In the Beginning. . .
Derran Grandel groaned as he heard the door to his bedroom creak open. Shutting his eyes tight, he feigned blissful unconsciousness. Hoping he might steal a few more moments of sleep by playing to the sympathy of the one who had come to summon him from his dreams. Briefly, through a single cracked eyelid, Derran saw through the partly drawn curtains that the sun had barely risen. The muted sound of a distant rooster announcing the morning with an exuberant crow, serving to herald the glowing orb's unwanted light. The alarm clock on the oak bedside table had already tried to raise Derran with it's scream, and swiftly been silenced by his barely conscious hand. However his visitor, who's creaking footsteps on the wood floor were easily discernible as they moved to the side of the bed, was not so easily deterred.
"Are ye daft man?! Don' ye know what time it is?!" Came a feminine voice with a heavy Feyland accent, that would have been almost lyrical if not so harshly distorted by annoyance.
"Too early." Came Derran's reply, in a tone of overly exaggerated exhaustion as he covered his head with a pillow. Truth be told, he was already on the verge of full wakefulness, but he could never resist teasing his wife a little. She was absolutely irresistible when she was angry, and when she was happy, and when she was sad, and on any day ending in 'Y' really. What's more, he knew her reactions well enough to believe he might be able to coax her back to bed for a few moments of snuggling, if he played his cards right. He could almost feel the sly grin on her face as she replied.
"Oh?. . . An' here I thought I was married ta a soldier, not a slab o' rock. But seein' as how ye' are a rock, then ye' must be sturdy enough ta handle a little tough love. . . OH TERISSA?!!" Instantly Derran's eyes snapped open. "Oh no." was all he had time to think as his wife called out, and he realized he had miscalculated. "YER FATHER'S BEIN' A LAZY LUMP!! GET IM OP' FER ME WOULD YE'?!" Thinking quickly, Derran moved to throw back the sheets attempting to prove he was in fact awake, and no drastic steps were needed. Only to find his legs were hopelessly tangled in the bedsheets. Gamely, he managed to raise most of his upper body out of bed and open his mouth to protest, before being knocked down again by a red haired blur wearing a yellow nightgown.
"DADYYYYYY!!" The blur shouted, as it ran full force into Darran's broad chest, knocking him flat against the headboard as it wrapped its arms around his center of mass.
"OOF!!" Derran exclaimed as he just barely avoided having the wind knocked out of him completely. The figure now clinging to his bare chest, turned out to be a little girl of about twelve, her long fiery red hair done up in two pigtails. She looked up at her father with a smiling, freckled covered face, her icy blue eyes sparkling with joy.
"Come on dad!" She cried out with a giggle. "Mom says you gotta get up to make us pancakes!!" Derran glanced over at his wife with a look of mock reproach.
"Oh she did, did she?" He asked, with a small smirk as he tousled his daughter's hair affectionately.
"Darn right ay did! Yer breakfasts are the only reason I stay married ta yer lazy behind." She declared with a smirk of her own. Derran laughed as he eyed his wife of nearly fifteen years. Kira was still every bit as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her, her short red hair, that stayed slightly messy no matter how hard she tried, framing a delicate face with bewitching green eyes. Her slender figure, as well as graceful legs and arms, belied her surprising physical strength, and tough as nails personality. She looked like a fairy queen from a children's folktale, but had the personality of a warrior from a saga. . . and Derran loved her more every time he looked at her.
"And here I thought you married me because of my striking good looks and roguish charm." Derran replied back with a wounded pout.
"Nah," Kira replied without missing a beat. " tha' was just a bonus." Derran laughed out loud at that, he would swear Kira could read his mind sometimes, she always knew exactly how to match him quip for quip.
"Truly you spoil me with praise my love." Derran replied. "But I suppose the loyal knight must ever serve his queen and princess. So pancakes it is!" He declared with a smile.
"Yes!" Came an enthusiastic squeal from the girl clinging to Derran's waist. "Dad's pancakes are the best!!" It didn't take long after that for Derran to extricate himself from his daughter's iron grip, and throw on a robe. Following his wife and child down the stairs, he headed through the rustically appointed living room to the kitchen. Walking over the polished wood floors and past the painted white wooden cupboards. Derran noted all the ingredients and utensils he needed, had already been placed on the built in table next to the large stainless steel range stove. Derran grinned, Kira must have set it all up for him the night before without him noticing. Like so many things in their lives, she had planned this in advance.
As his daughter and wife set the table, Derran cracked his knuckles in preparation for his task. a gesture he had acquired during his time in the military, and one he always performed when he intended to tackle an especially important job. His movements were precise and measured, as he began mixing the flour, sugar, milk, vanilla extract, eggs and other ingredients together in a large ceramic mixing bowl. He had long ago learned the recipe by heart, and hummed tunelessly to himself as he worked. Without taking his eyes off the bowl, he reached out to turn on the two stove burners, above which was placed a cast iron griddle. Flicking his eyes to his right for an instant, he pressed the activation button on the automatic coffee maker, before resuming stirring the mixture in the bowl with energetic but even strokes.
"Ye' do make a handsome figure in tha' kitchen." Purred a voice from right behind him, as a pair of slender arms wrapped around his chest. Derran turned his head just in time for his lips to connect with a far softer pair, that eagerly devoured his own. Placing the bowl on the counter, Derran wasted no time in turning to embrace his loving wife, as their lips and tongues continued to wrestle. Finally however, they parted for air, and Derran was treated to a radiant smile that would have put the sun itself to shame. "Good morning gorgeous." Kira declared happily, her arms still wrapped around her husband's neck.
"Good morning beloved." Derran replied with a grin, his wife's good humor as infectious as ever. Briefly, Derran reflected that no matter what his mood might be, Kira could always instantly brighten it.
"Eeeew, you guys are gross!" Opined a child's voice from off to their side. Derran and Kira laughed as they regarded their daughter, who was partially covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.
"Oh I quite agree, that was simply awful. . ." Derran stated as he leaned in to rub his nose against Kira's. "you really must practice more." He chuckled. Kira smiled, as she gave him a glare of mocked anger.
"Well is na picnic fer me either, but some of us are tactful enogh' ta nah mention it." She shot back as she gave her husband a kiss on the nose accompanied by a laugh. "Now, back ta work, a'm gettin hungry!" Derran chuckled as he released her and went back to his cooking.
"As milady commands." He replied with a smile.
Twilight stared at the scene unfolding before her with wondering eyes. In the center of the clearing in which she and her friends and family now stood, surrounded on all sided by the forbidding darkness of the Everfree forest. The figure of Derran Grandal sat in a cross legged position in front of the massive circular stone monument that loomed over everypony present. His eyes were closed, and his body was utterly motionless, save for the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his armored chest, which was the only visible indication that he was even still alive. On either side of Derran were Celestia and Luna, the princess's of the sun and moon's horns glowed softly, as they fed a steady trickle of power into the spell that held the rapt attention of all present.
Manifesting as a large silvery cloud of mist that seemed paradoxically, both opaque and nearly transparent, it was connected to Derran's head by dozens of glittering threads comprised of the same ephemeral substance. The cloud churned and swirled, as the images of Derran's ancient memory played out within its depths. The images were so clear, it was almost as if you could step into the misty projection and interact with them. However, the realism and spellcraft, while impressive, were not nearly as interesting to Twilight as the images themselves.
"Is that. . . really Derran?"" She asked, almost unable to believe it. Derran's mane was much shorter, styled into what she believed was referred to as a business cut. He looked older, with the faint lines in his face that one associated with those who were just outside of middle age. The most striking difference however, was his attitude, he seemed. . . less intense somehow. His eyes seemed softer, his posture more relaxed, and the aura of power that seemed to surround him at all times was absent. In addition, while he was still very fit, his body seemed to have slightly less muscle definition, and even a bit of softness here and there. Were it not for the icy blue of his eyes, and the sound of his voice, Twilight could have easily assumed he was somepony else entirely.
"Indeed." Luna replied, glancing at Derran's seated form with an expression of sorrow. "This was Derran as he was slightly over twelve hundred years ago." Cadence, staring at the projection with no less incredulity than her sister in law, was next to speak.
"So. . . then those two are. . ." She trailed off as Celestia nodded.
"His wife: Kira, and his daughter: Terissa." The solar monarch confirmed sadly.
"Why does he look. . . older?" Asked Rainbow Dash, puzzled. Celestia simply shook her head.
"The answer to that will come later, for now, simply watch." Everypony present nodded their agreement, as new images resolved in the mist. Showing Derran and his family sitting around a table, their meal almost finished. Seeing Derran, and his wife and daughter talking and laughing, none could imagine a more perfect example of a happy family. . . it made Twilight wince, as she felt a sympathetic pain in her heart.
"Ay hope ye haven't forgotten about yer parents arriven today?" Kira asked, wiping away the lingering traces of maple syrup from her mouth with a red and white checkered cloth napkin.
"Of course, they are arriving later this afternoon correct?" Derran inquired, taking a sip from his coffee.
"Yep, yer father called to say he was going ta try an make it a wee bit earlier if'n e' could. Said e' had a big surprise fer ye." Kira replied as she started to clear the table.
"I hope it is not another attempt to convince me to take his seat on the high council." Derran replied darkly.
"O' come now, ye know he just wants what's best fer ye." Kira scolded from the kitchen. Derran laughed.
"So you think I should acquiesce to taking the job then?" He called back. Returning from the kitchen, Kira wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Light above, no!" She stated flippantly. "I'd go daft haven ta host those fancy dress parties like yer mum does. Na ta mention I canna stand tha pompous high society speech garbage, with milord this an milady tha', makes ma skin crawl." Derran raised an eyebrow.
"Are you implying that my manner of speaking is unattractive?" He asked with a smirk.
"Let's jus' say yer lucky ye have such a sexy voice." Kira replied with an impish smile, causing Derran to grin and roll his eyes goodnaturedly.
"I like how you talk daddy." Terissa offered up happily, leaving her empty plate to hug her father's arm.
"Thank you princess, I'm relieved someone around here appreciates high quality linguistic skills." Derran declared imperiously as he lifted his daughter onto his lap. "Ah, why your mother could not be as appreciative, I shall never know." He continued melodramatically. Kira however, smirked as her eyes flicked to her daughter.
"Oi, yer highness: beware o' flattery from a smilen maiden." Following his wife's gaze, Derran saw his daughter steal a syrup covered pancake off his plate, and hurriedly shove it into her mouth. "Old Feyland proverb." Kira declared with a laugh. Derran shook his head in defeat.
"A fork tongued devil for a wife, and a silver tongued brigand for a daughter. Truly I must have sinned mightily in a life past." He remarked with a laugh. "Still. . ." He continued, holding Terissa tight as he placed a kiss on her head. "I would not trade either for all the power and wealth upon D'nur." Derran declared, with both a smile and tone that bespoke true happiness.
++++++
An hour later The table was clean, and Derran stood in the living room wearing his work clothes. A worn red T-shirt and faded jeans, held up with a beat up leather belt, and a pair of brown leather work boots. Maybe not the peak of high fashion, but comfortable, and well suited for a day of work in the fields or repairing farm equipment. Nearby, Terissa sat at the coffee table on one of the beat up leather chairs, she wore a light blue dress with white stockings, and was currently drawing with her crayons, her face a mask of intense focus.
"What are you making princess?" Derran inquired, moving to his daughters side. Quickly Terrissa responded by throwing herself over her work, blocking it from view.
"Not till it's done!" She admonished, causing her father to smile.
"Oh come now, just a peek?" Derran asked placatingly. However Terissa was adamant, as she shook her head.
"No! You have to wait!" She declared, her tone stubborn in the way that only a child can be.
"Very well, have it your way, I shall be patient." Derran stated, relenting as he went to head for the door. "Love?! I am heading out now, I shall see you for lunch this afternoon!" Instantly Kira appeared as if by magic from the door leading to the guest room. Dressed in manner similar to Derran's she wore jeans of a darker blue, and a black shirt, and instead of boots and a belt, she wore sneakers.
"Nah without sayin goodbye properly yer no'." She admonished, walking over to him and placing her arms around his neck. Derran grinned as he gave her a chaste peck on the lips, she frowned. "Ye call tha' a goodbye kiss?!" She asked incredulously, and Derran smirked. Grabbing hold of Kira he swung her into a dip, supporting her with one arm before locking his lips to hers in a searing kiss that made her melt into him. Several long moments passed before Derran placed Kira back on her feet with a smile.
"Eh, I suppose tha's good enough." She declared with a smirk.
"You are a cruel woman my queen." Derran replied with a laugh, as he felt someone grab hold of his leg.
"Me next!" Terissa declared, staring up at her father with a slight pout.
"Of course princess." He replied with a laugh, picking up his daughter under her arms to gently spin her around, much to her giggling amusement, before placing a kiss on the center of her forehead. Lowering Terissa back to the ground, Derran smiled down at her beaming expression. "I shall return at noon, promise to show me what you were drawing when I do?" Derran asked with a smile. Terissa nodded vehemently.
"Yep, it'll be all done!" She responded happily, her smile never wavering.
"I shall look forward to it then." Derran replied, turning to head for the large red painted oak door. Pausing to make sure his wallet and oracle were in his pockets, and his keychain clipped to his belt loop, Derran turned the brass knob and threw the door wide. Only to come face to face with a pair of familier icy blue eyes.
The man who stood opposite of Derran was tall, and strongly built despite his advancing years. Patrician, clean shaven features, were framed by long hair, thinning on the top, and with a slight curl to it. His hair was once a deep black, but now contained a large amount of grey indicative of his age. He wore a black wool frock coat, that had been left unbuttoned to show the white dress shirt, and dark green vest beneath. Grey high waist pants covered his legs, terminating at perfectly polished low heel pointed toe boots. Around his neck he wore a brown paisley cravat, and under his arm he carried a black silk top hat. He stood on the stoop with right hand upraised, as though just about to knock.
"Father. . ." The word left Derran's mouth before he even had time to think about it, in a tone of understated surprise that was neither particularly hostile, nor particularly welcoming.
