The 3Rd Rise

By Frank E. Mabry

The demon Saul has broken the seal that had held his army trapped inside. The God of War has returned to lead the heroes of the past and the men of the future against the Army that threatens to sweep across the world. But before they can do anything else they must fight the dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477274415

Frank E. Mabry

Frank E Mabry grew up in a military family. Joining the Army straight out of high school. Frank honed his writing skills while serving as a Paratrooper for four years and as a Nurse on a Forward Surgical Team in Iraq. His Dark imagination is met with an open mind bring his characters to life both good and bad alike.

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© 2012 Frank E Mabry. All rights reserved.

          Cover illustration: Orin L Mabry

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/16/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7440-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7439-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7441-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917922

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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S PRING RAIN CLINGS to the leaves but the water is tainted with black suet. Though the shower is cold steam rises from the blackened ground as a fire roars close by. Chard animals lay scattered in a field of ash. Crops burn as a winged serpent makes another pass. Fire pouring out of its mouth as it circles low farm houses incinerated in the inferno.

Beyond the field a cluster of houses are left unscathed and a large barn. Its double doors gaped open. Disfigured bodies clustered not far from the entrance. Livery servants torn to pieces, another servant dressed in the same livery is tossed out of the shadowy depth of the barn. Already a corpse his disemboweled body slits apart on impact. Its skin white the man’s eyes stare emptily up into the clouds as the winged serpent circles over head breathing more deadly fire destroying more of the crops in the field.

In the shadows inside the barn more servants cower. Terror hits them in waves as two convex yellow eyes stare at them from beyond the shadows. They know what they face and that makes them more afraid.

A woman’s voice calls out from behind the monster. Have you allowed it to take you completely yet?

The demon eyes focus on an old lady her face shrouded deep with in the cowl of her gray robe.

Rows of ivory daggers are revealed as the demon replied. What?

The rumble of its voice caused the servants to flinch; like scared animals cowering in a corner. The woman in the cowl seemed unaffected by the demon.

It’s time for you to take on your task again. The old woman said raising her hand. The robe fell away enough to see her wrinkled had presenting a rolled piece of parchment. Take this and leave these people alone. Besides there is only one left here.

Which? The beast growled.

Her other arm rose moving the gray curtain of cloth until her pale gnarled finger pointed to an old man. The others moved away from him as he backed away his hands raised defensively fright overwhelming him. He screamed a deafening shriek as the demon plowed through the frightened servants to snatch him up. Lifted over head he was tossed from the barn first one half then the other.

Covered in blood the demon looked back at the old lady but she had gone leaving the piece of parchment lying among the hay strewn across the floor. He looked back at the servants his quest will start soon enough. It grinned a toothy grin and they whimpered and it smiled even more broadly. Lowering its head into light to revealing its charcoal skin broad nose and massive horns and the servants clutched each other in fear. Its convex yellow eyes panned over each one of them and rested on a maiden. Her shirt had been torn in her attempted flight uncovering her white flesh and over ripe breast. There was one thing the demon loved nearly as much as terror and violence. Its hot breath wafted her dirty blond hair. She shrunk too scared to look away. It yellow eyes soaked her up admiring her generous curves the maid screams realizing what it wants.

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S AWS CHEWED AT wood and hammers pounded nails, building the war machines of long ago. Until that time the army that destroyed cities and nations was merely a shadow. Whispers and fear sent people out of the homes away from their businesses: abandoning their lives, for fear of death. They had known this terrible abomination once before and felt its horrors darkening the sky. Travelers report too many tales to be a coincidence and fires in the sky meant your neighbors death. Sporadic attacks in every direction. Towns reduced to ash and other sparingly missed and still the army inflicting such catastrophic damage evaded detection. Suddenly the army moved down from the terrible mountains west through the vast wilderness and its cursed horrors. Never until that day did it leave such a path. Dirt and dust rising through the air an ominous sign of their approach, Smoke rising up into the clouds meant another town had been reduced to ash. Dirty faces watching hoping that this affliction would somehow abate them. The army in all its great mass of horned demons, green skinned imps and pig faced Cretans swung south advancing.

Men had gathered on the edge of the woods sullen faces, tired and yet full of hope hiding in caves they heard whispers of a champion that had came to lead them. With a power unlike anything they could imagine. Mages spoke and the whispers grew louder as the rumble of the war machines grew closer. They went to sawing and hammering as towns continued to burn men took to sword and spear young and old, hope and renewed strength filling their hearts. There at that field at the edge of the cliff, men made their stand and were once again men were victorious.

And so the second rise ended and among the littered dead and the screams of the dying a farmer was brought to his knees and in front of everyone that could see he was anointed ordained and crowned King of Castle Gate. Each nation that had gathered to do battle made a pact to stay and defend and build a fortress around the prison the spell that was cast. Until they could defend against any that would undo what had be done. And from that point they would send their brightest their brave and their very best. To serve in the protection of the gate without a key, to keep those terrible beings locked away.

The path that the dark legion had burned through the cursed forest and cut north of the Demons Teeth and the Black Marsh they named Legion Run. Their mad march had started something a trail abandoned long ago leaving isolated villages to live on their own. Down that trail now towns have grown as caravans pass, inns developed to make accommodations for the wayward and weary. Merchants and traders from every guild stand to profit as wares are needed for those broken on the road. Wheat and corn ground into meal to feed horses and faces of those who make and those who buy goods.

