Age of Evil
A Reproduction of the Ancient text


“There’s No Turning Back”


Written By:
Zachary Burz


Once you open this book your body, mind and soul will be taken through eyewitness accounts! You’ll travel into danger head first, not knowing whether you’ll make it out alive! Join Erendore Luminessa as he takes you through his journey to destroy the Dark Lord and the army of undead minions. But be forewarned, once your journey begins, there’s no turning back!


Author’s Dedication page


This book is dedicated to


All my Friends

My Family

And

Patrick A. Kenny

For assisting me with the editing and publication of this book


Chapter 1: The Prophecy

In the kingdom of Colys, there was a quaint little village, which held very peaceful people. They worked hard to make a living; they grew crops for their families, and produced livestock to trade for furs. But no matter how cheerfully they worked, they weren’t happy. By looking into their eyes, you could tell something was wrong. Those eyes always darted back and forth looking for something. The reason they did this was because they did it out of one thing: fear. They feared that their master would punish them for trying to run away.
You might ask, “Who is this master they fear?” Their master was someone of pure evil. This being was so terrifying that when someone looked into his eyes, they would probably go mad with terror. This being was a Dark Lord. But he was no ordinary Dark Lord; he was more evil than the devil himself. No one knows which depth of hell spat him out. All they knew, was when he came, he brought darkness over the land, and most of all: death. He was the Dark Lord of Death: Lord Muerte. Those who served the Dark Lord were outcasts, who became his subordinates and became the cruelest beings on the earth. But none of them were half as evil as him.
The people in the village were working hard to sell their goods at the market. The farmers had their sons working out in the field, mothers were teaching their daughters how to sow beautiful tunics, coats, cloaks, boots, belts, and all sorts of garments fit for a king. The market was a beautiful place; it was full of people hustling and bustling, to get goods for themselves. There were vegetables, fruits, tools, and furniture; there was almost everything you could buy. But it was soon not to last, because everyone heard a noise all too familiar. There was the sound of horse’s hooves in the distance. The sound got louder and one by one, people stopped what they were doing. Soon, the market fell silent as a graveyard. At the distance were soldiers, in full armor, carrying shields with horrible patterns of serpents, skulls, dragons, and all other creatures that represented evil. The riders entered the village with a thunder of hooves, and noises of horses whinnying, snorting, and there were shouts of “Whoa!” and “Get out of the way, peasant!” Stalls were turned over, fresh vegetables and fruits squashed. The villagers ran out of the way, but were too scared to scream, or even utter a whimper. Then, as soon as it began, the terror stopped. The people looked in fear at not at the riders, for they saw them every day. The riders usually made their rounds in the villages. The soldiers consisted of orcs, goblins, trolls, gray dwarves, dark elves, but most of all: undead. There were hundreds of undead soldiers in Lord Muerte’s army, and the sight of them made a persons skin go cold. They were mostly bones, but sometimes, they still had pieces of rotting flesh dangling at their faces, pieces of flesh from when they were alive, but they had one thing in common. The undead all had glowing blood-red eyes. That was the most terrifying thing about them, their eyes seemed to look deep into your body, mind and soul, find your greatest fear, and use it against you. But they were not scared of the soldiers; they were scared of their leader. At the front atop a pitch black horse, with a mane and tale that seemed to look like black fire, rode a figure. This creature, or whatever he was, wore a helmet that consisted of two colors; dark red and black. The helmet part itself was red, the visor was pitch black. His tunic had the same colors, one half red, and the other half black. Toggles down the front, in which the ends resembled serpents, fastened the tunic. His trousers had the same colors as did his boots, but where one side of his clothing was red, the separate clothing had the color black, and vice versa. The cloak he wore