Abridged! A Short Collection of Short Stories

The Messengers. Not the most glamorous, influential or even well known of castes. Their task was, for the best part, simple; act as go betweens for people and city governments. Whether that meant delivering messages, packages or anything else that needed to get from one place to another. Despite being an indispensable role in the day to day running of civilization, they tended to go by all but unnoticed. To their advantage, this meant that their work was generally unhindered, but it also meant that it was, too, unappreciated. Not to say there was nothing to appreciate about The Messengers, they were only the fastest, most agile runners in the known world. This was not an easy reputation to gain, either, especially with the trade routes expanding, as they were, and the demand for fast communication growing.

  Cydonia had been trying for years to capitalize on this, mainly by publicizing their own version of The Messengers. Still, Tyn Tychus, 'The Golden State' as it was known, continued to hold the unwavering monopoly on these routes. This was considered by some to be down to the fact that, where Cydonia wasted time promoting their runners, Tyn Tychus ignored The Messengers all together, allowing them to get on with their work no matter what. Soon, none of this was to matter, though, not with the cataclysm and the coming of the scourge. In time there would be nothing but that one lone, unknown Messenger facing the end, only to stand up and defy it.

  Not much was known about the cataclysm, vague stories from travellers told of a hole in the Earth. Fire, brimstone and the clatter of a thousand metallic limbs. Drunken tales from the tongue of Barbarous, the lying scorn, no doubt. Then one day caravans out of Cealaphon stopped. Had they finally given into Cydonias false charm and shoddy goods? Of course the Cydonians denied it all, as usual, offending the Tychus parliament with their blazoned attitude. With the political back and forth the change went almost completely unnoticed. The change in the sky and an eerie rumble growing on the air. A deep, blood red had replaced the soft orange of dusk lately as well as a thick, black veil hanging low on the horizon, its size doubling with each passing day. Then on one quiet, unassuming evening, it arrived.

  The Messenger sat silently at his usual back table, clutching a wrapped parcel with one hand and a tankard of mead with the other. The package its self wasn't overly interesting nor important, some simple trinkets sent by a desperate relative in an attempt to end a family feud. Judging by the reaction of the recipient, who had promptly refused to accept the delivery, the attempt had clearly failed. It was late now and pointless returning the item to its sender until morning so the only thing left to do was to grab a few quiet drinks before returning to the dorm. For years this had been the general idea of things in the consideration of most Messengers, although, it rarely ever went to plan. That night was going to be no exception either, only it wasn't going to be the exception in the most spectacular way.

  The burly bartender started strolling towards the corner table and The Messenger pulled the package back towards him knowing, as he did, the tendency for theft in these parts. The tender bunched up a damp dish cloth in his large, stubby hands and threw it on the table before leaning on his hairy knuckles, forcing a whimpered creek from the table.

  "Busy night, son?" the tender growled from a set of huge, yellow teeth.

  The Messenger took a subtle swig from the tankard and placed it gently back on the table. "Could say that," he knew what was coming, this was far from the first time it had ever happened. The city's bars weren't overly keen on Messengers frequenting their premises. It had something to with 'shifty hands and agile bands.' An old barkeep saying about Messengers habit of running out without paying. Only fair, really, considering how bars were the typical place where Messengers deliveries went missing.

  "Hope you've got coin, boy. I'd hate for there to be trouble," the tender glanced down the parcel and cracked a grin.

