Hybras

N'zall's demons, along with Qwan and his warlocks, arrived at Hybras after a few days of hard marching. The island was relatively large, covered with thick forests and wild fields, and dominated by a large mountain near its center. The whole place stood out amidst the endless expanse of the ocean, a dark mass on the horizon that broke the seamless image of undulating waters and cast an air of mystery over it instead; it had always been an isolated place, distant from all others and shrouded in secrecy. The demons were a protective race, and very distrustful of others. It made sense that their homeland be so difficult to reach.

After crossing the mile of ocean that separated the island from the mainland, the exhausted group of demons stepped onto the motherland, onto the earth they were willing to die for, and from there proceeded into the settlement that dominated part of the island. They were welcomed by the rest of demonkind, who were glad to see their warriors return. Such joy, however, was quickly drowned by the realization that victory had not been achieved, and that N'zall's force was all that were left of the thousands that had left to fight in the war. It made the others bitter and angry, filling them with sorrow and hatred alike—the former for their kin, the latter for the humans who had slain them. And as their warlike culture dictated, the demons were very quick to make known their resolve to fight. N'zall had a hand in it of course, going about making a ruckus and demanding that everyone remain true to their forefathers. He was strong and intimidating, and these qualities made him hard to resist. The demon people, so filled with uncertainty by the recent events, were quick to follow his example. They believed that they could succeed through strength alone, and N'zall could lead them in such an endeavor. They were a determined, passionate people, full of love for their homeland and their independence. Very few of them even considered Frond's course of action to go belowground; in fact, none of them gave it as much thought as they would an insignificant breeze. Instead they took up arms—male and female, young and old, able and sick—and began to make preparations for the humans.

Qwan had watched all of this without saying or doing much. Despite Frond's belief in his influence within the demon community, the elder warlock was barely listened to. This was partially due to the fact that N'zall spread his biased account of the battle all over, marking Qwan as a coward and even a traitor to his own kin. There were perhaps a few elders amongst the demons who were sympathetic to Qwan's opinions on the matter, but not a lot could be done to sway the masses or the other powerful figures that had fallen under N'zall's bloodthirsty spell.

And so, biding his time, the warlock watched the rest of his kind prepare for battle, and he had to admit that he was impressed. They were by far the most motivated and determined bunch he had ever seen, willing to do anything to protect their homes. Everyone did their part, no matter who they were, and in only a few days Hybras was as ready as it could be. The shores were guarded by sturdy fortifications and traps to ensnare landing forces, and hidden beneath the water in the shallows were spikes and stones to shatter the wooden undersides of the human ships. Further inland stretched an impressive series of defenses, all occupying strategic locations like ridges, hills, and bridges. Trenches, pitfalls, and other traps protected these key areas, and in every possible nook and cranny were hidden caches of weapons and gear for the defenders. On top of all this was the demon artillery. Hundreds of catapults were positioned in batteries of at least three around the island, armed with a variety of ammunition to suit varying tactical situations. The heaviest concentration of this equipment was near the shoreline, organized to provide interlocking fire and grant no respite to any inbound landing vessels. It was a very mighty show of defensive power.

While the defenses were being built, the rest of the demons worked on preparing for a siege. Fields were harvested and forests were scoured for food, and all of the resulting goods were taken to the center of the island, where the walled settlement could protect it. Other materials, like wood, stone, metal, and leather, were stockpiled for use, and everyone, rich and poor, gave what they could to bolster the effort.

Finally there came the fighting force itself. With N'zall's remaining troops only numbering at four hundred, there was a great need for recruitment. The island's population was just under twenty thousand, and of that number roughly ten-thousand demons could be deemed combat effective—effective meaning capable of holding a sword and shield. The rest were still armed, just in case. They were determined, but hopelessly green, and there was little time to train them. Still, everyone did what they could, and soon Hybras was geared up for war.

A day passed after this, intense and silent as everyone waited about for any sign of the humans. No signs came, and the scouts sent out in swift boats returned with no news about any humans at all. It would appear that Sargon's army was not marching on them, or at least had not arrived yet. This allowed for the demons to take a break, albeit an anxious one, but they were fully prepared for action by nightfall. The evening passed, as did midnight and early morning, and nothing happened. No one came, not a soul, and the only sound was that of the wind and the rolling ocean. Another day progressed in the same way after that, and further anticipation of an imminent human invasion dissipated. Scouts began to report signs of fighting to the north on the mainland, where Frond had retreated. They reported seeing smoke and hearing the distant cacophony of clashing metal and shouts. It made most think that Sargon had gone after Frond instead of them, though even still they remained vigilant.

