Rebirth of a Dark Heart

[Guest Kasmandre]

Kasmandre

Because it was there

(From the Archmage UBB Conservatory, Nov 21, 2001 -> Feb 14, 2002)

 

Just a note before I begin: this is not an interactive story, just my attempt at creating a backstory for my mage. Feel free to read it as I will add chapters periodically.

 

Rebirth of a Dark Heart

 

 

Chapter I: Rebirth

 

In the land of Terra, there exists a forgotten corner, a land of charred trees and broken cliff faces. It is a land where no Archmage has ruled for many millennia. It is a land where no living creature will enter.

 

It is known as Kimreddeth: the land of the dead.

 

In this forgotten wasteland, a craggy mountain thrusts itself out of the barren rubble, unremarkable in itself if not for the huge fortress of polished obsidian perched upon its peak.

 

It is inside this castle that our story begins:

 

In a throne room decorated in blood and gore, the stillness which has reigned for millennia is broken by a ripping, screaming sound: the sound of a soul being reborn through hell's spike-lined womb. A flash of red and black fire and the reincarnation is complete. A figure clad in a cloak darker than night over armour the color of blood is thrust out of the ether and into reality with his dying cry still on his lips, "Cassandra!!!!!!!!"

 

Falling to his knees before a throne constructed entirely of human bones, he is not aware of the world as it exists around him. He is, in his mind, still in this room more than 3000 years ago, witnessing again the final moments of his life and the life of the one he loved:

 

Chapter II: At the End of an Age

 

Kasmandre stood on the dais, before his throne. Before him, kneeling under the watchful guard of two soulless Daemons, was the one person he believed would never harm, his beloved, Cassandra Brightlance. Behind him and to his right, in the darkest shadows was Kasmandre's trusted advisor, the one known only as the Darkened Man.

 

"Why are you doing this?!" Cassandra screamed, attempting to stand as she spoke. This attempt was quickly checked by the watchful Daemons: they pushed her back to her knees with their taloned hands.

 

"Why is the Hand attacking me, Cassandra? Answer me that!" Kasmandre snarled, "Why have my eastern lands been burned?? Pray, explain!! Why am I losing battle after battle against an enemy that you claimed would never rise against me??? You tell me this!!!"

 

"I tried to stop the Hand of the Sun from invading. I tried and was exiled from my own kingdom for my trouble. My own soldiers and angels wouldn't follow me. My only choice was to arrive ahead of the Hand and warn you!"

 

"But your warning was just too little too late, wasn't it? You came just as I received word that I had been sneak-attacked from my most peaceful border."

 

"I did everything I could! In my position, no one could have done more!!"

 

"But someone did, once," rasped the Darkened Man, emerging from the shadows, "Remember, Kasmandre, your sacrifice in Hammen. Remember how you disobeyed the wishes of the mighty Preth. Your capital burned for months, but you survived. And what's more you didn't hesitate or excuse yourself. You just saved Cassandra."

 

"He defeated Preth with your help, you shadowy bastard! Where was your aid now? Why didn't YOU stop the Hand?"

 

A small smile began to rise in the corners of the Darkened Man's mouth before he killed it. "I assure you, my dear, I did everything in my power to stop this from occurring."

 

The words sounded cold and sarcastic in Cassandra's ears, and, pushed past the bounds of her patience, she did not restrain herself, "Lair! Manipulative bastard!! Son of a whore!!!" She thrust herself forward once again, this time removing a small white blade from a secret place with the intention of burying it in the Darkened man's breast. Once again, the Daemons restrained her this time drawing blood through her white leather armour. Cassandra screamed in pain.

 

"My lord, you see how she attacks me without reason," anger crept into the Darkened Man's voice, calculated and artificial, but Kasmandre was far past the point where he could discern his advisor's true purpose. If he had ever been able to.

 

"Cassandra, you betrayed me when you promised never to. You brought your allies onto my head. And now you attack my most trusted advisor. You don't realize-"

 

"No, you don't realize, Kasmandre. You don't realize how easily your 'trusted advisor' has maneuvered you to eliminating me. You don't realize what he's doing. For the gods' sakes, open your eyes!"

 

"Enough! Kasmandre, eliminate this traitorous wench! Use the power as I taught you and sear her out of existence!!" The Darkened Man punctuated his argument by spitting on Cassandra.

 

"Gladly," Kasmandre replied, but a small part of his mind rose against this, the part that had finally learned to love again after centuries of being a Nether mage. He pushed this feeling down out of the instinct that came with long years of dealing with evil. Pulsing, searing black fire began emanating from his left hand, which he curled into a fist and raised to eye level, concentrating all his hate into power.

 

But before he could release this awful spell, Cassandra looked up at him with a look of despair and whispered with tears in her eyes, "Please, Ren."

 

That caused the part of Kasmandre that rebelled against this act to rise once again, overpowering Kasmandre's darker nature...

 

A fraction of a second too late.

 

The dark fire burst from his fist at its target. Kasmandre tried to call it back belatedly, but failed. The fire struck Cassandra and quickly enveloped her, leaving only empty air and her screams behind.

 

The throne room was shrouded in silence.

 

Just for a moment though.

 

"What. did. you. DO?!" the Darkened Man screamed, turning on Kasmandre. "At the last second, you turned something. What??? What was it????"

 

Kasmandre's mind reeled, both at the realization that his last-minute attempt to save his love might have had some effect and at the Darkened Man's sudden anger. He had never seen him so angry with him before.

 

The Darkened Man's pale white hands glared with their own dark fire as he closed the small gap between his master and himself.

 

In shock, Kasmandre ordered, "Daemons, seize him!" But the Daemons held their ground.

 

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! All this time you have thought these creatures your own, when they only obeyed you at my sufferance. You have possibly foiled plans that were begun before time itself. I will yet be able to salvage them, but you are doomed to be yet another useless pawn who will never become a queen. Pity for you." The Darkened Man raised his hands to the sides of Kasmandre's head. Kasmandre attempted to use his own Nether magic against his former servant, but the power seemed miles beyond his reach.

 

"Reaching for your power? Why even bother? I control the Nether realms and all that come from them. 'Your' power was just another illusion of your control. But don't worry, all the illusions end now." Dark bursts of fire exploded on both sides of Kasmandre's skull as this plane of existence faded to pale charcoals.

 

Through the ether, Kasmandre was able to hear the Darkened Man say, "His meddling was probably for naught, but search out the Ten Kingdoms for Cassandra Brightlance. I want her brought to me so I can do what my pawn failed in. If it's even necessary."

 

With that, even the charcoals faded into the pure torment of hell.

 

Chapter III: Return of the Dark

 

Kasmandre was brought out of his reverie by the sound of clapping. He got to his feet and turned around. He found himself looking in the face of the Darkened Man.

 

“Very nice, old friend, I never knew you had a scream like that in you. Although a few millennia in hell would be expected to cause some pent-up aggression. But that’s not the whole reason I’m here. I just wanted to make sure my little lesson took.”

 

“I’ll show you what I took,” Kasmandre raised his hands and black fire erupted from them at the Darkened Man. The fire rushed at him, but split just before reaching him, ramming harmlessly into the walls. Kasmandre followed this with a number of other blasts, each deflected in a similar manner.

 

“Are you done? I thought we had settled this the first time around. Nether magic is my ‘bread and butter’ so to speak. It does what I wish. So, you will do what I wish.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Because without your power, you are nothing. You are a remnant of an Age that no one remembers, or gives a damn about,” the Darkened Man paused. “You don’t know, do you?” The stunted beginnings of a smile played on the corners of his lips. He strolled casually to a window set in the wall of the throne room. “You haven’t even looked out at your ‘kingdom.’ Oh, I should tell you one thing first: your land is no longer known as Loggard, it’s called Kimreddeth.”

 

Kasmandre stepped to the window, slightly confused, “Kimreddeth? But that means-” He looked out the window.

 

“Yes, Land of the Dead.” Before Kasmandre’s eyes, a bleak, blasted landscape stretched as far as he could see.

 

 

Chapter IV: Truths and Lies

 

The Darkened Man whispered from behind Kasmandre, “I wouldn’t look at it in terms of how much was lost, I’d look at it as a legacy for the single most evil mage ever to curse the surface of Terra: Kasmandre the Wretched, the Horrible, the bringer of the first Armageddon. Well, it would have been a legacy if you hadn’t been so damn petulant at the end.”

 

“Armageddon?”

 

“Yes, the end of an Age. Once the seven seals have been broken, a period of unequalled turmoil ensues. In the end, all the mages of Terra are banished to hell in the final fires of the cataclysm. So don’t feel bad, you just took the first bus in, no one was very far behind. But anyway, the spell I had you use was the original Armageddon spell, destroying that annoying light-sinner was just a happy side effect I took advantage of. Once your spell was detected, the other mages rushed to duplicate it. The other six seals were broken in what has proved to be record time. The situation was almost as wonderful as I could have hoped. The only problem was your show of insolence. You had to be punished for this. An extended stay in on of the sunnier regions of hell seemed appropriate. Well, you’ve had a lot to take in. I leave you here to accept your fate as my hound.”

 

“Wait!”

 

“What is it that my master requires?” the Darkened Man replied mockingly. “Remember, after our last meeting, I proved myself the stronger. You would be wise to refer to me with the proper respect.”

 

“And what respect should I refer to you?”

 

“I think for the moment, ‘master’ will suffice. I find it a nice turn that you use the title that I was forced by circumstance to lavish upon you.”

 

“Fine. Master,” Kasmandre replied, nearly spitting the word out of his mouth. “I merely wished to ask you if the rest of Terra is this blighted.”

 

“No. The Hand of the Sun burned your nation and salted the earth as a special respect to you. They quite hated you, you know. But then, everyone did. Even your own people. But that was your own fault. It isn’t as if Lucifer told you to use this power for rape and torture.”

 

“Yes. That was my sin. But paid for in another’s blood.”

 

“I care not for your foolish prattle about your lost love. You killed her too. No. You did worse, you cheated her out of everything, even an afterlife in hell. THAT is your sin. And you will pay for it with an eternity of servitude to me. Now, if you are done with frivolous questions, I will leave you to your own devices for a time as I attend to matters more pressing in the here and now.” With that, the Darkened Man disappeared into the deep shadows at the other side of the throne room.

 

“May Satan take your soul, bastard,” Kasmandre snarled after him.

 

 

Chapter V: A Question of Redemption

 

“I doubt that Satan would want a soul such as that, even if he was aware of its existence,” a voice replied from the center of the throne room. The voice belonged to an old man with long white hair clad in a robe which seemed to shift colors lazily. He sat in a chair which would not have seemed out of place in a farmer’s home if it wasn’t made out of crystal.

 

“I’m beginning to tire of people sneaking up on me,” Kasmandre snarled as he fired a blast of dark fire at the new arrival. The blast was blocked by a shield of pure white light. The man in the chair shook his head sadly.

