Spellforce

Looking Grim

2012-01-28T23:15:00.000-08:00

The Realm of Grimland had known war for countless decades in its current age, and ages ago before that. Now, war had finally ceased, but peace was still a distant dream that the foolish clung to in desperation to escape brutal reality. Times were hard, but that was an understatement.

Grimland had once, long ago, been under the rule of benevolent kings, brought to power through democracy and the occasional skirmish. But now, its throne was inhabited by a tyrant, a dictator, and a Demon.

This Demon’s name was Griephon, and his absolute reign of terror was upheld by his talons and claws.

From the ruins of the Citadel of Kings he ruled; the legendary building was now in shambles, replaced by a crude tower, dark and foreboding, shaped like a spike. The inhabitants of Grimland called it the Spire, and from it was bred the monsters that plagued the once-humble Realm.

As he sat on his grotesquely-shaped throne, clawed fingers tapping the armrest impatiently, a man was hauled into his chamber. The Goblin guards who brought him prodded him with their spears, their faces alit with sadistic delight.

Goblins—such simple-minded beings, deriving pleasure from pain.

“Enough!” Griephon’s shrill voice echoed through the throne room. He gestured with a hand, and the prisoner was forced to his knees.

“Tell me what you have seen,” he ordered.

The prisoner gasped, as if unable to breathe, and said nothing.

Griephon cocked his head. The guard to his left kicked the prisoner hard in the gut. He spat blood and saliva, but still he said nothing.

“I grow weary of this,” said Griephon. “Leave him to me.”

The guards left, and Griephon stepped down from his dark throne. His green-feathered wings dragged lazily across the stone floor as he strode over to the hunched figure. He held out a clawed hand, and the prisoner jerked upwards abruptly, as if pulled by invisible strings. He rose until his eyes met Griephon’s hawk-like ones, and nearly retched as they became pitch black.

“You will tell me what you saw, or I will pry it from your mind,” Griephon hissed.

With what appeared to be great difficulty, the prisoner began to speak.

“The Spellforce…”

His voice was a was a whisper, raspy and unclear. So Griephon grabbed his throat in an attempt to clear it out.

“What did you say?” he demanded, eyes still black as coal.

The prisoner coughed, unable to resist the dark pull of Griephon’s spell. He coughed again when the razor claws dug into his neck.

And when he next spoke the prophecy he had been divinely given, it was with a mangled shout.

“The Spellforce has been reborn!”

And those words were the last he ever spoke, for Griephon had snapped his neck broken.

When his guards returned to dispose of the body, four glowing tubes emerged from the floor. They were made of glass, and filled with a bluish, luminescent fluid. Something hideous and deformed stirred in each of them.

Then the first glass smashed, and out slumped a creature shrouded by the shadows of the throne room. Griephon waited as the remaining three tubes were smashed, releasing their monstrous spawns. They rose to their full height and lined themselves up before him, four beings towering high above the Demon tyrant himself.

“Keltics! It has begun. Destroy the Spellforce, and bring me the book!”

The four creatures disappeared in a flash, off to carry out their dark master’s commands.

*** *** ***

“What the heck was that?” demanded Crystal. Spots of many colors danced around her, making her dizzy.

“Felt like fireworks just went off right in front of me,” Matt said, rubbing his eyes.

Melanie banged against the door, frustration mounting. “Look guys. I’ve had enough weirdness for today. Can someone please knock this door down?”

When his vision had cleared, Damien knelt by the padlock. He held it in his hand to examine. It was a heavy thing, old and rusted. It did not make sense—it was locked from the inside. Yet the shed was most certainly abandoned. Why lock it up in the first place?

He studied the keyhole, wondered if he could pick the lock open with a needle or pin. One of the girls might carry one. Or perhaps Matt could break it with that shovel against the wall.

Click!

Damien jumped to his feet in surprise. The lock had undone itself, right there in his hand.

“Whoa!” Matt and Shawn exclaimed in unison.

“How did you…” started Melanie. Then she shook it off. “I’ve had way too much ‘magic’ for one lifetime.”

Damien copied her action; his mind was spinning so fast. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself, then, quite gingerly, unbuckled the lock. The door slid open outwards—sunlight streamed into the shed, chasing the shadows away.

“We’re in the forest,” he said.

Melanie joined him at the door. “The forest?”

Indeed, they were in the middle of a small clearing boarded by trees. Through the greenery, Melanie caught glimpses of the abandoned construction site that lay on the other side of the school, right beside the supposedly haunted path which led to a single house on the hill: the Tyler residence.

“My first guess would have been we’re underwater,” said Crystal.

Matt laughed, then stopped himself. That had been his first guess as well.

Alex gasped, making everyone turn to her. In her hands was the book, Dosairus. It was flipped open, and Damien thought he saw words appear on what had been an empty, yellowed page.

