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 Moctave, Wizard of the Water, Earth, and Sky, a member of the High Council of Magickers, took pleasure in relieving his bowels. He had come far in his life. The war he started over a decade ago was coming to fruition. Now, it was time for the final battle. He chewed a rabbit drumstick while he viewed the pieces on the omnascope. What he could see on the table through the omnascope was as an accurate representation of the battle as possible, albeit viewed through the mists. All through the land, red forces were overwhelming the white ones. It was a done thing. The Reds were winning, and he smiled. Just as it should be, he thought. It was a night to celebrate. He decided to bring a boy child up to his rooms to enjoy. Tomorrow, he would sacrifice the boy to the only true God.

He poured himself some ale. His loins stirred. He pictured the things he would do to the innocent child. He called his servant, "Bring a boy child up to my rooms now."

Ten minutes later, the servant, a lecherous old man, thrust a young boy into the room and then closed the door gently.

Moctave said kindly to the boy, "If you cooperate with me, you and your family can go free tomorrow. You'll be a hero!"

The boy was terrified, but he nodded his head. Moctave was a bit disappointed. He preferred them to resist. Loosening his belt, he glanced at the tabletop.

He decided to have another closer look to be sure. Another three whites were gone, their life fires put out like candles. Their souls cast screaming into the void. He observed one white soldier, whom other white soldiers joined. They were holding their own, more congregated near that single white piece. He watched as one white soldier slew four red troops in rapid succession. The whites rallied.

The Reds were pulling away. As this man turned to leave some battlements, he decided to look closer at him. His pleasure with the child could wait. He called on the elements. He opened his spirit eyes. Wishing his spirit to travel, he was spun across the continent to a point a thousand leagues away from where his body was.

Opening his eyes, he thought it strange that he could hear perfectly before seeing perfectly. The shadows that were the white troops confused him, and he drew his spirit towards the one he sought. As he pushed his spirit towards the man, he blurred into two creatures for a split second. One appeared to be a lad about eighteen years of age, the other a demon. Moctave sensed great strength from the boy. That was easy to fix.

Moctave grew his talons into his spiritual fingers and made them to murder the man. One push into his soul, and he'd die. The youth spun on his heels and thrust his fist into where Moctave's heart would have been. Then, his spiritual heart was in the youth's fist.

Moctave was terrified. The youth looked into his eyes and asked, "What do you want, wizard?"

Moctave replied, "I am Moctave of the celestial gathering; release me, or I'll call on the Celestial to destroy you."

"Fine threats from a man with my heart in his hand!" said the man, then continued, "I'll allow you to live. Send a message to your meddling amateurs not to interfere with me again!"

The creature before Moctave tossed his spectral heart back at his chest. Moctave felt his head spin as he launched through the mists. He awoke on the floor of his room. The child was still in the room, so he dismissed him.

Given this danger, he made the decision to gather the Celestial and make plans to find this creature and destroy him. A month later, they met in the mighty fortress called Dark Home. In the middle of this fortress was a large chamber two hundred feet underground. Fifty-foot columns were carved from the bedrock to support the roof.

The construction of it was momentous in nature. Two cities were emptied of their inhabitants to feed the workforce. The slaves were treated well except for those who attempted to escape. Torture and slow execution awaited any who attempted escape. Promises of better treatment and big bonuses kept the workforce spirited. The cost of human suffering was enormous. Thousands of slaves died during the construction. When completed, a grand celebration was organised, and all workers and families crammed into the chamber. When the last of them entered, the doors were sealed. At the time, the Celestials' leader made the ritual of sending their souls to feed the only true God, The Morning Star. 

After three months, they opened the doors to find nine thousand men, women, and children crammed in the cavern that became the Sulalite, utterly without conscience or remorse. These were the stormtroopers who destroyed any and all opposition. Three hundred and fifty years later, several were still alive. Moctave didn't know how this was possible. After eating so many bodies to stay alive, it has done something to their souls.

Six hundred Celestial and their apprentices were gathered around the root of the earth, chanting and humming. The entire Celestial Order was here: eighteen hundred priests, all with one thought: kill the creature.

Little groups held hands to increase their power. They were looking for the creature to destroy. They searched the land. Every village, every town, and every hamlet searched. Everywhere there was a rock embedded in the earth, they would listen. Moctave was one of the high councils whose word was life or death. 

He directed the circles of Celestials to search. After several days, it was clear this creature was off the land he nominated to search. They could not travel over water. They decided to search for nations closer to their own.

As they searched, they found nothing smaller circles were added to larger circles,  and larger circles joined other large ones.

Moctave directed the two large circles to join into one. He was holding two of the more powerful makes.

A sighting, he was by the East Coast, only three days away. He was walking with an army. Moctave could see the ships; they planned to travel, most likely to his country.

The creature spoke quietly to his troops, pointing at a map and making signs. They couldn't hear him. The power increased. More of the Celestial and apprentices were directed to where the creature stood, talking to his generals.

They still couldn't hear him. Moctave called for more power. The creature walked to the stone face; they still couldn't hear him. Moctave screamed, "More".

The creature's lips were moving, and he was still directing his generals. Moctave directed the last remaining celestials and all their apprentices to listen. He thought the creature could be using magic to mask the sounds.

They could hear him perfectly now: "We're going to destroy the red armies. We need to remove their spies from the picture." We need to use whatever means we can to destroy them. The creature walked towards a table, upon which there was a leather bag. He opened the bag, which contained a large, long-handled hammer. He turned his spirit eyes towards Moctave, swiftly raised the hammer, and said, "I told you not to meddle." Then, with all his might, he struck the outcrop of rock, which split it in two. Moctave released the mages just as the hammer split the rock.

Eighteen hundred heads blew up in the fortress known as Dark Home as if hammers had struck them.

Moctave covered in skull fragments, blood, and brains. The smell was unbearable.

~Boris Doyle

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