Hey guys, me again. no story post as of yet but just letting ya know that I've changed my email account (its been updated in my profile so just click the mail thingy), I just can't seem to get into my old account so I have no clue as to what you guys have been kicking around in the back. If ya get the chance, give me a line so I can start back up. thanks

(NSP: Due to a number of real-life circumstances that have befallen upon many of the writers (including myself), "The Eternal War" will be on temporary[/b] hold for an indefinate amount of time (no sooner than the beginning of 2003). I apologize to anyone that may have been following this story for the frequent and long breaks in the continuation of this story.

May this story have a fitting ending soon...)

[This message has been edited by Gebohq (edited October 11, 2002).]

(NSP: A post mostly by Semievil333. I'll see what I can come up with myself soon. Here's hoping for progress *crosses fingers*)

The pounding of wind and waves still echoed in Bais' mind hours after the storm itself had faded into the darkness. Fire and lightning arced across his eyes and thunder roared in his ears.

Darkness itself flooded the mind of Kupala. Black flames tore at his even blacker heart. He struggled for a glimpse of anything outside of the abyss, but vengeance dimmed his vision to the joys of life.

Yimir felt an odd kinship with Kupala after seeing this. He too had failed to break out of the darkness. The shadow of his father Bazaal.

There was another presence with them as well. Not a physical presence, but a sort of bridge across their minds. Like Bais this mind was free of darkness but enveloped in turmoil and chaos. Yimir sensed however that this mind no longer resisted as did Bais, but has succumbed to madness. The one other outstanding feature of this mind was an imperative that now seemed imbedded in his mind as though it were his own- to stop the Eternal War. Yimir now recognized the presence without another thought: Orca.

Yimir's eyes idly took in broken stones and shattered walls. Relics of every age encircled him. He stood and slowly walked he course of the room around the pit that formed it's center. From stones tied to sticks, past knives swords, broken shields and armor, all manner of cannon, to finally where Kupala and Bais lay unconscious. Kupala, bristling with arms and armor seemed nothing more than an extension of the display. "This is what we have created." The thoughts of Orca raced through Yimir's mind with fiery determination. "This is the summit of what sentient beings have accomplished. The peak of Tempus Fortis, a museum of existence. Do you see what ruin it has come to? Each age has built upon the foundations laid before it. It is time to decide what we will leave behind us. I say that we leave the pain of struggle behind. Let it be said that the people of our age began a new era of peace."

As the words flowed, the broken stones began to shift and roll into place, repairing the walls. Some formed a low wall around the pit in the center and next to Bais a stairway formed leading to a few stones that formed the beginning of the next floor. Yimir climbed the stairs slowly, gazing out over the walls as they grew higher, across an empty plain at the sun setting, spilling rivers of gold across the forest in the distance. Above he could hear music and laughter. Below a cold wind pushed him on. When Yimir reached the top, the last step was missing. Glancing back he saw that there was one stone left, unmoved from the floor below, wide enough to be the last step.

"We must finish this age before we may move on to the next. The Eternal War- that bitter conflict that has turned hearts against each other since time began must end. This will be our legacy."

A heavy burden was offered before Yimir, with a promise that another would be lifted. Doubts ebbed and flowed in his mind. He moved to pick up the stone. "The stone will move itself, if you move yourself. Choose your path."

"I will join with you." Yimir spoke to the growing darkness over the trees. "What do you want me to do?"

"You will join the Force of Good. When the time comes, you will turn and face the tide. The other two will join in our efforts. Together we will stop the fighting."

Yimir looked upon Bais and Kupala once more, sinking deep into their visions of pain.

Above the rapidly sinking Viking ship, released from its century-old stasis and losing buoyancy fast, the frenzied battling ceased. All of the combatants dropped to the deck, clutching their weapons tightly
and glaring at their opponents.

One such opponent, Kronaemix, stretched his wings out to their full length and retracted them again. His longsword, Kinn-Akan's Justice, gleamed in his hand. He took in his main adversaries; Ebon Skull, the fallen demon now assuming mortal form, Quarsh, the demon and his mortal accomplice, Robert, and Vox, the fairy woman. Challenging foes under any circumstances, but Kronaemix had picked up a few tricks along the way.

In a deep, commanding voice, he addressed those on board who would listen.

"Servants of Nature and Hell! I am Kronaemix, formerly of the order of
the Lord's Will, one-time apprentice of the Judge Semievil and current
fallen angel!

"You are all skilled and talented fighters, but in the name of God and the greater good, I can allow none of you to leave here with the Matrix."

Ebon SKull leered. "How pathetic! You, Kronaemix, fallen angel, are past the prime of your existence; and I have worked too hard to be here to acquire the Matrix of Volsang to see it stolen from me from
some faltering servant of God seeking a bargaining chip for redemption! Nor will I let it be snatched up by any being here! Have at you!"

The battling resumed on deck suddenly as Ebon Skull drew upon the power of the Black Shadow, launching a volley of darts at his foe. For his part, Kronaemix wasted no time, covering his eyes, flapping his great wings and smashing through the deck of the ship, the darts sailing above him. Momentarily stymied, Ebon Skull let out a cry of disbelief as Kronaemix burst up from under his feet and sent them both tumbling to the deck.

Ebon Skull and Kronaemix both rose at the same time. The angel thrust his blade at Ebon's heart, but the Black Shadow, manifesting solidly around his gloved hand, deflected the blow. Kronaemix launched a flurry of blows at his foe, Ebon Skull blocking each with his aura. Finally, Kronaemix overstepped a swing, and Ebon Skull weaved the Black Shadow into a ethereal flail, striking at the angel's back and sending him to the floor. With a large flap from his wings, Kronaemix turned the attack into a handstand and twisted in mid-air, catching the flail's successive swing on his blade and landing in a ready stance.

--------------------

Meanwhile, Vox had taken advantage of the current turmoil, and slid across the deck, reaching the hold-

Quarsh landed in front of her, snarling and grabbing her by her neck, pulling her up to his face.