“Look out,” Alex read. She looked up, confused and scared.

There was a sudden wind, strong but silent, and there appeared before Damien and Melanie a creature unlike anything they had ever seen.

It was mostly brown, humanoid, and it was huge, seemingly made purely of muscle. At least seven feet in height, it towered over the teens with a head shaped like a backward T-Rex’s foot. What seemed like a turquoise gemstone sat between its dark, inhuman eyes. It wore nothing but a tattered loincloth around its waist.

The creature growled, baring jagged teeth in its snout of a mouth. Damien felt his blood go cold as it unleashed a terrifying roar.

An Opening

2011-04-30T00:08:00.000-07:00

Alex screamed. Screamed and screamed until she was on her knees, sobbing.

She had frozen, had not moved to save them. She was not quick enough. She was not strong enough to support both their weights. Her mind, in all its logic and cleverness, told her this. But still she cried, the shock like a sledgehammer to her heart.

There were voices and footsteps approaching, but Alex remained where she was. She dared not look into the water, dared not think about what she might find. Perhaps if she closed her eyes hard enough, they might climb back up, unharmed. Drenched, maybe, but unharmed.

The voices got closer. She recognized them. She heard her name, spoken out of surprise. But she kept her face buried in her hands, her glasses on the floor. She did not turn, neither did she look up. Not even when Crystal and Shawn Kyle knelt before her, shaking her by the shoulders.

“Alex! Alex, what’s wrong?”

It was Crystal asking. She was a pretty girl: blonde, with mesmerizing sapphire eyes and high cheekbones. Her body was slender, her voice possessing a natural charm. Everything about her was symmetrical, divinely proportionate.

Her brother shared some of her features, but lacked the luster she exuded. His hair was a dirtier gold and his eyes darker, like navy. He was short for his age, but his face bore a maturity he sometimes failed to demonstrate. He did not touch Alex—perhaps he did not do well with crying girls. Instead he held her glasses, waiting patiently for her to stop crying.

“What’s going on, Alex?” Crystal asked again when the younger girl had calmed down. “Where’s your brother?”

Alex pointed down the slope. When Shawn stood to check, he came back reporting there was a river at the base. He handed Alex her glasses, and she took them with a muttered thanks.

“Are you telling me he fell into the river?” Crystal said, worry filling her.

With a nod, Alex said, “They all fell in. Damien, Melanie, Matt…” She paused as fresh tears rimmed her eyes. Then with a sob she said, “I couldn’t do anything to save them.”

“We’ll go look for them.”

Crystal stared at her brother, her mouth agape. “Are you insane?”

Shawn turned to the river, then back at Crystal. “C’mon, this was your idea!”

He started down the slope, and did not stop even when Crystal and Alex shouted for him to do so. They heard him yelp in surprise as he slipped out of view, and they rushed towards the slope.

Suddenly the ground was wet and slick, like polished marble after it has been mopped. They slipped, and the forest became a rolling blur. And then there was water, cold and all around them. Alex gasped, drinking river water, before the whole world burned white.

*** *** ***

Damien opened his eyes to low-hanging rafters and four wooden walls.

“Where are we?” he murmured.

He found he was lying on his back, and pushed himself up with his elbows. Someone stretched out a hand to him. As his vision cleared, he saw it was Matt, and took it. Matt hoisted him onto his feet.

“Seems like we’re in a shed of sorts,” said Matt.

“And it’s locked,” Melanie added, her voice thick with annoyance.

Damien looked around: various gardening tools were propped up against the walls, which were mostly plain except for a hammered-in rack. This stood empty except for a thick black book, on which the golden word ‘DOSAIRUS’ sat in golden embroidery. There were two small windows, one of which was boarded up with what seemed and smelled like rotting wood.

Damien had a million questions, but decided on: “How did we get here?”

Matt shrugged. “One minute I was trying to tread water, the next I was here, kissing the wooden floor. Then as I looked around, the two of you appeared from nowhere. Pretty freaky. Don’t bother about that. The pages are empty,” he added when Damien approached the strange book.

“Doesn’t explain how we got here. And what the heck is Dosairus?”

“I don’t really care how we got here,” said Melanie, stepping away from the padlocked door. “I wanna know how we can get out.”

Damien ignored her and took up the book. As if a booby trap had gone off, the entire shed began to tremble. Melanie pressed herself against the wall, shielding her head with her hands. Matt swore and did the same. Damien felt a prickle down his spine as a sound like a whip cracking was heard. A flash of light! Then Shawn and Crystal Kyle appeared from nowhere, soon followed by Alex.

The trembling stopped, just as quickly as it had begun.

Damien rushed forward and pulled his sister to her feet, embracing her. Questions still burned in his head, but for now, relief would do.