  "I'm thinking that wouldn't be any good for either of us," he snatched a look at the door, then back at the large barkeep in front of him. Typically whatever form of theft occurred all depended on who acted first and tonight it wasn't looking good for The Messenger, especially seeing as how two bouncers had silently positioned themselves either side of the doorway. At this point The Messenger might as well have simply handed over the package along with the right change and been on his way. Of course, on that night, no one expected a fireball to crash through the bars roof. Considering that this is exactly what happened, The Messenger felt as though he should exploit the situation to the best of his ability and, in the ensuing chaos, ran. As the buildings wooden beams quickly caught alight around him, he dived over a table, managing to finish off his tankard as he glided across its surface. In another smooth movement he landed and twisted past the bouncers, who were now much too preoccupied with the collapsing masonry all around them. Outside he was presented with a deafening roar as dozens more fireballs arced through the sky, drawing thick black streaks behind them. The Messenger stumbled backwards up the cobble street, watching, unbelieving as the sky seemed to fall towards him. Around him people were running and screaming. Some were carrying various personal belongings in their arms, others just trying to get away. So many questions were racing through peoples minds. What was happening? How was it happening? Tychun defences were the best on the continent. Nothing had breached the walls in over seven hundred years, nothing had ever been able to bypass the cannons which had so far, tonight, remained silent. Suddenly everything stopped, the people in the streets froze and turned towards the oncoming assault. The black smoke had started to spill over the walls, obscuring everything that it touched. From beyond there was a strange clattering and a tremor that rumbled through the ground. Unknown to most who were now transfixed on the cloud creeping into the city, the fireballs raining from beyond the smoke had stopped, leaving the districts to burn. Then something was there, something moving beyond the black veil. Slowly a huge metallic limb unfolded over the wall and fell down into the city, its pointed tip crushing some poor souls home below. It heaved at its joints as if it was about to haul the rest of its bulk over the wall and the silhouette of another leg pressed against the layer of smoke. Without notice there were several enormous blasts from the citadel at the centre of the city as the powerful cannons abruptly came to life. Explosions beyond the veil briefly illuminated a vast metal body with clawed arms grasping at the ramparts. More explosions tore through the metal creatures leg, ripping the beasts appendage away from its body. It forced the unbalanced bulk to withdraw behind its smokescreen, leaving the leg to crash down across the market district. As its imposing shape faded into the black a deafening cheer went up from the entire city only to be quickly silenced byharrowing, tubular roar from beyond the walls. Again the flames began raining, forcing those rejoicing in the streets to take to their heels once more. This time The Messenger went along with them, fleeing towards the Citadel, only for a much different reason then the others. They sought protection, he sought answers. The captain of the city militia had assured him weeks ago that the black veil hanging on the horizon was nothing to be concerned about. He had his doubts about what he had been told then but had learnt not to question the militia if a stint in the stocks wanted to be avoided.

  After running with the crowd for several minutes he peeled off and slipped into an otherwise hidden drainage pipe at the foot of the vast citadel fortifications. The city was old and the streets were complicated but The Messengers knew all the short cuts, even those that weren't strictly supposed to exist. He quickly shuffled through the damp tunnels with the sound of outside explosions echoing through the concrete. The pipes twisted and turned, each leading to various points all over the city. If not for an intimate knowledge of this labyrinth he could of become lost down there for days, in fact, in the past he had. Luckily it wasn't long before he came to a grate leading to the inner sanctum, the most protected area in the whole citadel. It was a large, well stocked chamber which was to serve as protection for the city's people in times of need. Rather than being filled with desperate civilians, though, it was empty bar the Militia Cap
tain and the City Regent, leader of the province, standing either side of an unusual pedestal, bickering in hushed tones. Soon they were joined by a third individual who The Messenger did not recognize. The new person was adorned in a long robe with a strange looking pointed hat, its wide rim partially obscuring his face.

  "Do you have it?" the Captain started, agitatedly stepping forward.

  "I am afraid I do not," the robed man tilted his head to reveal a lengthy grey beard tucked into his cloak.

  The Regent calmly sidled in front of the Captain and put up her hand before he could have an outburst. "We were assured its use when the time came," she reached up to her head and pulled her tiara away, making sure none of her bright blonde hair fell aside, "your people were to be greatly rewarded," she offered up the tiara before lowering it.

  "Come to that you told us they wouldn't come yet," the Captain growled from behind the Regent, not able to control himself.

  "An oversight. After all, how damaging could a menace of your own creation be?" his tone was immersed in condescension and a faint smirk appeared under the rim of his hat, "it won't happen again."

  "So the Heart?" The Regent enquired more forcefully this time, running a hand over a hollow atop the pedestal.

  "Rest in mind that it is complete, the power has been bound and efforts are being made to retrieve the item. I have already dispatched my apprentice for Indra..."

  The Messenger mouthed the name 'Indra' like it was familiar. Supposedly it was an old fort overtaken by Mancers and Mystics who experimented in the arcane arts.

  "Be sure your efforts succeed, mage," The Captain stated firmly, gritting his teeth, "that Heart is the only thing standing between us and annihilation. Just remember that means you as well!"

  The mage bowed his head and turned to leave calmly but hesitated before moving towards the door. "I must commend you on your creations. They are most elaborately horrific. Your city will not last and it is doubtful that even my apprentice will make it in time," he paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the two uneasy leaders, "but there is always hope," he smirked again and began walking briskly towards the door, leaving The Regent and The Captain to, again, bicker fruitlessly.