And then there are those that sell strange things and that is where our story begins, pressed far off the main road deep in the woods a wagon rest. A permanent part of the landscape and only laziness left to ruin solid walls and a roof. Its oxen put to pasture the wooden fence gray with age bordering along a few trees older than most. Their high branches reach far and wide leaves a collage of brilliant oranges and yellows with the changing of the seasons. The rickety wagon is weather beaten and falling apart: soil engulfing most of the wooden wheels. Grass with fuzzy tops stretching high above the axels, steps leading to the doorway well set in the soil surely the inhabitant had set root and became firmly planted.

The insides, as bad as the out, the floorboards cry out in misery not strengthened with oil or seen the love of a mop. Only the stress of feet mark the floor that now sings back with a creek for every step. Baskets of spoiled fruit and a neglected washbasin set the way for several swarms of gnats and bugs.

The trader its only occupant, nonchalant about his slovenliness, bearded and gray past the age of his youth, a slob and always has been. The experience in his eyes doesn’t match the look of ignorance and laziness that in encompasses the man’s posture as well as his entire being. His head and shoulders sloped forward and tunic pressed tight against his massive stomach a symbol of his gluttony: his bulbous red cracked nose a monument to what he likes to do most.

Hobbling around the wagon on two bad ankles; supporting his body weight against any horizontal surface in reach of his hairy arms. Stumbling from one side to the other; being chased by the horrible cries from the floor performing his idea of cleaning. He rises up on his toes brushing the thickened dust off the cluttered shelves with a duster far too old to do any good. Most of the bristles frayed back to the handle the others caked with dust to a permanent gray. The shelves themselves are filled with potions, books, remedies, alchemy sets, souvenirs and anything else that might have some future value; or some other miscellaneous use.

With a huff through his gray beard he is finished cleaning winded from what he feels is a tedious task. Dust swims around through the stagnant air dancing in the streaks of sunshine breaking through the cracked walls soon to settle where another piece of dust might have sat.

He puts the tattered duster in its case atop a stack of dusty tomes that had never been used and turns to a plate of food sitting on a stand in front of his couch. The plate his meal lies somewhere between mutton and slop. He spots a rather large insect one of the thousands by chance to get caught, its black antennae searching for a morsel to steal.

The slovenly man mutters to himself. No, no not sharing my food with you. Not, no bloody cock roach.

He hobbles over to the unfortunate bug, snatching it up in its attempt to scurry away. His meaty fists seem to move faster than they should. Around the back of his hand it escapes only to end up between left thumb and forefinger. He hobbles across the small stretch of floor stumbling on his way to a large jar resting along the far wall.

He twist open saying soon I will have feast.

The jar is filled with a green liquid and with it more bugs of various size a shape lifelessly floating.

I think I deserve one of these. He says as he drops the insect into the pickling juice. It swims helplessly trying to gain a foothold on the glass, as the man’s thick fingers sift through ignoring the one trying to swim: grabbing a rather large locus out of the juice. He bites the insect in half juice and a tiny leg escapes his lips as it crunches with every chew.

With a grin he says. Nice and crispy just the way I like em.

In the next bite he finishes it off and replaces the cork. Bar, the old trader works his way back to the worn out couch where his meal awaits. He plops down on the couch it creeks under the strain of its corpulent host. Picking up his spoon he begins shoveling his only meal of the day taking enough time to only take a breath. He finishes the meal by drinking a tankard of light mead made from fermented honey.

The slovenly man runs a pick through the remainder of his mangled teeth; they are flat tree stump shaped and gray. With a rag sweeps out the food and mead trapped in his beard. Rocking himself deep into the couch his eyes grow heavy and he drifts off to sleep.

In his slumber he dreams of what most men dream of the age of chaos and fear those that have grown to be old men still remember with vivid detail and horror the life that they once lived. Abandoning the cities and towns to live in the woods dirty and hungry foraging for what food they had and living on what they can. Hiding from those that hunted them with terrible yellow eyes. He kicked in his sleep those eyes they had found him his hands moved storms of arrows rain down in front of him the battle field awaited him every time he slept. Men fall under axe and sword screams of the dying mingle with the screams of the warring his blood curdled like soured milk and the air felt like cold soup. He’s closer now he dropped the banner and his hands shook for his sword.

Awaking in a cold sweat to the sound of massive rapping on the ratty wagon’s weathered door; the trader moans and stretches mumbling harsh words as he sits up taking a deep breath. The wagon seems to rattle as whoever waits on the other side knocks again.

Hobbling to the door he curses under his breath. Hold your hard on my wares will not run away you bastard not in this far off place.

Twisting the door handle it squeaks from lack of oil and as it begins to open the hinges bind with a creek and a crack. The slovenly trader pushes on the door once twice three times, each time the old door creeks a cheer for his effort or rather laughing at him for his failure. He pushed his meaty hand out the crack in the door and motioned to whoever is on the other side with his thumb: No response.

Can you help me open the bloody door? The bearded man says miming the question with his thumb and forefinger again.

As soon as the words left his mouth the door was ripped away thrown high and far. The man inside the wagon watches wide eyed looking at his door fall to the forest floor. He cringes as it splinters to pieces the wind blows and chills send his hair standing up all over. The crash loosened dying leaves off a branch and they too like his hair were caught in the wind.