was pitch black. Strapped to his back, was a sword, in which the hilt was in the form of dragon’s wings. The handle was covered in a pattern, which resembled snake scales, and at the end of the handle was a ruby skull, with sapphire eyes. The scabbard was a dark blue, with designs of serpents coiling around the scabbard; each individual scale was either gold or silver. This being was the dark lord’s second in command: Deathsword. Deathsword was the most loyal to Lord Muerte, and his sword was not for show. During the undead war he was said to have killed nine hundred Elvin master swordsmen, unaided, and he took them down, one by one. By doing this act of evil he earned the title, The Cursed Swordsman.
Deathsword looked around the village, his eyes surveying the disgusting villagers who feared him and his lord. The sight of the village just made him want to vomit at the sight of it. Deathsword then turned to his men and shouted, “You know what to do! Search the village for every young man in the village. Go!” The soldiers then dismounted their horses, and began to go on what seemed like a rampage through the village. The villagers ran away from the soldiers, screaming and knocking over people who got in their way. But no matter how hard they tried, whether they locked their doors, or hid in secret compartments, the soldiers got what they wanted. All the while, Deathsword sat in his saddle watching his soldiers do their dirty work. By just watching them do this act of evil gave him happiness, and he kept to himself, a small chuckle of joy. In just a few minutes, the soldiers had gathered a group of boys, and young men, all surrounded by horrifying soldiers. All the villagers had now gathered at the soldiers and were trying desperately to get their sons back. Death Sword had to order some of his men to line up and keep the villagers back with their shields. There were shouts of “You can’t do this!” “Give me back my son!” “We need our boy!” “You dirty thieves!” and “You cruel monsters!” The shouting of protests was starting to get on Deathsword’s nerves. He couldn’t stand all the shouting of these people, saying that they had no right to do this. But they were wrong; by establishing control over this area they had every right. He finally couldn’t stand it any longer, and with a voice that sounded like thunder, he shouted, “SILENCE!”
The villagers then went quiet, not one person moving. Deathsword looked around and said, “You all had better stay silent, or I’ll burn this village to the ground! The dark lord has provided protection to you and this is how you repay him? The young man who is said to destroy the dark lord has to be found and destroyed. I expect no interference from a bunch of second rate squabbling peasants.”
There were some shouts from the villagers such as, “We don’t care about the dark lord!” and “Damn him to darkness!” All around there were shouts of angry villagers. The hell spawned horde of the dark lord, had trouble keeping them back. Deathsword then unsheathed his sword, raised it high in the air, and let loose dark magic. The magic then took form and at first it was barely recognizable. Then what seemed to be a head formed from the magical energy. A long serpentine neck, connected to this stream of magic formed, and let out a blood-curdling hiss. The eyes and tongue glowed like wild fire. It arched its long body and showed poisonous fangs. Then, as soon as it began, it stopped. Deathsword sheathed his sword back into its sheath. After a few moments of silence he said, “If you don’t want to fall by my blade, and have my friends have a little fun with you,” the undead soldiers seemed to smile at the mention of this thought. Deathsword resumed, “I suggest you keep quiet! We’ve already had enough trouble with another village. The last thing I want is a whole village of two-bit peasants showing their anger at me.” The villagers, at this remark, backed away. They knew better than to arouse Deathsword’s wrath. He once burned down an entire city because someone insulted the Dark Lord. Then Deathsword said in a mocking voice, “Have a nice market day. We’ll be enlisting your sons into the Dark Lord’s army, if you don’t mind.” Then he turned his horse and galloped away with the rest of the battalion behind him. The villagers stared with worry and fear. They looked like this because they knew that they would never see their sons again. All they could do was pray that someone would save them from this evil.


