Chapter One: Face of Darkness
The hooded woman was beautiful by any standards. Thin, well-rounded, and graceful, she appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her features sharp and, for lack of a simpler adjective, perfect. She wore a crimson mage's gown and a red cloak, complete with a hood. Her green eyes matched the outfit perfectly.
She strode through the streets of the dead city. Once upon a time, the city had existed in the time of Zaros, the deposed predecessor of Zamorak. Then Zaros's empire had crumbled…leaving this city to die in the Wilderness. Now, it was a necropolis…a city of the dead. All kinds of chaos and evil filth lurked the ruined streets of this place. It was Zamorak's city, now…the place where he resided. He hadn't left the place for years.
The conflicting sight of this stunningly beautiful woman striding through the streets of such a dead and evil place was…mind-boggling. So many nightmarish and dangerous creatures inhabited the necropolis, and many of these stared at the woman as she walked past, making harsh, guttural noises.
The woman did not seem the least bit afraid, though. That was because she wasn't. Her lips pursed in something resembling disgust as she passed a group of orks on the main street. She made no attempt to conceal her contempt for the vile creatures Zamorak used for cannon fodder. They barely qualified as life forms, some of them.
At least Humans, even though they were Saradominists, at least they were civilized. And clean; the smell of these animals almost made the woman cringe.
The hooded woman glanced up at the towering structure in the center of the necropolis. It was the Palace of Zamorak, where she had been summoned. It loomed at least a thousand feet high; a tall, dark spire of cold, forbidding black stone. The woman allowed herself a small smile. It had been so long since she had seen Him…
She stopped in her tracks as a low growl dragged her mind back to the present. The leader of orks she had passed by earlier stood in front of her, staring at her. Its friends all stood around her, pressing in threateningly. The ork's growl had been unmistakable; the creatures were known for their violent sexual tendencies.
Still, the woman showed no hint of fear. She gave a thin smile to the lead ork. "I find myself in a particularly magnanimous mood right now." And she was; getting summoned to see Zamorak had put her in a very good mood. But not a particularly merciful one. "So I shall offer you one chance to turn around and walk away. Use it wisely; me offering creatures like yourselves chances to continue your pathetic existence in this world rarely ever happens. Consider yourselves lucky."
The woman was not surprised when the ork simply laughed and stepped forward. It probably hadn't understood half of what the woman had said…well, either way; that wasn't her problem. It was about to become the ork's. The brutish ork seized her by the shoulders, roughly dragging her forward.
The woman looked up into the ork's face, and the creature hesitated for a moment when it saw nothing but malice in her green eyes. The woman's smile widened a fraction, but it was a cold smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "Mistake," she whispered.
The ork had only a moment to warble in confusion before the woman seized it by the throat. Her hands started to glow and the ork howled as a searing fire tore into its throat. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air as the ork's throat was completely burned through. The head fell to the cobblestones and rolled away while the rest of the body collapsed.
The woman whirled around and clapped her hands. The remaining seven orks all burst into flames. They howled in agony, running this way and that, but the flames quickly overpowered them. When the light and fire cleared away, all that was left were charred skeletons.
The woman paused only to smooth a wrinkle out of her cloak and got on her way once more.
The Palace was surrounded by a moat of lava, crossable only by a single bridge of dark stone that led up to the Palace's entrance. Another figure was waiting on the bridge. He was clad similarly to the woman, only his robes were all black instead of the woman's crimson. He, too, wore a hood over his head, but his face was not human. It was a skull with glowing red eyes.
"Enakhra," the figure in black exchanged nods with the woman.
"Zemouregal," the woman returned the greeting, joining the other Mahjarrat on the bridge and walking across towards the Palace. "Have you received the summons as well?"
Zemouregal growled in the affirmative. "It seems old Thammaron hasn't been quite as successful in the desert as Lord Zamorak had hoped…either way, something has him irked."
"Dear Azzanadra causing trouble down south, again, I presume?" Enakhra chuckled.
"He was helped by Humans," Zemouregal replied, prompting the woman to cock a surprised eyebrow. When Zarosians and Saradominists joined forces, you knew things were about to get interesting. "Specifically by that accursed Centralian Warmaster who has been such a thorn in our side…"
The two Mahjarrat made it to the other side of the bridge and stepped through the entrance gates of the Palace.
"Have you rethought my offer?" Zemouregal asked the female Mahjarrat as the pair walked down the entrance hall towards one of the great stairwells that led up to Zamorak's throne room.
"What do you think?" Enakhra rolled her eyes.
