The Shadow of All Worlds
A Crossover Novel
Copyright 2014 Vanna Smythe Jennifer Preister Fawkes Paz Shane Porteous
Cover art and cover copyright 2014 Tom Barzcak
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Special thanks to Neil Shooter L. Blankeship and Walter Rhein for their input during the early brainstorming sessions of this project.
The Shadow of All Worlds
By
Vanna Smythe, Jennifer Preister, Fawkes Paz, Shane Porteous
Chapter 1
The clean up was finally finished, the last of the glass had been set in place, the great sword back where it belonged. The Hall of Heroes now looked the way it once had: clean, organized and glorious.
“That is the last of the weapons?” King Yadi asked, his authoritative yet soothing voice heard by his entire escort.
“That it is my lord,” Regent Jenner replied. Silently he remembered the day the hall was vandalized, the sword of Perocles was the first weapon taken from this place, so it felt fitting that it was the last to return. King Yadi admired the Hall, he knew some expected him to be angry about this sacred place being ransacked, but he wasn’t. He was just grateful his kingdom had survived the battle and that they had been able to restore the hall. Yadi turned away from the hall, and his escort of regents, guards, knights and mages followed like an orderly group of shadows. He would have liked to stay within that place for much longer, but there were too many other pressing matters he couldn’t ignore.
They entered one of the many walkways of the city as the sun shone brightly in the sky. Its warmth was welcome for the air remained chilly. Even though winter was in its dying days and spring would follow, it would be at least a month before the snow melted completely. In the distance they could hear a chorus of sounds, a collection that some of them knew very well.
“I take it the training is on schedule?” King Yadi asked, his gaze remaining upon his half-rebuilt city.
“In some ways it is my lord,” a female knight with short black hair answered.
“Some of the townsfolk have taken to the sword and spear as well as they once took to the fishing rod and saw. While others seem better off sticking with the trades of their fathers.”
“All of them would’ve been better off sticking with the trades of their fathers.”
These words caused the entire escort and the king to stop mid-step. With the exception of the king there was only one amongst them whose voice carried such an authority. Every eye now rested upon that man, the striking figure of Captain Juruz. He didn’t wait for his King to address him, which all of them noticed.
“I mean no disrespect to Captain Oeger,” Captain Juruz began, glancing at the female knight in a sign of genuine respect. “But those men and women shouldn’t be wielding swords and spears, they should be performing their trades, whether it be forging metals or selling their trinkets, none of them should be handling weapons.”
King Yadi locked eyes with Juruz, he understood his frustration well, but he understood better that these were desperate times.
Before the king could speak Regent Jenner stepped forward, placing himself in front of Juruz.
“People such as those training now, who like them once pounded metal and sold trinkets, took up arms and defended the second entry point during the orc attack. If it hadn’t been for them the second entry point would have been overrun.”
Silently the rest of the escort watched on as, without a second thought, Juruz replied. “Do you know why you have to tell me that? All of those townsfolk who fought on that day aren’t here to tell me themselves, because each and every one of them is deep within the ground.”
“Many knights of Ebulon are also deep within the ground,” Regent Jenner countered. Juruz took a half step forward and instantly the air filled with tension.
“Now that is something you didn’t have to tell me,” Juruz began, his deep powerful voice resonating through the air. “Because what you fail to understand Regent is those knights died doing what they were trained for, what they took oaths for. That is how warriors are meant to die, defending what they are sworn to defend. Merchants and blacksmiths are meant to die warm in their beds grateful that sworn knights died fighting to ensure their way of life.”
“I was at the second entry point,” Regent Jenner said both softly and sternly. “A warrior from another world came and told the townsfolk to raise arms and defend this kingdom. Those townsfolk were warriors on that day, they died doing what they were supposed to.” Regent Jenner was surprised that Juruz didn’t flinch at such a statement. Instead he spoke confidently.
“You mean the foreigner who ordered you to allow the Hall of Heroes to be vandalized in the first place? You mean the foreigner who demanded that grandfathers who should have been someplace warm and safe smash bottles and make weapons out of rusted old farm tools? You mean the foreigner who got boys too young to shave to wield the weapons of heroes, the sacred artifacts that should have remained where they were? The foreigner who demanded that you, a regent, take up a weapon and be somewhere that you never belonged?”
“His name was Malik, and yes,” Regent Jenner replied, amazed that he was defending a man whose boorish demeanor he once despised. Juruz deliberately waited a bit before answering. The moment felt heavy and seemed to last much longer than it actually did.
“You think that because you spent one night on a battlefield, instead of someplace warm and safe that you have any idea what I am talking about?”
To this the Regent had no response, because he knew Juruz was correct. It wasn’t his place to question the captain. Juruz wasn’t a simple guardsman like Stern, he was a seasoned and proven warrior, a man who had been on thousands of battlefields, fighting orcs, men, dwarves, elves, even dragons. Jenner was now quite certain that Juruz would never have allowed Malik to do such things. Since he wasn’t a warrior Jenner had no idea how Malik would’ve faired against Juruz and he was quite certain an altercation would’ve taken place if Juruz had been there. But he hadn’t been, and if Malik hadn’t shown up Jenner wouldn’t have survived that night.
“Now, Captain,” King Yadi said. He was the only one capable of getting Juruz to look away from the Regent. “You cannot blame Regent Jenner for his gusto, I am sure you remember what it was like surviving your first day of battle. You know as well as I that being so close to the hand of death is the only way one truly feels alive.”
“That I do…My Lord,” Juruz responded after a long moment. His powerful marble blue eyes looked back to Jenner. “I also remember not questioning the veteran knights and captains who had fought on many battlefields.”
