Darkness Before the Dawn: Prologue *HF*
By Daemon
OK. I'm a dummy and left out the entire middle section... So let's try this again, shall we?
~~Prologue~~
The ancient wooden staff sliced through the air and struck its target with immense power. The mystical rings attached at the rod's head jingled as it cracked against the head of the practice dummy. The staff withdrew just as quickly and spun in the air gracefully as the wielder returned it to the ready position just under his arm. A spinning back kick followed, as well as a swift flurry of skillfully placed short strikes with the staff. A final strike to the groin with the staff ended the practice session. The sound of clapping interrupting the warrior's focused thoughts.
"I never thought you had it in you," the White King said as he stood in the doorway of the suite of rooms in the White Court mansion.
Gomurr straightened his posture from his battle stance and leaned against his staff. "I still hold a few surprises up my sleeves," he said with a wry smile. Wearing only a pair of loose fitting pants - half of a martial arts uniform - Gomurr looked surprisingly well-built for a man his age. His skin, a soft bronzed hue, was stretched taught over ever-growing muscles and he looked to have grown taller in the last few days. The White King took note as he entered.
Supergrover smiled back at him and walked further into the room. "I like what you've done with the place," he said, looking around the converted sitting room. Thin padded mats covered the floor and numerous martial arts training equipment littered the area. While Supergrover had known all the time of his adoptive father's skills as a physical combatant, it was a different thing entirely to see him in action. Just looking at the mage, one could not comprehend just how deadly he could be. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"
Gomurr mystically summoned a towel to wrap around his neck and he patted the moisture away from his face. "It is about Christian," he said as he walked towards his study.
Grover followed and sat in one of the armchairs at Gomurr's request. "Is there something wrong?"
Gomurr nodded and sat in the chair opposite Grover. "It is not a grave problem, mind you, but I am beginning to become concerned. I have made several attempts to begin the Ascended One onto the Path of Light, but he has resisted all of my teachings. More accurately, he has ignored me. Now, I understand he has been through quite an ordeal at the hands of the Illuminati, but his destiny dictates that we begin his teachings as soon as possible."
"I see," was Grover's only response as he stared into Gomurr's dark, dark eyes.
"I was hoping that you could talk to him sometime."
"Well he's been sleeping a lot lately and I'd rather just let him get adjusted before I do anything drastic."
Gomurr snapped his fingers and the towel disappeared. "Drastic?" he asked as he leaned forward. "Son, don't you understand that the fate of mankind in this age is at stake? Drastic is not the word."
Grover's brow furrowed as he stared deeper into the eyes of his mentor. "You said it yourself earlier. Christian has been through a lot. He's lost his father, we can't reveal that he's still alive to his mother and he's seen things NO child should ever have to see while in the hands of the Illuminati. We're lucky that he's not catatonic from the shock."
"I don't think you're giving the Ascended One his due - especially after over a year of "adjustment". Nor are you thinking about the big picture. Do you want to have the responsibility of denying this world the Golden Age it so sorely needs, or even worse, condemning it to Darkness?
The White King stood now, his anger growing. "He's not just the 'Ascended One', Gomurr. He's my son. MINE. I say when he's ready - no one else. You and your Golden Age will just have to wait." With that, Grover turned and walked away.
Gomurr leaned back in his seat, a hand at his chin. Grover's reaction was understandable. Perhaps he had not been sensitive enough to the situation. But a voice in the back of his head pondered whether Grover would have to be eliminated for the greater good. Gomurr caught himself and pushed the troubling thought out of his mind. But what was more disturbing to Gomurr than the fact that he was hearing evil voices, was that it was his own.
***
Grey Court Starcraft Facility – Seattle, Washington
Busy was not the word to describe the massive room because it would have been an extreme understatement. Most of the guards stationed nearby had never seen so many aliens in their lives. The newly-ascended Grey King had made sure that the staff knew that the Pallan workers were to be treated with the utmost respect. Daemon was highly protective of those he considered his people, no matter what planet or class they come from. By another token, the Pallan workers also knew he had high expectations of them.
