The Lords of Light and Darkness

Copyright 2007 Clayton Kinnelon Greiman

 

In ancient texts, long lost to the eyes and thoughts of the modern world, a prophecy was written:

 

As the Light perishes, the hope of mankind fades.

When the heart of The Keeper grows black, The Siege will fall, and Darkness shall take the land.

Cry woe upon the earth, for the hour of The Kingdom is at hand. 

 

    

      In the beginning, there existed God and The Darkness.  The Light, intended to be a force equal to The Darkness, was created some time thereafter when God sought balance in the universe.  Into this equation, mankind was summoned into existence; Adam was the first, a being born of Light, and he was paired with Lilith, a being born of Darkness.  They sired offspring, most notably Cain and Abel, each born with a soul of Darkness or of Light.  From the beginning, the two forces were at war, and it was the act of Cain spilling Abel's blood on the soil of Eden that led to man being cast out of The Kingdom.

      Lilith, however, refused to relinquish the territory.  Regent of The Darkness, she thought Eden hers; the force that had born her was present at the time of God's inception.  Therefore, The Darkness was equal to God, and God held no sovereignty over its will.       

       In a declaration of war, Lilith called upon the forces of The Darkness to stand at her side in rebuking the will of God.  Demons, Death, and all things born of blackness marched on Eden and were met by a host of angels, the chosen soldiers of God's wrath.           

       The war endured for a fortnight, and the soil of The Kingdom became a place of butchery, soaked in blood and offal.  In a battle of immortals, neither side could prevail; after near extinction suffered by both camps, the surviving parties came together and settled upon a compromise.  The Light and The Darkness would depart Eden, and it would be man who decided its ownership.  As opposed to Cain and Abel being born as individuals with a soul of either Darkness or Light, it was determined that any new human born would be a neutral fulcrum of the two.  These beings would populate the earth, and each individual would have free reign to choose his allegiance.  

     If the race of man prospered in its goodness, to them and to The Light would The Kingdom would be restored; however, if mankind fell into iniquity, then both The Kingdom and the earth would be given over to The Darkness and the forces of Hell.

      Once the treaty was signed, a final act of defiance came to pass.  Lilith kneeled upon the earth and lapped at the blood of a fallen angel, thereby granting herself immortality and casting off the shell of mortality God had forced upon her.  In a fury, He cast her into the depths of The Darkness; there, she became a concubine to demons and, with time,  began to transform into one of them.  Her devastating beauty remained, was heightened even by its transformation away from The Light, but the fangs, pale skin, and thirst for blood, would forever set her apart from mortal kind.  

      Though Lilith herself could not walk the earth, in the end times, when the Light in Eden had nearly perished, she could influence men and steer them upon the path of Darkness, thus assuring the destruction of the race.  Her latest chosen prey was Chris Marshall, the one whose son had been prophesized to usher in a golden age of peace for mankind and thus to banish The Darkness from The Kingdom for all time. 

       Such was the reason why, in this, the Last age of Man, Lilith had made certain he would never sire offspring.

 

     “Slow down!  You’re going to get us killed!”      

     “Why are you even here?” Chris Marshall shouted, the first words he had spoken since the blast. 

     Daniel Morlion didn’t answer, but instead closed his eyes in fear.  The Jetta in which he was a passenger veered so near to a car headed in the opposite direction that it tore off its side-view mirror.

     Mercifully, the city limits were past them now; the automobiles, each one another possible casualty, would become fewer.  Soon, they would be turning down the dirt road that led to the swamps.  Daniel was certain neither he nor Chris Marshall would live very much longer once that boundary line was crossed.

 

     “Why don’t you just fucking shoot them?” Jeremy roared to Marek over the rush of wind that battered them.

     “If we kill him, then she kills us.  Besides, do you think I’m going to ruin the sight of him crying like that?  Hell no, man; I’m enjoying watching that jock suffer.” Marek brought one of his hands to his eyes and made a mocking gesture of pretend crying at Chris.