Jenner stayed quiet to this remark. His king was right, before that night he never would’ve addressed Juruz in such a way. He had to remember who he was, he used his words not his hands to settle things.
“Believe me, Captain,” Yadi said as he began walking once more. Captain Juruz’s gaze wandered just a little bit before he turned and began walking with the rest of the escort. “I understand your frustrations. Ideally tradesmen should be plying their trades not fighting on the battlefield. But I also know that many knights and veteran warriors died defending this city from the Confederation of Orcs. While I am eternally grateful to each and every one of them, we still have many enemies in the world and need the townsfolk to be prepared and trained to defend this city once more.” There was a shared moment of silence as they looked out into the city fro
m the walkway. Though much had been repaired and cleaned away, the city was far from rebuilt.
“I do not feel the orcs will be much of a problem my King.” The words came from one of his many advisors-the thinned framed, narrow faced Atfan. “The confederation remains, however they are busy fighting with the goblins over control of the Rainlands. The goblins are far more formidable than they were twenty years ago when they were raiding Eskuras. Even if the orcs manage to defeat them, it will be years before they are a threat to us once again.”
“I quite agree,” another advisor added, this one a relatively young woman. “I never thought the day would come when Ebulon would be grateful for goblins.”
“Yes, that is true,” the king said, looking to no one in particular. “But not all orcs lived in the Rainlands, many tribes would have no interest in fighting goblins. While we killed a good number of them during the Battle of Ebulon there are many tribes still large and capable. They have been raiding elf outposts in retaliation for their aid during the battle.” King Yadi stopped his step knowing his words would carry more power if he halted and shared eye contact with each of his escorts. “Prince Aldoren risked a lot coming to help us, he put many good elf warriors in danger. If he calls for help in defending his outposts or even defending one of the elf cities it is our responsibility to send warriors to help him.” Yadi ensured he looked each of them in the eye, allowing them enough time to protest his words. Such protests never came, for each strongly agreed.
Collectively they had all taken a few steps before King Yadi began speaking again. “Besides, as all of you know, the orcs are not our only enemy….” The king stayed silent for quite some time for inside he was sickened by the circumstance of his beloved city. Seemingly sensing his troubles, one of the mages, a tall figure with a short sharp beard and long flowing hair that shone a very dark blue in the sunlight, spoke.
“The attacks on the silver and gold mines by the refugees have increased ever since the streets of Ebulon were picked clean of orc corpses.” As soon as he said these words, the mage second-guessed himself.
It wasn’t something that anyone of them was proud of, especially the king. His kingdom, his cherished city had been the only human holding that had survived the campaign of the orcs, and so many refugees from now perished human kingdoms had flocked there, hoping to start their lives anew. But Ebulon was far from unscathed, it simply didn’t have the resources or manpower to feed and govern such a large host. Too many of Ebulon’s citizens and soldiers had died during the battle, meaning there wasn’t enough people to clean the streets of the bodies. Because the battle had taken place during winter, most of the orc bodies remained frozen.
In a bid to accomplish many things with a single task, such as cleaning the streets as well as feeding the refugees Yadi had ordered something disturbing. Sickened by the solution but knowing it was the best option, Yadi had used the strange recipes given to his soldiers by ‘The Kitchen Patrol’ to teach the refugees how to properly cook and eat orc flesh. The notion was nauseating, he knew he couldn’t force it on his own people, but his streets had to be cleaned before spring came. He also knew the refugees would resent him, but at least their stomachs would be full.
When the refugees had been forced to leave, many riots occurred and Yadi was aware that many refugees were killed during the conflict. But his streets were clean and for the time being his city was safe. But the refugees were still out there, desperate, cold and full of resentment for the king who wouldn’t allow them to settle in his city. They didn’t care for his reasons, his reasons wouldn’t keep them warm or well fed.
The king was so entrenched by his own thoughts it took him a moment to realize one of his advisors was talking.
“I agree that the attacks on the mines are an annoyance we will have to deal with,” the advisor began in his well-spoken voice. “But I am more concerned by the Sack Swords. Their attacks on the mines stopped about a month ago.”
“I disagree,” one of the mages said, her eyes almost golden, her hair an apple red.
“The Sack Swords were given their name because they are so poorly equipped they have to carry their swords in potato sacks in place of sheaves.”
“The swords themselves aren’t what we should worry about,” Captain Oeger retorted. “It is the men and women wielding them. Unlike most of the refugee groups the Sack Swords are made up entirely of former knights, mercenaries and tribal warriors. The only reason for warriors of different cultures to unite is to attack a single enemy, one that has more resources and food than any mine.” She didn’t need to elaborate, they all knew that she was talking about their home municipal.
“The only mercenary leader ever worth fearing was Droak and he perished in the battle for Jamik,” an advisor said, seemingly trying to put his own fears to rest in place of adding anything noteworthy.
“Droak may be dead,” another captain roughly the same age as Juruz said. “But a lot of the Droakins are still alive and are members of the Sack Swords. Their leader for example this ‘Match Head’ Ged is an exceptional warrior.” After he said these words he placed his hand on his chest, though his touch only felt the cold hard plate of armor, beneath it, he still carried a scar he had received from Match Head Ged on a past battlefield.
“Not to mention they are probably better armed than we first thought,” said a mage who was completely bald, but possessed an impressive pair of blonde muttonchops. “I know we did our best to stop the refugees from taking any of the orc weapons when we allowed them into ‘clean’ the city streets, but it is impossible that we stopped them completely.”