Chapter 2: The Journey.

The ride to the Dark Lord’s fortress was a long and painful journey. Through, forests, mountains, deserts, and almost any harsh conditions you could think of they went through. They didn’t stop to rest, or eat; they just kept walking on and on. Every time a prisoner got out of line he received ten lashes of the whip, with a nail attached to the end. Sometimes when the whip landed, the nail dug in and ripped off pieces of flesh. It was agony to have it rip, so the prisoners did their best to try and keep in line. Some of them collapsed, died, or starved to death, many of them went for days without water. When one of them died, the undead soldiers did nothing but trample over the dead corpse. On one occasion, one of the prisoners collapsed, tired and hungry. He whispered so low that you could barely hear him. “Water…please give…me w-water…” his voice was filled with pain and suffering. But instead of granting his request, the guards did nothing but whip him to get him up. Soon it caught the attention of Deathsword who asked, “What’s going on here?” One of the undead replied, “This man collapsed sir, and he’s begging for water.” The Cursed Swordsman looked down at the poor soul, the man begging for just a tiny sip of water. Behind the helmet, there was nothing. But then there came a chuckle. It wasn’t very pleasant; it was the kind of chuckle that would come from someone who was thinking something evil. After the chuckle Death Sword replied, “Of course he can have water, give him this.” He threw a leather water pouch at the man’s feet. The man weakly reached out, unscrewed the cap, and drank. He drank in big gulps, but then he quickly spat it out. His mouth spat out a disgusting brown hot liquid. “It’s hot MUD! You said I could have water.” Death Sword chuckled, “I did say that. But you didn’t specify whether you wanted it clean or dirty. Nor did you explain if you wanted it to be hot or cold.” The man then started begging, “Please may I have some clean cold water, my lord?” asked the prisoner; he asked nicely because he didn’t want to make Death Sword angry. The Cursed Swordsman answered, “I don’t have water. But you can have some cold wine.” Death Sword threw another leather pouch down and the man drank it eagerly. He continued to drink in big gulps until he consumed every drop. Deathsword watched intently and when the man was finished he asked, “How long before you can stand up?” The man answered, “A few minutes and I’ll be fine sir.” At that response, Death Sword said, “We don’t have a few minutes. That means I no longer need you.” He then snapped his fingers, and the man suddenly reeled over. He felt that his whole stomach was on fire. He couldn’t stand the pain. He started screaming in pain and agony and screaming, “What’s happening to me?!” All the while, Death Sword was laughing evilly, but his minions weren’t. They didn’t know what was going on. Why had their leader given the man a pouch of wine? Why was the man reeling over and screaming in agony? Death Sword then said, “That “wine” I gave you, you ignorant fool was actually my own brew of a special poisonous acid. It responds to my magic when I snap my fingers. After I snap my fingers it starts burning your organs. I was planning to let you live if you recovered quickly, but since you can’t, I have no need for you.” He then said to his men, “Throw him in that pit!” Death Sword pointed in a specific direction, in which his men’s eyes followed. The pit was an exceptionally large one. It looked like it was a hundred thousand meters deep. It was pitch black and nobody new what was down there, and nobody wanted to find out. The soldiers picked the screaming man over to the pit, held him over and dropped him to his doom. You could hear his screams fade slowly as he plummeted towards his death. Then, there was silence. Deathsword then turned towards the other prisoners and asked in a mocking tone, “Anyone else feel, tired?” No answer came from the prisoners. All the while they were harboring feelings of hatred and fear. They hated this man who treated every single one of them, like garbage. He treated them like dirt he had just scraped off his boots. But they also feared him. They feared him because he was under the command of the most evil and most terrifying dark lord in history. They never saw what this monster had done, but they didn’t want to imagine it. They feared that if they imagined it, they would all start crying and babbling, begging Deathsword to let them go. But he would only laugh at them and kill anyone who dared to defy his lord’s rule.
After the long period of silence Deathsword said, “If no one has anything to say then we shall continue our “pleasant” journey” He then kicked his horse and they were on their way. They passed through dangerous forests, scorching hot deserts, and who knows what else. Every time they passed a village, the undead soldiers did their work. They rounded up all the young men in the village to be taken to Lord Muerte’s fortress. The prisoners all wanted to cry out, “Please! Help us! Please help us!” But they couldn’t, because they knew that Deathsword would punish them in the worst possible way imaginable. Every time they stopped at a village inn or to camp, the prisoners would get nothing to eat. They didn’t get one little scrap of food, not even a crumb of bread. Deathsword didn’t give them anything because he wanted to break their spirits. He didn’t want them to look like proud men walking to their deaths. He wanted them to be broken so that the whole world knew how terrifying Lord Muerte could be. Once, a prisoner got brave enough to try and steal some food for his compatriots. But he was not so lucky. As a punishment he got one hundred lashes from a whip with a red-hot nail at the end of it. It was pure torture! His screams could be heard everywhere. It was as if his worst nightmare had been intensified to an immeasurable height. The next morning he wasn’t with the group, and they didn’t need to ask what happened, they already knew.
After several more days Deathsword reined his demon horse to a stop. They couldn’t tell his emotions but it was clear he was happy when he said, “It feels good to be home.” The prisoners stood wide-eyed in terror as they walked through the land that belonged to Lord Muerte.


