R A V A G E S O F G L O R Y
Chapter One -- The Assailant
Down the spiral stone staircase, through the granite halls and branching corridors, into the circular chasm of the central commune, into the heart of this stone fortress… With some difficulty he made his way—shirking the intense spasms of pain pounding in his chest, the ancient wounds still fresh and raw—struggling to stay afoot as the ground shook violently from below.
Bodies were strewn all about the commune. Though he was still groggy from last night, he could feel the pure vacuum of life presented in the grim site before his eyes. It was nearly impossible to distinguish between the still dying and the numerous corpses which now lined the floor of the great hall. Crimson lagoons of blood. Pools of death. As cold as the blue-gray stones beneath it.
Another tremor jolted the room. He staggered forward toward the center of the commune, the echoes of battle cries and clanking armor from outside resounded eerily through the hallways. The room shook once more, this time with much greater, and he found himself too weak now to support his own weight. He fell helplessly to the polished stone floor below. Managing with much effort to raise his head up from ground level, reeling from the pain in his chest, he peered around once more. The screams reverberated from without—the silence of death from within offered no reply. He knew immediately what was occurring, what brought such death and destruction—such screaming, such shaking—such silence.
"Espers," he said aloud, in little more than a dull whisper.
Suddenly, a new sound rumbled through, closer and closer… He watched as several dozen swordsmen, archers, mage warriors jogged past his position, boots clamping, armor clanging… He could only think of the screams that would follow. The screams and then the silence.
Struggling to rise back onto his feet, he immediately recognized the sound of a familiar and for all purposes, comforting voice approaching. A scrawny yet commanding figure stood before him, entirely leather clad, sporting a pair of strong burley boots, a tightly strung layered tunic, lightweight waist-length cape flapping in back, and enormous leather gloves, which ran all the way up the man's elbows and were at least ten sizes too large. Along with his deep hazel eyes, and a mat of frizzled dark hair, the entirety of this man was a mass of brown and beige.
"Master Treskyn," the man began, with a much disapproving gaze at the wounded creature below. He offered a hefty gloved hand, which was taken gratefully.
He stood more confidently now, suppressing the pain inside with every ounce of will, yet still found it impossible not to stagger and sway awkwardly as the commune shook once again.
"You are in no condition to be out here, Sir Treskyn!" the leathery man lectured, a look of worry and agitation on his face, as he helped the man retain his baring. "You needn't worry. The situation is…" He took a moment to search for the proper wording, "being dealt with," taking another breath before going on. "But it is dangerous for you to be wandering around out of bed. You must return the infirmary… Are you listening, Sir Treskyn?"
He was not. Slowly lifting his head to meet eyes with the leathery man standing before him, he let out a labored gasp of air. Then, slowly, he turned toward the great oaken doors set in the entranceway nearby.
"There are… Espers… I am needed." He managed to get out, clutching his chest in agony as another tremor shook past them. He staggered backwards a bit, but kept his footing, his mind determined to reach the threshold so many paces away.
"Master Tres—Master Treskyn!" The leathered man approached him, and finally, relenting, said, "Oh all right. You want to go outside? Fine. At least I let me keep you from killing yourself before you're killed out there."
The man sighed, taking hold on one of his companion's arms and securing it over his shoulder. He was carried to the corridor; the wide oaken doors were kicked outward with a leather boot. The effervescent glow of an unhidden sun hit both their eyes with paralyzing strength. They came apart. Leaving the leathery servant behind, he strode forward, desperate to ignore the cutting pain at the side of his chest. And at the veranda—what was left of it—his eyes greeting a truly horrific scene, indeed.
Both intrigued and aghast at the site before him, he walked along the southern rim of the promenade to gain a better point of vantage.
Of the five main towers comprising the upper complexes and defenses of the fortress, two of these, located on the far ends, were now fully engulfed in flames. Thick columns of smoke billowed above, while the scent of black ash and burnt flesh hung in the air. The western tower had collapsed in on itself; an avalanche of stone, dust, and bodies cascaded off the north castle wall, with no signs of life anywhere in the surrounding area. The main central tower was largely in tact, as was the eastern tower, on top of which stood a large disk-shaped mirror reflecting back and forth metronomically. Directly above him lay eight, strategically placed turret platforms, each sporting a mounted heavy crossbow, which were manned by half or dozen or so soldiers each. Iron crossbow bolts jetted through the air at an elusive foe he had yet to even see.