Everything changed the following day. It started with the sudden upsurge in sickness in the general population; tiredness, vomiting, and delirium. Qwan had spearheaded an investigation into the matter, and had found that the island's main water stores had been tainted by a wide range of contaminants, ranging from drowned rats and decaying fish to dissolves poisons. The demons tasked with guarding the stores had been killed in the night, their bodies hidden in clever ways. It was clear that humans had managed to infiltrate the island, despite all of its defenses. This group of humans made its presence known not too long after, this time in the torching of the grain and produce stores. The fires had been huge, and even Qwan could not put them out in time to save most of the goods. However, this time they caught the perpetrators. It was a small group of ten human warriors, dressed in camouflaging attire and lightly armed, and despite the fact that they were not meant to engage in direct combat, they put up an impressive fight to the death, taking thirty demons with them and wounding another twenty. It was clear that they had been handpicked for the job, not only for their skill but also their willingness to die for their cause.

With this crisis in recent memory, the entire island became highly alert. Patrols were tripled and the warlocks were tasked with helping seek out infiltrators. They found nothing. A few days passed without incident, but with their depleted water stores and dwindling food, the demons were forced to ration everything.

At the end of the second week, after fourteen days of tension and waiting, the attack finally came. It started in the dark of night, when many of the demons were resting. It was a moonless night, and the air was filled with a howling wind, downing out all other sounds and obscuring everything that could not be revealed by torchlight. The sea beyond became a black void, and the waters, roiling and loud, roared like a beast. It was such a dreary night that most thought it impossible for anyone to reach the shore alive, and so many of the defenders too heart in this and took the time to wait out the storm in their fortifications. How terribly mistaken they were.

A group of the most elite warriors General Sargon had under his command was the first to set foot on Hybras. They used small boats to travel two-thirds of the way to the island, using the torchlight of the defenders as a guide, and from there swam through the undulating waters. They wore nothing at all, instead dragging their gear behind them in buoyant packs while they swam, and their skin was painted black to help them blend with the dark surface of the sea. There were maybe a hundred of them, dispersed into groups of ten.

Their purpose was twofold. They would start by reaching the shoreline, where the suitable landing spots were located. From there they would locate as many traps and submerged barriers they could, and mark them with makeshift buoys. Once they had completed this, they proceeded under the cover of darkness into the more rocky sections of the shore, using cliffs and rocks to bypass the main ring of defenses. Upon these cliffs they established pathways, setting spikes and lowering ladders, all without light. Everything they did was under time, and they did so flawlessly, just in time for when the next wave of veteran troops swam to the shore. Using the ladders, all of them—some five hundred—climbed the cliffs and bypassed the beachheads. From there they raced into the darkness, seeking out the lights of the many campfires that the demon defenders had made. They targeted the patrols first, killing them swiftly, and with the howling wind no one could hear whatever sounds they made. Then they proceeded towards the coastal artillery defenses, finding the batteries lightly guarded. Again, they killed whatever demons they crossed, and then they sabotaged the machinery, making it useless. There were some that they could not reach, but that was acceptable. After all, this was only a secondary goal.

With the dawn fast approaching, the humans spread throughout the island and took up positions in whatever hidden places they could find, all while killing whatever vulnerable demons they could. Some of the elite human squads made their way to the center of the island, using the forests for cover. They reached the main settlement with only a few minor incidents, and from there they advanced in small, efficient groups. Their targets were many, and their intent as simple as the slashing of a knife.


Qwan awoke to the terrible feeling that something was wrong—a sensation deep within that screamed its dark premonitions into his thoughts and shattered his rest. He sat up quickly, so overwhelmed by the feeling that he momentarily forget where he was. Then he glanced about, noting the roar of the wind against the walls and the ominous chill that hung in the air. His room was dark, impenetrably so, and there was no movement—not that any motion could be seen anyway. The warlock quickly used his magic to enhance his vision, and found no problems with his surroundings. Content that he was safe for the moment, he took a calming breath and threw on his cloak, all the while eyeing the door with distrust. The sensation within him kept getting worse, and it warned him of impending danger. He did not need to imagine what that meant.