From his position on the balcony overlooking the massive cavern, Daemon oversaw the Pallan repair of his fallen galaxy class gunship – the Oasis. His eyes watched every move made as he would occasionally talk into the headset he wore, using his powers to adjust the electromagnetic frequency of the microphone so that he could direct his orders and specifications toward the necessary individuals.
In the palm of his hand, he held a rectangular device about the size of a graphing calculator, linked to the onboard computer aboard the Oasis and to his personal computer system at his home. He had somewhat of a sense of security as he read the Pharaohan characters scrolling down the screen. Other then himself, there was only one other person in the Hellfire Clubs capable of reading Pharoahan. And these days, Daemon knew Khalid Hunter could care less about whatever information Daemon was hoarding.
He might feel differently, though, had he the vaguest clue of the volume of information Daemon had downloaded from the Followers Den in Southern Egypt. [Shifting Sands] Khalid had assumed that Queen Nefer, his Pharaohan wife in his previous incarnation, had only recorded history. But she had also recorded predictions – visions she had seen of things that were yet to be. Daemon had been concerned with two particular predictions as of late.
The first one was similar to something Khalid had written down absent-mindedly earlier [Blood Feud]. "From the towers, a tidal wave of darkness will smother world, extinguishing the light of freedom. Dawn will come, but not until the price is paid in blood." If not for the several instances that Khalid's idle Pharaohan scrawls had turned out to be key indicators of future events, be probably would have left the crumpled piece of paper in the wastepaper basket he found it in.
The second one was: "Like the etches on a sundial, the Lion sees the night approaching on him. Damnation become Salvation. In his final hour, he makes his stand with two demons among men and defies the heavens. Betrayed by man, he once again sinks into the sand…" Something about this one bothered him - even more so than the first. He could almost feel the assimilated portions of Kailon's persona whispering in his ear, but ever since his separation from the symbiotic Power Elemental, Ra, he could not completely trust those feelings. He would just have to wait and see.
"Gabe… There you are!" He heard a voice shout from the entrance. Even though he knew she couldn't read anything on the computer link, he closed it anyway.
"Looks like they finished a bit of work on the Oasis," Sharon Stokes said as she made her way to him.
Daemon glanced out of the corner of his eye, taking one moment to utter a command in Pallan. "Look presentable, guys. The girlfriend is here." After turning the transmitter off, he greeted her with a kiss. There was an uneasiness there - something different about how they're lips touched. No, she wasn't angry with him, but she was definitely uncomfortable. "Sure have, baby. I told them that everything had to be perfect just for you."
"Mmmm-hmmm…" Sharon answered. "I hope you’re not being too hard a taskmaster on my account. I’d hate for them to associate hard labor with me.”
Daemon chuckled a bit and smiled broadly. "I'm keeping them on schedule, but trying not to rush them. I want the Oasis in tip-top shape when we go home for Great-Grandpa Tekon's birthday."
"Four hundred years old," Sharon said with a sigh. "I can't believe it..."
"Well when you've got a remnant of Ra, living that long is fairly common."
"Not that," she said as she walked closer to the observation window and stared out at the huge spacecraft. "I guess...I guess I'm just nervous."
"About meeting my family?" Daemon asked.
She nodded silently.
Daemon walked up behind her and held her around the waist, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "You don't have a thing to worry about," he said comfortingly. I'll be nervous enough for both of us. "You're beautiful, intelligent, funny - they'll love you."
"I guess..."
Just… don't be surprised if my walking in there is a shock."
"I know," Sharon answered, remembering Daemon having mentioned that he hasn’t seen his family since leaving Earth as Daemon-Ra so long ago. "Have you decided about Khalid, yet?"
