III. No Use resisting
Claude attempted to hold the gaze of the man before him, but that one single blue eye, cold as winter's heart, bored through his skull, into his mind, his very soul. "Do you wonder why I do this?" the man rumbled gently, his voice just as cold as his one terrible eye. "Yes, you do. They all do. Because they don't understand. And they never will. You common worms crawling in the dust will never understand the meaning of true greatness."
Claude clenched his teeth. Yes, what was it this man wanted, he and all those others? And what did he and his colleagues have to do with this? The guesses he and Serge had ventured had not provided the satisfying answer he truly craved for. He only hoped that the other three had found a way out, and that they would bring about his cruel captor's downfall.
He did not hope for his own life. Not anymore.
"It seems you have guessed something", the man continued impassively. "Yes, I can see it inside you. You are easy to read, like all the others of the common kind. You cannot even fight me. Those of a worthier blood, my kin, can, yet even their struggles are useless in the end. I am the Leader of the Lost Ones, the Master of the Fateless, and the King of the Catacombs."
A fitting kingdom, Claude thought, for a man so sinister that he seemed to have sprung from a dark myth. But this still did not answer any of his questions.
"The time will come when the world will see that in the end, none will withstand me. No power in this world."
He is mad, thought the stage carpenter, he is clearly mad. But he was not going to just stand before him as if paralyzed with fear, even if his back was against the wall and the man's cold eye was just inches from his own, filling his entire vision, so it seemed. As long as he was still on his feet, he would stand straight and tall, even if his ankle was throbbing and keeping himself upright was an effort, and he would not grovel for a madman. "When you are so great and mighty", Claude said, forcing his voice to remain calm, "why do you need the Phantom so desperately, then?"
At first it seemed that his captor was not going to answer. But then, at last, he replied, softly and distantly, "There is an old legend, as old as mankind itself. For at the time when mankind arose, there lived yet another kind, of which mankind is but a dim reflection. Their splendour and glory is still remembered in the tales of the Age of Gold. But this blessed age was ended. Many stories, many myths tell of the end of the Old Order, when the Bearer of the Light claimed the Ever-Burning Flame his own, of the War of the Powers, which then began, the great war which tore the world asunder, and of how the Bearer of the Light was defeated in the end and cast down into the Abyss, where he chose darkness to make it his own."
"The Bearer of the Light?" Claude could have laughed. "You must mean Lucifer. I know that story. He and his companions were all sent to Hell."
"There are many stories", the one-eyed villain replied cryptically, "and many names. And not all those who rebelled were bound in the Abyss. For when the war was deemed over, another power arose, though shrouded in secrecy. The Herald of Fate was among the greatest of his kind, and dreaded as well as adored, for while one of his eyes, the Eye of the Light, beheld the living earth, the other, the Eye of the Shadow, pierced the veil of death and watched over the spirit world. He decided to bring to an end what the Bearer of the Light had begun, and he had followers among his kind, lesser as well as greater. His most faithful supporter was the Lady of Dreams, who like no-one else could rule a man's heart and soul by playing with his passions and desires. It is said that she travelled the wind and the wild waves, searching for those she would bind to her, and that when night fell, few could withstand the power of her mind.
"So the Herald of Fate and the Lady of Dreams led an army towards the dwelling of their own blood once more, a much smaller army, yet nonetheless a threat, and it is said that their banners were made of material darkness, of the very essence of shadow. But their numbers were few, and strong ramparts and towers and bulwarks had been erected to bar out the night, and there was the Keeper of the Gates. He, too, was powerful among his kind, and fair of face, and gifted with many talents. Some records name him the court-bard of the masters of his blood, some the architect of the Pillars of Heaven. We cannot say for certain now. He served the light loyally, yet he was known to possess a reckless spirit otherwise, and he seduced many a maiden of the mortal kind with sweet song and then bent her to his will. The most passionate of lovers, stories sometimes call him, yet cold at heart. Yet as fate wanted it, this time he had lost his heart to a fair child among those of earth, yet she refused to be swayed by his pledges of undying love, for she had set her eyes upon a mortal man. Still, he could have had her easily, yet he craved to be loved by her of her own free will.
"This was when the Herald of Fate approached him. He offered the Keeper of the Gates to change the girl's fate for him, luring him with her heart. And for her love, the Keeper of the Gates forsook his duties and opened the gates of Heaven for the Army of the Night. Yet he had been betrayed, for the Herald of Fate had destroyed the woman the Keeper of the Gates had loved, taunting him with his being the only connection to the spirit world, where she now resided, so the Keeper of the Gates would serve him better. But the Keeper of the Gates would not be fooled, and as he perceived that he had lost everything, he chose rather to destroy himself and find the maiden of his heart beyond the skies than to serve the Herald of Fate's rebellion any longer, and he cast himself into the Ever-Burning Flame, thus becoming the first of his kindred to die.
"And without him, the rebellion failed. And for punishment, the Herald of Fate and the Lady of Dreams and all their supporters were shorn of their powers and cast out into the world, to be reborn time and time again among the mortal kind, until the end of days, when the Age of Gold would come anew, and so was the spirit of the Keeper of the Gates, who had forsaken his allegiance and broken all oaths for his unhappy love. Marked as outcasts even among a lesser kind, they were doomed to misery, while their history slowly faded to myth and was forgotten. They became the Lost Ones, cast out from Heaven, and the Fateless, denied their place in the world."
For a moment the man was silent, and his voice echoed in Claude's head. Then, much softer, he continued. "Yet it is said that the time would come when the Lost Ones would rise anew and the Army of the Night would march again, and that if they stood united, and if, this time, the Keeper of the Gates took his place at the Herald of Fate's side, this new rebellion would succeed where the old ones failed. The Pillars of Heaven would fall, and the Circle of Ages would be broken, so it is written, and night would descend unto the earth."
Claude shuddered as he fell silent at last. He had understood. There was shadow unfathomable in the Herald of Fate's one shining eye.
"Our time has come at last", the man whispered, as if secretly appreciating the sound of these words. "My time. And there is only one I now need to make my designs complete. Long have we searched for him, but now he can no longer hide. And he will serve me this time, and fulfil his destiny at last.
"But so has yours, lowly worm. I have no more need for you now. The man to stand at my right hand at the end of times will come to me; I have seen that he will. In his mind he is still resisting, yet once again I will trap him by trapping his heart. He will find that there is no point in resisting. The Age of Night has come at last."
Claude watched in horror as the man slowly reached up to untie the bandage around his head, the bandage covering the place were a mighty blow with a blade had obviously destroyed his right eye. Yet when the bandage was gone, he saw that the socket was not empty.
It was the last thing he beheld as the King of the Catacombs' other eye bored down to the bottom of his soul. He felt how his mind was grasped by an invisible hand, and the lights of the fires dimmed, and he went into darkness, and to what lay beyond.