Cursing under his breath, Qwan started towards the door. He did not get halfway before it slowly opened, as silently as death in sleep, to reveal a number of looming shadows beyond. They were silent and still for a moment, and it was evident that they could not see Qwan in the pitch darkness. There was a grating of metal as a sword was drawn from its scabbard, and a whisper from one of the shadows, and then, all of the sudden, a candle was lit. Its little flame, upright like a dagger and blazing fiercely against the blackness, cast an orange light over everything, revealing both parties and leaving twisted shadows stretched everywhere. The massive shadows, which were humans dressed in dark clothing, were surprised to see Qwan standing a few meters from them. Qwan, on the other hand, was not taken off guard. Before the human assassins could bring their weapons to bear, the warlock struck them with a spell, sending them flying backwards into the wall with such force that they the wall exploded and the men were killed on impact. A great noise filled the air as a result, and it served to raise the alarm to all those still asleep. However, it also made whatever humans there were left act swiftly and without any caution. Qwan could hear struggles erupt throughout the quarters—cries, grunts, and clashes of steel—and his senses told him it was not just an isolated event. It was happening all over Hybras.

Qwan cursed himself as he ran through the hallway. How could he have been so stupid?! Of course he humans would make their move on a night like this! Of course they would find a way! And now, if his dark thoughts were correct, they had infiltrated the island and were carrying out attacks on all of the demons' strategic points. Dammit, why did he and his warlocks decide to rest that night? They had been exhausted from other work, and from healing the sick, but had they been attentive they would have detected the intruders and sounded the alarm before the blood started running! Now it was too late. Too late!

A group of assassins appeared in front of him, wielding swords and daggers. They were in the process of slaughtering a group of waking demons, but then Qwan appeared, magic blazing and eyes filled with anger. He tore them apart with a single spell, sending their heads bouncing down the corridor like watermelons. He only stopped to ensure that the demons would live—those that had not been killed already—before making his way further. He had to make sure that his fellow warlocks were alright. If even one of them perished he would never forgive himself.

He found his other warlocks rather unexpectedly—or, to put is bluntly , they found him. Upon encountering another group of humans, Qwan became locked in a violent struggle, this time because they had jumped him from one of the doors and almost sunk their blades into him. He backpedaled and avoided a deadly stab, and then brought his magic to bear. He began speaking the words of old to bring forth a spell, but before he could do so the humans before him were struck by something from behind, and fell dead at his feet. All of his fellow warlocks were there in the gloom of the hallway, and the foremost of them—the one who had cast the spell—was Qwan's latest apprentice, Qweffor. He was a younger warlock, and had youthful features, but in the shadow and under great stress he looked to have a lot more years under his belt. The warlock stepped towards Qwan, minding the bodies.

"Qwan, thank the gods you are alright!" Qweffor said.

"I was about to say the same thing," Qwan replied honestly, nodding to the others as well.

"What's going on?" his apprentice asked anxiously. "How did the humans get here unnoticed?"

"Our own error, I'm afraid," Qwan said grimly.

Qweffor looked about as the sound of distant shouts and clashing steel echoed down the hall. His brow was furrowed with anger and uncertainty alike. "What shall we do?"

Qwan was already walking down the hallway towards the sounds of fighting. He glanced over his shoulder, meanwhile channeling his magic through his hands to keep it at the ready. "Whatever we can, my friends. Come, they need our help."

The fighting raged well into the morning, with teams of skilled human warriors appearing out of nowhere in multiple locations and setting upon the defenders with merciless efficiency. Fires dotted the island where the attackers set buildings and supply depots ablaze, and in the night it appeared like outbursts of devilish light in a starless void in space. Hybras became a cauldron of chaos for hours, with many of its inhabitants having no idea where to focus their efforts—the human squads appeared from all directions, randomly and with startling speed. In the hours that it took for dawn to come, hundreds of demons were killed and many more wounded, and many of their fortifications and artillery batteries were burned beyond use. Nevertheless, the demons fought ferociously in the dark, and with the help of the warlocks they managed to repel their assaults again and again, until the human forces retreated to the corners of the island. Many demons gave chase, but it was a foolish act. Dawn had come, and there was an even greater threat on the horizon.

With the coming of dawn came a ghostly fog over the sea, one that obscured everything but the crimson morning sky. The sound of the ocean drifted from the otherworldly haze, its waters hidden and speaking to the island like an imperceptible ghost whispering to the living. No one could hear anything but that distant, invisible noise, and for the defenders waiting on the beaches with weapons ready, it was like gazing into another world—a world of the dead, a realm of shadow and fleeting glimpses of the greatest horrors.