"Where do you think you're going, fey woman?"

Desperate and choking, Vox reached down to her belt, unclasped some of her most potent fairy dust, and spilt it onto her hands. She then lifted them to her mouth and, with the last breath in her, blew.

The results were instantaneous. The pure fairy dust against the demon's skin created a violent reaction of nature, manifested by a huge bolt of lightning, searing down through the skies and striking Quarsh. He recoiled in agony as the bolt, so strong and potent that it gave Ravius pause, racked his demonic form and sent him crumpling to the ground. For her part, Vox was tossed like a rag doll up into the air and landed with a crash on top of the hatch leading to the hold.

"Whew," she whispered, wiping her brow and reaching for the handle-

Just as a scorched, burning claw clasped hers.

Vox screamed.

--------------------

Kronaemix's duel with Ebon Skull was not faring as well as he'd hoped. Using the Black Shadow in a variety of deadly fashions, Ebon Skull was hard to defend against and even harder to strike. Dagger in hand one moment, battleaxe the next, he provided no one fighting style to match against, and gave no quarter in return.

Kronaemix launched himself into the air as the Black Shadow contorted in Ebon Skull's hands, forming a longbow. Deflecting jet-black arrows with his longsword, Kronaemix formed a plan in his mind. But he'd need some sort of opening-

Suddenly, Robert leaped onto Ebon Skull's back, dagger at his throat. The demon temporarily released his grasp of the Black Shadow, quickly overpowering Robert and throwing him off the side of the ship, where he hung on for dear life. Ebon quickly formed an abyssal tower shield in front of him, anticipating an attack from Kronaemix, but the angel simply landed on the deck, changing the grip of his sword to a throwing one.

Ebon Skull laughed harshly. "You think you can hit me with that?"

Kronaemix's reply was not verbal. He instead tossed his sword at the demon, which sailed through the air with a low humming noise. Almost immediately Ebon Skull knew it would miss; it was aimed far too high. He begun to laugh, shifting his control on the Black Shadow to a crossbow, but as he watched the wayward blade, another Kronaemix materialised in the air above him and grasped the sword, falling with it to land deep in his shoulder.

Ebon Skull let out a demonic cry and staggered backwards. The two forms of Kronaemix merged into one as he cornered his foe.

"As I said, former apprentice of Semievil the Judge, who taught me how he could be in so many places at the same time. Now, surrender!"

Ebon Skull glared at him, then began to laugh.

"What do you find so amusing, demon?"

"Did Semievil tell you the truth about your father, Kronaemix?"

The angel's teal eyes widened in shock. "What did you say?"

"He didn't, did he?" Ebon Skull laughed again. "It's a very popular story in Hell. You obviously haven't heard the full version, let me tell you-"

"SILENCE, DEMON!" Kronaemix shook with rage and sorrow, clasping his father's sword awkwardly at Ebon Skull's throat.

"You're as weak as him, Kronaemix-"

Suddenly, the Black Shadow was in Ebon Skull's hands, now a quarterstaff. He struck Kronaemix in the chest, spun and caught his knee, dropping the angel into a kneeling position, and swung it with full force at his face, the devastating blow sending him to the deck of Krig's doomed ship.

"-And just as foolish. Showing a demon like me mercy...a little bit of history repeating, perhaps, Kronaemix? Your pathetic ambitions to avenge your father are nothing compared to my majestic plans. I will claim the Matrix of Volsang, and all demons will hail ME, Ebon Skull, champion of Hell in the Eternal Wars forever more!"

And with that, Ebon Skull raced to the hold. Kronaemix forced himself to his feet, rushing after him.

(NSP: Hopefully, I've advanced the characters a little bit here. This post has rekindled my interest in this story, and if Highemperor has no objections, I'd like to finish Kronaemix's and Ebon Skull's battle in the hold, setting the scene for their confrontation in the Final Battle. I also hope Highemp doesn't mind my appropriation of the Black Shadow into a sort of moldable essence that protects and assaults in the hands of a skilled user like Ebon Skull. As usual, if anyone has a problem with this post, I'll make the change immediately!)

-TLTE

(NSP: A great post, save for one thing -- it contradicts pretty much everything in my last post. I'm thinking you didn't see it, or read it, or read it and forgot about it, or something. It's near the bottom of page 11.

At the end of my last post, the Northman (not Viking, btw, since this story is set in our future, and the Vikings died out a while ago) ship had sunk under the waves completely, Ebon Skull was in the Northman ship's cargo hold (ie, underwater), and Shawn Templar had just dove into the water after Ebon Skull, seeking a challenge. Meanwhile, Kron, Vox, and Quarsh were doing battle in the air several meters above the ship. Or rather, where the ship was.

Otherwise a very nice post. )

[Edit: Just a note for anybody reading this, the conflicts between the two posts turned out to be not so great, and have been fixed by a few small adjustments here and there. All is well. Please, continue reading.]

[This message has been edited by Krig_the_Viking (edited March 26, 2003).]

(NSP: Krig, that would be my fault--I supplied TLTE with the information he needed. Man, I REALLY don't remember that post you spoke of...*goes back to read* Mebbe we can say your post in the storyline comes after TLTE's?)

(NSP: My fault, Krig, I'm sorry, only following Geb's directions...although I DID continue the story of the combatants fighting above the ship as you pointed out so imperatively...read the first few lines of my post!)

I'm amking the level of the battlefield thingy for geb, I'm wondering if any of you have anything to contribute to how I'll build this level. Maybe..oh say, an extremely detailed discription of things...stuff like that.

JediKirby

------------------
The Official Epic Website for the E²1 TC

Look and post here if you could help out with jEDIkIRBY's efforts:

http://forums.massassi.net/html/Forum5/HTML/009384.html

Thanks again

NSP: I personally have no problems with Kronaemix finishing the battle between Ebon and Kron, just so long as he remembers that Ebon DOES in fact get away with the matrix. The way he utilizes the Black Shadow is excellent, but he can also be used as a diffuse field that spreads across everything. Against mortals and lesser spirits, the field is quite deadly, but it has to be concentrated into darts or daggers or other weapon-forms to really hurt the greater spirits, such as Quarsh and Kronaemix. How's that sound?

