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// Chapter the I Swear this is Last Prologue! Seriously! 
// Story: Lord Blade 
// by Jex 
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	A curious thing to think about, how there are points in your life where every detail becomes a part of you, where every irrelevant matter matters for a split second. Where the shadows of your past dance on your fingertips, and your deep-buried secrets weave into your very clothes. Your universe is your own, yet you only make up a tiny thread of it, and you have all control and none over what you do and what happens to you. You are alive and dead to the world.

It was here, as I walked down that passageway, sealing my fate for better or for worse, that I became aware of this. The torches flickered on my skin even through the layers of ash, exposing everything about me should anyone find me. I kept walking. I was the hallway, I was the torches, and I was the ground upon which my feet gently placed themselves so as to keep moving. My whole life hung in a careful balance of disappearing and staying put, being discovered and remaining silent.

The torches glowed dimmer and dimmer as I descended into the passages, headed toward near-certain destruction. Winding staircases beckoned, inviting me to plunge into the depths of the castle. With so much at stake, and with so little time, there was no way I was taking any risks. I had only really seen this part of the castle when I was younger because... well... I may or may not have done a considerable amount of sneaking around in my childhood. This time, however, was different. It wasn’t just childish games anymore. My heart pounded louder at this prospect. I hoped desperately my memory would not fail me.

Just when I thought I’d gotten lost, the nearly pitch-black passageways opened up to a sizable antechamber, just as I remembered. Ash gargoyles stood sentinel at the door, which was a massive black carving of every type of demon imaginable, with the words Intrant, et peribunt. Insidet hie igne irae inscribed in ornate lettering across the arching frame. Well, that was reassuring. I paused, facing the door. Behind it lay the difference between life and death, the way out or the way to stay in forever. I stood, contemplating this. For how long, I don’t know.

A thunderous noise (I think it was a footstep or an angry Ira falling out of bed) brought me back to my senses. My heart froze in my chest and tried to crawl out of my mouth. I was paralyzed, unable to think of a place to hide. I inhaled slowly and surveyed my surroundings. There appeared to be a small crevice between a column and the ledge surrounding the top of the door frame. Knowing I couldn’t possibly climb without damaging something, I blinked there and curled up in a ball, hardly daring to breathe.

Ira threw the door open a few minutes later and emerged with an expression on his face that would have warranted fire spewing from his eye sockets. Luckily, that doesn’t happen, even in the sixth level of Hell. The door crashed into the column I was perched on and violently shook the entire antechamber. I kept my balance, but only narrowly. He was grumbling about something, but I couldn’t decipher his guttural snarling through the ruckus he’d engendered. Hopefully Sergei hadn’t informed him of anything. Otherwise, I was dead meat. Probably worse than dead meat, actually. 

He stormed off down the hall, his claws ripping gashes on the floor, tearing up clouds of ash. Yeah, he was that mad. It was at least a minute before the ashes settled and I could no longer hear his ongoing rampage. I silently blinked back down to the floor and slunk my way across the hall, daring to peek into the royal chambers themselves.

Having never seen them before, I took a moment to stand there and take in what I could see before I even could bring myself to step inside. The chambers were dark, just like everything else I suppose. It looked like someone had taken my room and roughly doubled its size honestly. I wasn’t really that impressed, practically disappointed. You had your standard oversized wardrobe, your average giant 4-poster bed with average black curtains, your totally nondescript glass case containing a large grey and black iron key. Wait, hold on a second!

I did a double take. There was the key, right there in a large glass display case against the far wall! I crossed the room in a single blink, stopping myself just before snatching the key. Now wait a minute, I thought to myself, this can’t possibly be that easy. I stood and contemplated that key for a while, getting a couple of false starts. Reaching out and snatching my hand back like I expected it to bite me or blow my arm off, which I guess was entirely a possibility. I took a deep breath, shot my hand out, opened the case, grabbed the key and leapt back. Nothing happened.

I stayed there for about a minute, waiting for some horrible body-rending curse to tear me apart, rend my muscle from bone and blood and everything in between. Everything was quiet except for my heart and lungs. I could almost hear my blood flowing. No alarm sounded, no imps came to maim me, nothing.

