Monday, September 29, 2008
first short story! woot!
The wind howled, as though in fury, whipping up massive clouds of dust around the massive crystal spire, blocking out the view for miles around – not that there was anything to see anyway. Long ago, the land around the crystal spire had been drained dry of its life energies to feed the dark ambitions of the demon lord that resided within. All that remained now was a barren wasteland, with nary a tree or living creature, watched over by an unforgiving and unfeeling crimson sky. Ebony clouds swirled ceaselessly, forming a terrible eye whose gaze seemed to pierce through all who had the gall to look upon it. On occasion, a bolt of black lightning would lance down from the boiling heavens, striking the crystal spire and illuminating the rock with an unearthly glow.
For years the demon lord had reigned supreme in this land, slowly gathering his powers for an assault on the other denizens of the planet, dreaming of the day when all would bow to him in deference, or otherwise in preparation for their heads to be torn off. And then the time came when he unleashed his full might and army upon the world, and it seemed to many that soon they would be answering to a new lord.
However...
“Time and again you have stood in my way,” The great demon lord rumbled, rearing to his full height, “Time and again you have foiled my most carefully-laid plans.” He stretched his four massive arms wide, and roared his fury, clenching fists that had put an end to many who sought to depose him.
“Then your plans weren’t very carefully planned, then.” A man grunted, kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. Sweat trickled down his face, down from his jet-black hair, past his shockingly blue eyes. As the droplets of sweat approached his chin, they mixed with the blood from his many injuries, splattering on the smooth, obsidian floor. The demon lord began to laugh, a terrible, cold laugh, one that seemed to rise up from the very bowels of the abyss.
“You are a fool, Tyren the Lightbringer. I admit that you have done well, getting this far...” An orb of swirling dark energies slowly took form in one of his palms. “But... Hope is lost. The kingdoms that you fight so desperately for are on the verge of being destroyed by my armies. None of your precious comrades are here with you – they are either already dead by the hands of my minions, or aiding the failing war effort. Soon, the world will bow to me. Tell me, Lightbringer. What hope is there?” With a mighty roar, the demon lord flung the orb at Tyren, who barely managed to deflect it with his blade. The chamber trembled as the orb crashed into one of the walls with a great explosion.
“Why do you continue to fight?”
“You speak of lost hope,” Tyren growled, getting to his feet, “Hope is always present in the hearts of all those who keep fighting. Hopes for their loved ones, for the world, and for the future. You speak of the armies of light losing. The last I recall, your armies were the ones being beaten back.” He spat out a mouthful of blood, and straightened himself. His azure eyes glowing with power, Tyren lifted his blade, holding it before him.
“You speak of my friends not being here with me,” He brought his sword down in a swift arc, and the demon lord grunted in surprise as a shockwave sent him stumbling backwards. “You’re wrong.”
“My friends are here with me. As they have always been!” The blade began to shine with a fierce, overwhelming white light, and through the light, squinting, the demon lord thought he could make out the silhouettes of people standing around Tyren. Roaring in anger, he charged at the hero, using one hand to shield his eyes against the blinding light.
“You speak of the world bowing to your will. This world, the very planet itself, continues to fight you!” With a savage yell, Tyren brought his sword up in a sweeping slash, and the chamber was immediately illuminated by a burst of holy energy. Screaming as holy fire coursed through his body, purifying his cursed flesh and setting his black blood aflame, the demon lord crumpled to the floor, and slowly faded away into nothingness. And around Tyren, the chamber began to collapse, the life energies it had drained over the course of many years ebbing out. Smiling tiredly, Tyren sank to the floor, his blade clattering next to him.
“Finally, it’s over...” He muttered, closing his eyes, as the debris surrounded him...
~ 10 years later ~
“The land is healing.” A man smiled, examining a flower on the ground. Rising to his feet, he looked around at the vast green plains, lined with rows of vibrant flowers, resting beneath a clear blue sky and white clouds.
“Hoy! Tyren!” Tyren turned around, and his smile widened into a grin as he spotted his friends approaching on horseback.
“At last, we can start anew.”
~FIN
Lips twisted into a wry smirk as the man shut the comic book, not without a tiny, wistful sigh. Adding it to the stack of books he had piled up next to him, he turned to reach for another, but found that he had run out.
“Heh. Guess I had to run out sometime.” Years of solitude had led to him picking up the habit of talking to himself, to hear the sound of a human voice, and to keep himself from going insane. Rising from the dusty red armchair, he brushed the dirt off the seat of his trousers, and stretched. Abandoning the large stack of books, he made his way to the window, looking outside.
