Universe Krys
Ars Celestille: Soma Realm
Shaettan Fort: Lethos Redoubt
What once thronged with militant life stood futile as all get-out. Doomed were soldiers loyal to their cause. The devilish Enforcers of Aamon befouled the black earth, their proud carcasses decked in armored terror laid cracked; broken; torn asunder. Devastation claimed Lethos Redoubt. Its name now stood for nothing. Their halls barren, lacking all life, and the dead continued to perfect its intricate chambers of craggy obsidian and steel; as if one pissed-off reaper arrived like a storm of butchering blades and left the meat to spoil. All that one would discover was a broken garrison of shattered Soma land, lonely barracks, and desolated palisades with only the winds of stale hell for company.
Once in a while, there was the occasional bristle-back critter of many eyes and pincered tail, skittering quickly with jittery purpose as it squeaked and clicked in ominous sound. Into the shadows this one went, traveling into the sturdy depths.
It freaked when turbulence was met. A violent racket forcing it to tense in a soul-struck pause. Its eyes peered over the ledge, managing what looked to be a gaping hole, but pillars of stone and banners reigned here; occupied by the only specks of life standing in its center.
Well... They weren't specks of life per say. Actually, the true speck of life helplessly lived by the edge of his steely breastplate as Ra'Shaed-Ha (pronounced ra - shay - eed - ha. In case you all needed help with that), a ma'ji (that's may - jai, by the way) that not only was an off-worlder a long ways from his universe, but had an obsession: killing Shaettan bastards.
Okay... obsession was indeed a bit too harsh. This was a mission; a mission to DESTROY ALL SHAETTAN BASTARDS, that is!
A rigid young man of leather and cloth bound by his deep, dark lavenders, violet sashes, and hints of what looked to be steel guards of glinting gold—had the lone, bloodied Aamon survivor in a cruel clutch.
"Unhand me, filthy kufir!"
The lone, gory Aamon soldier was caught in Ra'Shaed's clutch. There was no escaping the umber-skinned man's grip on his heavily-ornate breastplate. He half-hoisted the loyal dog of Shaettan from the battered floor rug, which was a long traveling floor mat leading up to an altar of grim devices. Such a device was assumed to be a generator of sorts, but the sphere of dismal shards and monstrous talons reaching forth from the shadows above served another purpose.
Unfortunately, none in this fortress managed to summon its power and cry for help.
"Opposing Tekaal Ma'at was your greatest error," said Ra. That African-esque accent was strong in his throat. "You will know no peace. No reprieve. As I tear asunder everything that is the Shaettan way."
The soldier's serpentine eyes bulged and his pale jaw, crawling with veins, frantically shuddered. This man, this dude who rocked a serious look of deep, dark lavenders, violet sashes, and obsidian armor plated in fine strips of glinting gold was the man that Shaettan elites whispered in private about. He was, indeed, Ra'Shaed-Ha of a world embraced by the celestial night. And that night wished to consume the unrighteous that dared to breach its clandestine plane. "Wait. You... IT'S YOU! You're that—!"
Ra' twitched a punishing purple glare at the fiend, right before heaving a free fist. The last thing the shrieking Shaettan soldier seen was darkness claiming Ra's fist into a shard of black, which punctured the fiend's skull like a butcher knife spiking into a fleshy blood melon.
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FantasyWARNING! This novel is an unconventional work of fiction. Anything you may read in the following episodes is solely created out of sheer satirical coincidence and is NOT to be taken out of ANY context OTHER than it being RIDICULOUSLY entertaining as...