The sun rose ponderously from the distance, changing from a glow behind the fog into a blazing orb as it rose above it. With its heat bearing down upon the world, the fog was slowly banished like an evil being from the underworld, dragged into oblivion by the brilliant rays of light from the heavens. And as the fog faded, the sea became visible, its undulating surface taking shape and its endless noise given form. Through this falling veil of vapor, appearing one by one as distance became observable, were the unmistakable hulks of human ships. Their number grew and grew as the haze fell away, from dozens to hundreds, until they dotted the sea up to the horizon. From all directions they came, and they were close at hand. Their passage had been executed under the cover of night, and by the fog they had closed the distance between them and the island. Their sales caught the heavy winds, and their bows tore through the waves, casting spray into the air that glittered in the morning light. And upon them, far brighter and far more frequent, glinted the metal of arms and armor—of men prepared for battle.

For the demons defending the shoreline, it was a dreadful sight. But despite its frightful reality, the demons found courage in their devotion to their homeland, and sounded the alarm for all to hear. Bells rang, drums rolled, and shouts filled the air. Thousands of armed demons rushed to the fortifications and manned the beachheads, intent on stopping the human advance there. The catapults that had not been damaged were loaded and aimed at the approaching fleet, which was just out of range.

N'zall Bludyn, the de-facto leader of the demon people, was among the first on the western shoreline. He wore his spiked armor and bore his best sword, and his face was twisted by a constant look of hatred and bloodlust. He rallied his kin, and when the humans were within range, gave the order to begin the battle.

The catapults unleashed their heavy ammunition upon the large human transports. The large projectiles splashed into the sea and cast up giant spires of water, and the ships that they managed to hit were broken apart like twigs, and their passengers sent to their watery graves in their heavy armor. But there were too many ships, and far too few artillery pieces. In minutes the human fleet had gained ground on all shores, reaching the shallows where the traps were laid. Everyone expected the humans to ram into the unseen obstacles, but the vessels veered smartly around each one, as if they were marked—and they were. Only a handful accidentally got stuck on the obstacles, and even then the men just disembarked to wade through the water. The rest of the ships rammed into the shore, beaching themselves so that the men could enter the fray quickly. And they did, by the thousands.

The battle became a terrible struggle once the humans reached the shore. The demons opened fire with bows and spears from their fortifications, mowing down many of the charging men, and the humans responded in the same way, riddling the defenses with arrows and javelins. Once the humans had amassed enough men on the beaches, they used shields to proceed towards the defenders, marching steadily in boxlike formations. The demons hammered them with arrows to no avail, and the catapults were too busy with the other ships. The humans got close to the fortifications, and then surged forward in a devastating charge. Any gap, any weakness in the defenses, they found and poured through. The demons, led by the insane N'zall, opted to charge rather than wait. And so, with a deafening clash, the armies conducted the madness of total war.

The battle raged for hours, back and forth across the beaches and the lowlands after. The dead covered the earth, and blood stained the white sand until it was almost completely crimson. Smoke filled the air from burning barricades and ignited artillery batteries, and as it rose to the heavens, the vultures high above came in closer to smell their upcoming feast. The only reason the demons held on for so long was because Qwan and his warlocks had spread out to cover as much shoreline as possible; otherwise, the scattered and poorly-trained demons would have been overwhelmed on the first wave. But even with the help of magic, they could not hold the shoreline. The humans overran the fortifications, and the remaining humans that had infiltrated the night before suddenly appeared in larger groups behind the demon line, adding to the chaos.

Qwan and his warlocks did their best to hold the humans back, but their numbers were too great, and the warlocks' strength had been drained from the sleepless night of fighting. They were forced to pull back, as were the demons.

The outer tenth of the island was under human control by noon, and the humans, having gained the shoreline, were amassing for another push. A hundred-thousand men were staging along the shoreline, rearming and preparing for another battle. The demons, on the other hand, had lost half their number, and almost all of their experienced veterans. Their supplies were low and their militia was disorganized, and when compared to the human legions gathering in all directions, it was no contest. It was a dire situation. Qwan knew this more than anyone, and unlike most of the demons, he accepted it for what it was. He did not sugarcoat it either when N'zall and Hybras' elders met to decide their option for defense.

"We cannot hold back the human assault," he said firmly, his words springing from his calculated thoughts on the matter. "We are outnumbered greatly, surrounded, and are running low on the supplies necessary to fight a battle against such a force. If we fight them, if we try to keep Hybras, demonkind will be massacred!"

The warlock's urgent words were countered by N'zall's intimidating growl of a voice.

"Hybras is all we have! We will not abandon it! Besides…" He paused, tilting his head a little to the side and grinning wickedly. "What could you possibly do to change the circumstances? Apart from running away of course."

