Chapter 23:
Blood and Skulls
The faces of both were soon covered in blood, but it mattered little as the Demon Prince only saw red. Both men lunged forward at the same time, and their skulls bounced off each others, their necks snapping back with enough force to kill a normal man. Keeper Firestorm roared his fury, revealing a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth, even as he drove his forehead in the helm of the Lord of the Land again and again, ignoring the blistering of his own armor like skin caused by the purity of the weapon held inches from his face.
The metal helm began to give way underneath the fury of blows the demonic keeper had landed, uncaring of the edges of broken metal that cut into his face, swords still crossed, their muscles straining against each other, neither one interested in breaking the deadlock. Finally, however, the Demon Prince went to the well once too often, as the Lord of the Land reacted finally, burying a knee in the gut of his opponent and using that to springboard back on to the ground, in a defensive posture, legs spread, one knee bent ready to pounce, his blade held upright, "Face the wrath of a warrior of light!"
"I will feast upon your soul in the realm of the Dark Gods you puny mortal!" was the reply, as the Keeper extricated himself from the wall, leaving a massive crater, nearly three feet deep in the hard packed earth. Empowered by unbridled rage singing through his muscles, he drove forward, crossing swords with the Lord yet again. He lashed out with both of the bone appendages, blocking the attempted backstab by the last man of the honor guard left alive, punching through his armor and in his stomach to come to a jarring halt against the man's spinal cord, before dropping the broken body to the ground.
Firestorm pushed back the Lord of the Land, opening up a narrow gap between the two of them that was enough for him to lash out with one bloody, flesh encrusted appendage. Amazingly enough, the Lord was able to twist to the side, and slide his blade along that of the Keeper, to deflect the blow. Faces inches apart from one another, Firestorm's pulled in to a mocking smile, "You have skill, I'll grant you that," even as the Lord of the Land pushed back, muscles tensing against the strength of the demon before him, "Do you have a name?"
"I am Lord Antonidus, hellspawn, and I will slay you!" he growled, even as their warriors continued to cross blade and trade spell fire, around the battling duo. None would interfere in this battle between titans, but it mattered not to the embroiled duo as they both turned to magic. The bolts of fire and ice canceled each other out, but proved to be more than sufficient to blast both of them apart and backwards.
They rose back to their feet, Lord Antonidus executing a light hand spring as he dove in with his blade, hacking at his slower moving foe. The thrice blessed blade carved into the demonic armor worn by the Demon Price, but held against the first wave of blows. The second barrage of hacking cuts were sufficient to breach the demonic cuirass that had protected him, as he slashed at the demon's chest, gouging a wound that drew a hiss of pain from the Keeper. Antonidus grinned savagely as he pulled back his blade, mumbling prayers rapidly to enhance the already powerful enchantments upon his weapon, "The cleansing flame!" he roared, bringing the blade down in a powerful overhead cleave, a blinding light driven by faith and purity erupting from the blade of his weapon.
The wings and bone like appendages of the Demon Price folded protectively around himself, before the blade slashed through first his leather and rock like wings, only to bite deep and jam against the skeletal wings beneath. He howled in agony, the purity of the weapon seeming to strike not only at his flesh, but also claw at what remained of his black and corrupted soul. The glowing blade continued to press its advantage, a agonizing millimeter at a time as it destroyed the skeletal, wing like limb. Firestorm swung his head back, smashing it against the stone floor, sending thoughts of the burning pain clear out of his mind, even as his hands reached up through the tangle of his shredded wings and other limbs to grasp the curving white ivory horns upon Antonidus's helm, and giving them a savage twist.
