The Forge of Frustration

[Ire]

Hello everyone! If you've never seen me around these forums before, I'm Ire. While I just mostly roleplay, I do like to write prose by myself from time to time. This thread will hold a collection of my works. Hopefully you'll like them!


On a side note, my favorite genres are fantasy, science fiction, and horror. And just for your own curiosity, many of these stories were written when I was around fifteen and sixteen years of age. I haven't written anything truly recently because of my lack of motivation and inspiration. Maybe that'll change though if people like my stuff on here.


Alas, without further ado, I give you the Forge of Frustration! I call it that because I make stuff but I'm not happy with it later and usually get frustrated with myself!

• The Highborn
• The Echoes of Terror
• Tranquility
• Forgetting the Rain

• • Prologue
  • Chapter One
  • Chapter Two
  • Chapter Three

  • The brink of death gnawed at his heart, his mind, and his soul. His elderly features were in shambles upon his drooping face. His flesh no longer seemed as if it belonged to a human, for his mangled skin was barely hanging on to the edges of his bones. His cheeks were sunken, his eye sockets were blackened, and his white hair was diminishing. The imposing throne of gold, flora, and valuable gems he sat upon made him seem fragile compared to its godly design; it made the man seem desperate for the youth that had long been reaped from his anatomy.
    
    
    Chapped lips quivering and aged hands trembling, the weary monarch observed as the armor clad soldier approached, his klappvisier bascinet tucked under his arm. His head was protected by a thick riveted aventail, revealing his well-shaved, rugged and battle-worn countenance. “My lord,” the man stated, not kneeling in honor nor signaling any type of loyalty or respect toward the king before him. His gauntleted hands clenched together, exposing the broad size of his knuckles.
    
    
    The king let off a cough and then adjusted himself in the magnificent throne he sat upon. “What… what do you need from me, young knight?”
    
    
    “I have traveled far to tell you that the dwarven lord of Dodempa, Laranius Drakeskin, has accepted your alliance and trade agreement. For sending much of your city’s wealth as a gift, Lord Drakeskin is offering his only living heir to the dwarven throne, Lomar Drakeskin,” the knight explained in a fatigued manner, turning sideways and stretching out his right arm toward the large gate that led into the throne room.
    
    
    The golden ring-shaped door pulls jingled as the two giant doors were thrown open; a miniature figure peaking at the height of four feet and eight inches entered the room. A grand steel cuirass of red paint was donned upon his configuration, glistening in the mauve sunlight of the setting sun that streamed through the vast windows above the set of doors. The insignia of the dwarven kingdom – a battle-axe and warhammer crossed in an ‘X’ – was bejeweled on the cuirass’s center, its aberrant design embellished with rubies, emeralds, and amethysts.
    
    
    Meandering forward, the dwarven heir came to a halt, bowing before the aging king and then standing tall once again with marvelous posture. Amber hair concealed his scalp and his deep green irises stared dauntless at the monarch. A simple goatee of the orange hair circled his lips, instilling some nobility about him.
    
    
    An awkward silence filled the room, and the elder king’s steel-grey eyes found themselves darting about, observing the royal guards that were positioned at either side of the room as if they were the metallic pieces on a valuable chessboard. Lomar twitched slightly, hinting the anxiety in the ruler’s eyes. It… confused the dwarf.
    
    
    The king’s eyes returned to the dwarf, who had already begun to speak. “Good afternoon to you, King of Synera. I must say, while I’ve been utterly forced here by my father, I am still permitted my right to think and express myself, and thus… I have the liberty to dislike you in your entirety. Do not take this to offence, for it is common practice amongst us dwarves,” Lomar said, winking casually at the wise lord as a smirk began to form from his subtle pink lips. “Ah, but do not administer your full attention to me. My knight needs some appreciation as well for getting me through the Golden Valley and the Shaden Forest unharmed.” Lomar extended his arm toward the knight. “This is Zem Torii, human war soldier of the Drakeskin imperial guard.”
    
    
    Zem bowed his head, but his body remained still. “A pleasure to meet you…” The old lord announced, his tone dreary and soft.
    
    
    “I cannot say the same,” the giant of a man declared, sneering at the king. The elder monarch’s visage contorted, his lip curling upward and revealing the near-toothless gums that resided there.
    
    
    “Please… please escort these two men to their rooms,” the king said, his fingers ushering the guards toward the duo. One of the royal soldiers approached Zem and Lomar, gently guiding them to the right where a door leading out into the corridors of the castle awaited. The guard was adorned with blueblood steel – a vivacious and durable metal derived from the Icecap Mountains surrounding the City of Dodempa – armor. The brilliant material was painted a slick silver. Purple draconic etchings decorated the armor and the helmet donned eagle-shaped wings on either side of the cranium. An indigo cape streamed down from the guard’s shoulders, the trimming at the bottom being a glistening silver.
    
    
    “Well aren’t these guys dressed all fancy-like!” Zem said, chuckling afterward as he swung his burly arm around the petite shoulders of Lomar.
    
    
    “I don’t s’ppose we could be pleasured with a few wenches and several rounds of your finest ale?” Lomar asked, his eyes peering sideward at the noble guard that led him through the door and into the first hall.
    
    
    The guard looked at him incredulously, rolling his eyes like a stubborn child. “I’ll see what I can do,” the guard said.
    
    
    “There we go!” Zem roared, banging his left hand against his armored chest like a gorilla.
    
    
    Continuing through the passage, the light from the windows began to vanish as the sun finally drifted into its slumber. Darkness began to creep into the crevices and open doorways of the corridor, and it wasn’t long before the servants came along, lighting the wall-donned torches aglow with an orange fiery haze.
    
    
    Only a brief period of time went by before the duo was escorted properly into their chambers. The royal guard gripped the oaken handle of the mahogany door, opening it with ease and leading the two travelers into their room. Designated to the left wall was the king-sized bed, adorned with fluffy gold pillows and a purple blanket with silver lining. Trivial tables were on either side of the bed, one bearing an ignited candle while the other had a few baubles placed upon it. The same set-up was placed against the right wall, and the wall in front of them had been structured with a massive glass door leading out to a stone veranda. Well-sewn tapestries embellished the walls while ingeniously crafted rugs of silver and purple – the obvious colors of Synera – were strewn out across the stone floor. A gigantic wardrobe was placed in the far corner of the right-hand side, its interior holding a vast array of exquisite apparel.
    
    
    “Nice… yet, it seems a bit trashy compared to my room back at Dodempa,” Lomar said, laughing with Zem as they entered the room, throwing down their adventuring supplies and crashing down on their appropriate beds.
    
    
    The guard departed swiftly, but his presence was quickly replaced as another silhouette filled the doorway and apathetically entered the room. The configuration of the man leveled at the height of five feet and eleven inches, his sable black hair gathered into an extended ponytail behind his head. Because of the ponytail, his hair was pulled back, leaving it oiled and inevitably handsome.
    
    
    His features were angular, like that of a chiseled statue upon marble. His sagacious eyes of silver-grey observed the two companions, while his lips moved in and out under the power of his moving tongue. The tanned flesh of his thick neck was the only visible part of his body besides his hands and face. He was clad in a purple satin robe with silver and gold trimming entwined with one another. The attire made him appear undeniably powerful. The robe was collared and light compared to the cliché design of the usual heavy robe worn by priests or monks. The robe bore no hood, and the fingers of the man were enriched by sparkling silver rings on his index and pinky fingers.
    
    
    “So… you’re Alderionth, prince and heir to the throne after that old man dies, huh?” Lomar said, sitting up on the bed and bouncing upon its firm springs.
    
    
    “Yes, that would be me,” the prince declared, ambling forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “And you two are the drunken pair from Dodempa? Odd, I thought dwarves were taller.”
    
    
    “We’re called dwarves, idiot. What did you expect?” Lomar asked, his eyes narrowing into an imposing glare, despite his inferior body mass.
    
    
    "I expected you to be muscular and tenacious while being short in height, not sarcastic and elfin,” Alderionth said, his lips curving into a vexatious grin.
    
    
    “Watch your tone, prince,” Zem interrupted, standing immediately.
    
    
    “Watch yours or I’ll throw you in our dungeons,” Alderionth warned, his smirk fading. “But anyways, my father has returned to his chambers, which is right down the hall. Please, I beg of you, keep your voices down. I’d not wish you to awaken the poor man. He annoys me enough when he’s awake, let alone when he’s half asleep.” With that, Alderionth bowed slightly and parted ways, closing the door behind him as he did so.
    
    
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    Time passed and it wasn’t long before Zem and Lomar forgot all about Alderionth’s introduction. Wenches had presented them with alcohol, much of it mead and ale in tankards. They had only received one bottle of rum which had been newly created, leaving its taste not as ravishing as it could have been. The servants left after the two were supplied with enough drink for the evening, but something shattered the thin glass of laughter and admirable times both Zem and Lomar were experiencing.
    
    
    A scream echoed through the corridors, through the door, and into their comfortable chambers. The guttural sound brought silence into the room almost immediately as they set down their tankards and wiped off their lips. Lomar slipped off his bed, ambling over to his traveling pack and crouching. Tied to the side of it was a sheath and the blueblood steel handle peeked out at him. Grabbing the hilt of the sword, Lomar unsheathed it from its leather prison and brought the weapon before his green eyes. The blueblood steel blade sparkled like diamonds, and the rubies emblemized into the pommel were astonishing.
    
    
    Lomar looked toward Zem, who was already brandishing a six foot long zweihänder, its crystalline blueblood blade looking mighty imposing. The dwarf prince nodded toward Zem and the giant of a man ventured forward, his gauntleted hand gripping the door handle and turning it. It opened, letting off a small creak. Zem quickly threw it ajar to avoid anymore wooden groans and then slowly continued out into the hall. The scream echoed again, and both of them knew what gender the scream belonged to now; it was definitely the vocal chords of a male.
    
    
    The duo suddenly surged forward, sprinting down the hallway. Zem’s armor clanked obnoxiously, and it wasn’t long before Lomar and he came to the place of the scream’s origin: the king’s chambers. Zem shot an unknowing glance Lomar’s way, but the dwarf simply shrugged. Taking a deep breath, the bodyguard threw open the door.
    