His words rang true, the riots were utterly chaotic, there was much opportunity for the refugees to take the weapons of the dead orcs to flee the city and regroup for a future attack.
“In hindsight, perhaps we should have asked for help from the other worlds to rid the city of the dead orcs in place of getting the refugees to do it,” another advisor said.
Such an idea was a ridiculous one, as far as the king was concerned. Heroes of the other worlds had risked life and limb to save his city for no reward, even in such a desperate situation he could never ask such a thing of them. Before he could voice such words Juruz spoke sharply. “We must never again ask for aid from other worlds!”
The entire escort stopped in mid step and not because of Juruz’s commanding voice but rather because of what he just said.
“What is the meaning of this?” Keska, a member of the royal guard demanded. She possessed hard yet attractive features. During the entire conversation the royal guard had remained quiet, as normally they were focused entirely on keeping the king safe. But someone making such a demand of their king, even a veteran captain like Juruz was completely out of line. Juruz stayed quiet, but it was clear he held to his conviction.
“I’ll agree that some of the actions of this Malik were despicable, and the other world creature who agreed to give Attor the dragon half the king’s gold had no right to do that, but you speak out of term Captain.” A mage who was built much more like a warrior than a wizard said these words.
“Some of those who aided our city have done wrong but let us not forget that many advances have been made because of their presence here. The surgical skills and techniques of Kate Bockmann have vastly improved our medical knowledge, ask any surgeon or doctor in the city if you don’t believe me,” another mage added, conviction strong in her tone.
“Let none of us forget if it hadn’t been for each and every one of those heroes Ebulon would have been burned to the ground and none of us would be standing here having this conversation.” King Yadi had spoken once more and it brought each of them to silence. He shared an intense gaze with Captain Juruz but neither of them blinked. Sensing how bad the tension had become, Captain Oeger spoke.
“The king is correct, Captain Juruz. You know that as well as any of us. Captain Torrin personally told me that if it hadn’t been for otherworld soldiers coming to your aid than the
first entry point would have fallen within minutes.”
Now Captain Juruz stared long and hard at her, she was a strong person in her own right but it was difficult to stare at Juruz for long, since his gaze was overwhelmingly powerful.
“It was a single soldier,” Juruz said slowly. “And if you had seen what I had seen you never would want him in this world again.”
The king knew Captain Juruz personally, they had fought together on many battlefields. He had seen Captain Juruz stare down a dragon without fear and so he was disturbed when he saw the Captain’s hand trembling.
“Tell me, Juruz,” the king said softly. “What is it that you saw on that day?”
The king had been told already what had happened at the first entry point of his city by one of his many mages. Even though the battle had taken place only months ago the memory of the mage’s words felt very distant. All he really remembered was that this other world warrior had defeated Grock the King Killer in an one on one confrontation.
Captain Juruz knew his king better than most and seemingly could see what he was thinking. He explained himself slowly and for the first time for many of them his voice wasn’t authoritative and proud, rather it sounded weakened.
“If he had just defeated Grock in battle I would forever be praising his name…but he did much more than that…” Juruz flinched at the memory and the king was alarmed by such action. “I saw a single man…no there is no way he was man. I saw a single soldier summon an energy unlike any this world has known. With this energy he turned giant mountain peaks into dust and killed five-hundred orcs in an instant. But that was nothing compared to what he did next. I saw him stand alone without fear or apprehension against a sea of orc warriors, there were thousands and thousands of them. Their numbers were so great that not a speck of snow could be seen amongst them as they charged towards him….” Juruz stopped speaking for a moment but none dared to break his concentration. “Out of those thousands upon thousands, only 6 got past him. His power was so great that after single-handily killing a good five thousand of them the rest fled, tens of thousands of orcs fled back to whatever hole they crawled out of instead of facing this one warrior.”
Juruz ensured his eyes were firmly upon his king when he spoke again. “Forget the orcs, forget the refugees, forget the Sack Swords, forget the elves, forget even the dragons. If he had wanted to, this soldier could have attacked Ebulon and not even if every knight of the city stood against him could we have stopped him.”
There was a long dreadful silence that haunted the air as they all contemplated his words.
“But he didn’t,” a mage finally said. With all eyes upon the mage, the king recognized him as the one who had once watched over the first entry point to the city. “I was there,” the mage continued with conviction. “I too saw what this…”
“Cada Varl,” Juruz said deathly.
“…Cada Varl was capable of and you’re right. If he wanted to take this city, chances are he could have. But he didn’t, he came to aid this city because our king asked him to. When the battle was over he left this world without asking for so much as a jug of water.”
“You miss my point,” Juruz said. “You say you saw the same things that I did and if you were a warrior you too would be afraid.” He looked upon his king as he said, “I do not care how long someone trains, you do not fight the way he did without spending a lot of time on proper battlefields.”
“I don’t understand,” the mage replied truthfully. Keeping his eyes on his king, whose vision showed alarm. Juruz explained. “There is no way he could have become that skilled merely by slaughtering, which means he had to have fought beings strong enough to challenge him physically. So in other words there are beings out there in the other worlds strong enough to match Cada Varl.”
He searched the gaze of his king and could tell his words were getting through to Yadi. Juruz moved his gaze to peer into the eyes of each of the mages.
“I have heard the stories of who and what came to the other entry points of the city. You know how powerful the other world heroes are, not just Cada Varl but others.” Looking back to his king he said softly yet clearly, “None of them became that powerful without facing beings of similar strength. It is almost too terrifying to imagine how Ebulon would suffer if beings of such power that weren’t heroes were ever allowed into this world. You must never allow such beings a chance to enter our domain. You yourself have said that you do not have complete control over who hears the call. To even risk such a chance would be damning not just for Ebulon but the entire world.”
