Book III of III: The War of all Wars

By J. Eric Booker

The war of all wars has only just begun for Sultan Baltor Elysian the XVth, immortal ruler of the planet called Sharia. After all, he just learned the dire news that the person who made him into a vampire several centuries ago is now being held prisoner ... in a prison he had never before conceived, not even in his own worst nightmare. The Ninth Plane of Hell!
Strangely without an ounce of fear, Baltor creates a magical portal and steps into the Abyss of Hell, in order to rescue his maker ... where exist a countless assortment of ungodly monsters like leviathans, demons, daemons, lesser devils, dragons, vompareus (pictured on front cover), and of course, the Supreme Rulers of Hell--the 9 Arch-Devils!
Despite the astronomical odds stacked against Baltor, is this single man really powerful enough to win the war of all wars and save the entire universe from destruction? Read this action-packed book and find out...

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Eric Booker
• Release date: Mar 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311999832

J. Eric Booker

Born in the middle of a vast desert on a military base in California, Author J. Eric Booker began his life with a fiery passion for books, even before he could read! He loved it when his mother read to him. That passion never stopped throughout his youth, nor his adulthood. He has read all kinds of books, his favorite authors being Stephen King, Frank Peretti, Anne Rice, James Patterson, Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman, J.R.R. Tolkien, William Shakespeare, Kristine Cayne, and many, many more. These great authors not only inspired him, yet a couple of them (Stephen King and Tracy Hickman) taught him through lessons and workshops how to become the creative author he is. He began writing in January of 2000, and so far, he has 4 published, as well 2 more full-fledged stories that are nearly ready to become books. The final story in his Epic Fantasy Trilogy is now for sale!

Book preview

Book III of III: The Elysian Dynasty

THE WAR OF ALL WARS

J. Eric Booker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright J. Eric Booker, 2008.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Booker Enterprises Publishing Co.

BOOK III OF III: The Elysian Dynasty:

The War of all Wars

Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or, are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

Booker, J. Eric, The War of all Wars

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Edited by Em Petrova—Romance Author

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Cover Art piece designed by Christopher Burke

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to my stepdad Lawrence G. Burns. You did a great job in being a great man, father, and author.

R.I.P.

War is hell!

- General Tecumseh Sherman

EXCERPTED FROM BOOK II:

The Reign of the Sultan

The day finally came when the last nation on the planet joined the Sharia Empire, still under the reign of Sultan Baltor Elysian the XVth.

Overall, it had taken this single man a grand total of one hundred and fifty-eight years to make his one world nation, most of which had been very peaceful and prosperous years.

Baltor had reached the unbelievable age of one hundred eighty-two years old, but strikingly looked no older than twenty—whenever asked about his fountain of youth, he always replied, I am an immortal. I will never grow old nor will I ever die.

Three million elite soldiers of all ranks, as well a little more than forty-five thousand giant hawks, now served under his imperial command, many of whom he frequently trained with in his expert martial arts on a military fort that engulfed an entire small continent—complete with fortified walls, training grounds, barracks, mess halls, and command buildings. Every city in the world, of course, had its own military base.

He had personally designed this continent-sized fort seventy years ago, just in case of another massive dark-gnome army who teleported from another dimension with the goal to conquer his world. Thankfully, this event had not ever happened again, yet. An equally impressive accomplishment for Baltor—thanks to his imperial laws of peace, duty, honor, and glory for all, poverty, hunger, and slavery had been eradicated.

For, in every city and town all across the world, there existed free food and/or home shelters, which 24-hour shelters simultaneously schooled and/or job-trained, based on the desires and the skills of the individual—child or adult.

Besides all the qualified staff and teachers needed to run these shelters, which job positions quickly became filled, many more types of careers were available to choose from—artists, cooks, seamstresses, blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, law-enforcers, and of course, military recruiters.

After all, imperial law demanded that by the age of twenty-four years old, every male and female must serve minimally one year as a soldier in the Sharia Empire—only those who had severe birth physical defects or mental disabilities were exempt. As an added bonus, anyone could become an Officer’s Candidate, if that individual attained the rank of Journeyman in his or her civilian oriented profession. Master, holding the highest rank, automatically meant the rank of Lieutenant. Of course, everyone in the entire world—generation after generation—came to hear and learn for themselves, that their centuries-old Sultan was an immortal—statistically, only a really small percentage continued to suspiciously fear Baltor to be an unnatural and evil creature, because most loved him.

