Blood Immortal

Demonic Rift

In due time, Xel’vakora guided the others to Haelaven, a coastal village with a dock where cedar-wood schooners were moored with crimson banners illustrating Gar’kon. The elven dwellings, all of which had triangular-shaped roofs with mahogany walls and balustrades, stood by the border of the wilderness, expanding to a hillside; and though technically a part of Grisfall, the Mor’vyi’dou called this region Ula’veth.

Not more than six miles away, the rock-strewn hill expanded, curving toward the ocean. And by the cliff of that hill stood Fal’shar. The sight of it made Parla’vasa feel uneasy, desiring to flee back to Lar’a’dos. Olwe wasn’t too far off from wanting to take a boat and traverse to the northern icy continent of Niratredam, where his brawny mountain brothers lived.

“Here we are,” said Xel’vakora. Approaching the wharf, he pointed at a seven-masted vessel upon which stood a wooden carving of a dragon’s visage on the aft and added, “That is Taeldelan, my ship.”

“A fine vessel,” said Aarian.

“I have always taken care of her,” said the dark elf. “Now it’s time she took care of me.” Boarding the sturdy boat with his companions, he removed the wooden plank and lifted its steel anchor. Then, controlling the wheel, he steered the ship southwest, toward Fal’shar’s cove. “It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to reach the dungeon,” he added.

“Tell me,” began Dargain, gazing at Fal’shar from the fore of the elongated vessel, “do you believe we can succeed?”

“I am confident about many things in life,” replied Xel’vakora, steering the ship through a dense fog. “Infiltrating the citadel of Fal’shar, defeating Saldovin, and sealing the hell rift isn’t one of them.”

“Th’en wh’y ar’ we bloody doin’ th’is?” asked Olwe, irked.

“Spirits’ sake, Dargain, please stop this madness,” said Parla’vasa. “It’s not too late. We can still turn around and travel to Lar’a’dos. My people can help.”

Dargain, his mouth agape, responded, “I wou—”

“By the time they decide to help,” intervened Aarian, stepping forward, “this land will be overrun by demons. We must act now and banish that hell rift at all cost before more demons are unleashed upon us.”

“What in Xen’s name do you think you are? An immortal Spirit? The five of us cannot do this, let alone a brigade,” said Parla’vasa.

“Though the task at hand seems impossible, I agree with Prince Aarian,” said Xel’vakora. “If we do not act now, the demons will continue to be summoned, and the world will be wrought with demons whose power nearly matches the immortal Spirits. Remember, it took the strength of the divine Nine to imprison Izabaldo and his minions into the nether in the first place.”

“Surely they will help again,” moped Parla’vasa.

“Don’t count on it,” replied Xel’vakora. “This time such blood and destruction is on our hands. By scripture it states by your own precious Daela’han that just as the Nine ascended as immortal Spirits, we have become the new guardians of Yunedar.”

“Which is why it’s up to us to make things right,” said Aarian.

For the life of Dargain, he couldn’t figure out how the prince had gained such courage in the span of a week. Yet there wasn’t anything wrong with what Aarian had said. Dargain could not agree more with Aarian, and for the first time he was not only proud of him but also believed he’d finally be able to rely on him as an equal comrade-in-arms.

Mist enveloped Taeldelan, making it hard for the crew to see. Fortunately for them, the cave underneath Fal’shar wasn’t too far away. Furthermore, the dark elf knew exactly where to steer and moor his ship. Only after entering the cave were they finally able to see ahead. Though faint, they could make out a rocky platform with a cloaked Mor’vyi’dou standing guard by a dim stalactite chamber leading into a dungeon.

The dark elf gazed at the mighty Taeldelan curiously and helped moor it, expecting to find Xel’vakora step forward. Instead he was greeted by an arrow to the head, at which point Parla’vasa leapt off the gunwale, onto the cave’s ground. Another dark elf saw what had just happened and unsheathed his double-bladed scimitar, charging toward the princess who still glowed pure despite her bitterness. When he was only a few steps away from severing her arm, Olwe leapt off the boat with a roar as fearsome as a dragon’s and split the Mor’vyi’dou in half with his axe.

Just then, a brigade of dark elves patrolling the area entered the cavernous chamber. They immediately spotted the intruders, unsheathed their scimitars, and ran after them. Upon doing so, Aarian hurled his shield through the fog, into one’s neck. Choking on his own blood, the elf fell and bled to death.

