Soul Commander Read online

  By Melique Vample

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  The knights of the ‘Edge of Mercy’ stand together in their cobalt and gold armored suits with their swords thirsty for blood. Dammormoth, the culprit who tainted their world, Nyamir, with his inverse point of view and disastrous ways places all his focus onto a single star in the sky, ignoring the threat which the knights believe they pose. His skin is old and worn akin to decayed leather. It's hue resembles illuminated amber. His hair nearly drapes his shoulders at a shade below white. The strands are tangled and damaged like a wilting curtain of forest dwelling vines. His clothes are royal garments which belonged to the late brother of a king of a small nation, whom he murdered. He originally wore the garments to taunt the king before killing and putting him in the same box his brother was buried in. The knights preform hand gestures to manipulate the stamina belonging to their spiritual selves in acts of sorcery. Gestures are what the magicians utilize to communicate commands to their souls for supernatural benefits.

  Their techniques and sharpened blades lay injury to Dammormoth’s body but fail to bring him down. His focus remains on the star. His flesh much more resilient than the knights expect. But the scratches they manage to add to his body collect no reaction. Dammormoth has developed the mental clarity to recognize pain as but an illusion and ignore it. Gradier, leader of the Edge of Mercy, lies underground. She had succumbed to a great deal of injury in her struggle against Dammormoth. Her awareness grows faint as her consciousness dims. The warriors’ manipulation of the elements forge little productivity. Dammormoth proves himself to be a difficult sorcerer to overcome. Dammormoth lets out a loud roar as his soul is drained completely of its essence. He begins to feel weak. His surroundings become blurry like a ripple through the surface of a reflective pool. He becomes engaged in a tug of war between his body and his will. His body wishes to collapse and replenish while his will burns like the countless civilizations he turned into ashes in his tireless time of existence. He holds onto consciousness as if it were his last breath. As his legs become limp and his vision is reduced to that of his pupil, he is awarded a sight of magnificent proportion. The star that took his focus collapses and implodes, expanding its radiance into a nebula cloud. This catches the entire Edge of Mercy’s attention. Awe inspires terror. Dammormoth stares into the sky, prideful but unfinished. He regards this as but the prelude to his disaster. He inhales and exhales deeply as he prepares for the concluding act. He impresses a great weight of responsibility upon himself as he musters the energy to finish the job. In one final gesture, Dammormoth waves his hand and causes the nebula to stretch across the dark ocean and unleash its grace onto planet Earth. The heated gas incinerates the world belonging almost exclusively to human kind and reveals its magma. Billions suffer the same fate. Everything that mankind has worked so hard and for so long to erect disappears in an instant like smoke in the wind. Hope proves as plentiful as water in a desert. The iridescent flames are gorgeous enough to petrify any spectator. He could've destroyed Nyamir instead, but he has much more sinister plans in mind. With him, there's never a motive without something ulterior behind it. No one on Earth has time to react. Starships in the field of destruction face untimely conclusions. Dammormoth remains conscious in the face of strain. This manifestation of his destructive imagination is far too lovely to miss. Rivers of joy spill from his eyes. It took much toil for him to gain the amount of stamina necessary to obliterate a world. His blueprint only required him to usher cataclysm to a single heavily populated planet to garnish enough fear into the remainder of the galaxy to leave his mark. Even if his name is ever forgotten, his grand act would certainly be remembered in history for the rest of eternity. If anything were to go wrong in the time to come, at least things went right in the time before. Joy, a foreign emotion, overtakes him. Much of his efforts have paid off. All twenty-three of the remaining inhabited planets in the plane of the Epillion Galaxy become aware of Earth’s demise. Some witness it by way of camera feed, some receive feed from the universal telepathic network and others, word of mouth. In the blink of an eye, humans become a near threatened species. Those who’ve chosen to reside on foreign worlds live on while a third of the human populace enter into the afterlife. Lauren, Gradier’s right hand and the most seasoned sorceress in the Edge of Mercy approaches Dammormoth, in his weakened state, and touches his forehead to place a mystical seal on him that will disallow him from contacting his soul to use sorcery any further. She couldn’t have done this to him if he had even an ounce of stamina remaining as he would’ve been powerful enough to resist. But in his current state, the seal operates properly and steals most of his abilities. Dammormoth, while hiding all signs of desperation, reaches for the only weapon nearby.