Whether that news happened to ultimately be true or not, about him being evil, he still took really good care of them all…each and every Moonday he opened Pavelus’s palace gates, and personally listened to the concerns of his people.

The very few who continued to hate their Sultan—no matter what he did for them—rarely ever voiced out his or her opinions, in fear of Baltor’s other indisputable magical powers, including telepathy, clairvoyance, illusions, invisibility, and teleportation of entire armies.

Though none had a single doubt about his powers, none who ever tried could duplicate any of his runic magic could, no matter how intelligent he or she inevitably became through life until death. Shortly after this world-unification came to be, and all major conflicts ended, only then did Baltor begin to inwardly wonder—with increasing agitation every single year—where in the hell his own maker, mentor, and master was: Trendon Harrn.

After all, not only had this individual been the one to make him immortal in the first place—one hundred sixty-two years ago—yet the master had simultaneously promised that once Baltor had mastered the entire world, he would come back to take his apprentice to the other realms, in order to train him to be a Watcher. And, in Baltor’s indisputable opinion, he now mastered this entire world indisputably…no one dared challenge him. Finally his answer came, thirty peaceful and prosperous years later, upon receiving a very strange dream! In it, he saw himself slightly leaning against the wall in a megalithic obsidian chamber filled with glowing red magical runes inscribed upon the ceiling, the walls, and even the floor—sinister looking runes that he did not recognize, despite all his centuries of study upon the subject of runic magic.

In the center of this chamber, a second later, a rectangular steel table unexpectedly popped out of nowhere! Yet lying on it happened to be a man—wearing only a loincloth, strapped to the table by foot and handcuffs, and obviously having been severely beaten and whipped from head to toe.

As Baltor’s gaze focused upon the face, he quickly observed that this unconscious man appeared to be none other than the master—Trendon, which greatly surprised the apprentice.

After quickly walking over to the table, he began to make a closer medical examination—though this man appeared to be mortally wounded, especially because of the abdominal tissues sliced open and hanging all out, he saw that this man’s chest was slightly breathing, which meant that this man was still alive, at least for a few more moments…

Deciding to rescue this man right here and now, Baltor’s hands had attempted to grasp the shackle holding this man’s left foot, in order to rip the shackle from the table. Strangely, however, his hand only grasped thin air—as if the shackle was only a phantom…or the other way around!?

Looking back up at the man’s face, Baltor became surprised to see this man’s eyes unexpectedly bulge open, as if fully awake.

However, unlike the previous two encounters he had with Trendon Harrn, this man’s brown eyes did not glow like a prismatic diamond. Suspiciously, Baltor asked, Are you for real or are you an optical illusion?

The man answered, "I am not an optical illusion, nor are you…but you are currently in ‘a dream state.’

"Really? Why are you enslaved and ravaged to a pulp like this? Can you possibly be my master, the Trendon Harrn?" Baltor asked.

The man answered with a hell of a lot of sorrow, Yes, my apprentice, I am Trendon Harrn… Baltor, I am truly sorry I was not able to come to your aid before this time—I did mean to shortly after you first mastered your world. However, shortly before my arrival, as you can clearly see, I—your Master—fell into a diabolical trap! Even worse, the Vompareus now have possession and control over the Rod of Ro’shain!

Though Trendon was about to go on, Baltor interrupted, Before you continue, sir, I have an important question that must be answered right now, because all you ever gave to me were encrypted hints—is this rod just a teleporting device, or is it more?

Trendon answered, "To answer your questions in order, no and yes, as the rod is a teleporting device, yet it is also the very key to the door to their Realm of Darkness, of which I made both key and door, and imprisoned the Vompareus there nine thousand years ago…

That is, until I became captured and imprisoned thirty years ago by the Arch Devils, the rod taken from me, and given to the Vompareus. Now they are free and teleporting from world to world with the rod, killing almost every last person, absorbing their souls, and recruiting into their ranks the few remaining survivors—they’re powers are multiplying every day. If they are not stopped soon, chaos and evil will rule over all the universal realms—they have already conquered three worlds! Finally, know this… It took me thirty years to finally conjure enough power to contact you this way—through your dream…

Even though a million more questions flooded in Baltor’s mind that he wanted to ask, the first question that came out of his mouth was, So where are you, my Master?

While raising his left eyebrow, Trendon painfully answered, I am now in the Ninth Plane of Hell.

After unconsciously gulping, Baltor shakily asked, What…seriously?

Yes.

