NationStates Jolt Archive

Pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his dirt encrusted face, the man looked over. The grey ceiling of the cavern hovered over him menacingly, the stalactites ready to bite through him at any given moment. Dotted with guano and eons-old pebbles, the ground oozed with a watery slime. Thomas's legs ached with pain, his knees felt like rusty hinges on a large door. Sitting down, he tucked his shirt back in and loocked at Chris sadly. "Are we close to them at all?"

The younger man looked over, his blue eyes tinged with red. "I...I don't know. I've lost contact with their signals." Sighing, he pulled out his rusty canteen and opened it, only to find his final salvation gone. "I'm out..." He sighed, his throat feeling like coarse sandpaper.

Thomas sighed a bit, and handed over his half-full canteen. "Have the rest - You need it more than I do..." Continuing to trek down the road, the ardous trail was worsening. It seemed as though there was a "bottomless" pit every 10 seconds, and the cavern was getting increasingly smaller. "Chris... We have a problem."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Uh..." Up ahead, a large amber glow illuminated the room, casting a hazy glow on the limestone cave. "What - What is that thing?"

Chris shook his head, slowly backing up. The intensity of the glow increased, and Thomas soon realized what it was. A giant portal stood open, swirling quicker and quicker. The amber waves formed a whirpool of chromatic materials, which somehow bent the very fabric of time and physics. Thomas quickly ran over to Chris. "Don't move." Shaking, the cave began to open up, like a giant opening it's mouth. Jets of crimson flame shot out of the crevices running along side the two unfortunate explorers. Two eyes opened. And so did a mouth.

Outside, a man got out his car. His large, grey mustache jostled in the wind, and his yellow-safari suit ruffled. He yelled in his obnoxious accent. "What in the bloody hell is going on here?" He ran over to the cave entrance, only to see the ground open up in front of him. Steam shot forth, followed by large shots of fire ina brilliant array of colours. Eyes wide open, the man shot back to the car, as quickly as his arthritic legs could carry him. The ground began to shake, and a monotonous beating occured, and became louder. Like a pair of drums, it beat on the earth. Shoving his keys into the ignition, the old fellow started his car and punched the accelerator and flew forward. The hole in the ground increased, getting much larger. The flames began to subside, and two long bones stuck out of the ground.

"Thomas? Chris?" The old man shreaked, scared. The bones came out, growing larger. Then a head, with two eyes on each side. "What in the name of the faire lord?" The man fiddled with his seatbelt and hopped out. The creature pulled out two wimpy arms, that ended with long knife-like apendages. It's brownish-red skin contrasted with the dense foilage of the forest.

"Mister Winkling. We meet again." The voice bellowed, a deep sound that echoed throughout the forest. The ground shook with every syllable spoken. The eyes of the beast glinted, and he pulled himself out of the steaming ground. It's body was long, with three elephantine legs on each side, thick and stubby. It's torso was that of a horse, though with coarse, blotted skin. And it had a long, reptilian-like tail, with a large, pointed blade at the end. His head was that of a dragon, with two large demon horns at the top. He was easily 70-odd feet tall, and he smelled of sulfur. "So, sire, you have two options: Serve me or perish." He laughed a deep, coarse bellow, that echoed for a while. The air filled with silence.

"I-I refuse to do either." The man muttered it once more, as though he needed to make himself believe so.

"You idiotic human. I am but 3500 years old, a mere teenager, and even I know you are ready to run. You will serve me." The Creature threw his head back in disgust, and a series of henchmen arose from within the hole. Golems, with pods that held brains and spirits. Massive, oozing globs of anything an alchemist could dream of. Towering mountains of moving flesh, that consumed anything in sight. The man felt warm inside, and looked down and noticed his soiled pants.

"You... You..." He bowed his head down, his pompous, self-rightous accent all but gone. "I will serve you..."

The being smiled, showing his crooked, gleaming teeth. "I knew you would. Come along now, hurry. We have much work to do." Eyes glowing, a passion burning inside, the demon set off to begin his carnage.

