Chapter 21:
Pay Per View for the Gods.
It was during the Ancient War, when the forces of Darkness had nearly overrun the forces once before, that the Dark Gods had looked down upon this particular Keeper, this Keeper Firestorm of the Black Flame Darkness who offered sacrifices with every blow, and every kill that his forces made, for within him, they saw the potential for a new Keeper, to champion their cause: The destruction of the forces of Light. The Dark Gods, most specifically the God of War and Blood, Kharnax had been watching this particular Keeper intensely. Collectively, the Dark Gods saw him as a potential future champion of their cause. In private, Kharnax wanted this Keeper as his Chosen, his own personal champion, and to further this end, had granted numerous blessings upon him that had changed the once young human into something far more fearsome. The blessings of Kharnax had all been useful and worthwhile, but the greatest of these blessings was yet to come.
The Lava River had proven to be of little worth as a defensive barrier, the black and gold clad warriors of the Black Flame had stormed across on their own bridge, laid down by their keeper in the moments after they had been scooped up by the Keeper's Hand, leaving their enemy little time to rally a defense against the ingenious assault that now approached their Dungeon. The Champions of the Count of Deception and Lies, the Dark God Enkasmine were stunned in inaction as the armored Trolls of the Black Flame charged with their war hammers swinging like whips that caused armor to break and bone to shatter. The Troll's heavy armor blocked mace and turned sword away with astounding ease, turning what should have been a battle to a bloody slaughter. One such Troll laid about him with a massive two-handed war hammer, shattering the face of a Demon Spawn as his fellow Trolls proceeded to lay waste to the rest of the Demon Spawn pack.
Their armor was comparable to that of Dark Berserkers of the Ancient War, so many generations ago, and like that armor still suffered from the same fatal flaw: Magic. The pack of blood enraged Trolls charged forward, headless of the danger that waited ahead, as an entire group of spell casting Warlocks and Dragons stood their ground, and collectively opened their eyes, throwing their arms out in front of them to unleash a wall of blinding wave of blue and white elemental carnage. The unrivaled fury of lightning rivaled the bloodshed caused by the Trolls as bolts of furious energy jumped from one to the next in an echoing wave of destructive energy, sending them crashing to the ground, their muscles jerking like marionettes in the hands of a mad puppet master, their eyes burned away by the heat, their brains boiled away within their skulls. While the Trolls had fallen, they had completed their task, having ripped an opening in the defensive lines through which the Black Flame poured like water through a hole in a damn.
The warriors of the Black Flame had mercilessly expunged every opposing warrior that crossed their path, even those that were running in fear. Not that many of the warriors of the White Death wanted anything to do with the bloodlust maddened Keeper of the Black Flame, who attacked and slew his way through any and all that dared to challenge him. The attack of Keeper Feral, Champion of Enkasmine, had been turned back after a mere nine minute assault. And they had retreated across the river, only to be dogged by the warriors of the Black Flame, along their entire line of retreat. The end result being that the forces of the Keeper Feral had lost nearly a further quarter of their remaining strength. Combined with their losses in the abortive assault, it left them with perhaps half their original strength.
Although reduced to half strength, their retreat had allowed many of their warriors to disappear within the walls of their own Dungeon, with only a few remaining exposed, fighting a desperate rearguard holding action while the rest conducted a tactical withdrawal to reform their own lines and prepare to meet the Black Flame head to head, yet again. The few rearguard defenders were of little consequence, as the Keeper stalked forward, his weapon carving through all who stood in his path, even as he growled in irritation, growing bored of killing the minor, miscellaneous rabble of this White Death, who offered no challenge and, more importantly, no sport.
He wanted to face off against the his rival Keeper. She would be a worthy opponent. All else she had to offer were, at best, poorly trained scum that had done little more than irritate him, setting the muscles in his body thrumming with the same red fury and anger that also painted his vision. Like the numberless grains of sand upon the seashore, he let his warriors fall, knowing that their deaths were in the service of Kharnax, offering up twice as many enemy skulls.
