Shadowlands

Prologue

Shadowlands 100 years ago…

Darkness loomed over the lands like a thick suffocating blanket. Shadows moved within shadows, darkness was the air itself. Despair was the ground beneath, death was its sky. The Shadowlands lied far below the Midlands, where no natural light could touch.

Torches lined what seemed like a prison wall, the torches gave a very dim gray light, washing everything out even more. The stones of the wall were made of a black material, it looked like obsidian. The prison seemed to stand tall, almost touching the ceiling of the lands… the underground of the Midlands.

Inside shackles moved slowly, metal scrapping loudly. It seemed that every cell was empty, except there was that scrapping sound. 

A boy sat in the farthest cell, his head bowed low. His skin was white as snow, he was practically glowing in the darkness. His hair blended well with his cell, it was black on black, a pure jet black.  He wore black prison pants, he wore no shirt and his feet were bare. 

In the dim light of the gray torches, deep red marks were painted on his well muscled chest. As he moved his arms, also laced with deep red marks, his shackles crackled against each other.

His cell door, made of black rust, opened with a squeak. Two heavily armored guards stood there. Their armor was made of silver, practically glowing from the dim torch lights. They both held ceremonial axes, they glinted with silver and dried blood.

“Get up!” one of the guards barked an order.

The boy rose his head. He had a very handsome face, a perfect square jaw, and his eyes were such a bright blue, they were like deep pools. He bowed his head low again and adjusted himself to be in a ball and he scooted away from the guards, his body pressing against his cell wall.

“That wasn’t a request!” the second guard shouted. “Now, get up!”

The first guard took something from his side, a long whip. He lashed it out on the boy, he choked back a shriek of pain as the whip ripped his skin open. Golden blood poured from the wound, it was glowing, making the cell bright. The guards shielded their eyes until the light dimmed down.

“That’s it!” the first guard growled as he made a grab for the boy’s hair, which was long and shaggy looking. The boy gasped as he was being dragged across the black ground. “You have a trial to go to, you piece of filth!”

“Takes one to no one!” the boy growled back, his voice was low.

The second guard smacked him across the face, a loud crack! echoing in the halls of the prison. Both of the guards were practically carrying the kicking and punching prisoner, leading him outside.

With a grunt, the guards threw the prisoner inside a black carriage, that a was being pulled by a glorious flamed dragon. The guards stepped onto the carriage, one taking the reins. The carriage flew forward, causing the boy to hit his head against the walls of the carriage since he was not buckled in.

After a long ride in the bumpy carriage on the black streets, the carriage stopped in front a gorgeous building. It was made of metals, silvers and white gold. 

The door to the carriage opened, the two guards in front of the boy again.

“Is it too much to ask to get new guards?” the boy sighed, clearly annoyed.

Both guards then grabbed the boy by his hair and shackles once more and dragged him out of the carriage. The boy yelped in pain as the stones of the badly paved black road scratched at his back. They dragged him up the stairs to the building and then forced him to stand upright. 

Slowly they walked through the halls. Despite how bright and beautiful it looked outside, inside it was just as dark and depressing as the prison. 

“I think you guys should get a new decorator…” the mumbled. He was the hit in the back of his head, making his vision go fuzzy for a moment.

Soon, the boy, the prisoner, was lead into a wide opened room. Brilliant torches of fire rose up against the walls. The ground was made of black obsidian, the same stone that was in his cell. He was forced to stand at a black table, it was bare and it was made of some black tendrils.

“Daren of the Melanchthlon clan!” a voice boomed with great power. “You are hereby accused to be a filthy half-breed! Something highly illegal here in the Shadowlands! How to you plead?”

“To whatever gets me out of here faster,” the boy that was Daren smirked.

A judge then appeared at the top of his table, which was made of silver. His gavel was nothing more than a shadow of tendrils, but it was still effective as he pounded it to the table.

The judge as bright red eyes, horns coming out of the back of his head, his skin a dark red. He wore a black cloak, his robe for him to be the judge. He stared at Daren with disgust and hatred.

“How do you plead?” the judge said again.

“Ugh… not guilty?” Darn sighed. He looked like he rather sleep in the corner of his cell.

The judge slammed his gavel to the table. “I hereby say you are guilty of all charges!”

Daren’s once emotionless face twisted up into confusion. “Um… what charges?” he asked.

“All charges are as follows: You being born here in the Shadowlands illegally, you being a threat to our society, and last of you being a child of a demon and angel… a filthy half-breed!” the judge read the charges.

“Okay… how can you honestly prove that last part? What… were you there when my parents… um… loved?” Daren scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

The judge peered over his table. He then pointed at Daren with the gavel.

“Look at you!” he hissed. “Your skin is as white as a cloud in the Lightlands! Your eyes are as blue as the skies of the Lightlands! And your blood is golden! Hardly traits of a demon except for your black hair! You have angel blood running through your veins!”

Daren sighed. “Okay… I guess you can prove it. But how is it my fault? Why am I being punished for something I didn’t do? It wasn’t my choice-”

He was cut off by the judge’s gavel. 

“I hereby send you into exile!” the judge ordered. “You shall be banned in the Midlands… between Light and Shadow, between Heaven and Hell!” he slammed his gavel once more onto the table.

The shackles that were once around Daren’s wrists and ankles clanged to the ground. As Daren rubbed his wrists, there was a rumble.

The ground beneath Daren’s feet shot up towards to the roof of the courthouse. It opened up as the ground continued going higher, and higher, and higher towards the ceiling.

Sudden coldness and dampness engulfed Daren as he felt his body phase through the ceiling. Dirt was suffocating him, getting into his mouth and nose. His body twisted awkwardly as he felt being pushed through the dark soil.

Soon, his head popped out of the dirt, his white face streaked with brown mud. Daren managed to claw his way out of his soil prison and he stood up, wobbling slightly.

A dark sky was open above him, white dots sprinkling the dark blue. It was so much different then the ceiling of the Shadowlands… But, the sky was also the gateway to the Lightlands.

Trees surrounded Daren as he looked around. 

They had exiled him here… the Midlands.

Daren smirked, his mouth partially open, revealing brilliantly white and pointed teeth.

“I might as well have some fun while I’m here…”