Death, the Voice of the Lamented
Ah, such a lovely slumber. Thousands of years of rest, yet it feels I have slept but a day. I do not dream, but visualize. I have seen what comes before, and what follows in trail. The Void has spoken to me in numbers of visions. My awakening is not mere coincidence.
Something is calling; screams ensure I hear my name. The stones of tombs do not keep the Calling at bay. Lying within for so long has been comforting for myself, a rest needed for one that never ceases movement.
“Awakening, once more to see” the Calling of the Void say to me. “The Four must walk again.”
Death, the eldest of the four and wisest of the Bloodborn; I have awakened for a reason I cannot yet see. But if the Void is in need of our presence then we musn’t deny or forsake the Calling. We are needed by the Old Ones once more, or so I would assume.
Our first awakening during the prime of the Void, the Calling summoned us for balance between the Alsern and our forefathers, the Damric. A simple struggle between gods and eternals, one might question whether time birthed to children.
My brothers and sister lost their bodies in the balance, severed from the physical by the power of Elthstor. My ability in its own is far beyond to find new hosts for the others, an effortless task, and of requirement. But to find such beings requires knowledge outside of my spectrum.
“Find the other three. Make them whole again.”
“Yes” I reply. “The Bloodborn will find their grace. We will see to it that the Void remain content.”
“Shed the new world of peace. Return the darkness. Life cannot become.”
“What is this life you refer? I do not understand.” I ask with perplexity.
“The Alsern will create life” the Calling confirms. “Creation itself is beginning. The Alsern are embracing new light, an endless hope for such but an end to our time at reign. The Damric will fall, thus we cannot allow an imbalance in existence. If both sides suffer then we will wither into the emptiness between dimensions.”
“So the gods and eternals are giving themselves for the foundation of being. How quaint. What of us and our fathers, the Damric? They bore us yet we answer only the Calling of the Void. What undertaking of the Bloodborn?” I demand. “Who shall see to it that we thrive?”
“Do not allow the fruition of life. This cannot become, hence the endtime of the Void. The fall of your fathers will not conclude your existence nor will it mask yourself behind gray curtains. The Bloodborn will always be.”
I step from the tomb and exit the mausoleum. Shadows around; of nothingness yet everything for the Bloodborn and the Void. Dark gray clouds above, such a sight I have not laid my eyes upon for thousands of years. A beauty of my own; one so simple minded could not understand but the Void allows me so.
My home; our home.
“Firsthand, I must find hosts for my brothers and sister” I speak to the Void. “Where can I search?”
The Calling’s scream echoes throughout the nothing, “Kinäy solai. The Black Chasms. There you will find beings of great power, ones unimaginable to yourself. The Necrelim are powerful as they come in numbers.”
“Should I fail to claim such bodies?”
The Calling concludes, “You will not. Sheer numbers matter little. They cannot kill Death.”
Death, the Voice of the Lamented
The Black Chasms. Smothered in darkness, forever in darkness. A grand cavern; within holds these superb beings of inconceivable power, known to the Old Ones as the Necrelim, a safeguard for the Boundless Flame.
The flame burns, always has been much the same as the Void. The flame birthed from the gift of presentation; sacrificing the former entity of the Ferik Risnor.
In the beginning, before the Alsern and Damric, the Void and the Boundless Flame, neverending beings resided: the Veros Graver, the embodiment of the end, and the Ferik Risnor, the personification of emergence. For billions of years, the two circled one another with disagreements and opposition to establish existence itself eventually leading to a clash that resulted in demise.
The fall of the Ferik Risnor gave birth to the Alsern and the Boundless Flame, shedding the essence of light upon the emptiness. And the fall of the Veros Graver delivered the Damric and the Void, shadowing darkness upon what light could not touch. Together existence was created, and time itself began.
The flame’s guardians, much to my interest, are indeed powerful; stronger than I. The Necrelim, bonded to armor of both shadows and light, ensure the flame never dies nor ceases to crackle.
How do I defeat them, I do not know. Blades of coal and ember, ability to fell those that oppose their sole duty. One against 1000. The odds are not in my favor.
The Void speaks of these characters to such high regard, mirroring its own visions of the Graver and the Risnor, “They are powerful. But Death can never be evaded. Death always finds a way.”
My feet take me further across the nothingness. The clouded walls endure growth the closer I get to the Chasms. I can hear the march of 1000 beings, perfectly synchronized armored bodies.
The screams of the Calling of the Void strike me again, “The Necrelim on the move. Somber but luminous. Stop you, they will try. Use the blades that embrace the passing, and the voice that gives animation.”
“The voice… To resurrect?” I ask for assurance.
“Yes. And the blades to end” The Calling bellows with echoes.
“I understand now. But surely upsetting the Necrelim will cause a wither in the Flame. Never disgrace the Graver and the Risnor.”
“The Flame will continue to burn with or without the Necrelim. The creatures reside to protect it. But if the Alsern and the Damric deliver themselves to the fall, then darkness will touch the lesser. Light will overtake. Balance must remain, life cannot come to be. Otherwise, the neverending’s collapse lose its breath.”
