The Darkness Steals The Light - The Elim Chronicles

The Darkness Steals The Light

A shiver runs through the congregation, their robes fluttering. "As it was, so it will be." The masked congregation sway in unison, resounding in exultation.

The black mage raises both arms, then lowers them, plunging the followers into sudden silence. The dark mage's fingers twitch and weave, the congregation's obedience hanging on the strings of his mastery. He circles the altar, his spindly fingers strumming on threads of veiled sorcery.

"I alone have mastered the ancient grimoires and the celestial tablets. In the depths of the eternal abyss, I glimpsed our destiny." The masked conjurer gazes upward, towards his congregation. His body crackles with amethyst sparks of malevolent power. "Our coming lord shall lay waste to all, reducing our adversaries to piles of debris and dust. Upon the ruins of the third age, we shall rebuild the old dominion. As it was in before the first great age, so shall it be in ours." The Black Mage displays his unquestionable authority, meticulously calculating every movement and word.

The air pulses with evil energy as the dark sorcerer leans over Queen Eiwelf. His gentle hands caress her swollen belly as his voice chants forbidden incantations, which echo throughout the chamber. The mage's hands carve the air like a conductor, orchestrating his authority. Energy pulsates throughout the chamber as the black magician arches his back beneath the shattered glass dome.

The devout fall to their knees as the dungeon's light transforms into an eerie amethyst glow that paints the congregation's masked visages in otherworldly hues. Sorcery is palpable in the air, like an electrifying static charge intertwined with the suffocating stench of rot.

The mage advances toward the queen, her bloodshot eyes clenched tight to shut out the horrors of the night. She feels his fingertips glide over her body. His touch is as light as silk and as delicate as first love. Her blood flows as his fingernails, sharp as razor blades and tender as kisses, carve into her form. Lost in his macabre artistry, he claws intricate mystical symbols into her body, transforming her into a living tapestry. His fingernails etch the flesh with gruesome grace, tracing arcane symbols that pulse with ungodly energy beneath her skin. Her blood trickles, then gushes. The once-pale figure, illuminated by soft moonlight, now surges with crimson tides. Her blood turns as black as coal and as thick as tar as a web of creeping black veins spreads across her body.

Queen Eiwelf drifts into another realm, immersed in an infinite ocean of serene starlight, as her life spills into the abyss. The cosmos blooms, swelling with stellar tears that plummet through the void. Her visions of celestial wonder transform into frigid, deathly black. The darkness steals the light.

The black mage, chanting his wicked hymns, reaches into his crimson robes and retrieves a rolled leather satchel. He places it on the altar, unfurling it to reveal an array of terrifying, razor-edged instruments. He conceals his artistry with his robes, draping them over her body. His gleaming blade glides through her flesh with surgical precision, carving her from hip to hip and from navel to ribs. He reaches into the warm cavity and retrieves the babe from her womb. A gentle cry, a soft gurgle. The mage raises the newborn high for all to see.

"As it was, so it will be." Enraptured, the disciples raise up their hands, unified in spirit, worshipping in exultant fervor.

The mage severs the umbilical cord with a swift flick of his blade. A monstrous crack of thunder splits the air. The ground quakes, time weeps, and the world convulses in fury as chaotic winds scream in remorse. Birds plummet from the shattered sky, scattering upon the earth. Beasts of the field stampede in frenzied panic, and countless souls grasp at fleeting moments of violence. Fields of crops wither and die, and fertile flower beds turn to putrid rot.

Queen Eiwelf's back arches, and her leather binds snap. She levitates upright as swirling inky shadows coil around her as her blood congeals into a brittle, crusty layer of bark. Then, like a fractured stone, her masonry body crumbles away, disintegrating until only fine soot remains. A warm breeze stirs, carrying the soot into a vast cloud that drifts skyward through the broken dome. The faint silhouette of a dusky black dragon emerges, rising into the thunderous sky.

"Behold, servants! Our Lord, Ana, is reborn." Jubilant, the Black Mage raises the babe in triumph, demanding affirmation from his loyal followers. The congregation rises and sings a hymn of rejoicing. "As it was, so it will be. The Lord Ana is reborn. The Lord Most High. Ana, the Ancient One. Curse the light."

The black priest wraps the child in a blanket and cradles the newborn with solemn reverence. The mage's malefic touch taints the infant's first breath of life as the child's molten eyes absorb the prophesied sight of his new kingdom. A faint whisper drifts on the wind, its words indistinguishable in the breeze. Then a mighty gust of wind roars, "They are here."

A murderous cloud of sinuous black shadows emerges from the shattered dome, spewing a twisted language of vile chitters, chatters, clicks, and guttural squelches. The Umbal, or shadow demons, soar above the congregation. They then cling to the dungeon's walls, which writhe with the unholy black wraiths like maggots over a rotten corpse.

"Do not fear the Umbal." The powerful black magician cradles his king close to his bloodied chest, and he looks up at the masked congregation. "The Umbal have not dwelt within our realm for three thousand great cycles. They herald the time of change. Freed from the bondage of Eldriven, the Umbal now thrive in our domain. Their purpose is to guard and serve Ana, the protectors of the king of old." He pulls the newborn closer to his chest.

"As we, the faithful, gather, King Eiden trades with your lives. The Kingdom of Galt has gifted its wealth to lesser realms for too long. Your gold, your blood, and your toil fatten other kingdoms." The black mage's words become vehement. "They gorge upon your riches as you starve, reduced to begging like hounds for scraps from Thiel's table."

The congregation seethes with anger; their initial elation is now replaced by loathing. The restless murmurs rise in discord.

"A time will come when our Lord, Ana, will sit upon the throne of Galt." The black priest lowers his hands, gesturing for silence. "The ancient king, reborn, will reclaim all that is yours by right and will lay waste to all who oppose you."

"As it was, so it will be." The theater of followers rises, their devout eyes captivated by his every movement, hanging on every word.

The Black Mage's control permeates every aspect of his being. "Disciples of Galt, do not forget your heritage." The black priest speaks to his disciples in hushed tones. "The ancient bloodline of Elsan will not suffer another generation of servitude. As prophesied, Ana will forge the mightiest legion since the first age. Your king, our Lord Ana, shall conquer all."

"As it was, so it will be." A conquering chorus reverberates through the dungeon. The chamber trembles as the congregation cries out for blood and war.

"Ana is vulnerable. His human form is fragile." The mage rubs the child's forehead, and the infant squirms. Bold, wolfish eyes peer back at him from a face matted with black blood. "He will suffer the same ailments and vulnerabilities as any child, boy, or man. His body requires nurturing and care; we must hone his powers. I shall entrust Ana to Morana."

An approving chorus echoes throughout the congregation.

"Go now and remain true to your sacred vows. My lords, extend your condolences to King Eiden. Queen Eiwelf has passed away because of complications in childbirth. Rejoice, for he has a son. He has an heir."

"As it was, so it will be," cheers erupt, bouncing off the crypt walls. The shadow horde of Umbal flies out of the shattered dome, screeching with hideous howls into the ominous night.

˜ ˜ ˜

In the borderlands of Thiel, high above the drifting clouds in the Kabel Monastery, High Priest Anon awakens from a nightmare full of unyielding darkness as the kingdom's crumble and the world of Avos fall into unbridled chaos. Tens of thousands perish in a world engulfed in flames. A colossal black figure stands upon a mountain of shattered bones and decaying corpses. The Primordial Son and Lord of Chaos, the Demon of Decay, and the embodiment of all brutal conflicts and atrocities. The Ancient One, the Old Enemy. Ana.

"The One, save us."

The darkness steals the light.