     In reply, Chris Marshall floored the accelerator and slammed the Jetta into the back of the pick-up truck.  The men lost their balance and fell into the truck bed.  With the fall, Marek’s trigger finger flexed, and a twenty-gauge shotgun shell tore through the sky.

     “What the hell are you two doing back there?” Justin screamed through the open cab window.  “Do something to stop him before he forces us off the road!” 

 

     “It’s a trap!” Daniel pleaded to Chris.  “They knew you would come after them.  You have to stop the car!” 

     Not listening, Chris floored the accelerator.  The Jetta careened into the back of the truck a second time.  

     Having no other recourse, Daniel grabbed the steering wheel.  Chris reacted on instinct, backhanding him across the face. 

     “Fucker, what the hell’s wrong with you?” 

     “Gun!” 

     Chris looked back towards the road, and saw the barrel of Marek’s shotgun leveled at the windshield.  Jeremy was waving goodbye.

     Letting go of the steering wheel altogether, Chris ducked to the right.  Daniel ducked to the left, his head resting on Chris’, his left hand clutching the bottom of the steering wheel. 

     The windshield exploded.

     Daniel’s grip on the steering wheel unconsciously tightened and pulled to the right.  The Jetta veered off in the same direction, careened into a ditch, flipped on its hood, and then righted itself with another roll.

        Brake lights glowing red in the distance heralded unconsciousness for Daniel Morlion.     

 

     The four adolescent members of the 'Dungeons & Dragons Crew' were lounging in their underwear, playing the game they worshipped.

     “Why didn’t you check for traps before you walked into the crypt,” Justin testily demanded of his twin brother, Jeremy.  “Now, your flipping elf has been rendered unconscious; a vampire has been woken, and worse yet, I’m left alone with Stuart’s useless wench of a paladin to fight the damn thing!”

     “Don’t call my paladin a wench, dick weed!  You’re still carrying a grudge because she wouldn’t sleep with your venereal disease-infested fighter.  How many times do I have to tell you?  Paladins don't have sex; they're warriors of God, but I guess someone who blows their own brother would have difficulty grasping such a pious concept.” 

     "Bitch, that's the last time we invite you over for a friendship-enrichment exercise."

     "Is that what they're calling hardcore, incestuous sex these days?"

     “Um, guys,” interrupted Marek, advising as Dungeon Master.  “I don’t know how to break this to you, but the vampire, fangs bared, is coming straight for you.” 

     “Good, let it suck the blood out of Jeremy’s elf, but for the love of God, tell it to leave the cum for his brother, or we'll never hear the end of it!”

     “No, don’t let Legolas get eaten!” Jeremy protested, his pale blue eyes full of fear.  “If you were unconscious, I’d protect you from a rampaging blood-sucker!”

     “Who the hell let him name the elf ‘Legolas’ anyway?  He deserves to die for that reason alone.” Stuart added, paying no heed to Marek’s warning about the game. 

     “And because of any lack of action taken,” sighed Marek, “the vampire has sunk its fangs into the paladin’s neck, and she is dying a very slow, very painful death.”

     “Suck my dick!” screamed Stuart.  “Marek, can’t you give us just one adventure in which we don’t all die?  Do you have some kind of dormant homicidal tendency toward your three best friends?”

     Pushing his shoulder length mass of black hair away from his face, Marek grinned wickedly in reply.  “Perhaps, but you won’t find out until it’s too late.” 

   

     The Dungeons and Dragons crew had been missing, but had not been missed, for three weeks.  No one knew where they had gone; the school officials didn’t seem to care.  As for their parents, who knew if they even had any?  It was generally believed the four of them had mutated into existence from some backwater pond of sludge.

     Marek, Jeremy, Justin, and Stuart.  Generic names.  Not generic individuals.  Proof of their non-conformity lay in the fact that they got beat-downs from some of their more closed-minded classmates on a regular basis.   

     Most of the student body said that they deserved what they got.  After all, they wore cloaks to school and argued publicly on such matters as what class of elf made for the best champion.  If only they would act and dress like everyone else, the hazing would stop. 

     “Cut your hair, put on a polo shirt, wear khakis, and we’ll declare a truce,” Daniel heard one of the preps say to Stuart not so long ago.