The man’s eyes go from the wreckage of his door to the man before him and back again. Short in stature and thin the man who knocked on the door is swathed in fine clothes of black except the frill of lace a wealthy merchant or a noble might wear. Instead the man’s attire reminded the grubby man of mortician’s black garb. His eyes went back to the door lying in a heap yards away and then to the man in blacks face cold and gaunt a skull wrapped in pale flesh.

Gee you’re strong for a little fellow. The words floated ghostly out his mouth hanging in the air slowly fading with his amazement.

The man in black ignores the man pushing past him and marching inside the wagon. Coming from his amazement he turns toward the man who passed him by without a word.

I hope you know you are going to pay for that. He began to say but only stumbled and muttered incoherently unsure of what to say.

The man in black may be small but there is something about him something menacing. Removing his hat revealing a hairless pate above a stern brow sheltering hawk eyes he paces in a circle his hard sole shoes slamming against the wood floor, eyes searching scanning the walls seeming not to notice the fat man waiting to be acknowledged.

Continuing his stride the man in black speaks. You say you have something of great importance you want to donate to our beloved legion praise its glory. His voice boomed in a monotone that filled the dense air inside the wagon.

The slovenly man smiled his message actually made it to Castle Gate and now he will be a rich man. He studied the man he was sharp and his suit seemed as rigid as his posture a contrast from his surroundings.

The owner of the wagon steps forward only to stop and drew a deep breath before speaking. You must be one of the collectors for the royal house I am glad to meet you. He raised his hands up bashfully and continued. How rude of me as your host, not to offer a drink.

The man then hobbles over to a cask and opens it dropping a pitcher in filling it up with the light brown liquid. Turning back toward the man he begins to offer the warm mead however he is interrupted.

What is this thing you want to donate to our beloved land praise its fair handedness and peaceful borders? The well dressed man’s voice fills the small quarters and seems to come from everywhere.

The old trader takes a nervous gulp straight from the pitcher then looks down realizing what he had done.

Taking a deep breath Bar, gather his words and answers the finely dressed man. It’s an invention, two or three if you count the powder as an invention rather than a concoction.

The trader chuckles but the man in black shared no humor with him so he took a long pull straight from the pitcher. Drawing another breath of musty air the trader continues. I did not invent it, but the man who did went to the moons in a million pieces, so I am giving it to you.

The stone faced man breaks into a grin and says. What?

His cheeks rose up in tight balls and deep grooves race down his jaw and white teeth gleam his smile menacing.

Never mind, long story funny but long. He looked down at the pitcher and cup of mead and continued. My name is Bar at least people call me that, because they say I have a drinking problem but it is not a problem. I drink I get drunk, sometimes I throw up and pass out the next morning I have a hangover, it’s not a problem…never.

After his introduction Bar drinks thirstily from the pitcher, looking at the man in black’s cold eyes he drinks again and says. I never did get your name; I surely hope we can become friends.

The man in black’s brow narrowed. What is this invention you speak of and how much importance is it?

The stern voice breaks Bar’s concentration his hand shook for a moment until he took a nervous gulp from the improvised mug.

Bar gulps down the rest and sloshes the foam a bit. Come on I‘ll show you.

Bar stretches the girth of his corpulent body and begins hobbling for the gaping doorway shouting over his shoulder. Come on out behind the wagon, come on and I’ll show you.

Clearing the steps with the man in black in tow he continues to talk The man was a chef for the Marzcek family they relieved him saying he was crazy at least that is what he told me.

He turned around and hobbled backward as he continued He was angry with them he would say things like they were all slave drivers. Never did he say what he did to be relieved from his position and to be honest I did not care I never met one of them, never wanted to either.

Bar’s words cut off short realizing that the man could know a Marzcek or worse be one. He would be screaming at the top of his lungs however he did not realize his oxen had been slaughtered and only pieces of them lay a strewn in the pasture to his right. He was content only on the way around the wagon and his visitor and even more so on the reward he will surely receive.

He walks around the rickety wagon with man in black following behind as he returns his hat to its bare pate. Bar smiles in delight as he rips away a thick piece of canvas draped on top of two barrels, ready to show the invention he had acquired and its potency in order to receive the heavy purse he had only dreamed of. Resting his hand on the barrel and reaching with the other one he picks up a black metal shaft with a brace and handle made of wood. He hefts the object in his hands and smiles at the man’s skull face. Wrapping the metal shaft under his arm the man in black voice catches him off guard.

Which Marzcek did the chef work for? the man in black said still closing the distance between the two of them.

The one with the huge. Bar cupped his hand and held it in front of his chest in an obscene gesture however the man in black did not appear to be amused. I’ve never met her but Maimo that was the chef’s name said she had bosoms so large you could spend a day following the crease they make.

He studied the man’s face it did not change with the comments he made does he know her was he indeed a Marzcek. In either case it was too late he had already made a fool of himself now.

Bar swallowed and spoke his voice losing its strength. His words not mine.

The fat trader laughed nervously but cut it short unsure if the man is trying to trap him into saying something he might regret or had the trap already been set.

