Unfortunately due to some errors with the publishing process, What we Become has been pushed back until 15th August. We want to make sure the book is ready and perfect when it released.
JACOB BOWER UPDATE
Work is well underway on the next book in the KOE saga, with the final redraft taking place currently. A 2026 release of KOE Book 4 is still the target for Jacob Bower.
Four chapters have now been written for the first Mirror Storm book and is progressing along extremely well. There is currently no release schedule for this but updates will be available when ever they come.
The Wiki for the Thomas Lita Universe has really come along with the first two era’s of the universe fully completed. These will be updated dailly so be sure to check it out for more information on Ilmgral and the heroes of the Ilma.
Looking forward to a productive July with some huge news from Knights of Earth Publications coming in September.
The Debut novel from M.Wilson will arrive 15/07/2025 through amazon.
This Knights of Earth publication takes us to a Britian torn apart by civil war. Follow lawyer Raymons Jones as he kidnapped by the British Unification Front and turned into their most prolific weapon.
Neliar, queen of the Neldivine Iloven, bearer of a ring of creation, looked out across the world she had helped save and wished nothing more than to see it burn. The wind blew cold from the mountains, falling over the vast valley, where mountain roots spread far into the distant horizon. The sun, veiled by a thin layer of cloud, offered nothing for warmth. Pools of water glistened on the battlements of her fortress, remnants of last nights rains. She could feel the power within the water, within the world. It coursed through the ring on her finger, blue topaz a mirror of the sky above. ‘I know what it is you are offering’ She said, her head turning slightly to the open doorway. She turned, her blue robes swaying in that frozen breeze she loved more than anything. Another storm was brewing. Not one of wind and water but one of the Gods. A mirror storm was finally coming again. A rare occurrence on this world She stepped into her throne room, vast in its emptiness. A lone chair of red wood, worked into the image of great waves sat upon a pedestal. Rich curtains hung over every window to cut of the breeze but they were not embroidered. No gold or silver littered walls or cabinets. The only glint of precious jewels rested on the bands of her guard. Neldivine Iloven all. Water Iloven, the men of this world called them. So little they know of our history. So little we remember ourselves in the taking of mortal form. Many of these Neldivine Iloven lined the walls. Sevent foot tall they stood mostly, hair colours of auburn all the way to grey. There skin was fair almost translucent in their colouring. Blue eyes sparkled with rage. Some men littered the room also. Rough men, with matted beards and hair in pony tails. They had no jewels and bore crude bronze weapons. Steel work had not reached these northern savages, removed from the rest of the world by the Ice mountains. One man stood different to the others. He was human but Neliar did not need look at him for long to know he did not come from this planet. He was shorter than humans were. His round face was covered in a coarse and curled beard. His skin, what little showed through his clothes. Was rough and coarse, from a land where the world was tough and men needed to be tougher. It was his clothes that most set him as an outsider. He was dressed in black leather, a dark woven cloak spreading far behind him, clasped by a broach of silver. It was magnificently wrought. Delicate, in the shape of a creature that may have been one of the giant crabs that littered the northern shores. A circlet of silver sat on his brow and set within was diamond of magnificent cut. She sat and the man stood forward. Most would be intimidated by her but not this man. Not this man who had crossed the stars to be here in her chamber. No, he intimidated them. As the man stepped forward, Neliar caught a shadow behind him. A warping of darkness that had no natural source. A dark Iloven, bound to his soul. ‘What I offer is the world.’ The man said, in an educated voice. Way to educated for the men of this planet. ‘The last storm was four years ago.’ She said to him, ‘Was that not enough time to spin your webs and schemes. What brings you to my solitary fortress?’ He placed his hand on his heart and smiled, showing rows of sharpened teeth, ‘I come to offer salvation.’ Neliar felt a sickness creep up her throat. She was chosen of Barta, immortal Iloven queen, bearer of a ring of creation, the ring of the seas and this human, a species she had helped create, spoke to her like an equal. ‘Some say you have a voice like golden honey, with words clever enough to bend nations to your will Emissary but to me it seems more like oil on water. I do not want my ears defiled by such filth.’ The man took another step forward. Green eyes locked on hers, ‘You are in so much pain lady of the sea. You talk of my voice.’ He inclined his head to the side slightly, as though he was listening to someone else speak and again that odd shadow moved behind him, ‘Selina say you once had one of the most beautiful voices that could be heard in Arasee or upon the fields of the life forge. It was said to be like water trickling down a stream and falling across gentle stones. Now it is violence. Waves crashing against a cliff face, crumbling everything in its path. True immortality has defiled you Neliar. Eternity must not have seemed daunting in Arasee or the life forge, free to travel the universe in any way you saw fit. Autonomous. Look at you now. Bound to Aurdan, trapped forever in this physical form. What would you give to see Arasee again, to be welcomed into Barta’s warm embrace once more.’ Coldness seeped through her. She had heard this man was good but she did not expect such knowledge. The words he spoke were forgotten by most in the universe and even her Iloven that lined these walls, long lived as they were, did not know a time before the long stalemate. These Iloven, if they could still be called the same, bred and died as humans did, their forebears forsaking the form of spirit and binding themselves to mortal flesh. Most would return to Arasee and work with Barta on other worlds. Not her though. That was something denied to her and the other bearers of the rings of creation. They were bound to Aurdan now to live forever until the world cracked, the seas ran dry, the fires of life extinguished and the air given back to the heavens, ‘You speak of Barta’s embrace. What warmth does your master give? I do not know what perverted thing Deagma did to bind you to the mirror storm, rider but why would I listen to someone sworn to the enemy.’ His eyes flickered to the ring on her hand and he smiled in a way all to knowing. She felt her fingers twitch. She wanted to hide the topaz, its blue now showing slightly, the slightest impure tint to its stone. ‘Deagma is an enemy only because you have been told to believe it. There are six forms of Iloven, all of one kin. Water, fire, earth, air, spirit and death. All must thrive for the universe to have life. Yes the dark Iloven are Deagma’s but has Barta not forced upon you just as dark deeds as Deagma forces upon his kin.’ He stepped towards two urns and Neliar felt her hackles rise, ‘Do you want to see them again?’ He caressed one, ‘Your husband and son. Long ago it was that they died and returned to Arasee, leaving you alone. Deagma would bring them to you. Swear to him and you could go to the storm forge at will, be with your husband at will.’ Yearning, filled her to her core. Seven hundred years had not eased the pain of that passing, ‘You are immortal.’ Neliar whispered, ‘Your soul is tied to the universal storm. You know what it is like to watch the world change around you. People falling like leaves in winter. It is our curse as immortals to bare such things.’ ‘Deagma told me of what my immortality would bring. What did Barta tell you when he sent you to this world. Blocked off from entering the mirror storm, abandoned to fight a never ending war against other immortals. Deagma promises you the storm again. You could ride it, like me and my brothers. A chance to leave this cesspit.’ ‘Stop.’ She said sharply and to his credit, he bit on his words, ‘Deagma promises me freedom of the storm. Give my soul to him what would he want in return?’ Again the emissary’s eyes went to her hand and then she knew, ‘Ahh the rings of creation. That is what he seeks.’ ‘He does not seek them for himself.’ ‘He seeks them on hands that serve him. Eight of his immortal lords still live upon Aurdan. Why does he not have one of them do this bidding. They have weapons, armies enough to smash upon my kingdom. Why do you come here?’ Humility seems to cross the emissaries face, ‘You are unique. You have loved and you have lost. You want to change. Something those lords you speak of do not want. They are too happy with their immortality, their never changing kingdoms and their trinkets. They like the stalemate just as much as your fellow ring bearers but I can feel the rage in you, the will to change.’ Again his eyes went to the ring, ‘Yes I sense it. I see you looking at your guards. The hatred you have for your fellow Iloven. Hatred because they can die. Do you even bother learning their names anymore. What do they mean to you when they can die so easily.’ He stepped towards the ring and touched it, ‘People may think that the Iloven of death are broad in their gifts. I know different. As there are five forms of the life Iloven, so are their five forms of the dark. Yet their gifts are easier to learn.’ He touched the ring and shuddered. ‘It is summer, these mountains should be teaming with life but winter still has a hold. You have already touched Deagma’s power. The power of desolation. Scorching heats and blinding frosts. Of course that is the closest one to your own powers. How many innocents did you have to kill to corrupt a ring of creation to give you such power.’ The guards twitched nervously. The wicked men of the North dropped their heads, their own hands were stained with that blood, ‘Leave.’ Neliar ordered. They did without argument. She stood, blue robe falling across the floor. He gave her a warm smile. ‘Afraid of rebellion.’ Neliar felt a darkness through her. Her ring glowed but not the blue of the topaz. It glowed with a silky green light, unearthly beautiful, hauntingly wrong. The emissary went rigid, eye bulging as the ring held the water of his physical form, locking him place. The room darkened and the green light extenuated the fluctuating shadow. Then she locked onto it. The shadow gave a scream. ‘Look at this.’ She said in a voice husky and cold, ‘You talk of the fall of my people. Look at your own Iloven ally. Bound to your soul. A parasitic abomination.’ The emissary opened his mouth wide, ‘You have the power of necromancy.’ She stared at the emissary and his Ostivanti, his demon, ‘I can see your spirits, stitched together by strands of his essence. I can see your soul tied forever to the universal storm, trapped within its violent tempest. I want to break it.’ She saw her reflection in his broach. Her skin was now white and rotten, her eyes leaking black ink, her hair falling out in clumps. She sickened herself. Slowly her hand fell, light returned to the room and the stone on her finger became again the blue topaz. The emissary fell to his knees gasping. ‘You have already given yourself to him. Necromancy is our most vile desecration.’ ‘You talk of my connection to the water allowing me the gift of desolation but that is not what I am closest too. Grief is what I carry in this ring. Constant and eternal and for four hundred years I have carried that power.’ She walked over to the urn and stroked it, Even without her ring she could still feel the spirit of her husband. ‘The night he died I prayed to Barta and in the mirror storm it was Deagma that answered.
Title: Simon Robert’s Code: 0.004 Author: Myles Nicholas and Classified (Civilian Contractor)
Memo – Simon’s born 27th September 1974 was the middle child of three boys. His father was by all accounts a drug runner for one of the local Jamaican gangs. In 1980 their father was killed and the three boys were moved into the care system. The home they were living in was not government run but sponsored by a benefactor who had ties to Birmingham’s gang underworld. At aged eleven Simon Roberts and his brother Kevin Robert’s were recruited as drug runners. Their youngest brother, name unknown, would be killed a year later in a fatal stabbing. Even at this young age Kevin had a way with people and mind for business. By sixteen Kevin had begun to rupture the gangs infrastructure causing a war between two rival factions. While the two sides of this gang warred, Kevin and his brother secured their position. This was secured by Simon’s ruthless streak. When Kevin could not sway his opposition, Kevin would attack in brutal ways. An empire secure, Kevin Robert’s would still not be satisfied. In 1996 Simon Robert’s would be imprisoned for possession with intent to distribute. A sting operation that was hoped to incriminate the brothers and lead to multiple other charges. This would not be the case and Simon would be released just two years later. During this imprisonment Simon would make many friends. These friends would later form the base of the guard unit within the British unification front. Simon became a general in Kevin Roberts’s new army and would be the main orchestrator of Black August.
Title: Kevin Robert’s Code: 0.003 Author: Myles Nicholas and Classified (Civilian Contractor)
Memo – Kevin Robert’s born 5th May 1972 was the oldest boy of three. His father was by all accounts a drug runner for one of the local Jamaican gangs. In 1980 their father was killed and the three boys were moved into the care system. The home they were living in was not government run but sponsored by a benefactor who had ties to Birmingham’s gang underworld. At aged thirteen Kevin Roberts and his brother Simon Robert’s were recruited as drug runners. Their youngest brother, name unknown, would be killed a year later in a fatal stabbing. Even at this young age Kevin had a way with people and mind for business. By sixteen Kevin had begun to rupture the gangs infrastructure causing a war between two rival factions. While the two sides of this gang warred, Kevin and his brother secured their position. Kevin found new ways of getting the drugs into Birmingham, establishing A.V.G haulage with help of his new friend Anthony Anderson. With the supply lines secure at aged 19 Kevin became found of his new gang, the Birmingham, ultranationalist front. These led the way in drug distribution throughout the midlands and northwest. Kevin would sweet talk politicians, bribe police and turn his drug runners into trained soldiers. The drug runners operated as effective units, taking rivals and threats with frightening control. It is believed by some that these attacks, that began to be targeted against business rivals of Anthony Anderson, would facilitate the fall of the British Economy. An empire secure, Kevin Robert’s would still not be satisfied. In 1996 Simon Robert’s would be imprisoned for possession with intent to distribute. A sting operation that was hoped to incriminate the brothers and lead to multiple other charges. This would not be the case and Simon would be released just two years later.
