Victor peered through grey eyes to the flat red door. The bustle and chaos of the city of doors whirled around him but did not touch him as he stood contemplating the danger behind that door.
To hell and back a hundred times. No force, no demon or no man, nothing can stop Doom. He knocked the door with three solid methodical thuds. His armor echoing against the city sounds surrounding him.
The slot eye slot opened and voice of refinement escaped the eye slit to find Doom's ear, "This is a private establishment. What is your business."
Doom lifted his left hand to eye level while gripping the Balor head by the horn. The Balor's dead eyes returned a glazed stare. The eye slit closed and the door opened.
*******************************************************
Sip, just a sip. The wine was the most exquisite in the multiverse, only gods could afford it. Others whoever tasted would simply be driven mad by its taste. Filling the soul with pleasure so great nothing else compared, it would compel the drinker to lose constraint and gulp. The body of less than a god would then be consumed and torn apart a welcome death would come for after the wine there was nothing left to lift for. The Merovingian continued to sip as his men showed Victor to his table.
"Drink?"
"Doom will not play games, you have property which is mine."
"Victor, so rushed. So Brash, so rushed. No no, This is your victory. You must celebrate, please drink."
"I require not your drink nor counsel." The glasses shook and the table cracked as Victor thrust the bound metallic book on the table. "A greater prize than you, or Ishmael could ever hope for, a greater treasure than can be found in all 9 hells. Worth more than the 30,000 souls surrendered for the one I crave."
"Yes, yes, the Seals. Guarded by the mighty Galan Savior of Osiris Himself. I grand prize yes, but Why would you think to trade them to me?"
"I vanquished the whelps you sent after Galan in your quest for it."
"Then you know I want them, but do you know why?"
"Your paltry plans are not Doom's concern."
"But they are." He sipped, "They certainly are. The one thing demons, men, gods and even Dooms have in common--They do as they must do. One event causing the next. One action giving purpose to the next action. You see it is the why, the reason, which gives us power. I know WHY you are here, yet you do not care why I want you here."
"You want the seals. Either for themselves or more likely to leverage with the gods for permission to keep your enterprise going after they have forbidden it. If that fails you will try to bargain with Asmodeous for sanctuary against Olympus."
The Frenchman leaned forward resting his elbows on the table and pressing his fingertips together loosely. "Victor, you see so much yet you are blind. It is because you do not understand the why that you have always been a puppet. Mephistopheles has held your mouther's soul since she sold it him to spare your life. A marvelous trade since it was he which infected you with the plague to start. Since that day you have hated him schemed against him, fought him..."
A refreshing sip as the Frenchman leans back in his chair, "obeyed and served him. You retrieved the seals for him because he told you to. You found he no longer possessed your mother, and so here you are, multiple plains away while your world dies bringing me something I didn't even ask for. Your why is to be a puppet.
Why trade for the seals? You already have them and so long as I hold your mother, I have you. You can not bargain for something I already own." Merv opened his arms wide resting them on the top of neighboring chairs, a bright smile marking his victory. He paused his smile only long enough to bring to goblet to his lips for another measured sip.
Victor reached across the table so powerfully the Merovingian thought he maybe reaching for him. But instead, he captured the wine goblet. He stood lifting it, cradling the stem between his fingers. He lifted the goblet like a king. He drank the entire goblet in one sustained swallow then crushed the goblet within the armor of his fist. "I do not care, for your game. Make the trade soul broker, before I decide I should not bargain for something I can take."
*************************************************************
Now with his drinking hand freed of its burden, the Merovingian reached into his perfectly tailored cloak and produced an abnormally large coin. He slid it across the table gently, "You have a deal, your mother's soul for the seals."
Doom grabbed up the coin in an instant and with a forceful turn; he took his exodus not once looking back.
Fool, DOOM does not fail, DOOM can not fail.
*************************************************************
The Frenchman smiled, Carry the danger out with you, and leave the true prize. Yes Victor do exactly as you must.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Galan's Pending Doom
He couldn't have been out for too long. A day, maybe a little more. He was not exactly sure the duration, but he was sure the world was different and would never be the same. Things which a week ago seemed eternal and unmovable were now shattered. Ultron had nearly slaughtered the whole earth, the Empress dead, and even the sacred Isle was losing its power.