He reached for a box atop of one of the two barrels but realized he had brought both the pitcher and the mug with him. He tossed both down and opened the small box. Pulling out a gray wick he twists it between two fingers. Looking back at the stranger who appeared to be patiently waiting for his demonstration Bar continued.

I believe the person the chef worked for is Anna Marzcek. The man in black said calmly chillingly.

Bar swallowed indeed he did know her and now he became deeply unsure of what to say as he replied Is she beautiful?

Yes, but do not worry I loathe the Marzcecks.

Rubbing the wick in his fingers Bar’s memory lurches back to the battle at the age of thirteen a banner man carrying the flag of his countrymen. The wound that crippled him from his duty and forever changed his life. The memory of lying there as the battle raged on pretending to be dead and fearing he might. The companions that so fearlessly marched through the trees into the clearing where he laid were cut down around him and in the end someone woke him with thread and needle repairing the gash that ran across the front of both his legs.

The man in black snaps him back out of the horrific memory and back to the present as he asks. What brings you so far from the road away from any town or village a day would be generous with speed.

Bar grabs a metal cylinder from the ground and hefted its weight in his hand.

He then closed his eye tightly grasping it a little harder than he had been and his lower lip trembled slightly. I looked at the face of evil, now I don’t run so good.

He turned toward the man in black as he leaned against the rickety wagon and a chill hit his bones pulling him back to that day when beast who walked on two feet made brave men cower and he heard briefly the sound of the dying surrounding him. He pulled his attention back the present looking down at a small hole next to the wooden brace as he cleans it with his thumb. He need not pay any heed to those distant memories so long ago but vivid still those bubbles of terror surface. He promised himself a strong drink to dull his nerves and memory.

He slips the wick into the hole and then says. It does not matter I have everything I need and if I am short I simply travel into town. It is more like three days for me but I make do stock up in the winter months celebrate when spring comes.

Bar looks back at the wagon where the man in black rest against the wall avoiding the soft green mold chewing on the bottom of the wagon. He propped the hollow metal shaft against one of the barrels and set the box aside.

He stumbled back over to where the man in black rests picking up a pry bar he looked down at the tiny man fear swelling like a storm but he knew it was his imagination and he needed to set his paranoia aside. Opening one of the lids to the barrels, dipping his hand in, he pulled up the black sandy powder sifting it through his hand and into the metal shaft.

Now what does that do? the man in black asked his hawk like eyes studying every move the old trader made.

Bar’s reply came in the form of a shrug while he returned the lid to the barrel. After a pause bar’s voice followed. I don’t know the exact details this is what causes the explosion though. The chef wrote down what is in it. The fat trader smirked. I cannot read though maybe if I could I would be a scribe or whatever it is people who can read and write do.

Did you keep his notes?

I sure did it was written on parchment. Bar replied proudly. Hold on I will find it for you.

Bar carefully set the shaft down as if it were a viper made of fine china afraid to get bit and at the same time afraid to break it. Hobbling over to a chest he works his way to his knees.

It’s somewhere in here. Bar said fishing a ring of keys from his belt tucked under the girth of his belly.

Fingering through the keys till he found the right one and looked back at the man in black who simply nodded. Opening the chest Bar dives in with both hands throwing out two black uniforms with red collars and cuffs. The man black’s eyes seem to tighten under some unseen strain at sight of them. Utensils followed and aprons after that. He raised his head up and pulled up a box wrapped in animal hide bound with twine and coated in wax. Bar sat it down next to him and lowered the lid to the chest.

Got it. He said heaving himself to sit on top of the chest.

He pulled the string free from the wax and untied it. Pulling at the animal hide the wax crumbled as he presented four books.

Do not worry sir this is not the instructions, they are far less complicated though these are very expensive as I am sure you already know.

What are they?

Cooking instructions, Maimo was a chef.

Who

That was the man who brought this invention to me.

How did you meet him?

He came here one afternoon slumped over on a cart pulled by the oxen corralled by the fence in the front. He was nearly dead. He was as pale as a funeral veil and his breath was shallow. He had no wound to speak of so I thought poison and to my surprise I was right. You see I fed him three of my antidotal potions and in a day he was fine. If you want I can sell the same three to you for a fair price.

No thanks, I gave to the monastery. Do you think it is deliberate?

Yes of course that is what antidotes are made for if you fall down or if someone puts fever on you or you faint you just… Bar’s face went flat. Oh, you were talking about the poison.

He nodded his head up and down and then scratched at his beard. Given how powerful this thing is. It does not surprise me that someone would be after it.

And he gave this thing to you? the man in black inquired.

He did not give a thing to me, he left it here. The trader replied sitting on top of the chest fiddling with a knot of twine that wraps two boards tightly together.

Did he say who it was?

I didn’t ask Bar grimace the reply and continued. I did not realize how well I took care of it.

If they would have found him here they surely would have came after you.

No, if they were after him they were after this and if it came between me and this man’s invention: well. Bar shrugged his shoulders. I would have handed it over, nothing is worth your life it’s as simple as that.

The man in black studied him and said. Not so true you could have easily been thought of as a witness especially if they did not want anyone else to know about it.

True but no one deserves to die. Bar face lit up Got it!

He handed the document to the man in black.

The man in black fingered the pages of parchment looking over them with his hawkish gaze then he frowned. This parchment says recipe for powder.