Almost immediately after Trendon had finished answering his question, Baltor’s heart began to feel quite a bit guilty for damning him to hell that one day, because he had not shown up when Baltor’s one and only beloved Wife and Sultaness had horribly died—Brishava.

The only reason Baltor had wanted Trendon to show up at all was to get the permission to make her into an immortal, like he and his master. But the master never showed…anger, once again, began to sprout through Baltor’s mind…

Having telepathically read all of Baltor’s thoughts, Trendon interrupted compassionately, Yes. Don’t fret about any of that—it’s not your fault I’m here. Nor is it my fault that I did not show on that particular date—I had a lesson to teach you about life and death, which includes losing a loved one who is mortal, of which lesson you’ve obviously learned… Obviously, you did learn all your lessons, or you would not have mastered your world on your own! Finally, regarding Brishava, know that her spirit peacefully lives in the Seventh Plane of Heaven…

After taking a deep breath that caused him even more pain, he continued, Now please listen, Baltor, as we really don’t have much time left. My devilish captors will soon be back to torture me more, as they have done religiously these last thirty years! If they see you, they will know where to find you, and then all hope will be lost! Only together, you and I, can we stop them for good…

How do I get to you? Baltor asked.

"You must go through all nine planes of hell, in order of succession.

Located on each plane is the ruling Arch-Devil—only he and/or she possess the key that will get you to the next plane…"

Baltor unconsciously gulped once again.

Trendon continued, "To give a brief explanation of how I got imprisoned here, thanks in part to Dreeak, the Vompareus recently struck a deal with the nine Arch Devils—even though they have been blood-thirsty enemies with each other since the Beginning of Time. Together, they diabolically planned a trap for me, of which I obviously fell into…

"Now the two enemies only became allies because the first group recently convinced the second group that when the very last world containing a soul is destroyed, thus will come the ultimate destruction of the heavens. However, just so you know, I still don’t believe the heavens nor the Divine can ever be destroyed, which is why the rest of us are here!

So now…go and wake up and then come and find me—my enemies have nearly returned—you must go now! Help the universal realms…help me! Help us all! Help yourself…

A runic symbol appeared in Baltor’s vision for only a single second—in the next second, he awoke from his dream that obviously wasn’t just a dream. For about the next four hours or so, he sat in his bed, meditating on what to do…

On one hand, Baltor considered the fact that he had worked so hard to master this realm—and now he truly was the master of this realm.

On the other hand, if he didn’t do something to help Trendon, the Vompareus would come to this world, sooner or later, and most likely destroy everything and everybody.

Once he had finally made his decision, nearly an hour later, he immediately dispatched hundreds of messengers through the magical portals to each of the Provinces in the world. The message was strictly for the governors; that message was to come to Pavelus the following morning at nine a.m., and that the meeting was to be held at ten.

At nine in the morning, as the governors arrived, one by one, the guards began to respectfully escort them to the palace grounds outside. Meanwhile, Baltor’s assistants first dressed into his battle-armor and helmeted-crown, before equipping him with his swords and sheaths…

Precisely one hour later, Baltor walked out onto the balcony, and then he declared, "The time has come for me to leave this world, as I have an urgent matter that must immediately be taken care of. Honestly, I do not know how long I will be gone, but I do know that I’m planning on coming back...

Therefore, my last proclamation as your Sultan is this. The Sharia Empire shall, from here on out, be known as the Sharia Republic.

Many gasps of shock erupted throughout the crowds.

I want each and every one of you equally-powerful governors to listen to the concerns of your people, for you to convene and discuss these issues amongst each other every quarter here in this palace, and finally, for you all to vote in the best interests of the Sharia Republic. You shall all be equal in your votes.

After taking a deep breath, Baltor added, If I find out that a single one of you is abusing your power, I will come back and destroy you all in the next second—I promise that! So….does anybody have any final questions for me? The world leaders replied, No, my Sultan!

Without hesitation or another word, Baltor turned around and began to draw the rune he had seen in his dream into the air right in front of everyone, which action caused fire to magically appear wherever his fingers moved.

Once completed—a magical portal began to open, containing all these magnificent qualities: ovular-shaped, made entirely of fire, and quite blinding. Everyone, but Baltor, instantly became fearful, forced to not only close their eyes, yet cover those eyes with his or her hands…

While casting his gaze back over his shoulder and throwing a hearty wave of his right hand, he replied, Farewell everyone!

Baltor looked ahead, before stepping through the portal into HELL….