  Gradier senses the air running thin. The torment that shattered ribs brings keeps her attention captive like light to a lamp shade. Snow blankets her in several layers, trapping her in a ditch. She wont allow this to be her defeat. Her back is against the wall but checkmate isn't quite in order. Persistence abbreviates her temper. She hears the shocking gulps of knights on the surface who are escorted to the edge of their lives by way of weapon, without bargain. Death eviscerates the hope and will of polished hearts in the cruelest of fashions. Dammormoth lays waste to the Edge of Mercy, alone and without his power. He has but a single scabbard, absent of blade. He calculates his movements with fine precision and finds a great deal of humor in conquering his enemies with such a lousy weapon. Dammormoth laughs and mocks Lauren to tear down the structure of confidence. She’d begun to believe that once she’d put the seal on Dammormoth, he’d be an easier obstacle to trample. Easier but not easy. “I wish I could tell you fortune was on your side. But it never was. May the statue they build in your honor stand taller than you ever did,” Dammormoth says with strict bluntness. “Why, thank you,” Lauren replies in suspension of the taunting nature of his comment. “What?”Dammormoth demands in halting surprise. Gradier breaks free from the clutches of the snow crowned wedge in the dirt and delivers to Dammormoth a focus interrupting wail. The gauntlet coating her knuckles gratifies his chin and makes him stumble. Her silver hair trail extends to her lower back, tangled and frustrated, much unlike its usual straight laced piano wire resemblance. Exposed, it guards her back like a trusted ally. Her turquoise hue embedded, water adjacent eyes are partially curtained behind her lowered eyelids that correspond to her determined expression and cooperate with her brows which remain arched like a wire under a bird. The surface of her nearly luminescent peach skin contracts at the center of her forehead. She's 19, but her scowl lines beg to differ. Gradier opens her hand and forces the wind to elevate the height Dammormoth into the air, beyond the height of decaying trees that dress the area. The remaining warriors become less tense. Gradier turns and lowers her eyes to her deceased comrades. She knows how to tolerate death but she can never fully get used to it. She experiences what feels like the swelling of her soul as she grows in melancholy. She throws another gust of wind into the above, one heavy enough to reach Dammormoth and keep him from returning to the ground. Gra
dier approaches the ditch and pulls a wide, long, and heavy sword with a white blade out from the blood stained snow. Lauren stares up at Dammormoth as he reaches his peak height potential. She uses her hand as a visor to shield her eyes from the intensity of the Vortex of Light, . “If only I had more time to say goodbye,” Gradier says to the remainder of the knights. She’s sure that they will each guide themselves through the tunnel leading to the afterlife if they continue to face Dammormoth. “You’re thinking of facing him alone?” one of the knights asks. “Not thinking. Already decided”. Lauren regards Gradier’s decision as a personal atrocity out of fear that she may not return. “You think you’re protecting us by taking him elsewhere but what’s the point? Really, we’re warriors, not children” Gradier takes Lauren's words into account but doesn’t change her mind. “You’ve been a great ally and friend. A greater one than I could ask for” As Dammormoth gets close to reaching the ground. He begins to expect Gradier to catch him out of mercy. He prepares an attack. Contrary to his attempt at premonition, Gradier permits him to shatter his arm and tear the muscles of his neck. He becomes enlightened with the possibility of defeat which breeds a certain rage fit for a wrathful deity. Gradier causes the gravitational pull to increase in strength, only in attaching to the feet of her comrades. She lifts Dammormoth out of his imprint in the snow by his shattered arm and carries him into the air. As Gradier predicted, Lauren and the knights of the Edge of Mercy attempt to follow her into the atmosphere but the pull of the gravity is too great. Many of them grunt and complain in desperate agitation. “You think she’ll make it back” Lauren hears a warrior ask another. Her first instinct is to interrupt and reply, “Of course she will” but in truth, she’s not so sure. Dammormoth has proved himself to be nigh immortal. Her lips remain motionless. After swimming through the midnight terrain of space for what she deems to be an acceptable distance away from Nyamir, Gradier halts in motion with Dammormoth at her side. “Leaving me out here to die?” “If I could kill you, I would have done it already," she says. He smirks. Gradier tears the fabric of space an morphs the torn section into a cube that slowly forms around the both of them. She then heals the area of inconsistency to deter impending disaster and creates a pocket dimension which no one may enter or escape. “Smart girl. Tell me, how long will you be able to stomach confinement with me? Much less, how long will your stamina last before this prison unfolds?” Gradier ignore him. She thinks of all the people she’d be leaving behind by remaining in a trap of her own making. She mentally waves goodbye to her freedom. She sheds no tears, however. She needs to be strong for her people and for the remainder of the galaxy. Might they rest easy now that the Twilight Lord, father of catastrophe is contained. Gradier accepts her fate.