"Son. . ." The man replied, his tone mirroring his child's as he slowly lowered his hand. For several moments the two stared at each other, the abruptness of their meeting having left both unprepared for any more advanced form of greeting, and a palpable tension began building in the air.
"I thought you were not arriving until this afternoon?" Derran asked the question in a tone of studied neutrality, his expression carefully controlled. The man cleared his throat, in a slightly embarrassed manner before replying.
"We decided to depart very early this morning, I heard rumors the King might call a meeting today, and wanted to make certain I was unavailable." He explained, his gaze shifting nervously.
"I see." Derran replied, his expression still unreadable.
"Oh for the love of the Light Leman, he is not going to bite!" Came a woman's stern voice. The voice was highly aristocratic, and was spoken in the tone of a woman who was not in the habit of taking no for an answer. "And Derran Jericho Grandel, I did not raise my son to be inhospitable to guests, least of all those with whom you share blood!" The voice came from a woman exiting the passenger side door of an expensive looking black autocarriage. Clad in an immaculate blue victorian dress, that would have been more appropriate for a ballroom than a farm, this woman nevertheless moved with a robust forceful grace. Her features were as severe as her tone, and displayed the delicate cheekbones and jawline of a highborn lady. Her long silver hair was done up in a tight bun, while eyes of glittering steel grey glared at her son and husband with disapproval.
"Mother. . ." Derran said, a distinct note of nervousness in his voice as the woman moved toward the pair.
"Don't you 'Mother' me young man!" She shot back. "You two repeat this behavior every time we have occasion to visit! Tiptoeing around each other as though afraid of stepping on a landmine!" She declared angrily. "Now, from the top! I want a proper father son greeting!" Nodding, the two men squared off, each with a faintly frightened look in their eyes. Extending his hand, Derran did as instructed.
"A joy to see you again father, please pardon my surprise at your unexpected, but not at all unwelcome, early hour of arrival." Leman nodded, gripping his son's proffered hand tightly.
"A pleasure to see you as well my son, forgive me for not informing you of our revised schedule, but I had hoped to surprise you." He replied. Derran's mother nodded.
"Much better. Now greet your mother with a proper embrace." She declared, her previous severe expression vanishing beneath a warm smile, and kindly gaze. Derran returned the smile as he embraced both his parents in a tight hug.
"Good to see you again mother, and you father." Derran declared happily.
"You too darling." His mother replied, her tone now as warm as her expression. "Now, where is my wonderful daughter in law, and my even more wonderful granddaughter?" She was answered by a happily screaming redheaded blur shooting past her father to wrap her arms around the older woman's waist.
"Grammie!! Grampa!!" She shouted, as she swiftly wrapped her grandfather in a similarly robust bearhug. "I'm so happy to see you!" Terissa declared joyously.
"Lord an Lady Grandel, it's grand ta see ye again!" Declared the voice of Kira as she followed on her daughter's heels to embrace her in laws. Derran's mother returned the gesture of affection enthusiastically, while his father was faintly hesitant, as if he felt slightly uncomfortable with the idea of being welcomed.
"Oh Kira, rubbish with that 'Lord and Lady' nonsense, you call us Cynthia and Leman, or mother and father if it suits you! We are a family!" Derran's mother lightly scolded, as she beamed at her daughter in law and granddaughter. "Speaking of, I trust you two have been keeping my neerdowell son on the straight and narrow?" She asked looking down at Terissa with a wide smile as she and Kira parted from their hug. Terissa nodded happily.
"We have grammie! Daddy made us pancakes today!" She happily testified. Kira and Cynthia laughed at that, as Derran raised an eyebrow.
"How precisely, have I suddenly become a villain in your eyes mother?" Derran asked, a good natured smile on his face. Cynthia gave her son an imperious look of disapproval.
"You never call often enough, and you never send us any pictures of our darling grandchild!" She declared, and Derran laughed.
"I call you every week, and send pictures every year at the feast of Ahriman!" He protested. His mother simply shook her head.
"By what metric did you measure that as sufficient?! You should be sending photos at least once a month, and calling at least thrice a week! Honestly, how your poor wife and daughter tolerate your negligent nature I shall never know!" Cynthia declared, to the smiles and giggles of Kira and Terissa.
"Ay, we suffer, but he makes up fer it a wee bit with his cooking, an he ain't half bad in the field an around the house." Kira agreed in a faintly melodramatic tone, and with a devilish smile.
"He tries real hard grammie, but he puts me to bed way too early." Terissa declared, smiling at the opportunity to join in teasing her father. Derran's mother pretended to look appalled.
"No!" She declared in mock horror, kneeling to place her arms protectively around her granddaughter before glaring at her son in feigned anger. "My son, how could you?! This simply cannot stand! And to your own daughter no less! Have you no shame?!" Derran laughed at his mother's performance, placing up his hands placatingly.
"Peace mother, peace! I swear, tonight she can stay up as late as she desires, in fact, we can all watch a movie on the holobox tonight after dinner. Will that be sufficient atonement?" He asked with a smile. His mother nodded as she rose back to her feet.
"I suppose that would be up to the lady of the house now, would it not? Kira darling, what is your judgement?" Kira gave Darran an appraising glance.
"I suppose that'll do. . . if'n he promises to include some o' his famous chocolate chip cookies in ta the bargain." She declared slyly. Derran laughed as Terissa nodded her head vigorously in agreement.
"Very well then, if that is the price of expunging my sins, then consider it paid." Derran declared with a bow. "I shall be upon the task the instant I return this evening." Kira gave him a grim look, though the edges of her cheeks were twitching, as she struggled not to laugh, before offering a nod evoking magnanimity.
"A'right then, we'll be holdin ye to tha." She stated her grim expression swiftly giving way to a smile. Terissa nodded, grinning from ear to ear.
"Yes! Cookies!" she cried out happily. Derran's mother nodded curtly.
"Well then, now that that is properly settled, you men bring in the luggage while the ladies catch up, and not a word of complaint!" She ordered. Derran smiled as he gave a slight bow, turning to his father who had taken the opportunity to place his hat on a nearby hook.
"Shall we then father?" He asked with a chuckle. His father gave a laugh as he responded.
"Indeed, woe betide those who disobey the queen my son." He said with a smile, as they exited through the door. Heading out into the early morning light, Derran and his father walked down the short cobblestone walkway. Heading for the autocarrage parked in the dirt driveway that lead to the two door garage attached to Derran's home. It was a fine vehicle, of a design many decades in the past, but still pleasing to the eye. Having a sleek black body vaguely reminiscent of a bullet or dart, trimmed in reflective silver chrome.
"Still driving this ancient relic?" Derran teased as they headed around to the trunk.
"Indeed, I have always been a man who enjoys the classics." His father replied haughtily. Leman Grandel had a deep voice, with the same highborn accent as his wife. It was the voice of a man who whenever he spoke, even those of power listened. A voice that, even if you had never heard it before, demanded respect, and deference. It was a voice of strength, experience, and wisdom, that few would challenge. In fact, to Derran's knowledge, his father's voice had never failed to command instant respect, save from three people: his wife, his son, and his daughter in law. Derran shrugged.
"I would argue: stuck in the past, but that is merely my opinion." Derran stated as he opened the trunk and grabbed hold of his mother's suitcase. His father chuckled.
"It is odd you should choose that particular turn of phrase, as it reminds me I have a gift for you." Derran arched an eyebrow.
"Oh? What is the occasion? My birthday is several months off, and the Feast of Ahriman is not until winter?" Leman Grandel gave a mysterious smile as he gestured for his son to wait, and went to open the autocarriage's back door. Derran watched his father with a curious expression, as he pulled out a long box made of beautifully carved and lacquered red mahogany. The box looked incredibly old, despite its excellent condition. Its surface covered with intricately carved flowering vines, and a symbol that gave Derran a jolt, as he recognized it. It was a symbol from one of the most ancient, famous, and mysterious corners of D'nurian history. A sword, with an image of a partial eclipse, carved where the handle and crossguard met the blade, the sword itself thrust through the top of a monstrous looking skull. Derran could hardly believe his eyes.
"That is the symbol of the Night Sentinels!" He exclaimed in awe. "Their order died out millenia ago! Only a handful of artifacts from them even remain! Where on D'nur did you get that?!" Derran's father gave a conspiratorial smile, as he handed the box to his son.
"As it happens, this is a family heirloom, passed down from an ancient ancestor of ours. Supposedly, he was a member of the Night Sentinels, their high marshal in fact." Leman explained. Derran's expression became one of stunned surprise.
"You never told me that! Who was he?!" Derran asked, incredulous at this revelation.
"His full name was: Sir William Joseph Blazkowicz, of the noble house of Blazkowicz. The house fell from grace many centuries after William's death, and eventually married into our own family. If legend is to be believed, he was one of the last High Marshals of the Night Sentinels, and a renowned demon hunter." Derran laughed at that.
"Demon hunter?" He asked with a chuckle as he examined the box, it was heavier than it appeared at first glance, and he could feel something shift inside of it slightly. "Surely you jest? Demons are a fairy tale told to frighten children and the blindly religious." His father shrugged.
"It was likely just a title, I doubt he ever actually fought demons. Still, he was said to be a peerless warrior, and a strong leader." Here Leman paused, allowing his son to absorb the information for a moment before continuing. "It took a great deal of searching to find this, I had to nearly tear the attic apart." Derran could well believe that, the Grandel mansion was massive, and he doubted anyone knew even half of what was inside it. Leman tapped the box with his finger. "When I saw what was inside I nearly suffered a stroke, see for yourself." Derran arched an eyebrow in faint suspicion, pausing for an instant, before he moved to undo the latch. It was made of slightly tarnished silver, and was designed in the same shape as the symbol of the Night Sentinels carved into the box. Despite its obvious age, it opened easily with a faint click, as Derran slowly lifted the lid and looked at what the box contained. For an instant. . . Derran found he couldn't breathe.
It was a sword, slightly longer than a longsword, but slightly shorter than a claymore. Made of black steel, there was little ostentation to the weapon, it was simple. . . functional. . . yet clearly like no other weapon in the world. The handle was long, wrapped in red dyed leather, and clearly designed to be usable in either one or two hands. The pommel was a loop of steel that looked decorative despite its simplicity, and fully capable of cracking open the skull of a careless opponent. The crossguard was solid looking, each end capped by the same loop as the pommel, a small faintly glowing gem of sky blue at the point where the handle and crossguard met, was one of the few visible nods to ornamentation. As for the blade, it was black steel like the rest, forged to perfection, and without so much as a single scratch or chip on its mirror polished surface, despite its supposed immense age. Extending from the handle and into the fuller, was a raised section of the blade with a series of ancient D'nurian runes, etched in gold, while along the fuller itself was a line of inlaid gold, that seemed almost to glow in the sunlight.
"This. . . this is. . ." Derran couldn't speak as he stood holding the box with trembling hands.
"You, are the only warrior left in our family, I thought it fitting that you have this. . . the Hellbane: Unmaker." Leman explained, with a faint smile. Derran felt his eyes nearly pop out of his head, as he looked at the sword.
"A Hellbane?! Our family has a HELLBANE?!" He kept repeating in his head. If Derran wasn't seeing it with his own eyes, he would have said it was madness! In the distant past, wars had been fought over possession of the ten legendary Hellbanes, entire kingdoms wiped out on the mearist rumor that one had been found. Their historical value alone made them priceless, while their mystical qualities made them utterly beyond traditional concepts of value, and now he held one in his very hands!
"I assume you know the legend about the Hellbanes?" Derran's father asked with a chuckle. He was clearly enjoying his son's shock, of course Derran knew! Even the most poorly educated child on D'nur, knew the legend of these supposedly all powerful weapons! Derran spoke like his mouth was on autopilot, his voice a reverent whisper as he recited the basic story from memory.
"When the Light chose its ten champions to face the Darkness, it knew they were too few to fight it with ordinary weapons. However, just as creation was anathema to the Darkness, so destruction was to the Light. Never had it taken life directly, nor created anything that held the sole purpose of causing harm. Ever had it won against the Darkness by strengthening its many children, or healing their wounds. Even when struck, it could never bear to harm an attacker. However, just as rage allowed the Darkness to rebel against its nature, so too did the love for its threatened children, allow the Light to transcend its own limitations. And in so doing, create the mightiest weapons ever to be used against evil." Derran seemed as if he was completely unaware of his surroundings as he kept talking. "It made ten weapons, indestructible even by the Darkness, and each designed to feed on the power of evil. Turning the Darkness's own strength against it, and each with the name of a virtue: Mercy, Justice, Repentance, Temperance, Honor, Order, Purity, Truth, and Innocence. However, one weapon was different. Containing power like none other. It was gifted to the champion who ultimately defeated the Darkness, and was said to have the ability to completely extinguish evil souls, and so it was named. . . Unmaker!" Derran stared at his father in awe.
"You always were fond of those stories." Leman said wistfully. Derran shook his head as he closed the lid of the box.
"Is. . . is this truly Unmaker. . . thee, Unmaker?" Derran asked, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. His father shrugged.
"I honestly am not certain, I do not dare have it appraised, if it is the genuine article, there'd be no end of brigands and other rabble who would come seeking to steal it. To say nothing of the various idle rich who would come beating down my door begging me to sell it. However, according to our ancestral legend, it is the real Unmaker, the first and mightiest of the Hellbanes." Derran shook his head, as his father cleared his throat. "Incidentally, I recommend not telling anyone about it. Just keep it as a conversation piece, and if anyone inquires, tell them I had it commissioned for you by a magesmith in a foreign land." Derran nodded his agreement, a real Hellbane could be traded for rulership of a country, and it would still be considered an amazingly cheap price. Derran shuddered to think what people might be willing to do for this kind of treasure.
"Of course. . ." Derran trailed off as he glanced at a large granite boulder in a field across the road. Calming as he recalled one of the many stories surrounding the Hellbanes. "I wonder. . . do you think it is true that a Hellbane can cut through any substance as though it were air? Or erect an invincible aegis of force to shield its wielder?" Leman shrugged.