The War of all Wars

CHAPTER I

Baltor commenced to walk forward like an expert tightrope walker, with hands spread and each foot stepping directly in front of the other.

After all, a smooth black marble bridge—but six inches wide—happened to be the one-and-only solid object that existed underneath his feet. One wrong move and he would fall off the bridge and into the fiery pits below…in this elemental plane of fire.

What made things ten times more difficult in this daredevil feat was the fact that he had a maximum visibility range of ten feet, thanks to all of the explosive, toxic plumes of black smoke that competed nonstop for supremacy with the colorful fireballs that exploded just as powerfully.

For this reason, he had no way to decipher the length or the height of this bridge, or what lay at the bottom if he should fall, except for pure fire. Thankfully he was an immortal, or his body would have already burnt to a crisp in the scorching temperatures that reached up to one thousand degrees Fahrenheit.

Exactly fifty steps later and yes, he was counting, it was only then that he first began to feel pain—not just all over his exposed face, but even more so his eyeballs and the insides of his nostrils, mouth, throat and lungs. Even worse, his nose had detected the whiff of hair and flesh being cooked—his hair and flesh!

He henceforth closed his mouth, eyelids and nostrils, yet never stopped in his forward progress—not just blind, yet at the same time, trying his very best to ignore the ever-increasing pains on his face and the front of his neck that equaled to first-degree burns.

At this point, he had two major advantages that came into play…first, he did not need oxygen to breathe. Second, he wore flameproof underclothes, armor, boots, gloves and a helmet; and thus, most of his body continued to remain uncooked. At least for now.

Thirty steps later, in which his entire face now suffered from third-degree burns, all of the hair on his head had completely burned off, including his goatee and eyebrows; and his willpower was only then flagging—the bridge, the smoke and the fires disappeared in the blink of an eye. Now, the new environment he had to deal with was being completely submerged near-freezing water.

The very second after his arrival, his hair had begun to regrow at a very rapid pace, as did his skin begin to heal just as fast, including the eyelids that had melted onto the eyeballs. Despite his blindness, which he knew would be temporary, his analytical mind had still figured out that he was now deep underwater in the abysmal plane—four thousand, one hundred and thirty-five feet deep to be exact.

He also knew that the average person’s body would have crushed like a tin can from the immense water pressure, because humans could barely take the pressure at twelve feet underwater, but neither the pressure nor the lack of oxygen had any effect on Baltor. Many-a-times before had he traveled underwater on his own planet, although he knew without doubt that he was no longer on his planet.

While wading at the same depth, he opened his eyes as soon as he could, perhaps ten seconds after his arrival, discerning a fraction-or-two more than when his eyelids had been sealed shut. Although he did have the additional luxury of night vision and could see in this pitch-black environment, the problem with the low-visibility stemmed from all the colossal-times-colossal greenish-yellowish leafy seaweeds floating all about, spanning from the ocean floor.

There was no sign of the marble bridge, which was not a good thing as he figured this bridge might lead him to the next plane, and so he began swimming all about looking for it.

Once he had given up, a minute-or-so later, he decided to crack his lips open just long enough to allow a single drop of water to splash onto his tongue, at least to figure out whether he was in fresh water or salt. Salt.

He therefore reasoned to himself, I’m definitely in the middle of a salty sea…the question is, is there a surface above, or does this sea go on forever in every direction?

In order to figure out this very answer, he commenced to swim upward, moving three times as fast an athletic swimmer could.

Perhaps a half-minute later, he discovered that the waters here—and above—were much brighter than the waters below, although visibility was about twenty feet at this point in every direction but up. After all, these were some very long and wide pieces of seaweed, in which ninety percent had made it to this point and continued to go up, up, and up.

Right before reaching the surface a half-minute later, and now with a visibility of twenty feet as seventy percent of those weeds had made it up to this point, he skillfully avoided a few decomposing objects floating at the surface.

As soon as his head had broken the watery plane and he felt fresh air on his face, he observed and smelled in one giant whiff—and with a whole lot of disgust—that these floating objects were rotting corpses, millions and millions of them, in what appeared to be a vast sea without any land in sight anywhere. Due to the horrible stench that permeated the air, he stopped breathing yet again.

At the same time, he had noted the dark and dismal colors of the skies—dark and smoky grays intermixed with but two shades of blood—wet and dry. Nor was there any evidence of any sun, moon, or star that provided any of the light. Nor was there any clear indication of which way to swim.

