The Doom That Came to Ardossia

A Tale of Tragedy and Rebirth

Chapter I.

The azure skies deepened a bloody, dark maroon, as the meteor streaked across the heavens, hailing its cascade of sinister fire.

With it came a crash as it collided with the Amiroth hillside, where dwells also the Ravine of Banishment. The earth parted violently and reluctantly, the silence of the land shattering into unseen pieces as the explosion of flames licked high unto the heavens, cursing once the oblivion that had given it birth, cursing twice that it should have returned after so long.

All the while Nature voiced her soundless cries, as if it were Damnation itself that walked alongside its creations; the trees and grass withered into dried, misshapen husks, and the land twisted as if a vampiric essence stole at its vitality.

A groan of pain resounded once more from the earth, all before the dark priests of Karoccha gathered thither - their veiled images casting a ghostly contrast among that destruction. Not a word was muttered from the dozen who had gathered; for the dreams had guided them thusly and without fail; and so they waited in silence.

Eventually the flames receded, and there came a tremor of movement from among that massive crater. It was the sound of grinding stone - as if a landslide had moved under the most violent of thunder-storms. Yet the reality was far greater than any of the priests could have imagined, as the great demon-god reared its titanic bulk from the depths, rising well over them in its height. Its body was human-like in shape, yet in lieu of flesh and bone its form was instead composed of solid rock and flowing magma. Runes of demoniac origin shimmered across its rounded earthy scales, and a low warbling groan resounded from its sinister head, which was not unlike the grumblings of a volcano only mere moments before erupting.

So the head of that thronging of priests ventured closer, the muscles of his legs quaking violently underneath his robe of ashy soot; for his entire being was now brought into question by the veritable god which stood over him.

“Praise be to Karoccha,” quoth he, “first of the demons and King of the ancient earth.” With an unsettling movement, the god motioned its eyes of glowing igneous rock, the rays of ochre light seeming to caress the man who writhed in perspiration before it.

The Priest of Karoccha continued, “We are guided to you through our dreams, for we see that Doom has come to our nation of Ardossia. Yet we are its denizens no more! For we are its outcasts, cursed into exile after voicing the truth you have shown us. Truly the world of Man is a wretched and cursed thing! The King only squanders his power of influence from on high, as his health wanes, and the land is defiled to suit their paltry endeavors.

“It is clear to me that Humanity is unfit to rule this land, let alone themselves. But you - you came to us in the night - showed us the meaning of this world in its infancy! From the stones and fires of chaos you forged anew this world, and it is only inevitable that you shall do so again. The people of Ardossia deny only the inevitable. But we - we embrace this Fate that you have given to us.

“And harken now! - for the city lies just a-ways yonder! The lords of men do not suspect your return; now is the time to strike! Take vengeance on those who banished you in times of old; take back what is rightfully yours! We are but your heralds, and will follow you to the very end; towards the crimson fires of victory!!”

The demon-god made no reply, its face shifting not an inch in expression. Yet its intentions were no less clear, as a low growl emanated from its fiery maw, once again shaking the ground to its very foundation.

Then came the rising of one massive leg, then another; each step scorched the virgin lands about it, bringing a searing trail of fire and brimstone from whence it passed. But Karoccha did not falter as its pace soon quickened, the demon-god’s path directed towards that distant city on the horizon, whose walls encased the line of Kings that had banished him so long ago.

Thus Doom came to Ardossia.

Chapter II.

A shadow lingered over the austere bed-chambers of King Ardos, thirty-second ruler of the line of Ardos. The old man coughed and wheezed into his sheets, as for the last several months he had felt his body weakening its grip upon his soul. The disease which afflicted him was indeed proven a mystery to that nation’s physicians. And according to their own accounts, this ague was no different from the normal case of fever; yet its influence stole fast over one’s own body, and the muscles quickly atrophied until they were but useless things to operate.

And what was worst of all, none of the known ailments had helped in curing his affliction. Not even the most powerful of healing magicks could assuage it, and so the King was left little choice but to die a slow and painful death.

At his side there kneeled his son, Vardos, second Prince in the line of Ardos. His long auburn hair fell over his shoulders in matted tangles, as he had lingered there both day and night since the illness had begun. It was clear to him that King Ardos would die any day now, and it seemed only comforting that his father should pass in the presence of one who dearly loved him.

“Vardos, my son,” rasped the King, his voice registering as little more than a whisper. “Come hither, and harken to my words. I am soon to leave this earth, but I would first impart what wisdom I have unto you; for though my mind is in a fog, my heart is no less with fiery purpose.”

Thus Prince Vardos did just so, as he inched his head only closer to that of his father.

“My time is come,” continued the King, “and after so many months of anguish, I see now the mighty angel of Death looming at my doorstep. He awaits me with a patience that is fast fading, and I know that soon I must go.