  Three years elapse. Time outside the cube is eight times faster than it is inside. Dammormoth sits across from Gradier with a smile on his face and his hands clasped. Gradier stays on her feet, waiting for him to make a move. Without the power pulsing through the sword, She couldn't have held the cube's form for as long as she did. She grows weak and tired. Mystical energy was what allowed her to keep from having to sleep or eat in the passed several months. But as the well runs dry, so does her motivation. Since his imprisonment, she had to take upon the duty of keeping him company as to ensure that he does not escape on his own accord. Gradier can only keep the walls standing for so long until her soul's stamina utterly diminishes. She's a valiant woman and a powerful sorceress but she isn't without limitations. Dammormoth, being fully aware of this, has done nothing but wait until Gradier can no longer contain him. She holds the sword of Anheim in her hands. The enchanted blade that once belonged to the architect of sorcery is her key to keep her prisoner at bay.

  "You are growing far too weak. Save your strength. Set me free while you have a choice,' he says, certain that either of her decisions will have the same result.

  Gradier’s lips do not move and her eyes remain trained on him. She finds no point in conversing with him, as deceitful and manipulative as he is. Surely, he’d try to say something that would take her off guard. She doesn't know many there are in the universe outside, but she is vividly aware that their lives would be at risk if he manages to escape. Even with his prime power suppressed, his foul tongue is coated in silver and that is enough to unthread even the sanity of the supposed morally incorruptible.

  "You have proved a worthy adversary, girl. My absence has prevented the deaths of many," he passively mocks with past tense.

  Gradier, although aware of her accomplishment, feels no pride. The only time Dammormoth had ever paid a compliment to anyone was when he knew that a situation would soon turn in his favor or if he had an ulterior motive prepared that would result in poetic injustice. Gradier staggers. Her stamina becomes too low for her to keep the fabric of her prison knit. Upon witnessing her sudden involuntary movement, Dammormoth figures that his time has come. He stands.

  "But the evidence of your accomplishment will be known to the esoteric. As for the living...'

  The walls of her prison begin to fade away like a man caught in a time paradox correction.

  He continues, "They will celebrate their demise."

  Dammormoth approaches Gradier and removes the sword from her hands with ease. Gradier’s vision fades.

  "I’ll keep this safe for you. Rest well, child," Dammormoth says.

  He raises the blade and admires it in all its glory. Gradier remains dormant in her helpless state. In a swift and precise rotation, Dammormoth slits her throat and removes himself from the scene as if he had closed a business deal. Gradier holds her neck while attempting to decipher an option. She finds none. The backs of her hands stain and her body becomes limp. She chokes while trying to give birth to a few final words. She only manages to mutter incomprehensible phrases. She loses all cognitive function.

