Chapter 6 - Firestorm

Years went by. Tu`il and Te`ara had children, who had children, who had children. For years, Cortalia was in a constant, though unsteady, state of peace. The Children of Man lived at relative peace with each other, though many walked away from Craos. The Altars in the temples in Hell glowed night and day with the sacrifices of the many heathens. 

As Man walked farther from Craos, he forgot Craos' laws. Murder became common; assault a daily occurrence. Towns became bastions of evil; good men had to keep their families far away from the rest of Mankind. Even so, their wives and daughters were kidnapped and sold as slaves; and their sons were struck down by the hundreds. Chaos was taking over the world. By the four hundredth year of the world, only one family worshiped Craos. 

There were two of them; father and daughter. Berius was his name, Martea hers. He was two hundred years old; she was only twenty. They lived together, ten miles from the city of Burdoun, in a ruined tower. None of the evil men of the city knew of the tower, or the young girl would have been long gone. Berius was a cripple. He could barely walk, and his left arm was useless. He was, despite that and his age, a handsome man. His beautiful wife had passed ten years earlier, taken by the men of the city they had lived near at the time. Berius and his now dead brother had spirited little Martea away to the Tower, praying for her safety. 

Now, ten years later, they lived simply, depending on each other, she on his wisdom, he on her strength. They grew what they ate, celebrated the Holy Days, and worshiped Craos. 

Then came the Year of Tears, the year Martea turned 17, full grown. The year was so named because the slave trade met with the most efficient slaver yet: Dubaios. 

Dubaios was an Easterner, born in the harsh Jodai Desert. He was 18 when the Year of Tears began; all the most astonishing when men learned of his exploits. He came to Burdoun in the spring, his vagabond band trailing behind him. His first visit was not to the town square though; it was to the slums. There, his pillagers took every woman that looked remotely pretty captive. They left the city for a few hours to visit a nearby Oasis. There, they cleaned the slaves and dressed them up with the silk that they had carried from the East.

Then, the richly dressed women were paraded in by the vagabonds, straight to the marketplace. All of them were sold for more than their poor husbands and brothers would make in their entire lives. The poor wretches watched as the girls were led away, never to be seen again. 

But Dubaios wasn't done there. He began casting around, searching for beautiful farm girls. He was so successful in Burdoun that within a month, no one would buy from anyone but him. Berius got the news from a friend of his in town; a single baker who didn't worship Craos, but was still trustworthy. 

Berius knew that it was only a matter of time before Martea was taken. He prayed night and day for her safety; but, one day, as he knelt on the towertop, he saw a band of rogues loping up the path from the forest. He knew her time had come. Rising to his knees, he cried out once more for Craos' aid. The sky remained silent. 

All was a haze as he heard the door being knocked in. He heard her gasp as she heaved herself up to hide behind him, the only protection she knew. They came up the tower steps, hobnails grating on the stone. One by one, they leapt up to the wooden platform that formed the towertop. Their leader, not Dubaios, but a lieutenant, stepped forward. 

"Hand over the wench, Ancient One."

"Nay, ye will have to get through me."

The lieutenant shrugged. Drawing a knife, he stabbed Berius in the chest twice, sheathed the knife, and grabbed Martea. "That was easy." Laughing, the vicious band retreated down the steps, loping back towards Burdoun with the gagged Martea slung over the leader's shoulder. 

Berius' ancient frame began to shudder; he had been weak before the mortal wound. He slumped to his knees; then fell over on his back. He felt the sticky oozing as his life blood worked its way out of his body. As his eyes closed, a flash of light brightened his tired irises. However, he did not have the strength to open them.

In the city, Dubaios was doing inventory. Thirty-five women had been taken that day; the best catch of his career. He admired each one of them, assessing beauty and strength, ordering each to be taken to a specific location for best sale opportunities. As he closed his scroll, Martea was brought in. 

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; and keep in mind that he had seen quite a few. He went up to her and ran his rough hand down her cheek, gently. She was shocked into silence, but even though she was terrified, she realized that Dubaios may be evil, but he was not cruel. She saw all the slaves were treated very well while in his care. However, that realization did not change the fact that she hated him. 

"Take her to my quarters; clean her up, and dress her in something fitting."

She was led away.

At the ruined tower, Berius was not dead. A man knelt over him, a huge man, twelve feet tall at least. Berius must have been hallucinating, because the man appeared to be on fire, and had wings. However, the man had healed his wound somehow, and was giving him some wonderful food; food that made his body go limp from how delicious it was. His strength came back to him; strength he had not known for many a long year. 

Then, with a shock, he realized that his crippled limbs were responding to his mental commands. He stood, and felt that his body was younger. The belly that had grown with his age had disappeared. His body was covered in muscle. He was powerful again. He turned to face the man. 

No man stood before him. An Angel did. And, though Berius did not know, it was not an ordinary angel. It was Falior, Archangel of Fire, Guardian of the Garden, Right Hand of Vira`il the Brave, and Messenger of Craos. 

"Thank you, kind Angel."

"Craos has heard your prayers, son of Tu`il. He has answered your prayers, spoken and unspoken."

"What prayers?"

"A husband for your daughter, and deliverance for your world." 

Falior ordered Berius to follow him to the courtyard. The Ancient One almost had a heart attack. There sat Vira`il, his hammer resting against his thigh. "My lord Vira`il!" Berius fell to his knees.

Vira`il raised him up instantly. "Don't worship me, Son of Tu`il. I am but a Helper. And today, I am here to help you."

