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~A broken piece written several years ago~
Charging through Oblivion, his horses with nary a breath, spectral flames in his eyes, his dark cloak billowing behind. He has no blood, no heart, no life. His horses are beasts of the dark. Clusters of chaos shatter as he tramples through, they scream in agony and sparkle in darkest light, reaching out to grapple his cloak. Wisps of plague fetter the dark hooves and erupt like sparks upon the cobbles of broken eternity. Pillars of broken promises amass before him, the shattered remains of his army stand before him. Beasts of his darkness crawl upon their dragging bellies to catch a glimpse, perhaps to feed.
The master brought flesh victims of plague, the choking rot of carrion drawing the belly crawlers forward at an astonishing speed. The plague devourers, as they came to be known, dragged themselves pathetically to the corpses and began to feast, viciously fighting over scraps.
"Ease, my pets, there is more than enough," The man uttered with a wispy, cold breath.
His voice was as the sound of a soldiers dying breath.
Scores of the Plague Devourers crawled forth, all of different sizes, As they gorged themselves, the essence of death gathered like vapors from the now ravaged corpses, creeping across the floor with dreaded whispers. Mindless soldiers of decay rose, animated by the strings of chaos. Slowly, they added themselves to the ranks, weeping children scurrying aside as they shambled forth. The tears of plague children fed the darkness, holding the seams of their pocket of existence together.
The women of the ranks slowly deteriorated into nothing. From the bowels of their essence, their being twisted into the vaporous forms of banshees, their screams echoing through the void to haunt the living. Their shapes twisted and curled into itself, movement never ceasing. Now free from their mortal shells, they fly all over the sky wailing their misery, gaseous clouds trailing behind.
Having fed his pets, the man began to walk towards the broken spires. As he approached the rubble, the scattered pieces enveloped in dark clouds and hovered before him, arranging themselves to scale upward, the pieces all a mans pace apart. The man stepped upon them without hesitation or thought. The makeshift stairs led him upward toward the darkened sky. A ledge, of sorts, appeared through the clouds, it's likeness of black ice, sparkling and glittering, yet black beneath. The man stopped.
"So..." he mused loudly, seemingly to the air around him.
As he spoke, a portion of the ledge in front of him rippled like goo. It manipulated itself and built its own form, stretching out of the ledge and spreading out and upward. It reshaped into a complex mass of black ichor. It was solid, yet it rippled like goo. The man touched a bony finger to the surface, and a young man emerged, half his body still contained within the goopy mass. His body emanated a soft, golden glow that suddenly illuminated the ledge. Banshees nearby screamed as his hansom face emerged. They flew by him wailing, circling him like vultures.
"John, wasn't it?" the man asked as he starred at his captive.
"Where's Eva?" John uttered breathlessly.
"You're mortal wife is dead," the man stated gruffly.
"She is NOT mortal! Where-"
"The one called 'Eva' is dead," he held out a wedding band and dropped it in front of John's face, "I warned you."
John's eyes widened as he starred unblinkingly at the ring. It was unmistakably Eva's. The man smiled as John's frow wrinkled, his eyes producing tears.
"I told you she would be the one to die if you didn't cooperate with me."
"Beast! Monster! Abomination! How could you destroy something so pure?!" John sputtered through his tears, "Do you hold NOTHING sacred? Do the bonds of love mean nothing to you?! I swear, I will tear you asunder! I will expose your dark, diseased inerds to the light, and be there a heart within your rotting corpse, I'll take it as a trophy! I WILL AVENGE MY WIFE AND ONLY YOUR CORPSE WILL DO!!"
A silence fell between them, excluding the constant wails of the banshees above. For a long moment, the man said nothing.
"Are you through?" he finally asked.
"I will only be through when you are run through my blade!"
The man almost seemed to roll his eyes, if he had any, and let out a mild, groan-like rasp from his throat.