  She wakes up beside her mortal body and floats amidst the purgatory of space in resentment of the manner to which her life concluded in. The vortex of light calls her to its mouth. She has a mild knowledge of the afterlife and remembers, from her religious studies, that souls which remain on the natural plane choose to do so because of unquenched emotion. She also remembers that souls, although only when rare opportunities present themselves, may inhabit physical bodies and live again. She stares into the depths of space watching as civilizations on a plethora of worlds go about themselves. She feels partially connected to the universe and all things amongst it. Her infinite vision proves this feeling to be true. She ignores the calling of the light and remains in place, watching and awaiting an opportunity to return. She is uncertain to whether that opportunity will appear or not but in either case, eternity plans no departure.

  Chapter 2

  Seventy-one years go by.

  Cavlov and his older sister, Naphaul, amble toward the great city of Abaross. The two of them have lived on planet Nyamir nearly their entire lives and this is the first time they’ve visited Abaross.. The illuminated city shines before them as a beacon while it patiently awaits their arrival. They step onto a long stone path and traverse a large lake that surrounds the city.

  "The famous floating city. I’ve always wanted to come here. If only it were under better circumstances. I'd live like a king in this place. Shopping sprees, excitement and good food. That's what life's about," says Cavlov. "After tonight, you won’t want to visit again," she says.

  "Says who? Once we take enough of these guys down, I'll be free to roam as I please. You can stay cooped up on the moon, I'll send you a pic of the party," Cavlov bluffs.

  His hair is slicked back, primary black, relaxed and waiting for the wind to take the evening so it may oppose. Curls cloaking the heed of his neck pose all seriousness in a straight to the point demeanor. His skin is pale, without blemish, and his eyes match the color of his hair. Naphaul exudes no grace in her appearance. Her forehead is her most prominent feature. Her hair is short and stilt like razor blades. The hue of her skin is but a shade darker than her brother's. Her lips are thi
n as well as her nose. Alongside her sharp chin and perpetually lowered eyelids, one would think she'd never before experienced contentment. The two are a pair, sure enough.

  "It’s been awhile since we’ve been on a mission together. You’ve been stuck doing R&D for so long. This'll probably be your last mission before the obituary is scheduled"

  "That so? Don’t forget, father sent me with you because he didn’t believe you were capable of handling this on your own. Can’t say I blame him. You're worthless," he taunts.

  "Oh, you could do better?"

  "If he would've allowed me to do things my way, absolutely," he boasts. "What an empty brag. Who cares what you could do in a theoretical situation? I want hard evidence of your quote unquote 'skill'. Any less is sand in the wind"

  "Alright then, how about we make things interesting? Whoever has killed the most members by the end, wins"

  Naphaul isn't one to avoid a challenge.

  "Setting yourself up for failure. What are the stakes?" she asks.

  "Whatever the loser is paid, they have to give the winner the entire check. No matter the amount"

  "Fine with me. Make sure you "send a pic" of those tears once we're done here"

  They shake hands, both confident enough in themselves that the risk bears little weight. Close to the end of the path, they spot their comrade, Malachi Jintao. He’d been in the city for three months, collecting all the information he could. They approach Malachi, hoping he’d have something pertinent to reveal. He dons the very red robe that the members of the Brimstone Cacophony cult dress themselves in. His identity is well concealed. In order to infiltrate the organization, he needed to wear the face of a middle aged Mutari male. Malachi is covered from head to toe in gray makeup. His skin looks clammy and oxygen deprived. His face appears to have veins bulging out of his cheeks and his eyes insinuate that he is blind and suffers from jaundice due to his silver irises and yellow stained sclera. His costume needed to look realistic enough to fool Mutari into thinking he’s one of their own. Furthermore, he needed to fool the cult members into thinking he was a veteran in their midst. His act was precise although his cultural knowledge was superficial to begin with. His attire lacks comfort entirely like wearing a shoe of the wrong size but he knew his task beforehand, although now, he regrets every aspect.