Part 2

This is at current the final part of my fanfiction. I have no plans of revisiting the fanfiction in the near future.However the possibility of returning to it is still open.

The Sound of Silence

The sun was setting behind the azure ocean that lapped at the shores of Baia, sending rays of orange and red that merged together, filling the sky with a glorious sunset. The hustle and bustle of the local market, the sound of cartwheels and the haggling of street vendors echoed across the valley. The pungent aroma of a nettle and blackberry infusion wafted through the evening air, masking the brine and stench of fish. The glowing light of dripping candles warmed the windows of the port, the twinkling lights reflected in the green waters of the bay.

On the outskirts of the port, a gleaming white villa looked over the fishing village, old and proud and silent. An old man, wizened with age, sat down on the porch, crooning softly to himself, his spectacles misted up as tears dripped down from the end of his crooked nose. Suddenly he stood up and strode off into the distance, aware of the terrible peril about to befall his home, yet unwilling to help them. Octaboona disappeared in a wreath of shadows, never looking back at his home of eleven centuries.

♦ ♦ ♦

Kenspeckle Grouse fled from the port of Baia, the final words that he yelled at his brother resounding in his mind.

“You’re a failure. All that you do is worthless. You even failed at the most important task of your life. You were unsuited to be the Death Bringer. You failed the Passage. Our sister is dead. And you are solely responsible for that. If you weren’t so useless at your life then Elocin would still be alive!”

Kenspeckle didn’t care anymore. The weight of his depression laid upon him like a burden.

Yet it still was unable to quash his arrogance. He was dangerous. Still able to create terrible things yet no feeling for the effect it could cause. He knew some poor fool would pick up the Engine yet he didn’t care. He had created the most sought after object in magic science theory. Time to move on.

♦ ♦ ♦

A young child was playing in the middle of the town square when something caught his attention. He looked at the stone hourglass curiously, laughing at the bubbles in the pretty green liquid. He picked it up and squealed joyfully when the liquid turned red.

“Mama, mama! Look! It’s so beauti-”

The boiling red liquid evaporated becoming a sphere of roiling red energy that quickly expanded vaporising the toddler in seconds, his cry of delight cut off instantly. The stone cobbles of the square turned to dust, and the tall pine trees that surrounded it, withered and died when the energy struck them. The cheerful bustle of the marketplace was replaced by a cacophony of screams as the flesh was boiled off the bones of the people, which themselves were carbonized. The wooden buildings of the port burst into flames, snuffed out and obliterated by the ever expanding ball of death.

The parchment on the door of the villa disintegrated into nothing, the golden ink fading away, as the energy ripped through the ancient building, shattering glass and crumbling stone. The sound of the ocean evaporating, and the sizzle of dead fish was lost in the billowing clouds of steam that filled the air, blotting out the stars.

Every blade of grass, every stone, person and building, every living thing, every morsel of Baia was obliterated by the scarlet storm contained in the small stone hourglass.

♦ ♦ ♦

Oisin emerged from his bedroom, and walked along the beach, robe dishevelled and mumbled under his breath.

“The others knew I was best suited for the job. Who discovered the first texts on The Ancients? I did! Who knows more about the Sceptre, since the time of the Ancients and certainly more than my colleagues? I believe that would be me! Who can quote directly from the texts? I can! And who did they vote for? Him, that’s who, embarrassing, quite frankly. I was the only one who voted for me. I told them didn’t I? I told them I could do it. Just before we voted I said I wouldn’t talk too much and I would answer who ever asked me a question instead of asking them questions of my own. Curious old Oisin they called me. He’d ask so many questions about them that he’d be useless. The poor people wouldn’t get a word in edgeways!

That’s what they said.  But I can be useful whilst asking them a few questions. Friendly interest I call it. I mean it’s down right rude not to ask what century they’re from. Or what language, they speak. I’ll still have plenty of time. But no. They gave the echo stone to him.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

A cunning old grin broke out on Oisin’s face. “Or at least they would if I hadn’t taken it first” he chuckled gleefully. Oisin looked down at the small blue gemstone, that he held in his hand. Formerly translucent it was now the darkest indigo, a sign that a consciousness was contained with in it.  After sleeping with it by his side for three days, Oisin was feeling groggy and wanted to clear his head.