"Perhaps, all the other supposed Hellbanes are in museums, or the vaults of various royal families across the world, so no one has tested them in recent memory. But if it is, then maybe it is also true that the only thing it can never cut, is the flesh of the innocent, perhaps you could set yourself up as a magistrate?" Derran laughed at his father's comment, recalling the stories of kings ruling guilt or innocence by striking accused criminals with a Hellbane.
"I do not think the local constabulary would care for me trying that." He stated with a grin. " Thank you father, this is a truly wonderful gift." Derran stated gratefully. Leman nodded.
"I am delighted to hear that, now I advise we bring in these bags before your mother grows impatient." Derran nodded, closing the ornate box and placing it under one arm.
"Indeed, I doubt even a sword of godly legend would do much in the face of mother's wrath." He commented with a smile, as he hoisted his mother's suitcase again. His father chuckled as he grabbed the other bag.
"As the man who has been married to her for nearly forty years, I can assure you that you would fight very bravely, and fall very swiftly." Laughing, the pair headed back toward the house, the tension of their earlier meeting entirely forgotten.
++++++
A short time later, Derran and his father once more found themselves in front of the two story white painted colonial building that was Derran's home. As much as he would have liked to stay, Derran still needed to head out to the fields, and Leman had offered to see him off. There was always something to be done on the farm, plowing, seeding, watering, spraying, harvesting, conducting repairs on something, or just scaring off the occasional deer. Fortunately today's workload was comparatively light, and Derran was certain everything would be done long before nightfall. Walking to his terran engine, or 'Tractor', as some lands called it, Derran listened to his father complain about the latest problems on the royal council.
"Half the council are beginning to wonder if the king has gone entirely mad." Leman groused. "He barely attends to the needs of the kingdom anymore, and we are left to handle nearly everything. Then we hear he's emptied half of the kingdom's coffers to purchase various ancient mystical artifacts of very suspect origin and authenticity. And now all these rumors of the king conducting some kind of rituals in secret!" Derran's father shook his head. "For all the power the king has dumped in our laps, I cannot help but feel as though things are spiraling farther and farther out of control. . ." Derran shrugged, he had never been interested in politics, despite being born into a family of politicians and trained in every aspect of courtly life, speech, and etiquette. As far as he was concerned, if it didn't affect him directly, it didn't matter.
"Not to seem uncaring, but if the day to day running of the kingdom is uncompromised, I fail to see the issue." Derran stated as he placed the satchel containing a small snack in the back of the engine's cab, just beneath the shock rifle he used to drive off deer. His father sighed.
"Do not feign ignorance my son, you know as well as I, that a king must project strength, lest other countries begin to wonder if our lands may be fit to plunder." Leman stated. Derran rolled his eyes.
"Oh come now father, it has been well over a generation since the last war. Our enemies are few, and none are close enough to present any kind of real threat even if they wanted too. Besides, our current king has only held the throne for a few years, this is likely just him still getting used to the job." Derran stated, turning to give his father a reassuring smile. Leman shook his head.
"Unlikely, the king was. . . unsettlingly ambitious, until about a year ago, then this started up. And my personal sources have also been bringing me disturbing rumors of their own. Kidnappings, unsavory individuals having audience with the king in great secrecy, and other even darker accusations." Derran shook his head.
"All of them uncorroborated I would wager." He commented with a frown. Leman sighed.
"Yes. . . for now." Looking suddenly older than Derran had ever seen him, Leman's expression became one of bitter resignation. "I am not a young man anymore my son, and it is starting to tell on me. I can no longer command the respect I once did in the council, and the rapid march of progress is beginning to leave me behind. I am, as you said, 'stuck in the past'." Derran's father hesitated for a moment, his tone becoming hopeful. "Perhaps, if I could give my position to a worthy successor. . ." Derran let out a sigh of his own, this one of frustration.
"And so we see the truth of the matter." He stated irritably. "We have had this conversation a dozen times father, and my answer has not, nor shall it ever change. No!" Leman's tone became faintly pleading as he continued.
"At least consider it. You may not believe it, but you are a superb leader. I know full well that you turned down multiple promotions during your time in the military. You could have been a Captain or Major if you had wanted! Son please, if not for yourself then for your people! We need strong leaders! Kemed needs-"
"ENOUGH!" Derran shouted, silencing his father with his anger, before calming himself with a deep breath. "My answer is 'No' father, and that is all it shall ever be." Looking his father in the eye he continued. "Maybe if Kemed were at war or in some other mortal danger I might, might, consider it, but we are not." Leman opened his mouth to reply, but Derran forestalled him with an upraised hand. "And while I might, might, have the qualifications to lead men in battle, my temperament is ill suited to helping lead a country. More to the point however, I have no desire for either, I have no wish to lead or to follow, I only wish to be left in peace with my family!" Once more Derran's father attempted to speak but was cut off, his son continuing to speak as he hoisted himself into the cab of his terran engine, and glared down at his father from the seat. "This conversation is over father, and we shall not be having it again, do I make myself clear?!" Leman looked for a moment like he would continue to protest, but then shut his mouth and nodded. He did not want another fight over this. Derran rarely lost his temper completely, but when he did it was nothing short of terrifying, though Leman could never recall him ever coming to blows with anyone, even in the throes of his most terrible rages. However, more than that, Leman had no desire to drive his son away a second time, and so he capitulated. "Good." Derran said, his voice still slightly tense but his anger already fading. "I shall see you this afternoon then." He declared, a note of finality in his voice highlighting that no further argument on the matter would be tolerated. Then with a nod, he closed the cab door and started the vehicle.
Twilight and the others stared unblinkingly at the events playing out before them. This. . . this was what Derran Grandel, the Doom Slayer, the most fearsome warrior to ever live, had been? Now that it had had time to sink in, it seemed almost surreal to many of them. More than a few of the ponies assembled, knew, or guessed, that Derran had had a family, but the feeling of seeing it play out before them was impossible to describe adequately.
"He. . . he seems mostly the same but. . . at the same time he's so different." Cadence stated, and the others couldn't help but nod.
"He seems so much more relaxed. . . gentle, even when he got angry there, it was nothing like what I was expecting." Fluttershy commented.
"Yeah," Shining agreed. "whenever I talk to him now, I always feel this. . . I don't know, power, coming from him. Like he's a sheathed weapon, that's always ready to be drawn. Whenever I look at him, I'm one hundred percent dead certain that I could never take him in a fight, but looking at him here. . ." Shining shrugged. "I just see a regular stallion, no different from anypony else." Rarity nodded as she chimed in.
"I know what you mean darling, he always has that look in his eyes like he's seeing things nopony else possibly could. And as much as I hate to say it aloud, and as much as I know he does not deserve it. . . I always feel a bit scared of him sometimes, no matter how hard I try not to be. However, seeing him like this. . . I don't think I could be frightened of him even if I was inclined to try." She stated.
Everypony save Celestia, and Luna, nodded a bit guiltily. They had all felt it at one time or another, the faint sense of fear that Derran sometimes inspired. Not the terror some of them had felt upon seeing him in battle, but rather, a subtle sense that there was something faintly. . . off, about Derran. It was most intense when you first met him, and tended to swiftly fade over time to the point where you forgot it was ever there. But every once in awhile, something made it resurface. It was always faint, easily ignored, and vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it was still there, this. . . feeling that deep inside Derran, something terrible was lurking. Nopony among them could truly label it 'evil', but it was most definitely not good.
Rainbow nodded along with everypony else, as she recalled earlier when Derran had become angry with her. It might have been her imagination, but for just an instant, it had looked like his eyes had changed. In that instant, that feeling of faint fear buried in her subconscious, had exploded, into a single moment of pure terror like none she had ever felt. She considered mentioning it, but decided against it, it might have been a trick of the light, and Derran when he got angry, was scary no matter how brave you were. Whatever it was that inspired these inconsistent feelings of unease, it clearly was not present in the stallion they saw in the misty depths of the spell.
"What was that thing Derran's parents came in, and that thing he was driving?" Rainbow asked, getting the odd preminatory feeling that the question of Derran's occasionaly off putting nature, would be revealed in time. Luna glanced at the images in the spell, temporarily frozen, so they could speak without missing anything.
"D'nur was a world that had achieved a far greater level of technological development than Equestria. Long before Derran was even alive, they discovered a method of fusing their technology and magic together, allowing them to work wonders that even to us, would seem like. . . well. . . magic. Those vehicles are one such wonder, they are effectively a chariot that is propelled by magical energy, and were used for everything from agriculture to warfare." She explained, Twilight nodded.
"Derran mentioned he had a device called an 'Oracle', that he could use to do all kinds of amazing things." She commented.
"And you all saw the armor that Derran's brothers wore, it too is a product of what they referred to as magical technology or: Magetech, for short. Although theirs was made using both Equestrian, and D'nurian magic." Celestia stated.
"Wait." Twilight responded, giving Celestia a puzzled look. "You mean they built that armor while in Equestria over a thousand years ago? How?" She asked, slightly incredulous.
"The D'nurians used magic spells for everything, including the rapid creation and refinement of complex substances from raw materials. As long as they have access to the raw materials, they can fabricate whatever they need, given time. Although, for reasons you will soon see, this was impossible before they reached us." Celestia explained.
"They really were able to make all the technology from their lost civilization from memory?" Cadence asked in amazement. Luna shook her head.
"Not quite, several of Derran's more prescient brothers, brought along what they referred to as 'Data Crystals', magetech crystals the size of a thumb, that can store more information than exists in all the library's of Equestria combined. The crystals can be read by any mage who knows the proper spell, or by anyone with the proper magetech device. However, after creating their weapons, armor, and supplies, the devices used to create them were hidden, along with the crystals to preserve secrecy." She explained, and despite everything, Twilight felt herself nearly swoon, at the thought of that much advanced knowledge stored away somewhere. However she swiftly returned to earth, feeling guilty as she recalled that those crystals were likely all that remained of the culture and history of Derran's homeworld.
"Which reminds me. . . why was all this kept a secret?" Twilight asked. Luna gestured back to the illusion, which she and Celestia had kept paused.
"Let us keep watching, you shall have all the answers soon enough. . ."
Pulling away from the house and his father, Derran let out a deep breath as he drove forward. The terran engine moved at a slow, leisurely pace, its techno-sorcerous motor having been designed for power over speed. However, that suited Derran fine, as it gave him a chance to relax by watching the surrounding lush grasslands, and distant abutting forests, roll by. In the distance to his right, Derran could see the foothills that gradually transitioned into mountains, while on his left he could barely make out the far off silver skyscrapers, and enchanted stone castles, that made up Argent. The capital city of Kemed rose up over the hills and distant forests like a shining beacon. The reflections of sunlight off the chrome and polish, of countless hover carriages, and lifter bikes, making the air around the city seem to sparkle. Much of Kemed was hilly grassland, and relatively flat forest, that combined with how large the capital actually was, allowed it to be seen even from this vast distance. Derran had been to the city many times, both as a child accompanying his father, and an adult to sell his harvest. And while he did enjoy it there among the crowded streets, towering buildings, and honking auto and hover carriages, he much preferred the quiet of the countryside.
Closer to hand, Derran could see the center of the town he called home, the center being only a few miles from where he lived. The town of Stalhime was quite small compared to the capital, but still had plenty going for it. In addition to the library, and Church of the Heavenly Dawn, where Derran and his family attended services. There were several very nice restaurants, a holo theater, various miscellaneous stores, and the "Drunken Giant", the bar where Derran and Kira had made a bit of a name for themselves around town, as a karaoke singing duo. Derran smiled as he thought of the many saturday nights they had spent there to the cheers of the raucous crowd. The road that led to Derran's fields was a gently winding dirt affair, far enough away from the town center that houses became sparse. Most of the land being given over to crop production. Glancing over to his left. Derran saw one of his few nearby neighbors, Mr. Settron, who most would have called a paranoid shut in. Though, in reality, Derran knew him as merely a grumpy, retired, widower, who simply preferred to be alone.
It didn't take long for Derran to reach his fields, several score acres of corn, fruit trees, and various vegetables, as well as a decent sized patch of melons and squash. It was midsummer, and most of the crops had already begun growing in ernest. Most of today's schedule was about watering and spraying for pests, plus harvesting a few watermelons for the house. Derran smiled as he guided the engine into the gate in the electrowire fence that surrounded his land, to keep out all but the most determined deer. Pulling his oracle from his pocket, Derran glanced at the display. He had made relatively good time, as it was still only about 8:40am, and he reflected his father hadn't been kidding about getting an early start. Considering the three hour journey from the Grandel manor to Stalhime.
Derran frowned. . . his father. Derran knew Kira was right, and that Leman Grandel only wanted what was best for his son. However it frustrated Derran that his father always assumed that meant having power and wealth. True, money was always nice, and he could think of worse things than being one of the most influential figures in Kemed, but somehow the idea never appealed to him. Power and money had a nasty habit of changing people for the worse, and it was a rare man indeed who could say otherwise. Derran's mother was the only person he could think of, whom had never allowed her money or status to change her. Derran suspected that that was the main reason his father had the reputation he did for being such a principled member of the nobility. Derran sighed, he understood his father was worried about both his son and the kingdom, and was simply pursuing what he felt was the best solution to both, but it just wasn't something Derran could do. Derran shook his head, enough fretting about family matters for now, they would keep till he got back. Retrieving his wireless earpieces from an overhead pocket and putting them in his ears, Derran pulled out his oracle. Holding the palm sized rectangle of glass and plastic in one hand, he called up the music program and selected one of the soundtracks Kira had made for him, before hitting play, and getting to work.
For the next few hours, Derran spent his time spraying anti pest potion on the corn, before switching to pulling weeds in the vegetable patch. Falling into a comfortable rhythm, Derran sang along to the songs he was listening to, memorizing the words, while he pulled weeds from the ground and threw them into a nearby pile. While he did use herbicidal potions to help keep the weeds under control, there were some particularly tenacious specimens that the potion brand he used wasn't able to counter completely. However there were so few of these die-hard survivors, that it was cheaper to simply take them out by hand, than to buy a stronger potion. He had considered paying a mage to enchant the field with an anti-weed spell, but that too was a bit out of his price range. Besides, he rather liked doing it the old fashioned way, there was something innately cathartic about firmly grabbing an unsightly weed, and ripping it free from the earth, before tossing it aside with a flick of his hand. However, just as Derran paused to note that it was approaching noon, and he ought to head back for lunch, something began to happen. . .