“How did we get here?” Alex asked breathlessly when they broke the hug.

“Magic?” offered Matt.

“Magic?”

It was Crystal who said it. She and Shawn were on their feet, their hair disheveled and bodies bruised. She groaned, rubbing the back of her throbbing head. Shawn’s expression shifted between bemusement and boyish delight.

“Oh man, did we just teleport?”

Melanie sighed. “Well, if we did, can someone please teleport us out of here?”

“Sis, lighten up!” said Matt, holding up his hands. “We were drowning, and now we’re all magically here. And we aren’t even wet!”

“What’s this?” Alex had taken up the book Damien had put down. She thumbed the golden lettering on the cover. “Dosairus…”

“I wouldn’t touch that again,” warned Damien. “Last time I did, there was an earthquake.”

But the bookworm in Alex was instantly curious, and without hesitation she flipped the book open.

And then all six teens were bathed in a blinding, golden light.

Falling Through

2011-04-19T21:51:00.000-07:00

Shawn Kyle saw first, but only because he was not paying attention to whatever Mr. Whitmore was saying.

He had hoped to spot a forest-dwelling animal or two, but guessed they would not go deep enough to see a wild deer or boar. So, in his disappointment, he had seen. Then his sister saw, and her eyes lit up as Damien and Alex Lyons disappeared through the bushes, clearly heading off-road.

It intrigued Crystal that Damien would stray from the group. He did not strike her as a rule-breaker. If anything else, he was the nicest person she knew. But an extra touch of badness made her brooding classmate that more interesting. And it certainly would not hurt anyone.

She rose and, very quietly, stole away from the group of nature enthusiasts. Her brother came after her, gladly leaving Mr. Whitmore’s droning voice behind.

“Don’t tell me you’re going after them,” he said, catching the glimmer of mischief in his sister’s sapphire eyes.

“Why not? Unless you’re enjoying the lecture on the hundred different types of soil in the world,” she replied, turning back to survey the deeper parts of the forest. “Do you feel that?”

He did—that hum of something undefined running down his spine. He felt it strong and clear.

“Nope.”

“Yes, you do,” said Crystal, her eyes still locked intently on the path through the pair of tall bushes. Though she was certain he had gone through only moments ago, Damien was nowhere to be seen. And neither was his sister.

“Fine, I do. Does this mean we’re going in?” Shawn hoped she would say no.

In answer, Crystal stepped past the bushes, casting a backward glance at her brother. He sighed, relenting, and followed her in.

That sensation down his spine only grew stronger.

*** *** ***

Damien felt like he had walked through an ice-cold waterfall.

This part of the forest seemed, if possible, quieter. The trees grew in narrow rows too orderly for nature’s randomness. There was no breeze, and they stood tall and still, bright green leaves unmoving. The ground was softer, the soil smelled richer and the air thicker.

A strange calm settled over Damien as he studied the angelic beams of light eking through the canopy. The feeling dispersed when Alex nudged him in the ribs.
“Snap out of it!”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you feel it too?”

She nodded uneasily.

“It’s so…strange… I’ve never felt this peaceful.”

“Where are they? They were here a while ago,” she noted, pointing to the fresh tracks that Melanie had made.

They were there a while ago, in fact only several seconds ago. But it seemed an immeasurable amount of time had passed the moment they stepped through the bushes. Now, the five of them were nowhere to be seen.

“Looks like we’ll have to follow the tracks,” said Damien.

They did, and found themselves winding through the rows of trees.

They heard them before they saw them. Not surprisingly, Parker and Matt were in the midst of a brawl, while Melanie watched helplessly from behind the smirking Jameson and Bogart. Damien was not worried—Matt took regular Taekwondo lessons, and was a few weeks away from attaining his junior black belt. Still, he rushed up to Melanie when he saw the steep slope before them.

Melanie’s prominent cheeks were flushed with a mix of anger and worry. She bit her lip, resisting the urge, Damien knew, to smack Parker’s two monkeys silly.

Bogart spat when Damien and Alex approached. “Nice of you to join us, Lyons.”

“We need to stop them!”

“Don’t worry,” said Jameson. “My man Josh won’t rough your cousin up too much.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” muttered Alex.

Damien jabbed a finger at the slope. “You idiots! Look at that!”

They turned and saw the slope, but the foolish grins did not leave their faces.

Melanie let out a gasp: Matt had taken a hit. Despite his martial arts background, Parker outsized him twofold and had thicker skin.

Matt was on the ground now. Parker kicked in his side, but he rolled around and fired his foot up. Parker barely even stumbled. Pushing himself back up, Matt aimed high, catching Parker in the jaw. The bully wheeled back in pain and surprise. When he regained his composure, his smile had faded, and he was livid.

