The Gathering

[drake]

When heaven's life shall end,
And tear the world apart,
To sate wicked's demand,
And mate with power's heart.

A suffocating heat oppressed Drake, preventing his breathing and shrouding him in suffering. He winced as his skin crawled and felt as if it would soon peel away from his flesh, and he smelled burning hair about himself. He struggled to observe his surroundings through his burning eyes.

He stood in a massive, castle chamber encompassing a span of about two acres. Tall gray walls devoid of all tapestries or decorations composed the perimeter of the large square room, with glowing red mortar filling the space between the stones and holding the walls together. A large, deep wrought iron grate lined the edge of the floor, encapsulating the room in continuity as red hot flames hungrily licked the castle walls. The flames cast a shadowy illumination of the resulting chamber.

Large silver circular floodgates rose from the very center of the space, a metal chair resting atop. A slumped figure sat in the chair, arms pulled fully out to each side by long chains which fastened to the ceiling. The figure's head slumped low, as if weak on the verge of death. Drake noticed the same inscription from the tree etched into the floodgates below the chair. A shiver ran down the half angel's spine upon looking at the runes. Above the chair, Drake saw some kind of interdimensional portal. A mirror like film formed a circular pool of liquid which, if not for the gentle waving and occasional ripple of the pool, Drake would have mistaken for glass. A golden rim formed the edge of the pool, keeping it in perfect balance as to not spill over the edge. Two figures stood facing the chained person in the chair.

One short, unidentifiable shadowy figure with a drawn hood in a long cloak stood next to a tall ugly humanoid. He wore demon wrought armor and red, skin with metal spikes protruding covered his bald head. Two deplorable horns sprouted from his crown, and two black feathery wings, dripping with tar protruded from his back. Drake recognized this tall figure as a wicked host.

"The time has come," came a low gravelly voice which sounded like rocks grinding on broken glass. The lord spoke to the shorter, shadowy figure. "You have delivered everything required."

The hooded figure nodded. The lord produced a razor sharp glass shard which teemed with a bright magical glow of the plasma stream Drake had previously seen.

"With the final two shards, one connected to the divines and one connected to the world," the demon said, raising the magical glass, "We fulfil!"

The demon lord plunged the shard into the chained figure's chest, and a blinding flash of light illuminated the entire room.

Before Drake could see what happened, an inexplicably painful force in his naval violently tore him from the scene. His vision completely blurred and his body felt as if it crashed through a wall of solid oak. The sensation came again, and again as he broke through interdimensional barrier after barrier. He closed his eyes and curled his astral body up as to ward off the pain. Suddenly, a feeling of thousands of needles pricked the entirety of his existence, and his spirit swelled and bloated. Drake felt as if he could burst like an overripe tomato hurled against a stone wall, and his eyes felt as though they would pop from their sockets. His spirit stopped moving, and felt as if something had dragged him through a pit of lava. Then his spirit froze, feeling as if solid ice encapsulated him. And then he was suffocating.

Drake gasped for air and bolted upright, unexpectedly smashing his head on something. The young angel fell back in bed and curled up into the fetal position, gasping for breath and groaning in pain. Oh how he hurt! He coughed, and winced and throbbed and moaned out loud as the pain refused to subside. After several minutes, Drake became accustomed to the spiritual pain he incurred, and his mind turned to how terrible his body felt. His bruised and battered body cried out in pain, cut and gashed. Open wounds in his arms oozed, and blood stained his clothing in his abdomen. He rubbed his head from where he had bumped it, and slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Looking up, he noticed the friendly face underneath a white hood.

"Y-you," Drake said, voice wavering,"...you saved me." Drake said.

The man simply stared back at Drake.

"Thank you. I- I don't know what to say." Drake said.

Drake could see the man's face, obscured by shadows, move a bit to smile. The man reached up and pulled down his hood, exposing a severely burned and defiled face. Drake winced in sympathy.

"I didn't cause that, did I?" Drake asked sheepishly.

The man shook his head. He reached behind him and produced a plate of food and a tankard of milk, handing them to Drake.

""You don't talk much, do you?" The young angel asked.

The man smiled again. Drake started to get up, but clutched his side and fell to his bed in pain. The monk produced a long staff and gave it to Drake to use.

"Thanks," Drake said, taking the staff. "I just have to use the chamber pot." The young angel looked at the glowing blue staff in his hand and read, inscribed on the staff, "KOLI."

"Koli," Drake said. "Is that your name?"

The priest simply smiled, and opened the door for Drake.