Deathless Reign Prologue

*-*-*I've hit another stump in my other works, I'll be coming back to them eventually and just have to focus my eyes elsewhere for the time being. This series is just something to blow steam off. Characters are established first then move on to the sexy parts. These are just short chapters really. Or at least I tried to make it short. Trying to scale down and not get bogged by my own nitpickings. Only to fail miserably. *-*-*

The wide-eyed corpse of a young man lay starring towards the magnificent night sky and about him, more or less, were a great multitude of corpses. They all but shared a similar fate of having died in a field of battle. A hundred or so souls lay scattered the mud strewn ground and a fortune's worth in weapons lay scattered about protruding from the earth. No scavenger dare venture into this grave, be they man or beast. No carrion bird circles the sky and not a hum of a cricket can be heard.

Should any living soul lay their eyes upon this field, they might've surmised a great battle had partaken here. Where great armies clashed, the combatants dressed in splendor of steel and banner.

But that was not to be so. Though indeed there were two forces in this forsaken land, not a hundred yards away from this gruesome sight laid the husk of a village. It was of no particular repute, barely even garnered a name of its own. And was simply referred by its inhabitant as 'the village'.

Those were brighter and peaceful times.

They were no warriors. They cared little for glory. They were but simple and good peasant folk. No worries for the greater world or its griefs. Only content in the little lives that they led.

As was the young man whose body now lay still in the mud and slain cadavers.

Now for how long as the village stood, there too stood a duke. His ancestral name was all but forgotten. His men merely numbering ten. The duke preferred to call them his knights but they were little than brigands and malcontents. A desperate man, who cared nothing but to retain some twisted sense of his glory and grandeur. Stupidity and greed were a potent combination.

Th people of the village cared little for him. Or his lot. On most days they even forgot he was there.

And then the day came when he decided that he should remind them.

They felt his coming in the tremors beneath the earth. The thundering noise as two dozen riders, clad in brutal dark twisted steel. Ill-tempered steeds that entire were content and seeming on the edge of madness. They cloistered upon mouth of the village road.

They all but stood there.

As was the young man. Who up to that point wondered what he would have for a snack that afternoon? He watched from a top the hill, having caught three rabbit and his sling in his right. Watching the riders.

And out came the duke. Resplendent in an ornate black armor. Looking full of vigor but it was his eyes that drew the superstitious among the village folks. they glowed green. and there was certain smell about them. The villagers have noticed the grass where they stood blackened and shriveled.

He proclaimed dark things. Cruel things to them.

The fool had sold himself to the lich. The villagers outnumbered them three to one. But empowered by vile forces.

They rounded the villagers but much of them escaped, leaving the defenders to be sacrificed. For the duke was given sundown of the next day having bequeath the powers to prove his worth. With only ten men.

For all their dark might, they had still traces of mortality to them. Shreds of humanity embedded to their very core. They thought themselves invincible.

Godlike.

They were so sure. So certain, that they worried not. To be strong was not to worry. As they put all their effort in the ceremony to honor the dark god. It was a feast in his honor and the banquet was the captured remnants of the village. Good honest souls. From the valiant father to the wise old man. Their dark god would savor their despair as they plunge their souls deep into his gullet.

The young man held the lifeless remains of his father. It was such an odd thing. For such a great figure, large shadow his hole life. Now lay in his own arms. He looked little different than when he slept. His hands calloused and larger than his. He rubbed the ridges of the wrinkles on his great hand. Never once lifting his gaze. When they brought the prisoners, he was pushed.

But what bothered him the most. Was he was gone? No more. That reality towered about his mind. Forever changed. No tears shed fell. Still unbelieving. As he held the large man in his arms. Such a surreal experience it was.

So focused and enamored where they that they did not hear the sound of rock against metal. A paltry little rock tough but small, barely half the size of the palm of the young man whose father was murdered. In their raucous laughter and the thrumming coagulation of the dark energies above their heads, they did into hear the sound of crying rage.

Of freedom and hope amongst the captives. Their kin were safe. They had accepted that they would not see another dawn.

The captives could have run. And they could have survived and sought out their kin who had escaped. They would fight to the last man. Something broke in that precipice. the anger of a god. Exploding rendering anything near upon impact to be cast into death.