“Charge!” shouted Aarian.

While the princess kept her distance shooting arrows, Dargain and Xel’vakora jumped off the vessel and joined Aarian and Olwe, attacking the brigade like savages. With alacrity, Dargain relentlessly struck at three elves with his swords. Though outnumbered, he was so swift that he was able to parry their attacks and riposte, easily slicing them until they lifelessly dropped to the ground.

Olwe managed to amputate one’s leg with his axe while Aarian split another’s face using his crystal sword. Not one second later, Aarian raised his glistening shield and blocked an attack made against him by a dark elf with red eyes. Afterwards, he saw an elf with no irises approach and parried his assaults using his glossy sword. Upon deflecting the scimitar, Aarian ducked in order to dodge a sidelong attack and spun around, gutting the dark elf whom he’d evaded. Then he bashed the red-eyed Mor’vyi’dou with his buckler, sending him back a few steps, and cut off his arm. The elf shrieked, falling into the murky water.

In the meantime, Xel’vakora was defending himself against five of his fellow elves. As soon as they attempted to strike him, he counterattacked with his double-bladed sword. Without one minute passing, a pool of blood lay beneath him, the fearsome group of limbless dark elves lying dead.

“Betrayer!” yelled out the remaining dark elf whose black robe shone with a lace of gold trimming on the cuffs.

“It is you who betrays us, Zauranel,” said Xel’vakora, removing his hood and revealing his purple eyes and indigo skin. “Saldovin’s condescension has doomed us all. Even now, the demons kill our brethren and corrupt our land.”

“Utter nonsense,” said Zauranel. “The demons were summoned by Lord Keldoran; they made a pact with him and only him.”

“Then it was his decision to destroy our territory?” asked Xel’vakora, shocked.

“Of course, fool,” said Zauranel. “Such was the bargain he made with Izabaldo. Once all the humyn cities in Vlydyn are destroyed, Lord Keldoran plans to set sail to Lar’a’dos and take the kingdom for himself. In the end, high elves will bow down to us.”

“Never!” cried out Parla’vasa, launching an arrow at the female dark elf.

Zauranel struck down the projectile with her curved scimitar and snorted with a maniacal grin. She then roared like a beast, charging and leaping high into the air toward Xel’vakora who also charged and leapt up. They crossed paths in midflight and struck at each other, landing far from where they’d attacked. Xel’vakora remained kneeling, grimacing. The opposing elf rose, her maniacal grin still intact. Then she gasped, her upper lip and head diagonally sliding off the lower part her mouth.

“Saldovin is next,” scowled Xel’vakora, sheathing his weapon and standing without so much as a scratch on him.

“Indeed,” said Dargain.

Before entering the dungeon, Xel’vakora carved a glyph through his skin and whispered an incantation. With the exception of Zauranel, the lifeless regiment of dark elves rose from the dead. At his command, they charged into the dungeon and attacked the living Mor’vyi’dou who, while dismayed, tried to defend themselves. Aarian and his comrades, in the meantime, followed the undead elves and joined the battle.

The dungeon had numerous wrought iron cells, most of which contained orcs and trolls clad in only loincloth. Many of the prisoners banged on the gates of their jails, shouting to be released. When a dark elf defending himself against an undead Mor’vyi’dou backed away to a cell, one of the green-skinned trolls inside rammed his tusks forward, impaling him.

Aarian glanced at the orcs, intimidated by their hunched yet muscular bodies and their naturally sharp fangs that resembled those of vampires. The thought crossed his mind to release them; however, the orcs were so barbaric and ruthless that they’d probably end up attacking him. Hearing them roar with spittle flowing from their mouths was enough evidence. And the same could be said for the trolls who gazed at him in frenzy, conceded Aarian, passing by them while striking down the remaining dark elves in the vicinity.

“Nice mo’ves, laddie,” said Olwe, a smirk forming on his face as he removed his axe from a dead Mor’vyi’dou.

“You think so?” asked Aarian, keeping his guard up.

“Praise from the greatest blacksmith isn’t to be taken lightly,” said Dargain, winking at the prince.

“Believe me, Master Dargain, I won’t take anything lightly again,” said Aarian.

“No more small talk,” said Parla’vasa moodily, keeping an arrow steady along the string of her curved bow. “We have a serious task to accomplish. If we are to be successful in reaching the summoning chamber and sealing the hell rift then you must remain vigilant.”