    
    Before him, in the dim candlelight, the corpse of the elder king was spread out over the ground with his appendages extended. A creature was positioned on top of him, its unclothed form wringed with monstrous black and red muscle. Its head slowly turned toward them, blood and flesh oozing from its mouth.
    
    
    The creature swallowed its meal, the devilish sound sending chills through their anatomies. The ears on either side of its head were elongated, like that of a bat. Razor sharp teeth could be seen behind the chapped black lips, and the creature’s demonically grotesque features were still. Its blackened diamond-shaped eyes stared at them for a long time.
    
    
    Then it began to stand.
  • “Zem… w-what the hell is that?” Lomar whispered under his breath. His lips pulsated and his entire form shuddered. His body did not move an inch, but the dwarf’s bloodshot eyes gazed left toward his bodyguard, who was nearly as petrified as him. Zem wasn’t replying, for his bright blue eyes were transfixed upon the abomination before him.
    
    
    The creature inched closer, the entirety of its embodiment revealing itself from the obscured darkness that it had laid within moments ago. It was about six feet in height with sinewy muscle visible on its fiendish flesh. Its sharp features were beginning to crunch together, forcing its diamond-shaped eyes to narrow. The demonic being was bald throughout its whole body, but a tattered sash of cloth concealed the area between its legs on either side. It donned no weapon, but the menacing teeth hiding behind its gums were itching to attack them – Lomar could tell.
    
    
    Almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the creature charged forward, throwing itself into a quadrapedal stance. The short distance between the duo and the king’s lifeless human shell became briefer than it had been before, for the monstrous creature was swift. In mere seconds, the fiend had leapt through the air, its scimitar-like claws protracting as it did so. Lomar knew not what to do, for he did not garner the ability to evade such a creature. Without hesitation, he simply closed his eyes and waited patiently for the inevitable.
    
    
    But then it howled and wailed. The demonic sound waves pierced his eardrums, knocking Lomar onto his back, his bejeweled sword clanging to the ground beside him. The dwarf regained his senses rather quickly, and his green eyes opened wide to see Zem struggling to maintain his position upon the beast he was attempting to dominate.
    
    
    The colossal man had accidentally abandoned his zweihänder due to the hellish screech, but his main goal now was to annihilate this creature, and that could still be achieved with both of his hands free to do as they pleased.
    
    
    The abomination beneath Zem continued to scream, its thick grey saliva spewing over the enormous man’s face like a fountain. The bodyguard already had the creature’s two demonic arms pinned against the stone floor and with one fluid motion, Zem stood afoot, hoisting the creature up with him. The beast’s imposing maw snapped at him, but Zem tilted his head back away from its reach with his tremendous frame. Zem continued onward as he roared, quickening his pace until he slammed the creature against the glass door leading out onto the balcony. The glass shattered, but Zem continued until he smashed into the safety wall of the veranda, tossing the creature off the ledge.
    
    
    Breathing heavily with sweat droplets beginning to appear on his forehead, Zem peered downward over the edge, watching as the creature tumbled to its death, splattering upon the rough ground below. Lomar appeared at his side momentarily, leaning over the wall alongside his bodyguard. “Damn squirmy thing,” Zem mumbled, wiping a bit of sweat off his upper lip with the back of his right hand. The bulky man’s eyes glanced sideward, a small smile beginning to take shape upon his countenance. Lomar couldn’t help but laugh, and Zem followed suit.
    
    
    “I don’t know what the hell that is… but I don’t think it’s normal around these parts… or any parts for that matter,” Lomar said, turning around when he heard the clattering of armor. A trio of royal guards presented themselves with Alderionth at their helm.
    
    
    
    The prince’s eyes froze in place and his body seemed to be paralyzed. Alderionth stared aimlessly at his father’s corpse, torn apart as if a feral bear had gotten hold of him. His silver eyes slowly rose until they met with the perplexed eyes of Zem and Lomar. “Kill these murderers,” the prince said. The three soldiers behind Alderionth stepped ahead of the prince, drawing their spathas and encroaching upon the dwarf and his bodyguard.
    
    “Stop!” Lomar screamed, putting his hands up in defense. “It wasn’t us! Just… just look down there.” The dwarf slowly turned, looking down over the ledge. The guards soon approached as Zem glared them down, persuading them to sheath their short swords. The leading guard lurched forward over the low-hanging wall, his eyes examining the ground below. He could see the battered form at the end of the twenty-five foot drop. It definitely wasn’t human.
    
    “My liege, you better come see this,” the guard said, beckoning his prince toward him. Zem and Lomar moved out of the way as Alderionth swiftly approached, leaning over the wall and peering below. Lomar, at a side angle, could see the prince’s eyes broaden wider than he’d ever seen.
    
    “All of you follow me down there,” Alderionth said, pointing toward one of the royal guards behind him as he stood, “except you. Tend to… tend to my father and have some soldiers carry him down to the infirmary.” Leaving the balcony quickly and heading for the door, Alderionth, Zem, and Lomar exited the room with a few guards tailing behind them.​
    
    
    
    
    
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    Spiraling through an array of corridors and mahogany doors, Alderionth and company exited the Castle of Synera through the great doors that Lomar had entered through only hours before. As the silver moonlight of the late evening cascaded down upon them on opening the giant gate, the City of Synera was highlighted for them in a mysterious beauty.
    
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    A colossal stone staircase with twenty foot long steps led down to a white cobblestone street. Hovels and thatched homes adorned these streets and the farmlands could be seen in the far northern distance. To the east, Lomar could vaguely see the crystalline surface of Lake Synera surrounded by petite structures, which he assumed belonged to a trivial fishing village in the Synerian Hold. Lomar looked west, where the towering trees of the Shaden Forest loomed. Their wavering boughs supported by nearly eighty foot tall trunks skimmed against the grey clouds above. The Synerian Hold, in Lomar’s mind, was ravishing.
    
    
    Lomar’s mind drifted back to the task at hand, observing as Alderionth traveled down the stone staircase and meandered past the cobblestone street onto a patch of green land. Towering over them was one of the fortress’s cornering ramparts, its parapets winking at them from above.
    
    
    Alderionth’s eyes caught sight of the mangled creature that had fallen from the balcony high above, and quickened his pace to a light jog until he reached his destination. What he saw unsettled his stomach. The creature was sprawled out over the ground, its diamond-shaped eyes of black staring upward at the clouded sky. The bone structure of its shoulders, neck, and spine were contorted from the fall, but its facial features were intact. Its cheekbones were profound, forming its eyes into an imposing glare even though it was no longer alive. Its flesh was colored black, but red lines mixed in with the darkness, morphing the hue in its entirety. Its nose was sharp with its nostrils flared. The black lips were slightly parted, revealing the glistening ivory white fangs behind them.
    
    
    “Get me a damn priest,” Alderionth said, his eyes blankly staring at the corpse of the fiend. With that, one of the royal guards headed back up the stairs as another individual leapt down from them, appearing at Alderionth’s side nearly instantaneously.
    
    
    The man was about five feet and ten inches in height, his frame slim and athletic. His malachite eyes were austere and trimmed with golden eyelashes of admirable length. Grand blonde hair streamed from his head down to mid-shoulder blade, along with a few strands falling down upon his face. His visage was long and handsome compared to the scathed and coarse features of Zem. The man’s apparel consisted of leather leggings and a collared green tunic with short sleeves. A green belt with a golden buckle girded his waist, and pointed black dress shoes adorned his feet.
    
    
    “I heard some commotion from my room. The guards told me you came down here to come look at a– milord, what the hell is that?” The man, Ryu Chen, said as he stumbled backward at the lifeless creature’s sight. “That’s the thing that killed your father, Alderionth?”
    
    
    “Yes, t-that’s it. W-What is it? I don’t know. Are t-there more of them? You better p-pray to the gods that there aren’t,” Alderionth replied, blinking once and then turning around to face Ryu, Lomar, and Zem.
    
    
    Lomar could see the glossiness of Alderionth’s silver eyes. Pink clouds of sorrow had encircled his orbs of vision, and small sniffles echoed from his nostrils. His breathing was inconsistent, and his chest heaved up and down. “I am sorry, milord,” Ryu said, staring wholeheartedly into Alderionth’s puffy eyes, “but doesn’t this mean you are now our king?”
    
    
    “I don’t w-want to think about that r-right now,” the prince said, shoving Ryu and Lomar out of his way and heading up the staircase to Synera Castle.
    
    
    “Now you’ve gone and made him mad,” Lomar said, rolling his eyes at Ryu.
    
    
    “His father was just murdered by some creature – he has every right to be mad,” Ryu countered, ambling past the dwarf and following Alderionth up the stairs.
    
    
    
    “What’s wrong with him?” Lomar asked, looking over at Zem. The giant man just shrugged and the both of them made their way up the stairs. As they were half way up the stairs, the priest came sprinting down the steps with a flask of holy water. When he reached the creature, he began pouring the liquid onto its flesh. He accompanied this with prayers in a foreign language that Lomar did not understand.
    
    The humorous side of the dwarf was beginning to fade, for something was amiss here. Something terrible loomed in the near future and the dwarf could feel it within his very core.
    
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    Lomar washed his face with a damp cloth as he stared into the mirror. His dwarven face was cherubic, yet statured with nobility. He didn’t blink for a long while, his orbs endlessly staring into the reflective crystalline surface of the mirror. He observed as his reflection began to transform. The reflective image’s veins began to bulge and its face began to enlarge. Its flesh began to morph to the hue of black and red. Tusks began to curl outward from its blackening lips and its ears elongated. The eyes of the dwarf’s reflection became all black, and its orange hair sizzled as it was burned away by an unknown force. The final alteration that occurred was the three foot long horns that protruded from the pinnacle of the reflection’s head.
    
    Before him was a demonic fiend that made him tremble. It grinned, its form stretching outward from the mirror, making the glass surface ripple like that of water. Its enormous left hand surged forward, clasping the back of Lomar’s head. The monster approached apathetically… and its chapped lips skimmed against the dwarf’s ear. “Lomar…” The demon grumbled into his eardrum.
    