The male Mahjarrat gave a huff of frustration. "Palkeera is dead, Enakhra. You are the last female of our race; if you do not sire offspring with me, we shall go extinct! How many times must I-"
"If you haven't taken the hint that Zamorak is the only one whom I love by now, you are hopelessly dense," Enakhra snapped. "And you are not hopelessly dense, Zemouregal; I know you too well. So please, stop asking. I will not reproduce with you."
"Then you are a fool," Zemouregal sighed. "Zamorak will never reproduce with you, either."
Small motes of lightning ignited around the female Mahjarrat's knuckles as they climbed the stairs. "I would counsel you to choose your words more wisely in the future…you might have an unfortunate accident."
Zemouregal, who was not particularly receptive to thinly-veiled threats, considered retorting but decided against it in the end. He would not want to place bets on his skill against Enakhra's. The she-Mahjarrat was uncanny with the powers of the elements.
The two Mahjarrat fell silent as pushed through the entrance doors of Zamorak's throne room. The chamber itself was a long room. Red flagstones made up the floor, stretching back to a set of tiered steps that led up to a great black throne. The air seemed to grow colder as the Mahjarrat approached the throne, and the light of the torches seemed to dim.
"My lord Zamorak," Zemouregal dropped to a knee and bowed his head. Enakhra did likewise, prostrating herself before her lord and God.
The shadowy figure in the throne stirred and stood up. The shrouds of shadow fell away, revealing a tall, deathly pale man with sharp, cruel features, amber eyes, and two small horns protruding from his forehead. He was dressed in the customary red robes associated with his followers all over the land.
"Rise…" the Dark God's voice seemed to emanate throughout the throne room, the words felt as much as they were heard. "No doubt the two of you are wondering why I have called you here…"
Enakhra got back up to her feet, followed quickly by Zemouregal. Neither one of them said anything; a good rule of thumb when talking to Zamorak was to never speak unless he directly addressed you.
"The truth is, I have been getting nothing but bad news from the desert. That ignorant fool Azzanadra has destroyed my army in the desert, with the help of those damned Centralians."
"You wish us to punish-" Zemouregal started to say, but Zamorak silenced him with a sharp glare.
"Thammaron did succeed in breaking the Menaphite Empire; those pathetic sand-dwellers weren't much of a threat to begin with, and they are definitely not a threat any longer. I care nothing for that desert anymore. Centralia is the one thing standing between me and the rest of this world…"
"Give me an army," Zemouregal said. "Let me raise a horde, my lord. I shall sweep those Humans into the sea. Nothing will possibly be able to stand before our…"
Enakhra rolled her eyes, tapping her foot impatiently. And Zemouregal wondered why she never had any desire to reproduce with him. He had to be one of the few individuals she knew who managed to be both brutish and long-winded, two negative traits that rarely came hand-in-hand.
Zamorak interrupted the Mahjarrat once more, this time with a threat. "Speak out of turn one more time, Zemouregal, and I shall put a red-hot cinder in your stomach."
That shut Zemouregal up.
Zamorak continued to speak. "I am sending you east. You will take command of the hordes that I have in place to attack the Hallowlands. The elves and dwarves have retreated from this world and the Menaphite Empire has fallen. Once we destroy the Hallowlands, Centralia will suddenly find itself very much alone…then we shall gather all of our forces, and we shall destroy Saradomin's bastion. Even Entrana shall burn…"
The Dark God's voice quavered with pleasure as he pictured Saradomin's sacred island being torched with unholy fire. "Go, Zemouregal. Go to the staging grounds in the east. My armies await you there."
"It will be done, my lord," Zemouregal straightened up, pulled his hood back over his skull-head, and raised his arms. He then vanished in a block of strange indigo light, teleporting away, no doubt to those staging grounds where he would lead the invasion of the Hallowlands.
Enakhra did not move as Zamorak turned his attention to her. "You haven't said a single word, my dear," the Dark God observed, walking around Enakhra in a slow, contemplative circle.
"You haven't spoken to me, yet," Enakhra replied evenly. "Until now."
"At least you do not run your mouth like Zemouregal does. That can be rather irritating at times," Zamorak withdrew, gesturing for Enakhra to follow him back to his throne. The Dark God sat back down upon the black seat and rested back, regarding the female Mahjarrat with varying amounts of interest and curiosity. "You lied to me," the Dark God declared finally after a long silence.
Enakhra raised a surprised eyebrow. "I'm sorry?" she asked, not comprehending.