 

“You’re never going to escape your situation if you keep on like that. Have you forgotten everything Cassandra taught you?”

 

“Don’t speak that name in my presence! I destroyed her, isn’t that enough without everyone reminding of her?” Kasmandre lunged forward and attempted to strangle the old man.

 

Removing Kasmandre’s hands with no apparent effort, he replied, “Maybe you need to be reminded of her. If you forget, you certainly stand no chance of freeing yourself of that monster,” He glanced significantly toward the corner the Darkened Man disappeared into.

 

“Free myself of him? From what he says, there seems to be no choice. He controls my power.”

 

“Not your power, his power, Nether power,” the old man said exasperated. “If you don’t get that through your skull, you’re finished before you begin. There are powers at work here that will crush you like a bug if you step wrong. Powers that are greater than even Terra’s gods. If you want to avoid a return trip to hell, I suggest that you watch, listen, and learn. I’d start with remembering the things that led to your vacation in the lower regions. Consider this a jump start.” He then handed Kasmandre a dagger all in white, blade ivory and handle pearl.

 

“How…where…” Kasmandre attempted to order his thoughts as he took the blade in his hands.

 

“That is unimportant for now; if I stay much longer my presence will be detected. But there is one more thing I need to tell you before you go: ‘Anything lost may be found in time.’” With that, the old man faded into darkness.

 

Kasmandre hardly noticed his leaving, he was so intent on the blade. His mind began to spiral back to the circumstances of its forging…

 

 

Chapter VI: Blade and Bride

 

During the months after the chance meeting between Cassandra and Kasmandre, they began to spend more and more time together, learning about one another and what motivated them. Also, unbeknownst to Kasmandre, his grudging respect toward Cassandra was slowly blossoming into love. Further unknown to him was that she was beginning to return the feeling.

 

Kasmandre also developed an interest in Ascendant magic, a form that, by his understanding of magic, should not exist.

 

“Without hate or strong emotion to build off of, how can you ever build up the energy to tap into this?” he asked her one late evening on a hill between their lands.

 

“Hate and anger are anathema to Ascendant magic. Ascendant magic doesn’t rely on the self, like other divisions. It relies on the faith in the benevolence of a higher power,” she replied, nearly reciting Ascendant creeds.

 

“The sun, I suppose,” Kasmandre said, almost mocking.

 

“By the teachings of the Hand of the Sun, yes, but not necessarily. I’ve heard of an Ascendant mage in the Fifth Kingdom who believes this power flows from Satan.”

 

“Satan!!” Kasmandre laughed heartily, “I don’t see how it can come from any of them. If it did come from one of them, they would strike down anyone who tried to use it in another’s name.”

 

“I would agree, that is the character of the gods. That is why I believe it comes from one above all of them.”

 

“And what would the Hand say if they heard the celebrated Mistress Brightlance speak such blasphemy?” Kasmandre teased.

 

“Well, they…” Cassandra blushed furiously, “We’ve gotten far off topic. If you really want to learn about Ascendant magic, I’ll just have to teach you some.”

 

“What!! Teach me Ascendant??” Kasmandre began to back away from Cassandra.

 

“It won’t hurt you. I’ll teach you something simple…Manifestation.”

 

“It doesn’t sound simple”

 

“Trust me. We’ll start with something easy, and I’ll guide you,” she replied, taking his hands in hers. “We’ll start with a dagger. Is that violent enough to please your nature, Lord Kasmandre?” she teased.

 

“Please don’t use that name, it’s too dark for so pretty a mouth. Call me…Ren”

 

“Ren?”

 

“It’s…a reminder of better times”

 

“Alright, Ren, let’s begin. Picture a flower, a rose. The rose pulses with energy. Feel the pulsing. Be the pulsing. Time your heart to its pulse. Now see the rose open and let the power flow through you.”

 

Kasmandre let out a small gasp, “It’s so… so…”

 

“Yes,” Cassandra replied smiling. “Now picture the dagger: its texture, its shape, its color, everything. Make it a part of the pulse. Make it real.”

 

A small light glimmered between them. The light coalesced into a dagger with a pearl handle and an ivory blade. The blade was irregular and the handle was chipped and asymmetrical, but it still glowed slightly with the light of its creation.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Cassandra said after a moment.

 

“Just like you. Take it, something like this belongs in the hands of beauty itself,” Kasmandre replied softly, holding the dagger out to her.

 

“No, I couldn’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“In my lands, a gift like this dagger, something made from the Pulse, would be considered a proposal of marriage.”

 

Kasmandre thought for a moment, considered the feelings within him, and then replied, “Then let it be that.”

 

Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, intending to tell Kasmandre all the reasons why that could not be, all the reasons why it was wrong…but came up with nothing. She took the blade, saying softly, “I accept, My love, my Ren.”

 

 

Chapter VII: Daemon Guard

 

Kasmandre looked up from the blade, tears filling his eyes. The throne room, which had once seemed so open and comfortable, now seemed oppressive and suffocating. He supposed that was how it had always been; he had just been blinded by his own hate and power and didn’t notice. All that he did know was that he had to leave immediately.

 

Kasmandre strode out of the throne room, leaving behind his throne. As he traveled down the empty corridors, he realized that the feeling of oppressiveness wasn’t going away. In fact, he was sure that it was growing stronger. He began sprinting through his former home, heading for the gates, no thought in his head but escape from the shadows of his personal hell.

 

Arriving in the entry hall, Kasmandre skidded to a halt. He stared in shock at the guard that the Darkened Man had posted at the gates.

 

Three Daemons stood tall, the torches lining the hall glinting dully off of their dark hide, stronger than any armour and nearly impossible to penetrate. Their claws, sharp as the finest-honed blade and harder than steel, attracted Kasmandre’s attention with their deadly malice. Searching the shadows at the corners of the room with the hollow sockets where eyes should go, they licked their long fangs with anticipation of a fight and new life drained from a foe.

 

“Three? How powerful is this madman?” Kasmandre thought as the thought was slowly birthed in his mind that he was dealing with something far more powerful than any man. Daemons were horribly hard to summon and taxed great amounts of Nether energy. At the height of Kasmandre’s power, he had control of only two of these monsters, and the cost taxed him daily. The Darkened Man apparently had vast channels of power if he could control three of these, and Kasmandre suspected that he had even more guarding the other exits.

 

Just as Kasmandre was beginning to reconsider leaving the castle, one of the Daemons cast its gaze upon Kasmandre and snarled with the anticipation of a fresh kill. Its companions, alerted by the first, turned and fixed their eyes on Kasmandre.

 

Seeing no choice but a hasty retreat (for who could face three Daemons alone?) Kasmandre turned to flee, only to see this avenue blocked by a forth Daemon. Kasmandre, finally cornered, drew the blade that had once belonged to his love and prepared for a hasty return to hell.

 

 

 

Chapter VIII: Impossible Odds

 

With no warning, the Daemon before Kasmandre lashed out in a lightning quick strike, aimed at decapitating him. Only quick reflexes and luck kept Kasmandre’s head on his shoulders as he leaped backward.

 

Unfortunately, this took him right into the claws of another of the monsters. The ghastly beast took an iron grip Kasmandre’s ink black cloak and pulled him closer, fangs ready to draw the life from the mage. Kasmandre reacted quickly, putting into action a contingency he had planned long ago. Using Cassandra’s dagger, he broke the clasp holding the cloak shut, instantly freeing him from his captor. At the same instant, the cloak leapt up at the Daemon, wrapping itself tightly around its head, trapping one of the beast’s arms in the action. Kasmandre had planned this out long ago as a last-ditch effort: his cloak was actually made of Daemon hide and enchanted especially to protect its wearer when the clasp was broken. Kasmandre had no time to reflect on the irony of using Daemon hide against a Daemon as he broke away, running, quite literally, for his life.

 

His path was blocked by another Daemon, that lashed fiercely at Kasmandre’s torso. Kasmandre ducked under the attack, driving the dagger into the Daemon’s leg. His effort was rewarded as darkness, the lifeblood of a Daemon, flowed out of the wound like a thick black mist. Kasmandre left the dagger behind, opting instead to bolt for one of the tapestries hanging in the hall. He couldn’t keep up at this pace and needed a breather. And he had a plan to get himself one.

 

He reached the tapestry with the two unhampered Daemons in close pursuit. Grasping the tapestry with both hands, he climbed as he had never climbed before (which he wasn’t sure he had). He reached the top of the tapestry at the same time the Daemons reached the bottom. He reached out with one hand and was able to grab the lip at the top of an ornamental pillar. Shoving himself outward from the wall, he made a flying leap for a darkened chandelier hanging in the middle of the hall.

 

 

Chapter IX: A Shock of Power

 

Arms outstretched to their limit, Kasmandre reached for the chandelier, praying that the chains suspending it from the ceiling weren’t completely rusted and weak with age. His prayers were answered as he grasped its edge with a single hand. The muscles in his arm cried out in protest as his body weight pulled downward on it. He grabbed the edge of the chandelier with his other hand and began hoisting himself up, a daunting task for one who had disdained any extreme physical exercise in his past life.

 

Unfortunately, his body, having been taxed incredibly so soon after his rebirth, could not maintain this effort. The muscles in his arms and back gave up the fight and began to fall slack, having given up all the energy they had at their disposal. Kasmandre decided to give in to this failure, he’s lived far too long with the weight on his conscience, after all. Death, even hell, would be a release.

 

With this thought, a calm he never before experienced fell over Kasmandre. He suddenly realized that this was the state Cassandra had tried to teach him to reach. He could feel the Pulse throughout his body, connecting him to everything in the hall, with the exception of the Daemons.

 

In this new state of calm and surrender, Kasmandre added strength from the Pulse to his flagging muscles. Using this sudden burst of strength, he heaved himself up onto the chandelier. He took this opportunity to rest his body and spirit, both of which had been taxed far beyond what Kasmandre had ever attempted. After a moment of shock at this new discovery of the power of Ascendancy, Kasmandre considered his options against the Daemons.

 

They were very few. Daemons can be killed by non-magical weapons, but overwhelming them is a necessity. Being outnumbered four-to-one, this technique was not going to help here. Blessed or specially enchanted weapons, can pierce their hide with varying degrees of success. Cassandra’s dagger appeared to be incredibly effective for this purpose, but it is still lodged in the leg of one of the Daemons. Ascendant attacks are minimally useful, which is just as well because Kasmandre is still very new to Ascendant magic. Nether magic can be effective, but Kasmandre doesn’t want to go back down that particular road again. Kasmandre’s mind reeled with all the options, each discarded as soon as considered, and he came back to the feeling that his situation was hopeless.

 

And then the chains holding the chandelier and Kasmandre up began to creak and stretch.