After sighing aloud in exasperation, nearly a half-minute later, at this most serious problem—the direction he should swim—he angrily slammed both fists into that sea. In response, two large blasts of nasty water splashed all over his face and head.

He was now on the verge of exploding out his rages and curses, especially upon seeing the eroded piece of intestine now hanging off his crowned-helmet and caressing his right facial cheek, but he kept his anger in check through willpower alone. After all, he did not want to transform into the beast even by accident, which would mean him losing control of his human mind.

Therefore, he forced himself to calm down by first removing the intestine off his crown and throwing it as far as he could away…and then repetitiously breathing deep in his nose and out his mouth until calm.

Once he felt serene, six breaths later, he continued to wait as patient as possible for Trendon to deliver some type of message as to where he should swim. However, approximately a minute later and with no messengers or messages, Baltor began to ponder the ever-increasing possibility that he would have to figure this out this problem on his own.

The first option that soon after sprouted inside his mind was to pick a random direction and to keep swimming beyond the corpses.

The second option was to fly into an unadulterated rage, and just make the willful transformation into the vompareus-beast, because IT at least had two sets of wings and could quickly fly toward land. That is, if there was any land at all.

The third option, which sprang into his mind exactly minute after the first two had presented themselves, was to call out for his master’s assistance.

As the last option seemed most logical, Baltor decided to try it first, and so he called out at a normal volume of voice, Master Harrn…I need you now. Master Trendon Harrn. It is I, Baltor Elysian. I really need your help, as I am both confused and lost. Please, respond.

Without having heard a single response from his master and with no other ideas brewing, Baltor decided to try one final time nearly a minute later. He thus screamed out at the top of his lungs, "Master!!!" His voice echoed for hundreds of miles.

A minute later—and still without any answers of any kind—Baltor began to get angrier by the second. Another minute passed before he angrily made his final decision about becoming the beast.

Only a nanosecond before he had sent himself into an unadulterated rage, his conscious mind ever-so-barely heard an all-too-familiar man’s voice say, Baltor…Baltor…can you hear me now? Hello? Trendon’s telepathic voice got a decibel louder with each passing second,

With a whole hell of a lot of anger etched on his face and in his voice, Baltor snapped, Yes…I can hear you now! Is that you, Trendon Harrn?

Yes it is. Calm down, my apprentice. I’m here now. Sorry I was not able to come a moment sooner, but as I told you in your dream, there are the frequent occasions when my captors are torturing me in one way, shape, or form. They finished one such torture session only moments ago, and needful to say, I’m hurting really, really bad!

Okay, Baltor said with just a little less agitation. I’m real sorry to hear about your situation, sir, but I’ve got one hell of a situation I’m dealing with myself. Right now, I’m swimming in the middle of a sea of rotting corpses that stink horribly, and I have no idea of where to go or what to do!

Do not speak, my apprentice, until I tell you to do so…listen. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths until you are calmed down. Once so, I shall tell you what you need to know and do.

Baltor did as instructed. After releasing the third deep breath, he now felt calm and so he opened his eyes.

In that moment, Trendon continued to reveal, You are now in the very middle of the Sea of Daath, which is one of the six seas that links the world of the living to the realms of the dead, where exist souls, demons, monsters, devils, and of course, the supreme-ruler of the First Plane of Hell, the Arch-Devil. If you should change now into a vompareus-beast, the first thing you will have to fight are all the leviathans, or giant sea serpents with wings, that swim or fly around the seas…and trust me, you don’t want to do that, as they are one of the deadliest protectors of all the hells!

At the same time, you will have to deal with the Arch-Devil, who will know that there is a vompareus running about his and/or her plane and will arrive with the rest of his and/or her army, in order to destroy you into oblivion.

Finally yet most importantly, if you lose control of your human mind, the beast within you will reign…and thus, you will have no control of the situation. So relax, there is a boat that shall soon be coming your way…take it to dry land. Now, speak.

Baltor—who was still trying to relax but not having an easy time of it—asked, Yes, okay. And then what? Where do I go from there? I have no map, nor no knowledge, about this place.

Cryptic as always, Trendon answered, In the back of your mind, you must always keep my image, and your heart will ultimately lead you to me just like a roadmap. In the end, you shall have to decide whether to free me…or kill me. That is, once you have learned the whole truth and made your choice on who you will really serve…good or evil.