Berius looked confused. 

"Today is the Day Mankind pays for his wickedness."

Berius' eyes grew huge. "Martea!" 

"Son of Tu`il, that has been arranged. Your daughter will be safe. Falior will see to that."

Back in the city, Martea awaited Dubaios' coming with dread. Her father had told her a little about what it meant to be a female slave. Her heart sank every time she heard a sound outside the lavish room.

Finally, she heard a soft tread coming up the steps. The latch raised softly, and Dubaios entered. He looked at her, arrayed in a beautiful satin gown, and nodded, a slight smile lighting up one side of his face. Martea noticed that he looked sad, and for a moment, pity for this young man warmed her heart. 

She crushed the feeling instantly. This was a slaver, a man who ripped families apart and sold girls into tortures beyond imagining. 

He left the room into the bathroom, and she heard him bathing in the marble tub she had washed in hours earlier. After ten minutes, he returned to the room, clad in a kilt made of fine linen, with a gold ring in his right ear. As much as she repressed it, her heart gave a flutter as her eyes ran over his sturdy form. He noticed her stare as he walked over to a seat and gave the sad little smile again. 

She blushed violently and got a sudden interest in her feet, the nails painted a dark red. When she looked up at Dubaios, she saw he was looking at her, not a lustful, evil stare, but an interested look. The shame she had felt melted away; she realized that he was not an cruel man like most slavers. 

"What is your name?"

His voice broke the silence. She looked down again, afraid to answer. "I mean you no harm, young one. I want to talk with you."

She looked up, again, her fear stilled by his demeanor. "My name is Martea, sir." 

"It is a beautiful name. I presume you know who I am?"

"Dubaios the Slaver."

A look of slight confusion crossed his eyes. "Slaver?"

"Don't you tear people from their homes and sell them like cattle?"

"My dear, no! I pay the families and put the girls in mansions as servants! Who told you I'm a slaver?"

He lifted a slender glass jug and began to pour two drinks.

"They didn't pay my father. Unless you count a knife in the chest."

 Dubaios stopped mid-pour. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I will deal with that lieutenant later. He is new to my business. But, to show you I am not a liar, here is a bill of sale."

He handed her an official document, signed by a magistrate. It had how much Dubaios had paid the family, the family the girl worked for now, the conditions at last visit, and the pay amount. Martea looked up at the 'slaver'. "This is official?"

"Yes, young one."

"Then I am sorry for misjudging you. Why do you do this?"

"Because these girls will have no chance at a better life unless someone gives them a leg up." He offered her a goblet. "Drink?"

"No thank you." 

"As you wish." He took a sip. 

"That is why I do this. I am truly sorry that your father was hurt, but I can't be everywhere. You and I shall ride at once to find him."

Dubaios called out the massive window to the grooms in the yard. They began to scurry around, preparing Dubaios' charger. He turned to her, frowning at her dress. "We'll need you to change out of that vanity." He called for a servant, and told Martea to meet him in the courtyard in ten minutes. The servant dressed Martea in a plain riding dress with matching cloak and shooed her down the marble steps to the courtyard. 

Dubaios, dressed in a black cloak, was waiting for her. He offered her his arm, and she looked at him, confused. It took him a moment to realize that a man had not offered her his arm before. He gently lifted her small white hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. In that position, he aided her across the rough courtyard to the mighty black stallion. 

"I've never ridden a horse before." Martea's tone was full of consternation. 

"We're riding the same horse, young one."

He hoisted her gently up onto the charger and leapt up behind her. He wrapped his left arm around her and gripped the reins in his right. He was about to ride out when another horse clattered into the courtyard. 

The Rider was taller than Dubaios, at least six foot five. He also was riding a black horse, but instead of Dubaios' exposed chest and arms, he wore a full body cloak and hood. He was also wearing, despite the heat, a full set of leather armor. Twin katanas adorned his shoulders, ready for quick deployment. Various knives were placed on points on his armor, at least ten of them. His face was covered by a mask, with only his eyes exposed. 

"Storm, you're early. How did it go?"

The Tall One drew his right katana. The blade was blood red. Dubaios sighed. "Oh well." Storm pointed at Martea and lifted his hand palm up, fingers spread. "I'm taking her to her father." Nodding, Storm led his charger into the stables. Martea noticed that everyone avoided him. But, as Dubaios touched his sandals to the horse's flanks a moment later, she had no time to think on it. 

The ride was glorious to her. The wind rushing in her face, the occasional words passed between them regarding landmarks, the feel of the horse and the arm around her. But, when the tower came into view, her heart sank again. She hopped off, stunning her feet, but she ran towards the gate despite the pain in her feet. Dubaios followed as soon as he tethered his charger. 

She ran up the steps and into the first floor room, then began to climb the ladder. On reaching the second floor, she turned toward her father's table and stopped cold. There were three men. Two were dressed in armor, one in a simple hooded monk's garb. It took her a moment to realize who that one was. With a little shriek, she ran around the table and threw her arms around him. His strong arms held her close. 

The two in armor rose as they heard Dubaios' step. Falior shrugged and leapt out of the window. Vira`il picked up his hammer and stood by the opening. 

Dubaios heard the thud and scuffle of Falior hitting the ground and rolling to absorb the impact. He turned, and saw the tall man, thirty feet away. Falior and Vira`il had taken on human appearances in order to enter the tower and converse with Berius. Dubaios drew his kris, a wicked Eastern dagger with a waved blade, and prepared for battle. Falior laughed heartily. Dubaios, angry at the other's behavior, threw the knife. Falior swung his arm. As it flew through the air, a sword materialized in it. It connected with the knife, shattering it. After the impact, it disappeared from the Angel's hand.