Captain Juruz didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked off.
Keska motioned to speak, but a raised hand by her king silenced her. Captain Juruz who was known for his respectful way had shown disrespect by not addressing Yadi in a proper way. Yadi was aware of this but was more concerned by what it indicated. Though much of what Captain Juruz had said had merit, the lack of respect was a growing trend amongst many of his soldiers.
Many, including Juruz felt ostracized by everything that had happened since the battle. These once proud, brave men and women were forced to accept help from complete strangers to defend their city. King Yadi was sure they saw it as a humiliation that didn’t end when the battle was over. And now normal townsfolk were being trained in order to one day fight alongside them. Adding to the humiliation was having to give Attor half of the treasury.
Yadi hated the idea as much as his soldiers did, but there hadn’t been enough of them to resist the dragon. Now the soldiers were facing aggressive refugees, many of which weren’t trained warriors and yet the Ebulon army was in such a weakened state even the refugees were becoming too much of a problem for them to handle. Ebulon had survived against the orcs and for that Yadi was forever grateful. But his city remained badly wounded, it would take a considerable amount of time before it was completely healed.
He found himself looking out from the walkway to one of the many courtyards. He could see a number of weary people as they worked under the close supervision of guards, repairing the city walls and other such tasks. They weren’t refugees but Ebulon citizens who had fled the city before the orc attack had begun. He didn’t blame them for leaving. When the Confederation of Orcs had begun their campaign to wipe humans from this world every single other human city was wiped off the face of the earth.
Ebulon would have suffered a similar fate if the other world warriors hadn’t shown up. But because he had been forced to hand over half his wealth and knowing the refugees couldn’t be used to repair the city, the king had no other choice but to force these citizens into unpaid labor. It was under the pretext that they had to earn their place back into society, punishment for abandoning the city. He hated the idea of it, these were the people he was supposed to look after and protect. However his city had to be rebuilt. There were simply too many wolves at his door for him to leave it open.
As he began walking once more, his escort following him, his thoughts were still filled with what Captain Juruz had said and its validity. He hoped that he would never have to face such a situation.
Chapter 2
The landscape wasn’t desolate but it was dark. The low hanging clouds were thick and black like fruit swelled by a foul poison, making it difficult for sunlight to descend. Twisted towers and black monuments covered the terrain. The architecture was grand and complex but was also intensely morbid. Life didn’t seem welcome here as if this place was a tribute to death and other such foul ideals. Even the few scattered trees were unnatural, ill-formed things, appearing like the hands of craven giants that had been buried deep within the earth.
Before the mouth of the largest tower stood a place of stone, a large circle built upon the ground. Like spears upon a slaughtered corpse, a series of misshapen pillars surrounded the circle. They appeared like lurking abominations, peering down at the altar of the circle’s center.
This was a place many would fear to tread, but the man
who sat upon the altar wasn’t amongst them. Morosely he seemed quite suited to a place like this. He was shirtless, revealing a torso of impressive muscle, sculptured so flawlessly it would make marble envious. He wore red pants and well fitting boots, a black and white armband of crosses decorated his right arm and black plate armor covered one of his shoulders. His hair was the color of iron, short and scruffy, like the mangled fur of a feral wolf. A mask forged from a unique red metal hid his face. The mask had little design to it, prompting function over decoration. The mask only revealed his eyes and they were quite a sight to behold, they were much larger than most men’s eyes, huge and intense, the eyes of a constant predator. The yellow of his eyes was powerful enough to pierce the deepest of pits and even with the darkness of the clouds scraping the landscape they stood out.
On the tip of his smallest finger he balanced a well-made sword without effort. Revealing an inhuman control of his nerves and muscles, as well as strength no man could match. The balancing act didn’t impress the masked figure, because he knew he was no human. Aneeku was his name and a voice inside his mind had brought him to this place. The problem was he had no idea what this place was. At first that didn’t bother him, he was glad to leave where he had come from, a place that made this landscape seem a paradise by comparison. Boredom was plaguing him, he had balanced his sword countless times and had never been impressed by architecture. There had to be a reason why the voice called him here, a reason he was impatient to know.
A rotten wind picked up, carrying with it all the scents of this sullen city. It prompted him to look into the distance. He could see the giant outer walls of the city, walls that looked down upon mountains. He could also see movement and that interested him greatly.
Approaching the altar was a group of men, dressed in tight-fitting black uniforms with swords at their sides, and two staffs crossed on their backs. A murder of crows, Aneeku thought, smiling under his mask, for the image of them moving as one reminded him of those black birds. And this wolf is in the mood for crow flesh!
He showed no hesitation or stealth as he got off the altar and grasped his sword firmly. He kept a steady pace as he met the approaching group of men. Slowly Aneeku’s eyes scanned the gazes of the group, he savored the moment, wondering which crow he was going to slaughter first. His eyes moved across the gazes of the flock but they showed no fear of him, each pair of eyes, filled with purpose and resolve, fixed on him as he approached.
Crows knew to be afraid of him, which meant these men were too stupid to be called birds of death. He titled his head, his movements morbid as he sniffed the air like a beast. Now the men wearing black looked more like vermin, because to him that was what they smelled like.
“Rats always scurry in packs,” he said mockingly in a low growling snarl.
In retaliation, the black uniformed men grasped their swords but none drew them.
The motions of each were identical. Trained to act but not to think, he thought. It certainly suited the behavior of rodents.