The rage gnawed mercilessly in the hollow pit of his stomach, ravenous and wild, with a cataclysmic fervor, growing into something greater than hunger, a raging inferno that demands blood and carnage to be sated and momentarily satisfied. He roared his challenge, as muscles bulged dangerously, the power of the Dark God Kharnax growing within him, "Keeper Feral! I call you out! I tire of slaughtering your pathetic minions who offer no challenge. Cease cowering and come out of your Dungeon Heart! Possess one of your minions! Face me, and die as a Keeper should, as a Champion of one of the Dark Gods, you worthless, horse humping bitch!"
The smell of the burnt flesh mingled with the coppery taste of blood, heavy in the air, and the acrid odors, the remnants of the hundreds of spells that had been hurled back and forth by the two factions, embroiled in total war. The Challenge had been laid down, and for the warriors of both sides, that had fought with unimaginable naked ferocity, they could sense that the end was drawing near.
Keeper Feral understood the challenge as well as any other warrior did. The challenge meant that the battle would be between the two rival Keepers, the fate of their empires resting on the outcome of a single solitary duel. Where the forces of Light saw those of darkness as nothing more than mindless rabble, the forces of Dark had their own ways, a twisted version of honor, but it was the way laid down by the Dark Gods themselves, and it is obeyed without question.
The rival Keeper was someone who could be truly described as a magnificent, untouchable mystery, with eyes the color of jade that seemed to be backlit from some otherworldly light, almost electric, and they seemed to glow with that light in the dimly lit interior of her Dungeon Heart. She growled, almost dragon like as she hefted her heavy staff, with its stylized twelve pointed star. The staff looked as if it was composed of nothing but ancient tree roots that had been twisted together. She hefted the staff, and waved her hand over one end, smiling to herself as it burst into flame that mirrored the ethereal color within her eyes.
She would have scant minutes to prepare herself, and focus her magical energies, to prepare for the coming duel. For the Black Flame had not bothered to stop, had not held its ground, simply advancing in her Dungeon after the challenge had been laid down. They continued to slaughter any of her warriors that stood against the Black Flame. Keeper Firestorm, his armor and blade stained red from the slaughter, stood at the forefront of his forces, a demonic smile upon his face. She possessed the body of the slumbering sorceress, held in stasis for precisely such occasions.
From a doorway to their left, a pair of doglike Demon Spawn looped forward, snarling, claws ready as a Dragon stood farther back and unleashed a breath of hellfire that washed over the immune Demon Spawn, in an attempt to immolate him. The fires failed to do him harm, as he raised a hand, conjuring a magical barrier that absorbed the fires, even as he sidestepped the first of the Demon Spawn to execute a rising slash that eviscerated the second, opening up its belly, causing its internal orgasm to decorate the floor as it gasped once before falling to the ground. The fires deflected, he swept low, grabbed the demon spawn by the tail, and swung it, like a whip overhead, before letting it fly. The unfortunate creature whined piteously before it struck the Lava River, and sank beneath it, striking the bottom of the river some ten feet below, its skeleton collapsing under the brutal impact.
His forces advanced through her Dungeon, despoiling every room they entered, the corrupting influence of his imps rapidly destroying the mana connection between Keeper Feral and her underground domain. But it mattered little as the two finally stood and faced off against each other in a depleted Treasure Room, the gold and jewels, wealth mined from the soft rock, having already been pillaged or carted back to his Dungeon. He towered over her, standing close to a foot and a half taller than her, as he glared down at her, obsidian black orbs that were his eyes with their fires dancing within his pupils, meeting her glowing green eyes, "You are the leader of this pathetic excuse for an army?"