Qwan frowned a little, his face creased by his anxiety and the sheer volume of thoughts that were rushing through his head. Ever since he had landed on the island he had been considering methods to save not only its residents, but its land as well. He knew without a doubt, based on his observations of the tenacious demon people over the last few days, that they would never abandon Hybras. They would fight to the death, down to every last one of them, but they would never relinquish their homeland to the humans. And the humans, they would never stop trying to take it. As long as a glimmer of fairy resistance remained on the surface, humanity would remain united and continue its brutal campaigns. No matter how hard the demons fought, they would never be able to win such a war. One way or another, Hybras would fall, and the demons would be no more.

For this precise reason Qwan had made a number of plans within the confines of his mind. Most were ridiculous, improbable, and outright insane, but one among them rung true in its method and hypothesis, and represented a viable alternative to fighting a losing battle. With that plan in mind, Qwan faced N'zall and the elders with outward confidence—and inner dread for the possible consequences of what he planned to do. After leaving a great pause in the air, and eyeing all of them, he spoke his complex thoughts in the simplest way possible.

"I propose that we move Hybras to a place where no one can touch it."

Everyone stared at him, and then N'zall almost laughed.

"Move it?" the demon said through a grin. "Are you insane? It's impossible you fool!"

"I am sane, and it is possible," Qwan retorted. "It's a simple matter of lifting Hybras out of time itself. Remove it from the present world completely, temporally isolate it."

"And that can be done with a high probability of success?" one of the elders asked.

Qwan nodded. "With six warlocks alone it would be impossible. However, we have another source of power that will do the rest…" He paused, and gestured towards the mountain in the distance. The volcano had been dormant for hundreds of years, but recently it had shown signs of activity. Lava flowed just beneath its surface, and smoke escaped from many spots, rising to the sky in dark trails that cast shadows over the land. Qwan knew that there was a lot of latent magic there as well, for magic flowed through the earth and gathered in places such as it. He could harness it with a proper spell ring, and with its power he could lift Hybras out of time.

"With the volcano amplifying out magic," he continued, "we will be able to accomplish it. And it will be an effective solution. We keep Hybras—our land, our homes, our heritage—and we also keep our lives. No other option will give us both."

There were murmurs and nods from the elders, and the general opinion—with a few exceptions—was in favor of the warlock's proposal. As this became evident, N'zall, who had been watching with great animosity, burst out in a fit of frustration.

"You can't actually be considering what this cowardly shit is proposing?!" he growled, his words hissing through clenched teeth. "That we flee? That we abandon this world? Keeping Hybras will be nothing but an artificial victory if we leave this world behind!" His hand rested on his blade, its pommel still coated with dried blood. "And to let the humans win, that is the worst thing of all! Any true demon would fight!"

"You are full of zeal, N'zall," one of the elders said calmly. "However, the zeal that makes you strong also clouds your mind. We must think of a future for all out people, and that future must not be one of constant war. Qwan has given us the only way."

"To hell with that!" the demon retorted.

The elders ignored the demon, their previous faith in him gone now that they knew the full extent of the crisis. They looked to Qwan, and gave him their consent. And so it was done.

"You fools!" N'zall declared, pointing at them with a clawed finger. "You are all fools!" He gave Qwan a venomous glare, and then turned around. He stormed away, calling his officers to his side and giving them marching orders. "We will continue to fight the humans. They are coming, and we shall meet them." His hand was constantly touching the pommel of his sword, itching to draw it and kill, but he still had the presence of mind to look somewhat professional before the elders. "I will not stand by and do nothing while these idiots play with their magic!"

Qwan and the others watched him leave, but once he was gone they began their work. The warlocks had to be gathered, and the spell ring planted. Time was needed, and with the human amassing in the distance, there was very little of it.


And so, after many years of fighting and terrible struggle, Qwan found himself at the end of it, the final leg of an impossible journey. It took him to the mountain of Hybras, so fitting in its looming monstrosity and importance, like the culmination of his years of hard work as a protector of the People. With its billowing smoke and glow of barely restrained magma, the mountain shadowed all like doom personified. The day had passed, and the night was coming. A brilliant sunset blazed on the horizon, painting the whole world an ominous red, and it coupled perfectly with the smoke rising from the volcano and the battlefield that ringed the island itself. On top of the mountain Qwan stood, looking out over the island of Hybras, high above and detached like a god observing its constructions, a witness to the madness of creation. The air was hot and filled with the stench of sulfur, and a great wind blew overhead. On that wind carried the sounds of battle, distant yet pressing, and they played out of sync with the nearly imperceptible shapes of humans and demons waging war in the fields and valleys. The battle was raging fiercely, the humans having made their advance, and every second that passed further drained the lives of demons and the land they held. Observing it all from above, Qwan felt like he was witnessing the end of the world. It was an apocalypse of their own creation.