    Lomar awoke, shooting upward in his bed. Sweat dripped down his face in torrents and his lungs gasped for air. The evening moonlight crept through the balcony’s glass door, allowing the dwarven prince some vision. Across the room Zem was sound asleep. With that horrid face still lingering in his mind, Lomar laid back onto his pillows and closed his eyes.​
    
    
    
    
    
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    A dark silhouette stumbled through the inky blackness. His pupils were dilated and their darkness breached the walls of the blue iris, making it much smaller compared to the milky white cornea that had conquered the rest of the remaining eye. The man had once been wearing armor, but it was now torn to shreds with blood dripping from the holes in the battle apparel. A gauntleted right hand was held over a large gruesome hole in his stomach and the sanguinary liquid that was so accustomed to wars was streaming from his parted red lips.
    
    The man went through agony that made his entire form go numb. His hands shook violently and one could see the bulging arteries in his throat. Adrenaline coursed through him at unbelievable rates. The broken individual ventured forward, his enlarged eyes catching the sight of the Synera gate. He quickened his pace, but a torturous stab of pain shot through his left leg. He collapsed, his bloodied and unprotected face smashing into the ground. The force of the impact shattered trivial areas of his cheekbones. He could feel it. He groaned, reaching his left hand outward and gripping the grass before him. His frightened body tore the grass from the soil in both anger and loss of hope. In a final attempt to survive, he pressed his vocal chords to unnatural limits; he screamed.
    
    Torches held by garrison archers atop the walls of Synera grew brighter as they came closer to the parapets of the Synerian wall. The man continued to wail for what seemed like an eternity until he heard the crazed shouts of guardsmen. He heard heavy footfalls from armored boots as the soldiers raced down the granite steps. The gate was nearly thirty yards ahead of him, and he watched as the gates of Synera were thrown ajar and a band of soldiers sprinted out of the city’s entrance and rushed to his side.
    
    As they approached, his antagonized frown remained. “What happened to you, man?” A soldier, who the man assumed to be the leading officer, asked as his men surrounded him and began to help him to his feet. The officer’s men threw the man’s arms over their shoulders and began aiding the man toward the gate.
    
    The question startled the man, and his eyes widened even more. His lips quivered and he painfully tried to look back over his shoulder to no avail.
    
    “Answer my question! What happened to you? It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
    
    The officer was cut-off mid-sentence as an arrow fell from the sky, skewering the leader through his throat and spewing gore over his soldiers and the injured man. The officer’s eyes nearly leapt from their sockets as he gasped for breath, but only blood surfaced in his mouth due to his teeth clamping down on his vulnerable tongue. The blood overwhelmed his gums and it wasn’t long before his lips spread apart and it all poured out, painting the green grass below a devilish red. With a final heave, he crashed into the ground.
    
    The soldiers hoisting the man up by his arms turned around, catching a visual of something that inevitably ended their lives. A vast horde of creatures approached at high speeds, their movements being quadrapedal.
    
    They were red and black-skinned with black spider veins running throughout their thick flesh. Their limbs were elongated heavily, making their monkey-like movements much faster than any feral being known to exist. Maws bearing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth snarled at the soldiers as they jumped through the air, landing atop them and tearing their skin from their bones.
    
    Through the pain within him, the injured man could tell these were his final moments of life as the beast before him tore into his very brawn, seeking his organs and oozing blood. He whimpered like a small child, tears overwhelming his eyes and streaming down his red cheeks. “I… I l-love you, my wife,” the man said through the overwhelming blood in his mouth. He let out one final cry of misery and then the monster reached his heart.​
    
    
    
    
    
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    Screams – horrible screams. Alderionth shot upward in bed, cries of agony bouncing off the walls of his elegant room. Sliding off the silk sheets of his bed, he stumbled to the window. Moving the heavy curtains out of the way, a view came into sight that sent adrenaline throughout his body. The creature that had infiltrated the castle and had murdered his father… it had not been the only one. Hundreds of them climbed the towering ramparts of the outer wall with ease, slaughtering the bowmen and crossbowmen positioned there.
    
    Peasants slowly crept from their homes, their eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight. Soldiers flooded out from the castle, their armored ranks making the figures of the fiends appear as dull silhouettes. It wasn’t long before the citizens of Synera began to wail in terror, waking their families and heading for the castle. The garrison of Synera emptied from the castle, their shields and swords poised for defense as they reached the main cobblestone street of the city.
    
    The muscles on Alderionth’s face twitched as he looked down. As he turned around, his royal battlemage had already entered the room. “It seems that we have company, milord,” Odama Xarth said. The man was about six feet in height, his snow white hair being combed up with the use of water and comb. His irises were an intriguing purple, altered by the magic that had consumed much of Odama’s life.
    
    His features seemed soft and gentle, if it weren’t for the narrowed eyes that were donned upon his countenance. His cheekbones were placed diagonally upon his face, their bone structures nearly coming into contact with the free lobes of his ears. His chin was long and pronounced, and his lips were pursed. The battlemage’s nose was petite, but large nostrils adorned them. Bulky black and purple armor embellished his frame. The armor was spiked in all regions, making it deadly to all those who wished to engage in melee combat with the conjurer. A scimitar was sheathed within a silver-painted leather scabbard on his left hip. The golden hilt of the weapon glittered in the darkness of the room. The pauldrons of the battlemage’s armor were massive, riding up his neck and protecting his throat from all directions. A sable black cloak hung down to the back of his knees while it wrapped around his chest to keep it in place. The hood hung down upon his shoulder blades at the moment, but it could be pulled up to conceal his eyes. The gauntlets of Odama’s armor donned demonic claws that could be used to scathe a man dangerously.
    
    “A little more than company, Odama…” Alderionth mumbled, staring at his battlemage as a few servants rushed in and began placing the highborn armor of the king upon Alderionth’s physique. It was purple and gold, highlighted by the yellow hue of the sunlight that streamed in through the veranda window. A dark purple cape cascaded down his spine.
    
    “Well, I came to tell you that I completed the task you assigned to me last week. I went to Calabin. They’re willing to make an alliance, but only if their king’s son, Wingtoro Calabin, can serve in the Synerian guard and personally learn combat tactics and melee mastery from you. Everyone knows of your prestige, my… new king,” Odama explained, smirking with his devilish white lips. War paint was splattered across the battlemage’s face. Purple eye shadow lined his orbs of vision while rare insignias of past civilizations were tattooed over his features in white paint.
    
    “I will allow that, but… can we please get to the task at hand?” Alderionth asked, his eyes narrowing and his voice becoming more forceful.
    
    “Of course, my king,” Odama replied as the servants placed the gold crown adorned with dozens of amethysts upon Alderionth’s cranium. The servants handed Alderionth the six foot long Sword of Synera. Its hilt was crafted into the head of a dragon. The maw of the metallic dragon connected to the steel blade of the weapon. “Let’s go kill whatever the hell’s down there.”
    
    Sprinting across the room, Alderionth hurried out the door in a whirlwind of speed. The corridors were bustling with soldiers heading for the battle below. Flying down several flights of stairs with Odama, Alderionth could feel the wind at his back as he blasted forth from the gates, soldiers surrounding him.
    
    Now on the great steps of the castle, Alderionth watched as demons charged forth, leaping upon his citizens and soldiers alike and clawing them to shreds. “SOLDIERS, TO ARMS! FIGHT FOR YOUR LAST BREATH! DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THESE MONSTERS!” Alderionth roared, fighting his way through his soldiers to reach the front lines.
    
    The first ranks of soldiers had already been assaulted by demons. Alderionth looked upward, toward the ramparts of the castle, and his war-experienced eyes came upon the many archers stationed there that had been annihilated by the advancing demonic army. A smile crossed his face as he waited for the remaining soldiers to pass him. He felt an individual brush against his left shoulder, and he couldn’t but feel relieved when he caught a glimpse of his advisor’s visage. “What the hell are these things?” Ryu asked, raising his voice to challenge the sounds of battle.
    
    “I don’t know!” Alderionth screamed back, “But I need you to get to the top of the outer wall! I need those archers to send some volleys at these beasts!”
    
    “Will do, my king!” Ryu said, making his way out of the ranks of the Synerian guard. Alderionth watched as his advisor took to the small streets of the city, taking down some demon stragglers on his way.
    
    Now all Ryu needed was time. With that in mind, Alderionth gripped the Sword of Synera in both hands and hurried down the main cobblestone street of Synera. His battle senses came into play as he inched closer and closer toward the charging demons. Some moved on two legs while others moved like animals on all fours. It seemed like time began to slow as Alderionth came into contact with the vast horde. He growled viciously as he swung his claymore sideways, decapitating more than a few of the monstrosities. Black blood blasted through the air from their severed heads, quickly covering the golden armor of the king.
    
    A demon engaged Alderionth from the left, bashing him sideways and attempting to claw through his armor. It didn’t work. The king held the massive sword in one arm, blocking away the demon and straining his bicep and tricep as he did so. With his free left hand, he unsheathed a gilded dagger and plunged it blade-first into the sternum of the abomination.
    
    Its maw opened wide, black saliva oozing out of its mouth as its eyes began to grow still. Alderionth twisted the dagger inside of the creature and then lifted his booted leg and kicked the beast to the ground. Placing the dagger back in its scabbard, Alderionth stepped forward and sent his claymore into the chest of one of the monsters.
    
    The king glanced sideward and caught a glimpse of Odama battling. The battlemage fired purple fiery blasts from his left hand, lighting demons aflame with relative ease. The fire damaged their forms greatly and when they were weak and unable to continue fighting the battlemage would surge forward, running the creatures through with his heavily decorated scimitar.
    
    As Alderionth ended the life of yet another demon, he looked upward to his ramparts yet again. They stood at thirty feet in the air and he could clearly see the incredibly accurate archery shots of Ryu Chen: his advisor.
    
    Ryu Chen’s message had reached the archers stationed atop the outer wall, and that message had signaled a black cloud of arrows that appeared in the air and drifted downward into the bulk of the vicious horde. The arrows struck down simultaneously, increasing the grunts and shrieks of death from the creatures.
    
    The army of demons lessened quickly, and it wasn’t long before their fiendish eyes enlarged and they fled from Synera in fear. Corpses of men and monsters littered the battleground. Alderionth breathed heavily, sweat dripping from his pores. The soldiers around him were acting in a similar way.
    
    Suddenly, Odama swept past Alderionth, grabbing his forearm as he did so. He pulled him through the throng of soldiers and crazed peasants. They ascended the steps of Castle Synera and entered the grandiose doors.
    