“Agreed,” said Xel’vakora.

Thanks to him raising the dead, most of the opposing Mor’vyi’dou inside the dungeon lay dead. Repeating his incantation, Xel’vakora raised additional corpses to join him. In a matter of seconds, he strode forth with a regiment of undead battling beside him. The others, particularly Parla’vasa, didn’t feel comfortable fighting alongside them. Yet when they finished killing the remaining wardens, even she had to confess that without such black magic to aid them in their cause, they probably would have been either slain or captured like the orcs and trolls who kept roaring and shouting to be freed.

“Ignore them,” said Xel’vakora.

“That was my intention,” replied Parla’vasa. “As it is, I have to infiltrate Fal’shar with an army of corpses...it’s a disgrace to the Nine.”

“Gar’kon is proud,” said Xel’vakora, gleaming.

Snorting to herself, Parla’vasa pressed onward with the others. Passing the metal-barred cells nestled into the granite of the dungeon and blood-covered tables upon which lay various torturing tools, they reached an iron door that led them to a spiral staircase.

At this point, Aarian and his comrades breached the skyscraping citadel of Fal’shar and gradually scaled the steps of a tower. The quintet and their undead brigade eventually arrived at an arched doorway leading to a floor that they needed to travel through in order to continue scaling the citadel. It began as a narrow corridor where metal sconces with dimly-let torches hung along the stoned walls. Bloodied symbols of necromancy also decorated the hall that widened while Aarian and his comrades progressed.

While walking ahead, they saw flickers of red lightning through sheer drapes. They also spotted demons descending from the heavens in the form of meteors. Though falling loudly, they were able to hear footsteps opposite them. Dargain was the first to prepare himself for another battle. Just then, a group of twelve Mor’vyi’dou appeared. Aarian charged forward, bellowing as if he were an enraged monster. Following behind him was Dargain, swiping both of his swords forth and spilling dark elf blood.

Olwe, meanwhile, joined Xel’vakora and the undead corpses and struck numerous times with his battleaxe, crimson spraying all over his rugged face. As usual, Parla’vasa attacked from a distance using her arrows. She was, however, running low on them. Even though she attempted to replenish arrows from deceased Mor’vyi’dou, there simply weren’t enough arrows for her to remain as an archer.

The princess eventually sulked and started using what little arrows she had left sparingly. She mostly aimed and launched them in vital spots such as the head or heart. Other than that, she waited for the others to slaughter the Mor’vyi’dou and then picked up whatever arrows they had in their quivers.

Aarian pushed aside one of the curtains and peeked outside, noticing a legion of demons turning the wilderness of Ula’veth into a burning wasteland. He trembled with dread just looking at what was occurring before him and moved away, bringing his attention back to the citadel. He refused to keep allowing demons to enter the realm of Yunedar, pressing forth while continuing to slay the remaining dark elves with a fearsome visage.

As more adversaries were slain in battle, Xel’vakora raised their corpses. He was slowly forming an army of undead. Crossing over to the other side of the dazzling yet gloomy hallway of elongated carpets and drapes, tattered paintings, and blood-drawn runes along the walls, they entered another tower with a spiral staircase. Although the citadel of Fal’shar was enormous with numerous spires, Xel’vakora seemed to know exactly where to go; at least that was what Aarian concluded while he followed him.

Only a few Mor’vyi’dou dared to get in their way while scaling the steps. Without even having the chance to unsheathe their weapons, the undead fiends gutted and trampled over them. Xel’vakora had a confident smirk on his face as he marched upward with his minions. Though his skin gradually grew more pale—his runic wounds deepening with blood dripping down on the stony steps—he nevertheless kept raising the dead.

“Don’t over exert yourself,” said Aarian to the dark elf in a worried tone. “We need you to seal the demonic rift.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

Over the next hour they entered many more narrow corridors and towers, battling their way higher and higher through the maze-like citadel. At times the dark elves tried to ambush them from behind; however, the undead brigade was so large that it didn’t matter. Whether by a surprise attack or waylay, the Mor’vyi’dou were outnumbered and killed within seconds. When they reached the top floor, where the summoning chamber was located, Xel’vakora had gathered a total of fifty-seven ghouls.