He was a chef. Bar replied his finger in the air as if he was declaring something important.

Quite an interesting recipe.

The hair on Bar’s neck as he stood up and looked into his eyes and for some reason he felt colder than he had a moment ago.

He is referring to that black powder I sifted down the shaft. He wished he had another glass of mead at that moment.

The man in black smiled. Your friend must have been quite a character. He looked down at the parchment and studied it again. No high chant no words to conjure, no spirits or sorcery.

I would not consider him my friend and although he invented it, as I said before he had no intention in giving it to me. He believed once he reached Titania he would be greeted by the great heroes of the past and deeply rewarded.

Was he?

Maybe a piece of him. Bar looked down for a moment his face darkening. Ah he was crazy.

Am I going to be disappointed?

No, you are going to be awe struck. Bar says hopping to his feet hobbling over to the other barrel.

Prying open the lid he hefted out a large spherical black ball. He rocked down to his haunches and eased the ball into the metal shaft.

Do you have flint and steel? he asked looking up at the man in black.

I do. The man in black replied nonchalantly.

Bar rose to a stand pressing the brace end of the shaft deep into the pocket of his shoulder. His knuckles turned white having a death grip on it now.

If you will please sir light the wick I warn you though every one of them is different.

How so? the man in black inquired while fishing the flint and steel from out of his pocket.

You never know how long they will last. Bar replied with one eye squinting and his face drawn into a grimace.

The man in black sparked the flint and steel together. A great deal of sparks ensued and the wick sizzled to life. Bar stepped back with one leg and dug it into place, his grimace became harder and both his eyes were nearly shut.

The man in black asks. Is this the demonstration?

It is just you watch. Bar replied his voice gruff his face never changing from its grimace or his rigid stance.

Thunder roared like a lion the sound came booming through their feet and whole bodies. White smoke and a lick of flames spew from the shaft filling the ground around them. Bar lost his balance and is thrown into the man in black. Who cringed under the shock of the immense noise and smoke.

Bar sat on the ground breathing heavily. The man in black sniffed at the acrid smoke and looked in every direction. He was not sure what had happened but indeed something certainly did; and with that question on his mind he looked down inquisitively at the fat trader.

Bar looked up at him and smiled so what do you think, sir.

I don’t know? The man in black replied.

You just haven’t seen the after math yet: come on. Bar says excited and a little out of breathe rocking up onto his haunches the girth of his waistline consuming much of his legs.

The stone face of the man in black broke into a large grin as the slovenly trader returned the warmth. Come on I’ll show you.

Bar began to hobble down the hill toward the tree line the man in black following closely behind.

I have become quite a good aim with this thing. Bar said looking over his shoulder. See that tree right there. Bar pointed to a tree split in half, as they drew closer to it.

Yes

Well there has got to be more like that one behind it.

The man in black realized that more than this tree had been damaged here; chunks of trees and branches lay on the wood line.

Bar touched the split in the tree and looked back at the man in black. You see the ball went left and up knocked out that branch. Bar pointed to the branch he referred to.

Quite impressive.

Impressive it is amazing, no miraculous. Bar replies his voice booming with pride.

I agree it is amazing.

He called it the cannon. I don’t know why. The trader looked at his feet and continued Written on that parchment I handed you is all that you need to make another one. He said he wrote it all down what you have here is what he came with. You can take it with you.

Why did you not make more?

In the past I have done minor smithy works mainly just reshoeing horses that threw one down the road. But this requires a mold and a lot of iron and ore."

I see. The man in black replied. So there is no duplicate in other legions that other men might have.

No this is the only one I am loyal you must surely believe.

The man in black smiled with approval. I will have to demonstrate this weapon to my superiors. Do you mind teaching me?

Bar’s face lit up. I sure can.

He began to hobble up the hill his pace quickened with excitement.

So, how did this chef try to get to the moon?

Bar looked back at him as they climbed back up the hill. One day a bell maker showed up here. He had fashioned a deep bell and made a cover for the bottom of it. He took the heavy purse and was on his way back to town very quickly I don’t know what was said but he got a piece of kindling from the oven and woke me up from a nap and I helped him lower it upside down into the ground over there. You see where it is a little more flat.

Bar pointed off to his left. Indeed the ground is flat where he pointed however a pile of stones had been moved there. He poured the black powder into the bell and packed it there and set the lid on top and then he took one of my best chairs and set it on the plate. He shoveled out a trench and made a line with the black powder he told me to light it with the kindling so I did but I had a bad feeling and ran off as fast as I could. All that was left was a big hole in the ground. Pieces of the bell and him where everywhere; the shovel I had left on the ground nearly took my head off. So I buried what I could of him in the hole. It seemed only right.

Tragic the man in black said coyly.

Bar nodded, they had reached the barrels and the man in black hefted the shaft in his hands and inserted one of the wicks into the tiny hole at the base.

Right and now reach into that barrel; here I’ll get it for you. Bar hefted out a heaping handful of the black powder and smiled all the while imagining how the man will stumble and fall once he fire the small hand cannon.

The man in black reached into the other barrel and palmed out one of the cannon balls and lowered it in.

Now I’ll light it for you but you are going to have to hold onto it very tight. Bar said just before he lit the wick.

The wick sizzled to life. The man in black simply waits patiently watching the wick burn down holding the terrible weapon nonchalantly in one hand.

