Imagine if you will, ten thousand years ago.. The man sat on his throne, resplendent in his black armour. The sounds of battle could be clearly heard, reverberating through the thick ferrocrete walls at the heart of the fortress. He carefully surveys the events occurring outside his sanctuary on the monitors that surround him; Dropships howling down on assault landings; Citadels being reduced to rubble by immensely powerful orbital bombardments; Bitter tunnel fighting going on in the siege works defending his fortress and bloody close combat as the invaders slowly advanced to the inner sanctum. The sounds of battle grow louder. The walls shake from explosions caused by powerful weapons, loose chips clattering to the tiled floor. Soon, gunfire and screams echo from immediately outside the sanctum. The commotion lasts for a few minutes as the defenders put up a stubborn last stand but are eventually swept aside. The heavy doors to the sanctum suddenly fly inwards with a deafening boom as the breaching charges go off. Before the remains of the doors even hit the floor a small group charges through the breach and emerge through the heavy cloud of dust in to the sanctum. The man on the throne looks up from his monitors and spies the intruders. "It is customary to knock" he hisses venomously under his breath. The lead warrior stood at the center of the sanctum. He was a huge man garbed in magnificent dark green armour adorned with sigils of angels. A black robe fluttered gently over the armour. A finely crafted sword crackling with energy was held lightly in one hand. A shield with yet another mural of an angel was held in readiness in the other. A bodyguard of green armoured men stand in readiness to his side. A battle standard flutters proudly from the banner pole of the standard bearer. The walls begin to shake more vigorously with each strike of the orbital bombardment cannons but the 'intruders' stand still and firm. Minutes seemed like hours. Eventually gigantic man in green armour slowly sheathes his sword and drops his shield. Purposefully he reaches up to his helm. The magnificently crafted helm, with two regal wings set in to it is released with a hiss of compressed air. As the helm is removed and passed to a retainer the handsome features of the noble lord are revealed. Russet blonde hair flutters lightly. Anger and sadness shine in his eyes. He steps closer to the throne. Arrogance seeps from the posture of the man on the throne as he looks contemptuously at the intruder. Their eyes lock. No one knows if words were spoken or whether they measured each others resolve mentally. The orbital strikes become stronger as the walls weaken. Dust and rubble descended from the tall ceilings with each strike. The walls shook as if it were the end of the world. Yet both men remained still. The man on the throne slowly looked away towards his monitors and then turns a large one toward the intruders. The screen shows multiple images; one of a huge forest ablaze; another is a volcano spewing forth pyroclastic death; several show great heaving rents in the earth, again spewing molten lava. One of the men in the bodyguard puts a hand to his ear-piece and seemed to listen to a communiqué. The rest of the group look at him as he speaks to them in a grave, hushed voice. As one, the group look to their leader waiting for his orders regarding the new information they have received. Ready to follow his lead without hesitation. . The noble lord keeps his eyes fixed on the man on the throne as he gives his commands. His followers hesitate. Their armoured helms hide the look of incredulity on their faces. They stand rooted to the spot unable to comprehend the nature of the order they had been given. Their weapons remain locked on the man on the throne. The sound of the standard fluttering from the pressure waves from the bombardment is the only noise save that of the bombardment itself. The noble lord turns slowly and looks at each of them in turn, repeating his instructions to each of them. After a pause, interrupted only by the impact of cannon and the shaking of the very planet itself, each of them takes one last look at their master and turns and leaves without another word. As the last one departs the two men lock eyes again. The noble lord asked the man in black but the simplest of questions: "why?" His answer is only heard by the man with the russet blond hair and piercing eyes who replies in a clipped and deeply saddened tone: "So be it." Without further ado the two are suddenly at each other, swords drawn and swinging mighty arcs, shields moving to deflect the strikes. The man in black attacks his opponent with speed and ferocity not of this world. The noble lord man replies in kind. Ancient and ornate blades clash against each other. or are turned aside by powerful shields. Forces not of this world are unleashed as the battle rages, the whole edifice being torn apart by their immense combat. The receding, but ever present, bombardment from above and now by the terrible forces of nature themselves