“You little runt…”

Matt stood his ground, even as he realized the damage he had caused. Behind him, Melanie screamed for him to run and Damien pushed past Bogart. Too late—Parker had him by the collar. Matt struggled against his ham-sized fists, but Parker seemed unstoppable. With all his might, the school bully tossed Matt over the slope.

“Matt!” Damien and Melanie screamed in unison as Matt disappeared through the still waters below.

“What have you done!?” Melanie shrieked, her eyes glistening with tears and rage.

Parker seemed to be coming to now, and, realizing what he had done, made a run for it. His lackeys followed, confused and afraid, leaving Damien, Melanie and Alex standing helplessly on the slope’s edge.

“Matt…” Alex’s face was ghostly pale, her voice equally colorless.

Melanie took a step forward. “I’m going after him!”

When Damien caught her arm, she turned back with an expression that made him let go. Then, without another word, she made her way down the slope.

She slipped, screamed, thrust a hand out. Damien grasped it quickly, but had stepped too far over the edge to do so. With a yelp, he lost his footing and was dragged down. He heard Alex’s terrified scream as he and Melanie plunged headfirst into the cold waters.

Incidents in the Forest

2011-03-28T10:40:00.001-07:00

The day passed without much incident, and soon it was time for the nature walk through the park. A considerable number of students gathered in the courtyard as teachers began headcounts. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun bore down upon the courtyard with blistering heat. While the students were divided into groups, Damien rejoined Alex and their cousins, Matt and Melanie Grayson. Matt, with his mane of bronze curls and determined eyes of matching hue, seemed all too excited.

“How often can we get out of class and venture into the forests without hearing talks about ghouls and goblins?” he spieled.

Half-annoyed, his sister Melanie rolled her tawny eyes. “I thought you’d be happy about seeing ghouls and goblins?”

Damien grinned. He had to agree. Matt always loved a good adventure. As for Melanie, though she bore a striking resemblance to her brother, she much preferred spending her time in the library. Damien guessed it was her mother who coerced her into this trip, to look after her little brother, perhaps.

“Definitely,” said Matt. “But hearing about them time after time after time…that’s a whole different issue.”

In response, his sister flipped her dark brown hair over her shoulder and said nothing.

By then, the briefing had ended and the students went off, group by group. Damien and the other three stood somewhere in the middle, and as their turn came, three hulking guys traipsed over to join them.

“Lookie here, if it isn’t the brave Lyons?” sneered the first, a porky boy no older than Damien and Melanie, sporting a jacket of fake leather and an undersized head. Everyone in school knew his name, and when it was spoken, heads shook and eyes rolled. He was Josh Parker, and no more a threat than an annoyance. Those that flanked him were Billy Jameson and Roy Bogart. Neither of them was very smart—and that was an understatement.

Before Damien could say anything, Matt intervened, “Back off, Parker.”

“You wanna have a go, Grayson?” Billy jumped in, only to be pushed back by Parker.

“We’re joining your group. Got a problem with that?”

This time, it was Damien who cut Matt off. “No problem,” he said.

Parker grinned, and right on cue, so did his lackeys. Matt appeared bewildered, but Damien shot him a scowl that shut him up.

“Fine, no problem.”

As they headed off, Matt was bitter—a bitterness that lasted until they arrived at the forest’s edge. Once their soles touched the moist soil, the outside world died away into silence. It was not just lack of sound; it was a silence that pressed against one’s ears, silence that quickened the heart and silence that swallowed up all sound.

The teacher-in-charge had begun to speak, pointing out various species of trees and plants. But Damien, Alex, Matt and Melanie were not listening. Even as they moved, led by their self-absorbed guardian, a strange buzz gripped them. No, not a buzz, for it was not a sound. Yet it was…something, something none of them could place. They felt it slither down their spines. So queer, like peace and chaos mixed in a bottle.

Parker’s trio, as it seemed, did not notice this. They began plucking and trampling on newly-blossomed flowers, spitting on the undergrowth and kicking up fresh soil. She was no nature-lover, but it disgusted Melanie to know that such imbeciles existed.

Parker caught her stare and, clearly misreading it, licked his lips. Melanie shivered visibly, hurrying on to catch up with her brother and cousins.

The teacher’s bass voice droned on, eluding their attention effectively. Something—perhaps a root or fallen fruit—caught his attention, and he was soon joined by another group of students as they examined the object together. Among them were Crystal—a mutual acquaintance of Damien and Melanie—and Shawn Kyle, her younger brother. Alex huddled alongside them, genuinely interested.

“This can’t be more boring,” sighed Matt, turning away.

“What were you expecting? Ghouls and goblins?” said Melanie.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Again with that.” He walked over to a tree and absent-mindedly scratched at the bark.