    The pair traveled through the halls and up several flights of stairs until they reached Alderionth’s chambers: the king’s chambers. Odama pushed Alderionth down onto a chair as if he were a servant.
    
    The battlemage quickly found his way to the several bookshelves that decorated the far wall. He began tearing through the books, throwing them aside as if they were ragdolls. And then he came upon a very large book, its face black and its binding gold and blood red. Its title read: “Drahk Doriku: Bringer of the End.”
    
    Odama returned to the king and flung the book at him. “Read it,” Odama commanded, his eyes fierce and his tone cold. Alderionth blinked and grabbed the book from his chest. He slowly opened the pages of the novel. The first passage was “Creatures of the Nether Dimension,” and it wasn’t long before Alderionth was engrossed with the text. A hand-drawn picture of the creature Alderionth had just fought was displayed on the second page… and no doubt it fit its appearance to the mark.
    
    “They are called demons… or hellions, for that matter. I have summoned a couple at once before. Most creatures will aid its conjurer, but these things… no, they wanted to kill anything in their path except those of their own kind. I quickly banished them back to their realm, but that is not the point. They are like hornets in a nest; their queen commands them, creating them with ancient magic, while her loyal bees go out and collect resources.” He paused, smirking slightly. “They need life essence to survive in our world, and guess what we are? We’re humans and we take up the resources of this world, along with the other races that dwell here. But these creatures are not from our world. Their queen manifests from the sin of our men, and if enough sin is available, she will appear. Where she appears is unknown, but I do know we are the first to be attacked and that means she is close by. The only thing I am unsure about is who or what Drahk Doriku is.
    
    You must rally the men, my king. That ‘army’ out there wasn’t anything. That was a damn scouting party, and you know that from all the wars you’ve been involved with. That means there are plenty of them to overrun us. We must be ready for war.”
    
    Alderionth nodded, tossing the book back to Odama and standing afoot. He exited his quarters and returned to the magnificent steps of the Synerian Castle. The soldiers and citizens of Synera were still assembled there, talking about the horrid creatures that had just attacked them.
    
    Within the crowd of men and women, Alderionth could see Ryu, Lomar, and Zem. “Everyone! Halt your conversations!” The king ordered, raising his bloodied gauntlets to quiet them. Utter silence soon filled the evening as the voices of frightened people died down.
    
    “We have been attacked, but not by men,” Alderionth announced, stating the obvious and pausing as he let out a deep breath. “We have been attacked by… creatures we think are known as demons.” The throng of men and women gasped, whispers echoing forth in every direction.
    
    “You have heard of them in old wives’ tales, folktales, and even dwarven legends. They are the manifestation of human sin and despair, and their intelligence and strength are noteworthy. I am here to tell you that we are about to enter a war, and I don’t know how long it may last. We will constantly be on alert, and everyone will be taking shifts during the day and night upon these very ramparts. If these beasts attack again, we will know ahead of time. We will see their legion before it even arrives at our doorstep. We will be ready.”
    
    Alderionth stopped, his hands shaking. He looked downward, staring at the ground as he echoed his last comment of the night. “We will be enlisting a draft for soldiers. May your sons and daughters lives be blessed.” With that, Alderionth released his stare from the ground and ambled back into the castle. Shouts and screams boomed in his ears. Their forms charged up the stairs only to be stopped by a wall of soldiers. The citizens desired to reach out and slit his throat as he returned to his castle. Royal bodyguards pushed away flailing arms of those who had offspring. No father or mother wanted to see their child fighting their own nightmares.​
  • Zendonia: a place of malevolency and anguish, it had recently surfaced itself upon the world. Towers of black and red dotted the landscape, built by terrible creatures that had ravaged the far lands. Woodland areas nearby were being used for their lumber to construct shacks and siege weapons that would later be put to use. A wasteland had acquired the territory south of the Ox-men Mountains and a cloud of evil was beginning to hang over the roofs of the nearby towns.
    
    
    Snorting, growling, sneering, and disgusting beasts trotted to and fro within their mighty encampment. Upon the twenty-five foot tall towers, devilish archers were stationed. Below lied a plaza, the only section of the camp that looked noble and elegant with marble flooring that stretched out for thirty yards in each direction. In the center of the courtyard was a monstrous cauldron of spewing chemicals and poisons. A throng of demons had gathered around the cauldron, chanting while thousands more watched from beyond the plaza.
    
    
    “Step back!” A feminine voice with a slippery edge wailed. A silhouette stood, her hands clutching the sides of the enormous pot. She was covered with light crimson flesh, and perfectly straight ivory white nails hung from her hands. A gilded black robe of exquisite design obscured her figure, but none could miss the smooth black hair that hung down her back. Wide white eyes were stationed upon her cherubic face, and pronounced cheekbones were glazed with white sparkles. “It is time to begin the ritual, my children,” the demonic woman announced, a roar echoing out from the demons that clouded the area.
    
    
    The chanting continued as a line was made for two demons that hauled a shackled prisoner toward the cauldron. As muffled screams tried to escape the mouth of the poor human, one could tell that he had been awfully tortured, resulting in a loss of his tongue. The human was hairless, scarred, bloody, and infected by diseases that had never before existed in the world. He was thrown to the ground before the feet of the demon queen, and the devilish grunts disappeared into the crowd.
    
    
    A clawed hand snapped downward, gripping the bicep of the human and pulling him upward. He yelped with no tongue, unable to defend himself with his weak and frail body that had been acquired after days of starvation and torture. Without effort, the queen tossed the human specimen into the cauldron, his skin and bones disintegrating in the bubbling liquid on instant contact. “Come forth my minion!” The queen screamed.
    
    
    Dark thunderhead clouds began to appear in the sky. Lightning shattered the heavens, sending down thousands of water droplets down upon the demons assembled around the plaza. The lightning bolts, naturally a glowing silver, began to morph into a blood red. The thunder became bolder and its boisterous sound was amplified tenfold. Sanguine bolts of electricity rained down upon the cauldron, forcing the liquid to blast forth. The searing hot liquid melted some of the faces of the nearby demons, making their scorched faces burn with a heavy white smoke as they collapsed to their knees, clutching their faces in agony. Through it all, the queen was unharmed and a jet black mist hung over the location that used to hold the cauldron.
    
    
    The throng of raging demons had reached silence: a seldom thing. They stared onward with no clues as to what was taking deep and slow breaths within the mist. As black droplets evaporated, a spectrum appeared that stroked the nerves of fear lying deep within the minds of the demons. There, before them, was a monster that they had never before witnessed.
    
    
    Standing at a height of twelve feet, a beast of pure crimson muscle mass and weight stepped forward, cracking the marble that had been placed for the ritual. Sharp teeth could be seen as the creature grinned, and human-like nails adorned its toes and fingers.
    
    
    Massive three foot long horns protruded from its head. The sharp bone-like structures were engraved with demonic markings that indented the material of the horn. Unlike ox-men who had perfectly straight horns, the horns of the abomination twisted like that of a tornado.
    
    
    Brilliant shining silver hair flooded down the demon’s back between either horn. The monster’s ears were like that of all demons: bat-like. Its eyes were entirely gold with a red pupil. Short white eyelashes and eyebrows trimmed the beast’s visionary tools, and to finish it off, it brandished an eight foot long warhammer in its right hand. The hammer weighed about a ton, and had been crafted with ancient demonic text that became aglow only when this beast held its hilt.
    
    
    The monster’s disrobed configuration stepped toward Shuzae, queen of demons, glaring at her in menacing manner before turning toward the legion of demons and firing his arms into the air. The demonic giant roared, sending out bits of saliva over the demons in front of him. The army of demons shouted back to him in their guttural tones.
    
    
    The female demon gazed upward at the troll-like manifestation before her, her mouth gaping in awe. “I rule these people, Drahk Doriku. You do not,” she said, her voice quivering.
    
    
    Drahk smiled, his excellent tusks that curled outward from his lips glistening in the sunlight that recently began shining down after the black clouds departed. “I will do as I please!” He bellowed, grabbing the queen by her throat and lifting her into the air. “You have summoned me to wipe out the inhabitants of this land and I cannot do that with you arguing back and forth about who is going to be the ruler. I am ruler… I am king.” The red face of the queen flushed purple as air began to escape her lungs, but Drahk suddenly loosened his grip and the demon queen collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. “You are now my advisor, Shuzae,” the Bringer of the End whispered over his shoulder as he turned around and left the scene.
    
    
    Waves of demons surrounded Drahk as he found his way to his own tent, leaving Shuzae lying on the ground alone and defeated by a beast she had created with her fiendish powers. Through this torturous embarrassment although, the demonic queen simply smiled as she hoisted herself back up to her feet.
    
    
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    A week had passed since the demon attack. Alderionth sat at his desk within his chambers, the wooden surface being littered with paper about scouting reports and recruiting updates. An ink well and quill was set off to the side, the ink slightly spilled from the well’s side.
    
    
    Silence filled the room. The new-bred king stood afoot, whipping the papers off of his desk into open air. He screamed, banging his fists into the desk. It shook violently, knocking over the well entirely. The papers fluttered about behind him, gravity guiding them to the floor below. Alderionth’s chest heaved up and down from the ragged breaths that filled his lungs.
    
    
    Ryu suddenly opened the door to find his king standing, his hands clenched into fists. “Milord?” He said, slowly making his way over to his lordship.
    
    
    
    “I’m fine,” Alderionth mumbled, staring at the ground and then glancing over at his advisor. He let his hands relax, and turned fully toward Ryu. “What do you need me for?”
    
    “Someone needs to travel to Calabin and escort Wingtoro here safely,” Ryu said, leaning his shoulder against the wall and crossing his feet. “And I’m fairly sure it isn’t going to be you.”
    
    “Yes, yes…” Alderionth whispered, stroking his chin slightly as he casually paced about the room. He suddenly came to a halt and looked to his advisor. “How about you and Lomar? I’m sure the small fellow would be glad to have some time from that elephant of a bodyguard he has.”
    
    Ryu laughed, smiling with ivory white teeth. “That’ll be fine. I’ll tell Odama that he’ll be my back-up advisor until I return.” The master archer nodded and headed out of the king’s chambers. Alderionth only sighed, and apathetically began to pick up the papers strewn about the floor.
    