The remnants of her own warriors stood arrayed around her, weapons and spells at the ready, as she replied, refusing to rise to the bait he had laid down. Where he excelled, using his anger and fury to slaughter his opponents, she was colder, and far more calculating, "I am. And you are the leader of those who have come this far. You have done well, but not well enough! You dare call yourself Keeper? You dare challenge me?"
He growled, as he stalked forward, the weapon held single-handed, blood and chunks of flesh having dried to the massive weapon, the serrated hooks along the blade's edge having cut and torn through dozens of her warriors. "I will offer your skull up to the Gods…. Once you have begged sufficiently for death, which will be a long time coming!"
She smiled, a cold smile that would have frozen a fire, "You can try, whelp," she held her staff before her, "I'll cut you limb from limb, and offer your blood up as a sacrifice to the Gods," she waved her hands over the stylized twelve pointed star, and her smile grew wider as it changed shape, the blackened tree roots becoming tempered steel, and the star fading away, to be replaced by heavy blades, the color of corroded metal, dripping green poison that smoked and hissed as it struck the stone floor by her feet. She summoned up a powerful spell, channeling the energy as she took careful aim, voice cooler than the smoke off dry ice, "You have stood against me for far too long! Come, you whelp. The gods await your blood this night!"
The survivors of both armies formed crescent shapes around their leaders, and began to hammer their weapons together, or stamp their feet against the stone ground, chanting the names of their respective leaders, as both Keepers stepped forth, standing in a circle roughly fifteen feet in diameter. It has been said that a contest of skill between staff and sword will never last more than several minutes, and that is a spoken truth. Feral unleashed a mixed volley of white and red as ice and fire shrieked towards Firestorm, who sidestepped the rolling balls of fire, raising his gunblade deftly to present the flat of it to the ice bolts which shattered against it. He roared as he charged, leaping off the ground, as he spun in a counter clockwise direction adding speed and momentum to his strike.
She stood her ground, and twirled her staff in an intricate pattern. A barrage of icicles flew toward him, most shattering against his demonic armor, but two of the projectiles succeeded in cutting through the shoulder guard on his left shoulder, which bled freely, blood hissing as it trailed down his armor, not that it slowed his momentum any, as she raised her bladed staff, catching the blade of his sword against it.
At such close range, their faces were only inches apart as they both strained, desperate to break the sudden deadlock. His mouth opened, like the maw of a creature from the depths of the sea, and his tongue lanced out like a barbed dagger, aimed at her eyes. She jerked her head to the side, hissing in pain as his knife like tongue ripped open her cheek, blood flowing down her face as if she wept tears of blood from just her left eye. His tongue snaked back in to his mouth, and he tasted her blood and the magical power latent with it. She was more of a spell caster than a true brawler. He made the demonic equivalent of a mental note of the fact, but the split second of distraction cost him.
Her head jerked forward in a sudden and brutally effective head butt that hammered the helm he wore, bending it out of shape, the metal giving way as the strength of her blow shattered the bones in his nose, causing blood to stream down his face as they broke apart and stepped back. She carefully measured her foe, before she leaped, going on the attack, her magic having transformed the staff in a massive war hammer that swung in a murderous, swooping arc.
He scissor-stepped but knew he could not avoid the return blow as she slammed the shaft of the weapon in his face, jerking his head back as he fell, twisting to the floor. Snarling, from where he lay, he threw his weapon, and she barely deflected the unexpected attack, and its distraction proved to be sufficient as he pushed himself off the floor with his hands, driving himself like a missile feet first into her chest. He felt several of her ribs crack and several more shatter, under the heavy blow, knocking her from her feet and on her back, her weapon rolling just out of her reach.
Back on his feet in moments, he drove an armored foot like a truck in her guts, sending her sliding back along the floor until she came to rest at the far edge of their circle, where his warriors leered down upon her most with lecherous intent. She mumbled the incantation of a healing spell, allowing its magic to mend her broken ribs. He had waited, almost as if he was toying with her, removing his battered and dented helm to reveal the eyes of a true killer, black without mercy or pity, hair cropped close to his head, teeth like fangs which he bared in the gross parody of a human smile, "Come to me, my little baby. Come to your daddy."