Above all, his position, his calling, was to keep the seals safe. Entering the vault he could feel the holy aura weakening. The gods' power came from the faith of the mortals, Ultron inadvertently starved them, and now with the Saint attacking the Isle was not safe for the sacred seals. He rushed through the Temple of Light until he found them.
Tucking the seals under his arm he attempted to plane shift directly to Tyr's domain where safety was certain. He failed. The spell was cast, yet he did not move from where he stood. Perhaps, the traces of chaos magic held him despite the ritual, or perhaps with the weakened state of the Isle the shift was too far. The Grey Waste was a common intersection for planar travelers, peaceful and uninhabited it was close to everywhere. The sounds of clashing weapons and screaming warriors approached. He shifted.
The shift succeeded and Galan stood with his massive two handed holy sword drawn and at the ready. As far as eyes could see the landscape was the same waste high thin grey grass. Wind rustled the grass, its movement the only thing distinguishing it from the sky and dirt which wore the exact colorless shade.
It was not wind. The force struck with such velocity and heat that if not for years of battle the surprise would have landed him prone. Sharply and quickly he turned swinging his sword with his spin.
Sword struck steel of a azure hovering golemn, shapped like a man and glowing with azure light blinding compared to the grey emptiness which filled the space. The machine fired again, this time defenses up the Keeper felt nothing from the blast. Strike, strike strike. He ripped the machine to pieces which rested at Galan's feet. He watched color melt out of the blue metal. Something else was sliding through the grass.
He attempted to plane shift again and found his path blocked. Then sprang from the grasses came two disembodied spirit shrieking and slashing with their hands. The holy aura of the sword and his faith protected him from harm, as the two ghosts solidified into knife carrying thugs.
"I didn't expect to see you this far from Dragon. Merv must be on the move." Galan smiled as he held his ground. The Frenchmen's two assassins sprung at him again in physical form and regretted their decision. With an upward spin Galan's blade nearly cleaved one in half, following with a quick thrust he drove the second back over his own feet.
Blows were traded, and while Galan clearly held the advantage for the first time in years he felt the pain of battle. The spear of destiny which so valiantly protected him for years was gone. The pain served as a reminder he was vulnerable with out the spear and that defeat was possible. His moves became measured and cautious. Take nothing for granted.
Then a sharp pain enterred from his back. He jerked to see a cat creature attempting to retreat back ito the grass. He stabbed into the grass where he saw the cat go and using his god enhanced strength pulled up the weretiger dangling on the tip of his sword. The creature had the seals in his blood soaked hands. With a well measured snap, Galan shook the tiger from his blade and sliced the hands off at the wrists.
The Seals fell to the ground with a thunderous thud. Galan scooped them up in one hand as he turned to deflect the knife blow of his remaining assailant. The sword was unbalanced with only one hand but it was sufficent to block the blow, and even open his opponent to a spinning kick. The kick missed as the man turned ethereal for just a moment before solidifying and striking Galans throat with his knife.
As blood raced form his throat down his armor a new pain pierced his chest. Looking down he saw a spear of grey light impale and lift him off the ground. pain. Of greater concern was the the trail of grey light which carried the seals toward a dark cloaked figure about 50 yards away. Galan hurled his sword as the ghost assassin hitting his mark perfectly and destroying his foe.
He took a dagger from his belt and after just a second of calculation sent his racing toward the hooded man. The dagger strikes the man severing his fingers from his right hand and causing all the lights to cease. In one fluid move, Galan picks up his sword and sprints a straight line for the seals. The weretiger attempts to intercept but receives a palm strike for his troubles which sends him sprawling.
The hooded man sat on the ground cradling his crippled hand eyeing the seals which were no more than feet from him. "You disgust me." He spat as Galan as he lunged for his severed fingers. Galan swung a heavy level swing. The man scoffed, "You can not defeat Serpenthium." His mouth openned to laugh but no sound came out. A straight kick to the chest knocked Serpenthium's body back and caused his head to fall straight to the ground rolling forward passed the seals down the slope to be lost in the grass.
Galan watched the head roll and met eyes with another man striding toward him through the grass. This man ore a green cloak and cowl over shinny metalic armor. He war a mask forged of hellsteel with only small slots showing hate filled eyes. He was dragging something through the grass but Galan could not yet see it.
Galan shook his head as he realized his vision was blurred and body started to ache. He laid his hands on his throat to heal the wound, but the dizziness remained. Poison He gritted his teeth and used sheer will power to push back the effects.