“And nobody thinks of old Oisin. It’s my birthday tomorrow. How about that. Absolutely marvellous. It’s my 500^th birthday too. But will anyone get poor Oisin a gift? Wish him many happy returns? Perhaps even smile? Well of course they wouldn’t would they. Just spends all his time looking at his texts, they say. Well they’re jealous obviously. Didn’t want me to get all the fame and glory. But a little appreciation would be nice. Not too much obviously. They’d never go that far. Oh well” he sighed.

Oisin stared mistrustfully at the ocean. “I don’t trust boats. If nature had intended us to travel across water, we would have been provided with fins. And fish, nasty little creatures. All wet and gloomy. Who’d want to be a fish?  They taste absolutely horrific too. All damp and fishy.” Oisin moaned. “Bad luck boats are” he muttered.

“And look at the red glow on the water. Bound to be trouble. It’s a sign I tell-”

The red energy blasted Oisin into atoms and started to retract, the hand that clutched the echo stone fell to the ground, just outside of the Desolation Engine’s deadly radius, cauterised by the very energy that had obliterated the rest of Oisin.

♦ ♦ ♦

The mortals never found out how the port of Baia was lost, with only a circle 200 metres wide of barren ground in its place, the ash of the once vibrant port scattered on the wind. And all that remained was a small stone hourglass in the very epicentre of the devastation, its calm green liquid bubbling away.

And Kenspeckle heard of what had happened, how the silence mysteriously fell upon what used to be a little pocket of humanity, and he was delighted. The Desolation Engine had worked exactly as planned; he had proved that he was indeed a genius. And as he laughed at the destruction of Baia, Octaboona wept, for his home was no more and he hadn’t saved one single soul from the terrible chaos and destruction that was the Science of Darkness.

Part 1

To those of you who were directed here from the golden god poem this is where my fanfic actually is.
To avoid any confusion the diamonds represent a change in time or location.


The Science of Darkness

Blood and Bone

Kenspeckle Grouse lay dying on the blood drenched table, as a demented Clarabelle, black veins standing out from her face, shrieked and slashed at the sodden remains of his disfigured, mutilated body. As his blood dripped irregularly onto the floor forming a crimson puddle of softly congealing blood he choked out his final words.

 “Octaboona, my brother, I forgive you. Tell Elocin that I love her.”

 Kenspeckle smiled, it lit up his face, removing the string from the saltwater in his blood that leaked from the shards of a tiny crystal phial which he wore around his neck. He stared down at the throbbing red mess that used to be his chest, at the battered splintered bones of his rib cage and the bleeding gap where his heart, tattered and torn, weakly pumped and at the scarlet froth that drowned his lungs. Slowly his eyes became lifeless and dull, the silence broken only by the steady drip of his blood leaking onto the floor.

The Remnant inside Clarabelle laughed, a hideous broken sound that emanated from her blackened lips and pale grey gums, smeared with the vivid scarlet of blood as she continued to slice at the ruined carcass of Kenspeckle Grouse, twin scalpels gleaming in the horror of Kenspeckle’s laboratory. And The Darkness Rained Upon Him.

♦ ♦ ♦

512 years earlier

“I’m sorry Kenspeckle but Elocin is dead. She was the victim of another Remnant attack.”

Octaboona Ambrosius stood over the battered desk of Kenspeckle Grouse, looking down at his brother. His electric green eyes sparkled with tears, which rolled down the end of his long crooked nose and gently fell to the floor.

“My sister!” Kenspeckle cried.

“She was only sixteen. What happened?” he asked, voice quavering.

“You don’t want to know.” Octaboona said sadly. “The details are too ghastly. But she was murdered with a set of twin scalpels”.

