Chapter Two

Children by the thousands screamed as skin that had never known fire crackled and singed amidst the flames. The women, of course, were raped, and every child, male, and female after that was killed periodically to ensure their master’s satisfaction.

Atop of his two-legged, winged gunthark, Surafis watched with squinted eyes down upon the hills of Zamnacroft, unsettled.

It was not the needless death and rape, not the fires, not the hours and days of torment upon the village souls that upset that king that day. Surafis was used to such trifles as these, and they were to be expected.

What the king was not used to was taking orders from a power, any power other than that which he wielded by his own desire. Across the Zardac kingdom rumors spread not unlike the wildfire below. There were whispers of Surafis selling his soul to the Emptiness. There was talk of the kingdom of Zardac splitting into different independent sectors. There were even those placing bets on which day Surafis was to be “mysteriously” murdered by the servant, Illumivar, and his dynasty’s control to come to a timely end.

The rumors, as most rumors tend to be, had been unrecognizably skewed by time and exaggeration. The truth was that the monarch, Exply Surafis, had been rendezvoused weeks prior by an agent of evil while musing one day atop a comfortable throne set in his main chambers. During the course of a long and detailed conversation, Surafis deliberately challenged evil and dared it, if it was so bold, to let one of its guardians enter into the room. As soon as the ultimatum was made, Illumivar had appeared before him.

Illumivar, he learned, had been created to serve evil and its purposes, and the servant came bearing a message. “The Emptiness” – which was how the being continually referred to its master - was pleased with Surafis’ endeavors, and because of his loyalty, his master was willing to offer a token of his gratitude.

After much deliberation, the Emptiness agreed to aid him in his destruction of the small yet persistent Resistance effort in the galaxy, one that had caused him great aggravation as of late.

The Resistance…Surafis languidly rolled his eyes.

Countless scholars had predicted the disbandment of those radicals years ago, but unexpectedly, an immortal by the name of Retsamemit had gazed upon their cause with sympathetic eyes and intentions.

That crazy wizard was the change of everything, Surafis deliberated, frowning pensively.

A sorcerer, who had before such time made it his business to abstain from the problems of mortals, inexplicably traded in his immortality in order to be given the power to aid the radicals in their effort. Retsamemit’s mysterious actions agitated and infuriated nearly every being worth knowing in the seven-planet radius, causing them to bar him from the interplanetary counsel until his senses were found. However, Retsamemit made no such effort to regather his marbles, and isolated from his powerful colleagues, he was left alone to cope with his impulsive decision. Mortality and a lessened capacity for the supernatural came with drawbacks that the wizard was incapable of managing.

Hearing of the once mighty immortal’s plight, Surafis’ Zardac army immediately moved in for the kill. Retsamemit’s downfall came, and with his demise the Resistance’s influence promised to be extinguished. But when Surafis’ armies finally captured the mage and put him victim to the Emptiness (as instructed by Illumivar’s master), something inexplicable happened. Retsamemit did not take on the characteristics countless others had. He did not empty, but rather without moving a muscle, overcame and defeated the power destined to control them all.

Retsamemit’s own resistance to evil had somehow weakened the Emptiness, and because of the intense display, it had cost Surafis’ the loyalty of some of his best officers. It was only when Surafis allowed Illumivar control of his soldiers that the Emptiness once again began to recover its power. His position was a job that required constant vigilance, tolerance, and much toil.

However, Surafis had certainly not gone without reward for his great sacrifice. Riches, political power, and beautiful women kept him blissfully preoccupied, and the delights did not stop there. Anything the ruler wanted, anything he could fathom was simply his. No invention of the mind was too fantastic for the Emptiness to bring to fruition.

Looming possessively over the valley as it took to flame, Surafis stifled a chuckle at the memory as smoke rose into his nostrils.

The king had accomplished the incomprehensible. Men and machine alike bowed down to him. He had control; he had power. He had fooled evil into stepping into his territory, and now, because of its arrogance, the Emptiness was trapped to escape his domain.

But there was one problem.

And that problem was Illumivar.

Illumivar believed that Surafis had called upon evil to fulfill his “master’s” bidding. Surafis made a sneer. The king cared nothing for a “master.” Illumivar was weak, merely a servant to his cause, much like those of the Resistance. Surafis would have long ago discarded of the liability – if not for the purpose he still served to the king. The slave was of use to Surafis in but one way: in contacting the Emptiness itself upon the king’s every command. Without Illumivar’s presence, the Emptiness would not be at his every beck and call.

