Immortal Bodies

Prologue

Imagine a world darker than this. Where the sun only shines in the midst of the deepest trenches and fire rages constantly throughout the endless plains of scorched fields and burnt landscapes. A world where demons roam in the most sinister shadows, and are ready to rip out your throat if you come too close.

 Imagine a world like Hell.

Now take that imagination and put it to reality.

 Terrible, right?

 The Gatekeeper knelt in front of the stone Altar, the silver knife clutched in his hand gleaming in the dim moonlight let in from the glass dome ceiling overhead. He twirled it in his hand which was shaking with adrenaline, ready to make the sleek cut across his forearm.

 "Wait!"

 The shout came from behind him--a desperate shout that made even the Gatekeeper cringe. "What is it?" he snapped, voice dripping with hot anger.

The weary apprentice stopped at the bottom of the many stpes as the Gatekeeper, who was at the top of the Altar twisted to face him, but his position didn't falter.

 "The prophecy, Keeper, there's a prophecy!"

 It was then that he saw the thick-looking scroll clutched in his hands. Long greasy hair fell around his face and the apprentice's robe was long to fit his nimble body, trailing behind him on the ground.

 The Gatekeeper's heart dropped, but in his strong voice, he said, "Read it aloud to me."

 Clearing his throat, the apprentice read the sacred language--also known as the prophecy language in these parts, a language that normal humans wouldn't understand.

 "So I traveled here for nothing? I took over the whole horde of Guards for nothing?" The Gatekeeper exploded in rage, holding the knife so tight that his knuckles turned white. Heat flooded through his body. "I don't believe this!"

 "I'm sorry, Keeper." The apprentice bowed his head, greasy hair framing his long, oval face. From this angle, the Gatekeeper saw that his cheeks turned a deep shade of magenta. "What shall you do?"

 "I will try anyways. As if there were no prophecy. And if it does not work, then I shall get the Seer and the one with the Secret. I shall figure out whom they might be and get them, whether it is the last thing I do or not. Now, leave the scroll at the bottom of the stairs and leave me in peace!"

 The apprentice bowed even lower, setting the scroll at the bottom of the many steps, then hurried through the room, disappearing behind a large iron door.

 In the breathtaking silence, the Gatekeeper twisted back around. Bending his head low, he pushed of the sleeve of his silk cloak, which was so long that it draped the ground like branches of an old tree hanging low. He raised the knife high--

  WIth one swift swipe, he brought the knife across his forearm. Blood trickled out of the wound with the quickness of a young hare running from the hunters the king sent out in the midst of evening. Excitement bubbled in his chest as he watched the black liquid continue to seep. He flipped his arm over so that his wound was now facing the Altar; with warmth spreading through his body, he watched as the blood dripped slowly onto the stone surface, and--

 And nothing.

 Nothing happened--nothing that was supposed to happen. He didn't feel any different, except for the wound on his arm, which didn't really hurt him much. Just the fact that he could feel the faint stinging as if it were miles away instead of right there, on his arm. That was the power of being Immortal.

 The silence was staggering, he thought. Something surely should of happened!

 With a flap of his dark black wings, he lifted his head, and with an angry shout, threw the knife across the landing. It landed with a cling! on the stone ground, the loud sound making him cringe.

 "No!" It wasn't supposed to happen like this! He was supposed to be Unbound!

 He got to his feet, and ran--almost glided down the steps, retrieving the prophecy. Arm drenched in glossy black blood now, Gatekeeper tore open the prophecy, scanning it. His eyes crossed over the darkest parts of the scroll that were drenched in shadow, and the highlighted parts as well, ignoring the faded cream color in which the curly silver lettering was so faint in.

 "If that's what it takes," he breathed, "Then that's what will happen."

And with the flap of his black wings, he lifted himself off the ground and rose up, air striking his cheek like a slap to the face, and pushed through the glass dome, making it explode into millions of pieces on the ground--proof that your world can shatter in only a matter of seconds, just like the dome had.