contribute to the destruction. The man in black launches dark bolts of energy at his adversary revealing his true nature. The noble lord dodges them with almost supernatural speed, even encased in his heavy green armour. His speed and skill are a match for the dark wizardry of the black knight. On and on they battle tirelessly, superhuman strength against inhuman energy. The black knight swings his weapon in berserk fury, slashing out in frustration and anger. The green knight fights with precision and cunning controlling his fury, though his eyes burn red at the thought of betrayal. Swing, thrust, parry, riposte! Then suddenly he sees an opening. The noble lord dodges the black knights wild swing, and knocks his shield with his own. Off balance and with both sword and shield swinging in different directions he realizes his folly. He sees the green knights' sword thrust towards him and tries to step back. He stumbles on the winged helm that that the green knight had removed earlier and falls, his black sword clattering to the ground, leaving himself open to a lethal blow. The beaten man winces in expectation of the death to come. Yet his rival hesitates! The noble lord sees an old friend, corrupted beyond redemption, yet hesitates. Such is the strength of comradeship. Unbeknownst to either of the knights, in the shadows, amongst the ruins of the once mighty fortress a warrior garbed in black armour stared in amazement. How he survived the massive bombardment or the forces unleashed by the mighty combat he could not comprehend. He had witnessed the awe-inspiring combat for sometime dumbstruck by the incredible power by which they fought. He appreciated with relish the warrior prowess of both men. He had stood mesmerized by the tactical swordsmanship of the green knight and the sheer unrelenting fury of the black one. He stood terrified by the reality that one was his master to whom he had sworn fealty and the other his father to whom he owed his life. Unable to choose, unable to decide, unable to comprehend he had stood rooted within the ruins, the only human witness to this clash of titans. As the man in black was overpowered by the green knight and was at his mercy, the lone watcher had subconsciously yet blindingly fast, drawn his holstered pistols. One was an ornate bolt pistol and the other an intricate plasma pistol. Both awarded to him by the black knight not too long ago when he was elevated to his bodyguard. Pointing both at the man in green, he realized that he could not pull the triggers just as much as the other could not swing his sword. Time seemed to hang in the air at that point. The look of despair and defeat on the face of the fallen black knight which quickly turns to an evil smirk as he realized that the green knight had hesitated from the killing blow. He chants a spell and dark flowing energy flowed from his hands and eyes forming in to an solid wall of black flame which hits the noble green knight. The blond haired man is sent flying by the immense force of the psychic assault, crashing in to a ruined wall, his magnificent blade snapping in two. The man in black rises, dark energy coruscating around him, and he paces towards his foe, who is struggling to stand, his noble feature wracked with pain, yet preparing to defend himself with what remains of his sword. The warrior in the shadows looks on at this, completely beguiled, his guns clattering to the floor. He is unable to see the sudden change in the dark knights' face. The look of arrogance and power on his face suddenly replaced by one of anguish and guilt, as realization of his deeds dawned on him. Abruptly the dark energies engulfing him disappear and he too collapses to the floor alongside the warrior in green. As tendrils of comprehension slowly insinuated themselves in to mind of the warrior in the shadows, a tremendous rumble of a massive storm is heard. Blinding lightning and a deafening thunder begin to emanate above the planet. The warrior looks up, through the ruined remains of the citadel. He notices unnatural brooding storm clouds that did not belong in a mortal realm. Twisted and leering faces appeared in those clouds, not human but of daemon. Dark bolts of lightning struck all over the landscape, each accompanied by a barely perceivable but daemonic scream. He turns his gaze back to the two fallen warriors, and finds them surrounded by a circle of diminutive robed figures. He wants to move, to help his father and his master but finds he is unable to move his legs. As he struggles to move one of the robed figures appears, blocking his way. Instinctively he tries to draw his pistols before realizing that he had dropped them on the floor. He desperately looks to the floor to where he dropped them fall but they are not visible. As he looks up at the robed figure in confronting him, he sees both his weapons levitating in the air between them. All of the figures surrounding the two fallen men turn to face him. |
ANGEL IN THE SHADOWS By ( Lucius2 ) Edited by ( Shadow Guard ) |
SAGAS OF THE FALLEN ANGELS |