Dubaios stared. He began to back up, looking for a weapon with his left hand. It hit Vira`il's chest. Dubaios' eyes widened as he turned to the figure behind him. Vira`il began to return to his Helper form. Dubaios let out a squeak as the man turned into a giant, and the giant into a god. Vira`il picked him up by the legs and held him before his face. 

"What have we here? A little slaver, methinks."

"I'm not" *gasp* "a slaver!"

"Falior, what think ye?"

"I think he's a killer. We should do away with him." Dubaios, turned away from the Angel, couldn't see the twinkle in his eyes. 

"No! Please! Have Mercy!"

"Son of Tu`il, we mean you no harm. I wanted to know if you desert rats feel fear."

"Obivously!"

Falior let out a peal of laughter. Dubaios wiggled around and saw him, now twelve feet tall with thirty-foot wings, and passed out. 

Dubaios awoke in the tower, the once more human-sized demigods standing over his bed. He started and sat up, backing up till the wooden backboard was pressing into his back. 

"We have a question."

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in Craos?"

"I didn't this morning, but now I'm not so sure in my doubt."

"Believe, Dubaios, and you will be saved."

"From?"

"The Firestorm to come."

Dubaios and Martea rode back into town later that afternoon, with a mission given my Vira`il: to save as many of the people as he could. He dismounted in the courtyard, leaving Martea in the courtyard, only to return, hours later, hot and exhausted, alone. No one would listen. 

As he mounted, and was about to turn their horse out of the courtyard when a soft *thud* made him turn. 

There stood Storm, outfitted for battle. He nodded to Dubaios, who looked at him, confused. Storm walked into the stable and brought out his two horses, a charger and a filly. He gave the filly a long rope, tied to the saddlebow of the charger's saddle, mounted, and inclined his head to Dubaios. 

Dubaios returned the gesture and the three horses clattered out of the courtyard. They wound down the city streets, coming to a halt at the Gate. There was a crowd there, all armed with various makeshift weapons. On seeing the three, they all booed and shook their various implements of war. 

A leader walked forward, the only well armed man. He was dressed in long robes, and he carried a spear. 

"You will not go to the Ancient One.... not with the girl, at least."

Dubaios was about to speak when Storm dismounted. 

"Oh, who have we-" A katana thrown at his head ended his question. The body fell to its knees, then slumped over softly. Storm walked over, yanked the sword out of the body's head, and wiped the blood off on the clothes. Looking at the crowd, he drew his second sword. The first wave lowered their weapons and charged. 

Storm calmly looked at the advancing horde, then began the bloodbath.

Dubaios wheeled his horse and began to gallop to the smaller gate. Falior had given him two hours. An hour and forty five minutes had elapsed, with a ten minute gallop between them and safety. Dubaios shed a tear at his faithful follower's sacrifice, but he could not help Storm. He had to get Martea to safety.

He rushed trough the gate, down the path around the walls, out onto the main road, and towards the hills surrounding the town. Martea looked back, but all she could see was an angry mass of people. No sign of Storm. Dubaios urged his charger to greater speed for the last mile, till the poor brute was wet with lather. They reached the courtyard of the Tower as Vira`il was counting down the final seconds. 

The Helper stood, his full height of thirty feet. "Stay in the Tower." He walked away, heavy footsteps shaking the stone of the building. Reaching around fifty yards from the tower, he lifted his Hammer. 

Falior turned away from Vira`il, facing the humans. He spread his wings wide to protect them. Then, a branch cracked in the woods.

Time slowed for the three humans in the Tower as Storm, riding hard and covered in blood, broke from the tree cover. Vira`il's swing was too far into motion to cease. Down came the Hammer, and on came Storm. As the Hammer, FireStorm, hit the ground, Storm's horses made the jump over the low wall, dashing under Falior's wings. The explosion that followed the impact of the Hammer was so close behind him that the shockwave blasted him against the Tower walls, knocking him unconscious.  

The world was bathed in heat. Fire consumed all. Towns and cities, villages and farms. Vira`il's hammer blow created a crater whose edges reached the walls of the Tower. The humans watched as the world they had known fell to fire. 

However, from the Ashes of the Old Cortalia,

New Cortalia rose.

Chapter 5 - The Fall

Chaos fell through space, down from the Light of the Endless Palace, down, down till the Abyss was all he could feel. All he could know. All he was. Chaos... Abyss... Darkness... the Three combined, forming an unholy unity. The Lifespark that was left in the necklace that Chaos wore shattered, only to form again as a Deathspark, the first of its kind. With the evil power of the stone, Chaos made the first evil material appear before him. 

The framework of his kingdom. The stones on which he built his empire. Dark Matter is all we know it as, but it has another, older name. 

Traflicaz. 

The Devil's Flesh. We don't know how the name came into being, but we do know that those who have seen Dark Matter say that it looks like the flesh of a living Being. 

After the first Dark Matter came into being at Chaos' command, he began to form it into a palace. It was not endless, being made by a Being that was not omnipresent, omniscient, or all-powerful. However, it was vast. Past the Gates, made of the bones of unknown Beasts, there was a guardhouse. In days to come, burly Demons would sit there, ready to drive the dead to the Second Circle. 

There are Nine Circles in that palace, called Hell, each holding the souls of those who committed a different Sin. Only one knows who goes where, for only one being has made it down there and lived. But that part of the story comes later. 