Zamorak snapped his fingers and a section of the floor instantly melted into molten lava. However, when Zamorak waved his hand over it, the bright yellow surface of the lava vanished, replaced by an image of an older Human on a magic carpet, along with a young boy. They appeared to be in the desert and flying forward at a goof speed.
The boy was unfamiliar to Enakhra. He was a thin specimen with deathly pale skin—unusual for a desert-dweller—coal-black hair, and a sprinkling of freckles across his eyes, nose, and cheeks. Enakhra then noticed his eyes; they were a shade of deep scarlet…most unusual for a human in general, let along a desert-dweller.
The older man was familiar to her, however. She had…run into him several times in the past. "Jerrod…" she whispered.
"You know this man?" Zamorak sounded interested.
"I'm surprised that you don't," Enakhra replied, leaning in for a closer look at the Cleric's face. Jerrod of Entrana was somewhat well-known among most followers of Zamorak…his skill with the elements combined with his swordsmanship had built him quite a reputation. "He is one of the main reasons we were not able to initiate our attacks on Centralia until very recently. He is actually responsible for the extinction of three werewolf clans. That man has been the biggest thorn in our side after Azzanadra."
"The man is a Human. I think you give him too much credit," the Dark God shrugged dismissively.
Enakhra shook her head. "He is not to be underestimated. A Human he may be, but he fights like a Mahjarrat. I have crossed paths with him before."
"Do you believe he will be too much for you to handle?" Zamorak leered. "Zemouregal, I'm sure, will be up to the task, should it become too...daunting…"
"No," Enakhra snapped. "The only reason he is still alive today is because he ran from me every time I crossed him. He has survived a lot more than most other Humans could…but he is still Human. I will break him."
"Good to hear," Zamorak took a deep breath and leaned forward, pointing at the image. "But my real concern is that boy. Do you know him?"
Enakhra glanced at the boy again, just to make sure she was sure that she had never seen him before. The she-Mahjarrat shook her head. "I do not."
Zamorak's pale face parted in a cold grin. "Think again. This image was taken from the memory of a vyrewatch vampyre named Rhellyhk, and based on accounts from many of my forces who destroyed Ullek, that boy destroyed a whole host of death knights with the Fifth Element."
"By himself?" Enakhra exclaimed, bewildered. "That is impossible."
"And yet that host of death knights remains dead," Zamorak countered. "It should be impossible…but it is not. I have seen from this vampyre's memory what that boy did to those death knights…and there is no longer any doubt. This boy is the one from the Prophecy I found on the Stone of Jas…the one who it is said will bring an end to the war…"
"And if the Cleric Jerrod is with him, that means he is under Saradomin's influence," Enakhra finished for the Dark God.
"He must be turned or destroyed," Zamorak declared. "This is your task, my dear. Go out into the world. Find the boy, capture him, and turn him…and if capturing him is impossible, then end him."
Enakhra gave a deep bow. "It will be done."
"Enakhra," Zamorak wasn't yet finished. "You do know who this 'boy' really is, do you not? You are aware that he is Mahjarrat?"
Enakhra nodded emotionlessly. "I am aware."
"Then you realize what that means?"
"I do."
Zamorak's light grin dropped, the Dark God no longer masking his true emotions. "I am sending you to capture, and possibly kill him, Enakhra," the Dark God reiterated. "I trust that, when the moment comes, you shall not...hesitate?"
Enakhra's green eyes flashed red for a moment. The she-Mahjarrat was irritated that Zamorak would doubt her resolve. "The boy serves Saradomin," she spat. "I look forward to that moment."
"Good..." the Dark God hissed, the shrouds of shadow beginning to obscure him once more. "Now, go...find him...go..."
Enakhra did not remain in that throne room another second. She turned on her heel and strode down the length of the throne room, heading down the flight of stone steps to the great entrance hall.
Once she left the palace, she stopped, taking a deep breath. She could teleport with ease, but she never enjoyed it, preferring other methods of travel instead. This time, though, it was the best option.
As she prepared to go, the only thing on her mind was the face of that infernal Saradominist mage, the one who had caused her so much trouble over the past years. He had eluded her every time she hunted him down...but this time, it would be different. This time, she did not intend to be led on another wild-goose chase.
She smiled as the indigo light bent the space around her. "I'm coming for you, Jerrod..." she whispered.
The last thing that went through her mind before she vanished was her destination. Though she did not know her prey's specific location, a generalization would have to do. She pictured the lush green plants and murky lakes of the Virid Swamp.
It was time to pay a visit to an old friend.