The sound of tearing metal screeched through the air as he ripped off Antonidus's helm, revealing a face, heavily scarred, from years of fighting, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that had come loose. Sweat slicked hair swung about his face like whips as he gazed directly in to the eyes of the demon, seconds before the helm he had once worn smashed in to his head. The crack of bone was clearly audible by those who stood close by, and Antonidus's grip slackened and went limp. The Demon Price grabbed him by the throat and threw him overhead. He rose, hissing as he tore the blade from his body, the skeletal wing having been badly mauled, with his wings reduced to shreds by the burning purity of the sword. It burned his palm, but he held the sword firmly and drove it, blade first in the ground. He stepped around the embedded sword as its glow faded. Clearly, it lost its strength and power when it was not in the hands of a champion of the light.
Firestom's eyes promised death as he locked his gaze with that of the Lord Antonidus. He swung once with his Dragon Gunblade, driving as much strength and power into the blow as he could. *The blades rang as they came together and thrummed powerfully, as a notch appeared upon the cutting edge of his gunblade, even as the embedded Azure Wrath Crystal Blade of Lord Antonidus shattered sending a wave of deadly crystalline fragments that impacted and pitted the armor of its former wielder, as he shielded his face and eyes from the deadly hail.
Stalking forward, fire still burning upon the stone ground where he had tread, he loomed up over the fallen Lord of the Land, "Lord Antonidus," he paused, hoisting his foe to his feet, and raising him until his feet dangled nearly two feet off the floor, "I keep my promises," he finished as he sheathed his weapon and smiled, "Your soul will be mine to torment until the end of time."
The man hung in the clawed fist of his opponent, unable to utter a word or sound, but the eyes, the window to the soul, revealed the fear within his heart and mind. The Demon Prince gazed into the eyes and revealed to him what future awaited him in the realm of darkness that would be his prison for eternity, and he barely managed to hold back the scream of agony, "You are stronger than you look, even with fear within you," mused the monstrous Keeper as he threw the man to the floor, "I will be there, soon, to oversee your enslavement!" His armor encrusted foot rose as he stomped down, hard, on to the man's windpipe, crushing it and the vertebrate in his neck, moments before the spiked soles of the armored war boots cut through flesh and decapitated the Lord of the Land, the flesh burning beneath the demonic fires that raged in and through the Keeper, lending the surrounding air with the faint scent of burnt flesh.
The Demon Pricne scooped up the head of Lord Antonidus and roared, his gunblade outstretched overhead, the severed head impaled upon the end of the serrated blade, garnering the attention of every warrior embroiled upon the field of battle. His death was stunning to the warriors of light as they felt within the depths of their soul that their leader had fallen. Some surrendered where others took the cowards escape, taking their own life to evade capture. Those that surrendered were butchered without mercy by the bloodthirsty warriors of the Black Flame. Only two had the courage to meet their end as true warriors, and they died as such, consumed in a volley of deadly spells.
It was with a surprising suddenness that the rip appeared some distance from the Keeper, and the forces of the Black Flame, battle weary and wounded, hastily reformed their ranks around their Keeper, eyeing the suspicious portal that had appeared from nowhere with no reason for it to exist. While the numerous, but still significantly reduced strength of the Black Flame, for the most part could not understand the portal, a few were, the Demon Prince of the Black Flame, amongst them.
"My Keeper," Gazz hesitated, unsure if it was the correct title, "The Dark Gods await you in the void beyond time and space, within the immaterium, and they have judged you worthy of seeing them face to face." Gazz's body bore the marks of hideous combat, rents and furrows having been gouged in his flesh with numerous circular burns where spells had impacted but bounced off his scales.
"So it would seem," where he had been relatively soft spoken, unless angered, now his voice was a deep bass rumble akin to the thunder that rolls before the breaking of the storm, "Rhahimidarigzz, as a true warrior left standing at the end of this battle, I hereby grant you the title of War Master. Rule this land, and those of the Black Flame, until my return. Rule with an iron fist and ensure the loyalty of all who follow my banner."
"It will be done, Keeper," he said, bowing as low as he could, grunting against the pain as he did so, "Your orders are the will of the Black Flame."