“But first, I shall tell you what I have seen whilst on the brink. Death comes not only for me, but for each and every person of this Kingdom. The end for Ardossia is nigh, Vardos, and the demon-god Karoccha walks again on this earth. He is approaching this very city as we speak! You must save yourself while there is still time.”

“But that cannot be,” spoke the Prince, doubtful that his father was not simply just talking out of delirium. “The first King Ardos, he was the one to banish Karoccha with the Gong of Yys. That was a thousand years ago, Father, and since, we have lived in uninterrupted peace…”

“Aye - and now he returns,” spoke King Ardos, his eyes leveling with that of his son. “The Gong of Yys can only do so much, and even the gods can remain dead for only so long. In this instance Karoccha was banished to a far corner of space - this the gods told me as I now rest my head on their lap - and he has marked his vengeful path hither back to this earth. Now comes the time for war, my son, and it is to you that I entrust the Fate of our people.”

The Prince knelt there frozen, unmoving, as he pondered the meaning of his father’s words. “Surely, it cannot be I,” he said, bewildered. “Prince Ardos is our commander-in-chief, and he is the rightful heir to the throne of Ardossia; not I.”

“That does not matter now,” replied the King. “For your brother is already dead - at the hands of this fiend, no less! It is now up to you to decide what shall happen to us. And should you decide to ring the Gong of Yys before the end, I will not blame you.”

“Father, you know I cannot do such a thing. Even if I were to lead your armies and ring the Gong of Yys, there would be untold destruction! You know that when our ancestors used it in times of past, that the Ravine of Banishment clove itself out from the earth, and still there were the times when it had torn asunder entire armies. Many of which included even our own. Our people are too dear to me… No - I would rather fight this fiend directly should he come. It is only right…”

The old man chuckled, before shaking under a fit of coughing. “Then do as you will,” said he, “for you are now King of Ardossia. Goodbye, my son, and may the gods be with you!”

So the King of Ardossia passed in his bed, the thirty-second of his line, and Prince Vardos wept for the love of his father.

“You will be forever remembered,” he said, choking back tears, though they still streamed in rivulets along his face.

He slowly returned to his feet, and suddenly the ground shook beneath him. A few moments passed before a knock came upon the door, and so King Vardos, the first of his name, answered.

“You may enter,” he beckoned, his voice still quavering somewhat from the shattering of the world he once knew. The chamber door opened, and an armored figure emerged.

“The city is under attack, my Prince,” said the man abruptly, rushing and bowing in a courtly gesture. He was none other than the Duke Varischal, Vardos’ most trusted confidante and dearest friend. “A great demon of torrential fire assaults our gates, and our men lay massacred along the city walls. It is truly a fearsome thing, my lord, for it breathes liquid hellfire from that of its stony maw. I fear, in fact, that the end might soon be upon us.”

So his father’s words were true, the King of Ardossia thought to himself. “And where is my brother, Prince Ardos? Is he not at the forefront of this battle, leading our armies against this demon as you say?”

The man’s face paled before choking out a reply, “N-nay,” he muttered. “Prince Ardos is dead. He was slain by the creature, lost among the countless flames that trails behind its very passage.”

A long moment of silence.

“And what news is there of the King?” the Duke inquired.

Vardos gritted his teeth in frustration. “He is dead, also. Somehow he has foreseen my brother’s death from among his deathly hallucinations, and has now chosen me to be his heir. I will be leading the armies of Ardossia, whether that be towards victory or a slow ruin.”

The King then closed his eyes, thinking of what they could do against such a beast. Then he remembered Ardos once telling him of the ancient weapons that this city had held, and how they were locked away deep within the palace’s armory. That had been so long ago, when the city of Ardossia was first claimed from its former state of ruin. The civilization that had dwelt there before, he knew, was far older than any of them could have imagined, perhaps as old as Karoccha himself. Certainly they were more advanced, as their shock-lances and ice-cannons were truly a force to behold when put to the use. Yet the technology had proven violently unstable following untold millennia of decay; and so the weapons were stored and isolated until they could one day be deciphered by Ardossia’s engineers.

That day had never come, as the weapons still proved exceedingly complex in design, not to mention that any small mistake could have resulted both in a visceral and horrific death. Even so, there was a part of the King that remained intrigued by the notion, as they would all surely die otherwise.

“Th-then what is your command, my King?” stuttered the Duke.

The silence parted as King Vardos finally spoke. “Bring me whatever men you can spare; I will be at the armory within the hour, and then I will show you how to defeat this demon-god. Go now, and posthaste!”

“As you wish,” Varischal replied; and so the King was left once more utterly alone.

“To think that it should all come to this,” he mused. Yet he did not linger any further on the matter, for his men now needed him, and the Fate of the world depended on his success.