Chapter 3: The Dark Lord
It was worse than hell itself. That’s all the prisoners needed to describe it. Lord Muerte’s realm was nothing more than a barren wasteland. It was always dark, like you were in a nightmare and couldn’t wake up. There were dead bodies everywhere with flies and maggots feeding on the rotten corpses. Blood was splattered everywhere. The trees were all black and had nothing on them except crows, ravens, and vultures, all waiting for their next meal. But the most frightening object of all was Lord Muerte’s fortress itself. The structure was all tall dark and frightening and forbidding. It was like a huge torture chamber increased to a frightening size. When they approached the gates they saw statues of gargoyles, dragons, demons, and all kinds of creatures of evil. There were members of Muerte’s army everywhere, undead soldiers, goblins, orcs, dark elves, grey dwarves and who knows what else. They passed through the courtyard, which was infested with Muerte’s minions. The prisoners looked for ways to escape but there either were none, or they were too afraid to escape. As they entered the courtyard, Deathsword dismounted his horse and an undead soldier took the horse away to the stables. They then crossed the courtyard and entered the keep to where Muerte himself and his whole court were assembled.
They entered the keep and into the court where there were nearly twenty or so men assembled. Most of them were either wizards or warriors who were outcasts. Each one of Muerte’s courts was an outcast or someone rejected. They all served the dark lord because he was the only one who took them in and understood how they felt and recognized their power. Then the prisoner looked up and at the very end was the dark lord himself.
Muerte was seated on a blood-red throne, which seemed entirely to be made of human bones. At the top of the throne rested a statue of a small dragon on its hind legs, with its wings spread out. Muerte himself was dressed in pitch-black armor, which overlapped like dragon scales. At the knee joints and elbow joints there was a plate that was shaped like a skull. He wore a battle helmet in which the top resembled half of a sphere and that widened just a little bit in a straight line as it reached down to his neck. It had slits wide enough for his eyes and mouth. Muerte wore a long black cloak that when he stood up it was only about two or three inches off the ground. The armor was light but was very effective in protection. There were no openings between the slates, so that an enemy sword or dagger could not slip through the spaces of plates like regular armor. Strapped to his back was a black-bladed Elvin style sword. But the most horrifying part of Muerte himself was his face, or what remained of it. The head that wore the helmet was a pitch-black skull with bright blood-red eyes with black pupils. This was how evil Muerte was; he was so evil that his very bones were black. Legend told that when he was born or first appeared, his bones were already pitch black as midnight. It was as if he had an evil power that was waiting to be awakened. He was the Supreme Dark Lord, the leader of all dark lords.
When he spoke it was a rich, haughty and smooth voice. But at the same time it was menacing, it sent shivers down your spine and made your blood run cold. He stood up and approached the returning party. “Ah, Deathsword,” Muerte exclaimed, as his second in command came towards him, “How was your trip? I hope those peasants didn’t give you much trouble did they?”
“No my Lord,” replied Deathsword, “They didn’t give me much trouble.”
“Excellent.” said Muerte, he seemed to smile at the thought and then asked mockingly, “These are the latest recruits for my army?” He motioned towards the prisoners.
Deathsword replied, “They are my Lord. I have broken all of their spirits, so they don’t have the strength to resist.”
“Good.” said Muerte, “Have them killed, and turned into undead for my army.” He turned to head towards his throne.
“As you wish, my Lord.” replied Deathsword.
“You’re sick.” said a voice.
Muerte turned around quickly, wanting to find the voice that had insulted him. “Who said that?” he demanded. There was silence as nobody said a word. Muerte then asked, “Is there anyone who knows who insulted me?” A red-robed man with a skull for a face and with a black cloak and hood answered, “I saw the man who said it, my Lord.”
