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.