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    The young lord’s fingers drummed against the gilded oak table, his boredom reaching new heights. Cropped brown hair adorned his scalp, scissor-like bangs hanging over his forehead. His amber eyes were caught in a daze as his father, the forty year old monarch of Calabin, discussed matters with his advisor. “Synera has already been attacked by these creatures,” King Herald Calabin declared. “Our scouting parties have already come in contact with them, and if they wanted to push at us a little harder, we’ll be overrun. This is not a war-taught city, Borus.”
    
    
    Borus, the king’s advisor, nodded. His fingers traced about his cleft chin, his eyes veering downward to gaze upon the wooden flooring below them. They both sat at a table, a map of the known world laid out over its surface.
    
    
    “Synera has their own problems – they will not lend us aid. Deriam is the capital; they’re a bunch of egomaniacs who give no thought to anyone but themselves. Dodempa… too far away. Sire… I honestly don’t know who we’re going to turn to here,” Borus explained, his plump figure leaning backward in his chair.
    
    
    The doors to House Calabin suddenly were flung open, a party of soldiers rushing forward. They were dripping with sweat, and they all gasped for air. “Calm yourselves men!” King Herald ordered, standing up from his seated position.
    
    
    “But mi-milord, the… the demons! They’ve attacked! There are nearly five hundred of them!” One of the soldiers screamed through failing lungs.
    
    
    “What!? Get to your positions! Warn everyone!” King Herald commanded, swiftly making his way to his chambers. The young lord, who had been seated at the table in reticence, shot up from his seat, following his father toward his room.
    
    
    When the king and his son had reached the monarch’s chambers, King Herald began to suit himself in golden armor with his servant’s aid. “Wingtoro Calabin… my son,” he began, pausing slightly, “you must leave here. Head to Synera. Learn from Alderionth.”
    
    
    “What? What are you talking about father? I’m staying here with you to fight,” Wingtoro said, his five foot and eight inch frame seeming to become taller as he denied his father.
    
    
    “NO YOU ARE NOT!* King Herald roared, lunging forward and smashing his seventeen year old son against the wall. The wooden planks bent violently as the king became face-to-face with his offspring. “You will flee Calabin for Synera. If you stay here to fight, you will die. Do you understand?”
    
    
    Wingtoro nodded, his lips quivering. His eyes slightly dampened.
    
    
    “Then go!” His father bellowed, and the young soul nodded yet again and sprinted out of the room.
    
    
    Wingtoro bolted from his royal house, the wind of the outdoors swarming him as he came into the moonlight of the late evening. Flame illuminated the night, and the dark silhouettes of the demons poured into the city. Screams echoed in Wingtoro’s ears and adrenaline began to flow through his veins.
    
    
    The young prince picked up his pace once again, leaping over a grassy hedge bordering the imperial court that was his home. He watched aimlessly as the streets ahead of him were filled with the injured and dead. Soldiers begged for their wives and children as their crippled and bloodied forms fell into the folds of annihilation.
    
    
    Shock and fear occupying his thoughts, Wingtoro made his way through the cobblestone path that led through the helpless men and women who bravely and foolishly defended their homeland. One of his childhood friends, Drathan, rushed him, clutching his shoulders and pushing him roughly against the stone wall of a hovel.
    
    
    “Stop! Drathan, what the hell are you doing?” Wingtoro asked, struggling to release himself from his old friend’s grip. But soon he stopped and looked into Drathan’s eyes. They were a heavy crimson and puffy from the sorrow that had stricken him. Wingtoro’s features became more sympathetic, drooping downward. “What happened?”
    
    
    “Wingtoro… I… I need your help. My father is dying… my mother is in shock… please, ask your father for medical supplies. I beg of you!” Drathan screamed, tears overwhelming his eyes.
    
    
    “I’m sorry, Drathan… I can’t, I can’t… I have to go,” Wingtoro whispered, slowly shaking his head.
    
    
    “What?” Drathan mumbled, letting go of Wingtoro and taking a step back. “Why do you get to go? Why do you get to live? Just because you’re heir to the throne of Calabin? Well, reality check Wingtoro! There isn’t going to be much of a Calabin left when you attempt to return! I HOPE YOU REGRET LEAVING YOUR BRETHREN BEHIND TO DIE!” Drathan swung a punch at Wingtoro, but the young heir scrambled to the right, leaving Drathan’s fist swollen and broken as he sent his full strength into the stone wall of the hovel behind Wingtoro.
    
    
    The seventeen year old prince kept running, the howls of his past companion rebounding off his eardrums as he escaped into the night. The wails of his loved ones would forever linger in his mind, accompanied by the growls and roars of the demons that had destroyed them. But the one sound he would remember for eternity was the low bass of the war drums that had ignited a string of events that would change his life forever.
    
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    “I cannot believe you made me go with you,” Lomar said, lazily trudging about behind Ryu with a heavy traveling bag on his back. The dwarf dug his walking stick into the dirt as he ambled along, creating petite holes in the ground as he advanced. He glanced up for a second, observing the golden hair of Ryu flowing about behind him in the steady wind.
    
    It was early morning, and the sun hung low in the sky, nowhere near being at its zenith. Rays of violet light surged over the Synerian River that led to the Calabin Moat. The diamond-clear water sparkled in the dominant sunlight. Depressing grey willow trees hung over the river like a bad omen, but in the purplish light, the willow trees seemed ravishing. Ever highlighted by the low-hanging sun, the Darghei Hills could be seen on the eastern bank of the river.
    
    Ryu peered backward, and caught a glimpse of Lomar looking toward the hills in the east. The experienced archer slowed down until he matched the pace of the small dwarf. “You know… the Darghei Hills are said to host hundreds of deep caverns, all of which that are connected by spiraling tunnels. The elders say the largest and deepest caves lead to the Underworld itself,” Ryu explained, smiling slightly as the dwarf looked toward him, his eyes agleam with curiosity. “They even say the dwarves came from the Darghei Hills.”
    
    “Now that’s rude,” Lomar accused, stopping sharply.
    
    “How so?”
    
    “Dwarves don’t come from the Underworld. We aren’t that evil… sure, we steal your gold and keep all the riches to ourselves, but that doesn’t mean we’re demonkin,” Lomar replied, grinning.
    
    Ryu laughed, patting the dwarf on his trivial shoulders. “Ah, you’re beginning to grow on me Lomar.”
    
    “I’ve always hoped for your approval, Ryu.”
    
    Hours passed and the afternoon dawned upon the duo as Calabin came into view. They halted their movements. Their eyes lay fixed upon the crumbled city that was once a heavy trade partner of Synera. A smokestack of grey and black rose from the ruined city and the smell of death lingered in the nose like a skunk*s aroma.
    
    “This can’t be…” Ryu muttered, his stride becoming longer as he took more steps until his feet developed into a full-fledged dash. He headed for the scorched gates of Calabin.
    
    “Wait for me!” Lomar bellowed behind him, attempting to move his stout legs to catch up to the nimble anatomy of Ryu.
    
    The unusual pair raced for the gates of the shattered city, and it wasn’t long before they came upon the ashes of the gate that had once been. They both relaxed to a moderate step, walking through the gate as bits of burned flesh and wood floated about in the air. Dust was all about them, forcing Lomar to let out a cumbersome cough.
    
    Ryu’s eyes worked to their own accord, for rational thought no longer had any foothold in his mind. He saw the charred bodies of people, the blood splattered across the cobblestone… and the demon scouting party that had just rounded the corner. “Lomar!” Ryu grumbled, grabbing the dwarf and diving behind granite debris that collapsed from the wall above them.
    
    The creatures snickered and groaned as they pounced about, checking the demolished houses for survivors. Every once in a while Ryu and Lomar would hear the short scream of a mother or child that had been held up in their homes.
    
    “Ryu, we have to get out of here,” Lomar whispered.
    
    “Not without Wingtoro,” Ryu said.
    
    “There are no survivors here. If Wingtoro is alive he is elsewhere. If we stay here any longer, we’ll be dead.”
    
    Ryu simply stared at Lomar for a short while until he quickly nodded his head and apathetically peeked over the granite debris. The demons had just gone down another cobblestone street. “All right, let’s go,” Ryu ushered, leaving the shade of the debris in a crouched stance. The advisor made his way through the gate of Calabin, only to hear the fiendish shriek of a demon behind him.
    
    Out of instinct, the archer immediately swung around, unhooking the bow’s flax string from around his shoulder and notching an arrow into place from his leather quiver. The demon turned to its side and began to run for the scouting party when Ryu let loose his arrow. In the eyes of the archery master, the string of the bow seemed to snap back into place in slow motion. The arrow whistled forward, spinning like that of an accelerated clock arm until it sheathed itself within the bowels of the demon nearly thirty yards ahead.
    
    The demon let out a scream before it collapsed to the ground, the arrow digging farther into its stomach and groin. “Nice shot…” Lomar said.
    
    “Yeah, well now we have to go!” Ryu yelled, right about the same time as the scouting party of six demons came crawling around the corner at high speeds. Their quadrapedal movements were terrifying to the eyes of the advisor. “RUN!”
    
    Lomar and Ryu turned around, sprinting as fast as they could out of the gates of Calabin. The growls of the demons behind them only sent more adrenaline coursing through their configurations, willing them to move quicker than before.
    
    As they kept up their elongated strides, Ryu’s eyes scanned the environment around them. Open plain dotted with trees was all he saw. There was no where to hide. The archer hastily turned about on his heels, his bow still in hand from before. He stopped altogether and let off another arrow, observing as it shot through the air and into the cranium of one of the crawling monstrosities. Blood blasted forth from its ears and even more so when the arrow fully skewered the head of the creature.
    
    Catching onto the cue, Lomar turned around and unsheathed his blueblood steel sword. He threw his walking stick to the side and gritted his teeth, waiting for the demons that approached them.
    
    Just as the demons came into contact with the duo, an individual leapt from the light bushes to the left where a great maple tree provided some cover. By the short light brown hair and athletic build of the young soul, Ryu could obviously tell that Wingtoro had jumped from the brush, sword in hand and diving head first into battle with creatures he had never before challenged.
    
    A demon hopped into a bipedal stance before Lomar, easily towering over the dwarf. In a quick second, the demon plunged forward with its jagged claws and hellish fangs. The dwarf brought his left hand upward, pinning his palm against the chest of the creature as his short blade buried itself between the ribs of the demon.
    