The last of the beasts gone, Thomas pulled himself out of the small crawlspace. Aching throughout, Thomas looked over at Chris. Chris's body lay on the cave ground, his skin nothing but charred, black ashes. Yellow and pale, his bones lay beneath the dead skin, clinging to each other through some forgotten bond. Thomas almost gagged, his face turning red. "How... How in the..." His voice trailed off, as hot and stining tears began to cascade down his face.. What monster needed to kill his best friend? Looking around, he realized that the cave was now a ruin - It's magnificent features, taking millions of years to form, were now nothing but a pille of useless pebble.

Crawling out of the cave, Thomas almost gasped. "G-grand father? Where are you?" His voice sounded small, as though he was a child once again. Frowning, his skin forming wrinkles above his head, he pulled out his phone. Flipping it open, he pressed the 'Talk' button and listened. Static. He looked at the screen, which no longer had a signal. "What the-?" He slunk down to his knees, and sadly looked at the ground. The green moss had been stamped into oblivion. Then he noticed a pattern. Large, ovalish indentations. Footprints.

Thomas struggled to get up, his back feeling as though elephants were standing upon it. He grimaced, and began to gain his balance. The deep indentations in the ground, mere footprints, were intimidating enough. Frowning, his face dirtied and scarred, he began to follow the footprints. "What in the name could have made these footprints?"

"I think you know..."

Thomas turned around, sweating. His eyes scanned the area thoroughly, looking for some sign of sentient life. His hands trembled. "Who - Who are you?"

A deep laugh rumbled from the forest, shaking the trees. Then it seemed to end, although deep vibrations protruded into Thomas's head like thin daggers.

"What do you want with me?"

There was nothing but silence, and then a large crash sounded from the foilage, and Thomas backpedaled. "You know who I am..."

Thomas shook hard, and tripped on a thin, dying stick that rose out of the ground. Crashing back, a deep shudder went through Thomas body. His eyes shut quickly, and black filled his view. But not for long.


An image of red quickly filled Thomas's head, as the features of the demon began to flesh out. The bumpy skin. The large back legs that seemed like trunks of unimaginable trees. Arms that twisted into vile appendages of torture, whose only wish was harm. A feeling of geniune terror filled up within Thomas.

A tear.

One single tear.

Rolled down his face.

OOC: My third attempt at this storyline - This time Revenia shall be involved. TRD, if you wish to join in again, go ahead.

Torquemada Illyrian stretched out to his full six feet three inches. The breeze was gentle and just the right amount of cool to counterbalance the almost-perfect ambient temperature. The sun beat down on his bare chest, and though he did not tan...that would have been quite humorous, as he was Sevle...the sensation was undeniably pleasant.

He watched bemusedly as a dozen or so young Sevle played in the swimming pool in front of him. They were no less vigorous than he was, Sevle did not weaken with age, but they had the innocence of youth. Something that Torquemada Illyrian, Mage-King of the Sevle, had lost long, long ago.

He reached out and took hold of his martini, brought it closer and took a sip. It was not perfect, but he would not have enjoyed it nearly so much if it was. His discerning tongue detected the almost imperceptible flaws...and savoured each one.

He adjusted his straw hat and smiled. This small island of paradise was the work of magic. That much was obvious, considering it was floating a few hundred meters above the ground over a particularly barren portion of The Impworld. The atmosphere, the breeze, all those things were the product of magic.

The Impworld was not a pleasant place. It had never been so, it would never -be- so. Yet that did not mean that there could not be pockets of pleasantness, and there were. Even naturally occuring ones. True, most of them were 'acquired tastes,' but some weren't.

All in all, Torque was happy. He couldn't think of much of anything he'd rather do than stretch out on a lawn chair, relax, sip a martini, and watch beautiful young men and women, mostly women, at play.

This was what he had fought so long for, this was what he would die to protect. The right of children to be innocent. The right of a child to be a child, something that he himself had never had. He had always been an incredibly powerful mage, even as an infant. It was one of the nightmares of those in charge then to have an infant with more power than they, prone to fits and mood swings...

So he had never been allowed to be a child. The result had been even worse than an unthinking, unknowing destroyer. Because he had been capable of thought. No innocence in him, he had been a malovent entity if there ever had been one.

Frightening, but he'd gotten over it. Not without leaving a pretty nasty wake behind him...but...those were the risks. The greater ones power, the greater ones responsibility.

