Forever Will End: The Gospel of Chaos

By Dominique Brandt

There were only a few who knew about the Prophecy of Evil. Written by the Blessed Ones, in the Eras of Divine Worship. Their compiled scriptures document a series of catastrophic events to occur that will bring all existence to an end. As this threat looms over the Apparition Lands, a dark tale of whit and charm unfolds, as many shall come toget

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: May 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781648959479

Dominique Brandt

I grew up in a small town of Nebraska. In my younger years I wrote a variety of short stories, plays, and presentations. I became fascinated how one was able to create a story on one's own, and have always enjoyed providing entertainment to others in unique and memorable ways. My hope is that you'll enjoy this story and look forward to future novels that promise to be as thrilling as the last!

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Forever Will End:

The Gospel of Chaos

Dominique Brandt

The gospel of chaos

Copyright © 2022 Dominique Brandt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Stratton Press Publishing

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ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-64895-946-2

ISBN (Ebook): 978-1-64895-947-9

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Ancient Prophecy of Evil

The Slum Boy

Sacred Born

Whimsical Devil

365th Day

BEYOND the Gate

Desire for Change

Companionship

The Legion Academy Placement Exam

Elites-in-Training

The Fairest of Evenrise

Elites-in-Training . . . Again

Unite to Achieve

A Noble Affair

The Village of Harmony

Unkindled Friendship

Island of the Sigil Bearers

The Slum Ole’ Days

Not So Harmonious

Wesvannah

Celia

Celia: Pt. 2

Celia: Pt. 3

Last Moments of Joy

Ancient

Prophecy of Evil

A calamitous battle raged between humans—brought into existence by their Divine creator—and their evolutionary counterpart, the Apparitions, a superior species created solely to replace them.

Over many years, these competitors fought one another, killed wantonly, and salted the very soil upon which they dwelled. This cycle of violence was blamed for the emergence of a mysterious black and crimson Aura that swept through the lands, corrupting or destroying all it touched. Gentle hearts and good minds were warped into sadistic, greedy tyrants. Apparitions and humans alike called this Aura the only thing it could be: Evil.

Those whose minds were twisted by Evil—or who were already cruel in nature—worshipped it as divine. Their cult preached that Evil was a punishment for those who’d misplaced their faith, a cleansing acid to forever end all existence, and they amassed an army to fulfill what they called the Will of Evil.

Despite these heralds of doom, there were still those with the courage to resist. A brave Apparition by the name of Kiera—once a faithful servant of the Divine creators—defied her masters and formed the first coalition between her species and humans. Through their valiancy and led by Kiera, this coalition managed to dismantle the Armies of Evil, crafting a special weapon to seal Evil away. The Warmongering Era was officially over, and an Era of Peace had begun.

Humans and Apparitions unanimously elected Keira to watch over their newfound alliance and ensure peace would survive. She accepted her place as ruler—and just as she had given birth to a new nation, Kiera too gave birth to a daughter, Ashli.

The Peaceful Era flourished—until an enigmatic figure appeared before Kiera, revealing an ancient scripture that warned of Evil’s return. At first, Kiera didn’t believe such a fable, but eventually even she could no longer deny destiny. Her spirit spiraled into depression. She alienated her closest allies, shunned those who respected and loved her. She even gave up caring for her infant child.

A glimmer of hope appeared in the form of missing—perhaps torn—scripture pages. These lost pages detailed the Vanquisher of Evil, an individual blessed with Divine power that could ultimately destroy Evil. As Kiera prepared her daughter to lead the next generation of warriors, she too prepared the search for clues on the Vanquisher’s whereabouts, so that Evil might be abolished once and for all.

The Slum Boy

In the lowliest district of Evenrise, a young boy sleeps soundly in his rag tent home, mouth gaping, a spot of drool leaking down his chin. Unaware that an intruder has quietly snuck inside.

In the Slum District, an intruder often means someone with the intention to steal or kill, usually both. This intruder, however, slobbers over their finger—and jams it into the sleeping boy’s ear.

He shrieks awake and falls out of bed. Laughter dances over him as he rigorously rubs his ear.

Sheesh. What’s your problem, Vonnie, he grumbles at the still-laughing preteen girl.