I don’t know how long I stood there. It could have been a second, or an hour. I slowly turned the key over in my hand. It was black with slightly raised grey designs, similar to the ones I had seen on his door. Inscribed among the miniscule demons were the words  “Quod per ignem et flammam ferat,” just like they were in my dream. I stared at it disbelief. Here it was, the key to all of my father’s weapons, and by extension, the Scythe and all the family secrets it carried with it. All of that... with just a piece of black and grey iron.

I replaced the lid of the case and turned to leave with the key in my hand. I wondered whether it would have been a good idea to make a fake one... I should have done that. But it was too late now. I poked my head around the door and scanned the passageway for any signs of life. Seeing and hearing nothing, I turned left and paced off sixty-six steps down the hallway. I knew it was there. I stopped and turned my head to the left. 

There it stood, a gargantuan monolith easily twenty feet tall. The door to the armory. Its black face was impressed with eight words; “Flammis in regnum aeternum, ut sedeant ad pugnam.” I couldn’t see a keyhole. I slowly approached the door, looking to either side of me once more, scrutinizing the darkness for unwanted visitors.

When I reached the door, I ran my fingers over its jagged black surface, searching for a keyhole. After some scouring, my claw snagged. There it was. Whipping out the key, I slowly inserted it into its rightful place and was rewarded with a satisfying click and pop. The door was unlocked. I swung it open and stepped into the darkness beyond.

There was no echo in my footsteps. This must be some sort of antechamber. The armory itself couldn’t possibly be this small, I told myself. Though it was pitch black, I started walking, my hands out in front of me in case I ran into something.

I had figured the room couldn’t be more than about ten feet across, but as I continued walking, my eyes adjusted and I passed the outlines of weapons. This was the armory, a long, narrow hallway lined with weapons. Swords and daggers, spears and glaives, forged for the masses of imps and gorgons that fought in the Old Wars against Sunderbane, or at least, the ones that survived, peppered the racks and shelves. As I moved farther back, gargantuan battle axes, halberds, and scythes designed for humanoid warriors on demon horses took shape. Suits of armor built for larger demons stood sentinel in between racks of lances and morningstars. I even passed my father’s own armor and greatsword, towering over the other weapons. But as I reached the end of the room, nothing could have prepared me for monstrosities looming in the darkness, horrors I had only heard of in stories.

There they stood, colossal curved blades at least fifteen feet high, radiating a faint red glow within the designs on the enchanted steel. At their bases were massive cuffs to fit over the arms of their bearers; the Excubiars, immense war machines with no purpose other than complete and utter destruction. Lovely. They towered over me, even though they weren’t attached to anything other than the stands which held them up. I examined their honed edges, riddled with holes and barbs for a swifter kill. At the top, along where the top of the forearm presumably was meant to fit, was a spike with a dulled edge on the back. I figured it could actually be a decent refuge spot... if you managed to get up there. And surely the Excubiar would do away with you in good time anyway.

None of the behemoths remained anywhere in hell now, at least to my knowledge, and it had been that way for as long as anyone could remember. Whatever demon found themselves in possession of their weapons was a very lucky one indeed. These blades, when paired and strapped onto the arms of an Excubiar, were fabled to have the ability to wipe out entire hordes of enemies. The monstrosity of metal would swing them in a whirling arc, low to the ground and slice armies clean in half in a great wave of demonic energy. I, for one, was more than glad they were no longer in existence, and that all that remained were their towering weapons, safely separated from their inactive bodies.

As my eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, a slightly lighter shape came into view between the two Excubiars. It had to be the door leading to the Scythe. Such a powerful weapon would require... tighter security. I explored the door, looking for a handle or keyhole, but found none on its entire smooth surface. How was I supposed to get in? There had to be a way. I paced back through the armory and out the door, propping it open with a knife off one of the racks. I grabbed a torch in the hall and carried it in for better light.

I scoured the shelves and racks for anything that might be of use to me in getting through the door at the other end. It could be anything. A certain weapon to remove, a place to push, a written or spoken password, or any combination of those. I even started pushing on individual stones in the walls to see if they were buttons. Nothing stood out, which I suppose is the point of hidden door latches. I even tried to blink in, but someone had apparently kept that in mind when designing the security systems around here. Pain lanced through my brain as I tried to blink. Stupid blocking spells. Eventually, I just went and stood in front of the smooth metal frame. 