"You immortals and your 'soul-mate' obsessions and your 'holier-then-thou' attitude. Don't you realize that if you don't care...nothing can hurt you? I mean really," the man started to chuckle, "the only thing separating you from mortals is 'I' and 'M'."
The man apparently found this very amusing and proceeded to laugh at his own joke. John burned inside.
"To exist without caring would make a hollow existence," John whispered.
The man at last calmed himself.
"You've put me in a good mood, so lets have a little fun. There's a vortex that is very punctual with it's appearances around here. Care to guess where it leads to?"
John said nothing, but started to feel the mass around him turning back to goo.
"On the other side," he continued, "is a path to your sanctuary, through the chaotic springs of battle and drifting tides that create out our middle ground."
"I will NOT run from the likes of you!" John sputtered as he started to pull against the goop, feeling the substance pulling back.
John grunted as he pulled and strained through the goo, his flesh stinging like the substance had tiny hooks all over, pulling his back, denying his freedom.
'ignore the pain, ignore the pain...' he chanted in his mind as he fought, 'sweet Eva...' He pulled harder. The pain increased, but he also felt his body pulling away. He began to focus on his torso, pushing his body forward.
All of a sudden, one of his arms thrusted forward, free of restriction. One of his armlets flew off and skidded across the icey-black ledge. The man, who had been watching with interested, grabbed John's arm in a flash and thrust it back deep into the goopy mass. With the other hand, he pushed John's other arm deeper. John's head and part of his chest were all that emerged now, his head the only thing free to move. He struggled against the man, but now his arms were in so deep, there was nothing he could do.
"NO-O-O-O!!!" John screamed in open defiance, his eyes filled with burning hatred.
"Oh, come now, wouldn't your 'sweet Eva' want you to make it out of here? To fight me with all your strength and power of the 'holy' light?" the man taunted.
The man put his relaxed palm before John's face.
"I am all powerful here. I shape and control EVERYTHING here."
The man flipped his palm upwards, then began to focus. The surrounding darkness immediately was sucked into his hand. It swirled with false light and ominous clouds. John became transfixed, the swirling like the formation of a star within the palm of this twisted corpses hand. The man slowly brought his face down to Johns level, and taking a sickening rasp that was apparently a breath, he blew the cloud into John's face. The cloud forced it's way into his mouth and nostrils. He coughed heavily, the pestilence resting in and infecting his insides. Blood began choking it's way up his throat as he wheezed. His golden glow faded dramatically as his body began to feel heavy and weak.
The goop encasing his began to recede, leaving him face down on the cold ledge. He felt sick and weak, but something told him he had to move, and he had to do it NOW. He struggled to get himself to his feet, stumbling as he lifted himself.
The man glanced up as John steadied himself, "Right on time," he said casually.
John looked up and saw a violent vortex overhead. It was filled with twisting light, both false and true. It was the way home, the way to Eva. She was waiting for him...wasn't she? No, she HAD to be!
He spread his wings and pushed off the ground with impressive force. He beat his wings hard and fast. The screams of banshees made his ears ring. They were chasing him. They grabbed and pulled at his pure white and gold garments. They pulled hard, slowing his rise. He watched as the vortex began to close. Fear engulfed his heart. In defiance and desperation, he reached towards the light swirling within the vortex and drew upon it. He pulled the light to his hand and formed a sword. It was weak, but enough. Crying out with vengeance, John hacked away the wisped forms holding him at bay and beat his wings with all his strength, pushing him through the vortex to the other side and disappearing to freedom.
Far beneath him, still watching from the ledge, the man started laughing.
"Well, I'll be damned, he made it!"
He turned to a woman laying on her side, obviously plague-ridden and in agony. She had been hidden by the sickly clouds hanging about the surface of the ledge. The shroud lifted off her and wisped away. She lay motionless, her haggard breath loud and pitiful.
"What do you think he'll say when he finds out you're still alive?"
~End Prologue~
(I remember DSoTSC/NTotSC once made the baby available in a werewolf in the Ulcaster Ruins 
)
and try your light version.