Vonnie laughs for moment longer before collecting herself, grinning wildly. It’s time to get up, Kasen. Do you really want to be late for the boss lady again?

Kasen groans in disgust. He doesn’t like the boss lady one bit, but showing up late for an appointment with Chantel isn’t a smart move. He and Vonnie leave their tent, ducking out onto the hill it rests upon, overlooking the Slum. The dawn shines brightly over the Apparition civilization of Evenrise.

Kasen and Vonnie have lived in Evenrise’s Slum District, the poorest and most undeveloped area of the city, as long as they can remember. Years ago, the Higher Ups and Nobles—terrified of crime spilling into their neighborhoods—passed strict social laws to restrict Slum Class residents from leaving their district. When laws failed get the point across, the tall barbed wire fence and even taller border gate succeeded. After an incident involving few Higher Up deaths, the wire had been fortified into stone.

For Slums like Kasen and Vonnie, escape is a promise of death.

How they ended up in the Slum District remains a mystery to them both. They have no parents or relatives, and have fended for themselves. They wear gunk-filled clothes with torn shoes. Their hair is messy with sticks, leaves, and other debris. They don’t get to eat as often as they’d like, but aren’t as malnourished as some of their neighbors, with whom Kasen often shares food. His generosity has gained him much respect from his Slum peers. These days, even Vonnie echoes his confidence that a Slum resident can prosper.

As Kasen and Vonnie traverse the dusty streets of the Slum District, they see other residents huddling close for comfort. Numbers ensure protection, but Kasen knows most simply want to avoid troublesome individuals. He wonders if he and Vonnie qualify as troublesome.

The crooked road finally deposits them outside a particular tent. It is held firm by wooden totems and covered with Noble Class blankets, and is flanked by two brightly-garbed guards, their tan faces alight with flamboyant contempt. They sneer upon Kasen and Vonnie.

Look who finally decided to show. The first grunts.

Late as usual, snaps the other.

Juan and Yuan, Kasen observes. It was their usual greeting: a mutual exchange of facts.

Identical, yet not related.

It’d be weird if they were, because you know . . . with you two. Vonnie presses her fingers together, as if stating the obvious.

Know what? Juan demands.

Obviously they’re jealous because we have something they’ll never have, Yuan zings back, smirking a self-satisfied smirk Juan soon joins. Kasen and Vonnie share an awkward look and a shrug.

Never a dull moment with you two, Kasen grants. But I was hoping we could avoid lectures today.

A deep voice drifts through the tent behind them. How about a reminder?

Juan and Yuan—along with many passersby—cower away, bowing, as a woman steps out. She doesn’t share the same desperately poor appeal of the other Slum residents. Her skin is smooth and healthy, her dark hair woven into in a long ponytail. She wears the short, elegant black and green dress of the Noble class, matches it with gold and silver bracelets, and tops off her allure with a set of diamond earrings.

Chantel, Kasen mumbles. Her dark, menacing eyes meet his gentle, confident stare.

Good morning, little thief. She yawns. I’d like to start today by expressing my confliction with you. I give you a home, food, protection, and all I ask is that you simply be here on time. Perhaps I should find another way for you to understand?

Vonnie lets out a peep when Chantel’s gaze singles her out. Kasen quickly steps between them.

I’ll cut to the chase, Chantel supposes. Another handful of problem-causing Commonfolk has been deported to our lovely burgh. One of them just so happens to be a longtime associate of mine who refuses to pay my nominal protection fee. Normally, I’d send Juan and Yuan to kick his ass, but I don’t feel it’s appropriate. This associate sits on valuable supplies. I won’t explain what needs to be done, but if it doesn’t get done, don’t bother coming back, because even the brat won’t be here.

Hers is a familiar tune. Most deportees to the Slum are debtors, cast out by the Higher Up overlords who’d reaped the benefits of their hard labor. Kasen knows these unlucky souls usually drag along every one of their possessions that aren’t nailed down. In doing so, they mark themselves as choice targets for thieves.

Stealing is the primary means of survival in the Slum District. Even a kindhearted individual like Kasen must conform to this lifestyle, and there is always someone to shake down or something to snatch.

At least in Chantel’s eyes. Kasen often accompanies Juan and Yuan on heists she plots. The tall gate at the north end is their stomping ground, where deportees establish camps, hoping to plead their innocence with every guard who walks by.