At any rate, I'd love to make a post for TEW now, but I have nothing to post. So what do I do?

------------------
Quest on epic adventures or duel at the High Citadel!

(Here it is 9:30 PM, equating roughly to 9:30AM for you mostly American folk. By the time 9:30 rolls around for you again, a finalised post will be here!)

Alone, unaided and badly damaged by supernatural powers, the Northman ship sunk beneath the waves, like some discarded child's toy. The battle, however, was still raging, most of the combatants above deck, dealing with the rigidity of underwater fighting as best they could.

Beneath deck, in the sanctuary of the hold, Ebon Skull strode hastily through the racks of cargo, having briefly escaped from the chaos of above. Barely ten strides away, his prize, the Matrix of Volsang, lay waiting. The undying light of malice and evil in the villain's eyes seemed to gain a passionate intensity as he reached his goal-

Kinn-Akan's Justice lodged in the crate next to Ebon Skull, accompanied by a reverberating thud. The once-demon roared in surprise as though the longsword had struck its mark, half-turning and launching a volley of abyssal darts before disappearing into the maze of storage.

Kronaemix, son of Kinn-Akan, retrieved his weapon and stalked through the hold, his enemy lost for the moment. Shadows danced and swirled in his vision, seeming to take demonic form and fade just as he stopped to strike.

"You'll not have the Matrix this day, demon!"

Ebon Skull's reply was displaced laughter. "Oh really? Unless Semievil taught you how to hide a choir of angels beneath those wings of yours, Kronaemix, I fear victory will indeed be mine..."

"Were demons like you as triumphant as you are proud," Kronaemix replied, "I would be surely be dead by now."

The crates behind him splintered into fragments as Ebon Skull tore through them, the Black Shadow now a serrated dagger. Kronaemix brought up his sword just in time to deflect the force of the strike, bringing both blades to his throat. Flapping his wings, Kronaemix launched up and out of range, coming down with a swift thrust, only to have his blade turned by a long knife. Brandishing identical pairs in his hands, Ebon Skull unleashed a hail of merciless strikes on his foe, who barely remained a step ahead to suppress him. Back and forth they danced, obliterating their surroundings, focused on each other as though engrossed in a deadly world of their own.

Finally, Kronaemix saw an opening, and as Ebon Skull's halberd lodged in the beam next to his head, he spun swiftly and rammed his opponent with the hilt of his sword. Immediately, the halberd faded to nothingness, severed from its owner. Wasting no time to relish victory, Kronaemix changed grip on the sword, arced it down and-

A woman-shaped blur smashed into Kronaemix from the side, scattering his sword and sending him - and her - tumbling to the floor. Ebon Skull was about to thank his luck, which had held for the moment, and counter-attack Kronaemix when an indiscriminately-rampant Quarsh slammed him into the side of the hull, beginning in earnest a battle of their own...

And outside, as the ship sunk farther, Robert held his breath as best he could and patiently wondered when his luck was going to change...

(NSP: The battle took longer to flesh out than anticipated. Follow-up post tomorrow[ish])...

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You can run, you can hide, but you can't fight.

The war on the ship was drawing to a climax, though instead of winding slowly down (as is the case with most skirmishes, as there are not enough participants left alive to maintain the intensity) the heat of battle was building, a fiery crescendo that could only end in a suicidally apocalyptic fashion.

No one, though, anticipated the depth of what was to happen.

The warriors in the hold - Ebon Skull, Quarsh, Kronaemix and Vox - were no longer battling individual opponents. It was a match in which its sheer spectacle was only surpassed by its ferocity.

Ebon Skull, the former master demon turned mortal, dove into battle, engaging all his foes with a myriad of assaults borne of the Black Shadow. Eyes gleaming, he tore into his foes, devastating and ruthless.

Vox, the fey-woman, unleashed the arsenal of nature upon the unsuspecting others. It was truly amazing in its display - the very elements were turned against those who opposed her. The ever-running water assumed human form and leaped at them, coming apart only through dexterous swordplay or ferocious claw-slashing. An overturned oil-lamp would roar flame eight feet tall and twice as wide, scathing and confounding them. And the wind; ever blowing, seemingly coming from nowhere, kept her enemies off balance and would often halt a savage blow inches from her face. Yet try as she might, Vox's attempts to sneak off and procure the waiting Matrix were painfully repelled, and she found herself locked forcefully in the melee.

Quarsh, the demon, found no comfort in spellcraft or weaponry, so he turned on his foes with a tool of equal or perhaps greater damage - his boundless rage. His claws gleaming, he literally tore the hold apart in his quest for his opponents. Anyone present at the battle that day would ever after speculate which was the higher goal in Quarsh's mind - acquisition of the Matrix, or the utter annihlation of his enemies. Spinning and pouncing, the terrifying demon focused the bulk of his attention on Vox, holding now a personal vendetta against the comparably tiny fey-woman. Together, they dazzled each other with their power, and frustrated each other with their skill.

Kronaemix, the fallen angel, once arbiter and agent overseeing the Eternal Wars, former champion of Heaven and past apprentice of Semievil, Judge of the War, brought every one of his divine and physical skills to the battle. It seemed sadly ironic that only a few months ago, he would have been monitoring these champions of their alignments from a distance, ensuring that no serious damage or crime was done to each other before the battle proper. Now, though he operated under no official standard, he vied to reclaim his standing in Heaven, and to do so, a proper token of goodwill was required. The Matrix of Volsang would do. Kinn-Akan's Justice pulsed, the blade shining as though a holy relic as it hummed through the air, swift and sure. Kronaemix clove his way through his foes, staggering them with up to five different forms of himself appearing, all independent and moving of their own accord.