The trader stepped back plugging his ears with is fat fingers yelling. "You are going to have to hold it tighter than that.

Turning at the last moment Bar’s eyes lit up with shock and fear him. Bar, rushing toward the man in black to turn him away from the wagon however the shock of the blast threw him to the ground. The iron ball punches through both sides, smoke filled the air.

The trader rolled onto his belly and got onto his hands and knees and looked up with a blackened face, the thin man smiled evilly. Laughing at the sight standing like a nightmare against the sky. The roly-poly trader scrubs at his eyes his hair singed from the terrible heat his beard burnt into tiny ringlets.

The man in black voice rings out like a hiss across gravel. Pathetic coward crawl away.

Bar suddenly in a fit of rage at his betrayal launches to his feet in a dead charge. Bar lunges at him with all the frustration he could put into a balled fist. Thrusting the shaft of the cannon forward with so much force that Bar’s fist never landed and he is now impaled on the end of the cannon. Coughing up blood struggling for air three of his ribs protrude through the skin. He flails like a fish on a hook until the remainder of his energy is spent and he dangles limp. The man in black holding him in the air like a frog on a gig smiles at him.

Holding Bar up in the air the man in black’s eyes bend and convex yellow taking over as his tear ducts fall. His skin turning charcoal gray then black muscles break away his coat and his vest. Bar shivered as the ground grew further away as the creature that held him doubled its height. Horns sprouting from the sides of his head twisting great lengths, Bar’s heart nearly pounding out of his chest. That broad flat nose and lipless jaw it smiled an ivory row of daggers.

Bar’s eyes filled with terror knowing well what has him the king of the foul beast. The only one not to fall or be locked away in the battle of so long ago: the great monster, the demon the one that had escaped. He looked in every direction for the evil chariot a winged serpent called a dragon. His eyes leapt back to the demon referred to as The Great Monster. Bar finds new strength to struggle as the demon’s lip curls further in madness. Their eyes connect the yellow of its eyes against the charcoal skin drives ice down his spine. Soft chuckling escapes between shark’s teeth.

I thank you for giving me such a great gift. The demon’s voice rumbled a terrible storm brewing between his lips.

The drunkard became stricken with fear and guilt at the possibilities in the evil one’s mind. He could not bear to imagine what plans this demon had in store not just for him but for the world. The one time banner man went back to fate full night when the world changed. His mind raced back to those gashes in his legs, and to those dirty faces he once knew as friends.

He spat in the demons face saying. I know you are going to kill me so just be done with it!

Bloody spit ran down the demon’s face but it continued to smile. Blood ran down the steel shaft of the cannon as Bar still hangs onto life struggling to breathe. The broad nose of the demon sniffs the air black lips part as laughter rolls across rows of white daggers. A clawed finger tears at bar’s cheek.

I have something else in mind my prey. Those yellow eyes motion to a black dot sliding across the sky.

Disappearing in white clouds stretching along the horizon Bar was certain it is the demons chariot. Bar’s eyes searched the clouds for some sign of it his fears and tears welled up in him.

Kill me you slithering bastard. He coughed up blood and thrashed wildly at the demon trying to free himself or stir enough anger for the demon to forget about his chariot.

The Creature of Chaos looks to his left and Bar’s intuition brings his head around in time to look and see his fate. His expression drains away, No love no hate or fear, it went away as he looked inward at the chasm of death as it opened up before him. He knew what was coming for him as he can see its massive claw reach down and grapple him. The black talon struck him with so much force his eyes popped free from their sockets his boots left him to fall to the ground. His body made a crunching sound as his vertebrae was snapped within its claw. Bar’s body went with that talon up into the air, however his arm lays limp on the forest floor.

The Creature of Chaos crouches down retrieving the severed limb from the dense leaves it must have came off when the dragon snatched him off of the cannon. He twist it around inspected it from every angle. He notices the splatters of crimson dots that lace the leaves. Yellow eyes work their way to the clouds that seem to rise up from the rolling hills. The demon takes a bite of the severed limb a hundred razors tear through the meat separating it from the bone. The bicep ripped free the meat of the forearm peels down to the clawed hand.

The cadaver plummets to the forest floor bringing the demon’s eyes up. The dragon whips past stirring the wind and leaves. Wings open wide and it spins round in mid air the long tail swishing back and forth. Huge red eyes look down at the demon the wind stirring everything around him. It lowers itself gingerly down the beast snatches up Bar’s corpse with it huge snout and tosses him into the air his body falls directly into the beast mouth. Its tail swished as it chewed snaking past the demon being twice as long as the wagon. The dragon lowered its head and the Great monster rubbed on its black snout walking past its massive horns its head being larger than the demon’s body he rubbed on its neck under long thick black scales. The beast yawned revealing crystal teeth and a black tongue.

So Star, how did you like Bar, was he to your taste?

The dragon’s lip curled and the sound of air rushed between crystal teeth was the response of disapproval. The Creature of Chaos rubbed the snout affectionately.

Well he just finished cleaning himself. He said with a slight chuckle.

The red eyes of dragon seem to lighten under the touch of the wicked hand. The demon walked back over to the barrels. He looked over at the dragon and back at the barrels. He picked up the lid to one and then stopped to stare at the wood line.

