The Knight and the Peasant [FIRST DRAFT]

Prologue

The bleak sky was filled with the scent of death.

It was not a pleasant scent, for in death the bladder and colon empty themselves out, lining the air with the scent of piss and shit. The once vast armies that covered the plain were reduced to but ten percent of what they were. The battlefield had claimed knights, dames, lords, ladies, kings and queens, and emperors today.

It had claimed angels.

Atlantes stood with other magic-wielders on steps leading up a plateau surrounded on three sides by a small body of water. Out on the plain, they could see the last remnants of the armies of men facing off against the daemons. A once-great alliance reduced to embers. The loss of life today would set back Arkenheim for centuries. No, it may be a thousand years before the world would recover.

"Hurry, Atlantes!" shouted Ludovico, a wizard. "We have no time!"

Men and women alike, magicians and Aetherwielders, rushed up the perilous flight of winding stairs. There was no railing that prevented them from falling hundreds of feet to an untimely death.

Who am I kidding? No death is timely.

They reached the top, cloaks, and capes billowing as the wind struggled to push them off the plateau. Atlantes took one last look at the armies of men and almost wept. All hope seemed lost.

"We cannot save them!" he cried.

"It's not just them we must save," Aliyah, an Aetherwielder shouted over the roaring wind. "It's the whole of Arkenheim!"

They were twelve magicians and twelve Aetherwielders. The last and most powerful. The beacon of hope.

They began the ritual.

Magicians and Aetherwielders alike began to chant in Artús. As they progressed further in the chant, a tiny hole opened up in the dark sky. A small light seemed to shine through. It was filled with Aether; Atlantes could sense and see it, he knew the others could as well. They chanted more and more, and the Aether grew and grew. He wanted to reach out and seize the power for himself but he knew what must be done. What they were about to do.

And then the sky split with the screech of a dragon.

Hell rained upon them.

One of the Windwatchers threw up a shield just before the fiery breath of the dragon melted the twenty-four of them. She struggled before the blazing onslaught. This was no ordinary dragon, this was Dorúgarn the Dread, the mount of the Daemon Prince.

Then Atlantes heard the boom of the Windwatcher shield now trying to hold back the Daemon Prince's magical barrage.

Still, the twenty-four continued to chant. Atlantes could not hear anything but the roar of the dragon but it did not matter. They were chanting and alive; that was all that mattered.

Oh, how the tables turned.

The Daemon Prince broke through and incinerated the Windwatcher. His dark power blasted through two magicians before Atlantes could blink. Ludovico twisted his fingers and muttered a spell, a cloaking spell to be exact, turning them invisible. But the Daemon Prince ripped through the spell and laughed. He flew above them, armor covering him from head to toe. His armor and weapons were a massive reserve of Aether mined from a special metal, that only they knew how to weld. Nothing could stop him.

More daemon magic-wielders descended upon then, riding manticores, griffins, and other flying beasts. Just like the Daemon Prince, the bodies were covered in Aether-filled armor. One by one, the last great Aetherwielders and magicians died inglorious deaths, burned, ripped, magicked into oblivion.

There was no point now, for only Ludovico, Aaliyah, Atlantes himself, and two other magicians remained. But still, they chant, even though their bodies begin to burn away from the magical strain. Tears began to stream for Atlantes as his friends and colleagues died beside him. Ludovico twists his fingers once more and devoted his strength entirely to a shield to protect them against the daemons just as Cohen the Callous is taken by the claws of Dorúgarn and ripped him clean in half.

And then their onslaught turns on Ludovico.

The combined strength of the daemons and their Prince tears through Ludovico's shield in seconds and subsequently kills the sorcerer. Atlantes's last friend is destroyed.

Aliyah is next, a spear appears in her chest and blood splatters everywhere.

Atlantes stopped, for all else is lost. All that is left to save his own life.

He looked down the cliffside. Using the last reserves of his strengths, he could summon an airshield to shield himself from the impact of the water. Atlantes scrambled to the edge and tried to throw himself off, but the scream of a griffin split the air and clawed through his ears. By instinct, his hands flew up to his ears in a feeble attempt to block the sound. He rolled over and saw daemon in black armor barrel toward him on a mighty griffin steed.

Atlantes closed his eyes and waited for death's torturous embrace.

But then the sky cleaved open with such great force that everyone tumbled to the ground. Atlantes flew over the edge and hurtled to the ground, but he regained his senses and manipulated the wind into lifting his body up from the ground, using the bits of Faesteel, which contained Aether, to power him. As he looked up to the heavens, a golden light radiated from the shattered out fell the stars.

The heavens had come.

Angels, spirits, and gods touched the barren soil of Arkenheim. Atlantes saw the Angel King himself in all his indescribable glory. Aether filled the world like never before as the full force of the heavens crashed into the daemon flyers.

And angels, deities, and daemons alike fought.

Angels, deities, and daemons alike began to scream.

Angels, deities, and daemons alike began to die.

The sky was illuminated with the constant flashes of magic and heavenly power. Atlantes ducked his head to avoid streaks of power as they hurtled through the sky. He saw the Seven Angels fight side by side with the Deities of Old Artúr against the Daemon Prince and his flyers. Though they were powerful, the daemons stood no match against the powers of heaven.

And through the clamor of battle and magic, Atlantes heard the sound of chanting. Angelic chanting.

The angels were finishing the spell.

Atlantes wept and screamed out the last line of the spell. His voice ripping through his throat as it clawed and scratched its way out into the open air, making its claim. The small beam of light that entered through the hole in the sky now expands tenfold and becomes pure magic. It spirals and swirls into a great vortex. Slowly but surely, it begins to engulf the combatants. The remaining armies of man watch in awe as the daemons flee in terror, trying to escape their fates.

And then the vortex exploded.

The force of the blast blew Atlantes back over the cliff edge and sent him tumbling down into the river below. He barely managed to throw up a weak shield at the last second, saving his life but not his bones.

He swam his way up to the surface, his broken ribs screaming with every stroke. When he resurfaced, he saw that nothing remained of the daemons. Nothing remained of the angels. Nothing remained of the deities. And he felt... empty.

The Banishment had worked.

The Aether was gone.

The Daemon Wars were over.

And Atlantes, Emperor of Seraselv, the Last Stormwarden, laughed and wept.