  "Indra," The Messenger whispered as a demented idea began to form in his head. Plenty of people knew where Indra was but none ever dared approach it, afraid of what lay inside. He started away from the grate, heading back down the tunnel, considering the insane plan. The Indrans were clearly a reclusive group with no idea of the outside world so he knew the Mages' Apprentice would never make it in time. By the time he returned with The Heart, whatever it was, Tyn Tychus would be just a ruin. It needed to be retrieved by someone who knew the country, who was fast and who cared about the city enough to actually do it. It needed a Messenger. By the time this had passed through his mind The Messenger was already nearing one of the waste tunnels out of the city. Luckily they were well hidden so it was unlikely whatever was out there would find them and even if they did they would likely be lost in the tunnel network for weeks. As he approached the end he could see the black mist drifting in from outside. Against it was the eerie orange hue of flames and shimmers of movement. Unthinking, he darted from the tunnel into the tall swamp grass that concealed the entrance. Without looking around he moved as fast as he could through the boggy reeds until stumbling over onto more solid ground. It was only now that he looked up and around. The dense mist obscured most of his view but high up in it moved the silhouette of a huge bulk heading towards the city, another of those abominations trying to breach the wall. The Messenger continued to lay rigid as it began to pass over him, unaware of his presence. The massive metal legs stamped down on either side of him as it passed. Six enormous claws driving down, in succession, into the ground. As it moved away, The Messenger quickly got back to his feet and raced through the black veil once more, knowing it could not go on forever. As he ran he passed several more of the metallic monstrosities, some smaller then the first, some even of completely different shape, apparently designed for varying purposes. Rather than ponder on this The Messenger considered they were all utilized to the same end. Instead he continued on until he saw moonlight piercing through the fog, illuminating the steep, far side of the valley that housed Tychus. Still refusing to stop he attacked the hill head on and managed to get half way up before slowing. Eventually he clawed his way to the top and partially collapsed in front of a thick tree line. He breathed heavily for a few seconds before pressing himself up again and looking back at the valley under siege. The very tops of those automatons breached the mist, which now laid in the valley like a dark lake, gleaming against the moonlight. Occasionally a fireball roared up from one of them and crashed back down into the city. The Messenger knew he had to get to Indra. He knew the Mages apprentice would never have made it, especially not through Gallowtrees. He slowly turned and looked at the tree line and the dark wood beyond. It was possible to go around but the wood stretched for miles each way, Tychus would definitely be lost before he was even halfway round. Gallowtrees housed the entrance to the Glintstone Caverns, though, which cut straight to the Indra plains. He glanced back at the valley, at his home being overrun with god only knew what, and decided it was the only way. He took another deep breath in, knowing what lay inside, and stepped into the damp black.

 

  The Messenger pushed deep into the wood, past the waxy shrubs, the hanging vines but he could still hear the explosions and ominous crashes from the siege on the city, muffled now by the dense foliage. His gut told him to head back now, before it was too late. Maybe he would be able to do something, help the militia, lead civilians to safety. All of these thoughts were soon silenced by his head telling him that to go back would mean certain death. Besides, there was an inexorable curiosity about the whole situation. The Regent, the Mage. The Heart wasn't just some last hope of the desperate, it was all part of something that had all been planned for far longer than anyone knew. Not just a hope but an answer, an answer to the destruction befalling Tychus and all that would come to the world if the city fell.