     “We are the gods to whom you will bow,” Stuart had replied to him.  “And if you do not bow, then you will die.”

     By the time those words were spoken, things had become inexplicably altered.

     In January, The Crew had cut school for three days.  When they returned, their hair was drastically longer, their bodies more chiseled, their muscles more sinewy. 

    If a physiologist had been brought in to examine this remarkable transformation, he or she would have pronounced this startling verdict:  the young men were no longer sixteen years of age; in three days time, they had aged seven years.

     It showed in many ways.  

     Whereas before, each of The Crew had played the role of victim to perfection, they were now able to defend themselves in a most capable manner.   

     Everyone had come to fear them. 

     Everyone, that is, except Chris Marshall, who feared no one.   

     It was one of the many reasons Daniel Morlion worshipped him. 

 

     In the instant that the back of his head was slammed into a locker, Daniel began to rethink his candidate for hero worship.

     “You had to do it, didn’t you?  You had to go and show my dick to everyone in this mother-fucking school!”

     In the free hand that wasn’t around Daniel’s throat, Chris Marshall held a yearbook.  It was open to page sixty-five, the page that had the full-page soft-core porn spread of Chris Marshall, captain of the swim team, in his dripping wet Speedo.  He had just emerged from the pool, and his suit had been pulled so low during the race that a tuft of pubic hair was overflowing from the “waist” line. 

     He was smiling slightly while holding two of his fingers in the air to form a peace sign.  The gesture was meant for his girlfriend, Catherine Nagle, with whom he had argued the prior night.

     She spoke now hesitantly, knowing to tread very carefully around his volatile temper.  “It’s done already, Chris.  Hurting him won’t make the picture disappear.”

     “Who the fuck is hurting him?  I just want him to say it for everyone to hear; then I’ll let him go.”

     As students paused to hear the revelation that was about to come forth, the crowded hallway became an unmoving deadlock. 

     “What do you want me to say?”

     “That you’re fucking in love with me.”  Chris looked back at the gathered crowd.  “He’s always there, following me around.  At every practice, at every meet.” Furiously, he turned his attention back toward Daniel.  “Just say it!  Say that you’re in love with me!  I want everyone to hear it!”

     “Please, Chris…” Catherine started to speak, but a louder, more forceful voice cut her short.

     “Set the boy down.” Marek of the crew had spoken; the trinity stood at his side.

     Without fear, Chris Marshall answered him.  “Did you get lost on your way to the freaks convention?  It’s down the hall to the right; if you get lost, look for the sign that says ‘Go fuck yourselves’.”

     The air whistled.  A hundred eyes looked on, but saw nothing.  Two seconds later, a dagger was embedded in the wall a few centimeters shy of Chris Marshall’s face. 

     The crowd panicked, began to scream, and dispersed chaotically. 

     His attention diverted, Chris Marshall released his hold on Daniel’s neck.

     “You’re a crazy pack of mother-fuckers.”   
     Marek’s eyes glowered as he extended a hand towards Daniel.  The young man rushed to stand with the safety of the crew.

     “If your three ass bitches weren’t at your back, I’d beat the living shit out of you!”

     “It’s over, Chris; please, let’s just go.” Catherine clutched his arm, but Chris Marshall remained where he stood and didn’t acknowledge her. 

     “It’s far from over,” Marek said in a baritone voice that, only weeks ago, was on the verge of breaking from puberty.  “In fact, it’s only just begun.”

     “Can’t you just go?” Catherine questioned of the crew, her tone both fearful and condescending at once.

     They turned to leave, and Daniel followed, not knowing what else to do.

     “We can’t come back here,” Justin spoke to the group.  “Not until the hour of The Siege.”

     “May I ask where we are going?” Daniel questioned innocently. 

     “To the Kingdom.” Marek answered. 

     “Yes, and for that, human” Stuart added coldly, “We have need of your blood.”

 

     Catherine Nagle loved the memory of Chris Marshall more than she loved the reality of him.  They had been a couple since seventh grade.  Five years together.  Most adult couples didn’t last so long.