"All is ready, Qwan," a voice spoke from behind.

It was Qweffor, his apprentice. Besides them there were five more warlocks, gathered in a circle just before the edge of the mountain's crater. Lava and fire churned in the pit not too far away, bubbling from the vents beneath, and the heat was nearly unbearable. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Qwan nodded and tore himself away from the frightful view, his attention switching to the spell ring that had been constructed. Indeed, all was ready.

"Then let us begin, my friends," he said over the wind.

They all joined in the ring, seven warlocks of great power and skill, their knowledge and strength combined and coupled with the latent magic in the volcano. They linked hands, creating a seamless channel of magic, and began without any hesitation. Magic immediately began to glow around them, flowing from them like vapor and swirling through the air like a fine mist. It crackled and shined, brilliant and pure, and as it grew and grew Qwan's mind focused on the spell that they were to cast. He calmed his mind, banished his fears, and assumed a serenity that was the perfection of a grandmaster of the arcane. His features, previously contorted with determination, relaxed and went still, and his eyes, glowing bright with magic, closed.

It was time. Now was the time to put an end to it all—to the killing, to the fear, to the sorrow, to the chaos, and to the incredible madness that had torn their lives. With that firm conviction in his heart, Qwan began the incantation for the time-stop spell. The words of power echoed unnaturally in the open air, and boomed with godlike loudness. The other warlocks joined in, one by one, adding their own voices to the flowing, wondrous work of magic. Together they filled the air with the ancient words, which reverberated throughout the island like thunder, making all those who were upon it stop and look to the hellish spire that loomed in the distance. And as the words were spoken, the ring beneath them shined red, and the magic in the air moved to an incomprehensible tune. The earth shook, and the volcano itself trembled like a beast of rage, the magma in its center roiling and spitting as if hell itself waited just beneath. Power—incredible, immense power—flowed from the earth, harnessed by the warlocks, captured by the might of knowledge and concentration.

After several minutes of this process, which grew and grew in intensity, Qwan led the warlocks in channeling the magic throughout the island itself. It shot out from their circle, rising to the sky like a beacon, and after rising hundreds of feet it exploded in all directions. The bluish energy filled the sky, offsetting the crimson glow of the sunset and brightening the world. It flowed down in all directions, like water dispersing over a dome, and once it reached the ground it flashed blindingly. What resulted was magical dome over most of Hybras, slicing into the earth and going deep underground until it was a full sphere to encompass it. This force came directly between the humans and the demons, cutting the former off from the rest of the island. This meant that not all of Hybras was going to be taken, but to take the whole island meant bringing the human legions with it, which was not a good idea. Instead it slammed down before them blocking their way and forcing them back. The human legions, stopped in their advance, suddenly wavered and fell back, terrified of the might of magic. Qwan noted this with satisfaction. With the humans pushed back, they would not be harmed by the spell, and could return to their lands. Qwan wanted this, needed it, because he could not bear the act of war anymore. He was finished with it all, with the killing and the violence. The war was going to end, and both sides could return to their lives. It was for the best.

The next stage began right after this, marked by a crack in the air and a sudden solidification of the magical barrier. The time-stop spell was beginning, like a clock winding up, and with it Hybras would be protected by temporal distortion, hidden in the depths of time. It was at this moment that Qwan felt the finality settle in. Up until that point he had been completely focused on his work, and had not given thought to other matters. Now they came to him, in the image of Aldreda and her daughter. He realized then and there that he may never see the latter again—that he would never be able to fulfill his promise to Aldreda. It almost shattered his concentration, but he gathered himself and swatted the matter aside, bitterly focusing on completing the spell. One thing at a time…One thing at a time…

The spell reached its peak a minute later. With a sudden outburst of more magic, the spell sent a wave of light over the land, and filled with air with an invisible force that made all sound mute. For Qwan and his warlocks, it was a nearly overwhelming moment, the power rushing through them so much that they nearly broke under it. But they held on, remaining in their circle, linked to each other in mind, body, and soul. The world around them was unnoticeable to them, their concentration on the spell alone. They did not notice anything, not even the two shadows that were rushing up the mountainside to the east. In ignorance they sat, absorbed by magic and intricate calculation.