  The wood scratched at his senses, everything about it was overpowering. The contrast of the bright leaves against the rotting wood, the low drone of hidden creatures around him, the dense air filling his lungs with a warm, sticky moisture. Stories told that people went missing in here, not just lost; every sense of their being got sucked away by the oppressiveness of the wood. At least that's what had happened to the few who managed to escape. As for the rest... Well, it was probably for the best not to consider their fate too closely. Even so, The Messenger couldn't help but think about them, everything he had been told about not going too far beyond the tree line. If not for the fact that the entrance to Glintstone would have been barely a ten minute walk over good terrain he would have probably turned around by now. Still, this was far from good terrain. The ground was soft and marshy, the jagged leaves snagging at his clothes and fallen trees constantly blocked his way. Even worse were the numerous vines hanging down from the canopy high overhead. Their prickled skin constantly caught against him, hooked tips grabbing at his arms and legs. Anyone would have thought they were doing it deliberately. Suddenly he stopped with a horrifying realization, swinging round to catch several vines silently snake back into the undergrowth. He had always wondered why it was called Gallowtrees when, to his knowledge, no-one had ever been deliberately hung here. He briefly chuckled at the blatant, yet so easily overlooked, obviousness of name and promptly felt all hope of living through the next few minutes drain away. Without a second thought of his impending death he set about trying to avoid it by running as fast as he possibly could deeper into the carnivorous forest towards Glintstone. After him struck the vines again, jumping as if fired from the bushes before slithering faster than should be logically possible across the muddy ground. As he ran, diving over debris and swinging across pools, The Messenger thought he could hear a voice screaming in the distance. After several more seconds it became clear that it w
asn't actually some part of his mind crying out in terror and that someone else was trapped in here. As he continued to flee the sentient flora, the screaming became louder and less muffled by the dense shrubbery. Then it was abruptly silenced by an even louder, earth shaking screech that was pitched at exactly the right tone to inflict crippling terror on whatever happened to hear it. It made the woods heavy leaves whip around as if there was some terrible wind accompanying the screech and forced The Messenger to a static halt, uncaring what terribleness struck after him. To his surprise, though, there was nothing. Not even the slightest hint of death or the idea that death might be in some way imminent as it had been for the past few minutes. Instead there was just the deeply unsettling feeling that whatever was ahead was bad enough to scare away everything else that had seemed so bad before. For a moment there was silence and then a rustling ahead. Whatever made that terrible sound lay just beyond the next vail of bushes, moving around an apparent clearing which, The Messenger feared, would hold the cave entrance. As if he was being compelled by the hand of a god, or a considerably lucrative wager, he moved forward again, slowly this time, and peered through to the clearing. Lo and behold, there was the entrance to Glintstone Caverns. It was a raised mound of rocks that certainly did its name justice, made up mostly of luminous minerals and shining micas. Impressive as it was, The Messengers immediate attention was, instead, focused on what happened to be moving around in front of it. The sight of it was virtually indescribable, with the stench even worse still. The creature was at least nine feet tall, mostly green, (although this was unlikely to be its natural colouring, having apparently cultured a full body fungus colony) and had inexplicable tendrils rooting it to the ground immediately around it. As it moved the tendrils ripped apart, making the creature groan, before more shot out of its body, lashing themselves to anything they touched. The whole being appeared to be some sort of living combination of earth and trees with no discernable head or limbs, only a huge mass that moved and felt using those fleshy tendrils. It stopped for a moment and let out another piercing screech, again making anything around it try its hardest to flee. When the creature moved away again The Messenger was able to see an odd looking sack tossed to the side of the caverns entrance. It looked to be made up of leaves and roots, held together by a sticky, fibrous mucus. Unlike the creature the sack did appear to have a head and at least three visible limbs, bound and mostly obscured by the mess covering them. It would seem as though this is where the initial screaming had originated, probably another soul fleeing Tychus meeting a less than desirable fate in this place. Just then The Messenger saw something else, something caught up in the binding. It was a hat, just like that of the Mage back in the Citadel. Apparently the Apprentice hadn't heard the stories of Gallowtrees, wandering in here in search of a quick way to Indra. Then again, The Messenger had heard plenty of stories and still entered for exactly the same reason. He thought for a few seconds as the creature dragged its hulk to inspect some soon to be doomed animal. Cooperation wasn't The Messengers strongest suit, or that of any other Messenger for that matter, although the Apprentice would have been able to answer several hundred questions that had began to swell in his mind.

  Before he could consider any longer his legs leapt forward, flinging him out of cover and into a full sprint across the clearing. Sliding across wet dirt, he grabbed the cocooned body of the Apprentice and dragged him behind a pile of Glintstones. He hurriedly pulled away the binding from the Apprentices face and looked over the rocks to the caves entrance as the creature began to move back, seemingly chewing on that unfortunate animal. The Messenger turned back to the Apprentice and started to desperately pull at the rest of the cocoon, making him groan as the humid air touched his face.

  "Cave?" The Apprentice managed, trying to focus.

  "Shh!" The Messenger clamped a hand over The Apprentices mouth as the huge creature loomed overhead, tendrils striking down all around them. For a few seconds it hung in the air as smaller tentacles felt around the ground curiously. Eventually it moved off, ripping up the ground, having apparently not noticed the two interlopers.

  "That..." The Apprentice lucidly muffled, through The Messengers fingers, only to have them forced even tighter around his mouth.

  "I said be quiet," growled The Messenger, looking at the piles of sparkling rocks around him. "I have an idea," he ripped his hand away from The Apprentices mouth, allowing him to pull away his remaining bonds. "There's another reason why they call it Glintstone Caverns..." he grabbed a few loose rock from the pile and gently knocked two together causing them to spark and briefly ignite a small, green flame. He grinned and tore a length of cloth from his tunic, wrapping it around one of the larger, brighter rocks tightly. He grinned again and picked up the two small rocks before looking up at the bewildered Apprentice. "Cover your ears," he whispered and struck the rocks, allowing the flame to drop onto the cloth, igniting it quickly. Without pause he scooped up the rock, as the fuse burnt down, and threw it as hard as he could at, what he assumed, to be the area of the creatures head. The rock buried its self in the moss covered skin of the, now, angered creature which once more roared at the pair before promptly exploding into a shower of fungus.

