Down The Spiral: Present Prologue On A Future Battlefield

 

"Prick your finger, it is done

The moon has now eclipsed the sun

The angel has spread his wings

The time has come for bitter things"

 

Antichrist Superstar - Marilyn Manson

 

    This is a dangerous place. Thickly woven veils of mist obscure the immediate surroundings from your sight, while at the same time adding a touch of dread and foreboding to the blackened shrubs and trees that occasionally manage to break through. Just for a few seconds these sorry excuses for greenery will loom up around you, covered with fungi and lichen that often warp them to nightmarish proportions, before they disappear again in the fog, like ghastly leviathans surfacing momentarily in a sea of air.

    Sound carries far. The cawing and shrill crying of the few birds that survive in these parts sound as if they are all perching right on your shoulders, while the sudden outbursts of larger, louder, more dangerous things serves as a counterpoint for the relentless drip drop of condensing mist gliding from twigs and branches. The moments when everything turns quiet are the most dangerous ones, though: that is when one of them passes over, unseen,  wooping by in search of new prey.

    They have no name for themselves, nor do they seem to have any discernible common language, unless it's conducted in the higher ultrasonic range which they use for making their way safely through the fog. I haven't seen more than one of them at any given time, though, so perhaps they may have some form of civilization that I as yet haven't stumbled across. I find it better not to dwell on this possibility. Physically they appear as crosses between ordinary humans and bats: thin black leathery bodies, taller than the average man, with huge bat-like wings that also seem to have a vaguely claw-like function. They eat anything that moves, anything that has flesh and blood. They are not very selective in their feeding habits, as I've observed, but then I guess they cannot afford to be in this environment.

    I realise that I do not have a lot of time, so when the background noises cease once again I deliberately break a small twig and wait for the hunter to find me. He makes no sound as he approaches, but I'm all too aware of his flight. Timing my move just right, I manage to sidestep and intercept him at the moment of contact, immediately going for the mental contact that I need to subdue him. Two surprises await me: the hunter is a female of the species, and there appears to be a spark of intelligence there after all. I quickly soothe the panic that grips her at her unexpected capture, until she goes limp in my restraining arms and I can start studying her from close up. Her face is more bat than human, with tiny eyes, large ears, and a sharp set of fangs, but yes, there is that little flicker of reason, that tiny promise of something more, given time and suitable circumstances. For a brief moment I reflect on the waste of this race never reaching its full potential, but then I harden my heart. These creatures simply have the bad luck to be living in Svarta, the place that is going to serve as my trap for the enemies of Cardane. For Cardane to survive, Svarta must surely die, and I Dorian, destroyer of worlds, have come to seal their fate.

    The time spent studying this semi-sentient vampire is not wasted. I find that a few minor alterations to the Shadow's overall make-up will set them back a couple of rungs on the evolutionary ladder, permanently ruining their chances of aspiring to something more. As soon as anyone starts messing with Power to break through the Shadow barrier between Svarta and Cardane, it will now trigger an unbelievable frenzy among these creatures, making them instantly attack anything that comes within their sight, so to speak. Although their assault on the army should be nothing but ferocious, I doubt whether it will be enough to keep them occupied for very long, but keeping them busy is precisely my objective: if they are fighting off these creatures they have no time to notice the second and more insidious part of my trap.

    Every Shadow can be seen as an intricate system of powerflows, some stronger than others depending mainly on the position of the particular Shadow in the universe. Most of the time these energies help to maintain the creatures, plants, structures, well, just basically all matter and life within the Shadow, but sometimes things can go wrong. Sometimes instead of sustaining the Shadow the powerflows start feeding on its energy, wiping things out of existence by having them revert to their most basic elements. This is the trap I am laying for the approaching army. Any tampering with the barrier I am going to reinforce from my base in Cardane will not only force the native population into action, but will also trigger this energy-absorbing effect, which will hopefully go unnoticed until it has swallowed up a substantial part of the enemy force.

    There is an immense risk to what I am doing, as I am well aware: a feedback loop such as I am setting up can easily get out of control, absorbing more and more energy as it grows in power, until it threatens to wipe out the entire Shadow and even starts to endanger the neighbouring ones. Fiona has once told me that this is how many of the so-called Shadowstorms get started and she has sternly warned me against messing with this kind of phenomenon. It could very well be that in trying to protect Cardane I am bringing about its imminent destruction, but I feel that I have little choice. Hopefully I will be able to strengthen the barriers enough to keep Cardane safe. I feel I can and continue to ignore my doubts. In any case, it is going to cost the enemy army if they try to force their way in, just like I promised Adrian it would. A show of force is required, so that is what they are going to get.

    With all arrangements finally in place and hidden from view as much as possible, I let go of the unsuspecting huntress, allowing her a few more hours of peace before the Apocalypse sets in. With a few beats of her wings she is off, vanishing in the mist to look for easier prey. As I use the Pattern to teleport myself back to Cardane where I will wait for the enemy to arrive, I reflect on the cold-hearted manner in which I just planned the destruction of an entire race. The old Dorian, hidden somewhere deep inside, rails at me, but I silence him with one angry word. This is not the first world that will die because of me, and I am sure it will not be the last. I shall mourn for the destruction of every one of them, but I shall not show my grief to others. That is simply something an Amberite does not do.

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