"Then let it be so," he paused for a moment, resting a heavily veined, clawed hand, squeezing the Dragon's shoulder, exercising great control to avoid injuring his heavily wounded warrior, "Rule well."
The dragon's face formed the equivalent of a smile, revealing the numerous fangs and teeth, "Die with honor!"
Turning, the Demon Prince of Kharnax, Keeper of the Black Flame, stepped forward, his weapon drawn, but held loosely at his side as stepped towards the void. He stepped into the pitch midnight darkness within the portal and tightened his grip open his weapon, uncertain of what to expect as the darkness engulfed him. He could hear and feel his footsteps upon the ground beneath him. He spun in a circle, as first a single voice spoke to him. Growling, he spun yet again as the same voice seemed to come from behind him yet again. His sharpened eyesight caught movement in the corner of his eyes, yet whenever he turned there was nothing there, either animal or human. Testing the ground, he took a cautious step forward. Then another step, as the land began to take form around him, revealing a bloody, corpse scattered wasteland with mountains of skulls as far as he could see. He stood next to one such tower, and he instinctively knew that this was the tower that marked the number of men, women and children that had fallen under his blade, or those of his minions, and had been sacrificed in the name of the Dark Gods. His ascension made it clear that his particular brand of offerings had earned him more than a solitary "gift" from the Dark God, and he knew that the Dark God Kharnax, God of War and Bloodshed, had selected him as his Champion or Chosen. It meant the same thing. The title itself, a boon from the gods, would rally both numerous more minions and even lesser rival keepers to fight beneath his banner. In spite of all this however, it still did not bring him any close to what he wanted: To go home.
He stalked away from the tower of skulls that rose skyward, dozens of feet in to the air, no telling how many had been sacrificed and used to honor the gods, as he followed the instincts within him, that drew him towards something, or rather some place. No doubt the resting place of Kharnax's throne, supposedly a throne made from skulls drenched in the blood of the slain. Minutes turned to long hours as he trekked across the vast bloody wasteland. The trees and plants, the few that survived in the unforgiving climate, were warped and twisted by the corruption that inhibited the air. Firestorm could feel the chaotic demonic energy within the air, every breath drawing the power to his body, causing his body to bulge, as those whispering voices continued their attempts to seduce him, telling him to surrender fully to the demonic magic in the air, and become a true creature of darkness. He refused to surrender himself, to loose himself, to become an offering to the Dark Gods.
It could have been days, or even months, but he knew that to rest or to stop would be to doom himself to death. How long, he had no idea, but he had slain several creatures that could have once been humans, perhaps Dungeon Keepers. This was the final test before the Dark Gods would grant him an audience. He was not sure if he was simply to survive, or to find something, for his instincts kept telling him to search. He had taken the skulls of three such monsters and faced off against a rival Dungeon Keeper who had unleashed spell after spell at him, the majority of the blasts did little against his armor, although it took him several long minutes to close up against his foe, stab his opponent and slash the man's neck open from ear to ear. There were several other opponents, but he could not be sure how long apart the battles were. It could have been hours or minutes, but he had no way of being sure. Months or even years, he had no idea how long it had been.
Suddenly, he found himself standing at a gate composed of bones, a mixture of both human and animal, created in something akin to a gothic style, except that where there would be points were the skulls, mostly human. It was a warning, but for any who had come this far, there was no turning back. Growling at this sheer ridiculousness of it all, he checked the charges of his weapon and reloaded the spent cartridges; leaving him with a full volley of twelve. Looking around, he caught his last glimpse of the barren valley of fallen shattered bodies before lashing out, breaking apart the gate of bone, and he stalked up the walkway, weapon ready, deadly flames already crackling in his left hand as he stalked towards the massive throne of Kharnax.