“Who are you calling rats? Not us, I hope,” one asked, and to Aneeku his voice sounded like a squeak of a rat.
“It’s you who seems like a coward. Take off your mask and then dare to insult us,” another said, his voice just as squeaky.
“You also seem too stupid to count, because you have failed to realize that you’re outnumbered!” another rat squeaked. “Not that it matters, I’m sure any one of us can take on five of your kind.”
“Ten more like!” Another put it, fixing his cold, steel grey eyes on Aneeku. “And I’ll let you keep that mask on while I show you how that’s done.”
The rest laughed, but Aneeku paid little attention to their squeaks. It would take far more than that to insult him.
“Silence. No one will fight here!” One of the men ordered the rest, some of whom were still chuckling.
The man who issued the order looked at each of his men and Aneeku watched their faces grow tight, their eyes turning to cold steel. They stood back and turned away from Aneeku. As though he wasn’t even there. As though he couldn’t pick off any among them, like they could kill him as easily as any rodent. His eyes wandered over each of them, like a spider across a web of trapped flies, but if they felt afraid none showed it.
When the men made no movements of their own Aneeku taunted them. “You do know that in order for swords to be used they have to be removed from the sheaves?”
One of the older men’s lips curled up a little like he was about to laugh, but he stayed silent.
“What? Oh, I see, your numbers aren’t a big enough advantage for you to attack. Well then let me make it easier for you.”
He lowered his sword and turned around, hoping his unprotected back would make an irresistible target.
It didn’t, so Aneeku continued the taunts. “Still not good enough? How about this?”
He dropped the sword from his hand, and the pang of metal hitting stone seemed to echo all through the city. Aneeku wasn’t concerned if they all attacked at once, in fact he was hoping for it. Yet there was only silence in the air for a long moment, before a single faint sound could be heard.
Aneeku knew it was the sound of a single step over stone, and slowly looked over his shoulder. One of the rats, more a boy than a man had stepped forward.
Though his sword remained in its sheave, there was an intense look of defiance in his eyes, which reflected Aneeku’s masked face perfectly. Aneeku felt his lips widen into an appreciative smile, amused by this boy’s utter lack of fear and turned to face him fully. The boy’s eyes held no such amusement, only the cold burning desire to put Aneeku in his place. Well, Aneeku’s place was teaching this boy what it meant to lose a fight. His smile faded beneath the mask.
Neither so much as flinched as they glared at each other, thick tension filling the space between them in the air. Clearly they were both waiting for the other to make the first move.
“Well at least one of you can think independently, good for you boy!” Aneeku snarled, he was about to taunt the boy by patting him on the head when a voice boomed through the air.
“Enough of this!”
Aneeku’s eyes slowly wandered the dark landscape until he saw the owner of the voice approaching.
The man was older than the others and wore a charcoal gray robe that fell to the floor and was held together by a belt made of thin leather ribbons. His hair was as black as his eyes, but he moved slowly and deliberately as though he was too old to walk comfortably without a cane. The man’s lips were curled up at the edges as he watched the boy. When Aneeku looked at him to see the effect, he was surprised to see the boy staring back defiantly.
“Stand down, Protector Kiyarran,” the old man said softly, his arrogant eyes beaming with confidence. Perhaps this newcomer was just a simpleton or maybe he knew something about this boy that Aneeku didn’t. He looked back at the defiant boy searching for some sign that this one was different from the other rodents.
“Obey the Head Priest, Kae!” the man who issued the command before ordered again. Aneeku noticed that the other men dressed in black were now standing at attention like toy soldiers. But the boy didn’t join them, his hand still upon his sword, a look of defiance in his eyes.
“Kae?” Aneeku said. “Kae? Kae? Tell me would you like to die?” Aneeku mocked, like he was reciting poetry. Kae didn’t even blink let alone step back.
“Head Priest, Rhaldan,” the commanding officer turned to the older man. “Would you like us to kill this man?”
Kae continued glaring at him, but Aneeku was now more interested in the priest.
“Yes, Rhaldan,” Aneeku taunted, looking up at the priest. “Would you like all your men to die?”
A moment of thick silence came and went before Rhaldan spoke. “I assure you, masked one, if you want to die I’m certain any of my men can accommodate you. But I see little need for blood.”
Aneeku now flinched, not because he was scared of fight
ing Kae or any of the others, but rather because Rhaldan’s voice was clearly not the one that had called him to this place.
At first glance, Rhaldan had fit the bill. His tone suggested he was used to ordering others around and was just as arrogant as the voice that called him here, but sounded nothing like it. Aneeku may not have known for what purpose he had been called, but that didn’t really concern him, not at the moment anyway.
After staring at Kae for another long moment Aneeku was drawn back to the priest who spoke more firmly. “You will stand down, Protector Kiyarran!”
Aneeku looked back down upon the boy, waiting for him to defy the priest’s orders. What Aneeku wanted was for Kae to remove his sword and set off a bloodbath and he hoped the boy could read that in his eyes. However, the desire went unfulfilled as, with a clear reluctance, Kae stepped back, though he kept a defiant gaze upon Aneeku. Aneeku stared back, taunting Kae with intense silence.
“I now see what you all truly are,” Aneeku began, his eyes crawling over each of them. “You’re not rats, you’re simple sheep! And this must be your shepherd!” he kicked the sword effortlessly back into his hand pointing it back at Rhaldan, which prompted the men to reach for their swords once more.
The smile grew under his mask, it seemed the threat to the old man had brought strength back to their arms. He didn’t lower his sword as he glanced at each of them before looking back at the priest once more.