Parker, taking the momentary distraction, shoved Damien. “C’mon Lyons. I dare you to go through there.” He pointed towards a denser part of the forest, in between two tall bushes of unknown species.

“You first,” said Damien coolly.

“C’mon, Lyons! Or should I say, chickens?” At this, Parker’s lackeys guffawed.

The laughter drew Melanie and Matt back. The latter came over, fists clenched, demanding, “What’s going on?”

“Little cousin to the rescue,” sneered Bogart.

Parker said, “I was just telling your cousin to head deeper through the forest. Seems he’s too chicken to do it.”

“He doesn’t have to go anywhere,” said Matt.

“What about you Grayson? Why don’t you have a go at it?” Parker thrust a fat thumb in the bushes’ direction.

“He doesn’t have to go anywhere, either,” Damien interjected. Behind him, Alex walked over, and Melanie’s jaw clenched. They knew Matt all too well. One more push, and he would be lost in the forest forever.

“What’s going on?” Alex whispered to Melanie.

“Matt’s being a moron,” she replied quietly.

“Chicken,” said Parker, as Jameson began making what Damien assumed were chicken sounds.

Matt scowled.

“Matt, don’t,” hissed Damien.

The strange sensation in the air ebbed to a hum, replaced by the tension between Matt and Parker. One more push, thought Damien. Just one more. He had to do something before—

“Chicken.”

Too late.

“I’ll do it,” said Matt. Damien could have slapped him. Melanie could have throttled him. Behind them both, Alex sighed knowingly.

Parker grinned smugly. “Fine. Go ahead then.”

Without second thought, Matt disappeared through the bushes. Parker, Bogart and Jameson followed behind him.

Damien cast Melanie a glance; if she was fuming, she hid it well. She nodded and stormed after her brother and their tormentors, leaving the Lyons’ siblings staring at the tall bushes and the looming forest depths beyond.

“Do we go after them?” asked Alex, though she knew the answer.

Her brother turned; the group of students and teacher had gone further down the path, clearly having forgotten Damien and the lot of them. Sickening dread and a sense of responsibility for his cousins waged a great battle inside him. Ultimately, it was the latter which won.

“What else can we do?”

Alex sighed again. “Alright, let’s go.”

As the eerie shadows of the forest beckoned to them, Damien and Alex stepped through the bushes, immediately and unknowingly leaving an entire world behind.

And still the strange sensation hummed.

It Starts with a Dream

2011-03-22T02:03:00.000-07:00

Present Earth Time

Damien Lyons woke with a start, his forehead slicked with cold sweat, his heart thumping madly. He took a minute to calm himself, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. Wiping his brow, he glanced at his digital clock. The glowing numbers displayed 03:00. He closed his eyes and sighed.

It was the same dream. It had been for several weeks now. At first, it seemed like he was hovering over a lush and beautiful paradise, an untouched field of flowers he had never seen before. Then, as he floated, unfettered by the confines of his body, the landscape changed. Soon he was a ghost above barren soil, a valley on which nothing grew. What appeared to be giant bones jutted out from the xeric earth, and the place was empty except for a group of eight white-robed figures.

And suddenly the skies were aflame, and lightning was tearing apart the heavens. Something strange was happening—the eight figures were somehow defying the elements and the very laws of nature. But their efforts were not enough. Damien watched in horror as, one by one, the figures began to fall, struck down by tremors and fireballs and torrential winds. And when the last figure had fallen, a giant crack worked its way through the land; from it rose a dark shadow the shape of a clawed hand. Damien felt his heart hammer madly as each claw closed itself around the figures. He screamed, but no sound came out. And as the last finger closed, he felt a tug behind him, and the next thing he knew he was jolting from bed, sweaty and slightly nauseous.

He cradled his throbbing head for several seconds as his heartbeat returned to a bearable pace. Taking up the towel he had prepared by his bedside, he wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. Cool midnight air from his window blew past the drapes and against his skin, chilling his bones.

Knowing sleep would not come in a while, Damien got out of bed and paced around the small space of his room. He caught his reflection in the glass panel of his trophy cabinet and stopped to survey himself. A tired-looking sixteen-year-old with short, dark hair and equally dark eyes stared blankly back at him. The large, white shirt and checkered shorts did nothing to enhance his lean frame, instead making him look smaller than he already was. Still, despite his non-existent muscles, he was tall, and Damien was thankful of that. There was always a queer look about him, though, as if he was constantly searching for answers to an unanswerable question. Or at least, that was what his friends told him.

And now he was searching in this nearly-empty trophy cabinet.

Unable to find anything, Damien returned to his bed. Just before he attempted to sleep again, he gazed out the window as a shooting star breezed across the night sky.