---------------------

The battle, forever after known as the Battle of Volsang's Pride to Kronaemix, was awe-inspiring. None that day, save those who had taken part in the Eternal War, had ever seen so many warriors of skill locked in combat before. Finally, however, the time of reckoning came. Had the circumstances been different, how it came about would have been humourous.

As the champions fought, Robert had been swimming vainly about the ship, searching for a way into the hold. He hadn't the strength to force the hatch to the hold open, and was beginning to feel ready to give up and lose consciousness when he, as a final token effort, thrust his dagger into the side of the hull. Suddenly, the dagger lit up, ripping a small section of the hull off and sending him, along with a torrent of water, slamming into the rough circle of duelling champions. All of them lost their balance and slid along the water's path to the other side of the destroyed hold, where they were tossed roughly against the side and regained a foothold. While Robert's entry had been rough, it served to distract the champions just as the fight had been concluding. Had he not arrived when he did, the survivors of the battle - and subsequently, the fate of Heaven, Hell and Nature themselves - would have been irrevocably changed.

As it happened, the combatants rose slowly, weapons drawn and poised, facing each other in a circle. Robert was the first to speak.

"Well," he quite rightly commented, "this is very awkward."

"Silence, fool!" Ebon Skull fixed him with a glance that would have driven a lesser man insance. "You know nothing of what is at stake here!"

Kronaemix, ever the mediator, stood tall. "This battle has raged on long enough-"

"Obviously not long enough, angel, for you are still standing." Quarsh had briefly forgotten Vox, drawing upon his extensive hatred for all of God's creatures.

"Be reasonable, demon!" Kronaemix's teal eyes flashed petulantly. "Maybe the Matrix of Volsang is fated to remain here, and should disappear beneath the waves with the ship that bore it-"

"NONSENSE!" This last remark, more than anything, had doomed Kronaemix in Ebon Skull's eyes. He had insulted the one thing the former demon held dear more than anything; he had suggested to waste power. "To consider allowing the Matrix to go unused is testament to your inability to utilise it properly-"

"Then perhaps I should wield it."

The group turned to see another striding down the hold, oblivious to the creaking and shuddering of the doomed ship. Shawn Templar had arrived.

"Not that it matters much to me. I seek only the challenge of defeating you in combat."

His sword still glistening, Kronaemix laughed grimly. "You arrive too late, Shawn Templar. This battle has run its course, and now all that remains is a final effort from all of us."

"He is right," exclaimed Vox, not quite sure why she was agreeing to what she usually called 'selective suicide'. "We shall join together in a final match of strength; he - or she - who survives it may claim the Matrix of Volsang!"

"Finally!" Ebon Skull laughed. "A good suggestion. Let us join swords once more, Kronaemix - this will quickly resolve our dispute!"

"I am ever willing to provide the service, demon," rasped Kronaemix, his sword at the ready.

"At last, my lust for your blood satiated," growled Quarsh to Vox.

"Perhaps you will fall this day, foul beast!" was the timely reply.

And with that, they charged. It was over in a second, but the second stretched to infinity in the minds of those who challenged it. Each of the fighters screamed their cause as they came together in a last effort, beautiful, terrible and final in its nature.

They met in the air - energies colliding with cataclysmic force, rending steel and armour as though paper, bringing each fighter to the brink of death as the force of the collision was realised.

Save one.

As the explosive blow was realised, Ebon Skull grasped the beam above their heads and swung over - past - the armageddon behind him, leaping to safety.

The others - all screaming in rage or pain -were suddenly thrown from the blast, splintering the sides of the hull as they were ridden of any conscious thought that drove them, slowly floating away into the inky blackness of the raging sea.

Were any of them still in the vicinity of the ship - and conscious - they would have seen the finale of the hideous play that was acted out that day.

They would have seen the Northman Ship - irrepairably damaged from the final assault - screech in defiance as it was cloven in two, falling finally to the sea bed, lost and never again laid eyes upon as long as life endured.

And finally - most horrifying of all - they would have seen Ebon Skull, grinning broadly and clutching the Matrix of Volsang in his hands- floating from the wreckage and slowly advancing to the blinding daylight above the waves, as though a twisted angel ascending finally to Heaven...

(NSP: I'm pooped. Comments on this appreciated; happy to have helped further the story!)

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You can run, you can hide, but you can't fight.

(NSP: Good stuff, TLTE. I'm going to go ahead and jump a bit to the Arena and the Choosing of the Champs, but feel free for you all to approach the situation from differnt angles and times and whatnot. IM or e-mail me with anything you want to discuss.

--EDIT: THIS FIRST PART IS WHOLLY BY KRIG THE VIKING--)

Waves like towering, enraged beasts battered Krig to and fro, refusing to give him a chance to catch his breath. Krig struggled, arms flailing, but his small form was barely visible in the chaos of the storm, dwarfed by monstrous black sweeps of water that sought to drown him. Where were his friends? There was no-one there to help him, no-one to lift him from the angry waters. He swallowed a mouthful of seawater, sputtering as he struggled to find air and a breath. His cloak had become water-logged, as heavy as a stone, dragging him down into the depths. Where was everybody? Why wouldn’t they help him?

Krig managed to take one last breath between the blasts, choking on the spray that accompanied it, and then a wall of water drove him down, down, end over end into the darkness. The breath was crushed from his lungs in a rush of bubbles. Krig could feel himself sinking, dragged down by the currents and his water-logged clothes, wrenched and twisted by the churning waters. Memories came, unbidden, fragmented, shattered recollections of a world beyond understanding. There was a house, made of stone and thatched with straw. A peaceful place. There was flames, and heat, as that house burned to the ground. There was his friends, his brothers, dragging him from the fire. There was a ship, and a storm and then his brothers were gone. Battles, wild and angry. Shards of a thousand battles drifted in his mind, hacking, driving, fighting, moving, never clearly in focus. Now he was alone. Always alone, always being taken from one place to another, doing things he didn’t understand, meeting people who never cared about him. A parade of strangers, all intent on their own interests, passing through his mind’s eye in a jumble. Why had his brothers abandoned him? And the others? Why had they all abandoned him?