 

 

Chapter X: Clash of the Titans

 

Kasmandre gritted his teeth and prepared for his inevitable, violent return to the ground. But below him, something extremely unexpected happened:

 

The great doors of the hall suddenly burst open, revealing the old man, his robe a tumult of crimson fire. Faster than the eye could follow, the old man’s hand shot up, a band of white, liquid fire connecting it to one of the previously uninjured Daemons. The Daemon flashed brightest white and then abruptly ceased to be.

 

Not waiting to see the effect of his magic, the old man rushed in with inhuman speed, reaching the Daemon with Cassandra’s dagger in its knee in seconds. He wrenched the dagger out of the monster’s leg, opening the wound even farther. Then, with three quick slashes, he opened up the Daemon’s face, neck, and chest. Now bleeding significantly from four wounds, the Daemon took a few unsteady steps and crumpled to the floor, darkness still pouring out of it.

 

The old man turned from his all-but-defeated foe to the Daemon hindered by Kasmandre’s cloak. Almost immediately, the Daemon began to decay and melt. Its hide sloughed off of its crumbling bones in ragged chunks as it attempted to reach its aggressor. It never made it as one of its legs disintegrated beneath it and it fell to the ground in its death throes.

 

The remaining Daemon rushed across the floor enraged at its companions’ demise and eager to destroy this interloper. The old man didn’t move a muscle as he watched its headlong charge. Then, when the monster was a mere three feet from the old man, the chains holding up the chandelier finally gave up the ghost, and the massive light fixture landed directly on the Daemon, stunning it and pinning it to the ground.

 

The old man wasted no time, stepping forward and decapitating the Daemon in a series of quick, fluid motions. Only then did he seem to relax, as his robe began to shift into more peaceful colors. He climbed on top of the chandelier, and helped Kasmandre, who had been dazed by the fall, to his feet.

 

“You…and them…and that beam…and…wow,” Kasmandre panted, as he tried to order his thoughts properly.

 

“No time for idle chatter, my young companion, we must leave this place before your old friend returns and decide to pay us back for breaking his little toys. Here, this belongs to you,” The old man replied thrusting the dagger into Kasmandre’s hand.

 

“But I didn’t…you really…”

 

“Oh, but you ‘loosened the cap’ for me, so to speak,” he replied condescendingly.

 

“HOW DARE YOU ABSCOND WITH MY PROPERTY, LIGHT-SINNER?” a voice boomed from the shadows at the far end of the hall.

 

“He does not belong to you, rotmonger. He is a mortal, free to choose his own destiny. You and your twisted master can never claim ownership of even one such soul,” the old man replied, his robe shifting slowly back to blazing red, but this time with black streaks like ugly bruises.

 

“This world and all in it belong to me, fool; they simply wait for me to step up and claim their pitiful souls as charms and tokens. You couldn’t stop Armageddon and you will not be able to stop the Araenugeth. I cannot wait to watch you howl as this world dies.” As he finished, the Darkened Man stepped out of the shadows, wielding a sword made of dark light.

 

“So you intend to persist in this madness,” the old man replied softly, creating his own sword made of pure light. The colors on his robe swirled once more before they stopped altogether. “So let us proceed.”

 

The Darkened Man offered no reply as he launched himself at the old man. They met in a clash of unearthly weaponry and a flash of blinding light, blades meeting each other without fail as they engaged in increasingly fierce combat.

 

Kasmandre stared at this battle in awe, wondering what he could possibly offer to this fray. He knew that he was vastly overmatched by either combatant, but he didn’t want to stand idly by as the old man fought on his behalf.

 

Meanwhile, the battle had grown faster and more vicious and it now looked less like two equally matched competitors and more like insubstantial lights pressing against one another. Another second later, and bursts of light and dark energy began to thrust out of the conflict, destroying all in their path.

 

Suddenly, a shout reverberated in Kasmandre’s mind, seeming to originate in his own consciousness instead of from the combatants. Even more perplexing was the fact that the voice was of neither of the being battling before him, but of someone even more familiar. The message itself, however, was much simpler:

 

“Hurry, the fortress won’t hold much longer!”

 

Indeed, the walls of the hall were beginning to buckle under the weight of higher floors. It was clear that to remain here meant certain death.

 

Kasmandre fled through the gates of his fortress, leaving the sounds of battle behind him. But before he was more than ten feet away, he heard a great noise and turned to watch the fortress that had never fallen to any invader, his fortress, collapse in a great blast of power.

 

 

Chapter XI: Comrades

 

Kasmandre stood in shock at the heap of rubble that had once been his castle. That shock didn’t last for long as he realized that the old man must be buried somewhere in that massive pile.

 

Kasmandre rushed to the leading edge of the wreckage, throwing stone and wood aside, never considering the scope of his task or how unlikely it was that the old man even survived. He simply kept digging, not intending to stop until he either found the old man or dropped dead from exhaustion.

 

As he continued on his hopeless task, Kasmandre noticed movement off to his right, under one of the massive wooden doors from the entry hall. Moving the door enough out of the way to clearly see underneath, Kasmandre smiled thinly in triumph. The old man was lying there in the debris.

 

He did not look at all well, though. His face was bruised and bleeding and his cloak was slowly fading into a null gray color. His breathing also was fading and sounding more labored. Kasmandre would have to do something or he would die.

 

“Great, my first day as an Ascendant mage and I’ve gotta figure out Healing from scratch,” Kasmandre groused. He gathered his thoughts and began:

 

First, Kasmandre pictured a rose (it wavered for an instant as he was reminded of Cassandra), held the image in his mind, saw it pulse with an interior energy, saw the rose open, felt the Pulse fill him. Here he paused for an instant, collecting his will for the next step, the speculative step. He pictured the old man as he had seen him the first time, pictured his robe lazily shifting colors. He made this image a part of the pulse made it overlap the part of the pulse that was the old man’s broken, dying body, made them the same. He closed his eyes and hoped, guiding the pulse into the image.

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the old man screamed out in pain, his eyes bolting open. He stared at Kasmandre for a full minute, not really seeing him. He finally blinked several times and seemed to look at Kasmandre instead of through him. “Kasmandre,” he whispered, “that is the single sorriest example of Healing that I have ever seen. Now, let’s get out of here.”

 

Kasmandre held the old man down as he started to rise. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Just rest for a minute.”

 

“You don’t understand, fool. We’re in enemy territory and our only advantage is that that death lord is buried under here somewhere, hopefully unconscious. By resting, we squander any head start we might have. Now, let’s go.” The old man punctuated this by rising forcefully to his feet.

 

“Your funeral.”

 

The path down the mountain proved to be even more treacherous than the last time Kasmandre had traveled down them. But then, they had had a few thousand years of wear and tear to deal with. And then there was the task of aiding the old man down the mountain as well.

 

Somehow, they made it to the bottom of the crag. Standing at its foot, Kasmandre asked his new companion, “Now how do we get through this wasteland?”

 

“By horse, of course.” The old man pointed to two knights standing a few yards off, holding the rains of two horses each. Kasmandre hadn’t noticed them a moment before.

 

“Where did they come from?”

 

“They were always there; they’re just dim. It’s a fairly simple spell, really, and it doesn’t need to be maintained. And no one would see them if they weren’t told what to look for. But enough shop talk. Let’s introduce you and then get out of here.” With that, the old man straightened and walked over to the two soldiers. Kasmandre followed him after a brief pause. Once Kasmandre reached the trio, the old man commenced with the introductions:

 

“Kasmandre, this is Jor’ann, warrior of unequalled speed an unparalleled agility,” the old man said, gesturing toward the slimmer of the pair, a man with short blond hair and close-fitting light leather armor. The hilts of two long, thin blades showed over his shoulders, and even standing still Kasmandre could see the inherent readiness of the fighter.

 

“And this is Aran, earth mage and talented fighter of the Kashmin spear,” the old man said, placing a hand on the shoulder of the bulkier man, clad in plate-mail armor that seemed to be made of wood with a long green cape trailing behind him. The cape was held to the armor by two clasps in the shape of crosses. A long spear was lashed to the saddle of one of the horses he held, a spear with an eighteen-inch long curved blade instead of a point.

 

“And I am called Tramaleon, Hand of the Aeternal Light and Guardian of the realms of First Terra. Now enough time has been wasted in this infernal wasteland. Mount your horses, we ride for the border into Blaterri.”

 

 

Chapter XII: Tales and Travels

 

As the four travelers rode toward the country of Blaterri, on the western border of Kimreddeth, Tramaleon explained to Kasmandre the nature of the conflict that he had found himself in:

 

“Now, I’ll assume that all your life, you’ve heard of the seven gods of Terra: Sun, Moon, Nature, Science, Magic, Satan, and Lucifer.”

 

“The last two I have some experience with,” Kasmandre growled.

 

“Yes, well these gods are not the end-all, be-all of existence as you had been taught, there are two entities that dwarf the power of the gods as massively as the gods dwarf the power of mortals. These beings are called the Aeternals: Light and Dark. They are the absolute essences of good and evil, justice and crime, love and hate. They have always existed and they always will exist. They live on a plane of existence high above this one. Their power is so great that they cannot manifest themselves on this plane or even touch it directly. To do so would destroy this plane utterly, obliterating all the realms held within.

 

“To get around this wrinkle, the Aeternals create beings to affect events in the realms on their behalf. The most powerful of these are the Powers, beings whose strength is just a step below a god’s. The one you know as the Darkened Man one of these. I am another.

 

“The Darkened Man and I have battled in Ages beyond number, on worlds beyond counting. The war has always come to this realm, this Terra. This world is so pivotal to each side it has become known as Diventeth, Land of the Great Division. This is where the final war will begin. This is where The territory will begin to be divided. The Araenugeth, the ultimate conflict, will begin on this land. And Light stands a good chance of losing.

 

“For millennia, a balance of good and evil has perpetuated itself on Diventeth, neither side could get an adequate foothold. Wars were fought in the hopes of the smallest gain. But there was no significant advance of Light or Dark.

 

“This all ended about four thousand years ago. Four thousand years ago, two children were born, both with vast amounts of potential, one destined for eternal service to Aeternal Light, one born to be the foremost general in Aeternal Dark’s hellish army. Once again, there was to be a balance. Both sides would gain a leader of incredible power, but neither would gain an advantage.

 

“To Aeternal Dark and to the Darkened Man, this was unacceptable. Impatient after a stalemate stretching back through eternity, they could not stand a second more of balance. So, a plan was devised to increase the dark child’s abilities and bring him into conflict with the light one. Then, with the balance of good and evil disrupted, Aeternal Dark would be free to initiate the first step toward Araenugeth, Armageddon. Armageddon creates disruption and is a powerful growth medium for evil. When added to the elimination of the light’s new hero, evil has an almost insurmountable lead.”

 

“Something tells me that this ties back into me,” Kasmandre replied grimly.

 

Tramaleon smiled slightly, “I’m sorry. I wish you could have been left out of all of this. I’ve never liked bringing mortals into these battles.”

 

“But you brought Cassandra into this.”