Today, Kasen tags along the usual route with Yuan and Juan. They pass crumbling homes, orphans scavenging for scraps, and disaffected youths scrapping with one another before the gate finally looms large in the distance.

There’s the target. Juan points to a heavyset man chasing off would-be thieves with his long knife. Chantel has told the truth this time; he holds a hefty load of valuables. Kasen’s stomach grumbles at the sight of packaged food.

Look at that stash. Yuan beams. It’ll last weeks.

More like seconds with your stomach, Juan snaps.

Yuan bats his eyelashes as easily as he bats away the insult. I swear, you know me better than I know myself.

I know, Juan softly replies. The two passionately lock gazes until Kasen interrupts.

Hey?

Oh, right. You’re here. Juan rolls his eyes. Listen up. While this Commonfolk bastard is sweating over street brats, we’ll sneak into his tent one at a time and snatch as much as we can. The others will keep a lookout and whistle if there’s danger, so you’ll have plenty of time to escape before he notices. We need to show this prick what happens when you disrespect Lady Chantel, so don’t screw this up. He glares at Kasen, doubtlessly assuming he will.

As the Commonfolk man darts down a dirty byroad after an orphan, Juan quietly makes his way to the tent. He ducks under a tent flap, stuffing all he can into a small bag until Yuan whistles him out.

The Commonfolk man comes stomping back towards home, sweaty and paranoid. But he remains, Kasen observes, none the wiser.

Lady Chantel will certainly reward me, Juan brags, toting his swollen bag.

You think that merits a reward? Yuan dares. Wait and see.

Tired of chasing, the Commonfolk man squats to take a short rest on a crate outside his tent. Yuan makes his move, and like Juan, loots a fair amount before being whistled to return.

More than you, Yuan proclaims.

Show me, Juan demands. He swipes for Yuan’s bag, but only nabs air.

This is for Lady Chantel’s eyes only, Yuan insists, which only makes Juan fight harder for a shot at his loot sack. Their jealous jabs and headlocks quickly devolve into flirtatious play.

Whenever you’re done, guys, Kasen mumbles dully. Juan and Yuan sear him with an indignant, identical look.

Look at you, only running your mouth when Lady Chantel’s not around, Juan barks. Why she even bothers to keep you is something I’ll never understand.

Save that for another time. Just whistle, Kasen instructs him, and with that, stealthily makes his way over to the stash. He feels two scowls on his back the whole way, hears their harsh whispers egging him on.

You know, we don’t HAVE to whistle, Yuan suggests. Their wicked giggles pursue him right up to the edge of the tent.

In the moment before he ducks under a handful of beaten leather tarp, Kasen gazes upon the towering gate. On the other side is another world—a world where you don’t have to live by the skin of your teeth, a world that stands free from Chantel’s wrath. He remembers how he fell into her service. In exchange for Vonnie’s life, he sold his to her, and has been her Little Thief ever since.

He shoves his arms through the tent.

As Kasen blindly fills his bag, his mind wanders. He forgets his situation. He wonders if the world outside even notices or cares about how much pain and suffering they’ve caused to the world inside. He wonders if he’ll ever have a chance to ask them.

His dream world is interrupted by the sharp edge of a blade pressed to the back of his neck.

Drop the bag and stand up now. Kasen can feel the Commonfolk man’s breath against his ear. Juan and Yuan’s giggles evaporate.

Fucking Slums. I should’ve just killed you on the spot, but I’ve got some dignity. Unlike your kind.

Kasen does as he’s told. He carefully wriggles backwards, feeling the blade’s tip poke his spine the whole way, and pulls his bag from beneath the tent before dropping it. Slowly, terrified of slicing himself, he stands. The knife stands with him.

You’ve every right to be upset, he stammers. I’m sorry I stole from you, but there are a lot of people depending on me to bring something back for them. I don’t have a choice.

And you trust that odd couple to help you out with that?

I don’t trust them whatso—wait, how do you know them?

The knife flags. Kasen warily turns to face the Commonfolk man, who lets him. Anger and sadness seep from his captor’s eyes.