Not all... The thought passed through his mind and was gone as suddenly as it came, lost in the confused scramble. He was alone, utterly alone, sinking, with no hope. His chest was burning. He needed air. Desperately, Krig thrashed about, trying to make his way to the distant surface, but he was no longer even sure which direction that was. The sides of his vision swarmed with darkness, closing in. Spots flashed in front of his eyes. There was nothing left for him. He stopped struggling, and his still form sank. Nothing left. No-one to help. All hope gone. All. Not all...

He couldn’t see, now. Blackness was everywhere. His chest wasn’t even burning as much. What about the great one? Had he, too, abandoned him? Krig opened his eyes and looked around, but he could see nothing. That one had never left him before, why should he leave now? He was everywhere. Krig thought about it. How could the great one have left him if he was everywhere? And if the great one hadn’t left him, did that mean he wasn’t alone at all? Krig could feel his mind slipping away, growing distant from himself. He was dizzy. If he wasn’t alone, then not all hope was gone, was it?

Not all... Just before he slipped away into darkness, he called out, wordlessly, thoughtlessly, a last plea for help, reaching for that tiny, distant flicker of hope. And then the light took him...

--------------------------------------------

The mass of divine soldiers resembled the waves of a vast sea within the preparation room. Diaszu looked upon the servants of Nature from a rampway that led to an upper room, though he reflected that this was a room for giants. Those of a divine nature appeared to know this place well, and the few mortals he saw pass by appeared as lost as himself. He was told nothing when the djinn, the servants of Justice, herded him here from the depths of the Arena, where he was teleported to from his fight against Strage. He knew that he was to fight with these forces against the other Eternal armies, but he did not know how. What were they waiting for? he thought…

Diaszu was startled by a thundering voice.

“Attention forces of Nature…”

Diaszu attempted to locate the voice, turning towards the corner that the rampway led to. Floating several meters above, Diaszu saw the form of a djinn, holding a silver scroll, glowing not unlike the andamantite walls surrounding him.

“By the will of your diety, through the powers of Justice, the Eternal Judge Semievil proclaims Diaszu Xenophent to be your Champion.”

The divine masses turned to each other, searching for where their new champion may be. Diaszu, upon hearing the news, attempted to surreptitiously slink away. He turned around and bumped into, out of all the people, Noddo.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” Noddo yelled. “Hey, wait a minute… don’t I know you?”

“Uh…” Diaszu said, growing panic-striken, “I don’t think so…”

“Wait, I know!” Noddo exclaimed, snapping his fingers, “I met you back at that other giant-glowy place! With Amry and Jim and the weird demon-guy…”

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” Diaszu retorted, trying to get away from Noddo. Noddo kept close by though, rambling on with excitement.

“I have to say though that this place is definitely a lot less messed-up than the other place, wouldn’t you say? Not to mention a lot more crowded! I’ve heard that we’re waiting on a leader to be chosen so that we can plan an attack on some extremist armies, and the leader has to be “mortal”. Man, I’d sure hate to be that guy…”

“That’s nice, but—“

“—I mean, he’d have to command ALL these translucent guys that make me think of angels or demons or something, on a battleground that took me over an HOUR to walk just half of it. We apparently have to capture some part of the battleground or something, and then the leaders have to duke it out! Pretty crazy stuff, eh Diaszu?”

“I don’t know why you’re calling me that—“

“I hear the very fate of our lives depend on the outcome of this battle! Makes you kinda wish you were back home, hugging trees or whatever you do, huh Diaszu? Though I have to say, being a part of this will definitely be something to tell to my kids! You gonna have any kids, Diaszu?”

“Shut up…”

“I sure hope to. I think I’ll name one of my kids after you, Diaszu. Has a nice ring to it: “Diaszu.” What do you think, Diaszu?”

“STOP ANNOUNCING TO EVERYONE THAT I’M DIASZU!”

The ranks of the servents of Nature, upon hearing Diaszu, immediately filed into attention. Several faries of apparent higher rank approached him.

“Mr. Xenophent,” one of them said, “as Champion of our forces, we should first decide which of the mortals should be our Flag Carriers?”

“Wait, you’re our leader?” Noddo asked. Diaszu ignored him.

“What do they do?” Diaszu asked the fairy.

“They would be in charge of morale,” the servant of Nature replied, “and claiming the three points of the middle ground, so as to focus the power streams and give you the advantage over the other champions when you fight them.”

“These flag carriers would be in much danger, and the target of a great number of enemies, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Then I will appoint Noddo as my first choice for such a position!” Diaszu proclaimed, a smile creeping in.

“Wait—what’s this now?” Noddo questioned.

“As you wish,” the fairy said. “You two should come with me. We have much planning tot do.” The divine soldier motioned Diaszu and Noddo to follow him up the rampway, Noddo muttering “Why do I suddenly feel so uneasy?”

[This message has been edited by Gebohq (edited April 21, 2003).]

Stanin did not watch the forces of Good, Evil, and Nature milling about in the exchange chamber to each side's personal antechamber. He did not watch the other mortal champions, wrapped up in their own worlds as much as he was in his.

Instead, he contemplated the nature of God. Of life. Of love. Staring out the window at the battlefield. It was bare now, as was his heart. Melantha - he wasn't sure what to call her. She had been someone else, but she had made this new life for herself. He didn't know. He didn't know if she would take him back. He had abandoned her. He had abandoned Christina, his beautiful daughter. He had abandoned, his country, his friends, his God.

It wasn't until now, after a millennium of searching, that he had found his way back. Only to find himself smack dab in the middle of the biggest war the universe had ever seen. As Aaron Biltmore (NSP: name change from Joshua Vandercroft), he had fought on the front lines and behind enemy lines in an age of terrorism. As Stanin eth Calenb he had fought all manner of creatures, magic-users, and tyrants.