A strange chill from out of nowhere made Derran stiffen, a feeling of inexplicable terror jolting him from his thoughts. Whipping his head around, Derran was briefly overcome by a sense of being surrounded by some unseen enemy. Suddenly, the music Derran was listening to was replaced by an angry hiss of static. Snapping out of his daze and pulling his oracle from his pocket, Derran was stunned to see the display was jumping around all over the place, amid a haze of snowy visual interference. Tapping the screen Derran attempted to get it to respond, but it only seemed to get worse. The light from the screen became an angry red, and Derran could swear he was seeing glimpses of strange symbols, ghosting across it at random. Then without warning, Derran let out a cry of surprise and pain. As what sounded like an inhuman scream, blasted through the audio buds in his ears. Dropping his oracle in surprise Derran ripped the small speakers from his ears and flung them away. Recovering swiftly, Derran bent down to retrieve his malfunctioning device, only for his eyes to widen as he saw the screen. It was now blazing with crimson light, and clearly no longer capable of performing its original function. Derran took a step back in fear, as he struggled to understand what he was seeing.
A face. . . more hideous than any he could imagine in even his deepest nightmares, seemed to be pressed to the screen of his oracle. As if it were a window to another realm, and the thing inside was attempting to break free. The horrifying visage snapped and drooled, drawing a long sinuous tongue across the screen, leaving a trail of boiling saliva behind. Derran stood frozen, as he tried to comprehend what was going on. Was it a glitch? Not likely, maybe a virus or practical joke by a bored techno-sorcerer?! Yes, that had to be it, there was no way this was. . . Derran's thoughts halted abruptly. His blood became ice, and his heart leapt into his throat, as he stared at the oracle with an expression of horrified disbelief. The face beyond the oracle's screen. . . was staring at him. Derran took a step back, and the creature's eyes tracked the movement, its features forming into a twisted approximation of a smile, then it opened its mouth. . . and screamed.
There was no sound, not really, though there might have been if Derran had still had his earpieces. However the effect was no less dramatic. In a flash of light Derran's oracle exploded with an echoing bang. Derran flinched, his cheek suddenly stinging, as what must have been a small piece of glass from the burst screen, grazed his face. Instinctively, Derran brought his hand to his injury, his fingers coming away red. Standing there with a dumbstruck expression on his face, Derran suddenly became aware of something even more disturbing. Despite the fact that the sky was completely clear, the area was suddenly growing darker, as if a cloud had passed before the sun. The darkness deepened, and a low rumble like distant thunder caused the air to tremble. Derran shook his head and started to move toward his parked terran engine, whatever was going on, he needed to get home. . .now.
However, no sooner had that thought entered Derran's head, then a sound like the roar of the Darkness itself, tore through the air. Derran was thrown from his feet by a force akin to being hit by an out of control autocarriage. A new sound, like all the screaming souls of the accursed wailing together, was heard. A howling wind carried the smell of rotting diseased flesh to Derran's nostrils, and he struggled not to vomit. Then, without warning. . . Derran screamed. It felt as though his entire body, inside and out, was burning. Yet it was not physical pain alone that made him give voice to his agony. Inside Derran's head, he could hear thousands of voices, screaming, roaring, bellowing in a language that he could not understand, yet filled him with a penultimate terror. A sensation like ethereal claws tearing at his soul, nearly made Derran bite his tongue off. As he rolled around in the dirt, screaming as he clawed at his head. Had it not been for the thought of what might befall his family, should he fail to come home, Derran would undoubtedly been broken, mind, body, and soul, by the pain. As it was however, he managed to grit his teeth against the physical and spiritual torment, holding on to his sanity with all his strength. Then finally. . . mercifully. . . the pain ended, as unconsciousness took him.
How long Derran remained in that state of senseless repose, he could not have said, but when at last he opened his eyes, he beheld what could only be called, armageddon. His first glimpse of the transformed world from his prone position, was the sky. Roiling clouds as black as coal, and backlit by an unholy scarlet radiance, stretched unbroken to the horizon in every direction. Strikes of unnatural crimson lightning played across the constantly moving cloud cover, as thunder that sounded like the roar of some mountain sized beast, reverberated through the air. The temperature seemed at once, both freezing cold, and boiling hot. The air carried a carrion stench that was a revolting mix of sulfur, rotting meat, and spilled blood, and every breath was like sandpaper in Derran's lungs.
Forcing himself to rise, Derran felt his mind rebel against what he beheld, the world beneath the unearthly sky was a ruin. Every plant was a dull lifeless grey, and as Derran accidentally brushed against a nearby squash vine's leaves, it exploded into a cloud of dust. The entire plant, having become nothing more than a sculpture of unliving ash. The trees were much the same, blackened husks of carbon, devoid of leaves, and which burned with fires of unnatural intensity and brightness. Even the earth itself had become a corrupted ruin, with splotches of soil looking disturbingly as though they had been turned to living flesh, and various rocks having acquired the color and texture, of long dead bone. Standing amid surroundings that resembled nothing so much as a lunatic's nightmare, Derran felt his mind go blank.
"What. . . what is this?!" He asked aloud, his voice little more than a frightened whisper. Derran's body felt numb, wanting nothing more than for this to be a nightmare. To pinch himself, and wake up in his bed next to Kira, knowing everything was all right. That thought sent a jolt like lightning through Derran's body, and suddenly he felt his mind focus on a single terrible realization. . . His family was in the middle of all this. . . and he was not with them. Instantly Derran felt his old soldier instincts take over, his terror departing as his focus cleared, and training took over. He now had a mission, one who's importance purged the horror of a moment ago from his mind completely. He did not have the luxury of giving in to fear, and he did not have time to contemplate the horrors surrounding him, he had only his objective, all else was meaningless. Now fortified with purpose, Derran set his jaw, and began to move.
Turning to look at his terran engine, Derran felt a momentary flare of despair, when he saw it was out of commision. Laying on its side with the engine blown out and smoldering. Derran ignored the feeling of panic that was threatening to overwhelm him, fighting the sensation down with an effort of will. His family did not have time for him to be afraid, and so he must not be. Climbing up on top of the useless wreck, Derran wrenched open the door to the cab, pulling his shock rifle from its mounting and checking the charge. Mercifully, it was still in working order, its magetech components apparently hardy enough to have survived whatever terrible magic had done this.
Having retrieved the weapon, Derran grit his teeth, and set off at a jog toward the road, resisting the urge to sprint with a supreme degree of self control. He couldn't afford to exhaust himself, as he had a terrible feeling that there was more in this wasteland than fire and ash, and he would need to be ready. Reciting a prayer to the Light under his breath, he set out through the nearby corn field, the plants disintegrating as he moved through them, and swiftly coating him in grey powder from head to toe. A small part of him wondered why he had survived when so much else had not, but he ignored the thought. A soldier does not question, he simply moves toward the objective and accomplishes the mission.
The trip to the road took only about five minutes, but still felt frustratingly long. Derran prayed that Kira and his parents had the good sense to stay put in the house, with the doors bolted. He didn't dare allow himself to think about how long he might have been unconscious. Such thoughts would accomplish nothing other than to slow him down. Finally reaching the road, Derran gained a cleared view of the surrounding country, and felt his guts turn momentarily to water as he looked toward the capital.
Despite a distance of over fifty miles, Derran clearly saw what could only be the origin point of this nightmare. A pillar of swirling red energy blazed up from the center of the city, punching a massive hole in the twisting clouds above. The charnel beam must have been over a mile across, and taller than any mountain on the planet. Great forks of incandescent scarlet lightning arced out from it, to touch down many miles away, carving molten trenches into the dying earth. Judging by what he knew of the layout of the capitol city, Derran calculated the epicenter to be right above the royal palace. Derran stared at the unspeakable pillar in horror, as he considered what his father had mentioned to him earlier that day, about the behavior of the king. However, before Derran could devote any more thought to the subject, he was pulled back to reality by the sound of gunfire. The volume and direction of the shots, seemed to indicate the sound was coming from Mr. Settron's place. Derran started to jog in the direction of the shots, but then slowed, did he really have time for detours when his family might be in danger? Another shot, followed by a very human scream of pain, made the decision for him, and he took off at a dead run toward Settron's home, turning his shock rifle's output to its maximum setting.
Reaching the house, Derran slowed, holding his weapon so that it was pointed at the ground, but could be brought to firing position at a moment's notice. As he scanned the outside of the building for hostiles, he lamented the fact that he didn't have a better weapon. Shock rifles were perfect for driving off deer, or incapacitating a human, but even at max power, were unlikely to do more than knock someone out. Still, it was better than nothing, and Derran advanced toward the front door with a sense of grim determination. Normally Derran would have tried to find a back way in, hoping to gain the element of surprise, but that would take time, and the door would likely be locked. Based on what little he knew of his shut in of a neighbor. Derran advanced on the single story house, the outer structure curiously untouched by the blight around it, save for a few scorch marks. Derran moved along the side the built in garage was on, ensuring he was out of view of any windows. Then, flattening himself against the wall, Derran made his way, swiftly but quietly, toward the front door, ducking low whenever one of the darkened windows appeared.
Reaching the front door, Derran found a disturbing scene. The large painted oak door, had been literally torn apart, with pieces of its splintered remains having been scattered around the frame. Ducking his head into the empty frame for an instant, Derran could see the rest of the door's pieces, as well as a toppled side table, and a smashed vase that had been filled with dried flowers, now scattered across the floor of the entranceway. Taking a deep breath, Derran checked his weapon one final time before calling out.
"MR. SETTRON?! THIS IS DERRAN GRANDEL YOUR NEIGHBOR! I HEARD SHOTS, CAN YOU RESPOND?!" Derran had done more than a little search and rescue work during his military service, and when dealing with rescuees who might be armed, it was best to let them know you were coming, rather than surprise them, lest you become a casualty of friendly fire. In this case it meant giving up the element of surprise completely, but if there was no response, it still gave Derran the option of backing off. As it happened, he didn't have long to wait, before the rasping, pain filled voice of an older man replied.
"I'm in the kitchen! Hurry!" Derran called out a quick acknowledgement as he entered the house. Heading through the entryway, Derran moved into a short hall, and had to exert every iota of his willpower not to cry out in alarm, as he made contact with what could only be the enemy. The thing lay crumpled on the floor, leaking foul smelling blood through a hole in its upper torso. The size of the hole, and splatter of blood on the destroyed wall next to the creature, suggested a shotgun blast had been responsible for its death. The creature had smooth, light brown skin, that transitioned to dark purple around the hands, mouth, and stomach. Its face was extremely angular, with bony spines atop the head, and bony plates surrounding the mouth, and extending down on either side of the chin. Its hands had three powerful looking clawed fingers, while it's feet ended in misshapen lumps of flesh, that were neither feet, nor hooves. Even in death, the monster exuded an aura of malevolence that made Derran sick just being near it. He could only imagine how much worse it would have been, if the unholy thing had still been alive.
Ignoring the millions of questions running through his mind, Derran refocused on his mission, advancing deeper into the house. As the hallway ended, Derran found himself in a large space that answered for a living room. The walls were decorated with old paintings, and a holobox in an armoire that was positioned in front of a pair of couches and wooden coffee table. A groan of pain directed Derran to a door to his left as the path to the kitchen. Hugging the wall, Derran called out again.
"Mr. Settron? It is Derran, I am coming in." He said, before waiting for a reply. The response was swift, and uttered with what sounded to be considerable difficulty.
"I heard you the first damn time. . . Don't worry, I'm not in any condition to shoot you, even if I wanted to." Taking a deep breath, Derran entered the room. There on the floor, his back propped against the refrigerator, was Mr. Settron. He was about the same age as Derran's father. Bald, but with a shock of white hair surrounding the sides and back of his head, his face was heavily lined with age, and his small mouth was drawn up into a grimace of pain. His brown eyes glittering behind half moon spectacles. He wore brown faded work pants, and a stained, white dress shirt. Next to him on the tiled floor, was a double barreled shotgun, and his hands were holding a blackened hole in his gut. Nearby, another of the creatures Derran had seen in the hall, lay dead, half its head splattered across the white and black tiled floor. Ignoring the dead monstrosity with considerable difficulty, Derran knelt by Mr. Settron and began attempting to administer what aid he could. But as he bent down to examine the wound, Settron feebly slapped his hands away. "Don't bother," He hissed through gritted teeth. "we both know I'm not walking away from this!" Derran opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off as Settron continued. "Save it, that thing hit me with some kind of fire spell, damn near burned a hole right through me." He gasped.
"What. . . are they?" Derran asked, glancing over at the nearby corpse with a look of controlled revulsion. Settron scoffed.
"Son do I look like I know what they are?!" He snarled, before beginning to cough violently. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, and a few moments passed before he could speak again. "All I know is, they're strong as a grizzly, and ten times as mean! Look. . . I don't have much time, so listen. I'm guessing you're trying to get home, so you should know, these things. . . came from that same direction." Derran felt his chest seize up at that information, it must have shown on his face, because Settron's expression softened. "Yeah. . . so I'm thinkin, if that's where your heading, you need more'n that little peashooter you got there."