“I see the sheep follow their shepherd well,” he began, before his tone grew rawer. “But surely you must know that a wolf will gladly dine on the shepherd as well.” Rhaldan was no longer smiling, clearly he wasn’t used to his words being challenged. “You say there is no need for blood Rhaldan…well I assure you that you’re mistaken!”
But before an act of extreme violence could take place, a pair of great beasts soared from the dark sky into the black city. Every eye ascended to the heavens.
Atop the larger of the two beasts, a golden colored dragon, Atacir Rata gazed at the other villains, calmly assessing their reaction to his arrival. The large green humanoid rat was pleased to see them looking at the dragons in awe.
Beside him, on a much smaller red dragon with silver wings and spikes, his white haired and very muscular looking human companion, Sampson, was in a state of silent brooding. He had been this way ever since he helped Atacir capture dragons from his home realm back in their world only to be rewarded with the smallest of these dragons.
The only reason Sampson was helping Atacir now was because the alien general had promised to leave Earth alone if he agreed. Having his own plans for his home planet, Sampson hadn’t been left with much of a choice.
Sampson looked among the other villains in disbelief. It’s like none of them have ever seen dragons before he thought to himself. Having grown up in a place where dragons were common it was hard for him to believe that many, and actually most, people have never seen a real dragon before and most likely never will either.
They haven’t, Air Raid, Sampson’s dragon, replied in thought speech.
Where Sampson came from, all dragons could speak and understand both thought speech and all spoken languages so he wasn’t at all surprised to suddenly hear the dragon’s voice in his head.
Air Raid, having read other thoughts of Sampson’s and feeling a bit insulted because of them, continued, And to someone who has never seen a dragon before I actually am quite impressive. To prove his point the dragon lifted his head and stood as tall and proudly as he could. Sampson remained unimpressed.
Atacir looked over at Sampson and Air Raid. Not wanting to be outdone he forced his dragon, Golden Flame, to do the same since he thought Air Raid looked quite magnificent. Then he took things a step further and for show he forced Golden Flame to breathe fire into the sky.
“Those beasts are quite a sight to behold,” a wretched voice said, slithering forth from seemingly the air itself. Like a ghost from the most haunted place in existence a strange figure appeared from thin air. Two long cloaks of red, hiding a dark purple suit of some kind covered his body. His features were hidden well by a tall red helmet, decorated by spikes and rounded off by a metal brim.
Temporarily all eyes were upon him, but it was the gaze of Aneeku that was the heaviest. Slowly like something emerging from a crypt the man raised his head, revealing a face only vaguely human. His skin was overly tight and looked like a tanned hide somehow riddled with diseases and curses that bore no name. It was not his long nose or chin, both misshapen and vermiculated, that was offensive. It was his eyes, even Aneeku’s appeared far more human.
The man’s eyes were larger than Aneeku’s and weren’t circular. They were rectangular, without pupils and glowed a sickly orange. It was extremely disturbing to think of how such vile eyes saw the world.
They were looking right at Aneeku who wasn’t afraid, merely bewildered. This man didn’t smell human, at least not like any human scent he had ever known. Aneeku turned to face the man fully, showing that he would not be scared off.
“I am neither a sheep nor a shepherd,” the man began, revealing he had been privy to the prior conversation. No one knew what to make of his voice, it was a much different kind of darkness to the low growl of Aneeku. However it was clearly just as malicious, if not more so.
Aneeku watched on in silence as the man took his hand from under the cloaks, revealing a finely sown red glove. Strange blue spheres, like a bizarre amalgamation of lightning and flame began to dance on his fingertips. The light of the spheres created blue shadows that darkened his already caliginous features.
“It seems to me that you want blood to be spilled,” he asked looking Aneeku dead in the eye. “Does that include your own? Why else would you be staring at me?”
Aneeku was unmoved by his threats, it would take far more than a pretty light show to scare him.
“I was only staring because I think a face such as yours should be the one covered in a mask.” Aneeku stated smiling under his mask. In response the man smiled back, showing off a set of strange teeth. Neither smile was warming to look upon and for good reason.
Sampson, still annoyed by the way Atacir had shown off Golden Flame to the other villains and at the way they reacted to this, said, “These dragons aren’t that impressive. There are many more of all sizes where I come from.”
His words were enough to break the smiles of both Aneeku and the man with the rounded helmet. As all eyes fell back upon the dragons and their riders. All Aneeku could think was this Atacir, a giant rat-like creature, actually smelled better than the pack of black uniformed sheep, he had called rodents before.
“It’s true, there are many others where I come from as well, however…” Atacir said glaring at Sampson, “I don’t believe you would find any dragon stronger, more powerful, and better looking than mine. In fact-- ”
He was cut off by the sight of more villains arriving. Seeing the villain in the lead of the arriving group his eyes widened in fear. “Black Cat!” He exclaimed thinking his superhero archenemy had found him. But when the black cat was close enough for him to see the blood stained claws that had earned the super villain the name of Crimson Claw he relaxed slightly.
“It’s nice to see I’ve only just arrived and am already instilling fear,” Crimson Claw said with a laugh. “But as you can see I am not Black Cat, though I do hope that won’t stop you from being afraid, as I can assure you that unlike that poor excuse for a cat I have no problems killing anyone and I don’t even need a reason to do so.”
Crimson Claw’s companions, a brown and black Chihuahua with green cat eyes and fangs called Fang, and a black cat with a dog shaped head and short floppy ears called Scratch, stood calmly by their leader’s side.