But this. . . this was battle on a cosmic scale.

Or was it? No. No, it wasn't. It was battle on a spiritual scale. This conflict would not be decided by strength, but by the heart of its combatants.

But therein lay a paradox. God was all-powerful, was he not? Beyond that, even. So why was it that He had to fight to claim control of human destiny? And why could He not have any part of this battle?

But he had faith, and that would have to see him through.

-----

Saidelora, for the first time in centuries, felt a sense of awe. Here she was, surrounded by the greatest and most powerful beings of a generation; and yet SHE had been chosen to serve as one of the champions.

But of course she had. She was Saidelora. Lady of Shadows. She was strong, indivisible.

She saw an elderly man with a shock of white hair, in simple, somewhat tattered clothing, standing by the window of the tower. Like herself, he had not entered the teleport rings to go to his army's antechamber. Perhaps it came out of reluctance, or fear. Something she could understand. Once you went into the antechamber, you were committed. You couldn't back out. It represented a hurling of oneself over the edge.

She went over to the elderly man. "Hi," she ventured. She didn't know who he was, or what side he fought for, but for now, they were kindred, two humans thrust into a battle of awesome proportions.

He looked at her. "Hello," he replied, and a wrinkled if troubled smile creased his features. "Ready?"

"As I could ever be." She paused. "What are you thinking of?"

The other looked down momentarily. "The people I love. Like my daughter."

Saidelora had never had children, nor could she understand the fascination so many people had with them, yet she sympathized with this man's down-to-earth personality. It was something she had sacrificed a long time ago. . . and perhaps, if she dared admit to herself, something she missed. "Do you think you'll ever see her again?"

An ancient wound appeared in the old man's eyes. "She's dead."

"I-" she stopped, not knowing what to say.

"It's okay," the man spoke gently. "Right now I'm just wondering about the nature of life."

"Me, too!" she looked at him, surprised. "All my life, I've been taught that the supreme good is to be true unto oneself. You know?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "I do. You can be true to yourself. You just have be true to others as well, and what you believe in."

"The trouble is," she said philosophically, "is that everyone believes different things."

"True enough," he answered. "But I think if you search your feelings and constantly quest for the truth, you will find it. I found it."

She slowly nodded. "I suppose. I guess I'm a little power-hungry, though."

He chuckled. "Now that's something I can sympathize with. For a long time I sought ultimate power, only to discover that, no matter how much power I wield, I am only a man that wields it." He turned to face her directly. "I hope you can understand this, too."

Saidelora shook her head. "I think it's possible to control it and oneself. If what you say is true, then I will discover it for myself."

The old man nodded again. "Everyone has to learn their own lessons. I certainly learned mine."

"The point is that there are many lessons to be learned, and many ways of learning them."

"I agree with that. If you accept that there are lessons to be learned, then you are on the right path."

She smiled. "I guess we're not so different after all."

"No. I suppose not."

A trumpet blew, the signal for final entry into the antechambers. "Well," the old man spoke, extended his hand, "it was a pleasure meeting you. My name is Aaron."

She took his proferred hand. "Said." He bent down and kissed her hand and smiled gently, before entering the teleport rings.

Saidelora waited a moment before she too entered.

-----

Stanin appeared in the antechamber of the forces of Good. He saw Saatch coming towards him and raised his arm in greeting.

"You seem troubled," the short black-robed man observed.

"How did you?- Oh, right, your soulsight."

"Yes," Saatch confirmed. "What is the matter?"

"Well, it's just that God is supposed to be-"

"Ultimately powerful?" Saatch finished for him.

"Yes."

"He is."

"Well, yeah, I know, but why does he then allow these eternal battles?"

Saatch looked skyward for a moment, as if silently communing with the King of Kings. "You know, Aaron, God is not God because He exercises His power or because He enforces His will. God is God because of His compassion and His allowance of free will. It is grace and love and vision that make God Who He is. Not power. His Spirit."

Stanin nodded. "Thank you, Saatch. I needed that."

Saatch smiled. "Come now. We have much to prepare for."

------------------
Quest on epic adventures or duel at the High Citadel!

At King Urston's castle, a merry banquet was being held. No one here knew of a grand cosmic battle. They were simple mortals, living simple lives.

Laughter rang through the dining hall as Duke Belergius made a joke about a cow, a pig, and manure.

Teroc, the guard of Lady Melantha, roared in merriment, but his laughter died down prematurely. He looked to the slitted window, where one could see it raining outside. The same window out which Melantha was staring.

Teroc heaved himself to his feet and walked around the table over to the woman he loved. Putting his arms around her from behind, he asked, "What's wrong, milady?"

She didn't turn. "It's Stanin. I fear for him."

"Why?" Teroc snorted. "He can take care of himself."

Melantha turned to face him. There were tears brimming in her eyes. "You don't understand. I can feel him. I have this link with him. I can see into his heart, and it's full of so much good."

"Uh-huh." Teroc had his doubts about that himself, but then, he could be a little biased, as they were both rivals for Melantha's heart. "So what's the problem?"

"I can't feel him anymore. It's as if he's left this world completely."

"Do you-" Teroc paused. "Do you think he's dead?"

Melantha shook his head. "I don't think so. But he could be soon. I want to help him, to comfort him. But I can't. Oh, Teroc!" She buried her head in his chest.

Not knowing what to say, he just held her as the rain thundered down outside. They were there a long time.

-----

Yimir stood in the exchange chamber with the teleport rings. What should he do? He would be allowed into either the Good or Evil antechambers. The little Viking had put in a good word for him, and of course his ancestry would gain him entrance to the other side.

He wasn't committed to either. How could he be? He hated his father, but he knew nothing BUT evil.