I glared at it, walking up and pressing my nose against its shiny surface, as though the sheer intimidation factor of my red eyes would force it to open. “Tell me your secrets, door.” I commanded. As you might expect, nothing happened. Heck, I was talking to a metal door! What did I think would happen? Finally, as a last resort, I pressed my hand against the middle of my greatest foe and pushed. Again, nothing. I pushed a little harder. Nope, still didn’t budge. I stepped back to the other end of the room and crashed into the door in a full sprint, probably bruising at least my shoulder in the process. Nothing happened.

Infuriated, I racked my claws across its disgustingly shiny face... and felt my flaw snag on something. I held the torch up to investigate. It was a tiny, unnoticeable dent,  the door, barely noticeable. I would never have found it had I not caught my claw on it. I gave it a small tug.

The door swung open with a small creak.

Pull, not push. I’m pretty sure my eye twitched. I opened my mouth to say something to the empty room, then slowly closed it, deciding that there were no words to describe my feelings right then. Heaving a deep sigh and clenching my fists to relieve my unbelieveable frustration, I stepped into the room beyond, holding the torch high. This turned out to be unnecessary. The moment I crossed the threshold, the room blazed to life in an eruption of fire.

The room was far larger than I had expected, stretching away much like the Library had. Two wide grooves had been cut into the floor at the base of the walls, filled with some kind of flammable liquid. As I entered the place, flames raced down either track, leaping and licking up the walls, setting the entire room up in blazing glory. And there in the middle, imbedded in a rock pedestal, it rested. The Scythe of Belial, the tip of its mighty blade buried nearly a foot into the rock. 

What a sight it was! Its wickedly curved and jagged blade, forged out of compressed obsidian with beautifully inlaid designs made of bloodruby filament, stretched out to a full length at least my height. The handle was long, slender and white, assumedly carved from some kind of bone. I would put money on Eternal Dragon crest bone. The entire weapon was surrounded by a barely noticeable swirling red aura which seemed to wind its way around the blade. 

I let out a shout of joy and rushed forward to grab my prize only to stop abruptly. The Scythe was watching me. Think that sounds weird? Trust me, it was way worse to experience. Right at the thickest part of the blade, where it attached to the handle, was a large yellow eye. For a second I thought it was decoration, some kind of carved jewel. Then it blinked and swiveled to look at me. I could see my reflection in its glassy slit pupil. On a scale of things that were okay to things that were not okay, this was really REALLY not okay with me. 

It watched me, I watched it. It blinked again. I was horrified. Gingerly, I took few steps toward it, staring into its sinister eye all the while. Fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet. 

“Umm... hi?” I said tentatively. The eye was still glued on my face, but it didn’t say anything. That was to be expected I guess. Much like the door behind me, the weapon didn’t have a mouth. I really needed to get out of the habit of talking to inanimate objects before it became a serious problem. The eye watched me for just a second longer, judging my every move, before languidly sliding shut. I breathed a sigh of relief and edged closer.

The glowing energy of the Scythe swept out around me like a whirlwind as I got closer. I could feel tingles of electricity running up and down my spine and spines. At this point, I could easily grab the handle and yank it out of the rock, but something told me it wouldn’t be quite that easy. Perhaps it was the red swirling around the blade, or the eye itself, or maybe just everything about this monstrosity that stood before me. The energy slowly dissipated as I reached my hand out to grab that magnificent handle.

“Well, let’s see if I’m fit to be the rightful king of England.” I said with a grin. I’m still quite proud of that line, though no one was around to hear me. I read it in one of the books once. No idea what it really meant. Wart had always seemed like a wimp to me, but then again, I wasn’t? I wrapped my claws firmly around the bone white handle and pulled. Nothing happened. That seemed to be a recurring theme these days.

I pondered the Scythe for a second, panic rising in my chest. What if I wasn’t meant to have the Scythe? What if I couldn’t even pull it out and then someone found my decapitated and rotting form floating sickly in the Ash Lake?

It was then I noticed that the eye on the blade had opened again. It gave me what I suppose was its equivalent of a sarcastic eye roll, which basically meant just flipping around in its socket. It returned its gaze to me and seemed to glare condescendingly. 

“What!?” I shouted at it. “I can’t get you out of this darn rock! You’re stuck, or maybe you’re just that heavy! Lose some damn weight!” Maybe that wasn’t very nice but I was frustrated, okay? What happened next scarred me for life, I swear.