Fang and Scratch were both clones that Crimson Claw had created using a combination of Black Cat and Chihuahua’s DNA. They were created for the purpose of defeating the two superheroes. Although they hadn’t yet succeeded, Crimson Claw had found them useful for other th
ings as they were both highly loyal and eager to please. Their willingness to follow orders had earned them the role of Crimson Claw’s constant companions. He took them with him wherever he went.
A human had also arrived with the three animals. The black haired, yellow eyed, teenage boy wasn’t part of Crimson Claw’s group, he had just traveled with them. On the way, he had discovered the cat and simply came along because he liked to fight and kill which was hard to do in his own world where superheroes were constantly getting in the way. The human, Ryder, understood that problem. Superheroes were also the reason he himself had made the journey to this unfamiliar world.
Once Ryder had been a wolf-human shape shifter and had joined up with a team of superheroes called Heroes United as the hero Were Wolf in an effort to save his pack from humans. Ryder gave a low, angry growl as he remembered the day he was forced to leave Heroes United. Besides losing his status as a superhero he had gained a new status as a super villain, was given the unfavorable name of Where Wolf, and worst of all, as his super villain name suggested, he had lost his ability to become a wolf. It was taken from him by the superhero that called herself Trixie.
She had said, “As the Ultimate Shifter it’s my job to make sure that no species becomes too powerful and upset the world’s natural balance.” Ryder scoffed at this memory. If she had really wanted to preserve balance she would have allowed him to kill at least as many humans as had previously killed wolves. In his memory Trixie went on to say, “You have severely misused your shape shifting ability and because of this it’s my job to take it away.” Trixie had then gone on to say that she didn’t want to do it, which Ryder didn’t believe.
Ryder didn’t know how the Ultimate Shifter had made him powerless and he believed it was impossible to lose his wolf part completely. This was due to the fact that although he couldn’t turn into a wolf anymore he had retained the wolf’s yellow eyes, his fangs, and some abilities such as the super agility, speed, and strength that came naturally to him and many of his type of wolf-human. It’s because of his belief that he was here now. Ryder believed that somehow this world could help him get his shape shifting ability back so that he could return to his pack and finish what they started.
Ryder looked to the others that had been gathered in this place, he knew Sampson and Atacir as well as the dragons they rode upon. He had little interest in the priest who was accompanied by the soldiers in black, or the strange-faced man with red gloves. But the one in the red mask was a different story. There was something familiar about him, it was a strange familiarity, Ryder knew he had never seen him before and yet there was something there that couldn’t be denied. It was a familiarity that was also somehow foreign. Intrigued by this foreign familiarity, he motioned to speak but was cut off by a new mass arrival of beings.
A woman sat tall and proud atop a strapping white stallion. She approached from a distance, surrounded by a horde of men. The tide of them seemed endless, and as they made their way across the plain their gruff, feral nature became more blatant.
The men wore red armor, but there was nothing uniform in their appearance. Not a single one of them could claim a matching set of shields or plates, and it appeared as if the majority had complied their meager protection through scavenging the bodies of their victims. These hard-won trophies had then been painted red, though subsequent cuts from sword, knife, arrow and axe had caused the original metal to shine blue through haggard scrapes.
The men themselves were as haphazard as their armor. To a man they wore bristled black beards, though some were longer and gruffer than the others. There were those among them who stood upright as men tended to do. Others were hunched over, and still others took to clawing the ground like monkeys, scampering forward as much on knotted arms as bowed legs. Something about the deformity of this last group filled Ryder with revulsion, which only increased as he caught a glimpse of the raging insanity in their eyes. To make matters worse, every now and then, deep in the shadows of the shuffling men, Ryder caught a flash of something white. Though he could make out neither shape nor form, his instinct told him that those flashing splashes of color represented the true teeth of this host.
But as broken as the men were, the woman on the white stallion was the figure of perfection. Her face was a perfect oval and her features aligned in an almost unnatural symmetry. Though she was cloaked in functional, protective armor, the curve of her natural form was still apparent and Ryder felt himself reacting to her presence.
A dragon roared and broke the momentary spell. Ryder watched as the men surrounding the woman stiffened and growled at the beast’s bellow, but the woman only tilted her head and watched the serpent with an appreciative gaze. There was no submission in her manner, but she paused in her advance and lifted her voice.
“I am the Red Lady of Charon,” she said, her voice echoing in the sudden silence in an address to all the gathered warriors. “I require your oath of fealty.”
Ryder smiled at the boldness, “And if we refuse?” he countered.
The Red Lady gave an indifferent shrug.
“Some of my men require sport and some of them are simply hungry, I trust your worthless corpses will fulfill both needs. Those of you that survive will be given to my daughters.”
The white flash appeared again this time accompanied by a high pitched wail.
“You are mistaken,” the red masked one said, stepping forward towards the Red Lady and showing no concern at the screeching sound. Ryder watched him, that foreign familiarity becoming stronger.
Aneeku showed no fear of this lady or her army of feral warriors, it was quite the opposite, his large yellow eyes were filled with eagerness. “Just because I am wearing red, doesn’t mean I have any intention of joining your army.” The enemy’s numbers invigorated him rather than terrified him.
He raised his head, sniffing at the air with motions that defied humanity. “I’ll give it to you, that at the least you don’t smell as bad as the shepherd and his sheep…” His taunts gained him hard stares from Rhaldan and the Protectors who served him, but the Red Lady appeared barely phased.
“Still…” Aneeku began with Ryder wondering if he was salivating behind his mask. “I think your head will roll just as easily as theirs…” Aneeku said, raising his head, his eyes filling with bloodlust.