Through the noiseless chaos appeared those two shadows, over the edge of the mountain and onto the plateau where the warlocks sat. They were two demons, armed and filled with fury. Their eyes, wide with zealous intent, locked on the warlocks, and they started towards them in a run. N'zall was the first one, and Bludwin, a devout colleague of his, was the second. With their mouths agape in a deadly roar against the magic that surrounded them, they charged at the spell ring, weapons glinting. They had to stop the spell, no matter the cost; their dark hearts and bloodthirsty minds wanted nothing else.

When the two demons were nearly upon the defenseless warlocks, another burst of magic exploded through the air. The whole mountain shook, and cracks formed in the rock, hissing gas and fire and casting up globules of magma. The two demons lost their footing at that moment, and it was a decisive moment at that. Bludwin stumbled forward and fell on his face, and from there rolled into the mouth of the volcano, falling to his death. N'zall, losing his footing and tumbling towards the same fate, made an unsuccessful jab with his blade, and then, through sheer willpower alone, managed to change his trajectory and slam right into Qweffor, who was to Qwan's right. The demon commander and the warlock apprentice were torn away from the ring, and together they fell into the depths of the volcano. At the same time, the spell reached its end, and it was broken at such a critical moment. The air changed, and the magic went mad. Fire and energy roared into the air, and in the distance, near the edges of the sphere, the land began to disappear into a dark void.

Qwan had witnessed all of this with great horror, and at the last moment he realized what had happened. N'zall had broken the spell ring, and now the spell was not only taking Hybras out of time, but out of its dimension. It was not what he had intended—it was a nearly permanent result instead of an easily reversible one. This filled him with dread, but he had no time to dwell on it. The spell ring reacted violently, exploding outward in a shower of rock and energy, and the circle of warlocks was sent flying. They were carried by magic and throw so high that they struck the wall of the barrier. And they passed through it, spat out by the magic as if they were not worthy of being in its presence. All of this happened in a split-second, lightning fast and merciless, and all Qwan could consider was their survival. They would soon be torn apart by the residual effects of the spoiled spell, ripped between two dimensions and utterly destroyed. He could only think of one thing to do to anchor them to the real world. With his hand still on one of the other warlocks, and the others doing the same, he brought his remaining magic to bear and chanted a single spell—the gargoyle's touch. It would turn them to stone, and thereby make them into a permanent fixture of the real world, and cut them from Hybras completely. It was a terrible thing to have to do, but there was no other way.

The spell worked swiftly, starting at their extremities and working its way in. Flesh and attire turned into stone, from many colors to a uniform grey, and in that broken circle they froze, forever. For Qwan it was a very slow process, for in that final moment time seemed to stop, as if giving him a moment to look back on everything and wonder. In that moment of respite, as he flew over the ocean and turned to lifeless stone, he remembered Aldreda. He remembered her clearly, so vividly! And in his mind's eye she looked to him to keep their promise. She trusted him, believed in him more than anyone, and had put her greatest treasure, her dear Elaine, under his care. That had been her last wish, her last hope, and it had meant everything to her. And now, despite everything, it would be left unfinished. As Qwan felt his heart turn to stone, he felt the chill of sorrow and the pain of regret. It lanced through him faster than the spell, and tore at his mind with unbearable grief. How he wished it could have been different! How he yearned for another way! But it was set in stone, literally, and all other ways were closed. His life and Elaine's were set apart, their fates on different paths, and nothing could change that now. It was as unassailable as the workings of the stars, and as certain as the voyage from life to death.

"I am sorry," Qwan whispered, tears filling his eyes. "Forgive me, Aldreda…" A tear fell, and on his face it froze into stone, and his eyes, glinting with the tears of sorrow and regret, became an empty and cold façade of rock.

His last thought was that he would never see them again; that fate, in its cruel way, would separate them forever. But little did he know that it was not over. It would not be for thousands of years, but in time he would see that Aldreda's legacy had carried on through Elaine—through a courageous and strong child who grew up to be like her mother. Elaine would pass, but the next generation would come, followed by another and another subsequently. Qwan did not know it then, but he would see that future manifestation of her blood, and most certainly of her courageous heart. He would see it in an elf who would become a great friend and ally, one who would save the People as her ancestor had, one who would do incredible things and change the world for the better by the courage of her heart and the might of her spirit. He would meet Aldreda again in an elf named Holly Short.