In those two years Kevin is believed to have come under the tutelage of Sean Creedy, Irish paramilitary leader, who convinced Kevin of a future civil war in Britain. Kevin’s world turned from crime to uprising. He did not want to the free states that Sean Creedy fought for. He wanted a united Britain, a united world, with one man at his head. Using his wealth to buy land, and knowing that the drug game was a one way ticket to prison, Kevin dissolved his criminal empire, settling in an estate outside of Liverpool. Here he turned his already trained soldiers into the same paramilitary Sean Creedy had developed. From there the British Unification Front was founded and the seeds for Black August were sown.
Notes
– For national security reasons, the author of this document is not to be named.
Title: British Unification Front Funding. Code: 0.0150 Author: Classified (Civilian Contractor)
Memo: The British Unification Front funding has always been a subject of high debate within the British government. Kevin Robert’s has been able to isolate himself within a small patch of land south of Liverpool. Although there is a far there and a quarry that supplies building materials to northern companies, the wealth needed to not only establish such a retreat but also fund the operations, cannot be achieved this way. The Viper front company A.V.G haulage does also not account for the funds Kevin Robert’s has at his disposal. Within the British Unification Front headquarters, an economy thrives with wages paid to soldiers, guards, farm workers and quarry, that can be spent in any number of shops and bars. This money changes hands between Viper members frequently. This does not however contribute the the B.U.F’s or Kevin Robert’s wealth. This comes from outside businesses. These gained massively in the down fall of the government in the north and have bank rolled Robert’s dream long before the economic collapse and black august. It must be noted that the biggest bank roller of the British Unification Front is Anthony Anderson, C.E.O of C.P.C technologies. A former member of the Viper’s it was them that facilitated his takeover of northern energy supplies and the streets of Liverpool.
Notes – This document is continued in a breakdown of all known financiers of the British Unification Front.
– For national security reasons, the author of this document is not to be named.
Britain is sick. Economic collapse has led to criminal gangs bringing about a civil war. The government has abandoned the country and people live their lives fearing they will be the next target of terrorists who want nothing more than anarchy. Billionaires form independent states in northern cities, funding criminals to keep control.
Behind them all, they are waiting.
The British Unification Front, the Viper’s, take out rivals and politicians with equal voraciousness. Waiting for their chance to strike and seize control. Through this life, ex -drug runner, Raymond Jones attempts to make an honest living as a wannabe lawyer but a case, very close to home, will embroil him in the world of the British Unification Front and turn him into their greatest soldier and their greatest threat.
Join Raymond Jones and find out how far a man is willing to go to survive in a world where every day could be your last.
Long ago, when ancient Gods still controlled the lives of men, a great famine came over the kingdom of Gwynedd. Crops would not grow and wells ran dry. The people prayed to Brigid, goddess of healing, asking for the famine to end but their prayers went unanswered. It was at this time that Rol, champion of the isles, was staying in the court of King Elis of Gwynedd. Rol was deemed a warrior of great renown, who had battled the great serpent of Poseidon and bested the fiercest warriors of Europe in single combat. Above all Rol was a good man, he did not kill for sport and shared his triumphs willingly. King Elis was an arrogant ruler and while his people starved, he feasted around his enormous hearth. While the revellers danced, the flames of hearth danced to and as the fiddles played the fire grew until the hearth roared in a sudden furry. They lifted towards the straw roof, sending the crows scattering for the heavens. The flames moved until they formed the shape of a woman. As tall as she was beautiful, and her burning eyes watched the crowd intently. Rol stood forward, ‘Welcome Brigid, goddess of hearth and healing, how may we serve?’ The king stood and waved his arm towards the goddess but did not bow, ‘What a blessing on my house lady, that you should join us. Clearly my rule is divine.’ ‘Be silent.’ Brigid said in a voice that crackled like the fire that surrounded her, ‘The villagers starve and yet in this house you feast like winter will never come. Dagda stands against you. Is there none that would prove the worth of this land before it sinks into the abyss.’ ‘We feast in front of the hearth in reverence to you lady.’ The king said. She didn’t turn but her gaze moved through the flames to focus on the king, ‘I do not rest in the hearths of halls such as these. My blessings lay with those who crowd around my fires to survive and make memories in my warmth. Now those people starve. Is there none here who would seek to save them.’ The revellers did not move for they knew the games that Gods played and any request such as this would require a great sacrifice. Rol though had battled Gods before and ever had his life been entwined with their games. He raised his hand, ‘lady of fire and heat. If there be a way one man can end the suffering of so many then I would gladly see it done.’ The Goddess of flame seemed to bow and then she said, ‘You seek the cauldron of Dagda. He has used it to curse this land and so it is barren. If you are pure of heart and keen of mind, the cauldron will grant any bounty you wish, for pauper or for kingdom.’ She crackled and swayed, ‘But beware, stumble from the path and take more than what is needed, and the cauldron will reject you. Want you will know ever after. Dagda will be aware of you, and he will defend his cauldron. Aid from the dead will come and from my sprits of fire. Be yourself Rol and bring prosperity back to this land.’ Brigid faded, and the fire returned to normal while everyone stared at Rol. Undaunted he took up his armour ringed of iron. He took his bow of black yew and short sword before departing in the baking sun. In the tallest peak of Snowdonia Dagda kept his halls. For the north Rol went, through fen and barren field, through villages whose streets were lined with starving families. Soon he came to the edge of the mountains and into the enchanted wood of heaven. Here Cernunnos’s wild beasts roamed, and the dead wandered to be gathered in Arawn’s other world. Rol drove on, succumb by hunger and weariness. He turned his mind to hunting and drawing his bow of black yew he sort food. Then he saw it, a white stag, beautiful and large. It was enough to feed a village and it wandered towards him, flank exposed. He drew the arrow to his cheek, the fletch like a gentle kiss. Then a wind roared through the woods, carrying scents of strength that cured his hunger. Cernunnos spoke through the trees, ‘Take no more than what is needed, or the cauldron will reject you.’ He stared at the stag. Such a beast would spoil quickly in this heat. He lowered the bow and with a nod the beast stalked away and Rol knew to follow. To Aber falls it led him, the water a raging torrent that cured his weariness. Under the falls the stag went and then faded. Rol followed and the waters parted, revealing a dark cave. Rol drew his sword and it glowed, lighting up the cave. Wights, soldiers of Arawn, gathered around him. Their eyes were blue flame, and their mail glowed a sickly green, but they did not attack. Seated upon a thrown of bones Arawn himself sat, cloaked in a blue mist. ‘Dagda judges your people to harshly, due to the actions of your king. Now my halls are crowded with those who should be living long lives. You must reach the cauldron and restore life to your lands.’ One of the wights bestowed to Rol a serpent helm with eyes that glowed a fervent blue, ‘Dagda has shielded his mountain in shadow. This helm will allow your eyes to see into our world and break his veil.’ Rol donned the helm and saw as the gods saw. He could see the wights spirits true form and could see the breath that gave this wood its glory. Rol left the cave and spirits of Brigid guided him to the mountain of Dagda. For seven days he climbed, until at last he reached the summit and the temple of Dagda. His helm pierced the darkness and Rol, sword readied, entered. There the cauldron stood, glowing with power and beside it, Dagda loomed. He swung his massive hammer and almost crushed Rol, whose blade of light broke in two. Then all Rol could do was duck and dive while Dagda laughed at the sport. The God tired and Rol saw the power bestowed upon the axe. He grabbed his bow and loosed and the arrow took upon it one of Brigid’s spirits. The war hammer exploded, and Dagda fell back into a deep sleep. Exhausted and beaten, Rol grabbed the cauldron and Brigid came as a bird of flame and bore Rol and the cauldron back to Gwynedd. In the morning, amongst the burnt-out hearth, they found him. The king snatched up the cauldron and declared the bounty for himself. At his high table he announced, ‘I wish for a full feast for all of time.’ The cauldron rumbled and red fire entered the kings mouth. Great hunger overcame him. The king went to his table but any food or drink that passed his mouth became dust and offered no sustenance. Maddened the king fell to ruin upon his table of dust. Then Rol awakened and taking the cauldron he placed it in the middle of the hearth and the fire around it roared into life. Rol brought the famine to an end and the kingdom had bounty for all of time.