His taunt gathered grunts from the Red Army, which only made him smile further, he had rattled them.
“What do you say boys?” he asked eagerly. “I insulted your lady…what are you going to do about it?”
His questions were answered by the grunts in the form of raised weapons and fowl guttural voices. To this Aneeku grinned, the bloodbath he desperately desired was about to take place, a fact not lost on the others that were gathered in this place. Rhaldan’s Protectors reached for their swords, and the man with the round helmet summoned the strange blue magic on his finger tips. The dragons both gave roars of war, while Crimson Claw and his two clones readied themselves as well.
Ryder looked left and right. The groups that had assembled had stiffened in preparation for battle, but Ryder also noticed that the Red Army stretched out as far as he could see in either direction. Swallowing hard, he braced himself for the imminent battle. But just as the forces were set to be unleashed upon one another, there came an order.
“Stop!” The voice could not be defied. “You have not been brought here to fight!”
The voice, one that felt like it resonated all throughout the wrenched city came from the mouth of the tallest tower, the one built just beyond the altar. Like the most caliginous of spells, the voice gathered the gazes of all of them. From the tower, thirteen beings appeared, stepping in slow morbid steps as if born from shadow. Each of them were dressed in a strange dark blue that shone in a way that none of the gathered had ever seen before. This blue had infected their hair as well, and they all wore styles that were oddly reminiscent of thick heavy chains dangling off of their scalps. The blue had spread further to darken
their eyes, making them appear haunted.
There was something not quite right about the blue, like it was actually a poisonous possession that had no cure. Their skin was a pale green, again its tone was completely foreign to any shade any had ever seen before. Morosely, the thirteen were both elegant and disturbing to look upon. They were like portraits once thought masterpieces, until it was discovered they had been painted using innocent blood.
“At least…not with each other.” The one who had said this was the most elegant and disturbing of them all.
He stood in the center of the thirteen, his step always taken before the other twelve. There was a dark divinity to his voice, like he possessed knowledge no one else knew and most would be too terrified to hear. This was the kind of being that demons and monsters would tremble before. All the villains noticed that somehow this being was able to look at each and every one of them while at the same time looking at none. It was a gaze that was both sickening and impressive.
“It is safe to assume that each of you are wondering what this place is…” the impressive creature continued. “The city built around you is known as Za-xayek, the home of our kind, the Ulnath.”
He didn’t blink, in fact none of the thirteen did, they all seemed to be staring at everyone and yet no one at the same time. “I am aware that this does not answer all the questions properly, but I hope this will…you now know the city but not the world it occupies. This world is the most unique world ever created, for it is the only world that has a connection to every other world.” He paused again, but disturbingly no one could understand why, as his gaze became more haunting.
“Some have called it The Shadow of All Worlds. This name describes this world as well as any other name would. But a name is useless without a purpose and I can assure each of you that there is a reason that you have been called here to fulfill, a purpose that we need your help to complete.”
Silence fell like rain upon the city, as if the sky was purposely descending soundlessness, to give it relief from the being’s overwhelming voice.
“Are there no questions?” the being asked, the validity of his voice undeniable. “I am quite sure I have any answer you need, for I am the leader of the Ulnath, my name has a purpose as you will soon discover…it is Oos.”
There was something frightening about knowing this being had a name, like the word was a phrase that should never be spoken.
“Why should we help you?” The question was asked by the lady in red, the clear commander of the army that had been summoned to this place. She showed interest in this Oos, while her army stared on motionlessly. Oos took another step forward and like a dozen shadows the others followed him.
“What is it that each of you desire? Wealth, conquest, knowledge, vengeance? These are all just ways of desiring more power, that we can give you.”
“How?” Crimson Claw asked. His green eyes glowed brightly as he stared at Oos intently. Oos seemed entirely unshaken by the warrior’s stare, nor did he appear concerned by the roar of the dragons before he answered.
“There is a power in this world, a power influenced by every world ever created, including your own. We know where it is and how to get it…but we simply do not have the resources to claim it for ourselves. That is why we desire your help, if you aid us in collecting it, you shall be rewarded with strength and power beyond anything your own worlds posses.”
He paused again but this time his intention was clear, he was allowing each of them to conjure visions of their own desires. “Any power that you have ever wanted can be yours…if you do what we ask….”
It was clear his words had a great affect on those who had been gathered, there were very few that now didn’t wear a smile, grins just as wicked and vile that one would expect from a group of such villainy.
“Such a notion sounds all well and good,” Aneeku stated, tilting his head, showing his own morbidity. “Except your voice isn’t the one I heard in my head, which means you didn’t call us here? Did you?”
Now Oos was clearly looking at Aneeku, caring not for the accusation. Rather, a slight smile, like a cut forged from a rusty knife appeared on his face.
“I did,” every one of the gathered looked back to the mouth of the tower for they each remembered this voice. He who stepped out of that tower kept everyone silent. He was dressed like the Ulnath, and had a similar hairstyle. The strange blue also affected his eyes, but his skin wasn’t green. His features weren’t elegant and disturbing, although they were impressive to look upon. It became clear that he was a young man, a human, but what he was doing in the company of these beings was a complete mystery. Every eye followed his movements, like he was a riddle that even gods couldn’t solve. His steps echoed throughout the silence, sounding like distant thunderclaps of an ancient storm. When he took his place next to Oos, the silence remained. It felt appropriate that since he caused the silence he would be the one to break it.
“I am Morzu…” the revelation of his name did little to lift the silence. Something dark and troubling was taking place in this city.