Jerking his head to the left, he drew Derran's eye to the shotgun on the floor, grimacing in pain at the movement. "Take old bessie there. . . you'll find extra shells in my pocket. . . and a few more in the drawer in the coffee table." Derran nodded, picking up the shotgun and ejecting the spent shells inside. With almost indecent haste, he managed to pull four shells from the old man's pocket, reloading his newly acquired weapon with practiced ease. Settron made no sound, save for his breathing, which was growing more labored with each passing second. Standing, Derran looked down at the dying old man, feeling ashamed as he placed his shock rifle on the ground next to Settron. A feeble replacement. . . and they both knew it. Settron chuckled slightly as he saw Derran's expression. "Stop weeping. . . over what. . . can't be. . . saved." He gasped out, the light rapidly leaving his eyes. "Only. . . sinners. . ." The old man was unable to finish. As he suddenly became very still. After a moment, Derran brought his hand over the old man's face, closing his eyes for the last time. Then, turning away, Derran headed to the living room. Opening the coffee table drawer, and blinking away tears, Derran struggled to keep from shaking, as he recalled the old military proverb Settron had intended to recite: Only sinners, can survive in Hell.
Derran left Settron's house at a dead run. After hearing the old man tell him of the monsters coming from the direction of his family, no force on D'nur could have persuaded him to go slower. The only concession he made to sensible tactics, was to run along next to the road, rather than on it, and to stick to what little obscuring cover he could still find. New unearthly sounds filled the air as Derran ran. Inhuman howls, roars, and snarls, as well as the distant sounds of gunfire, and undeniably human screams of fear and pain. Derran prayed to the Light as fervently as he ever had, struggling with all his mental fortitude to ignore the fear building inside him.
All around Derran, the world was changing into the definition of a nightmare. The ground was looking less and less like soil and rock, and more and more like bone dust and raw meat. The air stank like rotting flesh and sulphur, and Derran could swear he heard the whispers of unearthly voices, just on the edge of audibility. In the clouds above, amid flashes of unholy crimson lightning, he swore he saw monstrous faces leering down at him, either grinning with malevolent cruelty, or roaring with primal rage. Derran paused, seeing a trio of shuffling figures milling around on the road, backlit into shadows by a burning tree, and apparently uncertain as to where they should go. Thinking they might be fellow survivors, Derran raised his hand to call out a relieved greeting, but it died in his throat as he got closer and saw the truth.
The monstrosities before him were vaguely proportioned like men, but other than that minor detail, they could scarcely have been less human. Long, disproportionate limbs supported the twisted misshapen things, whom looked like warped mummified humans that had been fused with a broken bone carapace. Cracked and yellowed by age, the carapace hung from the creatures bodies at odd angles, the flesh surrounding them the dirty red of exposed muscle caked with ash. Groaning softly, the creatures began to shuffle toward Derran with a slow, jerky gait. Derran raised the shotgun to his shoulder and fired without thinking. The weapon gave a roaring boom, as it bucked in Derran's hands, and one of the lurching abominations lost its head in an explosion of gore, spraying its fellows in dark blood and gobbits of brain. However the monsters seemed oblivious, as they continued inexorably forward. Their eyeless faces never glancing away from their target.
Derran felt his bile rise as he emptied the weapon's other barrel into the second of the three, sending its arm flying off in a puff of red mist and fragmented bone. The creature apparently felt none of this as it continued to move forward, and Derran wondered if it was because it couldn't feel pain, or because the creature was already in so much pain that the loss of an arm simply didn't faze it. The creatures had a tortured broken look to them, but rather than making them seem sympathetic, it somehow only made them more loathsome. Moving backward, Derran struggled to remain calm as he reloaded. However, abominable as they were, it wasn't just the creatures that made Derran's hands shake to the point of dropping the first pair of shells he pulled from his pocket. Nor was it what made him decide he didn't have time to reload, and flip the shotgun in his hand so that it could serve as a club, ignoring the painful heat of the recently fired barrel. All Derran could think about, as he charged the two remaining monstrosities, was that his family was running out of time.
Screaming out in frustration and anger. Derran hit the first zombie-like creature hard enough that its head seemed to fold around the butt of the gun before bursting like a melon hit with a sledgehammer. However, Derran's improvised club was simply too heavy to control properly, and he overbalanced. Forced to let go of the weapon or lose his footing, Derran stumbled as he dropped the shotgun, and the one armed undead horror was instantly upon him. Raking him across the chest with its claw-like fingers, shredding his shirt, and forcing a cry of pain from Derran's throat. As scrawny as the skeletal thing looked, it was surprisingly strong, and while the cuts it inflicted had not been deep, they burned like they were coated in a combination of acid and salt. Falling back on his hand-to-hand training, Derran grabbed the creature's remaining wrist, and twirled into its body, positioning it's extended arm over his shoulder so that the elbow rested on it. Then, he pulled the creature's wrist down as hard as he could with both hands. There was a loud snap, as the creature's arm broke at the elbow, or more accurately, broke off at the elbow. Stumbling forward with half the monster's left arm, Derran tossed it away in disgust, as he turned to face the undead thing. Despite the removal of two of its limbs, the creature was still fanatically intent on Derran's death. Lunging forward, the monster bit and snapped, attempting to rip out Derran's throat with its teeth, as he struggled to hold it at arm's length.
Shoving the ghastly thing to the side with a surge of effort, Derran rushed toward his fallen shotgun, wondering at the undead thing's resilience. Turning to face the monster, Derran found it had fallen, but even without arms, was struggling to rise and continue the fight. Kicking its partially risen form to the ground once more, Derran brought the butt of his gun crashing down on the back of the vile thing's skull again and again, until finally. . . it lay still for good. Derran fell to his knees, shaking from head to toe and panting like he had just run a marathon, as adrenaline surged through him.
For a short time, Derran knelt there, struggling to maintain his grip on his sanity. The magics of D'nur extended to things like necromancy, and Derran had read of the soulless automatons such magic could create, but these things were different. Creating a zombie, was little different from creating a robot. It was simply an empty shell, animated by mystical force and programmed to perform a task. The creatures Derran had just killed however, were not empty. Derran could not have said how he knew, but he was certain that despite their twisted exterior, these creatures possessed a soul. They were mindless, but it was the kind of mindlessness that came from a being who is put in so much pain, that the mind simply falls apart. Derran had no idea how he could be so sure of any of this, but he was.
Rising to his feet, Derran forced himself to focus. Pulling a pair of shells from his pocket and reloading his weapon, Derran once more began running toward his house. He encountered no more monsters directly, but several times he noticed them in the distance. Towering ebon skinned brutes, misshapen humanoids like the ones who had killed Mr. Settron, floating orbs of red flesh with giant maws of razor sharp teeth, more shuffling undead, and other abominations to terrible to describe. None of these sighted horrors were close as far as his cursory glances could tell, but that would not last. Derran idly wondered if these creatures had any form of leader. As far as he could discern, the creatures were acting more or less randomly. Yet at the same time, they seemed to be moving as one. Derran hoped it was his imagination, he didn't want to think about the possibility that the monsters he saw, might be intelligently led. If they were, then he feared no force on D'nur could stop them. Derran forced himself to stop thinking about the subject, right now his only concern should be. . . Derran's thoughts came to a screaming halt as he finally reached his destination. . . and saw that the door to his home. . . had been broken down.
Derran was running before he even thought about moving. His mind was in disarray, and everything seemed to slow down around him. Every stride felt like it took an eternity, as if he was moving through waist deep mud. Derran was suddenly acutely aware of the impact of his footfalls reverberating through his body. Every breath he took was like inhaling fire, but he was strangely numb to the pain, only able to acknowledge that it was there, and nothing more. In his head Derran counted the amount of distance that remained before he reached the door, the mantra serving to keep him moving. . . twenty five feet. . . twenty feet. . . fifteen feet. He was now close enough to smell burning hair and charred pork. . . ten feet. . . he could hear the sound of something snarling, in a way that no man or animal possibly could. . . five feet. . . Derran could make out the sound of clawed feet moving atop a wood floor. . . zero feet. . . Derran arrived, to the sum of all his fears.
Derran moved automatically, his hands strangely steady as he raised the shotgun. The world continued to move in slow motion, as Derran took in the scene surrounding him. Before him, two living specimens of the creatures that Mr. Settron had killed, rose from the meal they had been enjoying. In the hand of the first, the pale, lifeless, blood spattered forearm of an older woman was clutched. The perfectly manicured nails miraculously undamaged, and the heirloom wedding ring her husband had given her, still in place on the middle finger. The creature opened its gore stained mouth, to let out a keening snarl. . . as Derran blew its head from its shoulders.
Turning smoothly, an unfeeling numbness having placed him beyond fear or fury, Derran aimed at the chest of the second monster. This one had been hurt. A deep cut across its face still dripping blood and ichor, having been slashed by Derran's old service saber, that had been wrenched from its original position over the fireplace by the monsters victim, whose body still clutched it in one hand. A mute testament to a father, and grandfather's, desperate attempt to save his family. This creature shrieked as it cast aside the item it had clutched in its claws. . . an ovoid object, covered in crimson gore, but that still retained, even in death, its piercing blue gaze. The monster raised its hands and a glowing red mote of energy appeared between them, swiftly expanding into a ball of flame. A ball that vanished in a puff of acrid smoke, as its creator's chest was cored out in a storm of blazing lead pellets.
With an unfeeling expression of shock frozen on his face, Derran moved toward the stairs. . . and the figure who lay at their foot. His hands moved automatically to reload his weapon as he approached, his mind continuing to swim through a haze of numbness. The figure before him looked up with green eyes that still held the barest echo of life. Her face, arms, and chest, were covered in deep claw marks, through which the white of bone could be seen. Half her bright red hair had been burned away, the skin beneath charred black, cracked, and weeping blood. She was in pain that would have killed anyone else, but stubbornly she still clung to her last vestiges of life. . . and spoke.
"Leman an Cynthia. . . tried ta save us. . ." She gasped out, every word a near sisyphean battle to stave of the darkness closing in about her failing body, by sheer unyielding force of will. "Cynthia. . . told us. . . ta run. . . upstairs. . . Terrisa. . ." She could say no more, but no more was needed. As Kira Grandel gave a final sigh, and closed her eyes. . . Derran thundered up the stairs. Reaching the upper landing, the world once more moved around Derran at a snail's pace, as every fiber of his being screamed in desperation that he needed to go faster. No longer numb, Derran felt a fear like none he had ever experienced. Every molecule within his corporeal form, surged with primal terror and desperation, as he turned down the short hall that led to his daughter's room.The corridor was short, but seemed to stretch out into infinity, as he saw that the door on the end had been broken off its hinges, and now lay across the floor covered in bloody claw marks. Derran roared internally as he struggled to go faster, praying to any god that would listen to help him, as he ran into the room.
Apart from the broken door, the room was almost exactly as it had been when Derran and Kira had first decorated it so long ago. A twin sized bed stood in one corner of the room, it's pink and white bedspread unmade since the awakening of its occupant that morning. Soft, sky blue wallpaper, covered with scene's of frolicing faries, unicorns, and brightly colored butterflies, covered all four of the walls. A large white dresser stood in the corner, a lamp on top of it along with a few errant books full of children's stories. Not far from the dresser, was a white vanity table with a multitude of built in drawers, and a large mirror bordered with an enchanted light strip. Directly in front of the mirror was a music box Derran had bought for Terissa when he was in the city. All of this entered Derran's mind for only an instant, before his gaze focused on the pair of snarling creatures, that had turned away from something in the closet on the other side of the bed, to face him.
The first creature jumped over the bed, claws outstretched toward Derran. Only to be blown out of the air and into the far wall, crumpling into an oozing pile of bleeding meat. The other however, managed to reach Derran, slashing at him with red stained claws. Blocking the blow with the shotgun, Derran let out a savage roar, as he kicked the monster in the gut. The creature barely seemed to feel the blow, but was knocked off balance, giving Derran just enough room to swing his weapon up to his hip and fire. The gangly creature screamed in agony, as its stomach was blasted through its spinal column in a gout of crimson. Leaving the miserable thing to die in a pool of its own rancid blood, Derran leapt over the bed to stare at what was in the closet, and felt his world. . . turn to dust.
There she was. . . his little girl. . . who loved the color blue, because that's the color blue birds are. . . Who chased butterflies in the summer, but never caught them because she just loved them too much to ever catch them. . . Who waved to strangers because they were just friends she hadn't met. . . Who was his whole world. . . there she was. . . with her stomach torn open. . .
"No. . ." Derran's voice was a pleading whisper as he dropped to his knees, the shotgun falling from unfeeling fingers. "No please. . ." Derran's hands shook as he brought them up to Terissa's face, and held them an inch from her cheek, terrified to touch her. "Please Light, not her. . . not my baby girl!"
"D-daddy?" The voice, was like a punch to Derran's gut, as Terrisa's icy blue eyes, looked up at her father's own pair. Her expression resembling that of one who had just awakened, and was still half asleep.
"Yes baby, it's me! It is alright, I am here! Don't worry, we. . . we can find you help! We can fix you!" Had he been in his right mind, Derran would have known his words for the lie they were. But at that moment, he needed to believe, had to believe. . . that there was hope.
"Daddy. . ." Terrisa's voice was so soft now it could barely be heard, and what little light could be seen in her eyes, was like the last dying ember of a once mighty bonfire.
"Yes baby? What is it?" Derran asked, sounding hysterical, and forcing a smile to his face, even as bitter tears of denial flowed freely from his eyes. Terrisa's eyes became unfocused, her voice barely a whisper.
"They're crying daddy. . . please . . . they need you. . . help them. . ." Derran's tearstained expression became one of confusion.
"Who? Who is crying sweetie?" Derran asked, his confusion momentarily overriding his mounting despair and disintegrating sanity. As, with the last of her strength, Terrissa shifted her head ever so slightly, to look over her father's shoulder.
"They are. . ." She stated, the words as clear as if she had shouted them, despite being spoken in a whisper. Derran turned to glance over his shoulder. There on the wall, was one of the paintings Kira had done back when they first decorated the room. It was originally a unicorn, standing in a field, its head held high, with its horn pointed proudly at the sky. White coat shining in the sun, while the wind blew through its mane. However, for some reason, Kira had added wings to it. Great white pinions, that stretched proudly to the ceiling. When Derran had asked why she had put wings on a unicorn, Kira had replied that it had just 'felt right'. Now however, the image was a mess. Splattered with blood and damaged by errant buckshot, though it was still clearly discernible. Deran stared at the picture, confusion writ large upon his features.