"No, I haven't. Hashad wants me to bring him for some reason. Probably has something to do with the 5000th anniversary of Lord Kailon's 'Lion and the Snake' reading coming up. I haven't even mentioned it to him."
"It's your decision. Just like everything…" Sharon said. Daemon was about to ask what she meant by that when she cut him off. "So," she said, stepping sideways out of his embrace. "I noticed that you’ve been spending a lot of time in the superhuman database. Who’s the villain of the month this time?"
"Everyone actually," Daemon answered curtly playing with the small computer device in his hand. "There are just way too many of them still running around out there. Something has to be done. As for who’s at the top of the list right now, that’d be Black Vein - Darkheart in particular."
"Considering everything that’s gone on lately, I can’t say I didn’t expect you to start taking the offensive. But why Darkheart? Why not the Illuminati?”
"Well, the Illuminati have been pretty quiet lately, and after learning the depth of their operations from Monet, I doubt we have the resources right now to make a dent. As for Darkheart and Black Vein, I’m damn sure they’ve got something to do with the violent “illness” that’s been popping up all over the world. Toronto, Montreal, Albany, Philadelphia, and then Cincinnati had riots just last night. It's getting worse and spreading fast. You’ve seen how those people were acting on the news. Even the cops were affected. It's just not natural.”
"Well bringing out people’s darksides is certainly his specialty. So what’s your plan?”
He smiled. "Easy. Put a team together and blow shit up.”
Now it was her turn to smile. "I’ll give you one thing. You get straight to the point, don’t you."
Daemon kissed her on the cheek and gave a wink as he placed his headset back on, returning to directing the Pallan construction crew. “And that’s why you love me.”
Sharon just nodded as she watched him yelling in an alien language at someone down below. She did love him, but she wondered if that was going to be enough.
***
Somewhere in China
The structure was extremely odd-looking in contrast to the trees among which it stood tall, overlooking the rolling hills of the countryside. The towering building jutted out from the ground as though it had impaled the very earth upon which it stood. As it rose high into the air, the very tip of it curved slightly in one direction, giving it the appearance of some giant, hooked dagger. The total blackness of its surface could only be distinguished from the darkness of the night by the soft red glow that emanated from the mystical engine within. The surrounding trees and shrubs sported a chilly layer of white frost and dangling icicles from the cold created by this evil construct.
At the base of the spire, a large dark figure moved among several cloaked men. A lightning bolt tattoo across his eye symbolized the power he held over the others, and his position as second only to The Master. The cloaked figures gathered into a circle and interlocked their arms, chanting something barely audible in a language foreign not only to this country, but to this dimension. The man known as Darkheart watched on as the Crimson Dawn energy harnessed from the spire was absorbed into the circle of monks. The entire area took on a harsh scarlet hue. With the chanting becoming louder, more pronounced, a small sphere of crimson energy formed at the center of the circle. Expanding outward until it almost touched the monks themselves, the sphere grew not only in size, but in power and brightness. Darkheart took several steps forward, his eyes wide in anticipation. Still with arms together, the cloaked men finally fell to their knees and bowed as the sphere of energy exploded to reveal an old man who landed hard on the ground before them.
Darkheart stepped over the fallen monks, their life energies consumed as well by the incantation, and covered the naked body in the center of the circle. A pale, withered hand reached into the folds of the black robes Darkheart offered him. Finding the strength returning to his legs, the man stood and hooded himself.
Darkheart took a step back from the man and bent to one knee, head bowed in respectful submission. "Welcome back…Father."
"You have done well," the old man said, a hand touching Darkheart on the shoulder. "I can feel the Crimson energies building on this world already."
"All is going according to plan."
"Have you assessed any dangers to our agenda?"
"I have tested the special ones as you suggested, but I found none great enough to stop us, M'Lord."
"Then we are well on our way. But let us not waste time with idle chat," he said, lifting Darkheart to his feet. "We still have much to do."
~~End Prologue~~