    Oh how it wailed. The demon escaped from Lomar’s hand, walking about until it settled against the dew-covered grass, the blueblood blade still caught amidst its ribcage.
    
    Ryu made quick work of three demons that foolishly made their way into battle with the experienced archer. The advisor fired an arrow into the throat of an incoming demon, sending it head-first into the plane of death. Another raged forward, and Ryu was forced to abandon his bow by tossing it to the side. The archer unsheathed two rapiers, the thin blade of one quickly slicing off the fingers of the demon that reached out its claws to scathe him. The other rapier was thrust into the sternum, shattering the demon’s main artery and spewing black blood over Ryu’s countenance. The archer gritted his teeth, twisting the blade and letting the demon fall into its own demise. The third demon was dealt with by a few short rapid strikes with the dual rapiers.
    
    The final two demons advanced upon Wingtoro, and the inexperienced warrior fell backward under the weight of both demons as they lunged themselves upon him. He pinned them away with the flat face of his stout broadsword. He groaned against them, trying to force them off of his heels, but they were too physically powerful. That was, until Ryu’s arrows made them fall to the ground inanimate.
    
    With all six demons dead, Lomar retrieved his blade from the demon’s ribs as Wingtoro looked to Ryu and Lomar, bowing briefly toward them. “Where did you get that blade?” Ryu asked, his eyes fixed upon Wingtoro.
    
    “Oh, this thing? I found it in the hands of a knight who… no longer needed its service. It’s quite heavy,” Wingtoro stated, swinging it about rather slowly.
    
    “That’s because broadswords are not meant to be carried by infantry, lad. But I think Alderionth will teach you more about battle. Come on,” Ryu beckoned, his tone relaxed. Wingtoro approached Lomar and Ryu, and they all began their return to Synera.​
  • “Send me,” Odama said. “We have no information indicating where these demons are, and we have no idea when they are going to attack.”
    
    
    “We cannot send just one person, Odama,” Alderionth retorted, seated upon the grand throne that his father had once been upon only a week ago.
    
    
    “Why can’t we?”
    
    
    “It’s too dangerous, even for you.”
    
    
    “Too dangerous? I think it’s too dangerous to just remain sitting ducks for these damn things! How much time do you think we have before they storm our walls?” Odama said, his eyes narrowing. He crossed his arms over his armored chest. Alderionth simply stared at his battlemage. His right hand began to grasp the arm of the bejeweled throne. “We don’t have much time, my king,” Odama said. “If you send me, I’ll have a better chance at getting past their defenses, if they have any. If you send an army, they will slaughter them with their numbers. Please… you must underst-”
    
    
    “Fine,” Alderionth interrupted, “you may go. I want to know their numbers, what weapons they have, and what the hell their queen looks like.”
    
    
    Odama nodded, bowing to his lord. “It will be done,” he said, grinning. The battlemage turned around, his black cloak flinging about behind him.
    
    
    At that moment, the great gilded doors to the throne room of Synera were thrown open. A trio of silhouettes entered, their forms appearing black due to the mass rays of sunlight cascading down behind them. When Alderionth’s eyes adjusted to the light that had entered the room without warning, the forms could now be seen. Ryu, Lomar, and the young Wingtoro were before him.
    
    
    “Milord…” Ryu addressed, looking over at the young prince of Calabin before altering his gaze back to Alderionth, “we found Wingtoro safe, but the rest of Calabin has fallen. The demons arrived there before we did. I don’t think there were any survivors besides Wingtoro.”
    
    
    The weight of that statement truly took a toll on the mind of Wingtoro. No survivors. That meant his entire family was dead. That meant his father, and the king of Calabin, was dead. That meant everything he had once known was gone, burned to the ashes by a raiding party of creatures that did not belong to this realm. The youth did not cry though, no* he was long past that. Shock had overwhelmed his soul too much for sadness to take hold of his heart.
    
    
    Alderionth looked down upon the trio, but not for long. He stood up from his grand throne, strolling down the few magnificent steps placed before the seat of royalty before he was face-to-face with the three individuals. “If Calabin has fallen, then our lives are more at risk than they ever were before. We must, in the minds of the demons, be their next target before they move their malevolent gaze northward. If we do not stand, fight, and claim victory when they do march upon our walls, then we must send a message to the capital. But that will only happen if we are within our last dying breaths. We are nowhere near that point yet,” Alderionth said, his voice commanding as he walked back and forth in front of the three.
    
    
    “What about Dodempa?” Lomar inquired, his eyes whimsical. “Are you to leave them to die without fair warning?”
    
    
    “Dodempa is a dwarven city protected by hundreds of mountains, Lomar. I doubt that demons could even cross the mountains without having so many casualties that their army wouldn’t even stand a chance against the dwarven legion,” Alderionth said, smirking.
    
    
    The king’s optimistic countenance drew a thin smile across Lomar’s face, but it was soon swept away as he looked to his left, and watched the young Wingtoro bow before Alderionth, who had approached him at that time. Wingtoro dug the sharpened edge of his broadsword into the marble flooring, his eyes staring down at the hilt of the blade. Alderionth smiled down at him, but the king of Synera would not stand for it. He took hold of Wingtoro’s shoulder and raised him gently, patting him on the shoulder once he was up on his feet again. “Just because your family is lost, doesn’t mean you have to swear your loyalty to me, Wingtoro,” Alderionth said.
    
    
    “Yes it does, because my father was so admiring of you. He called you the best warrior that the lands had ever seen. He wanted me to train with you to become just as great as you. I will respect my father’s wishes, and I see no better place to be now than in Synera. My home is lost, you are correct… but if it is, than I want to find a new home. I think I can build that here,” Wingtoro said, his hands still firmly placed upon the pommel of his broadsword as it aimed toward the ground.
    
    
    Alderionth smiled again. “I will teach you all I know about fighting in melee combat, but I cannot promise you that it will be easy. I honed my skills over a decade and a half, training with some of the greatest warriors to visit Synera from the capital. I was a quick learner, but I’ll have to see how fast you catch on. Ryu and Lomar, you may return to your chambers to relax if you’d like.”
    
    
    Ryu and Lomar laughed, patting each other’s backs as they headed toward the staircase that rose to the level of the castle where their quarters were housed. Now, in the throne room, Alderionth and Wingtoro stared at one another while royal guards stood at position at either side of the magnificent room. “Come. We go to the training grounds,” Alderionth said, beginning to walk out of the main gates of the castle.
    
    
    _,.•'`¯`'•.,__,.•'`¯`'•.,__,.•'`¯`'•.,__,.•'`¯`'•.,__,.•'`¯`'•.,__,.•'`¯`'•.,__,.•'`¯`'•.,_
    
    ​
    
    
    
    A day had passed since Odama’s departure, and night had descended upon the lands. The leaves of the Shaden trees rustled high above Odama as he traveled through the Shaden Forest. These trees were over one hundred feet tall, their roots expanding for hundreds of meters. Birds chirped and flew about in the night, along with some other rather unpleasant noises belonging to more feral animals.
    
    
    Odama had decided not to bring a steed, for if the thing went wild and began to let off immeasurable amounts of sound, he would be dead before he made the beast go silent. He trotted through the vast darkness of the Shaden Forest, the black hood of his cloak pulled over his snow white hair.
    
    
    The battlemage’s mind seemed to play tricks on him. He swore he could have seen shadows dancing about in the corners of his vision. He heard sticks crack, and the leaves seemed to rustle a little bit more than usual. Odama’s hand fell to the gilded hilt of his scimitar as he continued through the foliage of the forest.
    
    
    He walked in the black for what seemed like hours until he reached the edges of the Shaden Forest. As the monstrous trees no longer clouded his sight, Odama now saw the raging fires of the demonic encampment a few miles away. They had no wish to conceal their location, for their flames lit up the night, revealing the twenty-five foot high towers that surrounded the place. Zendonia once had been a ruin for the kings of old, but that had changed dramatically now. It seemed like a good a place as any though, considering the demons were defiling the crypts of the beloved monarchs that had once ruled in Deriam, Synera, and Calabin.
    
    
    Odama marched on, the winds of the evening beginning to surge forward, lowering the hood of the battlemage even lower upon his brow, hiding his purple eyes from anyone who desired to look upon him. The battlemage advanced through the open plains, the long grass blowing about due to the aggressive nature of the winds. He approached Zendonia within the hour.
    
    
    Standing about one hundred yards away, hiding behind a large boulder positioned randomly in the plains outside of the demon stronghold, Odama waited. His eyes observed the several demons that manned their towers. Shock overwhelmed him in seconds though, for at a second glance, he realized something. The demons were carrying bows.
    
    
    They had been unarmed and unarmored when their scouting party had attacked Synera. Whether it was because the demons did*’t waste time arming scouts or they wanted to put a false intelligence in the minds of those they were planning to attack, Odama did not know, but he hoped it wasn’t the latter. If they had planned that, then it meant they had a much stronger intellect than Odama first presumed.
    
    
    The demon archers on the wall did not appear to be wearing armor though. They still had their cloth sashes coiled about their lower torso. The battlemage was fearful to press on and attempt to enter the encampment though. If he was unlucky enough to be seen by one of the demon guards atop the towers in the dead of night, his execution would be brutal and certain. But he had orders from Alderionth. I want to know their numbers, what weapons they have, and what the hell their queen looks like.
    
    
    Seeming to get lost in his own mind for a bit, Odama noticed something. He had been in this area before… and it had been dotted with hundreds of trees. They were all gone, including the stumps. Even the grass, as it got nearer and nearer to the demon camp, turned into blackened sand.
    
    
    But from his position, the battlemage could see the center of the camp by squinting his eyes. For the first time, his vision beheld the plaza.
    
    
    Staring at the plaza with his purple eyes, Odama noticed how the ruined plaza was embellished with the cracked marble stones and the runic pillars that were fractured half way through. The battlemage knew that his “plaza” had once been the site of the ancient castle of Teiris*l, but now was domesticated by time. Vast hordes of demons crowded around a black well in the center of the plaza. Every few minutes one of the things would crawl out of the well, covered from head-to-toe in black sludge.
    