*** *** ***

Four hours later, Damien was awake and preparing for breakfast. He rushed down the stairs, having gotten up early to avoid a power-struggle for the bathroom with his sister. Alex Lyons was a bespectacled fifteen-year-old girl with auburn hair inherited from their mother. Her eyes possessed an intelligent spark that people often mistook for quiet arrogance. Her family knew better—she was perhaps the kindest person on Earth, if anyone bothered to get to know her better. And if she had any ounce of arrogance, she deserved to show it—she had been scoring straight A’s since preschool. She may have appeared to be lost in her own world, but she was always alert, always paying attention.

That morning, however, saw her with dark, baggy circles around her eyes. She was unfocused and appeared a mess, her glasses lopsided on the bridge of her nose. She yawned uncouthly as she sat down at the table.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” was Mrs. Lyons’ morning greeting to her daughter. Mrs. Lyons was a dedicated mother, devoted to her family, placing nothing before them. Like Alex, she had reddish brown hair; unlike Alex, she had a winning smile that could cheer up the darkest day.

“Up all night studying?” asked Damien, assuming the obvious.

Thanking their mother for the cereal that was placed before her, Alex shook her head. “Couldn’t sleep…”

Mr. Lyons, his face hidden behind a copy of the Kingsville Daily newspaper, said, “Don’t tell me you’re worrying about midterms. You started school two weeks ago.”

Alex shook her head again. “No… It’s just…” Her voice trailed off into another yawn.

Damien finished up the rest of his breakfast and took up his bag. He cast a glance at his sister and frowned—he had never seen her like this before. Burning midnight oil was something Alex did on a daily basis, and never had she been this tired. She was a veteran at forsaking sleep. Something was wrong, and an odd sensation told him he knew exactly what that something was.

“Just what?” Damien asked before he could stop himself.

Alex looked up, slightly startled, as if she had not noticed her brother’s presence until now. Scooping up a spoonful of cereal, she paused and said, with a tinge of embarrassment, “Nightmares…”

Folding up his paper, Mr. Lyons laughed. “Nightmares? Of what? Failing your exams?”

“Come off it, Dan!” rebuked his wife.

The man of the Lyons household smoothed out his head of thick, graying black hair. “I was only kidding, Janet. Can I have my breakfast please?”

She handed him a bowl of cereal without milk and turned to Alex. “Now, dear, it’s just a dream. Don’t be too worked up by it, alright?”

Alex nodded, biting her spoon.

“Want to tell me about it?” She gave her best ‘I’m your best friend, not your mother’ look, tucking her red-brown hair behind her ear.

With a wry smile, Alex shook her head. Then she caught Damien’s eye and raised a tired eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Damien bit his lip. “It’s…it’s nothing.”

But it was something. What if his suspicions were correct? What if his sister was sharing his recurring dreams?

Sharing his nightmares.

*** *** ***

Kingsville was a small suburban town established after World War 1 by fugitives desiring to escape the scars of their past. Its exact background was shrouded by rumors of shamanism and witchcraft, and the town was later relocated by the local authorities. In the centre of the quaint setting was a dense forest that was the object of fascination for the local children. The nearest mall was a half-an-hour’s drive from town. Both Damien and Alex were born and raised in Kingsville in a conservative fashion. Their cousins, Melanie and Matthew Grayson, lived on the end of the town, about a fifteen-minute walk away.

Daniel and Janet Lyons, Damien and Alex’s parents, met during a high school party hosted by a mutual friend. She was the pretty little redhead of whom no one took much notice, and he was the handsome, dark-haired stranger who stole her first kiss. They dated faithfully for eight years while Daniel worked as a writer for a local sports’ magazine, before getting married and bringing Damien into the world. Then came Alexis—Alex for short—an unexpected accident and a miraculous addition to the Lyons household.

The Lyons’ siblings had few friends, though Damien had some natural charisma which drew people to him. They steered clear of the ‘cool crowd’, both agreeing that they would rather die in the forest than become stereotypical airheads. After all, they would hardly fit in. A self-proclaimed psychomotor moron, Damien was far from a jock, and Alex had too much brains to be a cheerleader.

With kindergarten, middle school and high school all rolled up into one large campus in the middle of town, Damien and Alex made their way to school together. They walked in awkward silence for a long while, which—though not unusual—was terribly uncomfortable. Neither siblings had a special bond for one another, but they could tell when either one was troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Alex finally asked, breaking the growing silence.

Damien looked up, his dark eyes reflecting the million thoughts running through his mind. “Nothing,” he lied.

But Alex was not fooled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Smiling, Damien relented. “Fine, it’s just…those dreams of yours.”

“What about them?”

He hesitated. “What exactly happens?”

Alex stopped abruptly in mid-stride, pausing to consider. “Well, there’s a field… It’s beautiful at first, but then it becomes—“

“A battlefield,” said Damien quietly. “And then the skies begin to scream bloody murder.” They stared at each other for several long seconds.