"I. . .I don't understa-" Derran's words died in his throat as he turned back to Terrissa. Her eyes were still open, but the faint spark of life they had contained. . . was gone. Derran felt the world, and his mind. . . convulse. "No. . . no nononono!" Derran repeated desperately, as he took hold of his Daughter's shoulders. "No please. . ." Derran pulled his daughter to his chest as he screamed out. "SOMEONE HELP ME!!" At that moment, Derran pleaded to every god, monster, and hellspawned abomination he had ever heard of, promising them anything, from his familial wealth to his own immortal soul. . . if they would only help his child. But no matter how much he begged, no matter how much he prayed, the only answer he received. . . was silence.
Derran screamed, his voice a pain filled wail that can only ever be produced by those whom have been consumed by utter and complete despair. As he knelt there, cradling his daughter's body in his arms, Derran felt himself fall into a sea of utter darkness. . . There was no up. . . no down. . . no direction at all. . . only endless, pitched black, nothingness. . . Derran floated there in that abyss for what might have been either seconds, or centuries. Feeling nothing but emptiness, in a world without sight, or sound, or memory. . . and then he heard it. . . Snarling growls, and the creaking clicks of clawed feet ascending the stairs. Derran heard it as if from an unfathomable distance. . . and deep within him, something. . . broke.
Derran Grandel. . . did not move. He heard his voice roar out in a way that no human should have the ability to do. He suddenly once more could see the world from the depths of the abyss through a haze of red, as he placed Terrisa's body on the ground. And he watched from the void of despair, as he grabbed his shotgun, and rose to his feet. His body stood, reloaded his weapon, and raised it smoothly to his shoulder, just as two more of the flame conjuring horrors, burst into the room. Derran knew his body was doing all of this. . . but he himself, was not moving. . . and when his body spoke. . . it was in a voice he did not recognize.
"I'LL KILL YOU ALL!!!" It roared. And so it did. . .
Derran's body emptied the shotgun's two barrels so quickly, that had Derran's consciousness not known better, he would have sworn the targets died in perfect unison. As the bloodied corpses fell to the ground, Derran's body saw another two of the creatures fellows shove their way through the door. There was no time to reload, and no shells left even if there had been, but it hardly mattered. Tossing the shotgun into the air Derran's body caught it by the barrel, charging forward as he did so, with a speed far greater than any Derran would have thought his body capable. With a roar of insensate fury, Derran's body brought the butt of the gun down on the head of the next monster with enough force to shatter the wooden stock, even as the creature's head was reduced to a spray of brains and blood.
Derran's body did not relent as it cast aside the broken shotgun and charged the next of the yellow eyed horrors, grabbing its neck and bearing it to the ground, as it let out a screeching sound that may have been surprise. Pulling back its fist, Derran's body did not hesitate to bring it down onto what passed for the flailing creature's face. Flesh split, bone cracked, blood sprayed, eyeballs burst, and fangs shattered. As who or whatever was directing Derran's body, meted out a brutal retribution. Hearing a soft roaring sound, Derran's body rolled out of the way of a blazing fireball with preternatural agility, before focusing its red tinged gaze on the creature standing at the end of the short hall. The monster's clawed hands smoking faintly as it charged up another ball of flame. Letting out another wrathful bellow, Derran's body charged the final monster with reckless abandon. Reaching the creature, it grabbed both of the monster's thin spindly arms in its hands, pulling them aside as it placed its booted foot to the creature's chest and pushed with all its newfound might. For an instant, the monster screamed, its arms straining as Derran's body pulled its upper limbs in one direction while pushing its torso in the other. Derran's body's eyes narrowed in fury.
"I'LL RIP. . ." His body snarled, as it tightened its grip on the monster's wrists. "AND TEAR YOU APART!!" Derran's Body bellowed, as with a final effort and a sound of snapping bone and tendons, it tore the monster's arms from their sockets in a spray of wine red droplets. Deep within the depths of his own mind, Derran watched his body continue its rampage, as it tossed aside its most recent victim's limbs, and jumped down the staircase, landing on one knee in the living room. There, his body paused briefly to take in the scene before it. A new monstrosity had entered the house. . .
It was at least seven feet tall, its head brushing the living room ceiling as it turned toward Derran's body. It had an almost scaly, coal black hide, stretched over a bulging musculature. It stood on legs that bent backward and ended in large four toed feet that resembled a dog's paws. A head with a plate of white bone in place of eyes, snarled at the force directing Derran's movements, as it flexed massive clawed hands. The creature looked like it was capable of ripping a man in half with ease. The consciousness controlling Derran's body. . . didn't care.
Charging at the black scaled giant, Derran's body actually managed to get within the monster's guard. Whether the creature was surprised by the audacity of a mere human attacking it, or was simply too clumsy to respond inside the confined space of the house, none would ever know. But Derran's body lost no time in striking the creature in the gut with all its might. However, despite now enjoying greater strength than he should ever have been capable of, Derran's fists did nothing more than knock the creature back a step. For just a second, the ebon scaled titan seemed genuinely surprised, readjusting it's footing as it took another step backward, but it did not hesitate long.
With a roar that shook the house to its foundations, the giant sent Derran's body flying across the room with a backhand strike. Had the entity or force controlling his body not jumped back at the last second, the strike likely would have broken one or both of Derran's arms. Even so, Derran's body landed heavily atop a coffee table, reducing it to kindling as the skull faced beast advanced to finish the job. Roaring out its defiance, Derran's body struggled to right itself, knowing it had but scant moments before it was torn apart. As its hands struggled to find purchase in the ruins of the coffee table, Derran's body felt its palm touch something smooth and cool. Out of options, and as the monster before it raised its massive fist for a final strike. The newly formed consciousness inside Derran, closed its hand around a leather wrapped handle, and with a final shout of rage. . . swung its arm in a wide ark before it. . .
For an instant, it appeared that the seven foot monster had escaped injury, as it stood frozen in place, Towering over Derran's prone body with one arm upraised. Then, with an almost dignified slowness, its body split from shoulder to waist, into two neatly severed halves that fell wetly to the ground, before, with a faint crackling sound. . . turning into a pile of ash.
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Outside Derran's home, several dozen monsters of varying shapes and sizes advanced on the structure. Drawn by the roars and screams within, the monsters hungered for fresh prey. The scent of despair and pain poured from the location like blood from a wound, and the monsters salivated at the thought of mortal flesh and souls seasoned with these exotic spices. The smaller ones, the gangly brown and purple skinned fire conjurors, screeched and keened, as they ran ahead with a swift hopping gait. While the larger black scaled horrors advanced with a lumbering stride, supported by a pair of massive, sedately floating orbs of red flesh and horns, dominated by massive tooth filled maws and a single green eye. They rushed forward eagerly, driven by hunger, and the urging of a great twelve foot tall red skinned behemoth, that shook the earth with it's cloven hoofed tread. Then suddenly. . . they paused.
Sniffing the air, the creatures grew confused at the change in the psychic odor coming from within the structure. The sweet smells of misery, pain and horror, were being overwhelmed by a new scent, one the monsters knew well. Rage. . . pure, all consuming, apocalyptic, rage. The kind of rage that while quite familiar to their kind, was all but unheard of in mortals, as few, if any mortals, had the constitution to even survive it. Indeed, so strong was the scent that several of the monsters grew disoriented, wondering if another of their kind had already killed the source of the despair and pain they had smelled a moment ago. Then, a figure stepped through the destroyed door of the structure. He looked mortal enough, but every one of the monsters present sensed that something. . . was wrong.
Soundtrack: Who Taught You How to Hate, By Disturbed
The mortal moved through the door frame with the calm gait of one from whom fear has been utterly erased. His clothes were torn, his face and body covered in cuts and bruises, and his hands were stained with blood. But in his eyes, all the malice, hatred, and raw fury of the damned, was reflected in a pair of crimson orbs that seemed almost to glow in the charnel light filtering down from the raging heavens. In his right hand he held a sword made of black steel, that shimmered faintly with a strange, nearly invisible, golden white light. Raising the blade, the mortal let out a roar that spoke of a level of fury that even the monsters surrounding him balked at, then. . . he charged.
The first to die was one of the smaller monsters, its spindly brown body sliced apart from groin to head, neatly bisecting it. Pivoting on one foot, the mortal did not savor his kill, as he cut one of the ebon skinned giants in half at the waist effortlessly. Before running to impale another through its skull, then spinning to drive the sword two-handed into the belly of a third, pulling it free as the beast collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The cuts of the sword spilled no blood, cauterizing the wounds inflicted as if it was made of white hot flame, the edges of the cuts glowing like coals in a forge. The corpses not long after falling, sloughed into piles of ash, and with each kill, one of the golden runes on the swords fuller lit up. The radiant glow about the blade was also swiftly becoming brighter and more intense. Though what that indicated, neither the savage mortal nor the monsters could have said. Letting out another wrath filled roar, the mortal leapt up and decapitated another of the ebon giants with a savage, barely controlled swing. The blade flared brilliantly, and a spider web of glowing golden lines, like the cracks in an old porcelain vase, grew out beneath the monsters skin from the stump of its neck. With unearthly speed the lines swiftly encompassed the creature's entire body, glowing brighter and brighter with every second. Until, with a sharp cracking sound, the monster's body, and head, exploded into clouds of ash, the sword's radiant light growing even stronger, as another rune was lit.
Reacting to the unexpected attack at last, one of the floating cyclops orbs spat a ball of blazing psychoactive fire at the mortal from its obscene perpetually grinning mouth. Caught off guard and unable to dodge, the mortal held the blade in a defensive stance at the last possible second, a futile effort. . . or so one would have thought. The ball of sizzling energy should have burned through both the sword and the mortal behind it without stopping. Instead, it exploded against a nearly invisible shimmering hemisphere of force, conjured seemingly from nowhere. Ignoring his miraculous escape, the mortal hurtaled forward once again. Moving into a spin with his arm and blade outstretched, he slice through the bellies of three of the ebon scaled brutes at once, discorperating them almost instantly as they tried to surround him.
The strange sword now glowed like a second sun, the blade enveloped in pure white light as it turned monster after monster into dust. Twirling like a dervish, the mortal slammed his blade into one of the giants torso before ripping it out the creature's side to strike the head from another, their bodies bursting into clouds of grey particles a second later. A pair of the gibbering brown and purple skinned monsters frantically threw a barrage of fireballs at the mortal as he ran toward them. But once more the mortal placed the blade in a defensive position, continuing his charge as he did so. The blasts of unholy flame spattering against the same, nearly invisible hemisphere as before, to no visible effect. Reaching the first of the vile duo, the mortal grabbed it by the throat, hoisting it into the air before drawing the blade through the creature's pitifully flailing body, with no more difficulty than if the monster had been made of mist. Just as the creature was about to discorperate into dust, the mortal threw it at its fellow, causing it to flinch and lose control of the flame orb it had been charging. Blinded by the ashen remains of its former confederate, the monster never saw the strike that killed it. It only felt a moment of searing heat across its chest as it was cut in two, and a single instant of incalculable agony as what passed for its soul was ripped apart and pulled from its body. The runes on the sword flickering, as it absorbed the energy. . .
++++++
Derran's body fought, as his consciousness watched through tear stained eyes, from the abyss within his own mind. However, despite the sight of his family's killers dying in droves, his pain only grew greater. It had nothing to do with regretting the deaths of the monsters before his eyes. No, he was very much enjoying watching these vile creatures die, but the realization that it was his own hand that was doing it, drove home a terrible reality. . . He thought he had been giving his best to his family, the maximum of which he was capable. . . but he had not. His family had been in danger, what good son, what good husband, what good father. . . held back at such a time? If he loved his family. . . if he had had this power inside him. . . why was he unable to save them? There were only two answers Derran could think of, as he watched the consciousness guiding his body, cleave open one of the hideous horn covered orbs of red flesh that had foolishly gotten too close. Either he had not truly loved his family. . . or he was simply too weak to access this power. To weak. . . to weak to save his father, to weak to save his mother, to weak to save Kira, and to weak. . . to save Terissa. . . his little girl. . . the purest, most innocent thing in his life. . . and when she needed him most. . . he had failed her. Fresh tears came to Derran's eyes as he felt pain envelop him once more.
<Terrissa. . .Kira. . .I'm so sorry. . . forgive me!> He called out, his cry swiftly transitioning into screams of pain and self loathing, that echoed through the darkness in his mind. . .
++++++
The Baron. . . had had enough. It had watched from afar as its worthless slaves had failed to kill the mortal with the strange sword. After such a pitifully weak display, he would personally torture any who survived to death, and then dine on their souls and meat. The thought brought a smile to the twelve foot tall baron's twisted visage, as it stalked forward to show this errant fly its place. First, the baron would pull the pitiful mortal's arms off, then its legs, then it would see how long it took for the mortal to bleed out. As tortures went it wasn't exactly the most inspired, but away from its master's palace it was forced to work with what it had. Speaking of the masters, the baron hoped none of them had seen the failure of its troops, they were always watching, and any weakness among their armies was punished severely. Failure to the masters was the only true crime there was in Hell.
Moving toward the mortal and the glowing sword the baron snatched up an imp that had been unable to get out of the way quickly enough. Crushing the imp's torso in one massive paw, the baron bit off it's head as the imp screamed in pain, savoring the taste of demonic blood and brain for a moment, before swallowing and casually casting the lifeless corpse aside. Enjoyable though it was to devour the weaker slaves, the baron, like all its unholy kind, far preferred the taste of mortal flesh and souls. This mortal's soul seemed particularly strong. It would make for fine dining. . .
++++++
Derran's body fought on, monster after monster, kill after kill, it kept going. It was covered in dozens of cuts, scrapes, and burns, its lungs felt like they were on fire, and its arms and legs were like lead weights. . . but it kept going. The style of fighting was savage and inelegant, having only a passing resemblance to the swordsmanship Derran had been taught during basic. None of the moves were planned, and his stance was in a constant state of flux, the mind controlling Derran's body, clearly fought on instinct and raw savagery alone. It seldom spoke, and when it did it was usually just to roar out its wrath, or scream out a threat. None of the lesser creatures had thus far managed to stop its rampage, though they gamely kept trying, launching themselves at the red eyed mortal in a suicidal attempt to bring him down. Where the consciousness in Derran's body was getting the strength to keep up the fight, even it did not know. Any other being would have fallen long ago, too exhausted to go on. Abruptly however, Derran's body was granted a reprieve, the monsters withdrawing to form a ring around it. . . as what could only be this pack of abominations leader, showed itself.