    
    While the battlemage was seasoned in the ways of dark magic, he had never seen something like this. It almost seemed as if a dimensional gate had been created, and the black ink-like substance was a metaphoric representation of the underworld itself. Before the black well was what Odama assumed was the queen. Her dark exquisite robes, her red flesh, her lithe figure, and her smooth black hair all identified her as the only female of the unending throng of demons. She chanted a language that Odama was not familiar with, and every time she raised her voice to a level at which she was screaming, Odama would watch one of the abominations rise from the black well. He saw too, that in her left hand, she held a book. Quite a large book at that.
    
    
    Odama found himself examining the massive crowd of demons watching the spectacle occur. They all donned sable black armor, spiked randomly throughout their configurations. Some of them were bigger than the rest, standing at heights of eight feet with large warhammers and battle-axes perched across their broad backs. The smaller ones brandished crude swords, axes, and devilish maces.
    
    
    And then his eyes traveled upward, back to the black well and his eyes, for the first time, laid upon the colossal form of Drahk Doriku. The twelve foot monstrosity loomed over every dark being around him. Odama’s purple eyes went wide, and his body began to shake. For one of the first times in his life, the battlemage who had conjured undead and demonic essences alike, was now afraid. Afraid not only for the longevity of Synera, but for his own life. It was a selfish thought, but he did not care.
    
    
    Odama escaped the scene, no longer desiring to see anymore. With the manufacturing of catapults and rams in Odama’s sight before he slipped away from the boulder and back toward Synera, he knew that the demons had developed into a full-fledged legion, a legion that would not stop until their hunger had subsided. And that hunger… that need… would never subside.
• • Prologue
  • Chapter One

  • It was that sound that made me cringe.
    
    
    It was that sound that made me lock the doors, close the blinds, go to the trapdoor in the corner of my room and climb down the ladder, letting the trapdoor shut behind me. I would plummet into the depths of the ground, where steel encased a small open area. I would sit in the farthest corner from the ladder, and sit there, waiting. I would hold my hands over my ears, my body crouched, rocking back and forth like a scared child. I guess that’s what I was, wasn’t I? Just a fearful child, who couldn’t help what was going on outside the metallic walls of my underground keep.
    
    
    It continued to blare, and I felt tears rush down my face. I could hear the subtle screams, the cries for mercy that were never answered, and that god forsaken roar of the bell that blew out my eardrums. My hands trembled against my head, the gunfire relentless out on the streets. I don’t know how long it went on for—the shooting—but it stopped suddenly, silence filling the room.
    
    
    The reticence was powerful. I could hear the water coursing through the pipes of my small home. The shrieks had subdued as well, and everything seemed to increase in detail. With my hands still concealing my ears, my eyes wandered about the room. I had several tin pots positioned about the bunker, their frames taking in the water that leaked from the pipes. The dripping tapped against them, creating a slight ringing noise in my ears, even though my hands guarded them from the outside world. I could see the liquid on each water droplet, configured perfectly into a rain drop. The fading light caught my eye too, and I watched as the last of the light cascading in from the cracks of the trapdoor unexpectedly became dark.
    
    
    And then I heard it—one of the most indescribable sounds an individual can hear in his lifetime—the bombs descending to the earth.
    
    
    I pressed my hands more firmly against my ears, my body now shaking uncontrollably. My eyes were closed, my lashes collecting water like one of the tin pots in the bunker. I sobbed now, my shoulders hunching farther down every time another sob wracked my anatomy. They weren’t supposed to fall, they just weren’t. Every time the audible tone blared, it signified the terror units that were rushing the streets, killing anyone present. It never told of bombs. Never.
    
    
    The bombs came down without end, the explosions outside causing the whole room to shake. The steel walls rung. I could hear inundating crashes above, obscured by the trapdoor. I just sat there, shaking, not knowing how to cope with the tragedy that had befallen me. I heard the wooden trapdoor rattle, barely remaining on its hinges as the whole world outside combusted.
    
    
    But just as suddenly as it had begun, the eruptions outside ceased. Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours could have passed, I had no clue. I opened my eyes finally, a ring of pink outlining them. A final wave of tears streamed down my face. I realized the steel walls had stopped shaking, the pipes no longer dripped water, and the darkness still loomed, dominating the room.
    
    
    Hours passed before I garnered the courage to stand. There was just something within me that compelled me to remain motionless for a long while. My body seemed tense as I stood, muscles unwinding as I stood. Groaning, I took my first steps in the bunker. I stumbled through the darkness, guiding myself by feeling the nearby steel walls until I reached the ladder. As I was about to climb upward, light flowed down into the steel chamber as the trapdoor blasted down into the bunker, making me wince and shield my eyes.
    
    
    Smoke and powdered debris rolled downward, filling my lungs and forcing me to cough. “Anyone down there?” A voice yelled, muffled in a way that seemed like the person speaking was hidden behind a helmet. But I was wrong, for it was simply a cloth that was wrapped about the man’s mouth and nose. As I peered upward through the light and soot-filled air, an individual stared down at me. His hair could not be seen, for a platinum white helmet concealed all of his head besides the very front of his countenance. A white cloth protected his mouth and nose from the airborne debris. From my point of view, I realized the intricate designs of the armor.
    
    
    The chest-plate shined a bright lime-green in its multitude of crevices, the armor having gas-interlocking metal bands that kept the armor tight to the soldier looking down at me. Eagle wings stretched out from either side of his helmet, the indentations making it appear as an eagle’s wing being illuminated with that same bright lime-green. He held a rifle in his left hand, its design no different than the armor concerning the lighting. “Yes, there is,” I mumbled, coughing again. I rose my arm up to my nose and mouth. The soldier ushered me up the ladder where he offered me his gauntleted right hand and helped me up into the ruined world.
    
    
    Honestly, I thought my eyes had deceived me when I first stood afoot outside of my bunker. My small tin hovel no longer existed. Burning rubble surrounded me, stretching for miles and miles on end. Towering structures of steel had once stood in the city of Igna*us, pointing toward the blue sky like the worshippers of old who dreamed of larger things beyond their scopes of imagination. Those towers now stood only half of what they originally were, their interior floors scattered about the nearby city.
    
    
    Pulsecrafts roamed the smog-filled sky, their green energy lighting the heavens aglow. I could see the convoys of platinum and lime-green soldiers rummaging through the rubble and debris, searching for survivors and any valuables that may have survived the firepulse bombs dropped only a few hours before.
    
    
    I started coughing again when the dirt and soot began to creep into my lungs. I ripped the right sleeve off of the black long-sleeved shirt I was wearing, tying the loose cloth around my mouth and nose to protect me from the excessive amounts of grime in the air.
    
    
    “We can** stay here for long. The Dreadnoughts will be here soon, and I’m fairly sure our officers wouldn’t want their platoons—including mine—caught in a crossfire,” the soldier said, throwing his metallic arm around me as he guided me toward the edge of the hill on which my tin hovel used to stand. A pulsecraft lowered gently, its green plasma power making my clothes blow behind me in a machine-created wind.
    
    
    It was obvious to the soldier that I was still in shock, yet he didn’t bat an eyelash at that fact. He acted like he didn’t even notice my blank stare off into the distance. He acted like he didn’t see the tears swelling up at my eyes once more when we walked around a pile of charred bodies that was being compiled by several armored soldiers. The stench of death filled my nose, even through the piece of cloth.
    
    
    The soldier led me to the now landed pulsecraft where three other survivors sat, strapped in with buckles that wouldn’t budge without their own personal effort. One soldier was positioned in the pulsecraft as well, other than the pilot and the one sitting beside him in the front of the airborne vehicle. The soldier in the craft helped me onto one of the metal benches, strapping me in.
    
    
    I looked back to the soldier who had saved me from my bunker, but he already had returned to his platoon, helping his comrades stack the burned dead. The soldier who was getting me settled into the pulsecraft did*’t wear a white cloth over his mouth and nose. Instead, he had pressed a button which brought forth a sheet of metal with dozens of minuscule holes that obscured both his mouth and nostrils.
    
    
    The other survivors had the same bewildered appearance that I had. They rubbed their hands together slowly, their hands trembling and their faces twitching. What was the difference between us? The eyes. Those who were realistic concerning the situation had eyes that darted about, observing everything, missing nothing. Those who had lost too much simply stared onward, oblivious to the destruction that was laid out before them.
  • I don’t know how long I had been flying for. The winds whistling through the pulsecraft from either side made my black long-sleeved shirt rustle—flapping like the wings of a bird. I had ripped off the piece of cloth tied around my mouth by now, flinging it into the sky. My orange amber irises peered out over the setting sun, its golden rays illuminating the peaks of the jungle-covered mountains that we passed.
    
    
    I remember particularly that day, after the firebombs fell upon Igna*us and when I was flying past the Idionese Summits, the clouds were intertwined with a gold-and-violet paint. It was… beautiful. There was no other word to describe it. The sun simply was reaching out its shining fingers to feel the sky one more time before it had to disappear and let the darkness conquer. I remember feeling a smile spread across my face, even though other survivors sat next to me unmoving, not even noticing the display of nature that could move any soul.
    
    
    “Are we almost home?” One of the survivors asked the soldier sitting on the bench across from us. The soft, innocent, and evidently feminine voice drew my attention to the side. A young girl had asked the soldier the question. She was maybe nine-years-old, long blonde hair, wearing nothing but a tattered pink dress. She was holding a small teddy bear in her arms, hugged tightly to her chest.
    
    
    “Yeah, we’re getting close to the base,” the soldier answered, the sheet of metal no longer hiding his face from us. I could tell he was a thirty-something military man just by a single glance, yet there was a quality about him that was influencing me to think otherwise. The pink puffiness around his eyes that was nearly unrecognizable, the slight twitch in his hands, or maybe, just maybe, it was the streak of blood across his armored chest that made the lime-green trimming appear somewhat brown in that area.
    
    
    “No, I mean my home,” the small girl replied, her blue eyes seeming to enlarge. The soldier peered over at her, staring.
    
    
    I could see that pink puffiness in his eyes deepening and that hint of water returning. “Your home’s gone baby girl,” the soldier said, trying to smile but his lips remaining in a smirk, kind of a half-way point that his body decided upon. He wanted to reach his gauntleted hand out and grip her shoulder, tell her everything would be fine, I could just see it in those watering eyes, but the distance between him and the survivors was too great.
    
    
    The young girl simply nodded, hugging her teddy bear even harder. I thought her meager arms would crush the bear against her body—that’s just how hard she actually squeezed it.
    