The throne itself was as the legends described, composed of the bones and skulls of hundreds, if not thousands, that the Dark God himself had slain long before his ascension from Demon-hood to Godhood. It was massive, but somehow slicked down with blood that continued to flow down from the back of the throne, along the armrests and its massive legs, a gross bloody parody of a waterfall. The raw elemental power emanating from the Dark God rolled outwards in waves that promised fire, death and destruction to all who opposed him. The Demon Prince that the Dark God Kharnax himself had created stood before him, and refused to be cowed, glaring with obsidian hatred filled eyes up at the monstrously larger demon. Firestorm knew that this was the proverbial it, "You summoned me?"
The Dark God glared down at the infinitely smaller figure that glared up at him "Funny. Very funny. I somehow pictured you to be a lot taller," his voice sounded like the harsh winds that swept through the aftermath of a fought battle, "But you have far more courage than one of your stature should possess."
Firestorm growled, his muscles shaking with possible fear, even as he tried to call upon the red rage, the blood frenzy, to bring courage and a battle rage upon him, should he require it, "You. Summoned. Me." It was a statement, "Why?" That was the question.
The Dark God leered down at him, licked its lips. At the end of the tongue, emerged another small mouth, filled with crystalline serrated teeth that hissed for a moment, before disappearing from sight, "Since your arrival, in this world, I have watched you. And your offerings to me made it clear that you sought my blessings upon your crusade."
"I kill because I must, because it drives my warriors forward, I kill out of necessity, not because I choose to. MY weapon hungers for blood constantly, but I do not feed it just because it demands it. MY actions are driven by one reason," roared Firestorm, "I still know who I am! I still know who I was! I know what you have made me!"
Kharnax looked down at the small figure before him and laughed a deep booming laugh that promised nothing but immortal pain, "You think that I created you to help you?"
"You think you can twist me to your purposes?" he snarled, as his grip tightened upon the handle of his weapon.
Now Kharnax roared with laughter, "I do not have to. You have done my work for me. I have sought one, from your world for many decades now, and I did not think that my search would end so easily."
"`From my world?" the pieces of the puzzle began to click in to place, most especially the skulls upon the gate, they were all human, "How many have you taken from my world Kharnax?, and none of them could measure up to your standards? None of them were "worthy" enough to be your Avatar, to corrupt a dimension that you could not cross into?"
"Your intelligence, your cunning are two of the characteristics that your predecessors lacked in droves. You have both. Your prowess in battle is impressive, but the Avatar of the Heroes could still slay you with ease. That particular weakness will be erased as you gain a better grasp of combat. Every battle, every fight has made you stronger. IF you were capable, you would challenge me. And you still can, but you cannot hope to best me. This is my domain, and within it, I make the rules, and you have three options."
Firestorm held his weapon at the ready, the collection of ten blazing orbs of fire resting in a pyramid upon the palm of his left, as Kharnax gestured towards a set of doorways, the first composed of bones, the other, was a portal, clearly the same type that attracted a Dungeon Keeper their minions, "The door upon the left will open passage back to your Dungeon in this realm, where as we speak, your forces are consolidating your most recent gain. Numerous other Keepers are beginning to receive word of your ascension, know for certain that they cannot stand against your forces, and are willing to join your banner. You can crush all resistance in this world and rule in my name for eternity. The portal on the right will grant you that which you desire most: it will return you home, but be warned Demon Prince, you will find nothing there for you."
Firestorm knew that the God, sitting in his massive throne spoke the truth, how he was not sure, but the certainty of his words made it very clear that he had nothing left for him. Kharnax chuckled, an actual sound of merriment that almost made him seem human. The massive figure rose to his feet, taking a single step forward. A single step was enough as it sounded like a pile driver smashing headlong in to the titan gates of heaven, "Behold."