Illumivar’s presence unnerved and unsettled him, and because of the demon’s impertinence, the king was but a word away from calling off the entire settlement. There was so much to gain, but at the same token, far too much to lose.

For while the king had access to unlimited power, Ilumivar did have control of his troops for the Emptiness’ purposes, which were far too many now, Surafis had decided.

Yes, Surafis determined with a decisive nod. If Illumivar used his armies once more without regard to the king himself, he would dispose of him and his “master” completely.

The Emptiness had promised him this supremacy.

But suddenly, as the king sat silently pondering, the rough clamor of breaking brush and snapping twigs shook the monarch from his thoughts. He relaxed as the figure made himself known. Climbing up the valley walls, one of his most trusted guards approached the fiery gunthark and bowed before him.

“They’ve been destroyed, Surafis,” he proudly announced, smiling to show off his three remaining teeth, yellow with age.

Surafis nodded curtly in return. “Very well. Tell your men to enjoy their pursuits and to report back to the kingdom by midmorning.”

A sideways grin formed upon the boorish soldier’s face. “As you wish, your worship.” With that, the contented cavalryman took off back down into the valley to indulge in what delights were left in the slowly incinerating village.

His stead shifted, and Surafis granted one last look to the pillaged remains before turning his back to them.

“You may proceed, servant.”

A light gray mist was the only warning of the servant’s appearance. As Surafis felt the servant grow near, he had to loom his warm robes closer around his shivering form. For whether it was his own fear of the being or the actual mountain climate, the air seemed to grow a degree colder at Illumivar’s advent.

The mysterious figure emerged ominously from the mists, casting its all-encompassing gaze upon the valley. “Thank you, Exply Surafis,” an emotionless voice replied. Dark robes stared back the king, a black void where a face and eyes must once have been. He threw back his black cloaks as they wafted eerily in the frigid air. His face shifted to the horizon, and the sun shining bright slowly began its inevitable decent into the mountains above the small and destroyed valley, as if even the light of day ceased to show itself at Illumivar’s very presence.

Drenched in shadows, Surafis coiled backward, unable to stop the trembling of his skin.

“You may retreat,” Illumivar declared, gracefully presenting his flaking and graying uncut fingernails. At his words, the Emptiness’ hosts stemmed outward from the brush and trudged in a lethargic mantra upon the sodden and barren wasteland with lifeless, empty movements. Those taken were no more than rotting corpses, their leftover bodies serving as appendages for the Emptiness to control.

At their presence, Surafis’ rancor uproared. “What is this?” he demanded in his regal, commanding bellow. “Why do the legions draw near?” The king watched helplessly as they softly and slowly made their possessed decline into the valley rapt with decaying corpses and medieval pleasures.

Pulling his steed forward, Surafis’ gunthark reared in front of the servant. “Answer me, swine!”

At the simple raise of Illumivar’s hand, his beast disappeared, and the king fell hard, swearing and shocked as his beautifully clean body pounded into the muddy earth.

Infuriated, a growl burst from his sternum, and Surafis moved to attack. “I order you, servant, to send the legions back from whence they came!”

Illumivar effortlessly once again exposed his palm, and the king froze, petrified in the air. “You shall order me, never, your majesty,” he calmly spoke. “I adhere always and only to the Emptiness, and never to the command of this land’s purge.”

“Wh-why does your master send the emptied?” the king asked, somewhat more cooperatively this time.

“My master does not wish witness to be kept of his cleansing of the unpurified, other than his desired,” Illumivar replied conversationally as if the answer were common matters of protocol. “His wishes shall not go unheeded.”

“But you cannot do this! Those are my men down there!” he protested, fighting futilely against the frozen form Illumivar subjected him to.

“And these are his men up here,” Illumivar replied. “My master cares not for your miscreant followers, and if you wish to become powerful, neither should you.” He dropped Surafis once more upon his chest, which knocked the wind out of his bruised body.

Illumivar stared down upon his master’s emptied, noticing more the blades of grass upon which they tread than the many feet of his master’s bane. “They are of no use to us now.”

Though the king’s first instinct was to rip the blood and bones from Illumivar’s body (if there even were any to be ripped), he merely gave a kindly nod and rising, daintily brushed the dirt from his extravagant attire.

“Of course, servant,” he said, forced. But even as the king placated the slave, he felt himself believing the words. “Who needs men who may one day rebel.”

“Precisely, my lord,” Illumivar agreed as his legions consumed from all sides onto the valley. The screams came next and the instantly recognizable snap of mortal bone. “Precisely.”

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