Yesssss. . . a voice whispered out of the past. A red veil passed over Yimir's vision. He saw hills of skulls surrounded by pools of blood. And two crosses on one particular hill. On one of them was a man whose face was ravaged by hate. His intestines spilled from his gut. Blood poured from his nail-pierced hands and ankles, while he wore a loincloth of thorns. His eyes were empty holes pecked out by vultures. His body was charred by flame. He gnashed his teeth and cursed the name of God. And he saw Yimir. He cried out, "Come to me, son! Join me! Curse the name of God and of good and of weakness forever!" He laughed maniacally, maddened by pain and hate and despair.

And Yimir found himself screaming.

-----

"NOOOOOO!" The scream ended in a feeble gasp of breath as Yimir woke up from where he had fainted on the floor. Breathing heavily, he got up and determinedly hobbled to the teleport ring for the antechamber of good.

As he got in the teleport ring, he whispered as tears streaked down his dirt-smeared face, "Curse you, Father. . ."

------------------
Quest on epic adventures or duel at the High Citadel!

At the center of the arena, looking down over the bustling heroes sat Semievil. His form was that of a great cat, thirty feet high looking down, as both cats and demigods are prone to do, with mild disdain. Below him, mortals poured forth from beneath the arena floor and away to their separate positions, most of them so awed by the even greater spectacle of the arena that they did not even notice him. Each one began to glow imperceptibly as the gaze of the cat passed over them.

At each of the three points of the center was a djinn making certain that all of the flags fit properly. Each flag consisted of a twelve foot spear of stone with an equally long banner at the head.

Hours passed. The flow of mortals slowed to a trickle and stopped. The leaders were announced and the djinns rushed off to give the flags to their bearers.

As the last of the djinns returned to the center, the glowing floor beneath each of them split off in thin disks and began to float above the ground. As the disks lifted into the air, each carrying a cat of epic size and stature, the floor filled in the holes left seamlessly. Sem was the last to leave the ground, striking his paw against the floor as he did so. The hollow floor of the arena rang clear and loud, and thunder split the air as the note reverberated in the arena.


------------------
The early bird may get the worm-
but it's the second mouse who gets the cheeze.

Omnia quae specto dominavi, et tantam magnus sum, ut non specto!

The headquarters of the Lord's Will had definitely seen better times. This was Kronaemix's first impression of his prior workplace as he materialised in it. Dedicated to the slightly deviant philosophy of regulating the balance of the Eternal War by always keeping Heaven in front, it operated in total secrecy, known only to the highest archangels and of course, the Lord himself.

Kronaemix had last visited here a while ago, when his bitter nemesis So'liq had delved into his mind and located the base during combat. Coupled with the strange new ability to destroy andamite, the supposedly immortal substance that all immortal beings are created from, he wrought a trail of destruction in his wake, decimating the base and leaving the Eternal War impartial for the first time in centuries. The base was defunct; sacked and pillaged, its occupants slain.

Save one.

The architecture was no longer tainted with immortal blood and bodies; it was somehow worse. The place had somehow decayed, as if corroded by a nearby evil influence. Where once had been bare stone, curses and archaic runes black as pitch had been scratched, poisoning the air with its foulness. Kronaemix raced through the hallways and antechambers, knowing at once that his theory had been correct.

It had been since he himself was run through with So'liq's sword and nearly slain that he had suspected that this episode of the Eternal War, and the events preceding it, were being overseen by a new force. His foe had never been unintelligent, but his actions seemed almost...guided this time. Since the beginning, So'liq had known exactly where to ambush him, a ploy he had used to bait a rescue party. This had resulted in the death of his father, and very nearly the end of a large party of men, women and immortals who would later comprise the champions of the Eternal War. The party had destroyed So'liq's form utterly, but he returned again, stronger than ever, just as Kronaemix had located and was about to subject the Lord's influence on Ebon Skull, a hated enemy of Heaven.

Someone was aiding him. Someone who could give him the ability to destroy andamite, someone who had the ability to act against the rules without fear of the presiding judicial power of Semievil, or at least could escape his virtually all-seeing gaze.

Semievil himself?

No. It didn't make sense. The Judge's decision-making skills were sometimes erratic, but he had no reason to support a demon like So'liq. In fact, Semievil had no real acquaintances that he could show favour to, being as impartial as his occupation demanded. Except, of course...

The impressive steel doors of the main conference room loomed large before him. Kronaemix's hand reached out-

The iron statues of angelic guardians flanking the doors came to life suddenly and bore down on Kronaemix. One, whose likeness was that of Eveziel the Mighty, wielded a mighty two-handed sword, the other, an imitation of Caziel the Bold, a great axe. Caziel's imitation swung a massive stroke at Kronaemix, who beat his great wings once and soared above him, removing his head in a dexterous slash. Being a golem construct, the removal of the head meant nothing to it, and it drew its axe back again, ready to strike. Kronaemix's sword met the iron axe and all but disintergrated it, leaving the golem to stare blankly at it for a moment before the next stroke shattered Caziel's likeness.

Eveziel had by this point lunged at Kronaemix, and the speed and girth of the golem knocked the angel off balance and pinned him beneath it. Knowing that its sword could do nothing against him, the golem pressed down on Kronaemix, hoping to crush him. Unfortunately for it, the angel pushed his wings back and with a massive effort, threw the iron construct off him. Eveziel's image smashed against the doors, splintering and knocking them open.

An eerie green light poured through the open space and assaulted Kronaemix's senses. He picked himself up and steeled himself, wandering inside...

-------------------

The room was circular in shape, with a raised circular dome occupying its centre. The dome was glowing, emanating a faint green that made Kronaemix feel slightly lightheaded. He had seen them before in his travels; they were extremely powerful magic devices that could transport him virtually anywhere in the universe. That was not dominating his thoughts, however. What dominated his thoughts was the hooded figure he could barely make out on the other side of the dome. The light played on his features, but not enough to identify him.

"Kronaemix," the hood rasped.

Kronaemix advanced, stopping on the other side of the dome.

"Grand Master."

The figure laughed. It echoed past Kronaemix, bouncing over the dead base and making the angel feel slightly uneasy and more alone than ever, if it were possible.

