Adventures of John: Ravages of War

Chapter 10: Dungeons of Order

Author's Note: Hey everyone. I haven't been getting any reviews lately, and I just wanted to tell you all that even if you don't have any critiques for my writing I would still love to hear from you all. Whether from reviews or PMs, your messages have often helped me through tough times. So if you have anything to tell me, or just want to chat, I would be glad to talk to you.

I laughed as I was thrown into my cell, magic-dampening manacles attached to my wrists and ankles. When I managed to steal the golden apples from Asgard that first time the gods were confused. When I defeated Ares in single combat they were shocked. But now, now that I had killed not one but three gods, now they feared me. They feared my power, as well as the power that I had stolen and placed inside my blade. I was lucky I hadn't given myself that power, because if I had they would have torn me to pieces to take it from me.

My cell was made of perfectly clean, cold grey stone, with the only illumination being the faint blue light generated from the manacles siphoning off my magic. I tested the manacles with a burst of magic, which was immediately taken into the manacles, their glow increasing momentarily before fading once more. Usually in such situations I managed to escape because my captors underestimated my abilities and I overflowed the manacles with power, but my current captors had made no such mistake. They knew perfectly well what I was capable of, and there was very little chance for an escape.

I chuckled for a bit more, but I soon felt a force enveloping me. I ventured out with my senses and felt the force throughout the prison. It was a greyness, a blandness. It told me to sit still, to wait for trial, to trust that justice would prevail. It told me to do what I was told, to conform, to be like everyone else. It told me that I would be safe, that I would be secure, that everything would be taken care of. All I had to do was obey.

I flared my magic, the manacles glowing bright and hot, burning the skin around my wrists and ankles. The pain brought me back to myself, gasping heavily. I have been tortured for days on end, I have experienced my worst nightmares becoming reality, I have felt my soul being ripped out of me, but nothing was worse than that feeling. That feeling of blankness, of complete uniformity. I would rather be consumed by the Void and become nothing than submit to that bland grey.

It was then, as I sat there in the Dungeons of Order, that I realized the true horror of Order. If Order were to win this war, there wouldn't simply a tyrannical world-wide government. This feeling, this force, would encompass all the universe. Everything would be bland and grey and the same. Everything would be under the rule of Order, and no one would even care. I decided then and there that I had to break out of this prison, lest I fall under the sway of that force.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be easier said than done. The manacles absorbed my magic just as well as they had before, and after testing the walls of my cell I determined that they were indeed stone, and there was no way I was going to break them down without magic helping me. Not only that, but the manacles also kept me from using my creation abilities. I tried to think of a way to utilize the power of Balance to get myself out, but Balance isn't exactly the most violent of forces. I can use it to bring an end to destruction, but I can't use it to destroy. Sitting there in that cell, I was powerless. I sat there for hours, fighting off the grey blandness and trying to find a way out, but the truth was that even while in the mortal realm I have more power than I did at that moment. At least in the mortal world I wasn't stuck inside a cell.

"That's it!" I exclaimed. Like usual, I had traveled to the magical realms via spirit travel. My body was still on earth, safe in bed. If I could just find a way back… The manacles were siphoning off my magic. That was the key. Even without using my magic, they were still slowly taking my magic from me. Except the thing was, my spirit form was entirely made out of magic. All I had to do was draw my magic back into my body, feeding what was left into the manacles, allowing my consciousness to escape.

I began the process, my power slowly finding its way back to my unconscious body. As I did so I saw my hand becoming translucent, losing the power that kept my spirit form together. The manacles continued to drain my magic, but with my power gone, they had nothing left to feed off of but me. The doors of my prison opened just as the manacles fell to the ground, the servants of Order staring in shock at the place I had once stood.

My consciousness fled, soaring out of the confines of its prison. As it did however, I saw something both wonderful and terrible. I saw that grey, bland, uniform force pushing against another force, one filled with backs and whites and colors of all shades and hues. It was filled with rage and joy and sorrow and hate and love and life and death and pain and everything, emotions and sensations forced together into a chaotic flood that would drown you and drive insane. I watched the two forces battling, seeming to almost be sentient.

No, not sentient. There was no intelligence in this conflict. There was, however, purpose. These forces were alive, and they only wanted one thing: to destroy the other completely. It was a sight unlike any other, watching them battle. I knew that soon I would have to find a way to stop them, or else their battle would consume the universe.

. . . . .

I woke up in my bed this morning, something digging into my leg. Reaching into my pocket, I found a box. A small, archaic-looking box that filled me with a sense of foreboding. "You shouldn't be here," I muttered. I knew this box well. I had always considered it my weapon of last resort. I had created this box, but the magics I had used to create it were unpredictable and dangerous. And in that moment, I realized that it is exactly what I need.