Bones adorn every structure, the vast majority of which are temples to every god Man has ever created. All they are are Demons in the guise of Angels, promising power, but giving weakness. 

There are shrines, pagodas, houses, and statues beyond count, all tended by their Demon until Mankind moves on. Then, a new Demon takes over that spot, and the old Demon retires to taskmastery.

There were shrines to Lust, to Anger, to Pride and to Envy. All of the Shrines were massive, but there was one that rule over the empty city of Temples. War. The Temple to the Demon of War was bigger, more evil, and not only adorned with, but made out of Bones. It was the size of a mountain, with red fires burning in its gargantuan depths. 

As soon as Chaos regained his form, Demons began to solidify in the Abyss. They made their way to the Giant Being in the Darkness, standing on the steps of the Dark Palace. They crowded around, watching him. He raised his head, his fiery eyes burning towards the Endless Palace, endless miles time and space above him.

"Just wait, Craos. I'm coming for you." 

Turning to his minions, he said, "Wait here. I have some business to finish." His body changed into spirit form, and drifted away.

On Cortalia, Tu`il and Te`ara were walking with Craos in the cool of the evening. He was teaching them things that the human race has forgotten, how to give love without measure, mercy without end, and grace without ceasing. They both hung on his every word, adoring the Perfect Being that had created, sustained, and was nurturing them.

Finally, as He did every evening, Craos reached the top of Mount Holiness, from whence He had first taken Tu`il and Te`ara to Retalia. He turned towards them, smiled, and, in turn, embraced them both. "Stay strong and trust me, children. I will visit you tomorrow." 

He disappeared in a flash of white light. The two humans turned away, walking back down the mountain. They had found a place in a pleasant glade where they slept, though there was no reason to; their bodies were perfect, needing no refueling. 

The two of them lay down, side by side, his arm under her neck, gazing up at the stars. The air was quiet except for the hum of insects, and the soft tread of a tiger nearby. 

The silence prevailed until Te`ara turned and put her small, delicate on Tu`il's barrel chest. 

"I love you." 

Tu`il's sleepy eyes opened, blinked, and, turning, met hers. "I love you more." 

She snuggled close to him, her body warming his and he hers. The night closed in quietly. 

In the shadows, a faint light shone. A purple light. For a moment, it stood still. Then, it shook faintly. About five feet above it, two orbs of fury shone for a moment. Chaos had come to Cortalia. 

He shifted form, changing between bird and beast. Finally, he saw an animal that he liked better than the rest. A Snake.

Later that evening, Te`ara was awoken by a soft voice. 

"Te`ara!"

She rose, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes so she could see the speaker. For a moment, she could see nothing. Then, the form of a golden snake wove its way into her vision. 

"Yes?"

"Come with me." The snake turned, and slithered away, head held high. 

Te`ara rose, brushing the grass off her back. She followed, her soft feet making no noise. 

The Snake led to a tree. A lone tree, a great tree. The bark is black, the leaves are grey and silver. The fruit is golden. It is the Tree of Knowledge. The Snake turned to face Te`ara, who stood behind him, fingering her hair, curious of what the animal would do next. 

The Snake stood, examining her perfect form. As there was no evil in Cortalia as of yet, she felt no shame in the fact that she wore nothing, nor in the fact that someone was examining her body. 

After considering her for a moment, the Snake asked, "Do you know what this tree is?"

"It is the Tree of Knowledge; the only tree we may not eat of." 

"Who told you that, fair one?"

"The Maker."

"Did he now? Did He tell you why, fair one?"

Te`ara turned her head to the side, considering. "No, He just said to trust him."

Inside the snake's mind, Chaos' spirit smiled. His Plan was working beautifully. 

"Well, sweetheart, I'll tell you. It makes you wise- as wise as Craos."

Out of the corner of his eye, the Snake saw her eyes widen. A slow smile spread over his face. "My dear, why don't you try one for yourself?"

Te`ara considered for a moment. "I shouldn't..... But does it truly make you stronger?"

"Yes, my beauty, wise as Craos... or mayhap, wiser...."

For a moment, the internal struggle showed on Te`ara's face. Then, the conflict resolved, she reached out her hand and grabbed a fruit. For a moment, she stood looking at it. Then, her eyes rose to the Snake's eyes. Confusion lurked in the depths of the orbs she turned to him. 

An evil smile spread over the Snake's visage. "Eat it, beautiful. Become better than you are."

Te`ara gave a deep sigh, then seemed to be about to drop the fruit. However, some evil impulse emanating from the snake drove her mind to his side. She lifted the Golden Fruit to her mouth and took a bite. 

"I think your husband would like some, my dear." Te`ara nodded and walked back to the glade, where Tu`il, having awakened, was looking for her. He turned around as she entered the clearing, smiling at seeing his beloved. When he saw the beautiful fruit she held, he raised an eyebrow. 

"My darling, where did you get that?"

"The Tree of Knowledge."

He was taken aback.

"Darling, were we not commanded to... Did you eat of it?"

"Yes, my dear. Will you not partake with me?" 

Tu`il considered. On one hand, he had been ordered not to eat of the Tree, ordered by the Maker. On the other, this was his wife- his true love, his everything.... And, on the other hand.... Tu`il started with the realization that his wife was getting bigger! He walked over to her and placed his hands on her belly, which was slightly round. He felt nothing for a moment, then a tiny thump from inside made his heart flutter. A Child. Their Child. He looked up at Te`ara, who smiled faintly. 