Pull harder, you idiot! A soft, harsh whisper resounded through my skull. I stared blankly at the Scythe. It continued to glare back at me. Remember when I said I was really not okay with the Scythe watching me? Well how do you think I felt when it talked in my head? I was ready just to flip the nearest table and walk. But instead, I pulled. I pulled until veins popped on my arms and forehead. I pulled until cracks began running through the stone pedestal. One final heave, and it came apart with a loud CRACK!

I stood there panting. “All hail the true and rightful king,” I whispered breathlessly.

There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it? I raised an eyebrow at the eye. It looked back unblinkingly. 

I stepped back with my prize in hand. It was surprisingly lighter than I thought, but then again, it was mostly Eternal Dragon bone. The last chunks of the pedestal settled on the floor, motionless. I had done it! The Scythe was mine and mine alone! Now all I had to do was figure out how to use it. I decided to test it on the shores of the lake, but just as I was about to turn to leave, the rubble on the floor suddenly jumped and a rumbling cacophony behind me filled my eardrums. Here was the catch I had expected all along. 

Slowly, I turned around to face the noise, and jumped about ten feet in the air. The walls behind me were glowing red. Not red like the fire around me, but a deep crimson, the color of my own blood. Stupidly, I hid behind the Scythe, as if it would provide me some sort of protection from whatever I had to face behind that wall. I could feel the heat radiating through it, so intense that it probably singed the scales on my arms. I didn’t dare move until I had to.

If I had thought the rumbling through the wall was loud, nothing could have possibly prepared me for the boom that probably resonated through the entire castle as the wall came crashing down before my eyes. Literally, it exploded, sending chunks of compacted ash flying and landing everywhere... but me.

I cracked an eye open to see how I wasn’t severely dead. Skeptically, I poked my head around the handle and had to close my eyes and open them again to know that what I was seeing was real. Somehow, the Scythe had arranged its bizarre red filaments into a sort of... forcefield. Nothing could hit me, I realized as the chunks of debris bounced and fizzled harmlessly off of the shield.

I didn’t have much time to marvel at this wonder, however, because a massive fifteen foot blade came hurtling in from my left and smacked me up into whatever was left of the wall to my right. I grunted in pain, having broken at least a couple of ribs from the impact. I slid down the wall, painfully spread my wings, and flew to the other end of the room, where I was safe. Of course, “safe” is only a relative term when there are two perfectly functional army-destroying death machines in the room.

You heard me right. Two. Full-grown. Excubiars. They stood twenty five feet tall, each equipped with its massive blades, ready to kill. But what was truly horrifying about them was their eyes. In the place of eyeballs like your average demon, the Excubiars had nothing but empty sockets, each radiating a small pinpoint of red light. As I looked a little closer, I noticed small streams of smoke swirling around each eye socket. You heard me right. Their eyes were literally on fire.

Are you going to just stand there? I shuddered. That voice had a way of grating against your very brain. Of course, it was also offering helpful battle advice, if “get out of the way of the giant monster” could really be considered advice. I figured I may as well listen to it. I snatched up the scythe and held it out if front of me, testing its weight and balance. It seemed to fit me perfectly. The handle fit snugly in my grip, and I figured I could swing the blade almost effortlessly through the air.

The Excubiars thundered closer. I pulled the scythe back over my shoulder, ready to strike. The one on the right was nearer to me. As soon as its legs were in range, I lunged forward and swung the scythe around in front of me to hit it... and missed entirely. I landed on the floor and skidded about fifteen feet before I rolled over and stood up. Again, I charged the behemoth and brought the scythe whirling around, and again I missed. I managed to keep my balance this time, but not before another gargantuan blade swept me into the wall.

I stumbled forward, dazed. How could I get this thing to work? It didn’t seem to ever go where I wanted it to. I’d never had any problems with swords before. Why should a scythe be any different? I desperately wracked my brain for any helpful hint from the stories I’d heard, but remembered nothing other than the fact that the scythe seemed to obey Sunderbane’s very thoughts...

Thoughts. Dangit, I just had to think! Which, I admit, was something I wasn’t doing very well that day. As the Excubiar I had first attacked lumbered toward me, I focused all of my thoughts on the scythe. I pulled my weapon back and jumped toward the creature. Right leg, I said inside my head. My aim was impeccable, the glowing aura around the scythe’s blade cleaving straight through the metal with a blast of steam and shattered the metal-reinforced bone within. Wow, this weapon was scary.