"So, you figured it out." The hooded figure began to walk towards Kronaemix's left, prompting him to walk right. They stared at each other from their sides of the dome, silently moving. Kronaemix knew that he did not want to get close to the figure. At least, not yet.

"What gave it away, Kronaemix? The andamite weapon I gave your demon acquaintance?"

"No." Kronaemix stopped moving, mimicking the figure. "But that got me thinking."

"No doubt. But then, you always were fond of thought. Action seemed almost secondary to you and your father." Kronaemix's fists clenched as the figure laughed again. He knew exactly what he should do; leap over the dome and skewer his adversary with his father's sword. But something made him yet linger. Duty, he supposed.

"Perhaps. But it was never that way to you, was it....Termaan-Li?"

Semievil's brother, the Grand Master of the Lord's Will, leaned forward. His gaunt features appeared like a spectre in the dim green light, and the image was strengthened by his skull shaped grin. For a second, he favoured Kronaemix with this grin, and then leaned back. He resumed pacing.

"We are immortals, Kronaemix. We are not gods. We leave the thought to those above us, and sharpen our blades for when they tell us to act on their causes. Thought is lost on us."

"That is why you have done all this? Because you conceived thought as peripheral to action?" It seemed almost unbelievable to Kronaemix that so many were in danger because of the total insanity of one man.

"No." Termaan-Li's obscured figure shook vehemently. "No. Thought is not peripheral; it would appear, however, that our own thought is. Did you never question your orders as an angel, Kronaemix?"

"Only those from you, Termaan-Li. But then, that is why I am standing here, and you there."

"Exactly!" The hooded shadow loomed and faded from the light again. "Finally, you understand what your father could not! It is not mindlessly carrying out the orders we are given, but how we carry out those we give ourselves that make us exemplary."

"So the attack here was faked? So'liq didn't actually come here?"

"Oh, he came here, but only for one of these..."

The Grand Master held out a small red pommel jewel. Kronaemix immediately recognised it; So'liq's demonic blade had one in its hilt. "Like it? A most rare and potent gift, highly treasured among the more warmongering of our kind...the Andamite Flayer. But I need not explain it, I think...I can sense your traumatised wound from here."

Kronaemix winced. The injury in his abdomen flared with pain.

"I suppose you would like one of these, no? A chance to kill him, once and for all...But no. I think I'll keep this one, I've grown...fond of it."

"But how?" Kronaemix's mind was still reeling; as chief of a secret organisation, Termaan-Li was entitled to a large degree of power, but the likes of this eluded all but the most senior of the three denominations. "Only a deity, or perhaps Semievil, could have got their hands on one of those..."

"Fortunate, then," said Termaan-Li, moving into the light again, "that I am Semievil."

And it was true; no longer was it him standing there, but the Immortal Judge himself, resolute and smiling. Kronaemix gaped at him.

"Or rather," he said, holding up a crooked red staff, "I was him. And Jim, the angel. Beelzebub, the demon, sometimes." As he spoke, the staff flashed, replacing Semievil with the different figures. Finally, the staff restored Termaan-Li's true form.

A dim light began to glow on the sub-plots and devious plans to date, steadily brightening and making sense. Kronaemix stepped forward, straining to see his adversary more clearly, but he simply laughed and stepped back into shadow, using it to his full advantage.

"Wait. You mean..." Kronaemix staggered. "You stole this from the powers that be with that staff...to kill everyone in this organisation?"

"Among other things, yes." There was no pity in that voice, none at all.

"And you advised So'liq in how to find me and my father?"

"Yes. I'm rather impressed, Kronaemix." The staff flashed again, and this time, the angel's father, Kinn-Akan, stood there. "You've made me very proud...you've solved the mystery. Anything left you wish me to divulge?"

"Yes." Kronaemix glared at Termaan-Li. "Why?"

"Because," rasped the Grand Master, and his voice was now filled with bitter emotion, "of the Eternal War."

"What do you mean?"

"The Eternal War, Kronaemix, isn't it obvious?" Termaan-Li thumped a gloved fist onto the dome, which crackled with suppressed magical energy. "It exists, and as long as it does, the multiverse will be in turmoil, its inhabitants suffering. Look at yourself, Kronaemix! You haven't a single possession, acquaintance or memory to your name that this accursed competition has not taken from you. And for what? The ability to please your Lord? Whatever for?"

"But...without the War," said Kronaemix, his voice trembling, "without guidelines, chaos would rule! The three denominations of Heaven, Nature and Hell would destroy life as we know it to defeat each other!"

"Oh, I disagree, Kronaemix." Termaan-Li's voice was cold and resolute. There would be no way to debate with him. "I believe that without rules, we surely would have emerged victorious by now. I am opposed by my dear brother, of course, who is steadily losing his sanity under the burden of trying to find sense in this senseless conflict."

"Oh well," he concluded, in a rather strange voice, "no matter now. This silly facade will end soon, I have seen to it, and open warfare may commence."

"You will use So'liq?"

"The fool." Termaan-Li sounded disgusted. "In return for a weapon to prove his Satanic lineage and kill you, he was almost so willing to help, it was pathetic. Never mind; he is probably the most able swordsman alive, and will thus serve my purposes. Can you imagine how well received it will be when the unknown commander from Hell's legion slays all of the champions and declares all-out war on the others?"

"You can't do it. I won't let you." Kronaemix stopped walking. He gripped his sword.

"Oh, really?" Termaan-Li leered at him. "What makes you think I'm going to let you leave this room alive, Kronaemix? For a start, I'm holding the only real weapon here." He waved about the Andamite Flayer jewel.

"Battle," Kronaemix stated, flapping his wings and hovering above the dome, "works in mysterious ways, Grand Master, and not always to one's plans."

"How very true." Termaan-Li laughed a final time. "Then let us see how it tends to our fates this day."

And with that, the lights went out.

-------------------------

(NSP: Whew! (pant) That's surely a relief! Anyway, one more post and I'm ready for the final battle! See it soon, under this text!)