The wind shifts and the dragon testing the air became aware of someone else. Like a good guard dog the dragon bares its teeth and hisses: a provoked snake. The demon unsheathes its sword a slit running from his eyes down along the broad nose opens slightly, sensing heat. The Creature of Chaos’s sword is black and dripping with venom that seems to come out of the blade. Star’s eyes narrow as it drew in a deep breath and holds it preparing a devastating blast of fire in the direction of the wind.

Please do not be alarmed or angry with me. I only came to become your ally. A voice calls from beyond the trees the voice had kept its composure this is no ordinary man. Surely a magician of some kind the demon thinks trying to penetrate the branches with his deadly vision.

Then show yourself. The demon demanded.

I’d rather not for now. The voice spoke out in the tone of childhood defiance.

The monster exacts his position as a branch breaks underfoot he realized the dragon had fixed where the magician hides as well. The demon raises his hand preventing the release of the Dragon’s terrible breath.

I know where you are at. Show yourself or I reveal my power.

Put away your sword then, surely you power reaches further than the tip of your blade.

His lip curls in disdain revealing those shark teeth and he growled. How dare you try to command me!

The demon’s fights the urge to run at the spot he fixed and tear the owner of the voice in half.

Pausing shortly The Creature of Chaos smiles as he speaks pointing his finger where the man is hiding. If you do not come out from behind the gum tree and show me your deceiving face I promise you death will be the only relief you will find after you endure long suffering.

The magician’s stumbled as he now contemplates running away however he cleared his throat and regained his composure. I am sorry to have angered you my lord. I only seek to be your advisor, you see my guild has sent me here to you, and your creator made you as our gift.

A soft sigh of tension leaks out of the mages lips. The Creature of Chaos knows who this man is not exactly but he knows the supposed guild that he represents. Claiming to have created him and yet he despised them, no hated them as liars and worse. These Brujeria say they called Atethis to move his greatest warriors close enough to edge of the abyss so that could be plucked from the shadow and give them the strength they need to reclaim Terran the world they live in as their own.

His blood boiled with hate among all other things he hates these liars and schemers most of all. The demon decided he will hear his words then he will destroy him. That he knew for Certain. The demon sheathed his sword however and without turning away he opened the box of wicks.

I see you want to hear what I have to say after all you cannot deny your creator and his will is ours.

The magician seemed to materialize from thin air exactly where the demon said he was. A tall thin man dark complected with wings of gray in his hair and a trimmed goatee with a silver streak under his lip. His black robe has a silver snake scrolling his cowl and down the seam of his robe.

He stepped closer abandoning the safety of the trees. The demon smiled and mage’s steps became awkward.

He bowed and said. It is an honor to be in your presence great lord of the demons.

Speak your piece fool.

I told you I come with seeking your friendship my lord.

Than what is your name brujee? the demon sneered at him

I serve two functions I am a scribe from one of the great merchant guilds I also serve those that cannot be named. He paused for a moment. My name is Gabe, and I have come before you today with great news it is time now to once again unite the Shunned Hordes and spread your divine judgment. He waved his hand across the horizon.

The demon sifts the black powder down the barrel never taking his yellow eyes off the man preaching to him.

You have already fulfilled many laments: uniting the shunned hordes in your conquest to lay siege on the world. The laments even state that twice you would fall before reclaiming the north and then spreading your divine judgment. He raised his hand showing two fingers. It was also written that your decision would create purgatory for your blood until you would breathe smoke from your hand. The man’s words trailed off and the wind stilled to silence.

The Creature of Chaos lips curled in hatred for the man. Even as he preaches and walks toward him, the mage has no idea that the demon lowered the heavy iron ball and readied his new weapon.

Go on his tongue got cut on one of his ivory dagger and he sucked in ecstasy on the blood

Everything that has been written has come to pass now is your time to align yourself with us, now it is your time to reclaim the Shunned Horde.

Flint and steel slide across one another and the wick comes to life. You speak as if you know me, as if you have bared a blade with me in battle. The Creature of Chaos says his lips shifting into a shark-toothed grin.

I know you well enough. Gabe replied nonchalantly.

Who are you to come here, stand in the face of fear. Speak laments of my destiny as if you pulled them from the stars rather than a piece of parchment. Yellow eyes fixed him like daggers as he went on. Why did you come here proclaiming such things?

His eyes went down and back from the cannon and his frustration sizzled with the wick still steady in its terminal path seeming no closer to its explosive end and looking up in disgust at the man before him.

The magician thinks long on the demons words and replied with a smile. You Have many names The Horde calls you The Creature Of Chaos in their own tongue they call you Vokrace SalSalace, men who know of you Call you the Great Monster the most terrible of terrible things the demon and the darkest of enemies, and right fully so for you are their greatest enemy: and for those that love you call you father, but there is one that you had not heard in a long time… Saul.

Heat flooded the demon’s face this man above all others had no right to call him by his name. He looked down at the wick still sizzling. He wanted him to die right now immediately.

Shocked are you? Well please do not be. You have been the focus of those I represent for a long time. I have personally studied the histories written on your life, and what you have done. You must know I have went to great lengths to follow you, to prepare for this moment, and now I finally stand before you. This is the pentacle of my days to be here with you right now. Gabe’s words came out more confident than before.

