The Ma-koro Chronicles: Redux, Bionicle, way out of whack. Options

[Tempus]

Prologue: Tentatio Quod Suscitatio.

Into this wild abyss
(The womb of nature and perhaps her grave,)
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,
But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd
Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight,
(Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more worlds,)
Into this wild abyss the wary fiend
Stood on the brink of ######, and look'd awhile,
Pond'ring his voyage

John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book II, lines 910-919 .

Prologue: Trials of Doom.


The demon, whose name was Ombos, had been sailing through strange waters for many days now, but the shore of his destination was finally at hand. As he gathered up his supplies and put them into his pack (Which was similar to the magic ‘wallet’ used by Perseus in that it could hold as many things as you put into it, and still be fairly light.), he reflected on how important his task was. I must not fail. he thought, his orange eyes narrowing behind his mask. Once he reached the shore, a beach of black sand, Ombos dragged the boat farther up and walked toward the sheer, vertical cliffs that rose up only a mere twenty or so yards away. They were imposing, Cyclopean monstrosities, formed out of volcanic rock, extending up into the mist and out of sight, looking like a wall of dark stone.

Seeing a fissure in the cliff face at ground level, Ombos walked over, taking his mace out of his pack, the chain wrapped around the collapsible shaft. He squeezed through the aperture, just barely making it through the tight space. Once inside, his eyes widened in surprise, which rarely happened, at the titanic labyrinth, stretching from floor to ceiling. Looking at it, he remembered what the ancient map fragment that led him to this place had said.


When translated, the writing said,"He who seeks the key of chaos, must first enter his own maze, and escape themselves."

Ombos had been quite perplexed by this, but was resolved to figure it out on his own. Stepping into the maze, he thought he was prepared for whatever it could throw at him. Next, however, the maze completely changed form, transforming into something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the mind of an insane, dementia-addled M.C. Escher. Obviously, that was what he wasn’t prepared for. Resignedly, he walked forward, trying not to loose balance. About five minutes in, a warrior materializing from the shadow, wielding a battle-axe hindered this constant effort. After a brief skirmish, he continued, working toward the center. This was repeated countless times, with various different opponents, and sometimes groups of them. It would take too long to describe every one of these fights, so we’ll move on. As he drew closer to the heart of the labyrinth, he began to sense something strange. Not paying attention to where he was walking, he was just about to identify it when he realized he had entered the core chamber. Standing on a plinth in the room’s midpoint was a key, made of an eerie, ebon metal that seemed faintly luminous. It was in the shape of one of the hands of a clock, and hung from a small stand on a golden chain. He got right up to the altar without trouble of any sort, but this didn’t last. (Obviously. I’m not going to let a demon escape with any evil key without a seriously mind-warping fight.) When he removed the key from its holder, a cloud of shadow rushed out of the far wall, hitting Ombos head on and enveloping him in its substance. The thing carried with it a reek of the cold, subterranean air of a crypt waiting for an occupant, and the stench of wet things rotting in dark, forgotten places. From what he could feel, it seemed to be searching for a weak point in his armor, slithering, crawling and oozing over his body. Failing in this venture, the shadow wafted away from Ombos, leaving him weakened and out of breath for some strange reason. Looking around for his foe, Ombos saw it hovering a yard or two away, doing nothing.

“What do you want?” Ombos snapped at the thing, his voice echoing through the chamber.

“Your life is your own, but your sanity is mine to toy with. Relinquish the key and you may depart with it intact.” The thing said, with a voice surprisingly normal for a cloud of shadow.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. And I doubt you could harm my sanity. I’m a demon, so that’s already pretty warped.” Ombos chuckled darkly.

“So be it.” the thing retorted with a sigh. It began to coalesce into something roughly humanoid in shape, though very bulky. When it was complete, the thing looked to be made of ebony marble with deep blue veins running through it. All over the body, there were eyes that burned with silver light. The light shone so bright that it was all Ombos could see. Mesmerized, he simply stared into the light, which seemed to almost be alive. If an onlooker were to see this scene, they would see a crimson armored figure staring mindlessly at the black blue golem’s eyes, both completely motionless. But since the events that we are concerned with take place somewhere else, we won’t worry about the maze.