After silently pondering the cryptic message for nearly a minute, Baltor finally replied, If it was my intention to kill you, I would just have stayed where I was at. After all, I was—until only but a half-hour ago—the Sultan of the Sharia Empire that dominated over my entire planet! It is only because I believe everything you’ve said from the very first second I met you, that I’m even here at all. I’m here to save you…

A handful of moments later, Trendon replied evenly, I know, my apprentice…you are a selfless person, which is why I chose you. Although I know your past, I do not know your future. So let’s focus more on the present. Now you are in the Abysmal Sea, which leads inevitably to the First Plane of Hell! You will come to find that not everything about the Nine Planes is disgusting and/or horrible. Quite the contrary, some places and creatures here are insanely tempting and beautiful…but remember that everything around here is Evil. Good has no reason, nor no desire, to be here…except in our unique case.

Again, I reiterate. One temptation that you must never succumb to—no matter what—is to change into the vompareus-beast. If you lose the battle in losing your human-mind and soul for even one single second, we will lose the entire war in the next second!

Why is that?

That beast inside does not care about anything, except for itself, its race, chaos and evil. Your good, honorable and powerful human-mind does care and it does love, which is what gives you an entire army.

After releasing a sarcastic laugh, Baltor asked using incredulous tones, What army do I have?

Your body, mind, heart and soul…an army of one! Trendon answered with emphasis.

Hmmm, Baltor replied.

Here in Hell, you will have a few advantages you didn’t have before on your planet of Sharia. For example, you will not need the cah-su-cahn berry seasonings to quench your vampiric hungers and thirsts…but should you become critically wounded from magical weapons and they don’t heal on their own, you can sprinkle the seasonings directly on your wound…a nearly instant healing salve.

That’s interesting to know, Baltor replied with a relieved smile. All I had stashed in the compartment on the back of my armor was a six-month food supply of the seasoning. After that, I did not know what the heck I was going to do for sustenance. Now I do.

Yes, you do. What you also need to learn is the fact that you still have all the usage of your other magical and superpowers, including telepathy and teleportation, yet there are four rules you must abide by when teleporting around hell, so that you can remain hidden away.

Four rules?

One, you can’t teleport from hell to hell. I already explained why.

Two, never teleport whenever there are enemies nearby that you don’t want to know your location—enemies located anywhere between, or anywhere close to, points A and B.

Three, remember that there are some hells where it’s simply better not to teleport at all, as everything but the occupants themselves chaotically flip or change around in the blink of an eye—land might suddenly become sea, a library might instantly turn into a dragon that might turn into a fortress, etc. Who knows?

And, four, even though time does not technically exist in some of these hells, never teleport more than once every eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds—or in layman’s terms—once every twenty-four hours. The reason for this final rule is because teleportation is such an incredibly powerful spell, in which other magically gifted creatures who might throw a counter-spell can possibly disrupt your spell, and you might only arrive at your destination in pieces—literally. So ensure that you mentally count every second of every minute of every hour.

Baltor asked, How am I supposed to count out even a second if that second don’t exist?

Simple, my apprentice. Think in your head a favorite place you know with four syllables, which will just about equate one second in time. For me, I like to use Mississippi. One Mississippi; two Mississippi; three Mississippi; four…and so forth.

Where is Mississippi? I’ve never heard of that place before.

Just a nice city in another world that I’ve frequented a number of times, but you get my drift, Trendon answered nonchalantly.

Okay, Baltor responded with a nod. Oh, I’ve one final question. Why can’t I simply equate time by the days and nights?

As there is neither a sun nor a moon here in many hells—including in this hell—neither is there a day or night. Just count the time in the far back of your head, in order to keep your bearings.

Okay…gotcha, Baltor said with an understanding nod. After all, when he was but twenty years old, he had undertaken an expedition all by himself across an entire unexplored continent. He had accurately kept the concept of how much time had passed in his head by the days and nights, which unbelievably crazy adventure except for the fact it was true had taken exactly two hundred and fifty-six days.

Anything else, master?

Yes. You now have one final superpower you never even knew you had…and that is the ability to command all undead creatures except the Vompareus—undead like skeletons, zombies, vampires, liches, skeleton-dragons, and even death knights. There will even be some types of living creatures or monsters that you can mentally command, but not others including the leviathans, so do not count on this power too much. Never, ever will you be able to command demons or devils to do your bidding. You can trick them, or temporarily destroy them. Only they can permanently destroy each other, which does rarely happen here in the Nine Planes.

That’s it? Baltor asked soon after.