“How did you…?”

Heart steadily pounding, Damien said, “Because I’ve been having the exact same dream.”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “But…how…?”

Damien shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The awkward silence returned, and remained like a huge weight between them for the longest time. Finally, Alex said, “What does this mean?”

Damien shrugged. From the distance, the toll of the school’s morning bell could be heard. Its echo rang on in low drones as a light wind swept across the forest canopy.

“C’mon, we’d better hurry or we’ll be late,” he said, leading the way.

As they entered the school compound, the forest edge rose up to meet them. The thinner trees swayed gently, as if greeting them with a friendly wave. Yet every child knew how unfriendly this forest could be—wild animals lurked in its darker depths, where an ever-hanging fog lay low along the undergrowth. Some said these were the spirits of defiant children who wandered in too far and got lost, never to be found again. The Lyons’ siblings had convinced themselves years ago that these were old wives’ tales to keep their children from straying, but they sure did not wish to test that theory. Not on their own, anyway. There would be a school-wide nature-hike later for students daring enough to enter and explore the vegetation. Both siblings had signed up for it.

Up ahead, an ominous flock of crows took flight, rising from the canopy and into the morning sun. Their caws were drowned out by the final toll of the bell, reminding Damien and Alex to hurry on.

Kingsville Community School was an impressive structure of white and blue, segmented into three parts: the smaller kindergarten which stood by the side; the main campus which was four times its size; and the pride of the school—the idyllic outdoor courtyard complete with a gushing fountain and a statue of the school’s founder created by the students out of recycled material. Years of poor maintenance had left the statue rusted and pockmarked with bird poop. If one looked closer, the graffiti messages of several generations of students could be seen at its base.

Once in the courtyard, Damien and Alex parted ways, Alex to join her friends from her book club, and Damien with Rick Tyson, his childhood friend. Rick had a cheeky smile, and a mouth full of perfectly-aligned teeth. His jet-black hair was spiky and doused in two cans of hairspray, matching the shine in his dark brown eyes. In terms of personality, he and Damien were complete opposites. Their friendship, however, was fast-formed and lasting; Rick had defended Damien from the local bully, Josh Parker, when they were preschoolers, and they had been best friends ever since.

“You look like crap,” greeted Rick at the lockers.

Damien managed a smile. It was customary for his friend to open with a light-hearted insult. In response, he asked, “You going for the nature walk?”

Rick shook his head. “I have better things to do.”

“Like staring at your next-door neighbor?” grinned Damien.

Rick ignored the comment. “What’s our first class?” he asked.

“Algebra.”

“Great.” Smiling, Rick drew his books from his locker.

Damien cocked an eyebrow. “But you hate Algebra.”

“I don’t hate her.” Rick gestured to a pretty, dark-haired girl walking by them to join her clique of friends. Damien knew her—she was Gwen Tyler, and her face was all that filled Damien’s mind in school. She had fair skin, and beautiful, iridescent eyes. Oh, how those eyes twinkled, how sweet her cherry lips and how slender her form; Gwen was a girl who need not dress well to look good. She came to school in a simple, knee-length skirt, and a plain grey T-shirt, but never had any plain grey T-shirt look so good.

It bothered Damien that Rick would take an interest in her. Usually, girls like Gwen—who did not bother dolling up or looking good—eluded his wandering gaze. Though he avoided the thought, he could not help wondering who Gwen would choose if it came down to it. He almost laughed aloud—he could barely even talk to her. His chances were as good as zip.

“You coming?” Rick was halfway in the classroom.

Damien nodded and closed his locker. Then he paused, watching as Gwen and her friends entered the class. His throat felt unbearably dry as an odd tingle swam down his spine.

Prologue

2007-01-09T05:44:00.000-08:00

500 years ago, Earth time

In the mystical Multiverse, there is Magic and the many Realms, great and small, through which Magic flows.

The Realm of Spellophia was at its prime. Its bountiful land was flourishing, its Magic potent. Technological advances did not hinder the preservation of their culture and mystical arts. The long-standing schools of Magi, the gargantuan edifice that was the Archival Tower, the prestigious Academy of Arc Knights—each was a testament to the centuries of advancement that the Spellophians went through. There were wars, yes, but those were ancient and behind them. In its current day and age, all seemed perfect.

There was not a place in Spellophia that one would not describe as beautiful. Life was abundant and free. Energy-endowing streams flowed through the entire Realm, giving life to the creatures of the land and deep alike. The sky had a purple hue, and the young sun lit up the crystalline waters with such awe-inspiring radiance. Truly, all of Spellophia was a peaceful paradise, forged by a millennia-long history and eons of strife and hardships.

All except for one place.