     Up until a few months ago, Catherine couldn’t have dreamt of a kinder, more romantic man than Chris Marshall; his only fault, if it was a fault, was that he was overly dedicated to swimming.  She sometimes felt his athleticism came before their relationship in terms of his priorities; yet, she knew how gifted the coaches said Chris was, and how much pressure they put on him to succeed.

     She had once theorized it was that pressure that had changed Chris, but in hindsight his transformation had been too sudden, too malevolent, to have originated from those who had his best interest at heart. 

     Chris Marshall’s descent began with the death of his mother.  Upon returning home from school he had found his bedroom door ajar.  The simple explanation was that his mother had done laundry and put his clothes away, but Chris was ranting like a madman about her prying into the secrets of his life.  Weary of the confrontation, she tried to move past him, but in a moment of inexplicable rage Chris grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her down the stairs. 

     The fall broke her neck and killed her instantly. 

     When the police arrived and Chris told them that his disabled mother had lost her balance and had fallen down the stairs, Catherine validated his story.  In hindsight, she wished she had told the truth, but she couldn’t have known then to what extent the man she loved would fall. 

     In time, even the school administrators turned a blind eye when Chris had some violent loss of temper.  With Fran Christensen dead, Chris Marshall had become their star.  Who cared if he was going a little nuts outside the pool?  If anything, it seemed the meaner he got, the faster a swimmer he became.  

     They all clung to Chris because of the glory he could bring them.  Catherine clung to him in the hope of somehow saving the sweet boy she had loved. 

     The only time she loved Chris now was when he fell ill, and she could feel the boy who loved her fighting for his life.  Fighting for their love.  Fighting to come back to her.      

     That’s why she didn’t give up on him.  He was still alive, down there in the Darkness, and she would not let the Darkness take him. 

     It was an oath she swore to herself every morning upon awakening and every night as she lay down to sleep. 

     So long as she took breath, the Darkness would not take Chris Marshall. 

     And because of that oath, the Darkness came to despise Catherine Nagle.

     It swore its own oath:  that the bitch would be dead in a very short order.   

 

     In the cramped space of Stuart’s bedroom, a trinity of the self-proclaimed D&D crew sat around in their underwear and t-shirts, eating greasy pizza and discussing the latest in all matters role-playing.  

     “Guys,” Stuart spoke, his mouth half full, “shouldn’t we stop bullshitting around and start getting ready?  Marek said he was serious this time.  That he’s actually got the real thing.”
     “He always says he’s serious and that he’s got the real thing,” Jeremy replied sarcastically.   

     Echoing his brother, Justin entered the fray.  “He got it on E-bay for Christ’s sake!  This spell book is going to work just as well as that wand of flight he got at the flea market.”

     Justin and Jeremy grinned at one another, their eyes lighting with mischief.  The scene was all too familiar for Stuart, who had seen it replayed beyond all endurance.   

     “Don’t start, bitches.”

     In uncanny twin unison, Jeremy and Justin began to laugh at the recollection of Stuart standing on the roof of his parents’ doublewide trailer, 'wand of flight' in hand, black velvet cape billowing in the wind, the rest of him as naked as the day he was born. 

     “By the power of Grey Skull, you shouted, like you were He-Man or some shit.  By the power of my black and blue ass and crushed nuts is what you should have yelled.  Man, you bit the dust on that one big time!”

     “And the cat!” Justin chimed in, barely able to speak through a fit of laughter.  “I thought I was going to piss myself when you landed on the damn thing.  Oh, God, it’s eyes popped out and everything!  I bet you were pulling fur out of your asshole for a week!”
     Jeremy commenced to sing, “Cat man, cat man, oh where did you come from?” 

     “From the roof of my double-wide trailer!” 

     Stuart had taken enough abuse; he leapt and double close-lined the twins, knocking them flat on the bed.  Within seconds, three bodies, two exactly alike, were intertwined to form a snarling mass of adolescence.

