The Final Battle: Short Story

Lilith Melancholy perched on the cliff top overlooking the raging gunmetal sea, which threatened to engulf the land with its ominous body. Layers of poisoned, serrated teeth lined the cliff edge, venom foaming from its gaping mouth. Time soon raced by, plummeting into bitter darkness, which appeared to consume the night.

Lilith despised the natural world and wished wholeheartedly to destroy it. She was waiting patiently for Finn Zephyrus and his subordinates, waiting for the last time they would battle. This battle would decide the fate of the world.

The wind danced teasingly through her long, inky-black hair, twisting and curling around her muscular body as she continued to stare inharmoniously at the violent, thrashing sea. 

The night seemed more nefarious than usual and increasingly solemn and dejected. The twinkling stars had been exchanged for grieved, grey clouds that rolled across the sombre darkness, unrepentant of their gloomy appearance. In her burnt vermillion eyes, it was the perfect night for her dark army to defeat the light side. The sky reflected her unchanging mood, filling her cold heart with malevolence.

Her heart rate accelerated, potent Necromancy magic pulsed rapidly through her pallid purple veins. She had sensed Zephyrus’s arrival.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned unhurriedly to face him.  Her black cape flailed and flapped wildly in the turbulent wind, her deathly black lips curling at the corners as she smiled maliciously. Gracefully she strode towards him, pure confidence blazed in each elegant step, however she did not break eye contact. It was apparent Zephyrus felt intimidated; nevertheless, he remained visibly strong and poised. He could not show weakness, the fate of the world depended on him.

On the battlefield, Melancholy’s grotesque, beastly minions snapped and snarled thrashing brutally at the air, waiting to attack. They were cadaverous creatures summoned from the dead by Necromancy, merely existing to serve her. Mucus secreted from their jade, scaled skin that stressed over their serpentine spines. Crusted tissue flaked from their skeletal eye sockets, pupils staring in multitudinous directions concurrently. Their faces sagged at one side, blackened forked tongues lolling from deteriorating mouths as they shifted forward, arms swaying uselessly by their sides.

Zephyrus’s followers stood tall and ominous, they were living humans unlike the dark army but equally mystifying and enigmatic. They were visibly human and were dignified unlike Melancholy’s repulsive and nauseating minions. They were a group of human sorcerers, supposedly highly skilled in Elemental magic but this fact was found undeniably debateable by Melancholy.

Both sides were determined to win the battle. Melancholy wished to annihilate Zephyrus and become the ruler of the earth, making it a place of endless suffering. Confident and self-assured, she had no doubt in her mind that she would win the battle. Melancholy was pure evil. Every ounce of her being focussed on death, she thrived on it. Practicing Necromancy, a form of magic reliant on the dead, she could kill anything mortal in a heartbeat. She was omnipotent, remorseless, compassionless. 

Zephyrus wanted to save the world from her evil grasp. He was also very determined but not nearly as confident in his abilities as Melancholy was in her own.