The gate of stone slid shut. The ensuing echoes reverberated in the empty dark, reduced to whispers above a yawning gap heading to the ends of creation. The light came only from that gate of stone over a featureless flat rock at the end of which was a sudden and unending drop; then the light escaped into nothing and was lost completely. The glow was fading.

Five figures walked to edge of the precipice, looking down.

Above the swirling darkness, which hissed and rumbled like slow, distant thunder, an arm grasped the rocks jutting out of the cliff in desperation.

“Fools,” the voice said from below. “And you, Azaemon? What was promised that you would stick a knife in me?”

The one called Azaemon didn’t answer, and only managed to look away across the yawning void in shame.

“What we do,” said the one right above, “is for the best.” And his hands lifted from his side a bow. There was no arrow between his fingers, but as if it were, the figure pinched his thumb and forefinger and drew the bow back.

And an arrow of ice formed, with sparks flying from its tip.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“We can all say that whatever we do is for the best, Narazon,” the voice said, wheezing. “But it does not make it so.” Six knives protruded from his chest, knives which glowed red and blue against the darkness. From within the cracks of his wound flowed out a stream of golden dust, outlined against a faint yellow glow.

“Forgive us, my Lord Nura,” said a sultry voice from the side. “But your death brings peace.”

“Mourning me already, Kinalin?” Nura taunted. “I am not yet dead. And I won’t die by the hands of traitors.”

“My Lord …” Kinalin couldn’t find words to say. After all, what can one say to the victim of one’s betrayal. There is no other way.

“My hands have spoken for me,” Narazon said. “Farewell, Lord Nura.”

The celestial bow twanged, and the bolt of electric ice flew straight towards the Lord Nura’s head.

And it shattered.

A mass of black and gold erupted from his head. A shield of utter darkness formed, and after it was gone, Lord Nura still clung to the rock. But, cracks had formed all over his body, the golden light leaking, nay streaming away into the yawning void below.

“As if I would be killed by the likes of you! As if I would be killed by traitors!” He screamed. “I curse you, betrayers! I will take you back to whence you came. You want me gone? So be it!” Nura gave a terrifying smile. “Then, Nura shall fall.”

The fist that clasped the rock with firm obstinacy loosened, and Lord Nura dropped.

And the yawning void beneath sucked everything up, even the last flickers of the golden light.

The five figures stood in transfixed silence. Only the darkness below made its terrible noise.

“It is done,” Azaemon said finally. They turned, one by one, from the precipice and walked away.