     The twins fought dirty, tugging at Stuart’s nipples and nut sack.  Besieged by the both of them, he couldn’t mount an offense.  Fortunately for Stuart, the twins’ fascination always turned to one another.

     When Justin saw Jeremy’s dick slip from the front of his boxers, he pointed to his brother and cried out the words, ‘Spell of Petrifaction’.  

     “You can’t call that when my dick is out!” 

     “You’re petrified.  You can’t talk; you can’t move.  Thus, your dick stays where it is.  That’s where wearing boxers gets you.  If you had been wearing briefs, like me, this never would have occurred.”

     “Why did you turn on him?” Stuart questioned, leaning his elbow on Jeremy’s chest as though he were a piece of furniture. 

     “Because I’m a true neutral character, remember?  I turn on a dime, and go wherever the moment takes me.  Sometimes it’s towards good; sometimes it’s towards evil.  I saw his dick and went over to the dark side.  What’s that say about me?” 

     “That every time you take a piss, there’s a chance you might destroy the fucking world.”  Unconcealed anger pervaded Marek’s voice.  With the young men at play, his entrance into the room had gone unnoticed.  “Why the hell aren’t you dressed?” 

     “Spell of Greater Restoration,” Stuart whispered as he gestured towards Jeremy.  The pretend spell of petrifaction reversed, he was finally allowed to shove his dick back into his boxers.

     “Jesus, man, where’d you get the threads?” Justin asked, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. 

     There was also a genuine curiosity in his question.  Marek had entered the room dressed in medieval finery of the highest quality:  bracers around his wrists, a real sword at his side, polished leather boots that extended up to his knees.  It wasn’t the threadbare, internet-purchased costumery the boys had bought with their allowance savings.

     “Skip the small talk and just get dressed.  I don’t care what you wear…” Marek turned to glare at Jeremy.  “So long as your dicks aren’t showing.” 

     “It was a spell of petrifaction!  I couldn’t move.  What was I supposed to do?”

     “Get dressed.”     

     Fed up with the bullying, Justin challenged Marek’s anger.  “Man, why are you taking such a hard line with us?  Over some stupid book you probably bought on E-bay?  This is just another one your lame ass…”

     “It’s The Book of The Damned, and it’s the real fucking thing.” 

     “How can you be so sure,” questioned Stuart.

     “Because I’ve used it to open the gateway.  I’ve been there.  I’ve been to The Kingdom…and it’s real.”     

 

     They always had the same elements, the visions:  the sky splitting open, blood pouring down as rain, a red fissure forming against black nothingness.  Someone was coming through.  Not God.  Something evil.  The damned had been set loose from hell to butcher the people of the earth.

     It was the end of the world.   

     Like a cancer, the visions were eating away at Chris Marshall, turning his heart to stone, suffocating his soul beneath a thick layer of Darkness.  Once all the good within him was devoured, he would be summoned to The Kingdom. 

     There, as the Lord of Darkness, Chris Marshall would be made ruler of all that remained after the fall of man.       

     Sensing that time to be near, the creature walked his dreams and waking visions with increasing frequency.  She brought Darkness when she was near, unrelenting Darkness, in which she wrapped, as in a shroud, Chris Marshall’s soul. 

     “You will be made Lord of Darkness, and from the sanctuary in the East will the enemy rise, beset upon destroying you.”

     “But he shall fail in the attempt.  The Light shall die that day.  That is the prophecy," Chris Marshall rejoined. 

     “Now speak the words I have taught you, and herald them as truth.”

     “Cry woe upon the earth, for the hour of The Kingdom is at hand.”

 

     Catherine Nagle had driven to the graveyard because she knew the dead would not give up the secrets of Chris Marshall.  In the backseat of his car, she was lying beneath him, drifting her left hand through his dark hair in a futile effort to calm him as he convulsed uncontrollably.  Her other hand had cautiously slipped into the outer pocket of his letterman’s jacket, where her fingers clasped a prescription bottle.  When she brought it into the fading light of day, she saw that it was nearly full.

     His argument for not taking the meds was that they made him listless and unfocused.  In the world of competitive swimming, that qualified the drugs as an expendable commodity; the consequent havoc his illness wrecked upon Catherine Nagle's life be damned.