It was outside of this stone stronghold however, that the real horror unfolded. In an open grassy field near front of the castle, hundreds of foot soldiers could be seen scattering in all directions, no sign of strategy or discipline in their frenzy. Scores more lay dying or wounded on the battlefield. For a brief instant, he saw a large smear of color rip through the air and then double back again.
Was this the Esper?
He was mesmerized by the speed and agility of the creature, which appeared to be enormous in size, watching helplessly as barrages of strange fiery balls of energy rained down upon the terrified soldiers below. Columns of troops were instantly blown away—vaporized it almost seemed—as bright, phosphorescent spheres rained down upon their intended victims. They exploded with tremendous, yet highly concentrated impacts, littering the field with dozens of ten-foot wide craters.
Fixated on the scene unfolding before him, he heard the footsteps of the leather-clad man approaching. And then, a hand gripped his shoulder.
"I see you've managed to find your way outside the confines of your bedchamber."
He turned around slowly to see the familiar figure of a soldier standing before him. The knight sported a modest grin, which he correctly interpreted to be a vain attempt at concealing the anxiety and pain, sorrow and perhaps even fear weighing heavily on this warrior.
Standing tall and with unfettered confidence, tattered rectangular shoulder plates rattling with unease, a bloody gash along the right side of his unshaven face, the soldier removed the armored hand from his friend's shoulder.
"Gare!" the startled man could only reply, comforted at the site of his comrade. "How has this happened?" he entreated, almost in tears."How have the Espers broken through? We have to be at least a hundred miles from the front lines, are we not?"
The labored smile dropped from the soldiers face, and he turned to greet the leather-clad man who had finally caught up with the two.
"I am terribly sorry, Sir Garo!" the leathery man pleaded. "But he insisted on coming out here."
Another tremor jolted the fortress.
"You needn't worry about it, Rueben," the soldier nodded briskly at the man, now turning again to address them both "We haven't a clue how this esper has broken so deep past our defenses—undetected," the soldier turned his head at the scorched battlefield below him, but kept his eyes pointing at the granite floor. "I have never come across an esper of this power before. It apparently can take flight; my men on the field have been unable to even touch it."
"And you have no aerial support?" his friend quickly interjected, trembling slightly for the pain in his midsection. The soldier's response was to only to point briefly at a mass of burning wood and canvas.
"I'm afraid Aerothopters aren't capable of much in our present situation." The soldier gripped the weakened man's arm as the castle was jolted once again. Upon some scrutiny by his friend, the soldier's face betrayed an unmistakable look of hopelessness and despair.
"This Esper is of incredible determination, and rage. It has taken at least a dozen crossbow rounds in the chest... and appears only further agitated by each injury."
"Perhaps it would be best if Master Treskyn retired to the infirmary," the man of leather beckoned.
"Gare, you know what has to be done." he let out, ignoring the other man's summon.
"No!"the soldier stated definitively, turning away from them both. "I will not put this entire castle in jeopardy."
"Are there any sign of reinforcements, Sir Garo?" the man in leather asked, trying to shift the conversation in a more hopeful direction.
"None." The soldier stared at the shimmering signal mirror above. "I will gather the remainder of our ground forces and storm the field once more. If our mages can bring the creature to our level… hopefully… we'll manage to subdue it," the soldier said with uncertainty. He wiped a plume of blood from his face.
"Suicide," was his response. "You know we have no choice now. There is only one hope to save the fortress, to save the Queen, to save the entire Eastern front!"
"That's enough, Tresk." The soldier directed. "I will hear no more of this. The power within that relic is too great for any to wield, and I'm not going to be the one to unleash it."
"I like this none better than you. But dire times call for dire measures." He stood his ground, now standing fully upright, ignoring entirely the pain within his chest. "That relic is the only hope we have left!"
"You know not what you say, my friend." The soldier's tone was informal, and he again cracked a smile. "That item contains a force we have yet to even begin to understand, let alone wield to our advantage. We can't risk what might happen by unleashing it in our hour of desperation." The soldier put a hand on his companion's back and led him slowly away toward the entrance. "Your mind is not rational, Tresk. You are not well. You're still recovering from the effects of your injuries. Listen to me. We've fought off espers by the handful, and we'll take care of this one too. You should rest now. We can worry about that relic later."