Nearly, my apprentice, although your journey is just beginning… Yet by the time that you have reached me in the Ninth Plane, of which I’m confident you will accomplish, you will know everything that you need to know, including quite a bit of my personal history, just enough to know whether you will save me or kill me in the end.

One final question I have: So how much longer will I have to wait in this sea until the boat arrives?

Just then, Baltor’s answer came not because of something Trendon said, but because his physical ears detected the sounds of something paddling through the water from somewhere far, far behind him.

While turning around, his eyes multiplied like binoculars until they came across a long and narrow black boat with unusually long paddles that were rowing back and forth nonstop, but the problem was that the boat wasn’t going anywhere close to his direction and was perhaps a mile away.

Upon even closer examination, he counted out two-dozen passengers sitting in the boat, but no one was rowing or even moving at all other than his or head and/or eyes—the paddles were rowing on their own.

Standing at the very back in the middle was a humanoid figure who wore black robes and had a hood drawn over its hood, yet did not hide the skull-face. One skeletal hand guided the oar, while the other wielded a ten-foot-long reaper.

While waving his arms through the air, Baltor yelled out, Hey, driver…I’m over here! I command you to come and pick me up.

Though there was no verbal answer from the driver whatsoever, he or she shifted the oar until the boat was traveling directly toward Baltor at the speed of a fast frigate ship.

In under a minute or so, the boat inevitably arrived next to Baltor’s position before stopping. The hooded figure henceforth released its grip on the oar, walked over, and then assisted the new passenger into the boat using just its free hand.

After climbing aboard, Baltor observed there was a narrow walkway in the middle—he stood, walked to the front row of the boat where the one-and-only available seat was, and sat down.

A few seconds later, he averted his gaze behind him to look at all the other passengers, noticing a bunch of peculiar things all at the same time.

One, one-third of these passengers were human—the other races varied from light-skinned elves to dwarves and gnomes, to other types of humanoid creatures he could not identify.

Two, although every one of these passengers had his or her reddish-glazed eyes open, they all looked like they had died in some horrible way or another. Some looked starved, others beaten and bruised, others diseased, and still others violently stabbed—a few people bore a multitude of these symptoms.

Three, all of the paddles on the boat were once again moving on their own, including the one sitting before his seat.

After Baltor had averted his gaze forward, in order to look out just above the sea filled with rotting corpses, his mind’s eye capriciously saw her beautiful image—she had been his one-and-only wife, Brishava.

For an unknown amount of time to follow, his memories recalled all the wonderful times they had spent together…to be exact, his analytical mind had long ago calculated this timeframe to be forty-six years, four months, seventeen days, twelve hours, nine minutes, and thirty-six seconds. Nearly every minute had been perfect until near her end—when she had died from cancer.

Just when his thoughts began to dwell to the timeframe when she had first gotten sick—eight years before her death—his physical eyes began to see something dark and foreboding far ahead in the distance, literally spanning across ten horizons.

As his eyesight zoomed in, he soon realized it to be a continent-sized landmass about eighty miles away—black and jagged mountains coupled with exploding volcanoes spewing forth boiling lava and sulfurous smoke. It was because of all the smoke that the entire horizon was enshrouded in darkness. Otherwise, there was not a cloud in the sky.

Zooming his vision even closer, he observed that the boat was sailing for a wood dock that extended out fifty feet passed the borders of the nearly tide-less sandy beach.

Zooming closer still, he counted out an entire platoon of red gargoyle demons who were all hanging out on the beach just beyond the dock, in which some stood and others flew—all were six feet tall. Besides their natural weaponry consisting of powerful muscles and razor-sharp horns, fangs and claws, each carried a magical sword that was literally on fire.

Zooming closer, just beyond the demons, there stood a ten-foot tall snake-man on the sandy beach facing Baltor’s way. It wore lime-green robes and a donned hood that fluttered in the wind, which revealed that it had a humanoid body, including its lime-green gloved hands that clasped together in front of its stomach, which hands carried no visible weapons. However, this creature’s head perfectly resembled the head of a green snake with two small holes for nostrils but no nose, a pair of sharp fangs that protruded down, as well the dripping venom, a forked black tongue that frequently darted out, and finally, a pair of black eyes.

It was not even a second later that Baltor decided that it was best if he depart this boat and swim to an uninhabited part of the beach, instead of having a confrontation with that platoon. Therefore, he used telepathy as he ordered the driver: My command to you is that you say nothing about me to anyone ever. Understand?