She snarled at what she knew was an insult, even though she could not fully grasp its meaning, "I will leave your dungeon a crumbling ruin and feast on your entrails," she rose back to her feet, hands already moving to summon a powerful time distorting magic to her aid, hissing as she did so, "and I shall keep you alive, so that you can savor the experience!"
The vortex launched across the narrow open space that separated the two combatants, seemingly devouring anything that had physical presence. He had seen her casting and leaped upwards and to the side, having anticipated the deadly Vortex Grenade spell, but she had anticipated him. The deadly spell slammed into him, and he roared in pain as the vortex seemed to grind the bones within his flesh, dropping like an unstrung puppet, his weapon falling out of reach.
Crawling back to his knees, he found himself looking up and staring in her eyes, now ice blue, and just as cold, "I keep my promises." She lashed out with a hard standing side kick, which slammed in to his face, back flipping him with cataclysmic force. Being flung across a room tends to hurt, but it is nothing in comparison to the landing. Keeper Firestorm proved this true as he felt his arm first crack and then shatter, as he struck the wall, grinding through the stone, cutting a scar in its perfect surface, for several feet before falling to the floor. Smoke and dust filled the air from the broken wall, obscuring his vision somewhat, making it harder to breathe. But he heard her running start and caught the glimpse of her as she closed in, her foot, raised to strike him full on in the face.
Rising up, he crossed his one good arm across his chest and caught her descending foot, using it as leverage to pull her in close and to pull himself upright while he lunged forward like a spear, driving his armored shoulder into her stomach, knocking the wind from her in a gasp. Pouncing atop her, he wrapped a length of her auburn hair around his fist and drove her face first in to the unforgiving stone ground, "You! Do! Not! Know! Who! You! Fuck! With!"
Letting go of her hair, he walked away from her prone form, as she twitched, her fingers desperately calling up a spell. He wore an amused smile and chuckled, before stomping down on her exposed hand, the sounds of fingers being crushed audible to all who surrounded them. The rage that sang its pleasure in his blood filled him with undeniable power, a blessing and a boon from Kharnax, who was no doubt watching this contest of skill. Recovering his weapon, he broke it open along its chamber to drop the dozen spent cartridges of power and slap home a dozen new ones. Closing the chamber along its seal, he looked over at her, as she lay there, broken and bloodied, struggling to regain her feet, even as he stood over her, "Kharnax likes blood, but he also really likes offerings that come from the would be Champions of other Dark Gods."
He growled wordlessly as he raised his blade high overhead, and let it fall, hard and fast, as she spat a single word in the language of the Dark Gods. Its appearance was sudden. The black smoky clawed hand came from nowhere, and grasped his blade barring its descent which gave her the opportunity to roll clear. Eyes bulging in fury, he jerked hard on the trigger, and the demonic hand was obliterated in to wisps of fine smoke.
Her roll had been calculated and it was successful, as it placed her within reach of her staff. Blood flowed freely from her numerous wounds, her crippled hand slowing her down even as she called upon the lesser demons, opening a gateway between this realm and that of the Gods. They cackled madly as they approached, their forms ever shifting from one to another, while they hurled raw, elemental magic from their multi-joined fingers. The energy seemed to bypass his armor to tear at the flesh beneath, scoring a deep blow across his thigh and another across his chest but he barely noticed, and uncaring threw himself into the attack once more, forsaking any pretense of defense.
