Shadows of the Mind

[Guest Kasmandre]

ooc: This is going to be the sequel to "Rebirth of a Dark Heart". I'd start it now, but it's a little late and I'm not thinking too clearly now. I figured I'd better put something down, though, or I might never get started.

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Kasmandre

Initiate of the Pen

Resident of the Old North Tower

[Guest Kasmandre]

The Pantheon. The loose association of seven gods and goddesses that ruled over the multiverse: Sun, Moon, Nature, Science, Magik, Satan, and Lucifer. Each has their own powers and their own dominion.

 

This tale begins in a world under such dominion.

 

The world Ashkhoft, meaning fire, sits near to the center of Sun sphere of influence. It is a place of barren rock, blowing sand, and blistering sun. It is also a place of truth. The extreme conditions seem to wear away at lies and falsehood as deliberately as it did on mortal creatures. For this reason, seekers of truth and knowledge have come to this place since the dawn of time seeking enlightenment. Some found it. Others found only death.

 

If one was to be standing on the alkali flats of Ashkhoft, they would have seen something extrodinary. A portion of the daytime sky erupted in a flash of light brighter than the sun. If this hypothetical person were to look into the center of the eruption, they would have seen a figure being expelled from the explosion at a high speed. They could have traced the arc of its travel as it flew high overhead, landing at last in a sand bank some three miles away.

 

If they raced to the impact site, they might have had time to see that this figure was actually a man. A man with jet black hair and a scar over his right eye. A man clad in shimmering white armour that was ripped open in several places. A man clutching a ivory and pearl dagger as if it were a life preserver.

 

A man bleeding to death.

[Guest Kasmandre]

Pain.

 

Kasmandre had never felt pain such as this. As the adrenaline ran out of his body with his blood, he began to feel every overtaxed muscle, every inch of torn flesh, every decimated organ. The pain was like a fire burning him out from within.

 

He was going to die.

 

This realization came to Kasmandre swiftly and easily. But strangely, his mind rebelled against that fact. Just hours before, he had been contemplating suicide. A few minutes ago, he had thought death was certain. But that didn't change the basic fact: he was not ready to die yet; he wasn't done.

 

The Darkened Man was probably dead, his Nexus was definitely destroyed. But that wasn't enough. The Darkened Man was but one of the Dark Powers, his Nexus was one of the places where evil and rot reigned. Satan, Hell, and Aeternal Dark still remained to threaten the Light. He had sworn to end them all or die trying and he didn't intend to do the latter.

 

Forcing his tattered limbs into action, Kasmandre began the slow, agonizing process of climbing up the dune. His muscles, most of which no longer strictly attached to the bone, protested the effort, but Kasmandre overruled them.

 

After what seemed like hours of effort, Kasmandre finally reached the top of the dune. For a moment, all he could see was the swirling, biting sand. And then, in the distance, he could make out two forms moving swiftly toward him. A smile rose on his chapped, broken lips and he whispered, "Thank the Light."

 

Then, nearly bloodless and racked with unspeakable pain, Kasmandre fell into unconsciousness.

[Guest Kasmandre]

And then Kasmandre was running down a darkened tunnel. He wasn't sure exactly where he was or how long he'd been running, but he knew that he had to reach the end of it quickly, or else...or else, what?

 

He didn't know what it was, but he did know that it would cause pain beyond recovery.

 

And so he ran farther and farther along the featureless black mass that was the tunnel. And it seemed that the darkness reached out to him, clawed at him, tried to slow him down, tried to keep him from the unthinkable thing that he was plummeting toward.

 

But he was unstoppable, the proverbial irresistible force approaching the immovable object. And he kept rocketing deeper and deeper into this black tunnel, a tunnel seemingly without end.

 

And then, the tunnel widened. Just a little at first, then more and more, until he was in a massive cavern. And despite the fact that it was only darkness around him, he could see to the other side of the enormous room. There stood a man of just taller than average height, his features blurred in shadow, holding a six-foot blade in one black-gauntleted hand. He was the epitome of the cavern, the lightlessness. He was Darkness, Heir to Hell.

 

And at his feet was the broken, bleeding body of Cassandra Brightlance.

 

"No!!" Kasmandre cried, lunging toward Darkness, realizing belatedly that he had no weapon with which to face this powerful force of a man.

 

It was only when Kasmandre was almost atop his foe that he realized that he could now see Darkness's face. And what he saw shocked him, the black hair held back with a simple gold circlet, the slate-grey eyes.

 

The face was his own.