It was a giant, at nearly the height of a single story office building it towered over even the seven foot, black scaled horrors, its fiery red hide bulging with muscle. Its misshapen head was mounted on a neck as thick as a man's torso, two massive ribbed black horns, jutting out from either side of the monster's skull. A pair of beady eyes, like pits in its head, were placed above a mouth filled with mismatched needle like teeth. Arms like gnarled tree trunks ended in fists the size of wrecking balls, while its autocarrige sized torso was covered in muscles that resembled armor plating. It moved with a savage sort of swagger, clearly unimpressed with the lowly mortal before it, as it wreathed its hands in green balefire, and issued a challenging roar.
The consciousness in Derran's body roared back, its rage rising to new heights. This monster was the leader. . . this was the thing that had taken his family. . . it must die! Derran's body ran forward screaming it's defiance, only to jump back as a ball of flame streaked through the spot it had been a moment ago. Glancing around, the entity directing Derran's physical form glanced in the direction the fire had come from. All around him, the brown and purple skinned creatures were charging orbs of infernal flame. Their master having no intention of giving Derran's body a fair fight, they planned to hold the entity in one place by forcing him to dodge constantly, slowly chipping away at him, till their leader could administer a final blow. . .
++++++
The baron laughed. . . it was an ugly sound. Like a massive sewage pipe filled with razor wire clearing its throat. It laughed as the mortal realized, that in the army of Hell, honor was a sin, not a virtue. It laughed as the puny creature, clad only in rags and wielding an oversized torch, dodged around the fusillade of hellfire blasts hurled by its chittering slaves. It laughed as it saw the mortal get burned by a near miss and stagger slightly. . . and it abruptly stopped laughing. . . when it looked into the mortal's eyes. An unfamiliar feeling crept into the baron's mind, it was faint, and only lasted for a second, but it was enough that the baron paused, its laugh cut short. Its slaves turned to stare at the baron curiously, hesitating for just an instant. . . that was all the opening the mortal needed.
The baron only realized the cost of that brief hesitation when the mortal began running toward it with a rage fueled burst of speed. Its sword blazing with an energy that, as it got closer, caused the baron to feel the same sensation that had made it pause in the first place. A sort of chill that jumbled it's thoughts and made its eyes unconsciously widen. Roaring in surprise the baron threw ball after ball of balefire at the mortal, suddenly desperate to kill him. The chilling sensation growing stronger as the mortal opted not to block the projectiles, but to strike them from the air, its glowing blade seemingly absorbing the unholy flames. The baron backpedaled, had it been mortal, it would have known the name of the strange emotion, that now froze its body. As the mortal leapt into the air, its sword raised high, glowing like a shard of the sun, as its eyes blazed with the sanguine red of rage incarnate. It was one of the oldest and most powerful emotions that existed, older than greed, older than jealousy, older even than rage. Its name. . . was Fear.
++++++
The consciousness in Derran's mind was ignorant of many things. It was not a complicated creature, nor did it desire to be. However, it knew one thing with absolute certainty, it had had a family, a happy home, an incredible wife, and a beautiful daughter, that it had loved and been loved by in return. . . and these monsters had taken that from it. They had to die. . . they needed to die. . . Every. Last. One! As the consciousness used Derran's body to jump into the air it channeled every last iota of its rage into the swing of its upraised sword, and made but a single wish, on behalf of the family it had lost.
"Kill them all." It whispered, as it plunged the blade into the chest of the red skinned monstrosity before it. . . and the world around it. . . became a nova of light. . .
++++++
Derran awoke an unknown amount of time later, to the same roiling black and red clouds he had seen earlier. Staring at the sky he tried to move, and was surprised to find himself back in control of his body. His muscles felt like they were on fire, he was covered in cuts and burns, and every breath was like inhaling acid, but he was still able to move. However, in his soul. . . he felt completely empty, and stared at the world through the eyes of a man who no longer truly lived. There was no sign of the hoard of monsters that had surrounded him, save for dozens of piles of ash, that were already being blown away by a foul smelling wind. In his hand was the sword. . . Unmaker. It no longer glowed, but was still as pristine and unmarred as if it had never been used since its forging. Then Derran's eyes fell on his home, and the tears came again. After a moment of agonized reflection, Derran glanced at the sword again, and for a single instant, wondered if death might offer the solace vengeance had not.
+That wasn't revenge.+ Derran started, his eyes going wide as a voice spoke directly into his mind. The voice was startlingly similar to his own, but deeper, darker, and filled with a barely contained wrath that made it almost beastial sounding.
"Who are you?!" Derran asked, glancing around before recalling that he had heard this voice before. . . when it had spoken using his mouth.
+I. . . I'm not sure. I thought my name was: Derran Grandel. . . but that doesn't seem right for some reason.+ The voice responded, sounding as angry as it did uncertain.
"Because that is my name! Who. . . or rather, what are you?!" Derran asked, feeling slightly frantic.
+What are you so scared for? It ain't like we can lose anymore than we already have.+ The voice lamented spitefully. That observation was like a punch to the gut, draining all the fight from Derran in an instant, and he swiftly found himself in a sitting position as his legs gave out, the sword dropping beside him. No longer caring what the voice was, where it had come from, or even what it cared to call itself.
"Yes. . ." Derran agreed, as he buried his face in his hands, wanting desperately to forget all that had transpired. After a long moment, Derran spoke again. Deciding that whether he had succumbed to lunacy or not, talking to this voice was at least better than reflecting on the searing agony in his heart. "What do you mean that 'Wasn't revenge.'?" Derran asked, not even sure how much he cared.
+That thing. . . it wasn't in charge, just a field commander, and even that's giving it more credit than it deserves. It's called a Baron of Hell, but it aint got much of a barony.+ The voice replied, hate in every syllable.
"How can you possibly know that?" Derran inquired, suddenly suspicious.
+No fucking clue, but if I had to guess, I think it was that sword of ours. While I was fighting I got these. . . I dunno, memories. I started knowing shit I didn't before, like the names of those monsters. Little ones are Imps, bigger ones are Hell Knights, red floating bastards with the big mouths are Cacodemons, and the brick shithouse looking mothers are Barons of Hell.+ The voice explained, its tone sounding as if it resented Derran's ignorance. Derran glanced at the sword for a moment, and felt his head swim. In the steel, he saw, for just an instant, a face that was not his own. Like his voice it seemed similar, but with bright blond hair and glaring red eyes that oozed with a near psychotic bloodlust. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the apparition vanished.
"Demons. . . these things. . . they are. . . Demons?" He asked, now quite certain he had gone utterly mad, yet unable to find a compelling reason to fight against it.
+Give the man a prize. . .+ Said the voice its sarcasme tinged with spite. +Yeah, that's exactly what they are.+ Staring in the direction of the capitol, Derran suddenly realized what the pillar of red light that dominated the skyline actually was.
"A portal?. . . But who would have?!. . ." Derran stopped short as he once more recalled his father's words. "The king. . ." Derran declared, feeling anger bubble up within him for a moment, before despair once more took over. "Is this. . . the end of the world?" Derran asked, his voice as hollow as his heart, not really caring what the answer to his question was.
+I dunno. . . but it sure looks like it.+ The voice replied, its tone grim, but uncaring. +But even if it is, we got work to do.+ Derran laughed at that, a sardonic bitter laughter, devoid of even the faintest trace of joy.
"Work?!" He asked, laughing at the sheer insanity of the statement. "What work could we possibly have to do?! Rotate the crops?! Drive off the deer?! Or perhaps bring our harvest to the unholy conflagration of ruin that was once the capital city!!?" Derran snarled angrily, tears once more leaking from his eyes.
+Getting our revenge!+ The voice snarled, its tone brimming with venom. Derran suddenly went silent before shaking his head.
"Revenge?" He asked softly, a note of spite entering his tone. "Against what?"
+AGAINST THE DEMONS!!+ The voice roared, causing Derran to flinch at the sheer hatred in its tone.
"You want to take revenge on a race that is literally endless in number, and cares nothing for its losses?" Derran asked, with a humorless smile.
+THEIR LEADERS THEN!!+ The voice shouted back its fury undiminished, Derran shook his head.
"What logic is there in such a pointless quest?" Derran asked, his voice a hopeless whisper.
+And what's your plan?+ The voice growled. +Kill yourself right here and now?! Hide away, hope this blows over, and live off your inheritance as an empty shell?! Or maybe just wait here until one of the demons does what you don't have the balls to?!+ Derran suddenly felt uncertain, as the voice continued. +Name one thing we have left that's worth living for. . .+ Derran was silent, unable to think up an answer. +That's what I fucking thought!+ The voice snarled. +No matter what we do, it's a suicide mission. The only thing we get to decide is what form our death takes. I'd rather die on my feet killing as many of the bastards responsible for this as I can reach, than by slit wrists, or loneliness. . . how about you?+ For a long moment, Derran sat there, considering the question, then slowly he got to his feet. Retrieving Unmaker, he stared at his reflection in the steel, then his expression hardened.
"I know it was you who killed these Demons. . ." Derran stated, glancing at the piles of ash surrounding them. "do you truly believe you can kill the rest?" Derran asked, his tone filled with a cold fury. Derran could not have said how, but he somehow knew that the voice was nodding.
+Yes. . . if you're willing to commit to it all the way.+ The voice replied. Derran stood silently for several minutes, then made his decision.
"Very well then. . . but first. . . there is something I must do." Derran stated solemnly, as he headed toward the house.
Soundtrack: Dead Man Walking by WAR*HALL
Derran's task was performed in grim silence, his face displaying no more emotion than a corpse. Moving through the house, he hauled out the remains of the demons he had killed, tossing them into a ditch that abutted the main yard. Then, returning to his home, he entered the basement. After a brief search he pulled an old chest from among piles of dusty boxes and shelves of junk. The chest was large, made of heavy duty green plastic covered in scratches and dents, and fastened with a padlock. The chest contained two items Derran had kept mostly out of nostalgia, never imagining he would ever use them again. They had been a sort of gift from his CO, who had joked at the time that Derran could give them to Kira as a wedding present. After unlocking the chest with the key he retrieved from its hiding place in an old vase on a nearby shelf. Derran pulled out the contents of the chest with a feeling of grim acceptance. Kemedian "Mega Armor", the name was theatrical but apt. A sealed suit made of enchanted metal plates, over semi-self repairing ensorcelled kevlar, it could turn bullets, knives, minor magic blasts, and even the claws of wild beasts. The armor was also sealed against a variety of environmental contaminants, and even resisted radiation to a degree. It was an old model, practically an antique, in the standard 'Big Green' as the grunts called the color. But despite its age, it was solid, robust, and both it and the magetech powercell were guaranteed to last. Silently donning the armor, Derran maglocked the helmet to his belt, then holstered the other item the box had held. A standard issue 'Mrk-6 Blast Pistol' covered in scratches from years of use, but still in good working order. Before heading back upstairs.
Upstairs Derran began the next, and far more painful part of his task. His last duty as a husband, a son, and. . . a father. Slowly, reverently, and with infinite care, he gathered up the remains of his family. Wrapping each of their bodies lovingly in white linen sheets from head to toe. They weren't much, but they were the best funerary shrouds he could offer. Freshly laundered, they smelled of lavender. . . Kira's favorite scent. Positioning the carefully wrapped bodies side by side in the living room, Derran paid his last respects. Atop his mother's shroud, Derran placed a dried flower that had been in a vase in the living room, a sunflower. . . her favorite, as they were a symbol of happiness. Derran was surprised to have found it intact, but apparently the energies of Hell were unable to kill what was already dead. With his father, Derran left the Night Sentinel's box that had contained Unmaker, whispering a thank you for the gift that had saved his life. With Kira, Derran left a holodisc containing all her favorite songs. . . and a last tearful kiss, placed upon her cold lips. Finally. . . within the wrapping that held Terissa, Derran placed a picture he had found beneath the remains of the coffee table. A stick figure familial portrait, done in crayon. Each figure clearly labeled in a child's untidy scrawl. . . Me. . . Grandpa. . . Garammie. . . Mommy. . . and finally. . . Daddy. Then, the bodies prepared and the offerings given, Derran headed to the garage. Searching for a bit, Derran found the big battered can of kerosene that he used to start bonfires in the fall after clearing the seasonal brush out of the yard, and spent the next few minutes thoroughly dousing the house. . . and the area around the bodies, with its contents.
Once the can was empty, Derran grabbed a box of matches and headed to the doorframe. For a few minutes he simply stood there, basking in the memories of happier times. The old wooden chest, on which sat the holobox and Terissa's collection of cartoon holovids. The scorch mark on the rug from the time Derran had attempted to create a romantic candlelit scene for Kira, and almost burned the house down. The painting on the wall that had been a valuable antique from Derran's parents, before Terissa had gotten hold of it and made some "Improvements" with her watercolors. Derran thought he had cried all he could have, yet his eyes were wet as he lit the match. . . and threw it into the glistening liquid pooled on the floor. The fire spread rapidly, following the trail of combustible moisture to every corner of the house. Soon, it was a raging inferno. Derran watched in silence, until the smoke and flame obscured all within the structure from view. However, as he turned to leave . . . he paused, and looked down at his right hand.
For a time, Derran stood there, staring blankly at his open hand, before disengaging his gauntlet. Pulling it off. . . he stared at the object on his middle finger. It was nothing fancy, just a simple unadorned band of gold, however to Derran Grandel, its value was inestimable. It was the last piece of his old world, the last fragment of who he had been, it was all the good things and happy moments in his life wrapped into a single object. With a slow deliberate action, Derran removed the ring. This ring. . . should never have been his. He now knew this with absolute certainty. It had been meant for another man. . . a stronger man. . . a wiser man. . . a man who would have been there when his family needed him most. It belonged to a better man. Because a better man. . .
