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.