The Dark Templar
...ower. The angels' wings were tucked in tight to its body. A white tunic and white pants adorned the rest of the angel. Its lips were moving. The angel was speaking to Lyon, but the man couldn't hear him. He couldn't feel the angels' presence. His heart had grown dark and had hardened. He was no longer in tune with his guardian. He felt alone, but he was far from it. All around Petherel and the fallen templar the darkness moved. Ripples of black like a stirring bog moved near them. The disturbance moved along the ground, the walls, the ceiling. All around them. Evil. Above them, far above them atop the mountains gray surface creatures of the night roamed. Vampires descended from the moonlit night onto the mountain. They weren't alone. Among the vampire flight were vampiric drakes carrying something considered more than a vampire. A necromancer. Xenn Netook's sitting body lazily rose up and down on the back of the flapping creatures. Something like a throne had been made for the necromancer on the back of the creatures. The two drakes slowly in unison came to the ground. His two black booted feet crunched onto the rocky surface. Netook bent his neck left and right and began to narrow his eyes. He began to channel the magics within him. Back below, suddenly the ripples of black became waves along the caverns' sides. Petherel's spiritual garments actually fluttered in the great gust of evil. Lyon looked up. The cavern was still black but he could hear something now. A small voice whispered to him. It was distant but familiar. A chill ran through him. Petherel pulled his sword. Demons. A great evil was near. It came from above and from here below. Petherel looked up. All around dark magics were working. Necropotency. Lyon heard noises more solid, more concrete around him. Behind the rocks muffled thuds could be heard. Something banging. Scraping. Undead. Lyon nervously looked around. Petherel did the same. The threat was all around them but mostly the angel could sense it. Petherel spun. Behind him! "Garand....." the voice called. To Petherel the voice was dark and evil broiling with anger, hate, deceit. The voice was masculine heavy, deep, and forceful. To Garand, the voice was that of his lost love. The chill up his spine spread to the rest of his body. Breathlessly he mouthed the word 'what?' His lips quivered. The words he heard were unintelligible audible noises. Feelings of her. "Bethal?" he croaked out. Petherel turned back to Lyon. "Garand, no." He stated raising his weapon. "It's a trick of the false one!" "Bethal?" Garand could barely hear anything. The pounding blood in his temples clouded all else. His eyes were filled with tears. He couldn't stop shaking his heart was pounding uncontrollably. "Back fallen one!" Petherel shouted. The angel held the sword level with one hand and turned back putting his fingers on Garand’s forehead. "Garand," he spoke hastily, "Garand, look at me." But the fallen one seemed to speak the same words, calling the man to look at it. A fake visage. Garand could see her. Blurred through tears, everything was wavering but her image was clear, unspoiled. "Bethy," he whispered. The fallen thing nodded. Petherel took both hands to his weapon and focused on the fallen angel. He turned his head and looked back to Garand as he spoke, "Garand, remember the haunted? Remember the exorcisms? Remember the demons Garand! Don't give into this power!" the angel urged. The fallen angel smiled, "Garand, I am here love...." Garand stammered over his words, "but, but..." he put his hand to his forehead trying to stop his mind from rationalizing her being here. She was dead, the Templars had-- "Garand don't let me slip away," the fallen one called. Choking on his words Garand spat out, "what?" "My spirit Garand... you can still save me......" "Back dark one!" Petherel shouted snapping the sword up and down on the air between them. "Lyon, Garand!" the angel called out."You've seen this trick before! Don't be deceived!" Tears streaming down his face Garand offered out the word, "how? How do I save you?" "Garand no!" The fallen angel spoke on two planes. To Petherel he said, "if you wish to strike me then do so brother. I will not stop you, I cannot stop you..." the fallen one smiled. "But he can." To Lyon the fallen angel whispered, "let go Garand, forget about the Order and the Templars." The mans' face tightened. "Forget about the covenant. You are alone without me.... forget about everything. Just call me. Accept me.... Summon me Garand..... Release me...." All around the templar the gravestones fell away and undead creatures made their way out in various states of decay. Zombies. "Lyon! Garand! Reject the dark thing! Banish him!" Petherel looked back his hollow eyes glowing bright with energy. "I cannot do it for you! Call upon God's power Garand, he can save you from this snare!" And Garand called, but