Summer Garden

Azrael

Azrael pulled off his helmet, revealing his blood-drenched face and matted hair. He tossed it aside and pointed his sword at the mage cowering behind the throne, and spoke calmly, "Surrender, King of Calis."

The man squeaked nervously, "What are your terms?"

"There will be no terms." Azrael sneered, "Magic is a pox on this world, and will be eradicated. Every man, woman and child shall be put to the sword. None shall be spared. The city will be demolished, and buried. No one will ever know that Calis has existed. It will be wiped not just from this earth, but from the minds and memories of all who live. Not a single jot shall exist in any history book, and not a single descendant shall continue to live. All who know of its existence will be hunted down and exterminated. No rumour will be allowed to survive, no legend to persist."

The man swallowed nervously, "That isn't encouraging me."

Azrael flexed, springing across the room. The sword came down in a crash, tearing apart the throne into a bunch of wooden fragments. He stood atop the fractured seat, the tip of his blade against the coward's throat, "You can die slowly, piece by piece, or you can die quickly. Your people can be hunted down like rats, and be torn apart by an army of angry soldiers. Or they can be swiftly executed, and guaranteed a fast trip into the next world."

The king looked up in true terror, looking at the blazing eyes of the paladin. "I... Surrender."

The sword plunged downwards, piercing the brickwork below.

Azrael turned, leaving it where it lay, and sighed heavily, wiping his forehead. One of the soldiers who had followed him into the room saluted, "Sir."

He nodded tiredly, "Out with it."

"Report." The man replied, "The eastern section of the city has been overrun. A network of crystals supplying power to automated defences has been found and destroyed. They were embedded into the roadways. Paladin Sallidin has requested further orders."

"Hold." Azrael replied tiredly, "Tell the Paladin to hold."

The man nodded, and Azrael dismissed him. The city of Calis was falling rapidly. Apparently their Queen hadn't expected or prepared for an army of holy soldiers, which had him suspicious. It was unlike Vastras to be so unprepared. That wasn't to say that the defences were not extensive. It had been difficult work, taking the city. He had lost several days of his lifespan to the sacrifices that the goddess demanded in exchange for her blessings. Yet, it wasn't enough. Not for a mage who had lived beyond the lifespan of most mortals, a mage who had spoken with gods, stolen from Fae, enslaved elfs, and walked across the surface of the sun.

Vastras had killed thousands, and resurrected hundreds. She had mastered magics so complex that they defied comprehension, and had wiped out races that had ruled over dimensions that could not exist. She had walked through time and seen its infinite majesty, and managed to return with her mind intact.

This was not a woman who did not prepare for an enemy who could match her power. She was not some overconfident villain who could be defeated by a strong heart and a pure will. She had been the sole stabilising influence in the entire region for hundreds of years. She had personally trained every paladin who had attacked the city she had forged.

Azrael sighed heavily, looking around the throne room for some sign. Any sign. He was waiting for the trap to snap closed, for his world to cave in around his ears and bury him in a regret that would follow him to the next world.

There was nothing.

No sign of danger... And yet, neither was there any sign of the woman herself. No sign she had even graced the halls of her husband. No portraits of the Queen, but plenty of the king. His exploits were recorded in tapestries, but hers were not. The stained-glass windows that depicted the triumphs of the kings through the ages did not record the history of the town's founder. It was as if Vastras had wiped herself from time.

He growled angrily and stalked over to the dead king's body, ripping the sword out and sheathing it. He knelt beside the dead body, and breathed in deeply before the gauntlets slammed his palms together, shaking the earth around him and threatening to bring down the roof over his head. He gasped as the power of the goddess hit him burning him and threatening to kill him. Every scratch and wound on his body began to flow profusely, and blood poured down from his forehead threatening to blind him. The paladin coughed, hacking and emitted a black cloud that dissolved in the air.

His hands parted and slammed onto the ground in front of him. The body twitched violently, and it arched upwards, screaming. The sound was overwhelming, and Azrael felt his ears pop a moment before every window in the building shattered. He glared at the shaking corpse, as the will of the goddess forced the soul back inside it. The corpse twitched, the head rolling around and breaking the neck before pausing to glare at him as the eyes melted and were replaced with blue tongues of flame. A voice screamed angrily inside his head, a guttural intelligible sound of pain and agony.

"Where is Vastras!?" He yelled at the ghoul angrily, and the creature fought, trying to break free of his control. It flopped up and down, arms flailing in a panic. Azrael flinched as he felt the ground beneath his hands beginning to melt as the spell began to reach the limits of what a mortal could channel.

"Where is she!?" He shouted, specks of blood spraying the air and mingling with the black dust leaking from his lungs. The ghoul twitched and the head turned to look at him from an awkward angle, shattering bone as it did, "She. Is. Not. Here."

Azrael glared, "By the goddess Sarin, you will tell me! Where is she?"

The ghoul coughed, heaving and hacking as the organs inside it began to fuse, "She. Left. Us."

Azrael clenched his teeth, feeling his own body beginning to crumble under the strain, "Where, demon? I can end your curse. You will tell me."

The ghoul laughed, a terrifying sound that seemed to make his every instinct come alive and try to flee. "Beyond your reach, mortal. I will die. You do not have the strength to bind me to this existence. I am not even the soul you sort to bind."

Azrael glared at it, panic beginning to set in his mind as he saw the soul becoming accustomed to it's new housing. If he left this much longer than the ghoul would gain enough strength to attack him, or to finish the binding and keep itself in this world. He doubted that many of the soldiers under his command could fight a fully-fledged ghoul, not after taking a city of magic users. They would be exhausted, tired, and spent. A ghoul however was never exhausted, nor tired. They did not have physical needs, they were beyond them. No need for food, despite their cravings for flesh. Just a twisted mind and tortured soul puppeting a physical shell.

"Tell me." The paladin spat, spraying the creature's face, and the ghoul sat up slowly, looking at its hands in curiosity, "The mage you call Vastras is in another realm. The place has no name, and lies beyond the Void. It is a place ruled over by the celestials. Even your goddess could not grant you entry."

Azrael pulled back, ripping his hands from the boiling stone quickly, and drew his sword, slicing off the arm as the ghoul lunged at him. It fell forwards to the ground, the fire in the eye sockets vanishing as the spell was broken. He breathed a sigh of relief, that had been closer than he'd want to admit.

He gasped, grabbing his chest and fell forwards onto one knee, struggling to breathe. He was pushing the limits of his mortal body. Something Vastras had always chided him for. He heard a soldier yelling for a medic nearby through the dull mesh of his half-hearing ears, and he breathed uncertainly, feeling nauseous. Maybe he had pushed too far.

His hand dropped the sword unbidden, and the world seemed to accelerate into a blackening void.

His thoughts flew apart as he realised what was happening.