn’t the same man Hel had corrupted all those centuries ago, and had grown far too proud of himself and his power for Hel to be truly comfortable.

Had Hel made a mistake when she’d seduced and corrupted Magnus?  It was possible, but, provided this new Nightslayer could be turned, it was one she could live with.  Hel’s smile faded.  What if this new Nightslayer couldn’t be turned?  What if he turned out to be something different than his predecessors had been?  What if he turned out to be something more?  He might still turn out to be useful, Hel thought.  He might be the one who leads me to the Key.

The Key, of course, had always been her goal.  None of the other Nightslayers she’d turned, of course, had turned out to be the least bit useful in finding it, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been useful, at all.  They’d kept things in check–even after their banishment to the unimaginatively named Sundered Halls–and were now, once again, free to stir up as much chaos and destruction as they saw fit.  Hel would let them have that–for a while, at least–and then she would rein them back in, just as she always had.  The fallen Nightslayers–Demon Lords, to the superstitious simpletons of the worlds they came from–were hers, and, no matter what Magnus said or did, always would be.  But, Hel wondered, again, what of this new Nightslayer?  What was he going to be like?

That he was going to be powerful Hel could tell right away.  Only one other–the fool Solanas, who had walked away from the power of the Nightslayer because he’d been afraid–had ever come close to the power the current Nightslayer held.  This current Nightslayer could slay any of Hel’s Demon Lords without a second thought, and might even–based on what Hel could sense–give Hel a run for her money, herself.  He might even be able–Hel realized, her stomach feeling a bit queasy–be able to kill her, given all of the right conditions had been met.  But, Hel reasoned, those conditions could never be met.  Not after Geoffrey and his all-too-close friend Aaron had banished themselves to the Void.  Once they had done that, they had made sure that no one like them–or like Hel, herself–could ever exist in the cosmos, again.  Hadn’t they?

 And what if they hadn’t?  Hel rose from her bed, stretched luxuriantly–some might even have called it sensually, especially considering her scantily-clad state–and walked over to the window.  The view out her window was whatever she wanted it to be–this being nothing more than a mental construct–and, today, it showed her a peculiar version of a garden.  The garden was peculiar because of what it grew–crucified corpses that had been stripped of their skin instead of trees or flowers–but Hel found the sight of it beautiful and calming.  If this Nightslayer turns out to be like how we used to be, Hel thought, then that only means I will have to work harder when I move to corrupt him.  But nothing can keep me from doing to him what I did to the others.  Nothing!

Magnus, of course, would not be pleased when Hel had finished her work, but that hardly mattered.  Once she was done, there was nothing Magnus would be able to do.  Particularly if the man who had been given the powers of the Nightslayer–his name was Thaddeus, an interesting, and, if Hel remembered correctly, very old name–turned out to have powers beyond that of the Nightslayers who had come before him.  If he did turn out to have those powers, and if Hel succeeded in corrupting him–and, seeing as how she had never failed before, how could she not succeed, this time?–then wouldn’t he turn out to be her greatest creation of all?  Of course he would, and, Hel reasoned, he would bring power to her that, before, she had only dreamed of.  Because he would be the one who, after all this time, finally found the Key.  And, once he found it, he would, of course, give it to her.

And then the greatest power of all will be mine! Hel thought.  Mine, and mine alone!

Hel looked out her window at the corpses rotting on their wooden crosses and smiled.  Great days were coming.  Great days, indeed. 

Nightslayer - Interlude Two

 He awoke from the dream knowing that, this time, the dream would be a reality.  Once before, ages ago, he’d awoken only to be confronted with the bitter reality that, aside from the death of the man who, in the eons since the beginning of their self-imposed exile in the Void, he had come to realize was just as much of a brother as the one he had lost so long ago, nothing had changed.  Oh, it nearly had–the Power had been mere moments from being conferred–but, in the end, the one to whom the Power could have been given to had turned away, condemning the cosmos once again to another cycle of pain and suffering.  Surely it had been that refusal which had killed the Bespectacled Man’s friend–why it hadn’t done the same to him was just another of the mysteries that had, over the course of his very long life, been lain at his feet–and, though his friend’s body had appeared peaceful when the Bespectacled Man had found it, he had a very real suspicion that the actual death had been anything but.

