Existence. A simple enough concept for most, yet infinitely more complex to those who are aware of the true nature of Creation. Most sentient beings are content with simply staying in their own worlds, blissfully unaware that beyond the borders of their Plane, a war has been raging for untold millennia between two groups of Outsiders: the Fiends of the Lower Planes and Abyss, and the Ascended of the Higher Planes and Elysium.
The conflict is one believed to have begun before the true passage of time, when the Planes were still developing and most of Creation was immature. None remember how the war started, but it is widely accepted that it was something unavoidable, something that must be, a clash of natures and desires which are impossible to change. The Fiends have always wanted one thing, that which the Ascended have been tasked with shepherding and guarding.
Souls. The essence of life for all beings across the multitude of Planes which makes up Creation, their ability to evolve and change, to live and feel, to love and die. They are the absolute, the core and purpose of everything and anything, the one last legacy of the First Beings; their final gift to their children.
They were believed to be the architects of Creation, to have started existence itself with the purpose of developing worlds capable of sustaining sentient life. Little is known of these first of beings, it is believed that they dwelled on a Plane of existence separate from all others, and that they engineered and created the first Souls, as well as the Flame of Life.
There are no records or knowledge of how they disappeared, simply because there were no other species capable of recording information at the time, indeed, the concept of time itself may not even have existed at that point. What we do know is that they left, and the two first groups of beings came to be: the Ascended, and the Fiends. Some speculate that the First Beings did not die out at all, but merely ‘devolved’ into these two groups following a great conflict. There has been no proof of these claims however, and the few records left over from the time of the first Ascended say nothing on the subject.
The Ascended themselves have changed greatly over time, none of the first still live to this day, and eventually the Flame of Life started ‘recruiting’ new Ascended from the ranks of perished creatures from other Planes, often great heroes and paragons of their kind. The Ascended found purpose in acting as caretakers to the Flame of Life, guardians against the Fiendish invasion of other planes, as well as explorers and keepers of knowledge. All of these eventually structured into the Orders we know today: The Scholars, the Pathfinders, the Caretakers, and the Legion’s Guardians and Solars. Each of these groups were assigned an overseer from among the oldest and most powerful Ascended, the first of the Seraphim. Together, these five Seraph created the Seraphim Council, bringing order and peace to the Planes and all of Creation.
- Excerpt from ‘The Book of Beginnings’
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Seraphim
- Fall from Heaven -
Darkness was everywhere, the once brilliant blue sky of Elysium reduced to a bleak purple gloom, white ash filling the air and the intermingled blood of both Fiends and Ascended creating a sickening smell, adding to the already grim atmosphere.
One would be hard pressed to find anything even remotely familiar to the former home plane of the Ascended, the once great towers and white marble structures reduced to nothing but grey ruins under the rampage of the invading fiendish horde. Never again would the rivers run with clear untainted water, never again would the colourful birds soar through the blue sky, never again would the flora bloom in all of its majesty during the spring cycle of the angelic world.
And perhaps worst of all, never again would the streets be filled with the cheerful banter of friends and comrades.
Only the dead inhabited those roads and houses as Lysander, last surviving of the Ascended in Elysium, stood inside the only untouched structure of the once glorious White City. Silent tears were falling from his golden eyes onto the white floor beneath his armoured feet.
'So many lives lost... so much destruction, and for what?
The bitter thought came unbidden, it was a question he had been asking himself since it had all started. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of despair as he took a firmer grip on the silver sword in his hand, tearing himself away from the small window overlooking the city. He walked towards the middle of the Hall of Renewal, doing his best to avoid glancing at the deceased bodies of his fellow Caretakers littering the hall. All of them had given their life to sustain the barrier currently in place around the domed structure, all the while they had been hoping and praying that the Seraphim Council would return and rescue them from their plight. They had not.
'I should have been the first to go, what did they believe I could do as the last one standing?'
The Caretakers of Souls had done their duty until the very end, and now only he, youngest among them was left, his immortal heart filled with determination to keep the Fiends away from their prize at all cost. Already now he could feel the barrier weakening, the screeches and roars of the besieging forces sounding loudly from outside the double-gate standing between them and the Flame of Life contained within the Hall of Renewal.
The Ascended looked to the object in question, a great sphere of golden white fire floating serenely above a multi-layered platform of light grey marble, blissfully unaware of the danger outside of its protective chambers.