The Excubiar tottered on its remaining leg and began to fall, but caught itself on its two blades. It slowly raised one of its arms to strike. Same thing to the arm, I thought to the scythe.

I’ll need some help then, stupid! I can't swing myself, the grating voice resounded in my head. How rude! I sprinted at the beast and sprung up off the ground toward the grounded blade, and with the propulsion of the scythe, bounded off of the notch between the butt of the blade and the forearm of the giant toward its armored shoulder. As soon as I’d reached it, however, the monster’s free arm came swinging down toward me, right at my head. I leapt out to meet it, holding the scythe high above my head. Shatter it, I thought, and swung the scythe down in a beautiful arc down and lodged its point straight into the Excubiar’s wrist. I followed its arc behind and it flipped me over, on a track around the colossal arm and toward the floor below.

It was at this point I realized I was approximately twenty feet off the ground. The scythe dislodged from the monster and brought itself around over my head. I tucked myself in a ball and hurtled toward the ground, flipping around with the scythe in hand. As I reached the ground, I extended my legs slightly to absorb the shock and rolled away from the impact, distributing the force through my shoulders. I stood up from the roll and looked back at my foe as it toppled down.

I could only focus on it for a second, however, because the other one, though it had chosen to stay away from me up until this point, was now charging and swinging the blade in its right hand at me. I tried to blink out of the way, but the blade came crashing into my side and I hurtled into the wall with a sickening CRUNCH. I couldn’t tell, but I was pretty sure that meant at least a couple more broken ribs. At least it wasn’t my legs.

I had forgotten that this place had somehow disabled my blinking abilities. I painfully pushed myself up off of the ground and picked up the scythe. Although it had protected me from getting sliced clean in half on multiple occasions, the sheer force of the blow had wrenched it from my grasp. Taking a deep breath, I resumed my fighting position, favoring my left side and its broken bones.

“Come on, ugly,” I growled at the war machine. “I’m could kill you in my sleep!” Slowly, it raised the blade high above its head. Lines of black and red demon energy flowed along the edge of the mighty sword. The Excubiar brought the blade down with a great crash, a wave of energy rippled out, carving a line through the floor and ceiling, hurtling towards me. I held the scythe out in front of me, the woven bloodruby shield whipping into place. Digging my claws into the solid stone of the floor, I braced for impact, knowing full well that no one had ever survived a direct hit from this attack.

The wave washed over me. I wrapped my wings tightly around my body to block out the heat and light. Pressure began to build behind my eyes, my ears started ringing, tingling sensations ran up and down my spine. It was like someone had filled the room with an ocean’s worth of water and it was trying to crush the life out of me. The energy was so powerful it became a physical thing and I couldn’t breathe. The ringing grew louder and louder before everything exploded around me. The room ripped itself apart. Chunks of masonry and ash flew everywhere. The bloodruby filament extended around my body, cocooning me in glowing red wires. There must have been a set amount of the things, because I could see gaps and lines through the shield. Finally, the dust settled.

The blast had knocked the mighty war machine back into the armory proper, as well as tearing out the wall behind me. I could see the light of the outside! I immediately limped towards it, clutching my shattered ribs, hearing the grinding gears of the monster behind me as it levered itself back up. I reached the shattered wall and stared out over the Ash Lake. The only way out was to fly, and that was going to hurt a lot. 

As I heard the lumbering steps of the metal giant behind me, I took a deep breath and launched myself off the edge. The wind whistled past me, blowing my hair out blasting over my spines. With a spike of agony, I flared my wings out in one great burst, pulling a hairpin turn and rocketing towards the ceiling of the Sixth, gritting my teeth against the pain with every flap. I had no idea how to use the scythe and it was being rather untalkative. I hoped it would work like blinking, just imagine where you want to go and poof!

“Here goes nothing!” I shouted over the howling wind. Just feet away from the rock ceiling, not slowing down a bit, I wished with all my heart to be away from here and swung the Scythe of Belial. 

There was a tearing noise like ripping parchment, a flash of light, then darkness. And a howling roar of pure anger and hatred from somewhere far below me. A rage that could be from no one. None, but my father.