Kenspeckle hurried from the room. “You caused this” he cried to his brother. “You murdered our sister!”

Octaboona didn’t reply. Instead he sat down heavily, brushed the long grey hair from his eyes and silently wept for the loss of his sister.

Kenspeckle hurried from his laboratory, and ran to the morgue beneath, where he knew his sister would lie. As he looked over the ruined carcass, at the crimson horror of his sister, Elocin Noil, blonde hair matted with blood and brain he was filled with a searing anger and the grey tendrils of depression. And he vowed never to forgive Octaboona, not if he lived for millennia.

♦ ♦ ♦

Two weeks later, Kenspeckle emerged from his laboratory and stepped into the drowsy sunlight of a beautiful Italian evening. His silky auburn hair, tied back in a ponytail brushed against his flowing purple robe. Kenspeckle laughed in triumph. He had achieved a new wonder in magic science theory; he had taken an abstract concept and turned it into magic science fact.  He, the youngest man ever to attempt this feat had succeeded where older mages had not.

Kenspeckle stared down at the stone hourglass, the length of his hand. With in the stone frame lay two glass vials both of them half full of a calm green liquid. He, not Octaboona had achieved this. He had created the Desolation Engine. This was the ultimate weapon, a bomb that when activated would obliterate all in its radius, every living thing, every building tree and stone. All would crumble.

♦ ♦ ♦

Octaboona sighed; the millennia had made his body frail. He thought about Kenspeckle’s words and knew in his heart that he was right. For he, above all others knew too well what havoc and devastation Remnants could cause.

Remnants. Dark spirits, beings infused with absolute evil. They lost their bodies long ago, so when able, they possess the living- sharing their memories, absorbing their personality and hijacking their bodies. They are a plague, a curse, a terror.  This was common knowledge Octaboona mused. Yet he knew more than that. The Remnants were caused as a side effect of a failed event, the merging of the worlds of life and death, failure of The Passage. Millennia ago, the original Death Bringer started The Passage. Yet he was not strong enough for the task, his powers of Necromancy too weak. When the dead spirits tried to pass through to life, they found themselves stuck between worlds. They were trapped in the lining of reality, in Limbo. Quickly they turned evil, shedding all emotions and humanity until only pure evil remained. The remnants of these spirits were able to pass through the barrier and were unleashed upon the world. Thus The Passage was corrupted and the Remnants were unleashed upon the world. Many centuries passed until they had been vanquished, yet many remained, causing havoc and disaster.

♦ ♦ ♦

  

 It was a tranquil summer morning in 1498 as Kenspeckle made his way to Naples, to the small port of Baia, where his brother had dwelt for the last eleven centuries, ever since the fall of the Roman Empire. He muttered as he strode along

“The Divine Immortal indeed. Why Ambrosius doesn’t give the phrase justice. It sounds like a custard manufacturer.”

“What is custard anyway? he grumbled to himself. “Calls himself a poet, a fountain of knowledge. I don’t see him creating the Desolation Engine let alone poetry that is so beautiful, so stunning that it can control souls and conform minds. Nonsense!” he declared arrogantly.

“I mean look at his latest work! Only a fool or a lunatic would be made proud by such rubbish. A true genius’ ego would explode if they heard it” Kenspeckle said.

Kenspeckle looked down at the piece of parchment attached to the door of his brother’s villa.

The poem was written in golden ink, written in a flowing flowery script. The writing was clear and precise and the letters gleamed in the sunlight, appearing to dance with the faint shadows that fell upon the parchment.

Golden God

My Golden God shines brighter than the sun

Nature pales when it’s compared to him

The wonder of the snow is dull and dun

When Landy sighs the world is bleak and grim.

I have seen galaxies stand still and stare

When Golden God approaches from on high

He has such talent, humour, wit and flair

That lesser mortal writers can but cry.

I love to hear him speak for well I know

That genius resounds in every word

He is the light; from him all dreams do grow

To never hear his name is just unheard.

When Landy laughs his smile can light up skies

And when he weeps then all creation cries.