The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin. Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead. ‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the sixth temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’ He stared at the desolation and his grip on his sword almost failed. He wanted to sit upon the steps and watch the last moments of a war already lost. ‘Do not doubt.’ A voice said and Ashara looked down to his shadow, though it wasn’t his. His shadow never mirrored the sharp edges of his armour or bulk of his muscles. His shadow was slender, feminine, shapely and yet as stiff as a statue. ‘What is doubt but a biproduct of hope.’ Ashara replied, ‘What is hope but a biproduct of folly.’ ‘Doubt is the power of our enemy.’ She had a name; Elen and she wasn’t truly his shadow, but she was as bound to him as any real shadow., ‘You are Ivanti.’ She continued, ‘Angel bound, hero of an ancient order.’ ‘The last of the Ivanti. Our orders are broken, bastions in ruin. The Ostivanti have won. Daegma has won. Colimar lays in ruin.’ ‘The book.’ Elen whispered, ‘The book holds the enchantment of Daegma’s prison. If we can just get the book, then we can rebind him. Turn his forces back to dust, flame and bog. Give humanity a chance for life.’ Ashara sighed, feeling that same weight that had pressed on him ever since he had allowed himself to be bound to an angel. It was the weight of a mountain. He bound Elen in a time of peace. Then, only rare skirmishes between the orders and the occasional kingdom war had threatened the planet. Now Daegma was almost free and Barta’s watch had failed. Giants, dread spiders, the undead and the Ostivanti destroyed all in an attempt to bring back Daegma’s dominion. The book. The book is the answer. We can lift the mountain once we have the book. He turned from the desolation and the sickly, horrible, smoke-filled wind. The temple, a four spired pyramid, was covered in age old ivy and moss. Ashara couldn’t understand why you would hide such a powerful thing in such a weak relic. Every step was laborious in Ashara’s armour, but he did feel something. A power coursed through the stone that seemed to clear away the screams, the smoke and the dread. It was like Ashara had passed into a previous age. Even Elen seemed to delight in it. She was a stone angel after all. A servant of Aurda. Ashara reached the top step; a door of iron standing impervious above him. Carved upon on it, in reverence or warning, was the three headed ram. Daegma’s mark. ‘It looks like his church.’ He said, eyes searching for his shadow, but she was no longer at his feet. She stretched towards the wall and stood there at his height. She was not beautiful as such, more impervious, strong as a mountain and rooted in power that he could not imagine. The wall around the shadow shifted as she moved, elevating her features and bringing her to life in three dimensions. She turned to face him, stone face moving across the moss-covered wall. He could see in her shadowy face, the cracks where the moss once clung. ‘They hoard the book, knowing they can never release him.’ Her hand reached out of the wall. It was callous like aged stone and with it he caught the scent of things ancient. It was not the sulphurous fumes that followed one of the Ostivanti but more like the smell of summer rain on porous rock, bringing life to the minerals themselves. The door opened at her command, and she became again a shadow at his feet. He charged into the room but stopped dead. He was expected. He knew them first by the stench. Used to it as he was, his eyes still watered, and every breath was a torment. That horrible wrongness that accompanied those of the storm forge was stifling. The darkness of the chamber was overcome by the magic that bound the dead back to the earth. Every temple had been the same. An open hall, full of enemies. Skeletons, bound by blue light, lifted swords. Ghouls hung from the ceiling, their bat like wings flapping. Elen moved her shadow across the floor and Ashara followed. He felt the stone and the power of the Ivanti flowed from him. He jumped and the wall to his left pulled. He flew, sword decapitating skeletons as he soared. He adjusted his force, and the ceiling hoisted him upwards, passed green flames. A downward shift took him upon a great stone dais and from there he drove his sword through two more of the undead. Around him, Elen came and where her shadow lay, stone enveloped and destroyed their foes. Ghouls swooped down from the ceiling, their wings making a cacophony of noise. Ashara felt the walls and battled with the servants of the devil. He pulled himself between the stone in a constant dance, his sword flashing until the hall fell silent and the enemy was defeated. Ashara lowered himself to the floor. ‘Always the same,’ He said, ‘Soon we will encounter one of the Ostivanti.’ ‘The Ostivanti are weak without their master released.’ ‘And yet they have destroyed the world.’ ‘Numbers.’ Elen whispered sadly. She was missing an arm in shadow form, and she seemed to limp. This fight had wounded her. ‘We must-‘ ‘GIRL OF AURDA. MAN OF CANDOR. FOOLS OF BARTA.’ A great voice boomed. It sent shivers through Ashara’s spine. The voice was educated, normal and yet it seemed wrong and made fear grow right in his heart. Elen seemed to shiver, ‘Do not haunt us Daegma. Your time has come.’ ‘COLIMAR IS MY DOMAIN.’ The voice boomed and the temple rumbled until all became silent. ‘He presses on the world Ashara.’ Elen said in a panic, ‘I can feel him. He will crumble the temple and break his prison. We do not have much time.’ That mountain. That terrible mountain. It pressed on his lungs so that every breath was a struggle against destiny. He gripped his sword and passed through the chamber. Before him stretched a maze. He knew it would be there. It had been in the other temples. Elen appeared on the wall of the maze. She was wounded still. She even clutched at her side as if she was trying to hold in blood. ‘Stone is ours.’ She whispered, ‘Not his.’ Ashara nodded and closed his eyes. He took a step towards the stone and then another without flinching. He felt it against his foot. Firm, unyielding and yet malleable. He continued to step and the stone relented, allowing him to step through it. It felt like swimming through reed filled water. Again, that smell of life, of sweet water on rock, filled his nose. He continued to walk, going straight forward through the stone maze. It was exhausting, every step a challenge. The stone did not yield its strength willingly and only the pressure of that mountain of responsibility, kept Ashara’s feet moving forward. He nearly stumbled as he passed through the last wall of stone into the forgiving air. He stopped and for the first time in years smiled as he beheld the central chamber. Light from sky above came through a channel, bathing a large stone altar in pure light. There, the book he searched for stood. The book that would finally bind Daegma and his forces in their prison again. ‘What are you doing here?’ A voice asked from the darkness. Ashara hoisted his sword as a man stepped into the light. He wore robes of pure white and around his neck the five golden circles of Barta hung. Elen appeared on the stone and Ashara could tell from her hunched shoulders and wounded cast, that she was weary of this newcomer. ‘Priest of Barta.’ Ashara said, ‘I am one of the Ivanti. I come to bind Daegma once more.’ The priest smiled and then laughed, revealing blackened teeth. He stood now before the altar and the light shadowed his face. The priest’s eyes glowed a fervent green, but Ashara could see beneath the skin, the demon he was bound with. His bond with Elen was whole but separate. Demons consumed you from the inside. That horrible smell of sulphur nearly knocked Ashara backwards. ‘The Ivanti are dead. Barta’s guard on this world is broken. Daegma comes to claim his lands again.’ The priest lifted his hand, and the floor became nothing but molten rock. This was a demon of stone, Ashara’s opposite. Like all demons they could not make stone yield. They dominated it by force, turning it into a tool of destruction. The heat tore at Ashara’s skin, burning him and melting his armour. He pulled at the ceiling, lifting himself off the ground. The floor disappeared completely, and the demon walked upon it, the flesh of the bound human sizzling with every step. The molten rock crawled like a living thing, clawing at the altar and moving with thought towards the book. From below, Elen screamed. Magma began to tear at her stone form. Ashara could feel her power weakening. He needed one desperate lunge. He anchored himself on the altar and charged. The demon jumped and met him and together they plunged deep into the molten floor. Heat, so vast and terrible, consumed him. Ashara screamed as his flesh was boiled and pealed from his bones. Only his eyes, protected by Barta, could withstand that heat. As his body burned, he focused on the demon, holding onto him with melting fingers. Ashara channelled all his power and the demon’s scream joined his own. The skin of the demon became cold and callous stone between Ashara’s blistered palms. Together Ashara and the demon lamented, fire entering Ashara’s lungs. The demon became a statue, immortalised for ever and burning darkness took Ashara.
‘Wake up.’ Elen whispered, her voice faint and cold. Ashara’s eyes opened. The light of the sun bathed him and with it he found some strength to rise. His armour was melted, moulded and joined with his blistered flesh. He was burnt all over and the breeze sent shivers of pain. The stone corpse of the demon lay next to him. He pulled with his power to rise and used it to hover towards the book. Elen was nowhere to be seen. The floor underneath was full of waves, like an ocean locked in time. ‘Quickly.’ Elen said as a rumble echoed, and dust fell from the ceiling. Then he saw her. She was spread thin, tendrils of shadow keeping the temple from collapsing, ‘The book Ashara. We don’t have long.’ He did not answer. He had no tongue, no face. Only his eyes were protected. The mountain of responsibility was about to crush him. He reached for the book. His hands, nothing more than stubs now, opened the pages, ready to finally seal Daegma forever. His lipless mouth screamed in horror as he read the only words inscribed.
You have failed again Ashara.
The Temple collapsed on top of him.
The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin. Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead. ‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the seventh temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’
Knights of Earth Publications 