Lysander was no great warrior; he was a Caretaker, one of the Ascended tasked with nurturing and cleansing the many departed souls returning to the Flame from the multitude of planes in existence, preparing them for their rebirths into new life. He had of course gone through the basic combat training that all Ascended went through, showing particular aptitude with the sword and lantern, the focus used when performing Miracles. His white feathery wings flared in agitation as he remembered what had to be done. In order to protect the Flame and the continues cycle of life he’d need to fight and kill other creatures, and even though he knew that they all carried tormented and corrupted souls it still tore at him to even think about it.
'I have to fight, there can be no way around it. The Fiends are suffering too, it will be a kindness.'
Indeed his old mentors had wanted him to take up the mantle as a Solar, fighting together with the other Ascended in the Legion against the Fiends of the Lower Planes. Yet in his mind he knew that it had not been his true calling, that the Caretaker Order was where he belonged, a place where he could soothe and heal injured souls.
He couldn’t help but smile from inside his golden helmet, fondly remembering the very first soul he had rejuvenated. The process for doing so was simple enough, but at the same time required an immense strength of character and a strong natural empathy. It was not a job suited for many, and as such the numbers of the Caretakers had always been rather low. In fact, even with their Ascended immortality, their numbers had never exceeded two dozen at any one time. The method for healing a soul was, at its most basic level, to take the soul in question into oneself, partly reliving the soul’s previous life. All of its most harrowing moments, feeling all of the trauma and sadness associated with them, and then finally coming to terms with it all in a moment of joined enlightenment between Caretaker and Soul. At that point the soul would be cleansed in the Flame of Life and brought into the natural cycle once again.
'And now the Caretakers are all gone, only I remain... please, Asteraoth, if you're out there-...'
Lysander’s train of thought was abruptly broken as the weakening barrier outside started shattering in places, making the presence of innumerable Fiends known to his Ascended senses. It felt like pitch black darkness slowly surrounding him, seeping through the fractured barrier in an effort to quench the last remaining light in Elysium. He would give them no such satisfaction without a fight.
The Ascended braced himself protectively in front of the Flame of Life, the humanoid figure standing slightly taller than six feet, clad in protective golden armour adorned with silver and azure runes, his white angelic wings spread to their full size, and his right and left hands grasping the silver sword and brass lantern respectively. His golden eyes were locked on the gate in front of him as he prepared his defenses. The lantern held in his left hand started glowing softly, gathering energies from his own soul and focusing it into Miracle after Miracle. The first few castings increased his strength and reflexes, the next placed a protective shield around his body, and finally a warding enchantment against flames and dark magic.
With all of his preparations in place, Lysander started pouring even more power into the lantern, preparing his opening attack even as he felt the barrier outside give way and falter, its protective embrace entirely removed from around the Hall of Renewal.
'Come then, Fiends. Enter and meet your end!'
He knew what would come next, and the poor gate never stood a chance.
With a thundering explosion the double-gate was blown off its hinges, the shapes of charging Fiends visible through the smoke and gloom even before the two gates crashed to the floor on either side of him, cracks forming in the marble from their weight and impact.
They came at him like a flood, a large group of the smaller Imps running or flying into the Hall, claws and teeth barred, intent on ripping apart the last defender in front of them. They didn’t get far.
A great influx of magic into the lantern triggered the prepared Miracle, a bright fire forming inside it before being released as a wall of rushing flame, quickly bathing the hall in light and incinerating the first wave of Imps, turning them into little more than ashes. Their dying shrieks of pain and defiance sounded like a requiem to Lysander’s ears, filling him with grim satisfaction.
As the next wave came Lysander met them halfway, golden flames shrouding his sword, causing a persisting light to follow every swing of his holy weapon. He swung at the first Imp to meet him, the sword slicing through its small black shape, red eyes glaring murder at him all the while. The flames instantly cauterized the wound, allowing not a single drop of its tainted blood to touch the hallowed ground on which they stood. Grasping the hilt of his sword even tighter, he brought it back in an upwards arc, taking off an arm and a wing from the next Imp in line before whirling around himself. Meanwhile, his powerful wings warded off an attack from a pair of airborne attackers as he beheaded a third, its body dropping to the floor only to disappear in ashes like its predecessors.