When Ombos regained consciousness, he was flying, speeding down a long tunnel; only it wasn’t really a tunnel. Before he could really ponder where he was, he flew out the end of the tunnel as though Heracles had been using the demon as a shot put. The landscape that greeted him at the end of the tunnel was as warped as something he might’ve seen in his imagination. It was a dark, never-ending hall with monolithic pillars fashioned from a shimmering, wine-colored crystal. Seeing something moving up ahead, he shot a blast of energy out of his mace. He expected to have a very short life expectancy in this place. So he was surprised to see whatever it was get hit, recoil a bit, and continue walking toward him. As it staggered toward him, more came from the sides of the hall, marching inexorably forward. Trying a different tactic, he shot an orb of fire into the air, illuminating the hall. Looking forward again, he saw the figures for what they truly were. About five yards ahead, there was a troop of eight knights clad in ebon armor, inlaid with deep blue designs. Adding to the eeriness of the situation was the fact that none of the armor had a body inside it, only empty space between the different pieces. Each held a sword, forged out of snow-white steel. Knowing he was outclassed, Ombos prepared to battle them, gathering his energy for one, quite probably suicidal strike.

He never got the chance. Without a sound, each was coven in half by a blade. The empty armor clattered to the ground, lifeless.

“Who’s there?” Ombos demanded, his voice echoing down the hall.

“An ally.” Someone answered in a deep, resonant voice, as his footsteps echoed, drawing closer. From the light of the smoldering orb overhead, Ombos could see his savior, standing about five feet away. He was about thirteen feet tall, with black and green armor. He looked similar to a centaur in that his lower body resembled that of an animal. However, it wasn’t a horse, but the abdomen of a monstrous spider, complete with eight legs and spinnerets. He had numerous spears attached to his armor in various places. He wore nothing on his head, which was pitch black, with sulfur yellow eyes gleaming in the suknken pits of his eye sockets.

“It seems that I am in your debt, whoever you are. But why did you save me?” Ombos said, kneeling before him.

“Get up, and come with me. I want no groveling from you. I helped you because we are both demons. Now help me find a way out of this place. Oh, and call me Goriakh.”

“What do you mean, help you find a way out? I’ve no clue where we are.”

“That shadow that you met in the heart of the maze, he sent you here. This is the physical manifestation of your mind. Those pillars are merely decoration in this part, but in other sections, they store memories, ideas, thoughts, and so on.”

“So if I simply think that we are at an exit, then we will be?”

“Yes, but we must find my brother first.”

“No need, I’m right behind you ” said a smooth voice. A figure leapt through the air above them, landing on his feet before the pair. Clad in white and gold armor, he hardly looked like a demon. He was perhaps an inch or two taller than Ombos, and had many swords strapped onto his armor. Unlike his brother, this one looked roughly humanoid, in that he had two legs, one head, and two arms. his legs however, looked rather bestial, making him seem akin to a satyr or faun, or something else belonging in a Greek myth.

“Find anything, Mordaloth?”

“Nothing worth noting, my brother.”

“Very well. Ombos, have you the key you sought?”

“Aye.”

“Then get us out of here. Your mind is quite twisted.”

Without another word, Ombos concentrated on the three of them being back in the maze’s core. When he opened his eyes, they stood there, the maze quiet as the grave.

“You’d best return to Pandemonium, now that you have the key,” Mordaloth advised Ombos.

“You seem drained, so we will teleport you there. I have no doubt that we will meet again. Do not mention us to any of the others.” Goriakh continued, waving his hand to teleport Ombos back to his home. When Ombos looked again, he was standing before the gates to Pandemonium, the capital city of the infernal lands, and his home. He went through the gates, heading for the center.

