Over twenty miles over the earth, five figures, each draped in black robes as they flew atop five brooms of finely crafted oak and ceder, flew out of a large green portal. Each held onto their brooms single-handedly, as they dived down towards the earth below. Occasionally, each of the members of this five person wing would throw their of hand behind them, unleashing a shot of bright red energy from the tips of their fingers. Though, if one were able to look close enough, they would find that they were not, in fact, throwing anything from their fingers themselves.
In there hands, carved of the finest woods imaginable, were wands. To this fact, it was clear what these five people were almost immediately—were Magicals!
From behind them, a horde of similar figures flew from the green void, though unlike their compatriots in the fore, they flew on pillars of black smoke. They, in turn, loosed green and silver bolts of light at those before them. The ones on the brooms stuck close together, each erecting a silver shield over the one next to them in case of a light getting too close, though they, oddly, moved out of the way for the green lights that flew towards them.
Hundreds of lights suddenly began to light up the night sky, most of which flying from the ones that had just vacated the portal. Explosions erupted around the group of five, the cloud powered foes were trying to break them apart, so they could not defend themselves. It was a futile attempt on their end, it would seem, as the group of five quickly took to returning fire and amassing larger shields for their compatriots.
If one were to get a better look at the black clad, cloud surfing, magicals that came form the portal, they would notice that each and every one of them were wearing a mask of silver that looked like a skull. There were those, though, that had real bone masks instead of silver... They were few and far between though. By appearance alone, anyone could tell that the black clads with masks were of a darker fashion than those that rode brooms.
As the downward spiral of green and red lights went, a lone pillar of pure darkness blew through the center of the Darkness. Its path corresponded, directly, with the leader of the fleeing broomsticks. It blew through its own number, ripped a few apart in its fury, and struck out like a lance. It zeroed in one them, like an arrow flying true, and ripped their rear most members apart.
Their screams filled the night as their bodies tore themselves apart inside the darkness. The last three broomsticks put on a burst of speed and tried to get away... But were unsuccessful. The darkness engulfed the left first. A sickly pale hand had reached out of its depths and latched onto the pour magicals head. With a sickening crunch, red, gray, and bloodied white, exploded out from its grasp.
The others shouted, abashed, and dived away. They lit up a large ball of light, which then exploded once they passed it, and were able to finally get away.
The hundreds of black clad figures, flying in smoke, surrounded their obvious master. Their forces, continuously bolster by the portal, swelled with each passing second. Tens of their brethren passed through it, each just as mysterious and dark as the last.
"My lord...," A raspy voiced man stated, with up most respect, as he knelt midair before the Pillar of Darkness. His face, hidden mostly by his bone mask, denoted him as one of his lords more favored soldiers. He knelt before the Pillar, right hand over his heart, left behind his back in a firm grasp of his wand.
"Hascal...," the Pillar hissed in an unknown language, "How is it...That a boy and his friends can get away from me... Time and time again?" He asked of his servant, none too pleased with the results of his foray into battle.
"It is a fault of our own, My lord...," The one named Hascal intones, "Had we slowed them for you, done as you asked of us, victory would have been yours, My lord..."
"Be as it may, Hascal, with the fault lying with our own... One should not take unto themselves the burden of loss...," The Pillar sighed back in its slick, unearthly language. A pale hand reached out of the darkness, once again, and took up residence upon the mans right shoulder. The man seized up, as if immobilized by some unseen force. He began to shake, his skin pale and clammy as his awaited his lords judgment.
"You have done me well Hascal... Given your life to serve me... I reward those, who have done so much... Know this Hascal... You have not failed this eve... It is thanks to your work, that we are even here... Your Reward... Is thus...," The Pillar hissed, its airy tone sent shivers down the collective spine of all those in hearing distance of their lord. "Power... Is yours...," He finished, just before a large black orb of pulsating darkness pooled before the head of Hascal, just inches form his face. It was about as big as a dodge-ball, and rolled with waves of hidden power.
To his utter horror, it began to funnel towards his mouth. On some hidden order, his mouth dropped open, permitting the entrance of the black miasma. It slowly slipped past his lips; it made him gag and choke as he tried to fight the feeling of something solid sliding down his throat.
"You will give birth... To unimaginable power, Hascal... And it will be yours... To command and use... As you see fit...," at that, the last of the black orb slid into him, only leaving behind small ships of blackish smoke that curled up from the sides of his mouth and out his nostrils.
"Thank you... My lord...," Hascal wheezed, his eyes, bulged from their sockets as they were, board into his masters own until the arm retreated back into its hole.
"Now go... Find me... The child... Of Riddles..."
At that, every single black cloaked figure shot of in a storm of black shadow and yells. The Emerald Green eyes of their leader, old as they were, shown brightly form within their hidden realm of darkness. The Pillar, of which he was, then disappeared. The shadow that it was seeped back into the earth, to await its pawn's return... And their news of his quarry.