Lysander turned into a whirlwind of death, his blade slicing through the air and bringing a quick end with every swing, his wings aiding with short bursts of movement while his lantern created impromptu shields whenever an attacker came too close to hitting him.
Already he was starting to feel the strain, and just barely did he manage to leap out of the way before a wicked glaive almost took his head off. Aided by his wings he quickly spun around in the air, glaring at the new arrivals around him. He had been so caught up in the battle that he hadn’t had time to notice the arrival of the actual shock troops, the glaive wielding Horned Devils rushing through the demolished gate in the wake of the Imp meat shields. These winged horrors, standing at just around six feet with leathery wings on their backs and two crooked horns on their heads, were the true soldiers of the Fiendish army.
Unwilling to back down no matter the foe, Lysander launched himself at the nearest of his new adversaries, swinging his flaming sword in a downward arc with all the strength he could muster, only to have the Horned Devil block the attack with the black shaft of his glaive, glaring and chuckling cruelly all the while. The Fiend’s mocking gaze quickly turned into one of shock as the flames around the Ascended’s blade intensified, washing over the creature in a blazing inferno, reducing its body to ashes along with a couple of unlucky Imps in the air behind it.
The flying Ascended didn’t have time to savour the kill before two glaives were brought down on either side of his head, just barely being turned away by his previously conjured shield, which flashed under the strain of the attacks. With a quick twist of his body, Lysander brought the sword around to deflect a third attack before going into a dive towards the ground, slashing apart another Imp too slow to get out of his way. Already he could feel the Horned ones above him take chase, their glaives readied to take apart the Ascended at a moment’s notice. He was sure that if he still had a mortal heart, it would currently have been stuck in his throat.
'Come on... come on!
With a roar of effort he gathered as much of his power as he could, the fiery blade suddenly bursting into a flare of golden flame as he rolled around, swinging the sword and releasing the pent up energy, sending a wide line of fire rushing towards his pursuers. The sudden attack took the charging Devils off guard, and only one of the three managed to dodge out of the way as the others were turned to ashes with unholy shrieks. Before Lysander could turn himself around again a veritable swarm of Imps were upon him, clawing and biting with all of the fury they could muster, their many attacks piercing his defensive enchantments in several places. Most of these were turned away by his armour, yet a few found their way through, claws opening wicked gashes in his white skin and bites denting his protective garment as they raked him with all their might.
Suddenly very thankful that his body no longer had any real blood to spill, Lysander fought like a man possessed until he was finally free from the mass of flying Fiends, correcting his trajectory just in time to avoid crashing into the hard marble floor below him. With a mighty effort of his wings, he swirled around, coming to a stop less than twenty feet from the Flame of Life still floating untouched in the middle of the hall, as serene and pure as always.
'Too close, I need to focus... I need to-...'
The last Caretaker snapped his attention back to the invading horde of Fiends just in time to be enveloped in a ball of black flames, the magical wards on his form struggling fiercely to protect him from the unholy inferno. Just as the wards died away together with the fire, Lysander found himself hovering in the air looking at the enormous Fiend no more than sixty feet from him. The creature was massive, and by the looks of the large opening where the gateway had once been, extremely powerful. It stood no less than twenty feet tall with bulging legs and arms, its dark red skin covered in black leather armor, its head with a fiery maw of razor sharp teeth and red glowing eyes gazing at him, and a black mane running down between protruding horns on either side of its skull. On its back was a pair of great leathery wings, and in its right hand a sword made of profane living flames.
Lysander felt a shiver through his body as he sensed the sheer aura of power coming from the beast, he knew what this thing was, and for the first time in his immortal life he felt real terror.
A Balor.
The greatest among Fiends let out a roar which shook the very structure around them, causing already damaged pillars to topple and pebbles to rain from the domed ceiling.
The Balor turned its attention back to the small defender before it, dark fire quickly forming in its left palm as it let loose another roaring fireball towards the Ascended, who barely had time to get out of the way before he was consumed in the attack. Even prepared Lysander didn’t manage to get entirely to safety, the dark flames licking and scorching the tip of his right wing, sending him plummeting to the side in pain and colliding roughly with the hard floor.
'Impossible, how could they have gotten a balor through the dimensional barrier?!'