Upon reaching mahogany doors, Xel’vakora slammed them open, barging into a dimly-lit chamber where bodies of various races lay in the center of the room on a bloodied magic circle. In addition, the same cauldron used to summon Izabaldo was there; and along the walls stood lavishing bookshelves with compendiums concerning witchcraft, necromancy, and demonology. Most ominous, however, was the hell rift that hung above the magic circle in the center of the chamber, an aura of blistering fire shrouding it.

Beyond the demonic portal stood two dark elf guards, and up a flight of steps in a throne embellished with skulls sat Saldovin Keldoran. He wore an obsidian-colored suit of dragon-bone armor, his face covered with a black hood. He amusingly stared at Xel’vakora who entered with a deathly gaze, an army of undead following right behind him along with Prince Aarian, Princess Parla’vasa, Dargain, and Olwe.

“Ah, I see you have brought me a mighty army that will help me conquer the Quel’de’nai when I travel to Lar’a’dos,” said Saldovin, gazing at the sword-wielding corpses. “I have never been more proud of you, brother.”

Aarian and his comrades were stunned, feeling betrayed.

“Do not dare refer to me as such,” said Xel’vakora, ignoring the startled expressions of his comrades and standing firm, wielding his double-bladed scimitar.

“In that case, allow me to call you traitor,” retorted Saldovin, rising from his throne.

Without another word from either faction, Parla’vasa launched arrows at the guards. In seconds they fell to the floor, dead. Xel’vakora then attempted to bring them back as corpses, at which point Saldovin raised his gaunt hands while murmuring an incantation. In an instant, the dark lord dispelled his brother’s reanimation magic and disintegrated the guards.

“Your scheme ends here,” said Aarian, pointing his sword at Saldovin. “I’ll give you one chance to surrender.”

“Oh?” uttered the dark lord, raising an eyebrow. “Why not two chances?”

Before the prince or his companions could react, Saldovin clenched his hands into fists, his eyes turning blood-red, seizing control of the entire undead brigade. Gasping at what had just occurred, Xel’vakora attempted to retake them, more of his blood being drained. Parla’vasa took a step back, frightened by what might occur if Xel’vakora would fail to maintain his power over the legion of corpses.

“What’s wrong, brother?” asked Saldovin menacingly. He gave out a quiet cackle that quickly grew louder; then he cut his laughter short. “You are an utter failure and disgrace to this family, unlike Telaria. She sacrificed not only her immortality but her own life to be rid of these pathetic humyns. Yet you dare side with them?”

“You would doom us all for your own petty bigotry,” retorted Xel’vakora, blood leaking from his eyes, ears, and nose.

A powerful shockwave erupted from Xel’vakora, causing all fifty-seven undead corpses to disintegrate into ashes. Doing so, however, caused him to faint. Not a second later, Parla’vasa shot arrows at Saldovin who used telekinesis to reposition them in midflight. He then lifted her in the air, tossing her across the dim chamber. She smashed into bookshelves and flew through curtains, falling onto the balcony. Aarian gasped, rushing over to aid her.

In the meantime, Olwe and Dargain charged toward him. Screeching like a lich, Saldovin stuck out his black tongue, leeching the dwarf’s blood from afar. Olwe, not even near the steps, staggered and groaned, dropping his axe. By the time Dargain reached the Mor’vyi’dou leader atop the stairs, Olwe collapsed, his gaunt body depleted of blood. Saldovin then unsheathed his double-bladed scimitar and deflected each of the knight’s attacks.

“Your madness ends here, Keldoran,” said Dargain, attempting to hack off at least one of his foe’s limbs.

“It will be my pleasure to personally dispose of the renowned Master of Vlydyn,” replied Saldovin, parrying with ease. After pirouetting, he started to counterattack. “Then I shall behead the last remnant of humyn royalty,” he sinisterly added, glancing at the prince who stayed beside Parla’vasa.

“Never!” bellowed Dargain.

Saldovin’s lips curved into a twisted smirk as he evaded Dargain’s vigorous strikes, riposting between deflections. Hearing the heavy clanks of swords, Aarian turned and noticed Dargain and Saldovin battling. A rush of anxiety taking hold of him, he lifted his glossy crystal sword, sprinted into the chamber, and joined the fight. In the blink of an eye, Saldovin pushed Dargain back with telekinesis and blocked Aarian’s attack. He stepped aside, playfully twirling his scimitar while glaring at the opposing duo.

“Two humyns brazenly infiltrating my domain and thinking they can defeat me without magic,” said Saldovin. “I haven’t had this much excitement in ages.”