 

The old man looked surprised for the first time. “How did you know that?”

 

“Well, it’s blatantly obvious that Cassandra was the good child and I was the evil one. I accepted that long ago. Well, as far as Cassandra let me accept it. But, anyway, she once talked to me about Ascendant magic and this lecture sounds just about the same.”

 

“You understand that I couldn’t let Dark have a more powerful general than us. Otherwise, I would have left her out of it.”

 

“I know, it’s just me, the devil’s pawn. Doing evil left and right.”

 

“You didn’t do so bad as you thought. The Darkened Man didn’t count on you falling in love with ‘the enemy.’ That made all the difference in the end.”

 

“In the end?”

 

“When you used the Armageddon spell to destroy Cassandra. You altered the magic at the last moment. It still brought Armageddon, but Cassandra wasn’t destroyed.”

 

“Then what happened to her?”

 

“That’s something you need to discover on your own. You have all the clues, you just need to put them together.”

 

“ ‘Anything lost may be found in time.’”

 

“Exactly,” Tramaleon replied. And with that, he rode forward to ride with Jor’ann and Aran, leaving Kasmandre to remember how he met Cassandra. And to think about how it might not have been of his own doing.

 

 

Chapter XIII: Of Love and War

 

The new conflict wasn’t his idea, but he didn’t fight it. He didn’t fight his new advisor nearly as much as he had at the beginning. If Kasmandre wasn’t so blinded by pride and power, he might have wondered if he even ran his own nation anymore.

 

But Kasmandre entertained no such thoughts, and, as such, had no qualms about invading the lands immediately to his east with only the Darkened Man’s word that they would attack him first given the chance.

 

The amount of overkill, however, was Kasmandre’s idea.

 

Ten legions of Demon Knights, rounded out by members of Kasmandre’s personal guard formed the backbone of the invasion force. Their power was bolstered by twenty thousand Skeleton Warriors, six hundred Liches, fifty thousand Gargoyles, a hundred Unholy Reavers, and assorted Wraiths, Ghouls, and Zombies. This unholy army was led by both of Kasmandre’s Daemons, a pair that were themselves the match of a small army.

 

Kasmandre attended to matters of state and his own sick pleasures while his army marched on to enemy territory. He would break from his occupations only briefly to listen to reports of victory after victory as his army raped and pillaged their way through the lands of the “dreaded light-sinner” Cassandra Brightlance.

 

It was this inattention to detail that nearly cost Kasmandre the war. Because he disdained listening to the reports in their entirety, he did not notice when the amounts of newly captured lands in each report began to decrease. It was only when his army suffered a devastating loss and one of the Daemons was nearly killed that Kasmandre finally began demanding details. The ones that he received displeased him greatly:

 

It appeared that the armies of Cassandra Brightlance had been pushed back with relative ease until one day when a special batch of reinforcements arrived. These reinforcements included a host of Dominions and even a number of Titans. Even more disheartening was the description of their commander: a woman who wore only the lightest of armour, but whom no weapon could touch. She was the one who had nearly killed the Daemon, while she was separated from her bodyguards, no less!

 

Kasmandre realized that he would have to take decisive action or lose everything that he had gained. He rushed to the forefront of battle, which by that time was his border with Cassandra. He took one look at the Light’s ‘hero’ and knew instantly who it was: Cassandra Brightlance herself. Just as quickly, he knew that neither one of them stood a chance of defeating the other. Their equality in matters of power and magic was as apparent as hair color.

 

Knowing this, Kasmandre quickly arranged to meet with Cassandra. At the meeting, he was deeply impressed with her resolve and intelligence. Each Archmage realizing the other’s power, a treaty and alliance were quickly drawn up and agreed upon, firming the borders of their nations for all time. Kasmandre knew that the Darkened Man would not be pleased with this, but he saw no reason to back out simply to please his advisor.

 

The next action that Kasmandre took was one that he would never be able to explain: he asked to meet Cassandra in a few weeks, ostensibly to firm up details of the treaty, but mostly just out of a sense that that was the right thing to do. Really, the reason didn’t matter: fate, blossoming love, whatever… it all led to the same conclusion. The same bittersweet conclusion.

 

 

Chapter XIV: A New World

 

The four travelers arrived at the outskirts of Blaterri just before the sun rose. Tramaleon ordered a stop to eat and change. After a quick breakfast, Jor’ann and Aran removed their armor replacing it with simpler clothing from their packsaddles. Kasmandre also removed his old, blood-red armour, trading it for simple worker’s clothes. Tramaleon’s robe ceased shifting colors, settling on an unimpressive dull gray-blue. A small gem mimicking the color-shifting qualities his robe had appeared on a small chain around his neck. Tramaleon tucked this under his robes without comment.

 

“Now that we’re ready to continue, I feel I need to remind you all of just how precarious our position is,” Tramaleon said, mounting his horse, “We are about to enter the nation of Blaterri. This land is ruled by an Eradication Archmage who isn’t much better than his Nether brethren. The Darkened Man will have expected us to flee to a friendlier nation than this, and, at the same time, the call to find us won’t be so strong as it would in a darker country.

 

“However, this does not mean that we can afford to be careless. There is little love for servants of Light in Blaterri, times are dark for Diventeth, after all. We are here to gather information on happenings in Kimreddeth and organize those mages who are still loyal Ascendants. The Araenugeth is fast approaching and we must be prepared.”

 

With that, Tramaleon turned his horse toward Blaterri, followed closely by the Jor’ann, Aran, and Kasmandre. After a few more hours of riding, the quartet arrived in Andra, the capital city. Tramaleon looked around little, riding through the city with only his destination in mind. Kasmandre, however, looked around at the squalor all around him. The conditions that the people were forced to live in were deplorable. Dirt and grime reigned supreme, rats as big as a foot long ran rampant through the streets, the fruit that was being sold by the street vendors was shriveled and bruised and those who sold them were not much healthier. The people of the city looked at the travelers with eyes that expected no deliverance from their plight, except maybe a quick death.

 

“Gods! How can a leader leave his people to live like this?” Kasmandre gasped.

 

“Your lands had horrors far beyond those that Andra provides,” Tramaleon replied.

 

Bringing his horse close to those of Kasmandre and Tramaleon, Jor’ann said, “I don’t see how the politics of a country long dead affect this. Besides, it isn’t like this is abnormal, all Terra…pardon, all Diventeth is exactly like this.”

 

“History affects the present more than you care to realize, Bladesman. Here we are.” Tramaleon stopped his horse before an inn that appeared no less decrepit than those around it, yet somehow seemed cleaner and safer. The sign hanging above the door read, “The Old Guard” and showed a picture of a soldier clad in armour familiar to Kasmandre.

 

Dismounting his horse and handing the reins to a lethargic stableboy, Tramaleon motioned for the others to do the same. Without waiting to see if they complied, the old man entered the inn. His three companions quickly followed after.

 

 

Chapter XV: The Old Guard

 

Kasmandre walked into the inn slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden change of light, from the bright light of the sun to a few lamps and some stray sunlight trickling through a dirty window. He had apparently entered into a common room containing a half dozen tables, only one currently occupied. A set of stairs rose from the back of the room, evidently leading to the boarder’s rooms. Two doors led out of the common room, one out the back, most likely to the stables, the other probably to the kitchen. A middle aged man with hard muscles swept the floor.

 

Tramaleon walked over to the sweeper, smiled and embraced him, saying, “Ramone, brother, it has been to long.”

 

Ramone returned the embrace and the smile, replying, “You honor me too far calling me brother, Great Power. But it has been too long since last we spoke. Understandable considering the darkness here, but Sara and I enjoy having you here. How fares the world and the Battle?”

 

“Sadly, we lose ground with each passing day. There may be no avoiding the Araenugeth this time. We can only pray and fight the darkness. What has happened in Andra since my last visit?”

 

Ramone grimaced, “Nothing good, a plague broke out in the Old Quarter; even worse, old Amanda caught it tending to the sick there. She died three days past. If she could have hung on to life for just three more days…”

 

“Be happy for her, she now resides in the Light. Her battles are done, and she can rest her hands. May she shine down on us until we may rejoin her.”

 

“Amen. Her son would be much appreciative if you could spare some time to sit with him. He has been despondent since she took ill, and her death only darkened his mood. That is, if you are staying. If you’re just passing through, I won’t bother you.”

 

“No, my companions and I will be staying for a few weeks. You’ve already met Aran and Jor’ann,” Aran bowed to Ramone, Jor’ann merely offered a curt nod, “Our fourth is called Kasmandre.”

 

“Kasmandre? Not the same as he who brought Armageddon?”

 

“Only by the trickery of a Dark Power. Kasmandre has since repented his crimes and will battle at our side.”

 

“Your word is enough convincing for me. I’ll have Sara set you up in two of my best rooms. If you’ll excuse me.” With that, Ramone exited up the steps at the rear, casting a last glance back at Kasmandre.

 

Kasmandre sighed, “Does everyone know who I was?”

 

“No, I only told Ramone of it out of necessity. It’s a long story; I might relate it later if the opportunity arises, but for now, leave it at that.”

 

Ramone returned and motioned to one of the unoccupied tables, saying, “There’s more that’s been happening. I’d have mentioned it right off, but it’s…well…unpleasant to think about, much less talk about.”

 

Tramaleon sat down opposite Ramone. “The more unpleasant the news, the more likely it is that we will need to here it. I’m sorry to bring it up, but you do need to tell us.”

 

“Yes, I know. It’ll probably be better just to say it, just to get it out of my mind.” Ramone gulped deeply and continued.

 

“Harmon Eldarod, Lord of Blaterri, has been using Nether magic.”

 

Chapter XVI: Shadow Rising

 

Tramaleon nodded gravely, “I can see why this would be a troubling thought. The state of affairs in Blaterri has never been good, but the nations of Nether mages suffer even worse atrocities. However, this information may be directly related to our quest here, so you must tell us how this came about.”

 

Ramone closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts, “About a month ago, people in the outlying villages began noticing strange happenings in Kimreddeth: lightning storms, strange lights in the sky, screams in the night, horrible things. Then, about a fortnight ago, a rider came out of Kimreddeth. This was truly disconcerting because nothing alive has ever come out of that wasteland. Even worse was his appearance: horribly pale, with eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. He rode through the villages and into Andra, screaming that the ‘Wretched One’ was returning and would lay waste to his foes.

 

“And then he stopped here. He reined in his horse right in front of my door. I was standing outside - because of all the racket he had been making – and he looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Once the Wretched One returns, blasphemy like this inn will be annihilated. Then he spat right on the sign above my door and rode off toward the palace.”

 

“ ‘Blasphemy like this inn?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Jor’ann asked, scowling.

 

Kasmandre looked up from the table and answered, “The sign. The soldier on it, judging from his armour, was a member of the army of Cassandra Brightlance. Specifically, a member of her personal bodyguard. This rider, who I presume to be the Darkened Man, wouldn’t look kindly on anyone showing that openly.”