Always. Forever.

Daemonirix felt power, that of which the poets speak of, flowing through his veins. His whole body pulsed with it. "Mister Winkling, have you heard of this place - Impworld, I believe it is called?"

Petrified with fear, the older man shook his head, his pale-blue eyes watering.

"Hm... I only learned of it's nature the other day, though it sounds absolutely fascinating... I think we should pay a visit..." Daemonirix added, his voive hoarse. His skin was begining to perspire, dirtied beads of sweat lazily drifting down the side of his neck. "Mister Winkling, you are not very light at all." A huge, thunderous laugh shot out of the creature's mouth, sending rattling vibrations through Winkling's bones.

"Uh... I suppose so..." He said, his accent now tilting at times. Only one hour had passed, and yet he already seemed noticably... older. Pale in colour, his skin seemed to have formed ten more crevasses, wrinkles if you wish. "Sir, why are you being friendly to me?"

Daemonirix twitched his eyes. "Is it that hard to understand? I'm under an accord, young man, and I must follow it. Hence my private army." He swung his malformed arm out, pointing the gleaming blade at the beings. "They can kill for me, if the need be. Although I see a purpose for humans - I can expand my empire quickly, if you will."

Nodding, Winkling looked around at the dense green foilage. The sun reflected off the top of the leaves on the tree, creating a beautiful green collage of colour. Too beautiful. "Where are we, Daemonirix?"

Grunting, the beast turned his head all the way around. "Sir, we are about to go to Impworld. I have a few friends to meet." Daemonirix's breath was sickly hot, and created an intense sauna-like feeling, as though Winkling was near a burning fire, casting it's amber glow on to the area around it.

"Ah, sorry for asking."

Crackling noises trickled around Winkling, soothing him in an odd fashion. The green began to blur faster, and a huge pressure, as though his brain was to explode, swelled up in the man's head. Whistling noises began to form, and suddenly





Black.


2 hours later, although 720 degrees by a clock hand seemed too minute to classify it. It was... like a euphoric feeling had passed through the man. That, however, was evidently about to change. As he looked down, he realized he was floating over, oddly enough, a floating island, The contrast was sharp, like neon pink over a pukish green. How could a paradise, beautiful like many places on earth, survive over such a desolate place. It was like watching a ping pong ball float hazardly close to the ground, waiting for the deathly second bounce.

"Shi maru!" Daemonirix bellowed. Literally, he had spoken one word - "Mine".

Torquemada Illyrian fell out of his chair. That right there was bad, because Torquemada was a decidedly agile individual. When he lost his balance, something wrong happened. The unexpected rarely surprised him...not because he was paranoid, but because he lived with Chaos.

He recovered quickly, and was already in motion. His robe fell to the ground behind him as he dived for his house. He passed through the door with ease and punched the wards into place for a few moments. To those with some sort of magical sight, the entire island would be surrounded by a sphere of multicolored energy.

It wouldn't last long...this little beach hut of his didn't have the reserves that his castle did. Not by a long shot. But it would last long enough. He didn't stop to think about it, he was already pulling on his clothes. That completed, he buckled his armor into place, buckled his swordbelt into place, checked to make sure his long, slender sword was set properly, then hung his mace opposite it.

He grabbed his polished black dull-metal staff and set out...clearing the door just as the wards died. His second sight already told him the source of his worries...so...

He pushed away from the island, to the exterior observer it would seem as if he began to float upwards...which was pretty much the desired effect. He continued this until he was level with the demon and its companion...

Torquemada eyed them. "I am Torquemada Illyrian, Mage-King of the Sevle. You have enterred my realm without invitation. I suggest you explain yourselves before I throw you both back out on your rears."

Daemonirix spun in the air for a while, his eyes gently moving around. The blakc pearls seemed to contemplate a different situation. His tail whipped around lazily, but cast no sound. Mister Winkling was nowhere to be seen. "Mister Illyrian, there is no need for introduction. I have seen you before - Albeit in my dreams. You see, I have a penchant."

Flashback echoed through the beast's head, vivid pictures of a dominating empire floodiong every single nerve in his body. His muscles contracted tightly, and he seemed to go into a quick seizure. Radiating from his body was an unholy energy, as though a wave of death oozed out of every pore on his body, secreting a black substance into space. Then he snapped out of it, his body loosing it's mountain-like ridgidness and lazily drifting back to the previous position.