Tu`il took the fruit without another thought. He bit it. 

The Snake Form Chaos had held fell from his mighty form. He towered over the two humans, who cowered in his shadow; feeling fear for the first time. 

"You have failed, Craos!" The Master Demon called to the stars. Turning to the humans, he simply said, "Welcome to Hell."

The two humans looked at each other. For the first time, Tu`il noticed that Te`ara was small and weak, easily dominated. Te`ara saw that Tu`il was dominated by his anger, easily nagged. The two began to draw away from each other, black hate blossoming between them. Te`ara felt shame as she felt the Man's peircing eyes on her. Tu`il felt shame as he saw the Woman's eyes sizing him up, mocking him with her stare. As they stood there, the top of Mount Holiness began to glow. 

"The Maker is coming!" Shame forgotten, Tu`il took Te`ara's hand and ran to a nearby clump of bushes. 

"Tu`il?" The Voice of the Maker made the ground quiver and the air shimmer. 

No response. 

"Tu`il?" The Voice was nearer. 

Tu`il, summoning his courage, stood up. "Here I am, Lord."

"Why did you not answer me the first time, First Man?"

"I... I was afraid, Lord."

"Why?"

"Because I was naked." 

"Who told you you were naked, First Man? Have you eaten of the Tree of Knowledge?"

"The Woman you gave me gave me the Fruit, and I ate."

"Woman, come forward." Craos was now standing before Tu`il, sad eyes locked with Tu`il's. Te`ara hesitantly rose and, blushing with shame, faced the Maker.

"This is true, Woman?"

"The Snake told me I would be as you, Lord, and I ate." 

Craos saw the form of Chaos, turning to Spirit, far in the distance. "I will pass judgement on him later. As for you two,"

Craos looked at them long and hard. "You, woman, shall have great pain in childbirth. You shall be servant to your husband, for you have deceived him." Turning to Tu`il, "You, man, shall labor all the days of your life. The Ground is cursed because of you, by the sweat of your brow shall you eat. Lastly, you two shall not stay here, but shall be driven far from this Paradise, which I will remove from this earth. You are not worthy of it. Farewell, First Man and First Woman."

Craos began to walk away. Then, He turned back to the two miserable humans. "Know that I still love you, very much. I must remove this so that you will not live forever in your sin. I want you to be with me. But, you must endure mortal life first, because of your choice." 

Tu`il and Te`ara looked up. The Maker smiled. They both mirrored the gesture as He vanished. Mount Holiness shone like a beacon, then the Earth darkened. Not for long, though. From the Heavens came a bright light. First it was a star, then it was a comet. Finally, it looked like what it was- an Angel. Not any angel, as a matter of fact, an Archangel. 

He landed on one knee, his hands on the ground, his wings touching the earth. He was a Fire Archangel; his entire being glowed with a red-orange radiance. His body was made of flame; his clothes were made of smoke. His name was Falior. 

He stood, his mighty twelve foot form towering over the two. "You two must leave this Garden."

Tu`il and Te`ara were about to resist when they saw the mighty weapon he carried- a greatsword. Sadly, they left the Garden, Falior following, never to return.

Chapter 4 - The Rebellion

After Te`ara was created, Craos rested. Not because of the strain of creation; but to give Tu`il a model which he could follow easily. However, as often happens, bad things happened during his absence. 

Four Helpers, three of the leaders and one of the fire subordinates, met in one of the quiet rooms in the Endless Palace. The meeting was not to discuss their Maker and His greatness, but for a far more sinister purpose. 

Zortun spoke first. His resonant voice filled the chamber. "I trust that we all know why we are here."

Silent agreement followed. 

Nodding, Zortun continued. "We know that Craos, be He divine does not allow us power to command men. Tu`il, the First man, serves only Craos, not us. I am of the opinion that we can defeat Craos and take his place."

A long silence followed. Then, the only one who was not a leader of an Element, Fildor, spoke. "There is no way to defeat Craos. We would need to strike Him, all at once. And that doesn't even factor in the Angels or the other Helpers." 

The clever Beruyl spoke. "True. And the only way to strike as one... is to be One."

Raiton, after a swift deliberation, added, "We need the Angels on our side first."

Zortun walked to the door. "Already ahead of you, brother."

Opening the door, he let in a flood of Angels, all looking suspiciously around them. Once the throng- roughly a third of the Heavenly Host- had entered the room and stood, awaiting orders, Zortun shut the door. 

"Welcome, Messengers. Do be seated." The Angels looked around, and seeing nothing but the floor, sat there. "You all know why we are here," continued Zortun. "We are about to start a... a.... We'll call it a war. A War to end Craos' rule. He doesn't give us what we need. Power. We all want power. And you - pointing at the Angels - need us as much as we need you. We will assault Heaven and will sit on the Throne of Craos."

An angel raised their hand. "Yes?" 

"Which one of you will sit on the Throne? There are four of you."

"The One will."

The angels shifted, confused and suspicious. "Clear a space in the center of the room." ordered Zortun. The Four walked to the center of the room through the Angelic throng. There, they stood for a moment. "What we are about to do will allow us to break free from Craos' heavy yoke! We will face everything and rise! We will gain ultimate power!" So saying, Zortun, Beruyl, Fildor, and Raiton joined hands. 

A shockwave rocked the Endless Palace. The Angels in the crowded room pushed against the walls, confused as to what would emerge from the billowing black smoke. Flames, waves, stones, and fierce winds came from the center of that room. For almost ten minutes, the shockwaves and the smoke were all that the Angels could feel. 