 

“True,” Tramaleon said, “But that was not the only reason. There is also a ward around this inn. No servant of darkness will enter, or even notice it unduly. I did this partially as repayment for a great deed Ramone and his wife did, and partially to provide myself for a safe haven in this land. But we’ve strayed far from the matter at hand. Ramone, please continue your tale.”

 

Ramone cleared his throat, more to stall for time than to aid in speaking, “Well, there’s not that much else to tell. Not that I know anyway. According to a couple of palace servants that frequently drink here, when the Darkened Man, as you call him, reached the palace, he demanded an audience with King Harmon. Now the King has always had a horrible temper, and no one’s so stupid as to demand anything from him. He burst out of his chambers and began to rain fire upon the intruder. But none of it seemed to touch him! Black walls kept intervening. After several minutes of this, the Darkened Man thrust out his hand and a wave of black fire swept over Harmon. I know no more of this story because this is the point where my informants fled.

 

“All I do know is, the next day, all of the guilds in Blaterri were instructed to begin researching Nether magic. Anyone caught disobeying was impaled and their bodies were left hanging in the center of the guild.

 

Things have gotten worse in the city. At night, the regular patrols are replaced by shadows and skeletons and other hateful creatures. They take anyone they find back to the palace, to be used as sacrifices. I also fear that the plague I told you of was one of Harmon’s ‘little experiments’: either one gone wrong, or, worse, one gone right. Everyone fears to stay, but on one dares to leave. Such a thing would bring unwanted attention.

 

“That is the full of what I had to tell you. What do you make of it?”

 

Tramaleon was prevented from answering by Jor’ann. He leaped up and, with a flick of his wrist, sent a dagger straight into the heart of the only other occupant of the common room. The man, who had just been standing up, fell to the floor in a heap.

 

“Jor’ann! What is the meaning of that?” Tramaleon gasped.

 

“He’d been listening to us the whole time, and, just now, he was about to draw a sword,” Jor’ann replied simply.

 

The group walked over to the prone dead man. Aran reached down and flipped him over onto his back. His hand is still grasping a black blade with strange runes written all over it. At the sight of the runes, Tramaleon drops to his knees and tears open the man’s shirt. All over his chest and stomach, runes appear to have been burned into the flesh.

 

“May the Light save us all,” Tramaleon breathed.

 

 

Chapter XVII: Readying for Battle

 

“The runes on the blade and on this man are made specifically for him to cross the boundaries of my ward without repercussions. They could have only been created by one being living: my foil, the Dark Power: the Darkened Man.”

 

An uneasy silence falls over the group. If the Darkened Man knew of their presence in Andra, their flight from Kimreddeth would have been for naught. After finding them here, he could follow them anywhere…

 

“However,” Tramaleon continued, “I don’t believe that he knows that we are here. By Ramone’s description of the Darkened Man’s arrival in Blaterri, he wouldn’t have liked the very idea of this inn existing in one of his ‘conquered lands.’”

 

“ ‘Conquered lands?’” Jor’ann spat, nudging the dead body with his toe, “I don’t see the Darkened Man sitting on the throne here.”

 

“He might as well be,” replied Tramaleon, sitting down again at the table, “From what I have heard of the Darkened Man’s little excursion to the palace, I can guess the relationship that now exists between himself and King Harmon: Harmon is allowed to believe he has some say, and is a valuable part of the legions of Darkness. But in truth, he is little more than just another pawn of Aeternal Dark.

 

“Now, let us sit down. This change in events demands a change in our overall strategy. Ramone, continue listening to the rumors that your patrons bring in. Aran, visit the other inns and taverns in town and find out what you can. Jor’ann, before we planned to have you bring the leaders of Ascendant nations here. This is now too dangerous to risk. I will give you a location for you and the Archmagi to rendezvous with me. This location must remain a secret between just you and me. Finally, Kasmandre. In many ways, your task is the hardest of all: do nothing. With Harmon turning to the darker arts, we cannot risk you being seen in Andra. I will teach you more of the Ascendant art when I am able, but much of your time will be left to you. Unfortunately, you must spend this time in your room, coming down to the common room only when no one else is present. I will strengthen the wards outside, but we cannot rely simply on them for protection. Not after this.

 

“Now, however, we have traveled long and are in need of rest. Let us retire to our rooms.”

 

With that, the weary adventurers climbed the stairs to their beds and Ramone set to disposing of the body

 

 

Chapter XVIII: Long Weeks

 

The next several weeks passed slowly for Kasmandre. His sessions with Tramaleon, while enlightening and intriguing, were too few and far between to keep Kasmandre occupied all the time. Aran spent his days frequenting the local inns and taverns, coming in only sporadically to report any information to Tramaleon. Jor’ann was constantly leading Archmagi to the meeting point or escorting them back to their nations. When he did stay at the inn, it was only to get a few hours sleep before going out again. And Ramone, while outwardly amiable, seemed to treat Kasmandre as one treats a strange dog, one that might prove to be rabid.

 

All this amounted in far too much time where Kasmandre was alone with his thoughts. All the events closely preceding and following his resurrection were replayed in his mind over and over again. Foremost in his mind was Cassandra. Tramaleon continuously hinted that Kasmandre would find her again, but then, the riddle he used could mean any number of things. One night, almost a month after arriving in Blaterri, Kasmandre was having another sleepless night, pacing his room and pondering this question for what seemed to be the thousandth time.

 

“ ‘Anything lost may be found in time.’” He muttered to himself, “That could mean almost anything. I could be fated to meet her in heaven. If that was true, I might as well kill myself now, I’m certainly not doing any good rotting in this room. It could mean that she lives, but in some other world, or in a different time or something. Hell, it could mean that she was resurrected as a whole different person…” He trailed off as his thoughts went through the same downward spiral he had come to know over the past month. After meeting her, Cassandra was the only thing that gave Kasmandre’s life meaning. Therefore, without her, his life was meaningless. If his life is meaningless, then he needs new meaning or he’ll die. And, finally, because he is forbidden to leave this room, he has no way of finding new meaning, so he might as well get it over with and just die.

 

And for the first time, his mind had no rebellion to that idea.

 

Filled with sudden resolve, Kasmandre picked up Cassandra’s dagger from where it lay on the dresser and raised it to his eyes. He stood there in the flickering candlelight for a moment, watching the room’s dim illumination play on the ivory blade. He then bared his wrist and laid the flat of the blade on his skin. The dagger began to glow and throb slightly, in sync with the Pulse that Kasmandre was now always dimly aware of. Seeing this as a sign to continue, Kasmandre turned the blade so that the edge and began to slowly apply pressure.

 

 

Chapter XIX: Cries in the Night

 

Just as the blade broke the skin, Kasmandre heard a voice in the room call softly, “No, don’t!”

 

Looking up, he quickly surveyed the room. Jor’ann and Tramaleon were out on yet another of their expeditions, and Aran had not yet returned, so the room was empty. Thinking the voice was just a figment of his strained mind, Kasmandre returned to the task at hand.

 

However, this time he was interrupted by something he couldn’t deny: a woman’s scream of terror. This type of noise was common in Andra, especially as Harmon continued researching Nether magic, but to Kasmandre’s ears, this scream was different. One simple fact made this scream much more wonderful and at the same time much more terrible than any before it.

 

The voice was that of Cassandra.

 

Without thought, without caring of the consequences, Kasmandre flung open the window of his room and leaped to the streets below. He would save his love this time, or die with her.

 

He began running as soon as his feet hit the broken cobbles, dodging the midden piles that now decorated the streets, turning down strange alleys and leaping over decrepit fences. He ran, using only instinct and hope as a guide, praying all the while that he would not be too late. And in the shadows of a half-collapsed building he saw that he nearly was. In the shadows before him, a woman was backed into a corner by a vampire, one of Harmon’s new toys. The ghoul leaned low over his victim, fangs poised to take his due. He was only stopped by one thing: the sound of Kasmandre’s voice.

 

“Step back, fiend!”

 

The vampire looked up at Kasmandre, seemed to weigh him, and then turned back to his meal. Kasmandre took a step closer and spoke again.

 

“Will you fight me? Or are you afraid of meat that fights back? I pity your master if his stock now includes those that are so weak and pathetic. Truly a vampire is no longer a thing to be feared if they only prey on the weak and slow. Why, a small child with a twig gotten from beside the hearth could walk down the most public avenue and not fear one like yourself. You would be too afraid of his stick, thinking it to be half a cross. You are truly pathetic.”

 

The vampire looked up once again, this time rage in his eyes. “Still your tongue, mortal, or I make you next.”

 

“Why don’t you make me first, monster? Otherwise, I promise that you will be dead before you finish this meal.”

 

The vampire stood and faced Kasmandre, “I will kill you for no reason more pressing than to shut your bragging mouth, you infidel.”

 

“Then stop talking and attack, vermin.”

 

“I’ll show you vermin, cretin!” And, with a wave of his hand, a flight of bats swooped down toward Kasmandre and the battle was begun

 

 

Chapter XX: A Battle for Heart

 

Dropping to the ground, Kasmandre was able to barely avoid the flight of bats as they swooped down, broke to the sky in a flurry of wings. No sooner did they flee, though, than the vampire was upon him, clawing at Kasmandre with tooth and nail. Kasmandre reacted instinctively, jabbing the dagger up into his opponent. The vampire recoiled, leaping up from what he now no longer considered to be easy prey. The wound that the dagger had made in its side hissed and didn’t heal, angering the undead creature.

 

Kasmandre got to his feet quickly and paced around, keeping the vampire in front of him at all times. He had no illusions that the fight was going to get easier. Injuring a vampire only creates an angry vampire. And an angry vampire is no easy foe.

 

The vampire leaped forward again feinting left and slashing right with its claw-like nails. Kasmandre, not fooled by the feint, dodged out of the range of the wild slash and quickly utilized his Ascendant abilities. A huge flash of light, brighter than the sun, erupted between the two combatants, blinding the vampire and searing its eyes. Kasmandre took t

[Peredhil]

Kasmandre,

This is really well done.

[Kasmandre]

Thanks, Peredhil, I'd forgotten this was even here. I thought the only copy online had been on the AMBB. [EDIT]Correction, the only copy was there. I just thought that the whole thing had gone down. Looks like there's still a server keeping them up. I might as well finish copying this into here...[/EDIT]

 

ooc:

 

Kicking the now-dead body aside, Kasmandre approached the woman, who still sat cowering in a corner of the alley. She was dirty, disheveled,…and not Cassandra. Notwithstanding the complete lack of physical resemblance, Cassandra never cowered, never backed down. Even at the end, she had the strength to defy the Darkened Man.

 

“Go,” Kasmandre rasped, “go home and remember this before you venture outside after dark. There are worse things than vampires.” The woman ran out of the alley as if Satan himself pursued her.