Chapter III.

The halls leading to the palace armory loomed both empty and decrepit, as King Vardos and his men drew ultimately closer. According to his own count, they had all numbered a little over three-dozen in heads, and so the King was content with the force Duke Varischal had recruited. They gathered now through corridors and chambers that once resounded with the cheers of soldiers and the heroic ringing of steel being sharpened. Now they were but silent, though the state of the rooms remained no less pristine in condition. In sooth it had seemed that all life had suddenly disappeared from this place, as if it were cast aside to the Four Winds like a hailing of dust where once there was life.

Now only a discomforting silence remained, as mighty walls and pillars of golden iridescence rose high on either side, making its current inhabitants seem both small and frail in comparison to the sheer size of it all. Thus Vardos held up both his hands, pointing in different directions, commanding that his servants hoist the cranks at the end of that chamber. Meanwhile a bag was untied which hung loosely at his side. Inside it was a key twice the size of any normal one, nearly dwarfing that of his own hand, even. The King did not hesitate, however, before inserting the configuration of metal into the lock. He gave it a twist, and then he detected the movement of various mechanisms from behind those double-doors.

He signaled to his men who held the cranks, and their movement was one in unison as the doors slid sideways, revealing a chamber of incalculable distance across. At its center was a dais of an exceptionally wide diameter, and perched upon and around it was a series of weapons the likes of which had been long forgotten to that of the human race.

The King of Ardossia stepped forward, his cloak billowing soundlessly as he beheld what was at the center of that great and mighty room - a small gong and mallet, set on a plinth and overlooking the surfeit of weapons which surrounded it.

Yet all those present knew that it was too dangerous to venture close to that rounded cymbal; for in ages past it was said to have rent the earth amidst its sonorous sounding. By its singular, monotonous note was the Ravine of Banishment conjured out of the verdant fields of eld, and since then it had been rung only a half-dozen times more. Luckily with each instance the instrument was plucked from the palace with dutiful care, and stored within a soundproof container, the design of which only the city’s previous inhabitants could have had the knowledge and wherewithal to produce.

Hopefully, it would not come to that; yet even so, Vardos ordered that two of his men remove the device and store it in the container; taking care that it would be put to use only under the direst of circumstances.

The soldiers stole forward, as they were ones specially trained to handle such a device. Their hands trembled not in the slightest as they then lifted the instrument. Yet even so there came a quaking from along the ground, the air vibrating around the gong, with a potency that could have only been primordial. Something was causing the city to shake violently, enough so that it passed through the dampening springs of that chamber, which kept the whole of the armory steady so that the artifact was not struck.

With a keen dexterity, the first of the two men slowly brought it to a standstill. Meanwhile, the second held the container, where the Gong of Yys was carefully stored and sealed. The emanations ceased suddenly in their rapidity, though King Vardos still felt his stomach tightening regardless. His eyes gravitated both right and left, beholding the shock-lances and ice-cannons that were situated about him. He had heard from his father that such weapons could have frozen over entire armies, all before the projected shockwaves of thunder shattered them into tiny pieces.

Now he would use that technology to fell a god - one who supposedly loomed at twice Ardossia’s size, no less.

He only hoped that it would be enough.

The city of Ardossia echoed with the cries and chaos of battle. It was the whole of Humanity who comprised one side of the desperate conflict; the other being none else than the great demon Karoccha, himself.

The god lumbered forward on molten legs, the streets of men immediately catching fire in the lighted depths below. Throats sounded hoarse in the mouths of generals, desperate for the hell of their situation to end, as their armies turned from without to inward along those walls. The demon-god had plowed through the outer structure with ease. Ballista cannons were each being calibrated in its direction, with a speed and celerity that seemed twice the pace of regular human thought. Great spheres of iron were then cast upward, colliding in a volcanic fury with the titan’s enormous mass.

Yet those attacks were all but useless. Meanwhile Karoccha did not hesitate in bringing down both building and temple; both the homes of the rich and the poor; as his arms and legs moved about in mighty, cataclysmic swipes that could have torn a mountain asunder. At times there also came the magmatic bile which spewed from that great demon’s maw, burying all underneath it in a grave of smoldering basaltic rock.

Clouds of ash billowed overhead, the flames licking high unto the heavens with venomous fury. Truly it seemed that all hope had been lost for the human race, and that Ardossia’s Doom was assured.

Suddenly, there came a beam of arctic cold which collided with the demon. Karoccha lurched and the air quaked in resentment, as its one arm was now being cemented into that of solid volcanic rock; first by one blast, then another.

King Vardos looked stolidly onward, all the while keeping close attention to what the creature might do next. His voice boomed out over the top of the villas that still remained erect, where orders were quickly issued to his men, who stood next to those ancient, archaic weapons.