It was as if Kharnax had been keeping his own home video archive upon the events that had taken place while the Keeper of the Black Flame had been "comatose" in his own world. The images and sounds portrayed a world that knew not of his existence, of a family that still visited, but had abandoned all hope of seeing him walk, talk and move again. A girlfriend, he remembered her, long auburn hair, with brown eyes and a beautiful smile, and soft skin that had made her beautiful, his "own little angel," in a different time. She had moved on, leaving him to the darkness without a second thought. Betrayed by all those he had held dear. None of his so-called "friends" had visited. What had been months in this world, had been years, and Kharnax felt it necessary to twist the poison home, "Time passes differently in this world. It has been almost six years since you left your world, where it has only been months here."
There was still humanity within the Demon Price of Kharnax, and it showed as he could feel the emotions within him, welling up; emotions that would make him seem weak in the eyes of the God who now towered close to fifteen feet above his nine foot height. He quashed the emotions with a roar that one could mistake for a battle cry. It was more a cry of anguish and pain as he lashing out with his gunblade and spells, carving through the images that floated before him, even as he spun and lashed out, carving through the ornate statues that lined the walkway that lead up to the throne of Kharnax, while the Dark God watched with undisguised amusement. When his Chosen paused in his furious assault, the blood rage millimeters beneath the surface, he spoke, "You have a third choice, and it was the choice made by those who stood here before you. They chose to face me in single combat, in an attempt to take my place as God. You saw their skulls, and I know that you are no fool."
Firestorm breathed once, and snarled his rage, "You know full well what I desire: Home, revenge, blood, fire and death to all who have betrayed me. I have only to ask whether you will be the Patron to my Dark Crusade."
Kharnax laughed, "What would I gain by being your "patron deity" that I do not already have?"
Firestorm grinned, knowing that this is nothing but semantics now, "Consider how many people inhabit the lands above, perhaps forty million? My home world had over four billion when you took me! Think of the mountainous tower of skulls and the offerings of blood that I can raise in your honor and to your cause. Think of how your power will grow. And you gain, as you desire, that which you want most: A base of power, that once conquered, cannot be taken from you. With such a powerbase secured, your own ascension above the other Gods can be assured."
Kharnax smiled down at his Chosen, "Your cunning and intelligence could well be surpassed by your charisma," the God snapped his fingers, causing a human cranium, polished till it shone to appear upturned at the feet of his Chosen. Kharnax drew a small short blade from its sheath at his waist, and used it to nick one finger, drawing a bead of blood which he let spill in to the upturned skull, "I grant you my blessings."
Firestorm, Demon Prince and Chosen of Kharnax sheathed his blade, before kneeling before the Dark God Kharnax, and took the upturned skull in his hands. He raised it above his head, and saluted his Patron with the skull, before draining the blood within the skull in a single long gulp. His muscles sang in pleasure at the raw demonic power that he absorbed in his demonic form, and he roared in pleasure, "Thy will be done!"
"I grant you the ability to shape shift, to morph between your true, demonic form and your former human shape, and I return to you the memory of your human form. Remember that you serve me, Chosen of Kharnax, Demon Prince Firestorm, Dungeon Keeper of the Black Flame," rumbled the God, a satisfied smile upon its face.
The Prince rose to his feet, staring at the portal that would take him home, pausing a moment as he played with the magic and energy within him, reshaping his body, and appearance. He growled, the only sign that he would give of the pain as his wings and bones retracted into his flesh, while his bones crumbled and reformed to those of a human, skin softening and regaining a more normal and acceptable color. He remained standing through the transformation, for as much as it sent pain racing along his nerves it took only a matter of seconds, "Upon your return to your home world, your demonic essence will allow you to do what you must do, to build an army, to gather strength and to conduct your Dark Crusade."
He nodded to his patron, "I will not fail."
Kharnax nodded with a smile that would make small children scream in fear upon his face, "Indeed Chosen. Failure is not an option."
Demon Prince Firestorm, Keeper of the Black Flame, stood only six feet tall in his human guise, as Cameron Hunter, turned his back upon the God of Warfare and Bloodshed and stepped through the portal. The demonic runes along both sides of the door way flared brightly glowing a mix of blue, red and white, and the Chosen of Kharnax finally returned home.