Then, the shaking slowed and ceased. The noise of raging wind, the freezing water, blazing fire, and deadly stones stopped. The smoke began to drift away. 

In the center of the room, there was a single Being. Standing in the center of a crater that certainly hadn't been there before was Someone, twenty feet tall, almost double the Angels' height. He was strongly built, with the look of a boxer or a weightlifter. His body was a mixture of the Elements. He was built of Earth. His voice was the Wind. His eyes were fire. His Blade, which was his right arm, was made of Dark Ice. He wore only a loincloth wrapped around his waist. His eyes surveyed the throng silently. 

Then, a smile broke on the black face. It looked like a volcanic gash, but the Angels understood the meaning. They began to cheer, first a babble of voices, but the Being stilled them with his left hand. 

"Down. With. CRAOS!"

His voice shook the heavens. However, as the Angels mimicked his roars, he didn't realize that Someone else was listening. 

Craos had awoken at the sound of the turmoil, and had summoned Shutan, his right hand, to the Throne Room. All the Eight were summoned moments later. The Angels descended from the beams of the structure at Craos' command. There, weapons drawn, the waited. 

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then, the light of the stars began to dim as the Smoke rolling off the Evil One began to penetrate the Palace walls. As the Host began to shift, the Doors of the Throne Room shook. After a few minutes of the thunderous hammering, Craos had had enough. He spoke a Word and the Doors opened.

In came the Horde of the Evil One. Instead of the white-clad Angels that had entered the room an hour earlier, black-clad beings raced into the room. Instead of bird-like wings, their wings now resembled those of bats. They had black armor with red Orbs of Life instead of the clear blue the angels possessed. 

The first Demon made the mistake of going straight for Shutan. The Mighty, as he was aptly named, swung his massive mace on high and brought it crashing down on the Demon's head. Nothing remained but a pool of blood and two crushed wings. Another came after- Shutan whipped out a knife and sliced off its wings as he dove away from its grasp. The Mace followed. Crunch. Whirling, Shutan saw that Icarilius wasn't doing so well.

The smaller wind Helper had been grabbed from behind, and his bow was useless at that range. However, Shutan was wrong in thinking that Icarilius was in need of aid. 

Dropping the bow, the quick Wind Helper drew his knives and began his work in a different way. Firstly, he stabbed both into the eye sockets of the Demon that was clawing his back. Then, he spun, slicing two more Demons' heads. He saw Shutan and nodded to him. 

Yulik was wielding his spear with deadly power. Not a single Demon got a finger on him the entire battle. He fought his way to Porakin, sometimes called the Small, who was being dragged down. Yulik cleared the Demons with half a dozen swift strokes. Back to back, Porakin with his gladius, Yulik with his spear, they faced the Horde. 

Narcoi was carrying javelins, and carrying them well. Despite an early wound from an arrow in his left shoulder, he was sprinting all over the battlefield, throwing his javelins through Demons, pulling them out through the Demon, and casting them once more. 

Tyren was using a pair of lightsteel knuckles. True, nothing fancy, but effective. His massive biceps propelled the Holy Metal into Demons' faces and chests, causing them to crumple like paper dolls. 

Fildor was next to Tyren, cleaning up the Earth Helper's leftovers with a katana. Swift death awaited all within his reach. 

Ramil had two katars, daggers with horizontal instead of vertical grips. Something like Tyren's knuckles, but with knife blades on them. He was close to the Throne, taking down all Demons that approached Craos. 

Vira`il the Brave was battling the Evil One himself. The Icy Blade cut deep several times, but the rash Vira`il battled on. His Hammer made several dents in the Darksteel Armor the Evil One now wore, but never did it bite flesh. Finally, Vira`il missed a hit, overswung, and the Evil One, seeing his chance, gave him a open-handed slap to the face. Vira`il went flying to the feet of the Throne, where Craos still sat, watching his servants fight for Him. 

However, the time for sitting past, Craos rose. He walked down the steps and picked up Vira`il, touching each would with his hand. The Life fluttered back into him, and his eyes opened. 

By now, most of the Demons had been crushed, slashed, hacked, or speared to death, and all was silent. The rest of the Horde fell back behind the Evil One, awaiting his commandment. 

The Smoke surged forward, towards Craos. 

"Fear me, Creator. I will strike you down, here where you stand." The cracks in his skin, where the licking flames emanated from, sent forth hotter and darker flames. 

"That didn't work so well for your Demons, ... What is it you call yourself?"

"You are Craos. I will destroy you. I am Chaos."

"Chaos, eh? And what makes you more powerful than I am, Chaos?"

"THIS!"

A fist made of shadow shot out of the smoke, straight toward Craos. However, before the Maker moved to retaliate, Shutan stepped in. His mace, as he swung, morphed into a hammer, which disintegrated the fist like a snowball. 

Chaos laughed. The evil sound reverberated through the massive room. "You can't best me, Shutan, Lord of Flame. I will defeat you with the power of-"

Shutan rushed forward, spinning, and brought his hammer down with all his strength on the marble floor. A shockwave blasted Chaos off his feet and to the floor. The black figure tried to rise, but Shutan was on top of him, fiery fist pounding into his dark face. Chaos tried to rise, but Shutan, with his armor on, was too heavy. Chaos punched back, but Shutan burned with a heated vengeance. 