  "Oh my god!" The Apprentice shouted, getting up unsteadily from the ground, "did you just...? I can't believe..." he sighed, at a loss for any more words as The Messenger quickly moved towards the cave entrance. "Who are you?"

  "Lunch for something else in here, just like you, if we don't move," he pointed at the edge of the clearing where the trees were already starting to rustle ominously.

  The Apprentice opened his mouth to speak but looked around and decided leaving was probably for the best.

  Glintstone Caverns were as beautiful as they were dangerous, being named not only for the obvious reasons but also because their intermittent detonations caused a wondrous glint on the horizon of far away settlements. Of course, they were devoid of any form of life bar Rock Worms and the odd lost rat, the incendiary nature of the caves making them unappealing for long term residence. Even so, Inaran settlers had, long ago, followed the veins of stone deep into the border mountains creating shortcuts through the natural land barriers. This was long before Gallowtrees became the overgrown death trap it was today, though, longer still before Tychus grew into a thriving metropolis.

  “Going to tell me who you are, now?” The Apprentice asked, trying to keep up with The Messenger. “Why are you even out here?”

  “I'm no one, just a Messenger from the city,” he stopped briefly and looked back at his new companion, “and I'm out here for the same reason you are,” The Apprentice looked back sideways, bemused by the comment, “only I'm succeeding,” he started walking again, quickly passing through the dull pools of light produced by the glowing crystals in the walls.

  “The Heart? Who sent you? My master told me I was the only one,” The Apprentice now started to lightly jog to keep up with The Messenger.

  “I sent myself,” he stopped again, this time in front of a fork in the tunnels, and paused for a while. “This Heart can really save the city?”

  The Apprentice nodded firmly. “So long as I get it back in time.”

  “You?” The Messenger asked forcefully, “you'd be dead without me. Now I think you should just leave it to me,” he went to move but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

  “Fine, yes, but you need me too. Do you know what the Heart is?” he stared at The Messenger who said nothing, “how do you expect to get to Indra? Get the Heart? Do you even know the way out of here?”

  The Messenger eventually nodded, acceptingly. “Fine, I need what you know, but it's my city! I'm not letting any two bit mage slow me down!”

  “And I'll try not to take that personally,” The Apprentice murmured as The Messenger tried to set off down one of the tunnels again, only to be stopped once more. “We go down there, by the way,” The Apprentice added, pointing loosely to the other tunnel.

  For the next few minutes the pair
walked in near silence, apart from the Apprentice correcting directions and The Messenger trying to avoid igniting the tunnels. Soon the faint echo of their footsteps began to grow louder and the tunnel widened, continuing to grow until it became a large cavern. The cavern was brightly illuminated in various areas by large formations of Glintstone and had a sizable pool of bright blue water at one far side. Next to it was an arrangement of old, abandoned shacks and charred stone houses, remnants of the Indran miners efforts. Barely pausing to appreciate the history the two moved on through the seemingly endless cavern.

  “We're close now,” the Apprentice finally said, “not long until the plains.”

  “So what are they?” The Messenger asked, ignoring the statement, “those beasts assaulting Tychus? They're like nothing I've ever seen, monstrous husks of metal and fire. Our own creation, he said, a creation no one knows of.”

  The Apprentice looked at him sideways in the dull, dusty light, reluctant to speak of the Scourge.

  “I want to know,” The Messenger said calmly, seeing the reservations in the Apprentices' eyes, “I have to know,” he emphasised, “it is my city, after all.”

  “A creation of man,” the Apprentice stated simply, “not mage, not demon but man,” he paused for a moment to consider again if a member of such a simple caste could understand but decided either way it was his right to know. “Do you know of The Incursion? It's a good few hundred years back, now?”

  “Something about an otherworldly force trying to invade us?” he waved a hand around uninterestedly, trying to grasp the point of its mention.

  “Yes, you see, the incursion was only barely defeated by our ancestors-”

  “Our?” The Messenger interjected curiously.

  “Their defeat was an effort of both man and mage. Yet, this evil was foretold to return with dire consequences to our world. At that point it was decided that a better way to protect ourselves was needed. An army of cataclysmic machines was built, infused with a dark power left behind after The Incursion.” At last the cavern began to narrow again and a tunnel became apparent in the far wall, a pinpoint of natural light heralding an exit. “My people didn't agree with the creation of such things, insisting a power such as that could not be tamed. Unsurprisingly we were right, so when you lost control and came crawling to us we constructed a way to stop them. We built the Heart for no other reason than to ensure there were enough of you left to learn a lesson from all this destruction,” the Apprentice stopped walking, realising that, in his anger, he had stormed away, leaving The Messenger several paces behind.