"I need this planet. And your people. Sir, this is what I was made for. By denying me this - Wait, you can not stand in my way. I will have this planet, whether by will or force." A tiny crushed rose dropped down from Daemonirix, as a portal opened up behind him. As his minions floated out, he moaned some words. "Roses are the opiate of the masses; they create lust for impossible pleasures."

Torquemada Illyrian, almost certainly the greatest Sevle mage to have ever drawn breath...smiled. His right hand blurred and his staff came about...to smash into Daemonirix' head.

That done, he barked a laugh...and said one word. "Fool."

Not a fool because he came to the Impworld, or even because the demon wished to found his empire there. Fool because he tried to go through Torquemada Illyrian to do so. Fool because he didn't ask.

Torquemada wasn't worried about those minions. Even now Sevle Void Strikers would be moving in to check that particular threat. He also wasn't worried about Daemonirix...for all the demon's impressive stature, far greater beings existed on The Impworld.

Not the least of which was the Mage-King of the Sevle himself.

So, he simply smiled...and reversed his staff, driving the capped end into Daemonirix's large torso. Normally, that probably wouldn't have done much of anything. That was irrelevant. The action was a focus, a physical expression of a mental action. The force of the blow's impact was magnified ten-thousand fold by the Mage-King's magics...

Not particularly impressive, but Torquemada had never been one for theatrics. His had always been a more subtle art.

It had hurt. That was for sure. Crevasses of pain raced through Daemonirix's body. "You think I'm a fool? That there are beings more powerful than I here?" Daemonirix bellowed, black blood dripping down his face, as though he had fallen in mud. His skin began to patch itself together again, and he grinned. "I have one advantage, sir." Daemonirix pointed with his small arm, tipped with that killer knife. In the distance, there was a bubble with 2 young Sevle in it. About to be killed.

"You have two choices - Let them die a horrible death, which I guaruntee you can not stop, or hand over Impworld to me. Is it really that hard of a descision? Listen, I will not harm your people. I mearly wish to use your planet for creation of my new army. I hate to kill people, really. Don't force me to do it." He smiled viciously, even though he felt as though his stomach would soon implode.

"Illyrian, make up your mind. Quickly."

Torquemada sighed.

"Alright. Fine. You want me to decide?"

He smiled and waved his hand as if dismissing the whole situation. The end result was that Daemonirix was down two Sevle children. Impossible was not a word one used in the presence of Torquemada Illyrian. They say 'expect the unexpected.' He -was- the unexpected.

Upon which he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly...unfocused his eyes, then let them come back into focus again...and spoke slowly, carefully...

"Threaten my people again...bring harm to them in any way...and you'll discover just how outclassed you are. I'm willing to play your game...to a point. But my people are not pieces to be used to gain advantage."

His voice was flat, holding no emotion whatsoever. A statement of pure fact.

He was willing to play the game himself. He chose to do so. His people did not. His duty was to his people...and he took his duty seriously. Dead seriously.

The flickering multi-colored energy in his eyes died down to the normal calm blood-red...

Torquemada was now practically certain that Daemonirix didn't know how outclassed he was. Or maybe Torquemada himself was outclassed. It did not concern him overly much...because he was not the final defender of his people. Torquemada himself was subservient to Chaos itself, and Chaos protected its own.

Probably.

"You put forward a good game. I never intended to use them as pawns - I was rather sad to see them go. They would have been quite promising adults. I have underestimated you, Mage." A smile worked it's way around the face of Daemonirix, slyly like a snake. The pain filtering through his body began to subside, and a feeling of euphoria shot through the being, as cascades of joy were brought into his mind.

Underneath, Daemonirix, a different view was taking place. Those minions, quite easy on their own, had began to form into a different... sort of beast. A monstrouss contraption of convorted flesh, rusting metal, and precious jems lay waiting for Daemonirix's word.

"You are correct. Alone, strength for strength, I am no match for you. But you said you can control chaos - Have you not realised that I am orderly? There is a pattern, Illyrian, if only you can find it out."