The masked man spoke lifting Galan's trusted mount and friend, Anteleos, into the air over his head.
Galan spoke first, "Doom, I didn't take you for anyone's lackey especially the Merovingian. You want to tell me what is really going on here?" Doom responds, "My dear petulant child, I do not work for or with them. We simply want the same thing."
"I shall never surrender the seals, no matter the cost."
"Fool I know. I dare not insult you by offering a trade," Doom snapped the hippogriff's back by folding Anteloes him half over his head then casually tossed him to the side, "I do not trade for what I can take."
Lightning flew from gauntlet-ed hand.
Above all, his position, his calling, was to keep the seals safe. Entering the vault he could feel the holy aura weakening. The gods' power came from the faith of the mortals, Ultron inadvertently starved them, and now with the Saint attacking the Isle was not safe for the sacred seals. He rushed through the Temple of Light until he found them.
Tucking the seals under his arm he attempted to plane shift directly to Tyr's domain where safety was certain. He failed. The spell was cast, yet he did not move from where he stood. Perhaps, the traces of chaos magic held him despite the ritual, or perhaps with the weakened state of the Isle the shift was too far. The Grey Waste was a common intersection for planar travelers, peaceful and uninhabited it was close to everywhere. The sounds of clashing weapons and screaming warriors approached. He shifted.
The shift succeeded and Galan stood with his massive two handed holy sword drawn and at the ready. As far as eyes could see the landscape was the same waste high thin grey grass. Wind rustled the grass, its movement the only thing distinguishing it from the sky and dirt which wore the exact colorless shade.
It was not wind. The force struck with such velocity and heat that if not for years of battle the surprise would have landed him prone. Sharply and quickly he turned swinging his sword with his spin.
Sword struck steel of a azure hovering golemn, shapped like a man and glowing with azure light blinding compared to the grey emptiness which filled the space. The machine fired again, this time defenses up the Keeper felt nothing from the blast. Strike, strike strike. He ripped the machine to pieces which rested at Galan's feet. He watched color melt out of the blue metal. Something else was sliding through the grass.
He attempted to plane shift again and found his path blocked. Then sprang from the grasses came two disembodied spirit shrieking and slashing with their hands. The holy aura of the sword and his faith protected him from harm, as the two ghosts solidified into knife carrying thugs.
"I didn't expect to see you this far from Dragon. Merv must be on the move." Galan smiled as he held his ground. The Frenchmen's two assassins sprung at him again in physical form and regretted their decision. With an upward spin Galan's blade nearly cleaved one in half, following with a quick thrust he drove the second back over his own feet.
Blows were traded, and while Galan clearly held the advantage for the first time in years he felt the pain of battle. The spear of destiny which so valiantly protected him for years was gone. The pain served as a reminder he was vulnerable with out the spear and that defeat was possible. His moves became measured and cautious. Take nothing for granted.
Then a sharp pain enterred from his back. He jerked to see a cat creature attempting to retreat back ito the grass. He stabbed into the grass where he saw the cat go and using his god enhanced strength pulled up the weretiger dangling on the tip of his sword. The creature had the seals in his blood soaked hands. With a well measured snap, Galan shook the tiger from his blade and sliced the hands off at the wrists.
The Seals fell to the ground with a thunderous thud. Galan scooped them up in one hand as he turned to deflect the knife blow of his remaining assailant. The sword was unbalanced with only one hand but it was sufficent to block the blow, and even open his opponent to a spinning kick. The kick missed as the man turned ethereal for just a moment before solidifying and striking Galans throat with his knife.
As blood raced form his throat down his armor a new pain pierced his chest. Looking down he saw a spear of grey light impale and lift him off the ground. pain. Of greater concern was the the trail of grey light which carried the seals toward a dark cloaked figure about 50 yards away. Galan hurled his sword as the ghost assassin hitting his mark perfectly and destroying his foe.
He took a dagger from his belt and after just a second of calculation sent his racing toward the hooded man. The dagger strikes the man severing his fingers from his right hand and causing all the lights to cease. In one fluid move, Galan picks up his sword and sprints a straight line for the seals. The weretiger attempts to intercept but receives a palm strike for his troubles which sends him sprawling.