     She had come to realize Chris no longer loved her; she knew that he only needed her now.  Subconsciously, it was why she took his abuse; each aggravated assault was an admittance of his weakness.  Chris was hitting out against an illness he couldn’t comprehend, and she was the wall that never broke.  If he ever regained control of himself, there would be no reason for her to stay. 

     Holding him helpless in her arms, she had her justification to remain.

     What she hadn’t received yet was her daily ration of terror.   

     Chris reared up so fast that she hadn’t realized the momentum until his clenched fist struck the window behind her head.  His knuckles had begun to bleed from repeated strikes before Catherine managed to pull him down on top of her.  

     He lay still for a few moments, a heaving mass of rage and tears. 

     Catherine knew the calm was deceptive; the fit had only briefly extinguished itself due to exhaustion.  She knew what was to come next, so she invited it upon herself, rather than having it forced upon her. 

     She slipped one of her hands beneath his body and began to undo his belt.  If she initiated the act, it stripped the power away from the Darkness that raged inside him.  By confronting it directly, Catherine was exhibiting that it didn’t hold any dominion over her. 

     The reply of the Darkness came in the form of Chris backhanding Catherine across the face.

     “I fuck you!  You don’t fuck me!”

     As he forcefully began to rip her away her clothing, Catherine Nagle understood how the dead around them felt.

     She wished she could lie among them, far away from the man she pitied…and sometimes thought she loved.

 

     “What do you mean you have need of my blood?” Daniel asked hesitantly of Marek and Stuart.

     He was sitting between them in a white-pick up truck that was barreling at top speed to only God knew where.  Daniel had accompanied them, because they had promised they wouldn’t harm him.  He based his trust upon the innocuous memory of the four boys he had known; he did not take into account the lies of the men they had become.

     “Only the blood of an innocent can open the gateway to The Kingdom.  If you cooperate, we will only take the little that we need.  If you resist, we will gut you and drink the excess.  Either way, whether in life or death, be assured you will open the portal.”

     “Why me?  I was always good to you.  Sure, we were never really friends, but I never did anything bad to you either.  Not like all the rest.”

     Uneasy silence took control of the cab.  Daniel turned his head and glanced back at the two men who sat with rifles in their laps.  The last time he had seen them, the twins had been children who laughed continually at their own mischief. 

     The men who coldly stared back at Daniel were unknown to him.   

     “Why don’t the twins laugh anymore?”

     The silence thickened, and Daniel Morlion’s question went unanswered. 

 

     An archaic symbol drawn upon the floor, the reading aloud of an incantation from the Book Of The Damned, and the spilling of virgin blood (plentiful among all four of the young men):  following these steps, it was a relatively simple act to open the gateway to The Kingdom.  To show camaraderie for this, their first inter-dimensional jaunt, each of the D&D crew had bled willingly, though unnecessarily (for the blood of just one of them would have been sufficient). 

     Within seconds, a glowing portal, deep red like the blood the young men had shed, appeared.  With Marek leading the way, they stepped through, and their next step was on solid stone. 

     “Gentlemen, welcome to The Kingdom.” 

     “Wicked,” the twins whispered in awe. 

     The four of them stood in the great hall of a castle.  Dimly lit by a sparse outcropping of candles, the place seemed cavernous.   

     “Whose castle is this?” Stuart questioned.

     “I have no idea.  I explored a little the last time I was here, but I couldn’t find anyone.  I called out, and no one came.”

     “You mean this castle might be ours?” 

     “Yeah, as a spoil of war for the conquerors of the realm!”

     “What about the candles?  If this place is so free of a tenant, then who lit them?” 

     As Marek answered for them, the twins had no time to ponder Stuart's riddle.  “Their being lit has nothing to do with recent time.”  He walked over to one of the frail points of Light and held his finger over it.  “On my last outing to this castle, I had a Martha Stewart moment I guess, and I wanted to smell the damn things.  I got a bit too close, and...”

