Storms of Hell
With my being busy working on trying to gain some ground upon the rough draft for Book III, I haven’t quite been affording the time required for new posts for Thoughts of the Creator. As such, not to leave my readers high and dry, I decided to pull a excerpt from Book I: A Mortal Mistake. As one of the favourites, it gives a glimpse of Heaven and Hell’s eternal conflict. Will try to get back on track next week hopefully here once all the distractions are cleared up. Until then, enjoy!
“Seeing the Legionnaires for the first time as they battled the demons among the temples and buildings, Conrad watched blood and energy run down temple stairs and splatter upon the walls. The Legionnaires of Orion moved with an efficiency he had never seen before, not even among the finest soldiers of Humanity. Even outnumbered they overcame their enemies with stunningly smooth attacks against the demon horde, resplendent in white armour laced in silver and yellow, their high-crested helmets hiding their faces as their massive wings of yellow energy surrounded them in bright light. The Legionnaires moved slowly through Valkadia as the noose tightened. Suffering few losses, the Legionnaires of Orion continued forward with a single, divine purpose.
Mammon, the Dark Prince of Storms, stood atop the highest temple in the city centre, watching as his army slowly collapsed within his city of power. His army commanders continued to try to resist, reorganizing the army to continue to try to take as many lives as possible. Mammon unleashed a powerful dark storm down upon the invaders; orange lightning crashed to the earth as thunder echoed among the black clouds.
Rhimmon’s brother seemed strong of mind, unfazed by the invaders, despite their decimation of his forces—until he heard the beating wings of his true enemy. Conrad could see that even a Dark Prince feared those wing beats. The Ancient Lord of Orion landed atop a tall temple directly across from him.
Father of the First to Fall, Oron stood tall, his white wings closing silently behind him, glowing orbs of yellow locked upon his enemy. Bloodshed and slaughter continued silently, all sound dissipated by his mere presence. The storm lost all fury, turning from howling winds to the slightest breeze that blew his long yellow hair behind him.
Mammon, Dark Prince of Hell’s Storms. By Decree of the House of Orion and its Legion, you’ve been tried for your crimes against the Dominion of Heaven. Guilty of all charges, you are to be executed for all that you have done. Oron pushed his cloak behind his white wings, slowly reaching behind his neck and drawing his long two-handed sword from between his white wings.
The gold blade of Orytheosykius shone brightly, as did the splendid armour hidden beneath the robes. In a blur the mighty wings flashed the Ancient forward, leaving his blurred figure behind him. Mammon’s great spear deflected the golden blade but was unable to stop the attacker; Oron’s shoulder crushed into his giant grey chest. Conrad watched as the Dark Prince was slammed full force into the top of the temple, shaking the very foundations. He also noticed that the Legionnaires resumed their precise assault, seeming to draw unseen power from their master standing above them, fluidly dodging all attacks and retaliating in terrifying fashion. The strongest of the demon commanders could not hold them back any longer.
Orange tattooing began to burn to the surface as Mammon quickly regained his composure, escaping the Ancient’s blade and raining heavy fists down upon his enemy. The drive forced Oron back onto his heels. Quickly pivoting out of the way of a high blow, he retaliated with a terrible left fist to Mammon’s midsection. The punch lifted the demon from his feet, and Oron’s right hand stabbed deeply from above. Black blood covered the mighty blade as it plunged into the demon’s shoulder. Grabbing Mammon by the large horn protruding from his head, Oron smashed his opponent’s skull into the stone temple altar, shattering the black rock.
A blast wave ripped through the city when Mammon’s scream pierced the chaos. Debris and dust clouded the view of the battle below the powerful beings; the storm above erupted in anger. Clouds boiled furiously, rumbling from within as tornadoes began spiraling down into the city.
Mammon cursed ferociously, ejecting the blade from within his body, and unleashed a powerful burst of energy, forcing Oron back. Clenching his fists, his massive grey wings unfurling from behind him, his body stretched fully out as he kicked off hard to race toward the growing storm. Feeding from its power, he attempted to heal himself from the sacred wound created by golden Orytheosykius. Consuming the orange electricity from the growing storm, Mammon started to swell in size as he flew closer to the eye of the storm and the sanctuary he sought within its heart.
Among the ruins of the city only the Legionnaires stood, all their enemies either vanquished or lying lifeless as their souls became consumed by their lord. All watched the Dark Prince flee toward the sky growing ever larger. Upon the command of their leader, a general named Hektorius flew off to the sky, toward the battleground in the air.
Justice shall be done upon you, Mammon! No storm shall protect you from my wrath! “