The hooded man sat on the ground cradling his crippled hand eyeing the seals which were no more than feet from him. "You disgust me." He spat as Galan as he lunged for his severed fingers. Galan swung a heavy level swing. The man scoffed, "You can not defeat Serpenthium." His mouth openned to laugh but no sound came out. A straight kick to the chest knocked Serpenthium's body back and caused his head to fall straight to the ground rolling forward passed the seals down the slope to be lost in the grass.
Galan watched the head roll and met eyes with another man striding toward him through the grass. This man ore a green cloak and cowl over shinny metalic armor. He war a mask forged of hellsteel with only small slots showing hate filled eyes. He was dragging something through the grass but Galan could not yet see it.
Galan shook his head as he realized his vision was blurred and body started to ache. He laid his hands on his throat to heal the wound, but the dizziness remained. Poison He gritted his teeth and used sheer will power to push back the effects.
The masked man spoke lifting Galan's trusted mount and friend, Anteleos, into the air over his head.
Galan spoke first, "Doom, I didn't take you for anyone's lackey especially the Merovingian. You want to tell me what is really going on here?" Doom responds, "My dear petulant child, I do not work for or with them. We simply want the same thing."
"I shall never surrender the seals, no matter the cost."
"Fool I know. I dare not insult you by offering a trade," Doom snapped the hippogriff's back by folding Anteloes him half over his head then casually tossed him to the side, "I do not trade for what I can take."
Lightning flew from gauntlet-ed hand.
Monday, June 29, 2015
Truth of Demons
The cold dark chamber sat silent, as it always did. Devoid of light, life, hope or joy it sat. Glaysa loved it here. The court of her father Asmodeus had a sense of totality. Cloaking herself in the invisibility offered by her father she stood in silence and stroked the pain this place granted her.
The chamber was no longer still and silent. Here at the bottom of the 9th layer of hell resting in the coils of Asmodeues true snake form, only things which were invited ever entered. Even for a loyal demon lord they could count few such invitations. Mephistopheles was invited today. The petty and jealous lord of the frozen 8th strode through the court. His presence was large and vast yet dwarved in this small space by the heavy weight of her fathers presence.
The lord of Cania sought this audience to bring judgement and punishment to a demon lord once loyal to him. The great lord of the flies, Rivenic, had betrayed Meph and stole the power of a now dead god mean for the lord of the 8th.
The rotting demon had also arrived. His twisted goat head held a confident snarl as an intoxicating black light emanated from him.
The room itself demanded silence, as though even the sounds of hoof prints upon the black obsidian floor were a betrayal. No light no sound just presence. Glaysa felt the ecstasy of torture stroke her blood. Her heart pound slowly with excitement until the room began to choke it out. slower and slower. Longer between beats, she thought the room may kill her and she longed for the pleasure of it.
"You have the posturing of petulant children." The room spoke and Glaysa felt the cold solidify in Mephistopheles' heart. "Speak child."
The lord of Cania spoke quickly, "Rivenic was suppose to serve me and guard the Oak tree. I would kill Corel and shake the pantheon. The power was to be mine as I consumed him. The lord of flies stole it from me and proved a failure, the Genevan's retook the tree. He has failed you my lord. Destroy him Destroy him now while I act to conceal from them our true plans. It is not yet too late."
The room spoke again, "It is you who is incapable. You were not strong enough to keep your servants loyal to you. You tempted them with irresistible power and act surprised when you fail. I will take Rivenic unto myself. This matter is closed. Return to your post, Doom must strike when summoned."
Fury and jealous rage swelled in the demon lord but only, "yes" was spoke. You don't get this far with out biting your tongue.
The room spoke again, voice from everywhere and no where, "Your power is considerable. You've proven yourself lord of the flies. You shall serve as my Daughters protector and envoy as she needs you. in some millennia you may serve me directly." The servant left.
Glaysa stepped out of the shadows and bathed in the darkness directly.
"Father, things are as you commanded. For centuries I was slave to the Tulani in order to steer him to the saint, so I could guide their crusade. A gentle hand and a careful whisper, using truth to spread lies. Mistrust has destroyed faith and the world has no salvation. I have corrupted the god's prophet and made him their enemy. The lost servants of the Dark One in desperation have proved the easiest to manipulate and their power is at your disposal, the Dark Empress strikes tomorrow covering our attack.
