War tore the land apart. On a peninsula, two giant black tides continuedly collided, both seeking to overthrow the other. Two armies fought for supremacy. Day after day they wrestled for control over the land. A fight that would only end with one of two’s demise.
For ten days the two armies had fought, leaving countless dead. On the eleventh day when the morning rays pierced through the clouds on the horizon, the churning of the war machine began once again. The screams that erupted from the battlefield told stories of the agony and despair that the soldiers felt in their last moments.
This peninsula had once been a place of wonder. It had been filled with verdant greens and towering mountains. Rivers and streams, with water so clear that you would lose yourself in them, weaved in and out of the mountainous region creating countless beautiful valleys. Innumerous animals had lived in this small paradise. From the smallest squirrel to the mightiest bear, they had all lived in harmony.
Yet, that small paradise had been torn asunder from war.
The once deep blue sky had turned into a dense dark red. The clouds which once drifted peacefully on that very sky had been replaced by enormous plumes of dark smog. The tress had long since been burned or chopped. The lush grass had cursed and burnt until they looked like a harrowing image of what they had once been, leaving them dried and withered. No longer could you hear the happy chirps of the birds nor the clear cries of the wolf. Now, there was only the sound of despair and desolation.
On a hill a couple of hundred meters from the front lines, a woman turned her eyes away from the slaughter. The woman sighed, the hopelessness and sadness were clear for all to hear.
“Miss Wilmont!” A guardsman wearing a highly decorated plate mail set approached the woman and saluted. “General Wilmont has requested your presence at the peak. The preparations have been completed.”
After casting one last saddened gaze towards the battling masses, the woman nodded with renewed resolve to the guardsman and followed him towards the nearby mountain peak.
Arriving at the site revealed a huge formation. Countless lines of red weaved in and out amongst themselves along accompanied by tens of thousands of words, all of which would be illegible to the average person.
It was imposing and creepy but felt somewhat grandiose at the same time.
“A hundred litres of goat blood with a thousand cores diffused within it with a third grade Ill’arcerium core as the centrepiece. Took the mages all night to set it up.”
A middle-aged man, wearing a simple iron plate mail set the only thing that distinguished him from a normal soldier being a long red cape on his back, commented. He stood atop a small platform from which he observed a mass of flurrying cloaked figures working on the oversized formation. He turned to look at the approaching woman, a slight smile on his face.
“Costly and very dangerous. But very much worth it if it gives the result which you predict, Spirit Specialist Wilmont.”
“Nothing is certain, General Wilmont. Much less so regarding the arcane and especially magic that connects to realms far past our own.” The woman paused, replicating the smile of her father. “Though I do believe we will pull through.”
“That is good to hear.” General Wilmont placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Give us a moment alone, Jack.”
With the departure of the guardsman, the confident look of General Wilmont withered, leaving only the concern of a father.
“Dear daughter of mine, are you truly sure this is what you want?” The unwillingness in the father’s voice was clear. “It is not too late to redirect the formation into something smaller, something safer…”
“I know what you fear father, but you have seen what devastation this war has brought. All the innocent lives lost. If we fail to halt the enemy here, I dare not think what will happen.” The younger Wilmont placed a light hand on her father’s cheek, gently wiping a small tear that threatened to escape his eye. “We have to snuff out the fire before it becomes a blazing inferno. It is something I have to do.”
“Ay… I know. But for the love of the gods, my dear, it is a forbidden spell. If the kingdom knew…”
“Enough father.” The Wilmont daughter cut off her father’s rambling. “You of all people should know that a lesser spell would only enrage them. This is my destiny father and if I die in the progress, so be it.”
The father sighed in the face of his daughter’s morbid optimism.
“If you are resolved and have the conviction, then I shall not stand in your way.” General Wilmont let out a small sigh, but soon replaced his slightly conflicted expression with his usual smirk. “Whether we live or not this will certainly make us end up in the history books, that is if anyone lives to tell the tale.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Indeed. They will tell tales of our foolishness for eons.”
“The time for preparation is over! We shall not dally while our soldiers fight with their lives on the line for our country down below!” General Wilmont’s thunderous voice boomed over the peak. “Mages take your position! Guardsmen prepare the wards!”
The quiet mountain top immediately became a mess as a few hundred figures scrambled to find their positions.
52 mages positioned themselves near the edges of the formation. Each of them held a long staff as well as a fist-sized gem. Behind each of them, two guardsmen with swords drawn and shields at the ready stood, poised to defend the mages if the formation acted out in any way.
The Wilmont duo stood among the mages and warriors as well. The daughter in the mage's position and the father in place of a guardsman.
The time for preparation had passed. The daughter began to speak with a slight melody. She was soon followed by the voices of mages. To those who were uninitiated, it simply sounded harsh and like gibberish. But to the mages, it was one of the most intricate things they had ever done in their life.