They called it the Valley of the Foreseen. It was aptly named, for three reasons. Firstly, it was here that the Great Seer Sybil was born into the world. Second, it was here that the Prophecy of the End was proclaimed, by none other than the Great Seer himself. And last of all, it was here that the final struggle was foreseen, when Mother Nature would strike out against the children who had abused her, and nothing would survive her wrath.

The End of the World.

These words he spoke:

At the end of the Magician’s Age

Shall come the tide of vengeance

Upon the land shall darkness spread

The mountains shall crumble

The tides rise beyond their limits

For the children of the wicked crave

And the children of the good have fallen

And at long last,

Spellophia shall fall to its devastator’s dark hand

For despite their blessings, Spellophia’s children continued to seek more. They tore down her mighty oaks, siphoned her coal mines, and ravaged her once-pure waters. They made land with Magic where seas once flowed, and robbed the soil of its minerals and fertility by summoning forth new plants and trees.

Surely Mother Nature would punish them, these gluttons whom she once called her children, who once called her Mother. Surely she would lash out, and surely, most certainly, her children would not give up without a fight.

So they prepared. They studied Magic and employed scientific research beyond their time. The Elders, historians, scribes, pathfinders, Shamans, Archimages and leading scientists lost days of sleep after the Great Seer’s prophecy. They studied, poured over books and ancient texts, consulted the spirits of ancestors long gone. And finally, they had a consensus—there was no hope.

Nothing would appease Mother Nature’s temper.

It was at this moment that the Elder Sparrow gathered a team of young Mages together. These he trained, their Magi Pulses, unique to each Mage on Spellophia, specifically suited to the calamities described in the prophecy.

But despite the measures taken, Great Seer Sybil’s prophecy proved inaccurate; for the day of reckoning came closer than expected, and the Spellforce—the team of Mages Sparrow had gathered—was ill-prepared.

Within the Valley of the Foreseen they stood, the hills on either side rising like the mouths of great dragons about to swallow them whole. It would start here, at this forsaken place, and should they fail, the devastation of Spellophia would spread throughout the entire Realm. The world was at stake, yet of the original ten, two members of the Spellforce had mysteriously vanished, presumed to be consumed by the elements.

The ire of Mother Nature struck with full force as the remaining eight Spellforcers danced about the confinements of the valley. The very earth split beneath their feet, the heavens spewed lightning, and the wind brought with it tongues of fire. These flames slammed persistently at the first layer of defense: nearly invisible domes of energy that surrounded the valley. These were upheld by the Spellforcer, Sable: Barrier Mage of the West. The strain was intensely written on his contorted face as he thrust his hands skyward, murmuring incantations to keep the elements at bay. But with all his strength, all his energy, his mystical barriers wavered and were eventually smashed.

The second line of defense was the elemental manipulation prowess of Magus and Alandrea, Grand Pyromancer and Druid of the Wastes respectively. Magus wielded the ancient power that was fire: fire which birthed the land, fire which forged steel, fire which gave life and destroyed it. And with this power he redirected the fireballs coming at his team, making them fall harmlessly upon barren land far from them. Alandrea, who molded earth and stone to her will, halted the violent tremors which the land unleashed upon the Spellforce. But alas, the pair’s combined Magic was insufficient, and they, too, were defeated.

And it fell to the remaining five now to prevent Spellophia’s destruction. There was Demeter: the valiant Vector Mage, leader and bender of objects and wills. And Megara Nova, Cosmic Mage of the Eastern Skies. Beside her was Aquarius, Aquamancer and master of water; and the enigmatic Lilith, a Morpher who could take the forms and Magi Pulses of others. Finally, faithfully behind them all stood Ceratia, Light Bender and healer of the Spellforce.

The stood tall for hours, fighting off what seemed like the End of the World. Their Magic ran low as sunset approached, bringing with it a dwindling sense of hope. For the skies which would have once been painted gold and violet, were now streaked bloody crimson with fire, and rent apart by lightning. One by one, the Spellforcers fell. They had lost.

Only then did Mother Nature take a pause, in anticipation of what was to come. Brave Demeter opened his eyes one last time, looking at his fallen comrades as if through some strange veil. They were in the mercy of Mother Nature now, she who had nurtured, and she who would destroy.

The earth gave one final rumble as it split apart, forming a fissure in the centre of the defeated group of Mages. As Demeter’s vision dimmed and his consciousness faded, what appeared like a mighty shadow rose from the crack, in the form of what appeared to be a giant, clawed hand. It loomed over them like a deadly omen, searing with Chaos energy—dark Magic bred from the depths of the damned Abyss.

And as the shadowy, clawed hand closed over them, Demeter thought he could hear the screams of his dying teammates, not realising it was his own. All he could think of was how he had failed, and how his homeland would pay the ultimate price for his failure…