Ombos ran up to the gate of the Citadel of Atua, his mace dragging behind him. He rummaged in his pack for a moment before pulling out a piece of metal carved into a strange symbol. He pressed it into a black dome on the door, which glowed for a moment, and then released Ombos’ key. The doors swung open, and he rushed down the corridor, breathing hard. When he reached a door with no handle, sign or hinges even, he spoke.

“Thrashek avonole’sak vatolek.”*

When he said this, the door simply vanished, and Ombos entered the room. When the door shut, he saw a circular table with fifteen seats. It was not a true circle, more like a ring, with a gap in it so you could walk to the center, where pedestal upon which an empty chalice fashioned from obsidian and bloodstone was set. As Ombos set foot in the chamber, the chairs were suddenly filled. At each spot, a demonic Warlord sat, stood or floated.

“Ombos, what in Necros’ name are you doing? You know the rules of The Council Of Blood.” A large, donkey-headed warlord growled. Ombos looked at the one who had spoken and replied, pulling an enormous key out of his pack.

“I have completed my mission. The final key to Necros’ prison is in our hands.”

The donkey-headed Set spoke, with what almost looked like fear in his eyes.
“Well done, my apprentice.”

“Yes, well done indeed. But before we release him, there is one thing that must be done. Your last test.” Another spoke. This time it was Belial, the earth Warlord. When he said this, all of the Warlords tensed, and the snakes in Set’s mane began to writhe and hiss. Without another word, Belial touched the globe, and everyone was transported to the arena. Ombos faced Set, both readying themselves for battle.

“You both know the rules. This is a fight to the death. No mercy” Belial shouted, his voice booming out from the stands.

For a moment, neither moved. Then, a gong sounded and both attacked, using blasts of energy to try and harm the other. While Set had the advantage in experience, Ombos was far more willing to use his powers in new ways. Within minutes, Set was being battered from all sides by a relentless tide of beasts formed out of the very elements. Ombos didn’t even have to lift a finger against his foe.

When Set finally sank to the ground defeated, Ombos approached him, raising the mace over his teacher’s head. There was a sickening crunch, and then he lifted the mace up with a nauseating sucking sound. Then, Ombos knelt and plunged his hand into Set’s chest, ripping out the twisted, blackened heart. Without regard for anything else, he devoured the organ, wiping his hands and mouth on the fallen beast’s cloak. Then, Ombos stood, feeling a rush of malevolent energy coursing through his body. His form began to change, growing taller and more powerful.

“Welcome to the order, Ombos. It is time to release him. Our waiting is over.” Lucifer said, his blue eyes gleaming behind the twisted mockery of an Avohikii that he wore. With a simple gesture, Lucifer transported everyone to the top of the tower. It was a flat space, the size of a football field. In the center was a five-sided monolith inscribed with ancient runes, with keyholes carved into it. One by one, each warlord went forward to one of the keyholes, inserted a key into it, turned the key, and stood where his seal was inscribed on the floor of the tower. As the last lock was opened, the monolith shattered, and a pillar of shadows rushed up from the spot where it had stood. As the Warlords knelt, the shadows coalesced into a demon, more powerful than any of the Warlords. In one voice, they said,

“Lord Necros, welcome back.”

In response, Necros began to laugh, a loud, booming laugh that carried with it no trace of humor. The pillar of shadows had begun to spread across the sky, signaling the beginning of dark times. He then strode to the edge of the tower, where he could see the crowds of demons gathering at the base.

“Demons. It is time to strike back at those who defeated us, so many eons ago! Light the forges! Don your armor! Sharpen your blades! Loose the beasts of nightmare! Let no being, mortal or immortal, know peace! PREPARE FOR WAR!” roared Necros, raising his fist to the sky. The legions of demons below roared and cheered in answer.


*This is the language of demons, and is untranslatable at the present time.


REVIEW

This post has been edited by Tempus: Nov 25 2006, 01:57 PM