Much like the drawings in the comic book, the sky was a boiling blood-red, although without the clouds. His smirk turned into a grimace as a shadow detached itself from that of a nearby ruined building, revealing a man in rags. The man stumbled around on the cracked pavement, coughing violently, blood splattering the ground – not that it mattered, everything was a damned hue of red under the blasted sky anyway – and finally, after a few moments, he slumped to his knees, taking great gulping breaths before finally succumbing to death. The man sighed, but otherwise directed his attention elsewhere – he had seen too much death in his lifetime, it didn’t affect him anymore.
He didn’t know why he bothered looking around. It was all the same; the same as it had been since as long as he could remember. Ruined, blackened buildings as far as the eye could see, trees that had not seen the birth of new leaves in years, patches of burnt grass, and the sky, that goddamn sky, with its goddamn sun, casting that red light all over the place. Everywhere, people dying, and wretched creatures (he didn’t even know what they were) crawling around. How had this happened? He didn’t even know, all he knew was that somewhere, at some point in time, the world had gone to being the hell that it was today.
Turning away from the window, he turned to face the library he had recently discovered. Much to his surprise, when he came upon the building, it had been largely intact. Whatever disaster had destroyed most of the world had apparently not affected the library much. Sheltering in the library for the night, he found himself glued to the armchair in the day, reading books that told stories of a time that had long been forgotten by the world. Of a time when love (he glanced briefly at the stack of books) had meaning, when heroes would step up to save humanity from destruction, when comradeship was something people could relate with.
He laughed derisively.
What heroes were there now? Clearly, nobody had saved the world – if this was some hero’s twisted idea of saving the world, then he would very much like to meet that hero... and kill him. This was no world to live in, he wanted a world much like the one depicted at the end of the comic – peaceful, filled with friends, life, and a blue sky.
What love was there in this world? Comradeship? He didn’t even know who his parents were – for as long as he could remember, he had been alone, surviving on whatever scraps he could find. The only person he had come close to calling a friend was dead. Once, he had been told by that friend, “only in times like these do we see true comradeship.” And how he had believed that, staying with that community, thinking that perhaps, he could find some semblance of peace and friendship with these people.
A week later, his friend was lying dead in a pool of his own blood, a look of surprise and anger permanently etched upon his features, having been set upon by his own companions when food supplies ran low. As for himself, he had barely escaped with his life and sanity intact.
Since that day, he had been wandering the lands alone, armed only with the weapons he had managed to steal from the mutinous bastards before making his escape. As to why he wandered the lands, even he did not know. He had no aim, no purpose. He had considered before, many times, ending his own life, but each time he brought the gun to his head, he found that he lacked the courage to pull the trigger. Self-loathing was his constant companion, one that he had long ago learned to live with.
But still, as of late, he found himself dreaming of living in the time of which the books spoke so glowingly about.
“... I’m pathetic.” He whispered, smiling sadly, looking at the yellowed piece of paper on which he had been writing for the past few days. With a sigh, he put the pen gingerly upon the table, then grabbed his belt, hanging off the side of the armchair, and fastened it. Reaching for his guns, he checked to see if they were loaded, and then peered inside his backpack to see how many spare bullets he had left.
“Not too shabby.” He chuckled to himself. “Should last me a while.”
Wrapping his travelling cloak tightly around his body and securing the guns, he took one final, lingering look at the paper, then with a heavy sigh, turned around and left the library.
These books here speak of a time now long forgotten to us all. Of a time when heroes existed, when the world was at peace, of a time when love and friendship still held water.
Did such a time really exist? I cannot answer that, I was born in this new age – the age of death and decay. An age where people are willing to throw everything aside for the sake of self-preservation, an age where death is preferable to life.
Love, friendship, comradeship, peace... all these are things I have never experienced in my life thus far, nor do I expect to ever experience them before this wretched world, and its wretched people, consume me. I have no illusions about my life ahead of me – such a thing does not exist. In time to come, I will simply be one of the many victims of whatever disaster that brought the world to its knees.
... Still, it’s nice to dream.
I leave these books, and this note, here, in the hopes that when you, whoever you may be, read this...
The world knows love once more.
Revival!
Well, I've finally gotten around to reviving this blog. :D I'll be using it mostly to post whatever short stories I'm inspired to write, and occasionally to rant about life. =p