The demon looked down at the wick; not much longer now. This is the pentacle of your days studied long about me. In your studies what did you learn? What secrets did you seek? Tell me true Gabe: my friend.

Yes, yes it is. Don’t you see you belong to us by now you must see there is no denying it. The laments bring good news if you are willing to listen now. All you want to attain is within your grasp. Gabe speaks with all the confidence he could muster as if carrying with him divine intelligence.

Continue. The demon hated him with everything that was in him

The man stepped forward again his arms sweeping wide. The time has come to break open the gate retrieve your son and spread your wrath. You have been punished far too long Saul.

Gabe smiled he knew he had struck a chord with the demon and he surely had his full attention. With that magic scepter you hold in your hand you will be able to crash through the gate and release your army on the world once again. The only thing you have to do is remain obedient to your cause or the same fate that consumed your army shall befall you.

His black heart that skipped a beat, Saul the name unmentioned for so long is there anything left of that person behind the demon hide mask? How could this man know he wanted him dead now!

Father! The sound of his son’s voice ringing in his head.

His own child is lost trapped in that abyss.

Saul wanted to ask him scores of questions as they seem to suddenly bubble up into his consciousness however the roar of the cannon broke the silence in one thunderous blast spraying smoke and flames as the ball traveled its path. The magician folds like a piece of paper as he flies back. His body now lay a strewn across the ground a mass of entrails, blood and torn flesh. The war cry of the cannon reverberated change like a call for deeds to come each time more distant. Saul the demon wondered if the echo held his name on the wind however the rumble of thunder beckoned change growing louder as the storm grew closer.

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T HE DRAGON PENETRATED the clouds like a comet, and with lunges from its powerful wings it leveled off rolling the vapor of the clouds as it went. They had made two trips already this being their third. They had seen horses meandering about on the lower slopes. No doubt there are adventurers climbing somewhere up the crags. So they have to stay out of sight if plans are to be fulfilled on the last two runs the Demon needed to make sure they had everything and to burn down what they left behind. The Demon tapped his right boot against the dragon’s neck and it banked in that direction its body descending into the mist.

The clouds had pressed themselves against the mountains turning a light pink as the sun retreats. Star, the dragon spreads it wings as it closes on one of the mountain peaks. The Demon slides down the dragon’s back and silently lands in a copse of evergreen trees. The dragon swings its body around and glides away.

The demon’s black feet pad silently through the snow. Its clawed feet leave strange foot prints as it doesn’t recognized the cold. Past two trees the demon crouches low he heard something. He turned around slowly the icy blue mountain peaks jutting up out of the bed of yellow and pink mist. The sun setting and yet he could already see both moons Titania and its orange tridents and Luna in its cool blue hue. Somewhere the stars waited behind them waiting for the sun to recede so they can be in full bloom.

The sound, something banging it was faint however it was enough for the demon to know that someone is in the clearing in front of him. Keeping low he darts into another cluster of pine trees. Saul the demon exhales mist forming from his hot breath, turning toward the trees he steps silently through them the wind passes by but only his scabbard seems to notice. Across two skeletons leaning against a catapult in what remains of a parapet. Their armor the only thing left clinging to their bones. He could not help but to remember when these two where full of life and going to their swords their screams when they realized it was too late and burning oil claimed them the roar of fire nearly matching their shrill screams.

The sound clearer now the ping of pick axe and shovel. They are very close now stealthing to the edge of the clearing he hunkered down. Unlimbering his black blade its venom glistening in the dusk light, hearing voices conversing, soon he will be close enough to play his favorite game.

Hurry up Gayland, This place is haunted by the dead. The voice soft but tense as if his words could bring life back into the corpses that surround them.

Light do you even know how to read a map?

This is the place where eldest Marzcek buried his entrustment before the hand of death passed over these mountains I’m sure of it. Another voice said full of confidence.

Quit talking that dung. We don’t need the crew coming down the mountain with shaky knees, Donnel. A gruff voice replied.

They’ll slow down with a satchel full of jewels on their backs.

Well then stop that talk for me, it spooks me.

Three there has to be more somewhere The Creature of Chaos, knew this to be more than just a possibility judging by the amount of horses he had seen. It understands the hearts of men and what would drive them to such a place as this. They are fortune seekers, chasing after the myths of a cryptic treasure. That was said to have drove the lord of this forsaken land mad. Having his treasure buried and performing a murderous curse like a mad sorcerer. Casting it on his servants and killing those that lived in the towns below.

Indeed it was a lie however there was no one to tell the horrifying truth of what had happened here; and since there were no survivors to tell the tale that took place so long ago. It was left to the people and their imagination; and the rumors flooded down the mountains that once were called Gheron before they were called the High Peaks of the Plains and are now called the Teeth. The story of such treasures rippled across the world like a stone thrown into a pond.

Now everywhere in the world has their own tale of what happened on this mountain top. Tales that the great lord, Marzcek worshiped the shadow and that he served the destroyer himself. Others believe that it was he that called the Demons and their monstrous horde into this world. Both are true in a way but none came close to the terrible reality that the men on the mountain faced.

The demon revealed his teeth in a terrible grin little did these people know that everything they feared was here listening to everything they said, he inched in closer to take a look.

A portly man stood on a rock his fat hands clutching a map. Beneath him was a man standing with one hand on his hip