Muerte replied, “Then bring him forward Malcorez.” The red-robed man then went to the line of prisoners, grabbed one by the neck, dragged him forward and threw him at Muerte’s feet. The dark lord stared down at the man who insulted him, this piece of dirt.
“Stand up.” Muerte commanded.
The man did nothing; he just remained in his normal position.
Muerte reached down and grabbed him by the neck with his black-armored gauntleted hand. He was not used to people, let alone ordinary humans, disobeying his orders. “I said stand up,” the dark lord said more seriously. He forced the man in a standing position, but the man had his head still down. Muerte grabbed him by the hair and forced the man to look at him in the face. The man didn’t show fear. He had a calm face, with brown hair and brown eyes. You could tell even if he was a human he was very annoying and you would immediately hate him. Muerte then asked calmly but as if he didn’t care, “What is your name, boy?”
“I’m not a boy, I’m eighteen years old,” the man said. “I’m a full grown man.”
Muerte replied, “You are a boy to me because I have lived longer than you can imagine. Now answer my question, what is your name…boy?”
The youth replied, “My name is Jacob.”
“Jacob, what?” asked Muerte.
“Do you want me to give you my last name?” replied Jacob.
Muerte then moved his hand from Jacob’s hair to his neck and tightened his grip to the point where Jacob tried to pry Muerte’s fingers open.
“When properly addressing me,” said Muerte, “You say, “Jacob, my Lord” not anything else. Now say it.”
Jacob then said, “My name…is J-Jacob, m-my L-Lord.” He said it with much annoyance.
Muerte then released his grip and dropped Jacob to the ground. As he was standing up, Muerte said, “Now why do you find me sick, Jacob?”
Jacob replied, “Because you enjoy killing people and turning them into monsters. That’s just sick.”
Muerte replied, “Oh it is, is it? That’s not what I call it. My subordinates and myself all call it an act of enjoyment and pleasure. The one’s who are sick are your kind Jacob.” All around you could hear the sound of the dark lord’s subordinates chuckling evilly to themselves.
Muerte then grabbed Jacob by the neck so tightly that Jacob began gasping for air. Muerte then said, “Listen carefully if you can. I was planning on giving you a quick and painless death. But since you’ve insulted me I think you deserve something more…horrifying. I’m going to have my subordinates give you the most painful death imaginable. Then after that if you’re still alive, I’ll then torture you in the most horrible way possible. It’ll be much worse than your worst nightmare come true. Then after that, I’ll turn you into a mindless monster and have you kill all the people you love. Your friends, family, and even the girl you hoped to marry. Think about it. Think about killing your own family and friends, the people you love. If your mind is still your own you won’t be able to stop yourself. You’ll try to will yourself to stop, but you won’t. Because you’ll have no control over your own body.”
At this thought, Jacob started screaming out, “No, no! Please don’t do it! Leave them out of this! Please!” Muerte then motioned to some soldiers to get the boy out of his sight. As they dragged him away he was still screaming, shouting, crying, and begging for mercy and for Muerte to leave his family alone. His shouts could not be heard as he was dragged out of the keep and towards Muerte’s torture chamber. Muerte then said to Deathsword, “Take the prisoners away to become part of my army.” Deathsword and his men led the prisoners out all screaming and begging for their lives. All shouts could be heard that they would do anything if Muerte spared their lives. One man shouted, “Please, my Lord! Please spare my life! I’ll do anything!”
Muerte replied, “You’ll already do anything once you’re dead!” As the prisoners were led away, Muerte began to chuckle evilly. Then that evil chuckle began to turn into an evil laugh. It was a laugh of a madman. It was the laugh of a monster. It was the laugh of someone more evil than the devil himself. It was the laugh of Lord Muerte, the dark lord of death.