Finally, when Chaos was stunned temporarily, Shutan and the other 7 Helpers dragged him to the center of the Throne Room, directly in front of the Throne. There, in the carved Runes that adorned the floor, a circle opened. The Runes shoved each other to form a circle that was about forty feet around. Shutan threw Chaos into the Circle of Runes. Craos, who had walked quietly back to his throne, observed in silence. Vira`il and Icarilius came, carrying smoking chains. They tied Chaos to the ground, attaching the chains to the hooks that rose out of the floor at Shutan's command. 

"My lord, wilt pass judgement on this rogue?"

"Yes, Shutan. Thank you." Turning to Chaos, the Maker said, "You have disrupted My Perfect Creation. For that, there is but one punishment. Eternity way from the light." So saying, Craos said a Word, the hooks disappeared, leaving Craos wrapped like a cocoon. Another Word and the Circle of Runes opened, letting him fall like a leaf, down into the Abyss.

Chapter 3 - Te'ara

Craos stood at in the Throne Room of the Endless Place. All was silent within the Universe; the confusing babble of Mankind had not yet assailed the Maker's ears. 

Tu`il stood behind him, his gold body and white eyes gleaming in the darkness. After a few hours, (for Time had begun when the Worlds were made), the First Man spoke. 

"Master?"

Craos stirred. "Yes, Tu`il?"

"On what do you ponder?"

"On My Universe, Tu`il." Another moment of silence followed. "I made these worlds Perfect." Craos turned to face Tu`il. "With one exception."

One golden eyebrow raised. "Master?"

"I want intelligent beings, Tu`il. Beings to worship me. Beings that I can bring Home here when their moral lives end." 

Tu`il considered this for a moment. "The Helpers are all immortal, as are the Angels. I'm the only one who isn't - is that what I'm for?"

"Yes, Tu`il." Craos turned back to the view of the Universe. He spoke a Word and a single planet came into focus. A lush, green planet, teeming with resources and life. 

"This is your new home, Tu`il. Name it."

"Cortalia."

"Well named. There are but two things left until we can send you down to that world. Firstly, you will need to be taken out of your Divine Body. It will be left here, guarded, until the day of your return to me. Secondly, you will need a helper." Craos turned back to Tu`il. "Close your eyes, First Man."

Tu`il's white eyes closed slowly, the white orbs becoming crescent moons, slivers, then the eyelids covered them fully. Craos stepped toward him, and touched Tu`il's forehead with his right thumb. The golden skin began to fall away, but the flakes of gold reformed into a shell some thirty feet away. Tu`il, after a few moments, opened eyes- eyes as blue as the summer sky at high noon. 

"Lie down, First Man."  

Tu`il, now in the frail flesh of Mankind, lay down on an obsidian alter that rose with Craos' thought. Craos stood over him, deliberating. He then, gently, ran his finger down Tu`il's right side. The skin and muscle split gently apart under the God's touch, down to the smooth, white rib. Tu`il stirred in his sleep. Craos turned to ensure he remained asleep, and, satisfied, returned to his work. 

He carefully touched the rib. It came away in his hands; and another grew instantly in its place. The muscle and skin closed as Craos' hand drew away, carrying the still warm rib. Turning, Craos 
walked to another alter that had risen a moment before. He laid the lone rib down on it. He said a Word again, and the Magic began to work.

The rib floated a few inches above the table. Besides that, everything was still for a moment. Then, a skeleton began to grow from the rib. The spine appeared, then the other ribs, then the skull and appendages. As soon as the bones were all present, the muscles began to form. As soon as the red tissue was completed, the skin began to cover it. The skin, instead of Tu`il's gold, was of a silver sheen. The hair was a raven black. 

Craos stood back, admiring His handiwork. The body was slighter than Tu`il's, yet possessed invisible strengths that First Man lacked. A perfect partner. Craos again took an Orb of Life and placed it on First Woman's forehead. After the same effect it had on Tu`il, her white eyes opened and she breathed into her lungs the Breath of Life. 

Tu`il, who had awakened, walked over to her alter, by which she knelt, worshiping Craos. She looked confused as Tu`il gently took her arms and drew her to her feet. As his hands met her silver skin, it fell off her as his had and flew over to the Golden Statue, where it reformed into a feminine shape. 

Tu`il held her at arms length, and a satisfied smile crept over his features, to be mirrored on hers. He put his strong arm around her shoulder, turning to face the Maker, who was smiling Himself. 

"Thank you, Master." 

Craos, still smiling, said, "What shall be her name, Tu`il?" 

Turning to look into the brown eyes of his beautiful partner, Tu`il took his time. Finally, he stirred and said, "You drew her from my flesh and bone, Master. She shall be called Te`ara, for she shall be my queen."

"So be it."

Chapter 2 - Tu`il

All turned to the task at hand. Silence reigned in the the massive workshop where the Glorious Twelve stood. After a few moments of indescribable quiet, Shutan took a step toward the Forge. 

He reached in and pulled out a steaming lump of Divine Metal, and handed it to Fildor, another Fire Helper. 

He began to mold it with his calloused hands, quickly forming a basically human shape. He nodded to Tyren, an Earth Helper, who stepped forward. 

Tyren knelt to the feet. His rough hands shaped the feet, making them sturdy yet graceful. He stood with a grunt and molded the hands; delicate, yet durable. He then turned and nodded to Ramil. 

He shaped the calves, giving them a beautiful curve. He also ran his hands down the forearms, perfecting the rough metal's shape. He then slowly turned and slapped Zortun, the Chief of the Earth helpers. 

Zortun took a step back and deliberated. He then stepped up to the statue and quickly ran his hands up and down the thighs and upper arms, leaving them perfect. He quickly formed the strong chest, tapering abdominals, and thick pectorals. Nodding, he returned to his place in the circle. 