    
    Night ventured on until we came upon the twenty-foot-tall metal posts with white lights capping them off. From my point of view, I could see maybe a dozen barracks lit up with the same powerful white illuminations. The whole perimeter of the base was fenced in with thirty-foot-high-barbed-wire-and-electrically-charged fencing. Watchtowers adorned with turrets outlined the base, armed with disintegrative rounds that would easily bring down any aerial vehicles.
    
    
    The front gate, a part of the fence that opened and closed with a push of a button, was wide open at the moment. Hundreds of people were thronged together, being guided into the base by hundreds of soldiers. Pulsecrafts were flying in and out, even at this time of night where one would think they would all just be coming back to “home base” for sleep.
    
    
    I guess the soldier had watched my eyes, because he answered the question that I was pondering. “Night raids,” he said, joining in on the observation of the taking-off pulsecrafts. “The Dreadnoughts don’t stop, usually. It’s almost as if they don’t sleep. There’ve been battles in the jungle throughout the entire evenings for several weeks now. When you lay down for some rest, don’t be surprised to hear it.”
    
    
    A few minutes passed until our pulsecraft was lowering to ground level within the Idionese Military Base, directly on the outskirts of the Pauran jungle. A wave of air dispersed beneath the flying machine, its under-born lights painting flashes of green across the faces of nearby soldiers who used hand signals to insure a safe landing for the pilot.
    
    
    (Unfinished)
• He was in a whole new plane of existence. The verdure of the forest encompassed him with its towering maple, oak, and evergreen trees that overlooked the woodland expanse like a vigilant father over an oppressive son. The faint choruses of the birds rebounded off his eardrums, sending a blissful smile across his countenance.
  
  
  The man continued his stroll through the wood, his eyes intently staring at the grass of the forest floor. It was dawn, and the dew upon the blades of grass glistened in the gold and mauve sunlight that cascaded through the trees, illuminating the vast array of flora in delicate hues. The damp swords of grass elongated outward, amounting to an end at the firm bark of an oak tree.
  
  
  His eyes ventured skyward, toward the boughs of the woody perennial before him. Its branches were the arms of an adoring mother, stretching outward with love and fervor for its green kingdom. From here, the man peered downward, toward the more trivial vegetation below. Shrubs and bushes contoured with one another, plunging the foliage into a higher density. The man approached one of the many ferns, crouching before it and letting his fingers slide against the tender leaves and idle branches of its anatomy. Blueberries were donned upon its wooden limbs, freshly coated with the moisture of the morning. This dankness made the blueberries seem crystalline in the peaceful sunlight.
  
  
  The aroma of flowers overwhelmed his senses, persuading the man’s eyes to scan the ground below. His eyes became entranced with the sapphire glow of a bluebell, the angelic white of a snowdrop, and the faint lavender pigment of a cone flower.
  
  
  With his senses cleansed, he moved on. His heavy footfalls led him through the thick vegetation. Wild leeks and ramps adorned the rough ground, their light green leaves and aberrant designs bringing the indigenous identity to the forest that so enraptured the man. In the distance, he could hear the near imperceptible tune of rushing water. He made his way toward its origin, and it wasn’t long before he stepped into a clearing where a babbling creek lay in wait.
  
  
  The convex forms of the stones in the creek sent the gallons of water splashing about, creating ravishing rhythms that coincided with the song of the morning birds. The water’s melodic flow urged the adventurer to kneel, his hands cupping the water and bringing it to his lips. The marvelous liquid cooled his lips, tongue, and teeth. When he swallowed, its icy droplets trickled down his throat, actualizing a mirthful sentiment in his mind.
  
  
  His desire now enervated, the man smiled and left the beauty of the forest. In his days of melancholy, he would return to the tranquility of the wood.
• The thunder rolled for a few moments, and then the dam was fractured. Water fell down from the heavens in a downpour of rain, filling the evening air with its pitter-pattering sounds. The rain battered the reflective glass of the window, making it seem crystalline with the water streaming down its surface.
  
  
  I stared out of that window. For some reason, I had always found a bit of tranquility when I parted the heavy cloth curtains and pressed my face up against the glass. I didn’t really care that the carbon dioxide fogged up the scene when I exhaled. Nothing could put an end to the potential that was nature.
  
  
  Curious about everything, I listened to the sound of the cars dashing through the puddles of the street. As they passed, the liquid sprung into the air like that of a bird, stretching its clear tendrils and then falling back down to the pavement through the force of gravity. It enchanted me, and the echo the vehicles made in the wet streets as they raced passed my home was intriguing to the mind.
  
  
  That sound, and that early childhood experience of rain had always guided me through my own life. It was my solace, my imagination, and my loneliness. The years were a soaring plane in the stratosphere above, flying by at speeds that were too fast for me. I remembered when I sat upon my porch, the rain and thunder still accompanying me. Sorrow had filled my thoughts, and I sobbed dearly, my salty tears adding to the moisture of the air.
  
  
  And that’s when I heard the clicking of heels on the cement as a girl in a crimson dress hurried down the street, nearly tumbling on the cracks. She yelped, and that’s what drew my puffy swollen eyes of sadness to rise. Her configuration was soaked from the rain, and her black hair laid flat upon her shoulders in curly wet locks.
  
  
  The girl approached me, squinting her eyes as she neared my porch to hide away her vision from the descending water. It was the same teenage girl who I had thought about for a very long time; the same girl who had refused my request to become hers. She had chosen another boy, one who was of better quality and better suited for her overall happiness. I had experienced my first feeling of broken heartedness, and it was as if a dagger had struck me through, destroying my insides without remorse.
  
  
  Her beautiful amber irises stared down at me, the rain slickening her skin as it fell down upon her. My shoulders shook, sobbing back and forth as if someone had insisted on pushing me to and fro. The girl didn’t speak a word – no, it was too late for that. Her actions told me how she felt. By grabbing a hold of my hands and guiding me to my feet, I knew guilt had overwhelmed her consciousness.
  
  
  She placed my hands on her waist, and then she threw her petite arms around my neck, smiling up at me to lighten the mood. My tear ducts still didn’t waver though. The tears flooded forth from their low banks, slithering down my cheeks. But she could no longer observe my depression and my lack of hope. Either out of her own will, or out of a necessity to make herself feel benevolent once more, she lifted herself to the highest height that her toes would allow her, and her subtle face neared my sunken countenance.
  
  
  I felt her warm breath on my neck, even when the cool rain still dampened our forms. She gave herself one final burst, and her tender pink lips brushed against mine. She kissed me, and for the first time, I had felt the affection of another person.
  
  
  She attempted to kiss me for a while, her eyes closed. But, as a teenager who knew no better, I didn’t return the kiss she had bestowed upon me with such generosity. My eyes were displayed, my lips quivering even though they made no movement against hers. When she broke the kiss, she looked up at me, overcome with perplexity.
  
  
  I removed my hands from her waist, pushing her away like an unwanted animal. I turned my back to her, climbing up the steps of my porch to the front door of my house, the same house that I had looked out of years before.
  
  
  The girl seemed paralyzed on the driveway of my home. It was as if she had looked into the malevolent eyes of a gorgon, and her body had been doomed to become stone. My hand fitted around the handle of the front door, twisting it. The door made that creak that was ever so familiar to me, even when my body trembled from head to toe. As I went to enter my domain and shove the troubling scene behind me, I heard the girl’s voice.
  
  
  “Why won’t you accept that I’m sorry?” She screamed at me, clenching her fists and shaking as the rain droplets grew thicker, and the downpour increased until it was nothing but a wall of rain.
  
  
  My instincts told me to just enter the place that I felt most comfortable, but another side of me—a more mysterious side that I had never before come into contact with—told me to turn around and tell her the reason I wouldn’t accept her gift of “love.” And so I did.
  
  
  “Because you aren’t sorry!” I shouted over the rain, turning around. “You never were!” My sobbing grew in intensity, my anger peaking as I stormed down the steps of my porch.
  
  
  “But I am! I never meant to hurt you!” She replied, tightening her lips and readjusting herself in her heels.
  
  
  “Then why did you come back here even when you chose him?” I roared, my fists clenching until my knuckles turned snow white.
  
  
  “Because I made a mistake! I want you, not him!” Her eyes were beginning to swell, her voice wavering. Her emotions were getting the best of her, but mine had already conquered my entirety.
  
  
  “You seem to change your mind rather quickly!”
  
  
  “Because I knew the moment he went to kiss me that he wasn’t the right choice!”
  
  
  I stopped arguing. I stopped yelling. I gave up. The window that I had been looking out from all of my life was shattering before my very eyes. I no longer took interest in the rain… I took interest in the events that could occur within its cold embrace.
  
  
  I threw away the side of me that adored the solitude of my home. I whipped down the curtains and broke through the glass. I charged her, and I wrapped my arms around her and hoisted her into the air. I pressed my lips against hers, and my eyes closed.
  
  
  And all I remembered was the softness of her lips and the silent darkness… save the pitter-pattering sounds of the rain.

 

[Dusky]

I shall surely read more of this when not vulnerable to carsickness.

 

[1for3]

This looks cool. I'll definitely read it soon.

 

[SkyGinge]

I shall do likewise, bar replacing 'carsickness' with 'revision-stress-ness'.

 

[Grey]

Do you want feedback?


Because if you do, then I will read this, and I will provide constructive criticism.

 

[Dusky]

I'm not going to provide a critique really - your work at 15 is likely grossly misrepresentative of your work now. I know mine is.


My big piece of advice here is to cut down on some extraneous bits. It gets a bit purple here and there, and even when it's not, it's at times getting in the way of what should be a strong scene of dialogue and characterization. Leave some to my imagination!

 

[Ire]

@Dusky , Lol you're very much correct, and I agree with you wholeheartedly about providing too much detail. I have learned that about my writing in the past two to three years and I have tried my best to tone it down. Thanks for the small critique though - it means you took the time to actually look at it a bit.

 

[Grey]

I actually completely missed that note.

 

[Ire]

Lol it's all good. So since it isn't actually a full-effort story on my part, you don't have to waste your time critiquing it if you don't want to!

 

[SkyGinge]

I'll keep watching this thread then (as, funnily enough, I'm also on the train of people who somehow completely glossed over that all-important note xD ) and hold off critique until you have something up to date to post