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    submitted 23 July 2012 @ 23:53
    edited 10 August 2012 @ 00:39

The Wrath of the Underworld - Prophecy

Written by The Scourge

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376 BC

A relentless, sharp and bone-freezing rain fell from the chilled, brisk and dark sky. The clouds were near black and an unhearthly darkness, not known in anything but myth and legend. It was not yet midday it was dark enough for one to assume it was midnight. Thunder spilt the sky and its roar rattled the Gaia's bones.

Hyphastos, donned in a black cloak, a silver cuirass, silver greaves and white, partially dirty linen straps wrung around his hands and wrist, clung to the shadows of the forest. Mountains hung to the unseen horizon in every direction. Animals ran wild and feral in an untamed land. Dark forests covered nearly every meter of the valley; a mysterious place to plant a temple to no diety, in a place of no partiular relgious interest. A handful of mortals knew the reason for its being.

Stepping out onto the dirt, scarcly trodden path he wandered towards the temple. The spear hung loosley from his fingertips, a sword, in typical xiphos style bounced on his waist and a second, a long Kopis sword sat from a sheath located on the back of his waist. Ascending the steps slowly, casually more then cautiously, he glanced back to the forest and gestured with a wave. Erupting from the forest was a man armoured up in a bronze cuirass, bronze greaves and bronze guantlets, he came at a jogging pace, short spear in hand, large shield in the other. A short Xiphos sword leapt up from his waist with each step.

Before Achaikos reached the steps Hyphastos began moving inside. Deeper in two torches hung on the collumns. Their illumination was great in contrast to the giant darkness and shone deep into the chasm of black. Great pillars lined the temple, deep inside a wall with great, rienforced oak doors. Three guards stood in the way, the pigment of their faces white as ghastly hell. Their cheeks were hollow and their chests did not rise or fall in breath. Their armour was that of a time lost in history; rigid spikes lined the mountains of their shoulderguards. Their breastplates were lined with tawny fur and the linen of their tunics were a dark crimson red. Their weapons were already drawn and they were already charging towards the two greeks.

* * * * * * * *

Nycena had pleaded, formed logical arguments and debated for all her worth, but Queen Akantha had refused her again and again. The council had laughed heartilty, most of them anyway, at her propostitions. She hoped that when Hyphastos returned he would be able to change their minds; he had grown stronger through training, knowledge and experience he had developed traits, passed on by his father. She caught eyes with a few members of the council, some showing signs of condecension others with understanding and compassion. She understood that without evidence few would be obliged to join a cause that sounded so strange but they would need in the future. Hopefully they would see sense before it was too late and the threat boiling unseen spilled out across the world. In dark, enshrouded corners threats were already building. These would pale in comparision to what would show itself when it was strong enough. Nycena sat down on the cold stone steps of the giant staricase that formed from the palace, at the top of a large, rocky promentory, to the bottom, enshrouded in a cliff face was the small port city-state of Pykium. Looking down she saw the market, the houses, the temples. Without unity, city after city would fall. A sigh slipped her lips she trusted Hyphastos, and if he said a threat loomed, then she believed it.

* * * * * * * *

A spear flew past Hyphastos' head; a quick duck had saved it from lodging deep within his brain. The undead guardians were as fast as they had been alive and they stood toe-to-toe with greeks. Hyphastos' spear thrust and spun even in the tight space, enclosed in from the front by the two undead. One of the guardians swung his blade high, cutting low. Hyphastos ducked left and thrust his spear deep into armor of the dead, the tip of the blade protruding from the chasm. No blood poured from the wound, only ash and dust. As the spear-struck ancient warrior tumbled back, Hyphastos turned left on his heels, and slammed his shield into the other drawing the Kopis from the back of his waist. As the guardian staggered back Hyphastos moved right, leaping into the air. As gravity pulled his body back to Earth the Kopis blade was pushed deep into the neck of undead. With the weight of the falling body the sword plummeted into the dead, rotted, hollowed flesh with incredible and destructive force. The guard's body dropped to the ground, and with a final stab to the forehead his soul returned to the underworld. The spear-struck guardian gave a breath harsh, guttural and deathly. Hyphastos looked up to see the undead tearing away the spear from his self. A kick to the face pushed him back down and a sword's blade entered his skull, crashing through his ancient helm finally killed the creature.

Achaikos stood over it with a slight pant, a slash over his forehead where his opponent managed to carve his way through Achaikos' guard. He pointed down at the body; "Major head wounds; they seem to be the only thing capable of finishing off these..these..what are these anyway?"

Hyphastos sheathed his sword and retrieved his spear, ripping it out of the dead carcass with satisfaction and began moving towards the giant oak door. He shrugged in response to his question, not knowing who the temple was even dedicated to. The renching echo of Achiakos retrieving his spear sounded like an earthquake; within the temple's structure external noise was lost. Only the footsteps of Hyphastos and his companion rung out. If he tried Hyphhastos could picture them being the last souls on Gaia.

The door was composed of giant, thick, dark oak, reinforced with large iron strips running vertically down and intricate silver etchings running along its face. The etchings was part of the prophecy that had been foretold to Hyphastos long ago; The tale of the Olympian gods and their war against the Titans was never told in utter truth. The saga told on the door revealed the Olympians' dispair and the many great gods and goddesses that they lost to the Titans's great power. A shinning figure fought alongside the Olympians during the last battle portraied upon the door, the battle that won the gods their war. Hyphastos was intruiged at the many ambigous terms. The tale on the door was in chronolgoical order with the left side telling the tale up until the present. Dead centre had a warrior staring at the door, eerily portraying the timeline's flawless perfection 'till the present. On the right hand side of the door it left an ambigious term of a figure facing off against another.

Achaikos pushed open the doors with a grunt. Lights, eternally lit hung from columns, providing light for the picture they saw. In front of them at least sixty undead guardians, similar to those outside stood, their heads simultaniously and disturbingly turned to face the intruders. Their dead white eyes fixed on them like hungry dogs on meat. A loud chorus of blades being unsheathed from their scabbards crashed about the silent temple and a low growl echoed from the undead force. A second later their rushing feet brought their bristling weapons closer as they swarmed out of the chamber and up the steps to meet the greeks.

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The Wrath of The Underworld - Dire
    02 September 2012 @ 09:06

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