Future of Calamity [Under Rewrite]

Prologue - Desolation

The sky was black.

Not a typical night black, not 'the moon has risen' black; a shifting, black smog. It hung above the world gratuitously, merely an example of the hold despair had on the planet. No holy light could pierce the vile mass of violet and ink, all that shed a hint of warmth across the globe was a blood red moon. It bore into the very earth with hostile intent, the crimson glare coiling around the dying foliage and dried mountains. Even the dark smog curled around the moon's edges like crooked fingers; twitching and shaking against its visage.

This world was dying. It was all because of her.

Every blistering gust was crudely cold, and the scent of death clung to the breeze's invisible shoulders. Desolation was a fitting name for their home after seeing what has become of it. Unknowing, the very soil choked and gasped for any sustenance - even when the stormy rain fell with thunderous force - it only poisoned the nutrients that crawled through bubbling rivers and streams. Only the cities that rallied against this violent force could breathe. But, was breathing through lungs of smoke and blood really living? Many 'survivors' would tell otherwise, as they scraped for any sort of resources to prolong their dreadful lives. The dead were the fortunate, and they whispered sweet nothings that brought more and more to the other side.

However, out in the plains of Midgand, a storm was brewing. The storm reeked of sharpened metal, blood, desperation, and malice. It was hope. Unfortunately, hope was the first step to disappointment. And, the soldiers that marched up that day with weapons to take down armies and magic to block out the Sun, did so with fear and cowardice.

She could smell it from miles away, and it disgusted her.

Out in that barren wasteland, were hundreds - maybe thousands - that prepared themselves to fight in the name of their failing world. Masses of weakened Exorcists that rallied their forces to take down the one who had started it all: The Lord of Calamity.

And she sat there, a daemon, staring down every trembling one without a hint of worry in her mind. The cloak of malevolence that shrouded her form comforted her, as did the contorting darkness that weighed her down; consuming any remnant of humanity that was potentially left in her soul. Her mind seethed an unrelenting storm of controlled rage and feral wrath - and her left arm rumbled in anticipation. The air was bland to her, the salt that wafted in the wind leaving no impression on her tongue. All she felt was the harsh dusty amber rock where she sat unfazed, and the dark garments that carried a thousand memories.

The mass of people, humans, before her eventually stilled - and the atmosphere started to hang over them in a noisy silence. The clouds of twisting shadows manifested over the soon-to-be battlefield. Drops of glistening sweat accumulated upon many faces, and dust scowered their vision. A clench of a weapon, a silent prayer, a wince and a tremble. Then, a huff emanated from the figure of shadow, where only two gleaming vermillion eyes contrasted, until she rose from her casual position. The Lord of Calamity began to approach the army of Exorcists, long shaggy hair - as black as the blight that veiled her - swaying gently. Step. Step. Step. Step... They still did not move.

The daemon started to sprint.

All she heard was a single yell from the opposition, building saliva bursting out, and then the gargantuan stampede dashing out at full force. All she could hear then, was the screams of dead men.

The two forces charged one another, with only one being the supreme victor of this bout. The first attack already told them how outmatched they were. The Lord of Calamity burst through the initial charge immediately, sending countless bodies scrambling into the suffocating air. Exorcists a plenty couldn't even catch a glimpse of their adversary before their body became a bloodied mess.