Slowly, but surely the circle at the centre of the formation lit up. As time passed, an unease spread among those present.
A strange blood-red energy formed from thin air, growing closer and closer until it coagulated into thin ribbons. The ribbons, once formed, proceeded to gravitate towards the very centre of the formation.
First, they gathered into bones, then muscles, and finally skin.
Replacing the costly core in the centre of the formation stood a man. He looked mostly human save for a few distinct features. First, where there was supposed to be hair, countless small horns instead populated the top of his head. Second, a set of dark red leathery wings spread out from his shoulder blades, giving him an impressive wingspan that any avian would be jealous of. Finally, at the place where his spine usually would have ended a long tail extended from it.
Even if he did not have all those unique bodily features, there would be no doubt among the summoners that this was no human. The man radiated a suffocating aura. Even breathing near him became a work of labour. It was so strong that one of the weaker mages of the group was sent shivering to the ground at the mere sight of him.
The Wilmont father and daughter pair curtsied before the man, not daring to raise their heads before the other party had given his direct consent.
The man, for his part, was simply casting his gaze upon the people surrounding him. Like a god surveying his believers.
After a few moments of silence that felt like minutes, if not hours, the man addressed the Wilmonts.
“Children of Zeat. You have brought me to this desolate land tainted with the stench of blood.” The man spoke with a voice that was deep, too deep, yet also too clear to be natural. “Speak of your reason, though I already know what it will be. Then we shall parley.”
Beads of sweat had long since appeared on the face of the younger Wilmont from the pressure she felt from the man, but she pushed her uncertainties aside and responded with a somewhat calm voice.
“Lord demon, we earnestly request that you rid the world of the enemies that threaten our borders.”
“Admirable mental resilience… for one as weak as you.” The demon walked forward arriving at the edge of the formation and just before the Wilmonts. “An army of roughly fifty thousand, around half of which are of equivalent strength to the third realm. Not the most difficult request that I have received, but certainly not the least cumbersome either. What do you offer in exchange for my efforts?”
“Lord Demon. We offer the materials used in the summoning circle as compensation. In addition, we also concede all spoils of war that could be taken from the enemy’s side.”
The demon sighed.
“Perhaps you are ignorant or maybe it has simply been too long since any of my kin has blessed this world with their presence, but this offering is simply too lacklustre.”
The demon clicked his tongue to show his disapproval.
“You see, such objects do not transfer well beyond the realms. Even if the offering were to be increased tenfold, I would still not bother accepting.” An insidious smile appeared on the demon’s face, slowly glancing at each person present. “A soul, on the other hand, is a highly valued commodity. Oh, and before you begin to offer the souls of your enemies like most who are ignorant to our ways, I must tell you that a soul has to be given willingly.”
“That… My glory years may have passed, but I believe that my soul still burns bright, please tak…”
“No!”
Before the Wilmont father could even finish his sentence, the daughter interrupted him.
“Father, you are the commander of the kingdom’s forces, your death would bring untold destruction. Not only for the kingdom but also for our family. My death would mean little in comparison.”
The daughter’s eyes shone with determination.
“But…”
“No buts. I told you this is something that I must do. It is my duty to the people. Lord demon, please take my soul as compensation.”
The daughter hurriedly offered her soul to the demon before her father could speak up again.
The demon, who had looked upon the life and death argument of the two as if it were an interesting comedy, laughed.
“Oh, dear child, I love your optimism. However, the offering is still nowhere near enough.” He paused for a moment in consideration, before an even more insidious and perhaps even sinister smile crept upon his face. “But perhaps we can come to a compromise.”
The demon slowly lowered his head until his mouth was right beside the Wilmont daughter’s ear. Hushed words were spoken, and the woman blanched.
After only mere seconds, the woman had gone through many emotions. Fear, apprehension, fear again, comprehension, and finally acceptance. Yet no one except the two knew exactly what had been spoken. Not even the Wilmont father, who was less than half a meter away from his daughter, had an inkling.
With the separation of the two, the parley had ended.
“Lord demon, I beseech you to destroy our enemies upon the battlefield.” The Wilmont Daughter’s body lit up with runes, which glowed with colour much akin to the demonic energy that permeated the formation. “In exchange, I will offer you the materials used in the formation… as well as my life.”
The Wilmont father gasped, having slightly understood what the two had whispered about. An angry gaze from his daughter, however, dissuaded him from voicing any opposition.
“I have heard your request and I accept it, miss Wilmont. May the twin moons bear witness to our agreement!”
With a blinding flash, the formation disappeared. The demon had been unleashed.
Droplets of pure red began to rain from the skies and a terrifying presence engulfed the land, almost like a god descending on earth. All those that fought on the battlefield paused, be it friend or foe, their spirits shaken.
Then, Time seemed to stop and there was only darkness.