Without pause the two separated, and the soldier's eyes were directed toward the field below.
"Look," the knight was beckoned.
The soldier obeyed, turning to survey the scene below. There was no more movement on the blood-ridden battlefield, no more scattering of soldiers, no more clanking armor. Only stillness and silence. Bodies, hundreds of bodies, lined the grassy field, piled in the smoldering craters. The last moans of the dying echoed quietly. And then… Silence.
"This isn't right, Garo. It's never been like this before. There's something different about this esper—he fights with a kind of rage and ferocity we've never encountered before." Another shockwave jolted the castle. "It looks to me like we're losing this battle, Garo. That can't be allowed to happen. Thousands and thousands of lives hang in the balance. We have to use every weapon available to us, no matter the risk. I'm sorry, Garo, but I'm ordering—"
"That's enough!" the soldier finally interjected, his face hardening. "I will hear no more of this. You are not of sound mind or body, and therefore I retain my command of this operation. You will escort yourself back to the infirmary or I will have one of my men do it for you." The two men locked eyes, both unmoving. "Sir."
The leather clad man tried to calm the atmosphere. "Perhaps it would be best if—" but he was soon interrupted by the sound of a tremendous roaring from above.
All three gazed up to see the east tower consumed by a dark orange burst, flames rapidly spreading outward. Another explosion rocked the tower from below. All of the men turned just in time to see a third fiery ball raging through the sky which impacted the crippled structure yet again, this time delivering a death blow. The tower swayed, began to collapse from within, stood for a moment, and then toppled over the castle side with an ear shattering CRASH, granite blocks and rubble tumbling earthward in all directions.
The soldier quickly ran toward nearest turret platform and began climbing up the shaft, all the while shouting orders to the men above. A ghostly figure streaked through the air just above, with what appeared to be a silvery blade extended from his massive arm. The Esper swung forward at the platforms—a frenzy of crossbow fire was launched in haste—and then a blinding flash cut through the air. The shouts of soldiers could be heard briefly above as all eight of the turrets came crashing down in succession over the promenade.
Brushing the debris off, and rising to his feet, he looked around desperately for where the Esper had eluded. A crash came from behind, and he turned once more to view two fiery explosions rocked the south wall. A scream was heard nearby, one that he immediately recognized, calling out as the carnage continued.
"Rueben!" Suddenly, he saw a large leather glove gripping the stone masonry of the south wall from the other side. "Hang on, I'm coming!"
He sprinted toward the wall, the pain in his chest now slowly resurfacing, and grasped the leathery hand with his. "Give me your other hand!" he called out. Yet no answer came.
Rising over the edge of the great wall, he suddenly recoiled in horror, almost losing his grip. Attached to the leather glove was a blackened and charred skeleton, parts of the corpse still burning, with tattered pieces of leather strewn about its remains.
"Reuben… No…" He gaped, horror-struck, and then quickly scrambled backwards, releasing the icy grip from his hands. Another figure now came into view, this one nearly entombed by toppling rubble. "Gare… Not you too!" He ran to the where the soldier lay, unsure of his condition, painfully aware of the sense of urgency to the situation.
"Forgive me," he said aloud to the fallen soldier, heaving his body from the granite stones, and searching through his pockets, eventually gripping a rusted, iron key. He examined the object briefly and then pocketed it himself. Rising to his feet, he turned toward his fallen comrade once more. "But I must do what I believe is right."
With that he started off, but something caught the corner of his eye. He turned around instinctively, and soon found his entire body paralyzed with fear.
"No… It can't be."
Rising slowly from below the stone ridge, the enormous figure of the esper stood directly before him. The creature could seem almost human at first glance, though the true nature of the beast was soon profoundly evident. Fully dressed in what seemed to be a thick suit of armor, stopping only at the esper's head, which looked so unfathomably demonic and twisted, huge jagged horns rising from the crown of its skull. The creature held a large rounded shield in his right hand, and a long single-edged sword in the other, which curled with cracks and rivets in its blade, peaking at a sharp, piercing point. The esper seemed to be just as interested in the human figure standing before him as his own petrified observer.
A small, but distinct voice inside commanded, "Run."