With the lull in the Blood war due to the false vegetas we have the time to strike, finally, once in eternity. Our mortal allies will redirect the comet thinking themselves heroes, and the Olympians will suffer from the only weapon powerful enough to destroy them -- their own power.
Cut off from faith and divided we will isolate the weak gods and do as was done with Corel. Their power will be yours, the blood war will be won. With all the lower planes to your charge, the gods power at your service and the Olympians cut from their faith strings, victory over the multiverse will be yours.
This is my offering to you. All is as you asked it to be. Reward me father."
Your reward
Darkness embraced her, stroked her, filled her, clenched her, suffocated her, tore at her flesh, shredded her soul. Only pain, only suffering, only death.
Slowly the darkness rebuilt her, condensed her, housed her, filled her, stroked her, and embraced her.
She lie on the floor laughing with ecstasy, her giggled moans and streams of screams filled the silence. She opened her eyes and extended her grin, she had a wedding party to attend.
The chamber was no longer still and silent. Here at the bottom of the 9th layer of hell resting in the coils of Asmodeues true snake form, only things which were invited ever entered. Even for a loyal demon lord they could count few such invitations. Mephistopheles was invited today. The petty and jealous lord of the frozen 8th strode through the court. His presence was large and vast yet dwarved in this small space by the heavy weight of her fathers presence.
The lord of Cania sought this audience to bring judgement and punishment to a demon lord once loyal to him. The great lord of the flies, Rivenic, had betrayed Meph and stole the power of a now dead god mean for the lord of the 8th.
The rotting demon had also arrived. His twisted goat head held a confident snarl as an intoxicating black light emanated from him.
The room itself demanded silence, as though even the sounds of hoof prints upon the black obsidian floor were a betrayal. No light no sound just presence. Glaysa felt the ecstasy of torture stroke her blood. Her heart pound slowly with excitement until the room began to choke it out. slower and slower. Longer between beats, she thought the room may kill her and she longed for the pleasure of it.
"You have the posturing of petulant children." The room spoke and Glaysa felt the cold solidify in Mephistopheles' heart. "Speak child."
The lord of Cania spoke quickly, "Rivenic was suppose to serve me and guard the Oak tree. I would kill Corel and shake the pantheon. The power was to be mine as I consumed him. The lord of flies stole it from me and proved a failure, the Genevan's retook the tree. He has failed you my lord. Destroy him Destroy him now while I act to conceal from them our true plans. It is not yet too late."
The room spoke again, "It is you who is incapable. You were not strong enough to keep your servants loyal to you. You tempted them with irresistible power and act surprised when you fail. I will take Rivenic unto myself. This matter is closed. Return to your post, Doom must strike when summoned."
Fury and jealous rage swelled in the demon lord but only, "yes" was spoke. You don't get this far with out biting your tongue.
The room spoke again, voice from everywhere and no where, "Your power is considerable. You've proven yourself lord of the flies. You shall serve as my Daughters protector and envoy as she needs you. in some millennia you may serve me directly." The servant left.
Glaysa stepped out of the shadows and bathed in the darkness directly.
"Father, things are as you commanded. For centuries I was slave to the Tulani in order to steer him to the saint, so I could guide their crusade. A gentle hand and a careful whisper, using truth to spread lies. Mistrust has destroyed faith and the world has no salvation. I have corrupted the god's prophet and made him their enemy. The lost servants of the Dark One in desperation have proved the easiest to manipulate and their power is at your disposal, the Dark Empress strikes tomorrow covering our attack.
With the lull in the Blood war due to the false vegetas we have the time to strike, finally, once in eternity. Our mortal allies will redirect the comet thinking themselves heroes, and the Olympians will suffer from the only weapon powerful enough to destroy them -- their own power.
Cut off from faith and divided we will isolate the weak gods and do as was done with Corel. Their power will be yours, the blood war will be won. With all the lower planes to your charge, the gods power at your service and the Olympians cut from their faith strings, victory over the multiverse will be yours.
This is my offering to you. All is as you asked it to be. Reward me father."
Your reward
Darkness embraced her, stroked her, filled her, clenched her, suffocated her, tore at her flesh, shredded her soul. Only pain, only suffering, only death.
Slowly the darkness rebuilt her, condensed her, housed her, filled her, stroked her, and embraced her.
She lie on the floor laughing with ecstasy, her giggled moans and streams of screams filled the silence. She opened her eyes and extended her grin, she had a wedding party to attend.
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