“Then we ensure balance continues forth. The Bloodborn solely travail for this purpose” I end it at a halt before the archway to the Black Chasms.
The sounds of the Necrelim strike louder than before, my mask and armor shaking from the sheer velocity of the stride. Unsheathing my scythes, I crush the grips that unnerve the voices.
I step through the archway to witness the extended canyons of the Chasms, gaps that expand the horizons, and the light of the Flame that burns over the walls. Before me stand the Necrelim moving shoulder to shoulder. Strong of actuality itself but oblivious to my presence.
“Hello there” I announce with confidence.
The Necrelim cease at the sound of my voice, directing attention towards me with weaponry at the ready. Screeches of torture and scorn follow. In unison, they gaze upon my location with such animosity.
I believe visitors are frowned upon especially when near the presence of the Flame. I may not see it but its light inhabits the expanding gorges.
I tightly grip my blades and smirk under my mask “So… Shall we begin?”
Death, the Voice of the Lamented
Along the canyons and across the cracks of the Chasms, fissures formed from the absolute magnitude of my battle with the Necrelim. One by one, they fall by the blades in my hands. For each that meets an end becomes another number to my legion.
My advantage? Swiftness and aggression. Powerful they are but quick they are not.
I but only need three for my brothers and sister, but to do so requires all to fall. The Necrelim will not allow me to apprehend such bodies without resistance; a feature I envy yet respect. And once this is finished, the Bloodborn will once again walk into reality to stop the Old Ones.
Severing the helmeted head off another, the clank echoes throughout the Chasms. The creature’s dying howl satisfies the voices emanating from the Calling of the Void. But as they fall, I use my cry within the Void to resurrect the dead. My numbers grow to balance the tide of battle, and eventually gain supremacy over the remaining.
More time comes to pass and the Necrelim fall altogether, becoming slaves to my will and desires. The engagement led me to the chamber of the Boundless Flame, where it’s fires burn bright amongst the nothing. The dead follow suit, some missing limbs while others suffered deadly wounds.
I control them; I command them.
My eyes fall upon the Flame itself, observing its waves and flickers in the dry air lingering within the shadows. Such beauty to hold the light that gives. Never falters beneath the darkness of the Void itself, similar to the birth of time.
The Calling screams, “The battle is over. Now Death must summon the others. The Bloodborn must be four. You cannot wage this task alone.”
“Not alone. I will do what I must.” I respond before turning my back to the Flame, immediately taking my attention to the Necrelim standing under my control.
Three walk forth, as perfect shape more than the others. Respectable, true, and pure in body. Hosts that I can clearly see as appropriate for my brothers and sister.
“Use the Flame” The Calling interjects.
“What?” I am taken by surprise. “Using such power can render the Bloodborn impure. Why would I commit such an act?”
“The Flame is forever. Its fire burns of great fury, more than enough to mirror the Alsern and the Damric.”
“But…” I pause to consider the options. “If I do this, then blood will be shed. Our task is to stop the Old Ones from falling. To prevent life; to ensure balance.”
“Balance will prevail. Use the Flame. With it, you will touch unfathomable power.” The Calling bellows.
“Power corrupts. We cannot become so.” I add, taking a glimpse to the Necrelim still standing before me. “To consider it, corruption is certain.”
“If you do not as I ask, I will end the Bloodborn. The four may have birthed by the Damric but the Void stays within the eternals. Does your love for your brothers and sister precede your pride? Or is your pride worth losing everything?”
The Void’s intentions are unclear. To use the Flame for the ritual is sheer extortion and madness. The Bloodborn exist for stability amongst the Old Ones, throughout reality, and the light and the darkness. What goes on within the voices?
“Do it now!”
I turn around with a hand in the Flame, feeling an intense energy consume me. My mask cracks from the power, body shifts towards a larger form, and the voices scream as if in pain.
I extend my other hand towards the three Necrelim and shout, “Orix Conjurmatem. Anger of the Old Ones sacrificed. Orix Disernaten. Disease of the Old Ones consumed. Orix Warpalafor. Struggles of the Old Ones taken. Through the Voice of the Lamented, the Bloodborn shall be reborn. Roam once more!”
The essence of the Flame travels through my body and to the unmoved creatures, rapidly shrouding them in embers. The voices scream at a pitch that splits my armor, leaving me naked in the canyons of the Black Chasms.
The armored bodies of the Necrelim explode in a dome of light, blinding the surrounding area. Shards of their armor soar across the Chasms, stabbing stone by mere brute force. Moments pass, the energy has ceased. I look upon my own body to see no visible wounds besides the scars of my past tribulations. My mask lays on the ground beneath my feet, shattered to many pieces that are beyond repair.
A laugh erupts through the now fading light, one of a harlot that exceeds the voices that begin to calm themselves. A feminine echo followed closely by soft foot steps. A slithering hiss accompanies the familiar song stemming from the fluorescent dome.
A slender figure exits the presence of the light, her pale eyes connecting with my own.
I bow before her “Welcome back, sister.”