Do you know how many times I’ve been in and out of this shithole district because of that Chantel witch? he says, hovering on the verge of tears. She’s threatened my business and my family. You’re just Slums; why should anyone be intimidated by you? If I killed a hundred of you street kids right now, no one would lose sleep. I hate seeing boys like you living like this, but I can’t let her goons keep pushing me around.

The man prepares to deliver a fatal stab. But in the window of his excuses, Kasen has quickly collected a handful of muck from his shirt. He tosses it. Filth splatters the man’s face and mouth. As he’s temporarily debilitated, Kasen grabs his loot bag and darts off down the street.

If I see you again, I’ll kill you! You hear me! the man yells, spitting muck in his wake.

***

Kasen, Vonnie breathes with relief. Her face brightens when she sees him padding up the street and towards Chantel’s tied-open tent. Juan and Yuan, on guard duty as usual, look surprised he’s alive.

Wasn’t expecting you back, Chantel says, mildly amused.

Yet here I am. Kasen dumps his catch over Chantel’s feet. Freshly stolen, the way you like it.

Juan, Yuan, and Vonnie stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. The food slouches as Chantel shifts her suspiciously clean slippers.

Thank you, Little Thief. In fact—she chuckles softly—I’m so thankful, I’m letting you brats starve tonight while we feast. Now, if you are done making an arrogant ass of yourself, get out of my sight.

Juan and Yuan laugh as Kasen and Vonnie trudge home empty-handed.

There is only one tree in the Slum district, sitting modestly just outside Kasen’s small tent. When sunset falls upon Evenrise, he often finds himself sitting atop it. At its height, he’s just able to get a glimpse of the world beyond the Slums. The lights of the Higher Up houses flicker in the distance. Why did you antagonize her, Vonnie complains, climbing up next to him. We haven’t eaten in days and I was looking forward to tonight.

Kasen unveils a small jerky piece and a partial loaf of bread. Vonnie greedily snatches both away, gobbling down the jerky and tearing through the bread, only then realizing it’s all he has.

She hiccups, sheepishly offering Kasen the remains of the loaf. Sorry…

I’m not hungry. But his growling stomach says otherwise, and he accepts the bread, chewing the last bites slowly, savoring its underwhelming taste.

You’ve been staring out there for a while.

Yeah. Maybe one day we’ll get to see it up close. At least he hopes so.

How? The Higher Ups will never let us out.

I still don’t understand. Kasen swallows the last stale mouthful. We’re supposed to believe Evenrise is a civilization built on peace and prosp-er-ity—he has to sound it out—but those living beyond the gates act as if we Slums don’t even exist.

Vonnie’s eyes look tender. We’ve managed okay for people who don’t exist.

But for how much longer? There has to be a way for us to show them we aren’t as bad as they believe us to be. There has to be some way, somehow, to stand up to Chantel. There has to be another way for us to live.

Vonnie isn’t a fool. No Slum resident—including Kasen—will ever be so foolish as to stand up to Chantel. But if anyone could find a way, it’d be him.

Sacred Born

As evening falls across Evenrise, so too does it sweep across the lands outside its borders.

The Uncharted Forest of the north is home to many Apparition Feral, hostile clans of deserters, outsiders, and those cast away after the Armies of Evil were dismantled. Here they built their own civilization, crafting their clothing from hides and their weapons from bone, dealing harshly with any intruders.

Which is why a small group of Feral creep quietly through the forest this night, spying on a stranger.

She’s only a young girl. She sits on crossed legs, meditating as the moonlight grants them a clear view of her.

She’s been like that all day, the Feral leader rasps.

This is our territory, whispers another. Let’s gut her and hang her insides over the trees. How else are we gonna get these intruders to piss off?

Easy, easy. Their leader hesitates. Look at how the moon illuminates her skin, her silken hair, that pliant pose. This is the girl I’ve been looking for my whole life.

With that decided, he steps from the shrubs to announce himself, his Feral soldiers following closely. She holds her pose, as if not even noticing they’ve surrounded her.

What’s a petite young lady such as yourself doing alone in the dark, scary woods? They grin maliciously as their leader speaks. The girl, however, remains unfazed.

Are you lost, or did you run away from home? Surely you know why no one wanders this far into the forest. You see my friends, don’t you? I’ll cut you a little deal, girlie: you come with me, and I’ll make sure my guys behave.