  “I knew of none of this,” The Messenger spoke softly, not insulted by the Apprentices attitude but rather agreeing with his opinion on the brashness and stupidity of the collected governments, “I simply wish to save my home.”

  The Apprentice looked to the spark of light in the deep, black tunnel and sighed. “Save it, you will,” the Apprentice added at last before striding off along the tunnel without another thought on the subject.

  The Messenger lost sight of the Apprentice for some seconds with the contrast of the ever brightening dawn sun against the tunnels blackness hurting his eyes. Eventually he stumbled out, into air that seemed burning after the coolness of the caverns. The light flooded his eyes making nothing but a vague outline of the horizon and the bright sun sitting on it visible. As he squinted and blinked at the morning, the glare started to fade and he could see that he was at the top of a rocky escarpment against a sheer cliff. The Apprentice was already some way down the scarp, looking over a large, flat desert with the hazy outline of Indra far off in the distance.

  “We'll never make it,” The Messenger half called to the Apprentice, his heart sinking at the thought of his city in ruins.

  “What do you think we are?” the Apprentice asked quietly as The Messenger moved down the slope towards him, “Mystics? Soothsayers? Hermits with no real power?”

  “I never question what I don't understand,” The Messenger said simply, stepping in line with his counterpart who turned to him and smiled.

  “Good answer,” he grabbed The Messengers arm harshly and darted forward in a plume of dust, somehow propelling himself across the desert at tremendous speed. As The Messenger was dragged along on the ride of a lifetime Indra became much clearer, racing towards him as though some great force was pressing it across the land. It became apparent that it was not so much of an abandoned fort but rather an impenetrable fortress, a high tower driving into the sky from its centre.

  Soon enough Indras approach slowed to a stop, leaving the pair at the base of a large portcullis surrounded by vast ramparts. In a second the huge gate began to rise with no other command than the Apprentices mere presence. He turned to The Messenger and smiled as several other mages emerged from the innards of the dusty fort.

  “The people of this world may think of us what they like but know only that we are far from powerless,” the Apprentice turned towards his fellow mages and stepped through the huge opening.

  The Messenger hung motionless in the growing heat of the desert morning, trying to overcome the effects of his supersonic dash. He slowly looked up at the central tower piercing the sky above him and breathed out gently. “That's...erm,” he tried to muster a suitable, if not accurate, description, “...big,” he eventually murmured to himself as the gate creaked and began to fall, forcing him to hurry after the Apprentice.

  The inside of the fort was as you would generally expect from an abandoned military position. There were unimpressive stone huts and disused forges around the parade ground, a few mages meandering around as though nothing overly important was happening. In contrast the tower was a shining obsidian black, veins of glowing blue mineral running through the glassy substance like a life force. It was clearly apparent that this was the true majesty of this place, something far beyond the rest of the world. The Messenger gazed at the powerful spire as a strange, unseen energy seemed to want to draw him towards it. A strange, beautiful force that he knew for a fact was dangerous, a force that was currently destroying Tychus. Despite all of his wonder and haunted fears, though, only one thing really occurred to him. “If you people are so powerful then how were you caught by that thing in the forest?”

  The words forced the Apprentice and his colleagues to a dead stop at the base of the tower. He thought for a few seconds as the other two turned to face him expectantly. “Just because we are 'so powerful' doesn't mean we can't be taken by surprise,” he stated simply at last as the mages around him nodded in content agreement. “Look,” he continued, refusing to dwell on the frankly embarrassing instance, “the Heart is ready in the Jump Room.”

  “Jump Room?” The Messenger asked suspiciously.

  The Apprentice looked up. “The top. It's the only place where we can get a good focus.”

  “The top,” The Messenger repeated uncomfortably. “How exactly do we get to 'the top?'” he asked again, once more stepping in line with the Apprentice, “or am I better off not knowing?”

  The Apprentice looked sideways at The Messenger. “You're probably better off not knowing.” Again the Apprentice roughly grabbed hold of The Messengers arm and rocketed up into the air, allowing the ground to fall away as if it had never meant to be there in the first place. As they sped through the air the obsidian tower became almost translucent and it was possible to see thousands more mages inside. Each of them conducted a variety of wild and amazing experiments utilising a form of the glowing mineral that grew like veins through the tower. Soon enough they began to slow and the Apprentice casually stepped forward into the faded black wall, pulling The Messenger with him, into the tower. Inside was even more amazing than the outside. The entire wall that was expected to encircle them with the black rock was completely transparent, allowing for an unnerving yet fantastic view for hundreds of miles all around. In the distance sat a plume of black smoke and flickering lights. This was Tyn Tychus, or at least, what was about to become the remnants of Tyn Tychus. Along the ground pulsed ye
t more veins of the mineral into a central podium, similar to the one that resided in the city's citadel. Atop it sat a large, elongate object, glowing a brilliantly bright gold.