Chapter 4: The Shadow Warriors

Muerte’s deeds were indeed the most evil you could imagine. He burnt towns, villages, castles, and even whole countries to the ground. He committed evils that no one dares to utter. But his deeds did not go unpunished. A few miles away from the kingdom of Colys was the city Melgaesia. It was a thriving city, filled with joy, and ruled under a wise king. In this city there was a temple, which belonged to the most skilled and fearsome warriors ever to cross Muerte’s path. They were called the Shadow Warriors. They were an ancient organization, devoted to trying to bring peace to the world. Shadow Warriors used a special type of magic called shadow magic. Most magic in the world consisted of six elements: earth, fire, water, wind, light, and darkness. Shadow magic was a combination of all elements, allowing the warrior to use all six elements. Shadow Warriors used two basic weapons: the shadow sword, or the enchanted sword. The shadow sword was a weapon made entirely of solidified shadow giving the blade a black hue. The shadow sword could also cut through anything except for enchanted swords, shadow swords, and weapons made of a special type of alloy. The enchanted swords were more common because making shadow swords took a lot of time. They had the same properties as the shadow sword except that it didn’t have a black hue, and had only a slight resistance in cutting dense materials. The temple in which the Shadow Warriors in resided reflected an image representing all things that stood for good. It was where the Shadow Warriors trained and honed their skills, so they could take down any evil force.
In one particular chamber of the temple there were a group of children listening to a story of how the world was created. The man telling the story was Master Maldor.
Maldor was part of the Shadow Warrior counsel and was very well respected, as a great warrior, politician, and peacemaker. He wore a brown cloak and hood with dark brown robes. He wore brown riding boots and a black belt, which in its sheath resided his enchanted sword. He had a brown beard and dark blue eyes. He had a face that was kind and gentle. But when in battle he became a hardened warrior. All the children listened intently as Maldor wove his tale, transporting them to another world. “As you know,” began Maldor, “There was at first no world for us to live in. There was nothing but empty space. There was nothing except for the Elemental Masters. They were powerful beings; each one controlled one of the six elements to its fullest extent. After a long time the Masters decided to create a world in their own image. No one knows why they created it, they just did. They pooled in all their magic and created our world. They then gave birth to life with animals, and plants to occupy their world. Then each master chose one animal or mystic being to represent himself. The Master of Fire chose the dragon, for he was the mystic being who mastered the flame. The Master of Water chose the sea serpent, because he ruled the sea. The Master of Wind chose the griffin, for his mastery in the use of the air. The Master of Earth chose the troll, because he was one with the mountain. The Master of Light chose the unicorn, because of his noble appearance and he represented all the forces of good. Finally after much deliberation with himself, the Master of Darkness chose the demon horse, for it was untamable and was a servant of evil. The world then went on, living in peace. Then one day the Master of Darkness decided that the world should be his for the taking, not to be shared among the other Masters. He then converted the Masters of Fire and Earth, the beings with the most destructive magic, to help him in his dark cause. The Master of Light managed to prevent the Masters of Water and Wind to joining the Master of Darkness. There waged a great war, mountains trembled, canyons formed, the sea crashed, but neither side could gain the advantage. The Masters were all equal on terms of magical power. Then the Master of Light cast an ancient spell, which encased them all in stone, for he and the Masters of Wind, and Water could not exist without the other Masters, otherwise the world would be thrown out of balance and into chaos. They were then encased in stone. But the war was not all for naught, because two orders were born. One was the Knights of Light and the other the Knights of Darkness. The Knights of Darkness believed that the Master of Darkness should rule the world. But the Knights of Light realized that if the Master of Darkness were to be resurrected, chaos would reign. These two orders still fight for their own beliefs.”
The children sat in awe as Maldor finished his story. After he finished he then said, “Alright, that’s enough history for today. Go on to your sword practice lessons.” The children all cried out, “Awwww.” Some just sighed; some begged to hear more of Maldor’s fantastic stories. “I know, I know.” Maldor said as the children left, “But you can’t become Shadow Warriors just by listening to stories now can you?” He watched as they all left. He took great care for his students, as if they were his own children. Maldor then left his classroom and walked down to the practice room were all the Shadow Warriors were practicing their sword skills. Each warrior used a solid wooden sword, either straight, or curved. They all attacked and parried with wondrous speed, agility, and deadly accuracy. They also attacked with such gracefulness it seemed as if the two blades were dancing furiously. But Maldor wasn’t going to check on any trainees, he was going to see his top three best pupils. They were the best he had ever trained and there was one of them who always seemed better than the other two. But when together, those three were impossible to defeat in terms of agility, swordsmanship, and magic. Merlin went through until he saw them. They were all practicing their swordsmanship skill, and with such grace and power. He saw his students.


END OF SAMPLE

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Texte: (C) Kenny Publishing Inc. 2011
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.12.2010

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My friends family and Patrick A. Kenny