Keeper Firestorm roared as he ploughed through the creatures with every swipe of his sword, cutting through the forms of the creatures, pulling back on the trigger with every strike, expending the charges of magic in his weapon, thereby ensuring that the Wisp Demons could not reform, the physical bodies scattered to nothingness, their essence sent screaming back to where it had come from. The host of Demons had merely delayed him momentarily, as he continued his advance upon her, as she spat a pair of curses at him, which he easily deflected with his own magic. As her final spell spluttered and fizzled before his eyes, her eyes suddenly filled with shock, followed by fear, "Magic…" he mused, a deep growl, "Magic is for those to weak to wield a weapon and face their foes upon the battlefield, and to slay them face to face. You cower behind your spells, and you still cannot defeat me. The Gods no longer favor you! I am their Champion now!"
He noted with satisfaction the fear in her eyes had changed to that of rage, finally. He saw it within her, the shift in her aura as she grasped her staff, its forms warping to the war hammer she had wielded once before. She stood, then charged towards him wordless, soundless and silent, with all the strength she could muster. Firestorm met the blow head-on; parrying it and sending a brutal riposte that should have persuaded Keeper Feral's head to part company with her shoulders. She ducked underneath and rammed her staff up in the belly of the Keeper of the Black Flame, finally shattering the armor plates and driving in the flesh beneath. He grunted in pain, but had deliberately taken the blow. He struck the back of her head with the hilt of his blade, before wrapping his arms around her throat, deliberately falling backwards using his massive frame and weight to drive her, head first yet again, in to the stone floor.
The sheer brutality of that one blow was sufficient, as he rose back to his feet. She lay there, twitching feebly, her fingers scrabbling along the stone floor, desperately searching, only to find his foot resting upon the shaft of her weapon. She looked up at him from behind a bloody mask, and she could see the raised blade that was her end. She met her fate with her eyes open. The blade fell, with a rush of wind as he channeled his anger and hate in the blow, a roar escaping his maw as he did so. The blade carved through her flesh and bone, splitting her from crown to jaw. It was done.
Satisfied, he pulled the Dragon Gunblade from her head and stepped back two paces while a white light seemed to erupt from the core of her being, shooting upwards through the stone ceiling overhead, no doubt heading skyward in a gentle series of spirals and curls that floated around her with a gentleness that defied the cold anger and hatred that had poisoned her soul for so long.
He looked over at the warriors that had once been hers, this Dungeon, and roared, "I am Keeper Firestorm, Lord and Master of the Black Flame! Does anyone else date to challenge me?" He stalked towards them, and to their credit, they held their ground instead of shrinking away in fear. He glared in the eyes of a Warlock, "Gather ten warriors and bring them to me! Now!" he barked.
He fled to his task, and within moments, there was a line of warriors who refused to meet his gaze. Without ceremony, his weapon lashed out, slitting the throat of the first, "Join me, or face me. Make your choice." It was hardly a decision that required any sort of consideration or thought. His murder of their keeper meant that he had defeated them all. They submitted with no further resistance, he grinned as his ranks swelled by another full fifteen warriors, and he gave them their first order, "Shatter her Dungeon Heart, and then cross the river by my bridge. I will be awaiting you there."
They hurried to their task, and his warriors were at the outskirts of what was once an enemy dungeon when a tortured roar and a deafening explosion ripped the air, as the enemy Dungeon Heart collapsed in upon itself, the blast shaking the walls and ceiling around them. When a Keeper's Dungeon Heart dies, its almost as if it tries to take as much of its surroundings as possible, almost as if its trying to kill those who failed to protect it, in addition to those who have killed it. Of the fifteen warriors who had destroyed the Dungeon Heart, perhaps three or four would escape its fury. He stood, the fires across the river mirroring those in his eyes while the Warlocks, Bile Demons and Trolls of the Black Flame watched the failing Dungeon Heart vaporize everything that stood within nearly twenty feet around it. The flare continued to burn but grew weaker in its intensity, the red glare taking on a whitish color as it continued to consume the surrounding rock walls, and ceilings collapsing, the magical reinforcements upon them fading away to nothingness.
The Keeper of the Black Flame had truly proven his worth.
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