 

Kasmandre turned his eyes to the sky and screamed into the night, “You bastard!! You monstrous, rot-eaten bastard!! It isn’t enough that you took everything from me!! No, you have to send creatures, monsters that remind me of what I was and what I did!! I swear this night, on the blood of my lost love, that I will not rest, I will not stay my hand while even one remnant of you lasts anywhere, in any land!!! You will pay for my pain!!!!”

 

A footfall at the mouth of the alley alerted Kasmandre to the presence of another person in the alley. Wrenching Cassandra’s dagger out of the wall, Kasmandre spun around to face the new arrival.

 

“You can put that away,” Tramaleon said, “After all, I am not the one you’re enraged at. You seem to have finally decided that this war is your own as well. Good, I could not have chosen a more opportune time. Harmon Eldarod has fled into Kimreddeth. We follow him tonight, and, by dawn, we will either be victorious or dead. Come.”

 

With that, Tramaleon left the alley, leaving Kasmandre no choice but to sheath his dagger and follow.

 

 

Chapter XXI: In the Eye of the Storm

 

Arriving back at the inn, Kasmandre could see that preparations were already beginning to be made for departure from Andra. Ramone was hurring in and out of the common room, filling their packs with their belongings and extra supplies. At another of the tables, Aran, now once again clad in his wood-mail armour, pored over several maps. He looked up at the entrance of Tramaleon and Kasmandre.

 

“If Harmon fled with that much armament, there’s one place he could have been going: the Blighted Mount in the heart of Kimreddeth.”

 

“So I feared,” Tramaleon sighed, sinking into a chair, “The battle must end from whence it began: on the peaks of Kasmandre’s former fortress. The Darkened Man intends to complete his evil plan, with or without Kasmandre to carry it out. So, he has chosen Harmon to open the Dark Gate for him.”

 

“The Dark Gate?” Kasmandre asked, “What’s that, and what does it have to do with me?”

 

“The Dark Gate is a construct of unimaginable importance. It opens the way to the Darkened Man’s Nexus, the source of all his power, a drawing point from within the realms of Aeternal Dark. From the Nexus, the Darkened Man could call endless armies to storm Diventeth, and from there, all existence. The Araenugeth, the war of the gods, would then begin, and Light would almost certainly fail. But the Darkened Man needs a mortal to create it. You were his first choice. But he reverted to a more malleable minion, Harmon Eldarod.”

 

“So, let’s go stop him!”

 

Tramaleon smiled, “Not so fast, my impetuous friend. You’re going to need armour, and the bloodstained leather you wore before would be inappropriate. Here is something more suitable for after your ‘rebirth.’”

 

Tramaleon moved to another table and revealed a suit of armour that appeared to be shimmering white leather. Closer inspection revealed it to be covered with a multitude of small crystalline plates.

 

“Armour made of the Tears of the Light. Cassandra had a suit much like this one. Better armour is not in existence. Now change quickly, we need to hurry.”

 

Kasmandre changed as quickly as possible into his new armour, which he discovered to be very light and maneuverable. Aran and Tramaleon, his robes once again color-shifting waited outside with their horses. Then the three riders than mounted and rode with all speed to Kimreddeth. At the border, they turned southward, heading for the southern border.

 

Kasmandre was puzzled by this. “Why are we going south? The Blighted Mount lies in the east.”

 

“We know,” Aran replied, “But when facing an army, having one of your own doesn’t hurt.”

 

And then they crested a hill and below them, stretching to the darkened horizon, was a host, the likes of which had never been seen. And at its head was Jor’ann and several Archmagi clad in white armour of differing makes.

 

“Now we meet and plan briefly,” Tramaleon said, almost to himself, “Then we ride out of the eye, into the storm.”

 

Chapter XXII: To Lead in War

 

Tramaleon took his horse of a small distance to speak to the Ascendant Archmagi, leaving Kasmandre and Aran to themselves for a time. Kasmandre used this time to mention something he noticed.

 

“All these mages have a symbol on them, you wear it too. It appears to be the Cross of Lucifer; except it is inverted. What does it mean?”

 

Aran smiled tightly, “It isn’t Lucifer’s Cross inverted, but rather that symbol is the inverse of the one we wear. This cross,” he said, touching the cross-clasps that held his cloak to his armour, “is the symbol of Aeternal Light, and the symbol of all who serve him.”

 

“Then why doesn’t my armour have that symbol?”

 

Aran just shrugged, and looked at the gathering of Archmagi, where an argument seemed to have broken out. The shouting had risen to the point where individual voices could be heard:

 

“I have given my life to the Light, I should lead!”

 

“Your power is but a pale shadow of what I possess…”

 

“I brought the largest army…”

 

“I have…”

 

“I am…”

 

“I…”

 

“My…”

 

At that point, a great light flashed over the entire meeting. Tramaleon urged his horse between the arguing mages. His robe a swirl of brown and red, he spoke to those assembled,

 

“You have all been called here for a reason. You are the few Archmagi that remain loyal to the Light. However, as you have just proven, none of you are a suitable leader of this alliance. There is only one present who can lead such a host...”

 

One of the Archmagi, an old man in shining plate mail spoke up, “Of course, who better to lead than the Hand of the Aeternal Light, Guardian of the realms of First Terra, specific, beautiful creation of the Light Himself, the Power of Powers, Tramaleon! Tramaleon! Tramaleon!”

 

At this several others took up the chant, until the valley rang with the repeated name of the one they knew must lead them. They chanted his name loud and long, until they were silenced by the raised hand of Tramaleon.

 

“You speak kindly, good Aramon, and my heart is gladdened by the support of all present. Unfortunately, I cannot lead you, for if we are to be victorious, I must engage my foil, the Dark Power on Diventeth, the one known as the Darkened Man. For, at his interfering, all that we may hope to be achieved may be undone. So, I bring a leader with me: one most suitable for this task. I present to you one who has died and been reborn, both in flesh and in the Light. One who has sworn to not rest until the darkness is no more. You shall be led by the Archmagi Kasmandre.”

 

A hush fell over the Archmagi as Kasmandre led his horse forward. The hush didn’t last long before the complaints of the mages came fast and hard:

 

“You suggest we follow the ‘Wretched One?’”

 

“I’d rather follow Aramon than this Light-forsaken piece of dung!”

 

“I’d sooner kill this abomination than follow him!”

 

This time the bickering was stopped by Kasmandre’s raised hand. Sitting tall in his saddle, he spoke,

 

“I know none of you like me. I have given you no reason to, nor to trust me. All you know of me is evil. You hear of Kasmandre and your thoughts turn to the curse of Armageddon, and the destruction of worlds. You look at me and you see light and life extinguished for the cause of petty gain. And I can hardly blame you. That is what I used to stand for.

 

“But note that I said ‘used to.’ Three thousand years as a prisoner in Hell and listening to the teachings of Tramaleon have given me a new perspective on things. I no longer seek material things or power or glory. I seek one thing only: the complete and eternal eradication of Aeternal Dark and all It’s followers and energies.”

 

Kasmandre paused then and looked out at the Archmagi to gauge their reaction to his speech so far. Some of them appeared to be gaining a grudging respect for him. But some still seemed to be hostile toward him and none seemed ready to follow him.

 

“I know that words are meaningless when they come from a liar, and I sincerely hope that you see me as more than that. But in case you do not, I will give you a sign of my devotion to Aeternal light.”

 

With that, he drew Cassandra’s dagger from its sheath and held it in the waning light of the moon. It glowed softly with its own inner light. Whispers and mutterings could be heard throughout the assembled throng, the loudest from those who recognized the blade and remembered its owner. Ignoring these sounds, Kasmandre touched the blade to his forehead above his right eye. He then pressed the blade inward until it drew blood. And then, drawing the blade downward over his eye and to a level with his jaw, created a vertical slash down his face. He then raised the blade and pressed it into the bridge of his nose, and, in a final horizontal motion, drew the blade once more over his right eye, completing the Sign of the Cross of the Light. Then, blood running down his face, he raised the blade into the air above his head.

 

A blast of white flame burst from the holy weapon, creating a sword’s blade of purest light over the dagger’s blade. And from a stand of trees there was heard a great chirping and flapping of wings. And then, a flight of swallows, so numerous that they could not be counted, flew over the heads of the assembled mages and alighted into the heavens.

 

The Archmagi were stunned into silence. For a space of several minutes, no one moved or spoke. And then, Aramon clumsily dismounted from his horse and knelt before Kasmandre saying,

 

“Before the Light and all the Powers of Heaven, by my hope of Salvation and Rebirth, I, Aramon di Riahonne, Lord of the Algarihi, do swear to follow you, Kasmandre of Logard, where you lead and command by swords where you wilt have them, till Light be prevalent.”

 

And then a slender woman, clad in silver chain mail dismounted and knelt saying,

 

“Before the Light and all the Powers of Heaven, by my hope of Salvation and Rebirth, I, Eleanor al’Graivin, Queen of Adnior, do swear…”

 

And the rest of her words were lost in the storm of Archmagi dismounting, kneeling, and swearing fealty to Kasmandre.

 

“Arise!” Kasmandre shouted, “Let us now ride! ‘Till hope is gone, till Light is extinguished, never to bow to Shadow or Dark, striking the Darkness with last breath!’”

 

And he turned, leading the Ascendant Coalition to the Blighted Mount, either to victory or doom.

 

 

Chapter XXIII: Battle Begins

 

As the Ascendant Coalition rode to war behind Kasmandre, Tramaleon brought his horse alongside Kasmandre. He reached up and, without saying a word, healed the Cross wound over Kasmandre’s right eye, leaving a livid scar. After riding together a short while longer in silence, Kasmandre spoke up.

 

“What if we arrive at the Blighted Mount and the Gate has already been created?”

 

Tramaleon looked into the distance, “I hope that it won’t be, but, in all honesty, it will be a close thing. If it has already been constructed, I will try to delay the Darkened Man for as long as possible, for he will have to call his minions from within the Nexus. But I will only be able to delay him, for once the Gate is opened, his power will flow into him more freely, and he may prove to be beyond my ability to defeat.”

 

“Then what do you propose to do?”

 

“As I said, I will distract the Darkened Man as long as I am able. Once the gate is opened, it cannot be closed. In such a circumstance, the only option would be to destroy the Nexus utterly.”

 

“Destroy it? How?”

 

“With this,” Tramaleon replied, removing from his robes an old copper goblet “This, Kasmandre, is the Holy Grail. It is an artifact that has long existed, but few have known its true purpose. It was said, long ago, that in the time of greatest need, the Holy Grail would be a weapon of greatest potency. If the Gate is completed, you must get into the Nexus and place this at the epicenter. Hopefully, it will be enough to destroy the Nexus and render the Gate moot. We can only hope.

 

Now, we are almost there. Take the Grail, and after we cross this ridge we shall see if it is necessary.”