But they were comforted by the fact that they would take their captors into damnation with them.

Below, the duke and his fell-knights rejoiced. For this victory was but the first of many. And nothing would stand in their way.

By the time fell knights and the duke had lifted their heads from their carousing, it was too late. That keep of theirs were full of gifts from their dark god, A sword three time taller than a grown man and as light as a feather. A shield engraved with a face of a demon that would swallow any foe in front of it.

So haphazardly lain about without care in the world.

After all, who would dare storm their mighty keep?

Certainly not a paltry group peasant they thought.

And yet these very same peasants broke out of their cages wielding the very same weapons that was given to them in their conquest for power and carnage. The captives burst through the keep and laid waste on the fell-knights amidst their ceremony. Theirs was the rage of an innocent wronged.

And it was unceasing. Relentless. The Duke stammered as he saw that his own men were being overpowered by mere peasants. They were disrupting the ceremony in honor for their God! He must put a stop to these immediately or lest he face his god's wrath and ire for being shamed by peasants!

As slithering ooze red molten fire hit him square in his armored chest and not a moment sooner felt the vengeful shadow of the young man whose father he had killed. He roared to his feet and met the young man's desire for vengeance with his own wroth.

They battled all across the ruined keep. Peasants ganging upon a single fell knight with nothing but their bare hands.

The dark god emerged amidst the chaos.

His coming rendered all those not sworn in fealty to cower, the nearest saw their very lives vanquished in a burst of green flames. their remains charred squirming to very earth till they still. In this, the very fabric of reality blurred and shifted. The mortal plane and the spirit realm conjoined in this unholy union. The base fears and emotions in each mortal soul was united in this pool of mad powers. The dark god unleashed his nightmarish power that tormented everyone, be they servant or sacrifice.

He relished such anguish from them.

Ever vainglorious, he was annoyed as he was not greeted by his own followers. He was insulted. He laid waste to his own men and prisoner alike. Those at the back saw his most horrid and all the promise it withheld. He rejoiced on mortal cowering. In their pathetic and meaningless lives, His being was the truth and his thoughts spread through the squirming, screaming souls at his feet.

Among the cowering forms, one voice wavered. Their thoughts intertwined it was the realm beyond the mortal coil. Where thoughts and spirit dwell. To the dark god, his father's demise was insignificant. And in his despair gave way to something far more ferocious. His rage and sorrow.

It was primal rage, the rage of a son whose life was upended, his life shattered. Pure unadulterated rage, unrestrained by thought and powered only by pure desire for violence. The young man rushed towards the creature who dare call itself God.

In this distorted portion of land, he burst through the air and beat on the god senselessly. Soul and flesh intertwined in this space. And for the first time, the supposed god felt pain. Anguish.

He burned the young man's hands, down till they were but bone. Still, it wasn't enough. The young man screamed through the pain unleashing a burst of raw emotion right at the being who calls itself god. Still, the green flames kept coming to abate this wild uncouth creature away. The flame spread all to the shoulder, rendering the right arm to bone. A sputtering flame hit the young peasant on the cheek. Still eh beat on the dark god.

Frustration. Humiliation and Indecision.

The dark god learned on all this thing upon his arrival on the mortal plane.

A myriad of new sensations and emotions. It was too much. There was but one other way. His arrival was supposed to he hailed. Glorified and worshipped.

Instead, it was a but a humiliation. His footing on the mortal plane was loosening. It was clear that his rule would not come to pass like for his siblings who have made landfall centuries past.

Before the realms could realign themselves to their order. He let one more burst to those that ruined his coming. A pure unsetting of his green ire. A blight on the land. So that their line may never go on and their souls extinguished from their mortal shells.

Their very lives extinguished.

But the young man still refused to let go, asking how had he deserved such a fate he wondered?

He mourned his father and all his comrades with him. Good men all. They were not soldiers, knights. They all but wanted to live a peaceful life. He could never let it go. He was shackled to his mortal shell by his own misery and bitterness at their demise.

His own corpse lay eyes open staring at the above sky while his spirit lamented within.

Ever lamenting and unfulfilled by his own short life.

Never letting go.