AN saw a variant once of the end of the Elric saga. thought it might be a good AU
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Sepiriz fading into the air, messenger of the gods of law, Moonglum's sacrifice, the final blast of the horn the great image of balancing scales, movement of a blade swinging with no hand wielding it!
stormbringer, and its brother mournblade, runeswords, ebonblades, darkblades, nightblades, demonblades they are called
betrayed well the betrayal was not unexpected, but how quickly it happened was feeing the blade that was my ally my protection my weapon my final betrayer
it slid into my chest, blood sliding over the blade its magics pulling the blood ad drinking it ito the demonblade runes so slow, should it not be happening faster?
ah the wrench, the claw grasping something inside the sensation of being eaten, even as the smug overconfidence radiates from the blade my energy ripped from me a feeling of taint, being purged, leaving my body, odd that thus ends the life of the last R'lin K'ren A'a, inhabitants of the dragon isle
my body stills on the dark gory ground of the final battlefield it use to be my home, Imrryr the beautiful, dreaming city of Melnlibone of the Dragon Isle, capital of the empire hubris, a small isle, some small cities, inbred magic using nobility ruled by my father, dying of the wasting disease given to him by ambitious rivals till I ascended the throne as emperor, last emperor to rule, end of a ten thousand year kingdom
Sadric, father, lying next to mother, her nameless to all, for Sadric had her name banished to avoid his own pain as he grieved in memory Cymoril's body not far off, i still smell her perfumes of her silks Moonglum's empty shell a few feet away, the horn of fate on his chest covering the wound of his sacrifice Zarozinia's empty shell also sliding past brought by the final magics, a parade of my errors perhaps?
Dyvim Tvar resting his final gaze watching with eyes closed Yyrkoon, prince, cousin, fool Dorel not far off cursing to the winds as he bleeds out
the blade pulling itself from the wound its betrayal created I watch with empty eyes at the forms above me, as blood ceases to flow from the heartstrike wound blade gliding above the ground, multiplying, dear dark gods, I would be praying to you if I had not ended your presence in this world the war is over, why so many thousands of the blades?
lord gods of law and chaos, hosts of dark and light fade back to reality angry at the summoning, the signature of the summoner echos from the shell in front of them, shocked that the summoner lies dead yet they were summoned, trying to leave they find their paths blocked then they notice the hanging blades I see their fear
Aaven'Kar s shuddering form rippling Arioch's insectile form leavering its bulk up only to be hewn down as blades rip into it Straasha's wave form brought to naught by the blade's strikes ices forming from the god's massive water body, only to be severed in titanic chunks each larger than the king's hall, crushing the isle under its lost bulk yes, the isle falls to ice, not in fire as it was thought, the great mages crafted wards vs fire forgetting the weight of ice, a foolish thought and waste
rippling blades, changing, almost growing, to somewhat humanoid forms ah, the demonblades are demons, how did they become blades, was it willing or were they forced?
they all fall, light, dark, law, chaos betrayal on a scale even those lords had not imagined
scattering the blades flock like birds, each group headed away from this corpse littered abattor the young kingdoms, the last thoughts of erlic, as he slowly loses his vision, it fading to black.
less than 4 minutes have passed from the sounding of the horn the last echoes of the demon's taunt, "farewell, friend. I was a thousand times more evil than thou!"
followed by dark laughter
as it flies to hunt as it's kin scatter, hunting fresh prey, becoming the new top predators though if one had lingered...
shortly as time passed, a form rose, cursing to himself, thinking of ways to shatter the blades or take their power for there is an old creed among those of the dragon isle "to hurt a liar, make his lies truth, in the fashion of the liar's own nightmares"
"Hmm, as to not give away the game too soon... I will be Soren Markov." the former Emperor mutters to himself.