Prologue: Advent of the Goddess
The Gods have forsaken us.
Cobblestone struck the ground in likeness of mallets upon their drums. Only, cobblestone was not meant to ring upon the land in such a way. Buildings crumbled and split from their spider-web cracks, people split at their seams in sprays of red, and the Church – once so grand in all of its flying buttress glory – shattered with a single wave of Her finger. Screams severed by beasts unleashed by Her reached out their broken limbs to escape strangled throats to join the symphony of clamor.
Every 1,000 years, She comes.
I ran towards her, clothed feet catching upon broken stone while sounds of all things breaking – stone, bone, glass, voices – like the land was crying with the vibration of quaking earth. I looked at her. The Goddess who had descended from the heavens, sitting upon her throne of grandeur made of something earthly, yet from another world, her castle in the sky wrapped within wings of an Archangel. She is beautiful, a visage befitting of her title, and within her arms was a sword crafted for the destruction of worlds.
I had not realized that my teeth were clenched; my jaw was becoming sore, and I glared up at her, whose eyes were closed, glittering strands of gold framing a smooth face. It was as if she were sleeping, erect and holding that sword so close and gentle, upon an entire island within a winged embrace; wings wrapped about the island, wings splayed out above her, wings curved and ready to conjure vicious tornadoes. Below her, hell was upon land brought about by swords spearing from glyphs in the sky, and striking down everything.
But She comes not bearing good news.
Then came the wind. If it was even possible, my breath quickened, my heart crushed itself into my chest over and over again until I screamed in my head for it stop. Her wings spread wide, the sound of her feathers beating on the air and the drums of my ears. Whatever Her wind touched, shattered, and people flew without wings – died before even touching ground. I drew closer and cannot wait any longer; I run as my own glyphs carve fire-white into the air between my feet and ground. And I must breathe – these lungs burn.
“Glacio!” I threw my arm forward in commanding, as if it would be last thing I could do. Pillars and mountains of carved ice rose to her, striking, tipping that island of wings. I have angered her more, for there must be something that had angered her first. Oh, humankind, what have you done? Those unmoved lips unsealed a voice of despair – a long-held note of beautiful mortality – that struck a chord within the souls of mortals, trees, mountains – I felt it in the deepest pit of my stomach and wretched. Everywhere, the land below our feet was tipping as bodies tumbled and were crushed – but wait. People were clamping their hands down over their ears; some tore off the flapping piece of flesh to no avail. I could feel what they feel. Her voice seeping and prying at the folds of their minds – my mind – I must fight.
There was no time to be gawking. I deflected her incoming missiles of runed stakes with a defensive blast of aura, and raised my arms, summoning everything – what I had, what I thought I had, what I could possibly have.
Mankind may lack power enough to defeat the Goddess now.
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air, and I dare take a moment’s pause to look. Human forms convulsed, mounds of flesh shuddered and grew into tumors of otherworldly flesh, tearing open human skin to reveal skin of the dead, the wild, the faery. Goddess, what have you created? They were transforming. “Aegis,” I whisper and hope that this shield will hold against her rain of spears. Everything I have.
But, perhaps in a thousand years’ time, we may come to attain it.
“Machaera.” It sounded so unfamiliar, this voice that tore from my throat. A sword that could be crafted by the heavens materialized above her, eager to drop in execution, but it must be complete, so I held it, gritting me teeth in defiance as I glared at the Goddess. My body burned, it ached, it bled, it cried out for me to stop. She turned her lid-sealed gaze upon me now; she would grant me the honor of laying her spell upon me. A great vortex swirled with obedience at her fingertips. I would not let her. But everything was fading from my vision, and I lowered a hand to reach into a fold of my tattered robes to clasp a rounded crystal of pure white, casting a spell on it as well.
I am prepared to give my life if only to gain more time.
The sword came down, as did my arm. This sword, my finest magecraft, cleaved through only a single wing, scattering its feathers. I felt consciousness drifting, hope drifting, but I musn’t lose hope. Everything began to dim, but this last vision of the Goddess sinking in rattled agony, her remaining wings wrapped about her injured form, gave me hope. Bestial screams, no doubt the work of her poisoned feathers, faded into the backdrop – everything became less, even the feel of the smooth polished crystal. And now nothing.
Mark these words,
Trust the Gods no more.
Have you the time to pray,
Have children and raise them.
Give them swords and strengthen their minds.
Live…
Let nothing sway your will to live.
Mankind,
To live is to hope, to hope,
Is my plea to you.
- The Witch of the Crystal
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