Dark Fall (3rd Book)

Chapter 11: Civility In Power, Strife In Differences

"Is it so hard to walk the plains and not get attacked!" He exclaimed as he backed against a wall, a deep scowl staining his features as he held the Lich Blade on his right hand, a ball of sparkling blue on the palm of his left, ready to be shot. "I have grown tired of you all!"

Surrounded by many, he glared as the Disciples of Dawn glared right back, swords blazing in all their radiant glories as they approached him with small steps, cautious and dangerous, all with armor of unknown make and wings of flight. "You have done enough, demon."

Nemyctor rolled his eyes and imitated their speech, blatantly mocking them as the angels growled in further hate. "I don't care, idiots. I do what the Lord commands, and you're in my way!"

"We're the idiots?" He couldn't have thought they knew mockery, much less know how to use it. "Think on who's overwhelmed in numbers and skill, demon, then you might just think that resistance is futile."

One dared a stab through his throat, and he side-stepped and lunged at her, tearing her arm off with the Lich Blade, and watched the woman stumble back to the line, bleeding and screaming, trying in vain to heal it.

She fell a moment later, and they let her die, unhallowed and unhealed, still glaring at the demon with a passionate flame of hatred, not envy, but hatred.

And he could only smile as he asked them all in a joking manner,"I think that qualifies as an example, Disciples?"

Words drifted back to his mind as he took one last look at this dead Disciple, words from the past, words that only the Lich Blade would act upon, words from the tongue of the arcane arts, corrupted and tainted with the blackness of his Master's will.

I wonder if it works on them. He thought. I'll soon find out, I suppose.

Avernium, damn you for leaving me with these wretches. He thought, though he dared not show any emotion lest they suspect something. He did, however, allow a light frown to adorn his ebony face.

"Qualifies as what, Althalos?"

"I presume that you're the leader?" He now asked them, raising one brow. "And I am not Althalos, angels, rather I am one of your worst enemies." Beaming at them, he showed them the ball of electricity still bursting on his palm, imploding and exploding upon itself, as if a beast dead and reborn over and over again. "This will be your downfall, and this," He motioned to the Lich Blade as he took a breath,"will be the tool to cut your head off."

"May the radiance of Zeddicus purge you, filth." Nemyctor was very much pleased at their own anger, their hisses and growls and glowering and glares, an anger that would very much work on both ways. "You do not deserve to be given the gift of life!"

"Is that so?" He asked. "Have you ever thought that your precious god instigated this by doing exactly what my Lord wanted?" He smiled at them as he innocently gestured towards the darkened landscapes, and then to the blood moon above, surrounded by nothing and no one, the remnants of the stars gone. "Look at this. My vessel caused this, and then who breathed life into him? Who had not dared to stop me the moment my Lord stepped foot into this human's own mind?"

"Think about that, angels, then maybe you would find that your Lord is as much to blame as I would be." He rested his back on a slab of rock as he sat down on the earth, watching them all stutter around, looking worried, skeptical, and most of all, enraged. "Your piteous gods are all cowards, and even if they attempted to intervene, fate would not have it, for this was to come to pass."

"And where were you anyway, when this vessel was taking the Trial?" He continued on, unrelenting in the insults as they were all hit by painful revelations. "He took hours to do so, I can see from his memories, frolicking around and wasting time. You could have stopped him from there."