  “This is what you've come for,” the Apprentice said simply, “all you have to do is take it, then you can be home,” he smiled brightly as The Messenger turned around in confusion. “Why do you think we call it the 'Jump Room?' It can take you anyway. Absolutely anywhere in this world. In a second it can fly you and the Heart to save Tychus.”

  The Messenger darted forward aggressively. “If it was that simple then why not do it straight away!?” he shouted, furious that these mages had let his city burn for apparently no reason. “Why didn't you stop them when it all started? Before they attacked Cealathon, before they attacked anywhere?”

  The Apprentice sighed and tried to place a calming hand on The Messengers shoulder, only to be swatted away. “It's never just a case of doing it, nothing ever as simple as an action. The Heart would never allow it. It needed a feeling, the feeling that it was truly needed, for a part of what needed saving to reach out and touch it. That, my friend, is exactly what you have done,” he tried to place his hand on The Messengers shoulder again, only this time it was allowed as he stared out towards his home, far across the silent land.

  The Messenger opened his mouth to speak but, instead, just shook his head and took a step towards the pedestal.

  “Just think of home,” the Apprentice spoke softly while The Messenger climbed the shallow steps to the Heart, the veins pulsing under his feet.

  “Home,” The Messenger repeated, reaching out to lay a finger on the Heart. It was chillingly cold but had a soothing quality to it, humming at he wrapped his hand around it.

  “I never did ask,” the Apprentice stated, making The Messenger turn around only to see him at the end of a twisting tunnel made up mostly of colours he could never have imagined existed, “what's your name?”

  “My name?” The Messenger murmured as the tunnel grew ever longer, disorientating all of his senses. Finally he managed to look at the fading image of the Apprentice and gather his words. “My name is Isolar and I am a Messenger.” Just as he spoke the tunnel pulsed and threw back on its self, knotting existence into never to be considered permutations and thwarting its own understanding of its self. The tunnel strobed and fell, briefly allowing The Messenger to catch glimpses of ill considered realities and far away places. Suddenly it swung back, jarring The Messenger back into logical knowing and forced him through a wall of the brightest white, beyond which was Tychus and the monstrous army besieging it.

  From atop the citadel The Messenger looked out at a sight he could barely believe, his jaw slowly falling open. With the dawning of the sun, the black mist had cleared leaving only the ranks of metal legs crashing down over the crumbling city walls. Their huge bulks heaved over the burning remains of the market district below. Above him the cannons still roared, defiant in the face of defeat, their ammunition ricocheting from the thick shells of the Scourge, only occasionally stumbling them. Then from nowhere a huge metal claw swiped overhead, knocking The Messenger to the ground and decapitating the citadel, destroying the cities last means of defence. He tried to stagger to his feet again as rubble crashed down all around with thick dust consuming him. Suddenly he was halted by a huge figure looming towards him, two rows of four eyes each glowing a deep red against the veil of dust. Slowly it moved closer, the creatures huge iron mandibles piercing through the settling dust as it stamped a spike ended leg into the ground next to The Messenger. He managed to get to his feet, glancing around for a way to escape, the abomination still baring down on him. Just as it was about to strike, The Messenger spotted an open hatch amongst the pummelled stone blocks and immediately darted towards it, leaping through as the war machine demolished yet more of the citadels upper towers. With no time to recover from the fall, The Messenger scrambled to his feet again and tried to run from a metallic leg piercing the ceiling, driving down into the body of the fortress. He clutched the Heart tightly to his chest as the leg was pulled back, effortlessly tearing a gaping void through the side of the building. He kept running through the wide halls of the citadel towards the Inner Sanctum, not looking back in case the ground gave way beneath him. Occasionally, through the arrow slits in the heavy walls, he caught glances of the machines outside, reducing the city beneath them to pulverised rubble. These did not concern him, though. Rather he feared the one lurking just beyond the wall, capable of ending his life and the hopes of the city in a second. Instead it waited, choosing, he thought, to toy with its victim to the last second, where it could cause the greatest desperation and loss. Soon enough The Messenger made it to the sanctum and moved straight towards the pedestal, somehow guided as though the Heart were whispering to him. As if in a trance he bolted past The Regent, who was huddled into a corner holding something tight to her, and pulled The Heart from his tunic. In one fluid motion he placed it firmly into a perfectly shaded slot in the pedestal and stepped back expectantly.