The driver nodded its skull up and down one time—without any further haste, Baltor quietly slid his way right back into the corpse-filled sea, and just as quiet, he swam around them and down the coastline.

It took him a little more than an hour until he reached the next stretch of beach, located about a half-mile away from the first stretch, in which the boat was just now nearing the docks. For the moment, this stretch was uninhabited, and so he swam up to the beach, while continuously scouting his horizons for any other demons—for now, the coast was clear.

As soon as he stood on solid ground, nearly a minute later, he bolted like a bat out of hell for the closest grouping of three volcanic rocks that jutted out of the sands, so that he could hide.

Once safely hidden away behind one such large rock, he poked just his head out, gazing at the boat that had just docked. A dozen-or-so of the demons had already flown or climbed aboard, and were already eagerly assisting the passengers out of the boat by slapping them with the butts of their fiery swords, while cackling in a menacing fashion the whole time.

Despite the fact that Baltor shook his head balefully a few times at these poor souls’ warm welcome to hell, he still turned around and bolted into the mountain pass. After all, there was no possible way he could rescue absolutely everybody, only his master.

He moved at his top speed of twenty-five miles per hour between the jagged mountains and/or volcanos, ranging between five hundred feet to five thousand feet tall. One-third of the passes weren’t traversable due to the flowing rivers of lava or the patrolling demons who seemed to be everywhere.

Lying at the end of the weaving valley he now traveled through, nearly two hours later, there stood a three-thousand-foot tall wall—constructed from onyx that possessed a mirror-like gleam. It was, in fact, the tallest wall Baltor had ever seen. From where he stood at the bottom of the valley, he could not tell any of the other dimensions about this wall.

Curious about these exact dimensions, as well what lay on the other side, he began to hop from boulder to boulder until he stood at the top of the mountain to his right, which mountain stood five hundred feet taller than the wall.

Once there fifteen seconds later, he dropped to the top rock in the prone position before looking out. This wall stood at one thousand feet thick, twenty-five miles in length and fifty miles long.

Couple this incredible defense with the fact there was but one entrance on the far side, currently open, as well hundreds and hundreds of miles of surrounding mountains and volcanoes, he surmised that this city was impenetrable from anything but an aerial attack.

Inside the city walls, which he observed at the same time, there dwelt tens of thousands of rectangular-shaped onyx buildings—each building a different height and size than any other.

In the heart of the city, there stood a castle, also made of onyx. Dozens of claw towers appeared to be gripping and rupturing the very heavens—this castle was ten times the size of Baltor’s own main imperial palace back in Pavelus. Of course, it had a surrounding moat, filled with black liquid.

Regarding the city’s population spread all about, there were millions of dark and shadowy inhabitants. Most were black-robed figures of all shapes and sizes up to a maximum height of twelve feet tall. Of course, there were hundreds of thousands of demons, and tens of thousands of those snake-men.

In particular, he came to discover a brand-new type of grayish-colored monster—three of them—all walking down the road together. Though they were the size of elephants, they didn’t look or move like elephants at all, but resembled wolves that had incredibly large jaws filled with sharp, pointy teeth and no hair whatsoever on their equally incredible muscular bodies.

Upon closer examination, all Baltor could think was, Wow…those are some ugly monsters, although powerful looking as hell! I’d really hate to have to fight even one of them.

Just as he had completed his thought, his super-hearing began to detect the sounds of someone whispering something incomprehensible far below, and in the direction from whence he had come. Approximately two thousand, five hundred and fifty feet away.

While his hands had already drawn out both swords, his feet glided at top speed down the boulders toward the whisperer, of whom he could only hear, but not see…yet.

It took only two seconds for Baltor to reach the ground. Before that third second had ended, he had already halved the distance to his final destination, of which area he could clearly see now, but the whisperer was nowhere to be seen. His mind began to suspect that this person was either using ventriloquism, or most likely, invisibility.

It was then that he began to observe that his entire body was now ever-so-slightly glowing blue and red colors in abstract patterns. Even worse, the colors continued to get brighter with each passing moment.

The whisperer had one final word to whisper in his or her spell-casting—that was all the time Baltor needed, for in that same moment, he swung his swords around and stopped them once they were crossed, possessing the shape of an x.

Just as the next second had commenced, Baltor noted his own aura had already multiplied by three, which brightness caused the surrounding landscape to lose most of its shadows.

Therefore, he barked angrily, "I swear that if you don’t cancel your spell by the time I’m done speaking, I will slice your head off in the next