The Bespectacled Man sat up and swung his legs off of the bed, resting his feet on the floor.  Taking his spectacles off of the bedside table, he put them on and looked across to the other bed, where the perfectly preserved body of his friend still lay.  His friend–the Bespectacled Man couldn’t remember what the man’s name had been, just as he could no longer remember his own–appeared to be peacefully asleep, his eyes closed, his hands folded together on his chest.  That chest did not rise and fall, however, and, for a brief moment, the Bespectacled Man allowed himself to mourn for his friend, who hadn’t been allowed to live long enough to see the day they had waited for come to pass at last.  I am sorry you aren’t here, Brother.  We could have rejoiced together.  For a time, at least.

The Bespectacled Man left the bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he put a pot of coffee on to brew.  The house he lived in wasn’t real, of course–not in any truly physical sense–but it was still a comfort to go through the motions as if it were.  Why dwell on the fact that what surrounded him was nothing but a mental construct when he already had enough to think about?  The coffee finished brewing.  The Bespectacled Man took the pot and filled his favorite mug–it had the design of a horse’s head on either side, an emblem of a sports team that had existed before the Cataclysm–then went over to the kitchen counter and sat down at one of the stools.

The coffee was good–just bitter enough without being acrid, and just the right temperature–and, as he drank it, the Bespectacled Man began to realize that he’d never had a cup quite like it, before.  With each sip, the coffee awoke things within him, memories he had long thought lost forever.  In a startling moment of clarity which actually made him laugh out loud, he remembered both his own name, and his friend’s.  His friend had been named Aaron, and his name had been Geoffrey.  Aaron had been fond of a particular kind of music–What had it been called?  Heavy metal?–and it had been over that music that he and Geoffrey had first bonded.  Gods, that was so long ago.

And then Geoffrey remembered the name of his brother–the true brother–he had never known, but still lost.  His name had been Kevin, and he had died the same day he had been born.  Geoffrey suddenly knew that, in the days to come, he would get the chance to finally meet his brother.  But not because he, himself, would soon join him in death.  No, there would be another kind of meeting for them, one that directly concerned the person who had been conferred the Power.

Did that mean what Geoffrey thought it might?  That, this time, the one who held the Power was the one it had been destined for?  Since Geoffrey was awake, and even had some inkling of what events the days ahead held, it was a definite possibility.  The holder of the Power would need to be tested, of course–as would any who accompanied him.  But, even as Geoffrey finished off the last of his coffee, he somehow knew that, regardless of what the tests revealed, this would be the end of the cycle.  Never again would he go to sleep only to be awoken after millennia had passed to go through it all, again.  For good or ill, this would, at long last, be the end.

But what about the Key? Geoffrey wondered.  If this Nightslayer passes the tests, will he be able to find it in time when, even now, I still have no memory of where it is hidden?

Only time–and there wasn’t much left of that–would tell.

Nightslayer Prelude

 There were only two of them left, now.  Two, when once, long, long ago, there had been billions.  Luckily, even with their numbers reduced to so little, they still had been able to do what needed to be done.  But had what they’d done been enough?  Would the cosmos survive the eons to come–the eons where there would be no one powerful enough to keep the Prison guarded?  The hope was that it would, provided that the Key stayed hidden–or that it had already been destroyed, altogether.

Knowing the status of the Key, however, had become a problem.  The efforts to hide it from those who would use it–and there was at least still one of those, may her name be forever cursed–had made it all but impossible to detect.  Touching it with so much Obliviation–which had seemed a wise precaution at the time the plans were made–now seemed foolish.  Why keep the location of the Key from those who wanted it hidden, and who had gone to all the trouble of hiding it in the first place?  Surely they–of which there were now only two–would know better than to use something so dangerous, wouldn’t they?

Perhaps, thought the bespectacled man who stood at the doorway of what had come to be called the Void.  But, if we’re so trustworthy, how could we ever have done the things we have?  How could we have left so much devastation and suffering for those who will come after us?

You linger too long, Brother.  The voice in his head spoke to him from the other side of the doorway, and, though the person to whom it belonged was very much like him, that person was not his brother.  No, his true brother was long dead, one of the lucky ones who had never lived to see the Cataclysm.  What’s done is done.  It’s time for you to join me.

And so it was.  The bespectacled man opened the door to the Void and stepped through, thinking as he did so that he, as well as the one who waited for him, the one who called him Brother, were no better than the monsters they left behind.

Book Announcement!

 My friends,

As of a couple of weeks ago, all of the chapters I have thus far posted here for both books have been combined into one book.  It is called Nightslayer.  It has a new prelude, will be divided into three parts, and there will be interludes between the parts.  The first interlude is already posted here, in the form of the final chapter of The Divided Knight (which is now the title of the first part of Nightslayer, the second part being titled Into the Abyss).  I will now post the new material I've written, starting with the prelude.  I hope you all continue to enjoy, and thank you all for reading!