He ran. He ran without another thought away from this creature, looking back only briefly to see the Esper swing his enormous blade, and the blinding silver light that followed. He ran back around the promenade and through the great oaken doors, just as an earth-shattering tremor rang through the halls, which he could assume was the south wall collapsing. Wading through the bodies in the commune, he turned to greet a large iron door just off to the side. As a fresh round of shaking jolted the castle, he pulled forth the rusty key acquired from the soldier, and, his hands shaking with anxiety, a similar key from his tunic. Placing and each in its respective locks, the keys turned themselves, opening the sturdy iron door. Inside was a square stone room, which light from window slits above cascaded into, right onto the room's centerpiece—a great wooden treasure chest.
He moved now to stand in front of the chest, his vigor from the battle suddenly giving way to a hesitance at unleashing such a power, which, as the soldier had accurately put it, which he had no means of controlling. The violent shaking of another tremor from underneath quickly belayed this doubt.
Thousands of lives…
Resolved, he extended an arm outward, opened the palm of his moistened hand, and declared, "I call upon thee…" he thought for a moment. "Er... Re- Rema… Ra—That's it!" he let out, triumphantly.
"Ragnarok!"
With this, he fully expected, as had occurred the last time he had uttered the name of this ancient weapon, for the great sparkling blade to emerge from its wooden chamber and rest at his palm. But now the chest was still, without movement. He stood there, arm hung limply in desperate pleading. Once again, "I call upon thee! Ragnarok!" Still, his words elicited no reaction from the object. He yelled out once more in desperate rage. "Ragnarok! I CALL UPON THEE!" He fell to his knees, stunned, unsure how to proceed. Another quake shook the castle, and to his amazement, the wooden chest opened, falling off one of its hinges. There were scorch marks and splintered oak visible from within. It was empty.
Aghast, he stood, mouth gaping in shock and horror at the site before him.
"This weapon… this savior… gone? It cannot be…"
Suddenly, from above a great crashing came, as the entire stone ceiling was unroofed with a silvery flash. As a dark creature flew past, he noticed briefly the tail of a fiery energy ball speeding unmistakably in his direction. He ran from the square room just as a great orange explosion engulfed the chamber. In frenzied desperation, he tried to shield himself by wrenching the iron door shut, but the blast shot both the door, and him, hurdling backward.
He landed on his back, as small tentacles of pain worked their way through his body. He cried out in agony as they reached his chest, and shook profusely. Gritting his teeth hard, he managed to grasp a small glass vile hanging from his belt, uncapped it and drank the translucent white fluid inside. The pain subsided, but he could no longer feel the left half of his body.
With some difficulty, he dragged himself along the stone floor back into the commune, where he perched his head upon the coldness of the granite wall, sweat dripping from his face, and simply lay there, motionless. The great hall shook once more for several seconds—which, he imagined, was the sound of the central tower collapsing. And then, silence. The esper has entered the castle. Yet it seemed really to matter little. He knew not who, if anyone had survived the assault, yet that as well did not occupy his thoughts for long.
Lying there, amongst the many corpses and mangled bodies of the commune… this was a scene he by now knew all too well. Yet he had never become fully accustomed to nature of it. It wasn't so much the cadavers, or the blood, or screams of the dying. It was the silence—bitter silence that stung the air with its torturous melody.
"What have I become?" he pondered. Am I just as they... just a pawn to this wretched war...? When will it all end? If ever? How many more friends must I lose? How many more battles shall be fought and mass graves dug before these creatures are vanquished? Or perhaps it is we who shall be defeated... perhaps then might peace resound? Peace in death, yes! But must there always be death to achieve peace?"
His head began to spin. Such questions had troubled him before, but he knew there was no escaping the harsh reality before him: This was his life now... and perhaps would be his death as well.
As darkness fell from outside the stone walls, his thoughts turned away from the future, away from the pain and suffering it held. He turned his mind on the past, which once, he recalled, did hold a shred of sanity to it?
He thought of how his life had come to this bitter juncture, how this war had began. Had it been months now, years? It didn't matter. He thought back, before this war which had consumed his world, enslaved his existence, tortured him in body and soul… This war for which only death and pain and silence—oh, cruel silence!—have come… This war fought between humanity and the creatures known as espers… This war of madness, futility, death and silent fury…
This war…
This War of the Magi.