“Very good! His arm is now freezing; be sure that it stays as such. And you three focus fire now on his right leg.”

So the aim of Ardossia’s ice-cannons adjusted, as if in direct attunement to his voice. The demon’s one arm had now well-extinguished its flames, and the coalescing of ice was just beginning to appear alongside its surface.

It was then that King Vardos gestured to his men who held the storm-lances at their hips.

“NOW!! Aim for the base of its shoulder; and be sure that it is cut all the way through!”

The soldiers did so; they aimed and fired, their polearms each producing a succession of rings which shot outward, meeting squarely with that of its intended target.

Karoccha let out a groan of rage, as its arm and shoulder parted from its torso with a thundering boom! The rocky member fell downward, almost sluggishly, before crashing into Ardossia’s buildings with a mighty hailing of rubble.

Yet the creature did not falter in its conviction. And so it brought up its other arm before it, too, was frozen by those arctic rays. The shock-lances shot out once again, and another violent raining of debris came about whilst the second limb fell.

Now King Vardos ordered that his men focus on the head, as the demon-god was now helpless before his cunning. Yet by the time he had realized his critical mistake, it was already too late. Karoccha opened its maw and a torrent of volcanic bile came crashing downward, drenching both soldier and villa under a tide of scorching magma. Only the King and a few other groups of soldiers remained unscathed, as they were just a short ways outward from that hailing of fire and death.

Now would have been the time for retreat, he surmised. Yet where were they to go, with this being the very heart of their civilization? And better yet, could they even hope to flee against something as destructive and cataclysmic as Karoccha?

No; it was hopeless to flee before this god of demons. Not with it chasing after them at the very least. The King’s brow furrowed, his thoughts racing about in frantic desperation. All of his other means of retaliation had completely vanished. All hopes of victory now torn away from his arm’s reach.

All except one.

He turned to the Duke Varischal, who had remained at his side since the beginning of that gruesome battle. Now he was the one who held the container of the gong, and so King Vardos held out his hand expectantly.

“Give me the instrument,” said Vardos, his muscles now beginning to shudder at the thought of what he must do. “You have my permission to leave; gather as many survivors as you can, and bring them outside the circumference of these walls. Do so, and with full speed, man!”

“And what will you do?” asked the Duke in surprise, already knowing what King Vardos would say.

“It is time that I ended this chaos - once and for all,” he replied. “I will stall the demon. Go, and leave quickly! For there is no time to lose!”

The soldier nodded, before he and several others parted from that villa. Now only the King of Ardossia remained, his one arm clutching the container that would save his race.

“I am here, Karoccha!” said he, his voice piercing through the flames and rumbling, like a knife through butter. And as if it had been invoked from the depths, Karoccha turned to whence he stood, infernal eyes glaring with hellish intensity.

“For too long you have harried the peoples of this world,” he continued, his hands opening the lid of that container, now producing the Gong of Yys. “Now I will show you what it means to test our race for a second time. Depart this world, ye bringer of death, and never return!”

His palm gripped about the mallet; meanwhile the gong was suspended over his other hand. Once more the air shimmered about him, as if an unseen tide tugged at his very being. He saw that Karoccha was now opening its maw, and so he struck the gong, the note produced being one of stark finality.

A shockwave then reverberated outward, all the while the King of Ardossia was buried under that final barrage of magma. The earth tossed and turned; the heavens whorled in anticipation. And before the demon could do aught else, its gigantic form shimmered between the planes; disappearing into nothingness only seconds later.

It was then that cracks began to form where the god had only previously stood. They spread quickly, and the stones underneath Ardossia heaved and warped under the confusion of what had just happened. The soldiers, meanwhile, had gathered all that remained of their families and friends; and when the earth crumbled whence their home had once stood, they mourned the Fate of those deceased, along with giving thanks that the gods had delivered them from that day of Apocalypse.

Humanity had survived its time of reckoning, and King Vardos, it was said, was the one who had saved them.

Decades passed in the shadow of that ruin; yet in time there came another city in like manner to the first. This they named Vardion, in memoriam of the King who had reigned for less than half-a-day, but had given his all for his people. A special monument was built also unto the line of Ardos and the Kings that had brought about their prosperity. And so in time the people elected a new King, Varischal, the former Duke of Ardossia, who would lead that new city for generations to come.

Yet along the fringes of this new civilization, the black priests of Karoccha lingered still. For though their master was banished, still their dreams had not left them.

“The being Karoccha is banished,” spoke that head priest, “yet in time he shall again make his return. And if he then falls, he shall once more rise in the eons to come. So it is said in the Annals of the Black Book, that one day the demon-god shall rule the world, and Humanity will finally buckle under the weight of its transgressions. Until that day we will but wait, and multiply among ourselves.”

And so Humanity’s fate was secured; and the threat of Doom abated for a time.