The circle of warlocks fell from the crimson sky, and plunged into the roiling waters of the ocean, where they would remain for many centuries. As they sank into the blackness of the sea, into its cold embrace, the whole world seemed to flash a brilliant white. And then, after that glorious blaze, the island of Hybras was gone.


And so it all came to an end, in chaos and vanishing, like the final burst of light from a wavering flame; like the final glimmer of life in a dying heart. The People, the great race that had held the world in its hand for centuries, was gone, giving rise to the dominance of mankind. All that had been theirs, all that they had bled for and believed as their descendants' inheritance, was theirs no more. They were departed from that world, and all that they abandoned fell to the humans. No longer did the fairy walk the lands. No longer did their ways pervade creation.

Ages would pass in their absence, and with them the People, all of their ways and their marks upon the earth, would be forgotten, passed into myth and legend. They would become tales and rumors, shadows of what they really were, distorted and untrue.

Their great civilization was no more, with its passing crumbling all of its creations, all of its wonder, all of its glory, and all of its beauty. It would return to the earth from which it came, buried by time, just like all constructs of power and control, all doomed to fall apart in a final display of chaos and destruction. And upon their ruins would rise and fall the empires of mankind, which would follow the very same fate, leaving only bones and artifacts as proof that they ever existed. Such was the fate of all things. Such was the fragility of creation.

Yet despite their absence, the People would live on, surviving beneath the surface by the strength of their hearts and the determination of their collective spirit. They would struggle against the workings of fate, against their terrible allotment, all in an effort to regain a shred of their former dignity. Many hundreds of years would pass, and in time they would become a great people once again, risen from the ashes of their past. And with their rise came the age-old question that never lost its relevance—whether history would repeat itself. The People were ever on a knife's edge, and a tip in the wrong direction would mark a turning point into the very same madness that had nearly destroyed them. Would they fall into it once more? Would they destroy and be destroyed as they had done in the past? The humans were above, and they below, and the time would come when they would meet again. It was fated, as certain as the coming of dawn, and as terrible a truth as the coming of death. Indeed, time had a way of making things come full-circle.

Humanity would have grown as well, but so would its hubris and insanity. The People would see no good in the humans, no redeeming qualities, and they would lament the destruction of the world at their hands. They would remain hidden, reticent, and distrustful of their conquerors. They would hate the humans, just as they had in the past, and fear them just as that past had taught them to. But all things changed, even the hearts of the shallow mud men, and perhaps goodness was always there, hidden behind the deceptive layer of a species' terrible acts. How easy it was to judge a whole race by its past. How simple it was for the wronged to hate.

But despite all their hate, and all that had happened in the past, the future would see a twist of fate that was all but impossible; an occurrence that, by the most infinitesimal of odds, would see a miracle that would defy all the voices of the past, all of the nightmares. Humanity and fairykind would meet once more, on the land they had shared ages ago, but this time it would be different. Instead of hatred, fear, and ignorance, there would be kindness, goodness, and understanding. There would be a common ground. There would be friendship. This miracle, this unparalleled wonder, would transpire in the most unlikely of places, and between the most opposite of souls, such a stroke of impossible genius that even the stars would be moved to awe. Instead of a clashing of blades, there would be a joining of hearts, and a joining of effort, a unification by trial that would make man and fairy companions. Indeed, despite everything, there would be trust between them, and even love.

No one would have ever foreseen it, not Qwan or Frond or all the scholars of fairy and man combined. The impossible would transpire, and it would change the world forever, not in blood and killing, but in courage and friendship. On a moonlit night, by an ancient oak at the bend of a river, it would begin anew; a new chapter in the story of these two separate races. All those thousands of years of separation brought them to that point in time, that place in the silent wonder of the night, and from that point onward things would change. The world would bear witness to the true potential of these people, the potential they only held together. It would be made clear as crystal, pure and wondrous, by the actions of two starkly opposite souls—a human and a fairy. After ages of darkness and generations of brokenness, the world would have a chance to be whole again. That chance, so unlikely and so precious, would come through two lives cast together and intertwined by the vicissitudes of fate. These two lives would accomplish what war never could. The lives of a brilliant young man and a courageous elf would undo it all.

~The End~


Author's Note:

I hope that you enjoyed this little story, you who read it. I hope that this rushed tale—my last contribution to this community—has been a source of entertainment. I guess it is fitting to end where it all began, right? Generic I know, but there is a sort of comfort in the familiar, a friendship with the conventional that many unconsciously bear. Anyway, that's it for me and Artemis Fowl. I had a lot of fun. I hope you did too, reader.

JohnCreel