The girl finally speaks. Power. Her eyes open to reveal a light blue. "I’m the first descendant of the Sacred Aura line. I’ve been gifted a power that took my predecessor most of her life to attain.

But my potential has yet to be achieved."

Are you sure she’s your gal? A soldier nudges his leader. She seems rather mad.

None of you lowlifes could possibly comprehend. She rises to her feet. Each day I’m tested— no—limited by you depressingly inferior lot. How much longer must I waste my abilities on you?

Okay, girlie, you’ve talked enough. Now shut up or I’ll make you.

The leader lunges forward to grab the girl. In a flash, she draws her sword and slashes him deep across the waist. He falls, lifeless, his fluids pouring out for all to see. His comrades can hardly react as the girl throws herself into a spinning arc that cuts through all but one, leaving her in a circle of mutilated bodies.

The survivor catches her cold stare, his rough and tough demeanor crumbling to a frightened peep. He turns tail and flees into the dark forest.

Stupid little bitch, the fleeing Feral spits. She’ll pay as soon as I tell the boss.

But the Feral only has time to let out one last yelp before a second figure appears, racing through the trees at a grueling pace, and decapitates him. The severed head rolls next to the girl’s feet.

It’s not only power I seek—it’s also the symbol of that power, the girl muses, nudging the head aside with the insole of her boot. A blade only those of Sacred Aura can wield. The blade I’ll pry from your hands!

Her blue stare snaps up, landing upon the decapitator.

A majestic, tall, light-complexioned woman slips out from behind the nearby tree. She is dressed similarly to the girl—a white and blue combat outfit—and her blond hair is a mere few shades darker, as are her eyes, an emotionless indigo. She was the once mighty Kiera. Now she is only a mother. And not a good one, the girl thinks cruelly, wiping her bloody shoe in the grass.

My daughter, is power all you seek? The way Kiera speaks—it is as if she has given up all hope.

If I wasn’t born to surpass you, why was I born at all? Ashli coldly asks. There are no more pleasurable words to exchange. This training—no—this preparation. You can’t have put me through it for anything else.

What have you become? Kiera stares deep into her daughter’s cold eyes. I see nothing but anger and hate in you. Has your quest consumed you?

It’s anger and hatred for you, Mother. No matter how strong I become, no matter how well my abilities grow, I always fall short of your expectations. Once I cut you down with the Sacred Blade, she snarls, then maybe my anger and hate will fade.

Ashli assumes a combat stance. This time, she swears, she’ll be victorious.

Kiera stands firmly, accepting the challenge. You may try.

Ashli attacks, but she’s not fast enough. Kiera effortlessly dodges each swing. Ashli’s composure is scorched by her frustration; she slashes again and again, each blow harder and quicker than the last, whipping herself into a rage. Rage makes no difference. Kiera remains untouched.

A blade filled with anger and hate will never reach me. You must focus, daughter, Kiera instructs, elegantly dodging another strike.

The last thing I need is your advice, Ashli shouts. Talking mid-battle is her biggest pet peeve.

You believe you’re worthy to rule, but there’s so much more for you to understand. To gain such privilege, to know your potential and exceed it, you must cast away your weakness.

I have no weakness. Each second further enrages Ashli. When her next attack misses, a rib-breaking palm thrust sends her hurling into a tree. She rises, staggered, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood.

Bitch, she spits out, wiping her mouth. Before she can take another step, her limbs grow numb and she plops back to the ground, paralyzed by pain.

You’ve many weaknesses. Kiera stares down at her injured daughter with stern judgement. Your bravado and your selfish obsession will hinder you until you realize power requires much more than a title. Lie there and think. You’ll have plenty of time.

Kiera leaves Ashli to sulk, and Ashli does. She curses her mother in solitude, agonized by the memory of how many times she’s been so easily beaten down, all the more determined to surpass her.

Ashli is immobile through the night and well after sunrise. Every part of her aches, and each motion triggers more pain. She only stirs when the soil around her begins trembling with footsteps.

Hundreds—no—thousands, she thinks. Feral appear from the thick forest in droves. They form ranks behind a tall and slender man who strings them along as nonchalantly as he leads his woman by her wrist. Ashli supposes this is the boss the headless Feral mentioned yesterday.

"Seriously? This is the brat that’s been killin’ my guys