All around him he heard the baleful laughter of a multitude of Fiends, and just as he managed to get back to his feet he was hit squarely on the side by a great red fist, a loud cracking of broken bones could be heard as he was thrown through the air, only to crash into the nearby wall with a loud yell of pain. Even with his Ascended body, naturally suppressing the worst of pains, he barely managed to stay conscious as he was assaulted with the most pain he had ever suffered. It felt like his entire right side had been torn clean off, and no matter what he tried he was unable to move or even feel his sword arm any longer.
With a pathetic yelp he fell from the wall and hit the floor once more, struggling to keep his eyes open, at the very least wanting to die being able to see his killer. He could just barely make out his sword and lantern on the ground before him, the light emitting from the Flame of Life suddenly blocked from view as the huge form of the Balor came into his line of sight.
Lysander could sense his end coming, an evil bellowing chuckle escaping the Greater Fiend as it prepared the killing blow, lifting its sword high, he could almost sense the pure malice of the blade as it swung towards him and then-…
“Stop.”
A voice ran out through the hall with such a strong sense of finality and authority that his would-be killer, one of the most powerful and oldest among Fiends, actually halted its attack, leaving the great, fiery blade only a couple of feet away from Lysander’s body. The Ascended was barely managing to stay awake at this point, his eyes still focused on the Balor which had turned its head to gaze at the new arrival, clear annoyance painted on its face.
What had just happened? The voice had sounded oddly familiar to him, but he was unable to piece together who it might have belonged to. He heard heavy footsteps ringing out through the suddenly eerily silent Hall of Renewal, and as the voice spoke again he was able to turn his head in the direction of the speaker.
“Let him live for now, it would be fitting for the last Caretaker to see the end of his precious Order,” the voice was cruel, mocking even, but now he finally remembered who it belonged to. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lysander?”
With the last of his strength, Lysander turned his gaze to the speaker, his eyes opening wide in disbelief and shock as he took in the appearance of the man before him.
He stood just slightly taller than the crippled Ascended, clad in a lighter, black armour without a helmet, which otherwise mirrored his own only with a dark purple cape falling from his shoulders, and two pairs of great feathery wings sprouting from his back. The wings were not the pure white as he remembered them however, instead they were entirely black, like the wings of a crow.
The man looked to the battered form of Lysander, a victorious smirk on his well toned face, once white eyes now turned charcoal black gazing into his own, the shoulder-length darkly silver hair moving slightly in the wind created by the vacuum left after the last fireball.
Lysander looked at the man with clear pain and disbelief painted on his face, it just couldn’t be happening, there was no way that this could possible be-…
“…Ezekiel.”
The name escaped his throat as a painful gasp, the damage to his body had barely left him the energy to speak, but he needed to know if it was true, if this was actually Ezekiel, and what had happened to the rest of the Seraphim Council.
The former Seraphim just looked at him with clear amusement, obviously enjoying the sight of the broken Ascended at his feet. The mocking tone was still clearly evident as Ezekiel turned entirely towards Lysander, waving the Balor away with a gesture.
“I’m glad to see that you still have the presence of mind to recognize me, even with my altered appearance,” the smirk on his face turned into a mirthless smile. “You should be honoured; you get to bear witness as I finally put an end to this pointless war and gain what is rightfully mine.”
“…Why?” The pained question came even slower this time; he could practically feel his last strength escaping his body.
“Why what? Why did I betray my own kind? Why did I join forces with the Fiends? Why did I….destroy the Seraphim Council?” The last question was spoken with a clear tone of victory, but Lysander couldn’t possibly believe it to be true. “I’m afraid it would be rather pointless to answer any of those questions, considering that you won’t be alive for much longer.”
Ezekiel gave him one last smile before turning around, heading with steady steps towards the center of the hall and the Flame of Life.
“Besides, I’m fairly certain that my intentions will be rather clear when you see what I am about to do.”
Not halting his pace towards the Flame, Ezekiel gave a simple flick of the wrist as a silver longsword appeared in his right hand, power radiating from it as it became covered in a shroud of purple energy.
Realization hit Lysander like a brick to the face, his eyes opening wide as a cold shiver ran through his body, he only managed to utter a single word before the former Council member’s sword burst with profane power and was gleefully thrust into the physical manifestation of life and rebirth.
“No!”
The last thing Lysander remembered was a great white light overtaking him, followed by the pain of feeling his very soul being torn apart like a piece of shredded paper.
Then, only darkness.