"A better man. . . could have saved you." Derran whispered, fresh tears falling from his eyes, as he tossed the ring into the flames. Then, fastening his helmet in place, Derran turned, and walked away. . . toward the city. . . toward the Demons. . . toward his doom. . .
Over twelve hundred years and an uncountable number of battles removed from his past, Derran Grandel awoke. He was not quite certain what he expected when his mind returned fully to the current era. Sympathy maybe, sadness certainly, questions definitely, these were all expected. Yet, as it so often is, the expected is far from the reality. Here the result was predicted, the intensity, was not. Derran was surrounded by sobbing ponies. Not crying, not weeping, sobbing, and each and every one was hugging him as though he might suddenly disappear. They seemed barely able to function, their grief having utterly overwhelmed them as tears poured from their eyes. Derran felt. . . unprepared. He had expect there would be some tears, but not like this. Had they no questions about why in his memories Derran suddenly began addressing someone who was not there? About how he had ended up in Equestria? About. . . anything? Derran shook his head, even as he finally noticed a wetness on his own cheeks.
Of course they had questions, of course they wanted answers, but. . . they had forgotten amid a desire that was far more powerful. To Derran, this was yet another example of why humans were, for all their accomplishments, still unable to match the seraphs and their children. Where humans would have perhaps shed a few tears, and then demanded answers, ponies grieved for those they had never even known. Humans grieved of course, but rarely did they feel true loss for those they did not personally know. Here, Twilight, Celestia, Luna, Starlight, Cadence, Applejack, Fluttershy, Shining Armor, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, and even Spike, all clung to him and cried their eyes out. Not for what they had lost, but for what he had lost. Even Starlight, Celestia, and Luna, who already had the story seared indelibly into their brains, wept bitter tears for Derran. Even though they, of all ponies, should have known better.
For even if his family deserve their tears, he most certainly did not. He did not deserve their words of kindness, nor their heartfelt gestures of love and warmth. Derran's past was not the tragic backstory of a hero. No verse to the saga of he who would slay the dragon, rescue the fair maiden, and live happily ever after. That was the story the kind hearts of the seraphs and their children imagined for him. . . but it was not his story. No phoenix rose from the ashes of the last day of D'nur, the last day that Derran Grandel walked in the grace of the Light. What was born that day, was neither hero nor saviour. . . it was a monster, wrought from the blackest pits of hatred and wrath. And in its wake, there would be only despair. . .
"There it is!" Apple Bloom cried out, as she sighted the crystal spires of Twilight's castle. Behind her came Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle, both panting and grim faced with determination. Both had heard the story from Apple Bloom, about how Derran had suddenly acted like an entirely different person, and then headed straight for Twilight's castle like an enraged manticore. Then, not long afterward, Applejack had failed to come home after her meeting with the friendship council. Unable to get any answers from Granny Smith or Big Mac, Apple Bloom had swiftly called an emergency meeting of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, in hopes of determining a sound course of action. Ultimately however, the only thing they could agree upon, was that they needed more information, and thus had set out for Twilight's castle at the gallop.
"Well. . . I don't think there's anypony outside. . . no wait! Somepony just came out!" Scootaloo cried out, pointing from atop her scooter at the grey coated mare, who had just exited the castle gate.
"Is that Derpy?" Sweetie Belle asked in confusion. "What's she doing here?"
"I dunno, but let's go ask her!" Apple Bloom declared, a determined ring in her voice. However, no sooner had the words left Apple Bloom's mouth, than Derpy flapped her wings and flew off toward the wide field across the road. The massive field abutted Ponyville, dividing the town from Sweet Apple Acres, and terminating at the Everfree Forest. Oddly, Derpy hung low in the sky, almost as if she was trying to avoid being seen, or, more likely, to minimize risk to the odd bundle she seemed to be carrying.
"Scoots quick! Go flag her down before she gets to far away!" Sweetie Belle cried out. Scootaloo nodded.
"On it!" She replied, her wings buzzing like a miniature propeller as she shot toward Derpy in a cloud of dust. Following in Scootaloo's dusty wake, Apple Bloom wondered if they shouldn't have continued to the castle. Then again, Derran had been acting very strange when last she saw him, and she didn't want to go in blind. Once they learned what Derpy knew, they would be better informed on how to proceed.
The chase with Derpy lasted several minutes. As fast as Scootaloo was, being on the ground meant she had to navigate various hazards like errant rocks and briar patches. So catching up to her quarry took longer than if she had been able to fly, but she managed. However, just as she was about to hail Derpy, she hesitated. Something seemed off, but she couldn't say what at first. Then, she recalled the lesson Derran had given her and the other Crusaders. Taking a deep breath, she took another look at Derpy, trying to see what was different. For a few moments she still couldn't place it, then. . . she saw it. As a pegasus, and the unofficially adopted sister of Rainbow Dash, Scootaloo knew a lot about the individual flight patterns of pegusi, and other creatures of the air. Every creature that flew, had a particular style, and quirks when they flew, almost like a signature, and no two were alike.
On the few occasions Scootaloo had seen it, Derpy's flying had always been slightly erratic. She often dipped the tip of her right wing when she didn't need to, or overcorrected for the breeze. Derpy often wobbled slightly, zigzagging through the air in a sort of squiggly line. Today however, Derpy's flying was nearly perfect, she moved through the air with an undeniable grace, and her wing placement was immaculate. In truth, the only imperfection was that, at what appeared to be regular intervals, Derpy buzzed her wings, in a way that made Scootaloo think briefly of an insect. For an instant Scootaloo considered letting Derpy go, but then thought better of it. Neither Rainbow Dash nor Derran Grandel ever backed down in the face of the unknown, and neither would she.
"HEY DERPY! CAN WE TALK FOR A SECOND!?" For a moment, Scootaloo thought Derpy hadn't heard her, as she continued to fly for a few seconds more, giving no indication that she had heard anything. However, just as Scootaloo was about to call out again, Derpy suddenly dropped her altitude, gliding for a short distance. Before landing in between a pair of low hills that blocked her from sight for a few moments. Putting on a burst of speed, Scootaloo came around the curve of one of the hills, and nearly ran smack into Derpy's backside. Skidding to a halt, Scootaloo was surprised when Derpy didn't turn to look at her. Standing like a statue, Derpy didn't say a word as Scootaloo cleared her throat. "Hey Derpy, sorry to bother you, but have you seen Derran?" Derpy said nothing, then after waiting for about a minute, Scootaloo tried again. "You know, Derran? Big stallion, saved Ponyville, only one of his kind in Equestria?" Again Derpy remained silent. "Are you ok?" Scootaloo asked, moving a little closer to the grey mailmare, just as Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle Showed up.
"Good. . ." Apple Bloom stated, through her exhausted panting. "you. . .found. . . her." Fanning herself with a hoof to no real effect, Sweetie Belle nodded.
"She. . . know what. . . happened." Sweetie panted. But, before Scootaloo could respond, Derpy spoke. However. . . it was not the voice of the lovable, slightly klutzy, mailmare the three fillies heard. This voice was female, but deep, cold, arrogant. . . and cruel.
"You know. . ." The voice Drawled, as a greenish glow around their hooves rooted the three fillies to the spot. "I was rather concerned when I saw you three chasing after this idiot, I thought I might have been discovered. But on reflection, I think this will work out well for me." The three fillies felt their blood run cold, and a chill run up their spines as the voice continued. "I want you to deliver a message to that. . . thing, called Derran Grandel." Here Derpy turned, and the Crusaders gasped. Derpy's eyes were now a sickly neon green, that glowed faintly even in broad daylight. While around her neck, the trio saw a pendant made of what looked like black resin. In the center of the pendant was a small green gem, that glowed with the same poisonous radiance as Derpy's eyes. Also around her neck, was a swaddling cloth, that held the quietly sleeping form, of non other that Flurry Heart. Glaring at them, the arrogant voice coming from Derpy continued. "Once you wake up, tell him I have Cadence and Shining Armor's precious little foal. And that if he, or the princesses, ever want to see the brat alive and in one piece again, then he'll be here at exactly midnight to receive further instructions." The next thing the Crusaders saw was a flash of green, then they fell heavily to the ground, instantly unconscious. As the thing in Derpy's body turned, and continued inexorably toward the Everfree, a cruel smile on its stolen features. . .
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OH Faust NO, please don't kill off Derpy!
So Chryssy has found a way to possess ponies with a knock off of the Alicorn amulet?
Chryssy just messed up. And underestimated Derren. He’ll be there at midnight. You skull just won’t survive the encounter Chryssy.
BrUh
[F]
That was one of the best origin stories I've read in awhile, had me pretty misty-eyed by the end.
Well damn done sir, as always. You did a wonderful job with Darren's backstory, even if I wish that you'd had the time to get to the questions surrounding how he went from D'nur to Equestria, or how his daughter could draw Celestia without ever having seen her, or how she knew Celestia was crying and needed his aid, or (and I'm really curious about this part) what she needed aid with. That said, the action was well done, the feels were real, and even I'm mad at the demons for killing Kira and Terissa, and I've never met them.
Also, Chryssie, I saw this with all the love in the world... you have fucked up on a scale so bad that your name is probably going to become a verb before it's all said and done. "You Chrysalis'd it up!" is going to become the new way to communicate true, epic failure. Have fun with a pissed off Doom Slayer.
9358186this is a massive understatement hell will be torn asunder to get revenge for this one.
IT'S ALIVE! And it seems we get some backstory into Derran's past, from a married man to the Doom Slayer we know today. I especially like that you made him the son of a nobleman who turned to farming.
As for Chrysalis, hoo boy, she dun goofed...
Hell hath no fury like an enraged Doom Slayer and a very pissed off Alicorn mother...Chrysalis your hive will be soaked in your own blood this night!
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Nah, apparantly this isn't our work lols since they use different names, like gears of war.
At the end of this chapter I can only think of two lines from the Starship Troopers film
"The only good bug, is a dead bug." ~The Federation
"Ain't much to look at after you scrape them off your boot ~Sugar Watkins
I just imagined this playing as Derren broke
9361179
Spot on, very apt to the mood I was trying to evoke. Most of the Five Finger Death Punch songs I listen to are the more energetic ones, seems I need to review their catalog.
Man, i can't even begin to imagen what the doom slayer did to that sorry excuse for a king who doomed his world and destroyed Darren's life.
I do hope there will be more chapters that tell of his backstory while still on his world while fighting demons.
i.imgflip.com/2pqvg5.jpg
Changeling possession, not demonic. I should have known. Looking froward to more.
Keep up the good work. Deus tecum.
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I will wait to watch and respond to it after I watch some more episodes. Let me put my original argument more clearly. Luna was insane this she is not really at fault. Discord was almost insane as he didn’t see ponies as people but the way we would look at ants. Sombra was evil and destroyed. Chrysalis was evil forcefully ejected. She would likely have been impisioned if they caught her. Tirek was evil and re-incarcerated. Starlight knowingly committed atrocities and got nothing. She wasn’t crazy like Luna. She knew what she was doing and didn’t care. She wanted others to suffer with her while she behaved like some of the most horrible humans in history. And the only reason she even stopped is because the world was destroyed, which goes back to how it affects her not others she didn’t really feel sorry then she just didn’t want to live in a wasteland.
While the story is good it is, however, riddled with errors, many of which are very easy to fix.
I’ll point out the errors if you’d like me to.
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That would be very helpful, if you send me a PM with the errors you saw I would very much appreciate it.
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I'll make my own corrections in the process, but they're merely suggestions.
Expect a message some time after this Sunday.
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I look forward to it, many thanks.
I put off reading this for a fair amount of time due to the length. I now regret this decision. I am greatly looking forward to the following chapters and now have made this background story of Doom Slayer my head cannon.
9474752
Much though I hate to say it, the new chapter is still some way from finished, largely due to complications in my personal life and the sheer length of the new chapter. Currently the new chapter is at nearly 10,500 words, and it's still only about half done. Couple that with post-holiday chaos, me traveling the country (I'm currently in Arizona), and my general slow-and-steady pace, and it will still be a while. Rest assured though, I am working on the story, and chapters will come faster in the future once I get through the full arc describing Derran's past.
i.ytimg.com/vi/yUK7n4_J-xg/maxresdefault.jpg
Don't be ridiculous. Grieving for strangers doesn't mean that they are unmatchable by humans. If you mean it makes them better people, that is also ridiculous as grieving for strangers is no measure of someone being a better person than another. Also, humans cry for movies and games and books, so yes we do grieve for strangers. Hell, we grieve for fictional strangers. On top of that, the ponies are grieving specifically for someone whom they have witnessed the suffering of on a very personal level, so the narration is not applicable to them anyway.
I love this part, it's very true and perfectly fits Doom.
9681207
I understand your point about humans, but consider that Derran has a bit of a prejudice against his own species. Mainly because of what has happened to his own world (or more accurately, why it happened), and his experience on Mars with the UAC. Derran also sees the princesses as goddesses (much to their chagrin), so he views the ponies through slightly rose tinted glasses. However the biggest source of Derran's distrust for humans is illustrated in the next few chapters, he knows how far, and how easily, a man can fall, because he himself fell. A hero might see humanity as flawed, but trying to do better, but by his own admission (and as you yourself highlighted): Derran is no hero.
You did not just do that.
9755419
Is there a reason I should not have? Doomguy is distantly related to William Joseph Blazkowicz in at least one of the Doom timelines. See for yourself:
Wolfenstein Wiki
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DANG RIGHT!! OUU SHE JUST WAIT TILL HE ARIVES!
Chryssie... you have no IDEA what you’ve just done...
*BFG Division starts playing*
Chrysalis will suffer a slow, painful, agonizing death.
Chrysalis is fucked.
Ah the woofinstien theory, nice to see that pop up.
purest, and it either needs a comma or an "and"
pristine
Did I just gaslight myself into thinking it was "Grendell" this whole time?