not upon God. Upon the fallen. Upon the dark. It closed round him as the zombies closed in on him, swallowing him in darkness..... The fallen angel stood against his holy brother, at the tip of his sword. "Garand!" Petherel called, but it was too late. The dark angel smiled. To Garand he spoke, "fear not love... fear not... There is only me.... Call me Garand.... Claim me as your all..." but to Petherel he spoke, "dearest brother," he said as he touched Petherel's hand. "Away with your weapon. You are impotent without his willingness to be saved. He will fall Petherel...." the dark one cocked an eyebrow, "he already has." They could both hear the man's thoughts. His mind raced but he was resolute. His desire was to give in. He knew it was illogical and deep down impossible he knew especially that death was death. He knew that this had to be some familiar spirit ministering damnation to him. But he didn't care. All of his faith had been broken. This was all that was left. The fallen spirit pushed Petherel's sword away. The angel that so closely resembled the templar lowered his head and his weapon. The dark angel walked past him. "Go find another vessel to guard," it said smiling. The light in Petherel's eyes faded as the dark horde made off. More zombies pulled from their graves and made their way slowly past the angel. The mass that swallowed Garand moved along in procession carrying him in their midst. The golden chain that had ornamented the angel's neck dulled and then began to crack. It slowly fell to pieces, disappearing before it was halfway to the ground. His charge was lost. The fallen angel had won. Its voice spoke. "When you report this to the Templars' other guardians, tell them Medathar took your vessel." Medathar.... Petherel's shoulders rose as if the angel were breathing. His eyes flared to a brilliant sudden white and he quickly spun around. "Medathar!" he called so forcefully that the fallen one stopped and turned. "It isn't over." For a moment an awkward look crossed Medathar's face. A mix of fear and uncertainty but subtle in both respects. Then the fallen angel regained his composure a dark smile blooming. "That isn't your choice now is it?" Petherel's eyes slowly faded back to a dull white, leaving the cavernous hall empty, and growing darker. * * * * The moon was veiled behind clouds of gray. The sky was filled with stars that broke through the clouds twinkling above. Xenn Netook stood in the darkness cloaked in his high round collared black robe, hood pulled back. His shoulders slowly slouched and the necromancer relaxed, the summoning magics left him. The calling was done. Netook stood up on the mountain over the mouth of the burial tomb. He made his way to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the army amassed there. Zombies in various states of decay drolled out of the mouth. Netook noticed a clump of them in the procession carrying something with them. As the group cleared the opening Netook also noticed something in the midst of them. A spirit. A dark spirit. Not a demon, but a fallen angel. He could feel it more than see it, his senses became quite attuned to the spirit world after he'd summoned up Lothahar. He grimaced at the memory of the demon. That plan had all too quickly gone to moot. Demons were extremely tricky and fallen angels worse. Medathar stood behind the procession bringing Garand out and turned to look up at Netook. The necromancer could hear the fallen angel's word reverberate in his mind, he could barely catch a visual of the spirit but a red glimmer in the dark looked like evil eyes. "Ahhhh..." Medathar began. "Caller.... summoner....." Netook set his jaw. Fear was something Netook had mastered, even fear of demons and spirits. He had summoned his first demon long ago and had even called a fallen angel once, but it had all led to Lothahar. For a moment fear rose within Xenn. "Do not fear..... necromancer. Your power is respected, as is your will." The angel seemed to become more apparent, more corporeal. "It seems Lothahar taught you some discipline, discernment, and respect." The angel let the comment linger. Netook simply nodded. "If you would join me....." * * * * Xenn took a few steps through the grass at the base of the mountain. The fallen angel was now a translucent thing but had some humane features, a basic human body structure and a pair of black wings at the back of the creature, the wings sharp and glassy in appearance. Netook could also catch the mouth of the spirit. It was a simple expression, but the corner of its mouth was curved as if it wanted to be a smile. The spirit seemed confident and sure of itself, intelligent and calculating. "I have a gift for you great summoner." The angel said nodding to Netook. It dropped to one knee and regally swept its wing over the zombie crowd. At the front of the mob Garand was crouched. He had been there the whole tim...