 

Kasmandre then realized that they were cresting the last rise of the land before they reached the Blighted Mount. As they reached the top they could see all the way to the summit of that black mountain.

 

At the highest peak, flames and black energy flashed and flickered, reaching greater and greater heights and intensity with every second. On the slopes below, an army that rivaled the Coalition’s in size laid in wait.

 

Tramaleon gritted his teeth, “We were very nearly too late, the Dark Gate is almost ready. I will ride with all speed to the summit and confront my counterpart. Lead your army valiantly and follow with all the speed you can. Jor’ann and Aran will aid you. Now farewell and good luck!” With that, Tramaleon booted his horse forward and disappeared into the Armies of Darkness.

 

Kasmandre turned his horse to face the Army of Light, ‘his army’ Tramaleon had said. He raised his flaming sword of Light and yelled with every fiber of his being, “For the Light, for Cassandra Brightlance!!”

 

And he wheeled his horse around and, with Jor’ann and Aran at his sides and the armies of all the Ascendant nations at his back, charged in after Tramaleon.

 

Chapter XXIV: In the Midst of Death

 

The next however long was lost to Kasmandre in the endless stream of foes. Between Jor’ann, Aran, and himself, they had slain dozens, if not hundreds of skeletons, wights, vampires, ghouls, and other evil creatures, and yet they still came. Kasmandre had decided that in a battle like this one, a general didn’t so much lead as he did desperately try to stay alive. So far, so good. They’d stayed alive long enough to make it to one of the cliff faces that barred their way to the top. It was a wall of stone stretching thirty feet up, and the nearest passable point was a hundred yards around it, through some of the fiercest fighting.

 

Kasmandre dismounted his horse and sent it back through the seething mass of teeth and claws. Jor’ann and Aran did likewise.

 

“If it weren’t for the battling,” Kasmandre shouted over the roar of the battle, “I’d suggest going around, but right now climbing seems like a better idea. Either of you happen to have any gear?”

 

“Yeah, right beside the kitchen sink,” Jor’ann retorted, slaying a Fallen Angel, “We work with what we carry, any better ideas?”

 

“Well our choices seem to be up a rock face or through heavy fighting. Which do you prefer?”

 

“The rock face would be easier. If only we had an earth mage with us… now where could we find one of those?”

 

Aran looked up from his sparring with a Cave Troll, “I’d help, but I’m busy at the moment.”

 

“We’ll cover you,” Kasmandre replied, blasting the troll with a surge of white fire, “Just do something!”

 

Aran turned to the wall, drove his spear into the ground, and began to chant in a low, melodic voice. Slowly, the wall began to tremble.

 

“Hey, Aran, we just want a way up, not the mountain on our heads,” Jor’ann spat, skewering a Lich on one of his blades.

 

Aran ignored him, concentrating on his chant. As the wall trembled, stones began to press themselves out of the surface, creating a climbing wall of sorts.

 

Aran grabbed his spear and turned, “It’s done. Jor’ann, you go first, then Kasmandre, then me.”

 

“How come I go first?” Jor’ann shouted, not looking up from the two imps in front of him.

 

“Because, if there’s something nasty at the top, it’ll kill you first, and then I don’t have to listen to you anymore. Now go!”

 

Kasmandre sliced the head off Orc and shoved Jor’ann toward the wall, “Shut up and get going, we have to get to that Gate before it’s finished.”

 

Jor’ann, having been suitably chastised, turned, sheathed his swords, and began to scale the wall. Kasmandre followed, and Aran came soon after, skewering a few foul creatures with spikes conjured out of the ground. Together, the three began climbing the wall. Their ascent was halted, though, by a stream of arrows, sent by Orcish Archers on a hidden peak.

 

“Argh, they’ll spit us in a minute,” growled Jor’ann, tearing an arrow out of his shoulder.

 

“Then don’t give them that minute,” Kasmandre replied, quickly wrapping their conventional armour in Armour of Light. The arrows bounced harmlessly off the Light Armour, but it was a strain for Kasmandre to maintain while climbing. Jor’ann hastened to the top, and after reaching it, paused for a moment.

 

“Aran,” he said, “when you said that thing about hoping something nasty was up here, you didn’t happen to be peeking, did you?”

 

Kasmandre and Aran reached the top of the cliff face just in time to watch ten Knights Templar finish dying at the feet of a Daemon.

 

Chapter XXV: Foes Old and New

 

Kasmandre reacted instinctively to the sight of the Daemon, attempting to blast it with a surge of white fire. But the Daemon, with its hell-born reflexes, leaps into the air, dodging the blast, and landing right between Kasmandre and Jor’ann. With a swing of its mighty arm, it knocks Jor’ann off the cliff. Only a lightning draw of his sword saves Jor’ann as he buries his blade in the rock wall, saving him from falling into the battle below.

 

Meanwhile, the Daemon was slashing at Kasmandre and Aran with its razor-sharp claws. Aran swung his blade at the monster’s arm, hoping to separate it from its body. The blade just clanged off the Daemon’s hide, leaving only a shallow dent in its arm. The Daemon retaliated by grabbing Aran’s spear in both its claws and wrenching it from his grip. It then heaved the weapon to the ground and seized Aran by the shoulders.

 

“Never touch my spear,” Aran growled, and he began to chant quickly. As he chanted, vines tore out of the blighted rock of the mountain and entangled the Daemon’s legs. The Daemon ignored the vines and brought its face close to Aran’s, its teeth gleaming. It attempted to lock its jaws on Aran’s neck, and suck out his life and soul, but Aran pushed back on the jaws with both hands, keeping them at bay. It was a loosing battle, though.

 

Kasmandre, seeing his ally’s peril, dodged behind the Daemon, and, with all his might, drove his shining sword into the Daemon’s back. The Daemon screamed and howled in pain, forgetting Aran entirely and flinging its arms around. The tip of the blade could be seen poking out of its chest, darkness swirling out around it. Kasmandre, evading the talons of the Daemon, left his sword in its back.

 

The injured beast grasped both hand on the hilt of Kasmandre’s blade, and instantly its screams reached a new caliber. Smoke began pouring out from where it grasped the sword as the thick hide of its palms began to smolder. Kasmandre, realizing why this happened, quickly blessed the vines entangling the Daemon’s legs. Almost immediately, smoke began to pour off if there, as well. The Daemon, its agony overriding all other thought, began to tear at the vines that were now boiling its undead flesh.

 

Then, two other blades were poking out of its chest. Jor’ann stood behind the Daemon, his armour and face covered with dirt from his second climb up. He pulled Kasmandre’s sword out of the creature’s back and tossed it to Kasmandre. From above them all, a loud shouting of some heathenistic language began to reach its peak.

 

“I can finish ugly here off; you two go up to the top and stop him,” Jor’ann, shouted removing his own swords from the Daemon, which had just finished freeing its legs. The two faced off, one tired and dirty, the other burnt and crippled.

 

Kasmandre and Aran took up their weapons and ran up to the peak. Upon reaching it, they had to dodge blasts of pure energy from Tramaleon and the Darkened Man’s battle in the sky high above.

 

At the center of the peak was a massive lake of lava and fire. In its center, was a massive construct of purest darkness, still seething and growing, the Dark Gate, connected to the side of the lake by a rickety wooden bridge.

 

In front of the lake and Gate, chanting in a voice disproportionate in volume to even his massive body, stood Harmon Eldarod.

 

 

Chapter XXVI: Open Sesame

 

“We have to stop him!” Kasmandre shouted, rushing toward Harmon. He was stopped, though, as a wall of fire flared up before him, throwing him backwards. Aran was blown away by a similar blast.

 

Looking closer, Kasmandre saw the subtle weavings of Eradication magic, interspersed with Nether, forming a powerful ward.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the world’s first fully-able, Eradication and Nether mage. Ain’t he great,” Kasmandre groaned, picking himself off the ground.

 

“Quit wising off, that’s Jor’ann’s job. You’re our idea guy, so make with the ideas,” Aran grumbled.

 

“Well, the ward exists above ground, what about under?”

 

“Way ahead of you.” Aran smiled as he chanted a slow hymn, opening a tunnel in the ground before him, leading under the ward, to right next to Harmon. Aran and Kasmandre charged through the hole, hoping that their idea worked.

 

It did, they emerged at the other side just in time to hear Harmon’s voice reach a peak, “Garathine Ine’inpleldenstine Preth!!!” He then turned and stretched out a hand, and a rush of fire met Aran, throwing him back a hundred feet, where he lay, unmoving.

 

“You’re too late, fool! The Gate is open!! And now I’ll send you to Hell, interference!!!” And indeed, the Gate was now a high arch with a vast dark space within.

 

Kasmandre raised his blade level between Harmon’s eyes and his own. “I’ve been to Hell, I don’t intend to return, except to burn it down!” And Kasmandre launched himself against Harmon.

 

Chapter XXVII: Fire and Light

 

And Kasmandre and Harmon met on the peak of the Blighted Mount in the center of Kimreddeth, sparks flashing as their blades, one a slender thing of purest light the other a massive blade of darkest steel, clashed against one another again and again. The battle continued on for several minutes like this, no word passing between the two warriors. No word was necessary at this point, each understood the other as well as they needed to, and the swordplay was all-consuming: Harmon was an expert swordsman and Kasmandre was drawing on every drop of energy from the Pulse. And the two seemed to be very evenly matched, neither gaining the upper hand.

 

And yet, Kasmandre could see that it would not always be so. With the Dark Gate opened, Nether energy was flowing freely across the both of them, strengthening Harmon, and draining strength from Kasmandre’s muscles. He would only survive this encounter by some drastic move.

 

And a second later, Kasmandre saw his opening. As Harmon dodged a slash of Kasmandre’s blade, he tripped over a rock jutting out of the ground. Kasmandre took the opportunity, dropping his sword and letting the magic that held the sword blade in place fall. He then gathered all his strength, and all of the Pulse that he could handle, until the pleasure of its power became a pain, and unleashed it all in a stream of white fire at Harmon, striking him in the chest and face.

 

Harmon lay there, unmoving, and Kasmandre believed that the battle was won. But then, Harmon drew a shaky breath and stood, wavering. He raised his sword and took a step toward Kasmandre.

 

“You think you can defeat me so easily?” Harmon rasped, his face a bloody mess of blisters and gore, “I cannot be defeated. I was given great power by the Dark Lord, through his servant. And I grow more powerful still. One day, I will rise up and take the Throne of Darkness from Satan. I am the only one worthy to sit at the right hand of the Dark Lord. I am the most powerful mage in three thousand years!”

 

“The most powerful mage in three thousand years?” Kasmandre said, picking his blade, now reverted back to the ivory blade of Cassandra’s dagger, “Do you realize why that’s only ‘in three thousand years’ and not ‘most powerful ever?’”

 

Harmon said nothing, he just glared and raised his blade to strike Kasmandre down.

 

Kasmandre smiled coolly, “No answer? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I’ve been dead for three thousand years.”

