by Gold Baron
I had heard about the new capital, high above the clouds, but I didn't care then. I hunted the dragons; I blamed them for all my fears, and it gave me bittersweet satisfaction. I hunted the wizards, invulnerable always until I struck them with their own weapons, the heart of their dragon servants pumping in my hand, just as the blood flowed through my veins.
My power grew with each new kill, and so did my wickedness. My eyes... my eyes always changed, with each passing mood, at one moment a horrible green, the next a dull brown, and yet another a deep, violent purple, but always it returned to that same, burning red. It reflected my hatred, and so great was it that the elements bent to my will, sympathizing with my plight. Why did everything I touch wither and pass away? Oh why, God, have I fallen so far from thee? And even in that moment the laughter haunted me, and I sought the truth.
My travels had taken me to the very edge of my world, to the walls of the pandemonium floating above the lake of fire, my own little corner. And there did I see the stairs ascending, and there perched atop the cliff stood a tower, and toward that tower was I bent. And in that tower was a knight, bold and pure, just as I. And it was that knight then that offered me a choice, one final glimmer of hope.
He hung about my neck the pendant of his order, ancient and forgotten even by the eyes of Heaven. Their stronghold had, and always would, stand upon the edge of pandemonium, a last bastion of the passage of God, and now, after many generations, he was the last. And it was then that I took an oath, always to serve and to protect, to strive and to hold all that was good in the world, even in that which was above and below.
But the truth had burned inside of me as the pieces fell into place, of the vivid images, the forbidden memories of my past life, and I grew bitter. And he saw it; he always knew. His poison seemed to boil in my mind even as our swords had met atop the tower, the wood rafters aflame, sparks flaying fourth, like a lighthouse shining out its beacon across the desolate land, for which I finally saw for what it truly was.
And it was in that moment that my sword broke, his so powerful that it cleft through mine, and its scream was like a thousand cries, the flash snapping through the tower and slaying my foe. I then laid over my fallen foe, my one and only friend in this hell, the pendent spinning as it dangled from my neck, and my broken sword at my side.
I carried it with me, even as I stood atop the tower above the clouds, my true arch nemesis before me. His wicked hands reached forth from within the confines of his robes, which seemed to flame with his anger, even as he threw me from its top, and I plummeted down toward that oblivion from which I had tried so hard to escape.
But still I hung on, for her sake; I owed it to her. Devil may take her form, but I dug my sword into the stone as it raced past me, and I climbed with all my strength again to the top and cast him down to my feet, and conquered him; that is eternal. No light would shine forth as the robes fell to the ground, the Lord of Darkness beaten by his own design, and from him spread the infectious disease that had so poisoned his mind and cast him out of Paradise.
And even then I realized too late what I had done, as the dark cloud spread across the platform and twisted its way around her thin leg, and up her hips and across her stomach, around her arms and into her mouth, drinking it in like the sweet ambrosia. And it filled her, even as she turned her back to me and stepped from the platform. I vowed then and forevermore never to be used again, and to wreak my havoc on all those deserving of it. The crack formed on my heart so long ago split a little further, as a new path was chosen.
She looked down upon the world that I had created with a smile. From on high she watched the fruits of my labor. No more was she the sweet, delicate woman that I had fallen in love with so long ago. No, even her hair twisted into the raven black that was her. Her eyes were like obsidian, turning to ice even the sternest of men.
And even in the chaos that I had sewn, she found satisfaction, being that from which the universe began. She told me this when I confronted her, that all that had or ever would exist was because of her, or rather the thing that inhabited her.
All mythology seems to speak of the chaos, of the shadow that bore the first children, whose hands would create the pantheons that would create earth and all its many peoples. Little did they know how close they truly were.
I fought back the tears then as I clenched the broken sword firmly in my hands, and she too drew forth a wicked blade, both awesome and ridiculous, flaming. "Like the sun," she told me, "for like the sun, it too has the power to give and take life."
And how true she was, if only I had a life yet to give, for long ago had I died in a faraway place, though still my mind lingered a while longer. I knew what would happen as my small universe crumbled around me, shattering like glass, a broken reality.
She hung for a moment on the jagged edge of my blade; her eyes went wide as they faded to that same soft blue, her hair cascading down in the familiar blonde rows, and we stayed in that embrace, her in my arms, even as the horrible blade protruded from her back.
I looked into her eyes long and hard, though no glance would ever be returned. But I knew that, and long was the embrace of our kiss, my lips hot with passion and hers cold with the passing. And the ink poured down my throat like molten lead and burned my soul. The pendant about my neck chipped and cracked and sang in protest, just like my heart as it broke like crystal on the ground. Its pieces scattered to the four corners of the universe as the hell that had become mine bled into the world.
The blackness swallowed everything, but I struggled even in that eternal darkness. I forced it down, deep within me, like putting a cork on a bottle, fizzing like soda within me. And in the distance of my mind I saw the flickering neon lights and the dark streets and the depressing rain, and the dawn that would never come over the Dark City, even as my hatred kindled and burned like a star, always below the horizon, my own prison, the forge of my soul.
And like a hammer, the first piece struck my prison, my star that never rose, but kept that city warm from the cold space that surrounded it. I felt myself grow apart, so polarized was my personality, until finally I felt nothing but gray, even as the white and black fell upon the city. Never more would things be the same.