Raiton and his brothers, Yulik and Narcoi, stepped forward. Ears and a thin mouth quickly formed under the swift hands of the Water Helpers. Raiton's incantation drew hair out of the head and added nails to the delicate fingers and strong toes.

Beruyl, Icarilius, and Porakin stood around the statue, chanting. Beruyl's hands formed the nose, making it a perfect cartilaginous structure. The two others made the lungs, perfect conveners of precious oxygen to the blood.

Lastly, the two remaining Fire Helpers walked up. Shutan motioned Vira`il forward. The clever hands of the latter drew eyes out of the face. Vira`il smiled, then nodded to Shutan. 

The gigantic red bearded Fire Helper walked up to the Forge again, but this time, he put a piece of Living Steel on the Flame. In moments, it was melted to the consistency of thick cream. He held it up above the statue until it formed a brain and a heart, the latter starting to pump immediately. 

He carefully brought his hands down, cradling the two precious objects. The top of the head disappeared like swift flowing water as Shutan placed the brain in its spot. As his hand moved away, the head closed once more.

He then carefully placed the heart in the chest cavity, next to the lungs. He again removed his hand and stepped back. 

Nothing happened. 

Shutan's fiery eyes narrowed. Just as he was about to recite another incantation, Craos' voice rolled through the room. 

"Leave it." Shutan backed away from the statue; allowing Craos to walk around it. 

After a moment of deliberation, Craos said, "Well done, servants. It needs but one thing." He reached into his robe and brought out an Orb of Life. He placed it on the forehead, from whence it dissolved into the metal.

For a moment, all was still, then a spark appeared from where the Orb had dissolved. It spread until the entire being glowed with a pure white radiance. After about thirty seconds, the eyes opened. 

They glowed white. He seemed confused as he looked up at the massive figures all around him. Then, he saw Craos, standing before him. A smile spread across his face as the First Man knelt at his feet. Craos raised him up and looked him in the eyes. lcome to the Universe, First Man. We will name you Tu`il."

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

In the silent void before Time began, there was only one Being. He who created all life with his infinite power and wisdom. We call him Craos, meaning God, but He has another name. This name was chronicled since men could write, but in the Last Grey War, the War of Dragons, it was lost in the Library Fire at the Grey Keep. His true name has never been found again. So, we call him Craos.

Since there was no time, no one knows how long Craos was along in the Void. Being all powerful and all knowing, He could have created us at any point, however, didn't. No man knows why.

That being said, at some point in the distant past, Craos made the first World. I say the first because I am basically positive that we aren't the only world made. We don't even know everything on our own planet; who says there aren't other planets out there? Even if there are, though, we'll never leave this world. Sad, really. All those planets waiting to be seen, with no one from Retalia to see them.

But, back to Craos. He made an unknown number of worlds before this one. Cortalia. Retalia, our slice of the land, lies in the Northwestern Hemisphere, if our calculations are correct. Retalia, the cradle of civilization. However, I will wax eloquent on her later.

Craos, after He made the many Worlds, created the four elements- Earth, Water, Wind, and Fire. He made Helpers and imbued them with these Elements. Twelve Great Beings to serve and help Him. In the ages since, Carnal Man has begun to serve these Helpers, instead of Craos, the Creator.

After creating the Helpers, Craos made helpers for them. The Angels. These are winged beings with more power than all the men that have ever lived. The serve as Messengers for the Helpers and Craos, going between the Divine Being and His Helpers, and, in times of Antiquity, down to the Kingdoms of Men.

For years, the God and Helpers and their Messengers worked to build more worlds. After time without measure, they stood in the Endless Hall, in the Depths of Space, and looked out over the Worlds. 

"Well done, my Servants. Now, we have one last task before the worlds are finished."

"What is that, My King?" asked Shultan, Chief of the Fire Helpers.

"That is to populate these Worlds, Shultan. We are going to make a being to walk on these worlds and worship us." Craos turned to the twelve standing behind him. 

"All of you, combine your powers and make me a being...  I want it to walk upright on two legs, and I want it to think. Not like the beasts we already created. I want them to be able to improve the condition we place them in. I want them to accept challenges, welcome them. We will need a name for it, as well."

Raiton, Lord of the Water Helpers, stirred. "Man."
  
All turned to him. 

"What's that, Raiton?"

"We ought to call him Man. It seems like a good name."

"And the female of the species?"

Raiton deliberated. 

"Woman." The normally quiet Zortun, Overseer of the Earth Helpers, said. 

There was a silent consensus. 

"So be it. Man and Woman. Make them, my Helpers. Make them perfect." Craos turned back to the Worlds displayed before Him, and the Helpers turned to their task.  

Introduction - The Chronicler

Hello, child. Welcome to my humble abode. Wouldst like something to eat? Here is some porridge, it be hot, be- Oh my, hungry, are we? Ah, well, the energy of youth needs endless fuel. Some goat's milk? Here you are, small one. 

  

Satisfied? Good honest porridge will fill your stomach up right quickly. Come over and get warm by the fire; these mountains are cold this night. 

You want a story? What shall it be? Anonorath the Great? Shutan the Glorious? Neither? Those are your favorites, child.

You want my story? Child, that's a story that has many chapters, several tomes even. 

You care not? Well, youngling, sit back on the settle, and I'll tell you. Be aware though, t'will be many a night before we reach this day in our Chronicle.

Now, where to begin....