 

And he punctuated this statement by driving Cassandra’s dagger into Harmon’s chest. The dagger cleaved aside the black steel mail easily, and drove deep into the flesh beneath.

 

Harmon dropped his sword, staring at the dagger with a look of disbelief, “But he said…” And then he fell into the dirt still whispering and muttering to himself, in his death throes. And as he lay there, a flight of all sorts of flying insects alighted on his body and began burrowing into the wounds on Harmon’s chest and face.

 

“See you in Hell,” Kasmandre quipped, turning away from his defeated foe. He then stepped forward toward the Dark Gate and his destiny.

 

Chapter XXVIII: Into the Darkness

 

As Kasmandre took his first step toward the Dark Gate, there was a great noise in the air above him, and a light, like a shooting star, fell to the earth beside him. It was Tramaleon.

 

The Light Power was battered and beaten and the blazing reds and whites swirling on his robe were fading and becoming less distinct. Kasmandre knelt down beside his fallen comrade. Tramaleon reached out a hand, trying to push Kasmandre back to his feet, but he was too weak.

 

“You must go,” Tramaleon whispered, “Whether I live or die now is unimportant. All that matters is destroying the Nexus. If you fail in that, we will all perish.”

 

“But…” Kasmandre began, but he was interrupted by the sound of a great weight landing. He looked up to see the Darkened Man alight on the island, before the Dark Gate. He turned around and, with a wave of a pale hand, sent black fire rushing across the wooden bridge that spanned the lake of fire, destroying it utterly. He then disappeared through the Gate.

 

Kasmandre stood up and surveyed the damage, and his situation. There was no way for him to cross the lake of lava. Not really having any plan, he took the Holy Grail from his belt and held it in his hand, hoping for inspiration.

 

Then he realized that he could feel energy, magic of all kinds, buried within the Grail. Magic gathered from Archmagi over the millennia, as well as magic gathered before Lucifer gave his damning gift. Elemental magic among it.

 

Kasmandre drew on the magic, attempted to pull out some of the earth magic inside. A small amount came, then a larger amount, then a flood. Kasmandre struggled to control the flood of energy, drawing earth across the precipice, creating a land bridge.

 

Stoppering off the flow with a considerable effort, Kasmandre ran across the bridge, Grail in one hand, dagger in the other. Hesitating for just an instant before the Gate, Kasmandre plunged through into the darkness beyond.

 

 

Chapter XXIX: For Life, For Love

 

As Kasmandre stepped through the Dark Gate, his senses were instantly assaulted by a barrage of sensations, all evil and reminiscent of death and decay. The entire Nexus seemed to be composed of hate and rot. All around him was a huge cavern, the black walls pulsing and moving, as if unspeakable insects crawled beneath. The sound of screams and cries for mercy echoed in his ears and the air around him felt stale and stank of rotted bodies and piles of feces of unspeakable creatures.

 

And yet it called to a part of him. Deep down inside Kasmandre, there still existed the Wretched One, the horrible creature who had murdered his on true love and then brought pain and torture down on countless generations of innocent people. And it felt like it had just come home.

 

Fighting his own darker nature, Kasmandre stepped deeper into the Nexus, walking carefully and wary of everything around him. Walking along the walls, he noticed strange windows set deep in the black mess. Looking into the nearest one, he saw a shaded and foggy view of a beautiful plain, a family of deer walking peacefully and unafraid. He stepped to the next and saw a great city, with people walking around, milling about like so many ants.

 

And then he understood what he was looking at. In each of the windows was an image of a world that the Darkened Man and his evil master would have access to if they were allowed to succeed. Although the deer and city-folk were blissfully unaware, their lives, and possibly their very souls, lay in his hands.

 

Steeling himself against thoughts of failure, Kasmandre searched along the walls for a way out of the cavern. At the end opposite the Dark Gate was the entrance to a narrow tunnel. At the far end of the tunnel, a dark, malevolent light shone. Kasmandre walked through, putting the Grail in his belt behind him and holding his dagger at the ready.

 

When he emerged on the other side, he found what he was looking for, the epicenter of the Dark Nexus. It was a great crystal, glowing with unimaginable evil energy. Standing before it, with his back to Kasmandre, was the Darkened Man. He was chanting in some language that sounded more like the snarling of some great beast than actual words. His chanting was getting louder and faster and fiercer as he reached his climax and the unleashing of power on Diventeth. Power that would destroy anything good and right.

 

Stepping into the dim and flickering light, Kasmandre said to the Darkened Man in a snarl, "You destroyed the one person I will ever love. And now, you choose to destroy the world where I was born, the world I love? This is too much; this is too far. You will be stopped now."

 

The Darkened Man, showing little surprise at Kasmandre's entrance, replied coolly, "I will be stopped? By whom? Surely not you. You remember the last few times we fought. I came out the victor each time."

 

"Yes, but that was when I was at the behest of the same power that rules you. Now a serve a different power, and a higher."

 

"A higher power? Do you know nothing of the being you serve? Aeternal Light is nothing but a memory for all it matters. He stays up in his ivory Tower, looking down at us all, neither lifting a finger to help nor hinder anyone. Not you, not I, move him enough to act. But if you insist in continuing in this foolishness, draw the power of your new beliefs. See if it will aid you."

 

Kasmandre reached for the power, reaching through the calm, through the Rose, for the Pulse. But nothing was there. There was a void, a nothingness, where the Pulse usually ran. Shocked, Kasmandre reached for it again, and again, with no better result.

 

"What, no fire from heaven to aid you?" the Darkened Man chuckled, "No legions of Angels and Dominions to fly to your aid? I would have thought that you would realize that the Light doesn't penetrate this darkness. Not even the cold gaze of Aeternal Light will comfort you as you die."

 

At the last of his words, Kasmandre's throat closed shut, as if he was being strangled by a beast with iron hands. He slowly lifted off the ground, tearing at his throat with one hand and slashing vainly at his aggressor with the dagger he held in the other. The world around him began to go dark, and it seemed that all existence had been reduced to the sound of the Darkened Man's insane laughter.

 

And then the pressure ceased and Kasmandre fell to the ground, gasping in the stale air. He looked up and saw what broke the Darkened Man's concentration. Harmon's blade was buried, hilt deep in his breast. Kasmandre looked to the other end of the room and saw Aran, burnt and bruised, standing at the tunnel entrance from where he had thrown the blade.

 

"Just thought you'd like that back, seeing as your lapdog is dead," he said, grinning, "Now let's see if you fare better against the two of us than he did." Aran raised his spear and stood ready.

 

"I won't have to," the Darkened Man replied, and with a flick of his wrist, Aran went flying across the room, coming to rest before one of the strange windows. Then he removed the sword from his chest and heaved it back toward the entrance.

 

"And now..." he continued, grabbing Kasmandre from where he was now standing shakily, and heaving him against the epicenter, crushing the hand that held Cassandra’s dagger in one of his own. Kasmandre could feel the massive amount of energy flowing behind him. And something was digging into his back. And it was heating up.

 

“What did you expect to accomplish, running in here like that?” the Darkened Man was ranting, “You can’t destroy the Gate once it has been opened, and to attempt to defeat me is pure folly. Are you just really that stupid, Wretched One?”

 

Kasmandre suddenly remembered what was digging into his back, the Holy Grail! And it was lying right against the epicenter of the Nexus. Then he realized why it was gaining heat, it was absorbing the energy flowing through the crystal. And this flow was far more than anything channeled by a mere Archmage or elementist, this was the personal power source of a creature just a hair less powerful than a god. No matter to what extremes the Grail could absorb power, it would reach its limit before to long.

 

And then…

 

And then the Nexus would be destroyed, and the danger would pass, Kasmandre said to himself, anything else is unimportant. But the Darkened Man could not be allowed to discover the Grail, Kasmandre would have to distract him.

 

“Don’t call me Wretched One, you bloated sack of rotting goo.”

 

“Ah, so he still has a little fight in him, let’s see you fight this.” And pain wracked all the way down the arm that the Darkened Man held. It felt as if his arm was being torn to shreds, but Kasmandre gritted his teeth and refused to scream. Seeing Kasmandre’s resolve, the Darkened Man redoubled the power forcing its way down the arm. The pain now wracked through all of Kasmandre’s body, but he still refused to reward the Darkened Man with a scream. Instead, he smiled.

 

He smiled because the power was going through his body and adding itself to the cache already gathering in the Grail. The Darkened Man was enraged beyond all belief at this show of impudence, and increased the power to the point where, scream or no, the sheer volume of energy traveling through Kasmandre’s body would soon kill him.

 

Kasmandre’s sight exploded into colors at this new level of pain, but the smile only widened: the Grail was beginning to vibrate.

 

A high pitched whine met Kasmandre’s ears and he felt his muscles tearing themselves apart. In his shattering mind, Kasmandre bid a fond adieu to the world he had known.

 

Out of his cracked lips came a whisper, "Cassandra, I love you."

 

Then, the whine was pierced by a huge explosion, and Kasmandre’s vision cleared just long enough to see one of the windows speed towards him and shatter.

 

And then everything went black.

 

Epilogue: On the Horizon

 

Jor’ann dragged his body up the slope. Below him laid the still twitching form of the Daemon, finally defeated.

 

Reaching the summit, he saw the Dark Gate in all its horrible glory. He also saw a lone figure clawing its way across the land bridge that crossed the lake of fire. Running to catch it, he caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared through the Gate, black armor, pierced and smoking, and above it, a head burnt even worse than the armor, unspeakable insects of all descriptions crawled in and out of flaps of flesh. Only a glimpse did he get before the once-mighty Harmon Eldarod disappeared into the Gate.

 

Jor’ann followed hoping that he was not too late to offer what aid he could. But no sooner did he set foot on the land bridge, than the Dark Gate erupted in a swirling of heat and energy. Jor’ann threw himself on the ground, avoiding the brunt of the punishment, but still taking a degree of hurt from the destruction.

 

When the wave had finished passing over his head, he heard a groaning near him. After ascertaining that he wasn’t just listening to his own hurt, he looked up to see Tramaleon trying to stand. Hurrying to his feet, Jor’ann aided the Power, who now seemed as weak as the old man he resembled.

 

“What happened?” Jor’ann asked, “Did we win?”

 

Tramaleon was slow to answer as he gained his own equilibrium. Still leaning on Jor’ann for support, he looked down at where the lake of fire had been just moments before. Now in its place was a massive emptiness, a blackness so complete and so lacking in color or reflection that it seemed a being unto itself.

 

Raising his eyes to gaze into the east, where there had once existed a land known as the Valley of the Sun, where sunrise was just beginning to peek over the horizon, Tramaleon spoke, his voice grave and rasping, “Yes, we won. But we may yet lose everything.”

 

And Jor’ann’s gaze was drawn back into the pit that seemed to have its own life, and deep down he shivered.

Edited June 13, 2003 by Kasmandre