|The Demon (standard:fantasy, 784 words)|
|Author: Unsun||Added: Oct 11 2000||Views/Reads: 2895/5||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A true evil, brought to being by the magic of this world, faces a youthful warrior.|
" Death which is the absence of life. Cold which is the absence of heat. Darkness which is the absence of life. Silence which is the absence of sound. These things are have power here given form by the currents of magic that course through this world. They are the forces that sustain me. I cannot in any shape way or form, use light or life I cannot heal for example. Any act of healing would be my undoing if I were to perform it. If performed by another it must be a healing equal in power to the force which sustains me." rattled the unvoice. A photo negative of speech. The elegant demon before him was truly a creature of nightmares. Human in general form, and anything but in details. Cloaked in smooth flowing patterns of woven silver, gold and black.The tunic and loose fitting breeches, were a war of light and dark. The calm auric light of the gold and the cool light of the silver burned against the un-light of the black cloth. The deep swirling black un-cloth that sucked at the existence surrounding it. From his feet, clad in boots of the same un-cloth, up through his cloak and tunic he was a portrait of the battle between light and dark, a grim one at that. The only distraction from the elegant battle between the un-cloth and the fine spun silver and gold cloth was the sword that hung from his heavily worked belt. The belt itself was a fine interbraiding of the three substances but the real interest lay in the sword. A thin splinter of a blade that looked more appropriate sewing clothes than dispatching enemies. But the sheath that contained it, looked enough for a kings ransom. Decked in black pearls, obsidian, gold, silver, amber and diamonds. All flowing into a graceful turbinate pattern of archaic runes. The sword seemed to glow with a fire that illuminated nothing beyond i's own surface, and cast no shadows. The fire generated no heat but he felt his vision frost over and sear from looking directly at it. "Unfire" rattled the absence of sound again drawing his attention back to the demons angular features. He appeared human, exempting the cold lifeless palor, silver eyes, and shock of long white hair held back in an iron ring. " I have no power over true fire. Now come on, you did not traverse my realm to listen to me. You seek to put an end to the demon who haunts these lands. Come on then you know my weaknesses and strengths. I'll forewarn you however that this is MY land, I've deprived it of light. Nurtured the soil with the blood of millions. I have had a millenia to cultivate my realm. It obeys my whims, every spell I cast draws upon a resevoir of Un-being so large you cannot begin to comprehend it." The young heroe, stood struggling to keep from trembling at the intense cold the demon radiated. He hefted his blade and took comfort in it's familiar weight. He had been glad to hear his thoughts confirmed the creature could not withstand true fire. He tensed his body brought the blade up between them. He had forged this blade long ago, made from talon of rock, and bone of phoenix. It's potential for destruction was great, it had wreaked havoc on the living he only hoped it would be as equally effective against the undead. And with that he reached deep down into the inherent energy of the blade and brought it forth. Transforming himself into a literal whirl wind of blade and fire. Spinning faster and faster, the flames growing fiercer all the time. The demon stood casually observing. The demon raised his hands facing his palms towards the young warrior. The whirlwind surged forward, causeing the demon to leap to the side, but he landed unpurturbed. And now a harsh azure flame coiled about his palms. it seemed to grow in intesnity as the seconds ticked by. He couldn't move it's dance sucked at the heat of his flames, and hungered for his life but still he could not bring himself to act. A Chill fiery azure unsun burned in his hands, a quick brilliant flash of un-light and the harsh smell of ozone. The true fire and unfire met in a swirling whirl wind of energies, the unfire sapping the heat of the fire and coiling about the warriors form, rending his soul from his flesh, it's cold touch freezing an icy halo of water about him. A scream ripped itself from his lips, his soul torn asunder and devoured by the flame. Unlife consumed life. Tweet
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