Swirling slower, the portal closed gently, the wisping auburn waves shifting off into space. Nearby, creaks and groans bounced off, but were not heard. The machine was inching closer.

"Once again, you are left with two choices. Or possibly three? I am controlling the game, right now. That is your flaw." Daemonirix accented the final sentence with particular venom, as his eyes gleamed menacingly. "Play on."

Torquemada Illyrian barked his wicked laugh.

"First, you have made a fatal mistake. You have given me no incentive to play this game of yours. Second, you seem to believe that you are in control. That is stupidity. Common Sense dictates that since I am on my own turf, I have the advantage."

He planted his staff beside him seemingly into thin air and let that staff take his weight. Either an interesting party trick, or he was working some magic.

"You rely too much on minions, Demon. Fine. You wish to play with minions? I'll have three full legions of void strikers here before you can blink twice. Then we'll see how your minions stand up. But really, I'd prefer to deal with this myself...so maybe I'll just kill them all. Would you like that, Demon?"

His smile grew.

"I could end you right now if I felt like it. It wouldn't even be difficult. People always make it sound likes its hard, snuffing out somebodies life force. They're wrong. Easiest thing in the word. Lot easier to kill than it is to heal, let me assure you."

His eyes burned with a calm, confident malignance...

"So, Demon. You want me to play your game? Fine. Incentive."

"Once again, you are failing to miss the point. I do not rely on anything at all; If I had wanted to take over Impworld myself, I would have offered a large sums of precious gems or something akin to that. This is a battle, nothing more, nothing less. But you are not calling the bluff, sir. There is only one fallacy in your mind; it only comprehends one situation at a time. I would reccomend you look behind you, again."

In the distance, a black cloud of ink-like gas had begun to set upon Impworld, acting like a curtain the "show" on the vicious, vile planet. Another grin cascaded across Daemonirix's face, as two crimson fireballs arced towards Illyrian from two directions. Automaton-like, Daemonirix and the large, corpus beast thrust forward at the same time, Daemonirix knocking his horn into Illyrian's stomach, while the minion wrapped his body around the "elf", sending shockwaves of electricity through the being of chaos.

Daemonirix pulled his horn out quickly, the whole procedure consisting of two seconds. "Listen, I'm not an idiot. I have this whole thing planned out to a certain degree, and that is your fault. You can not play into a plan, identify it's weakness. Thus, you inherit the plan, and become one with it. You lose your identity, you lose the game." Slowly, the black cloud crept along covering the world. If you strained your ear, one could hear a family screaming. Hysterically.

Torquemada looked down at the large hole in his chest. He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly...then fell away.

(Torquemada Illyrian got skewered by Daemonirix.
Torquemada Illyrian has re-entered the fray)

Seemingly coming from directly behind the large demon, the voice of a dead man would be heard.

"Perhaps. Perhaps I was looking in that direction all along, Demon. Perhaps you have confused the concept of who should be looking behind who."

With that, he stepped forward, his eyes burning with a chaotic multi-colored flame. His staff hovered beside him, and in his right hand he held his wickedly serrated sword, curved just at the tip to give a better striking surface...

He moved forward like a gust of wind, that blade crashing down with the inevitably of the tide coming in...to hit Daemonirix in the waist, and cut through...and through...and come out the other side.

He came to a stop on the other side of the demon, his eyes locked on the minion...and he raised his left hand, and pointed...

and the minion vanished. As did that black cloud. Simply gone.

One did not irritate the Master at his Home.

Edit: Grraaaaaaak. My secret is revealed. Oh well...not like it hasn't been before.

Daemonirix laughed, black blood oozing out of his mouth. "V-very good, sir. However, you missed the point of the cloud. IT's not what it would have done, rather, what it has already done." Underneath the cloud laid torrents of oozing acidic blobs, eating away at the fabric of the planet.

Daemonirix's body disinegrated slowly, rendering an ethereal cloud. "My physical form matters not - I can always repair that later. As long as my spirit exists, I'm winning. You see, your days will be numbered. As of now, you have awoken my family. And I assure you, they will not be happy." The spirit dissappeared, almost as though he had winked at the god.

In the distance, a voice boomed. "You've won this point, sir."