  Nothing happened.

  “The Heart?” groaned The Regent, looking up towards The Messenger and the glowing artefact as it continued to stand, seemingly inert, “the Mages Apprentice?”

  “Is a liar!” The Messenger snapped, swinging around, “he sent me back with nothing! A useless ornament!”

  “The Heart is only part of it,” she moved her hand, revealing her dress to be soaked with blood and a shard of metal protruding from her chest, “it needs to know them, feel their dark energy so that it may cleanse it,” she sharply wrenched the fragment from herself and offered it up with a shaking hand, “I waited,” she wavered, making The Messenger start running towards her, “I fear I have waited too long,” she ended at last, her body going limp, allowing the shard to tumble through the air for a moment. As it clattered to the ground the entire back wall was demolished inward, forcing The Messenger to the ground again. Through the settling dust that beast stood again, its front two legs perched on the wall, almost smug, if it knew of such a thing, at its ability to torment. The Messenger coughed and pushed himself up, rubble falling from his back. He gazed at the body of the city's leader, then down at the thing she had given her life for. Again, something told him what to do, like he had always been meant to. Quickly he scooped up the bloodied fragment of metal and dove towards the pedestal again with the machine striking a claw forward to stop him. Just before the huge metal arm struck him, The Messenger pierced The Hearts crystalline surface with the shard and a cloud of black static moved between them. Immediately a bubble of the brightest light pulsed out from the pedestal with a deafening screech, making the Heart shatter. It radiated out across the city, beyond the walls, through Gallowtrees and Glintstone and far further than anyone could ever know. In that moment of immense power the metal beasts, which had just about reached the Residential District, froze solid. The red glow in their eyes faded to an obtuse black and every last one began collapsing.

  When the shrill tone had eventually faded The Messenger opened his eyes slowly and found his nemesis slumped against what was left of the Citadels wall.

  “Who are you!?” a voice shouted from behind.

  “No one,” The Messenger responded automatically, as he would have with anyone on the streets, “just a Messenger,” he added, turning around to see The Captain in the torn and dirty remnants of his armour.

  “You retrieved The Heart?” The Captain asked, looking about at the clear slithers of glass on the ground.

  “I just brought it back,” The Messenger started, “the Mages Apprentice showed me the way, I didn't really do-”

  “You did everything, boy! I don't know how you found out about it but the important thing is that you took the initiative. You're a hero, son,” he smiled at The Messenger for a second before spotting The Regent, half buried in debris, “one of a few on this day,” he crouched down and started to brush the dust from her. “She knew what was needed and was determined to retrieve it in any way possible. I tried
to stop her, go in her place but she just walked off towards them, alone,” he hung his head for a second and then looked up again. “Yes, though, a hero! You should be treated as one!” he harshly grabbed The Messengers arm and pulled him towards the open wall, stepping out onto the corpse of the metal beast, without fear, as a huge crowd started to gather below. “Today!” he shouted across the remains of the city, “we have lost so much. Yet still, on this day, we emerge victorious!” His words prompted a huge cheer from the crowd. “For this we have two to thank. Our wise Regent who, I am sad to say, gave her life so that ours may go on and this simple Messenger,” he rose The Messengers arm high into the air. “I can't even begin to imagine what he went through to bring back our salvation. With the Regent gone it is my duty to take rule over this city for the time being. However, as this city lays in ruins I declare that we must start anew!” Another roar of applause went up from the crowd, forcing The Captain to wait some time until it died down. “I feel it is only fair that we honour this hero among men, this Messenger who has saved us all. In light of our situation, our new home will be named after this simple saviour,” he turned to The Messenger and grinned, “what is your name, Messenger?”

  “Um,” he started, overwhelmed by the honour that was being bestowed upon him, “Isolar,” he ended shakily.

  “Then from now on Tyn Tychus is no more! From the rubble that has been left today will rise Tyn Isolar!” One final, enormous roar went up from the crowd, this time spreading across what was left of the city until every survivor was chanting Isolars name.

  Over time The Messengers and those like them, died out. Their services were transcended by ever faster, more efficient methods of delivery. If not for that one Messenger the entire caste would have faded away, their entire existence completely forgotten. Yet, for hundreds of years to come tales were still told, not only of the great Isolar but of every Messenger. They were no longer undesirables among society, avoided at all costs but an icon of trust. An example of what good could come from every person, no matter who they were, if they had the desire to do so. Even now Tyn Isolar still stands, a shining beacon for the entire land. The City of Peace.

  End of World