“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” retorted Aarian, swiping at the dark elf’s legs.

Flipping over him and landing beside his throne, Saldovin replied, “Extremely.” He then fought his way down the steps, striking at both Dargain and Aarian. “A truly magnificent attempt to vanquish me and my ingenious plans; but a failure no less.”

“It is you who shall perish, Mor’vyi’dou,” responded Aarian, counterattacking faster and harder, his eyebrows sinking.

“Do not let his words anger you,” said Dargain, parrying.

Saldovin laughed and attacked swiftly, hitting Aarian’s torso and denting his moonstone armor. The prince groaned while he jolted, falling down the flight of steps. Dargain took a deep breath, trying not to let what had happened to Aarian cloud his judgment. It was merely a flesh wound, he thought, concentrating and waiting for the dark lord to strike.

As soon as Saldovin made his move, Dargain deflected both edges of the sharp scimitar with his swords and shoved his knee into Saldovin’s stomach. Not a moment later, he performed a head-butt, kicked him hard in the face, pirouetted, and then struck forward with all of his might using his weapons simultaneously, sundering Saldovin’s breastplate. The elf fell to the floor, his hood folded back.

“Impressive for a humyn,” he said, spitting out blood.

“Your compliments mean nothing to me,” said Dargain, descending the steps and aiming his swords at Saldovin’s throat. “Your life is at an end.”

The dark elf snorted, his eyes turning completely black. Shortly after, he raised the dwarf from the dead. Olwe, his boney and ghoulish face tilted, hurled his battleaxe at Dargain’s back, which pierced into his spine. At that precise moment, Saldovin called upon his scimitar by means of telekinesis, flipped back up to his feet, and gutted Dargain.

“Master!” cried out Aarian.

Saldovin snapped his fingers, crumbling Olwe’s corpse into dust. “It’s over, humyn. Your kingdom is ruined. Your loved ones are dead. And your pitiful arranged marriage with that filthy Quel’de’nai whore has been overruled. Now it is your turn to surrender. As the last of your kind, you can either join my army as a corpse or—”

“How about this?” interjected Aarian, using a dagger on his neck to etch the same symbol he’d seen Xel’vakora use to ensnare the demon he’d fought in Grisfall—the nine-pointed star.

Saldovin, slack-jawed, took a step back. His eyes widening, he raised a hand. “Where did you learn that?” he asked. Before waiting for a response, he went on, “Don’t be a fool, boy. You will only doom yourself by carving that mark on your body.”

“I am doomed anyway, right?” said Aarian, a demented smirk on his face.

Not knowing any incantation, he simply charged toward the demonic rift and leapt into it. Saldovin roared in defiance, trying to use telekinesis to push him back. Yet it was too late. In that instant, Aarian froze in midair, trapped within the fiery portal. When that occurred, the sizzling flames of hell enveloped him. The prince screamed in agony, his body ablaze. Saldovin, horror in his eyes, abandoned the chamber.

Just then, a shockwave of fire formed and blew out of Aarian’s floating body. The ceiling exploded as a horrendous explosion erupted. Fal’shar turned into an inferno and began to tremble and crumble apart. During this time, Saldovin had managed to reach the cove below and boarded a schooner with his remaining followers.

“Set sail,” he said with urgency. “This land is now damned and belongs to Izabaldo. We must now gather the other clans. Then we leave for Lar’a’dos.”

The dark elves cheered despite the earthquake at hand, rocks falling into the murky water and causing the waves to sway wildly. Obeying him, they raised the anchor and sailed out of the collapsing cavern, leaving the misty cove. In due time, they approached one of many coastal villages where the rest of their brethren resided, waiting for Saldovin to come and command them to invade Lar’a’dos.

Saldovin gazed at Fal’shar one last time. “Prince Aarian has damned himself,” he said grimly. “No mortal can survive such a thing.”

In the meantime, the prince remained floating in the summoning chamber. Continuing to scream in excruciating pain, horns grew on his forehead. Aarian’s body deformed, replete with muscles and skin as red as blood. Tears fell from his fiery eyes as he stared at Dargain’s corpse. Never did he think his mentor could die. Although irrational, he had always thought of him as a Spirit in disguise, wisely guiding him in the form of a humyn but truly an immortal. His naivety, however, was at an end, along with the once majestic world of Yunedar, he conceded. These were his final thoughts before absorbing the demonic hell rift into his soulless body, cursing himself for all eternity.