     “Dude, stop talking!  Your finger…”

     “Is not getting burnt, Jeremy, because it’s not real flame.  We’ve stumbled into the past, when magic was still in existence.  These candles could have been lit by enchantment centuries ago.”

     “Marek, stop smiling for a minute.  Think, man; imagine this scenario as though you were acting as dungeon master.  Your party has materialized in a strange keep, which seems abandoned, and yet it is lit by enchantment.  It’s damn near freezing in this place; hell, we can see our breath as we speak.  Obviously, no human could live here in any state of comfort.”
     “Duh, which is why it’s been abandoned…”

     “And ours for the taking!”

     “Shut up, you two!  This is serious!” The light of mischief drained from the twins’ faces as Stuart continued.  “Marek, you say this is Eden.  But where’s the garden?  Why hasn’t an angel with a flaming sword cut us down for trespassing here?  Furthermore, why is it so damn dark and cold?  Why…”

     Marek interrupted him.  “If you ask any more questions, we’ll be standing here for the rest of our lives while I try to answer them.  This is Eden, but there’s no garden because man’s descent into Darkness has destroyed it.  Centuries ago, a group of adventures found The Book Of The Damned, and its power opened a doorway to this realm.  What they found was a poor shell of what once had been paradise on earth.  Eden has always been reflective of mankind’s humanity; as the species degenerates, so does the Kingdom.  By the time the adventurers arrived, the Light in Eden had dimmed considerably.  Anything left alive was dying a slow death.  Not knowing how to return to their own world, the men had no choice but to raze the land and to build this castle for shelter.  Why didn’t an angel or God stop them?  Because they were long dead by that time.  Dead or insane.  But aren’t those words interchangeable?  As to the reason The Kingdom is so dark, as I spoke earlier, it was fashioned to reflect the nature of man.  The Lights that flicker here are symbolic of mankind’s humanity.  They burn so faintly because mankind has fallen to Darkness.  It won’t be long now before the Light is extinguished completely.  That hour will bring about The Siege, when all those listed in the Book of the Damned will be freed from Hell and sent forth to destroy the living, righteous and unrighteous alike.”

     “Then that’s why you’ve brought us here?” Jeremy questioned.  “To make certain The Siege doesn’t occur.”

     “No, Jeremy, I brought us here to show you where we would flee once The Siege has begun.  No one can stop what is coming.  The dying of the Light is inevitable.”

     “But I don’t want to live here,” Jeremy retorted.  “Who’d want to make their home in a place like this?”

     “Who indeed?” Stuart questioned suspiciously.

     “Well, it’s either live in this world or be slaughtered in our own,” Justin concluded.  “And for my part, I’d rather live.”

     “I knew you’d see it clearly, Justin.  Why don’t you take your brother and go downstairs to the storeroom and outfit yourselves with some gear?  Weapons, shields, and clothing:  everything that was left behind by the crusaders can be found there.  Stuart and I will be down shortly.”

     “Awesome!”   

     The twins took off down the waiting corridor of Darkness, and their laughter echoed briefly before it faded to an uneasy silence.

     “Marek…”

     “Stuart, I know what you’re going to ask.  The answer is that we’re all level one players who have stumbled into a place where the most experienced of adventurers would count themselves lucky to survive.  Do I think there’s a good chance we may die?  Yes.  But it sure beats the hell out of staying at home and being whipping boys for a bunch of jocks and preps.  We’re nothing in that world.  Maybe we can be something here.  And if we have to die in order to find the purpose of our lives, then so be it.”           

     “That’s not a decision you can make for the rest of us!  Let the twins get their gear and then get us the hell out of here!”

     Marek looked down, smiled viciously, and then locked eyes with Stuart. 

     “Stuart, I’m just going to say this once.  I’m the only one among us who knows how to open the gateway, and I’m refusing to do so.  There will be no going back for us.”

        

     A group of twenty students had gathered for third period study hall in the biology classroom.  Daniel Morlion was among them, though not on a conscious level. 

     “I have to excuse myself,” the adult monitor said, his face pale from a sudden attack of nausea. 

     “I have to go out,” is what Daniel heard his father say.

     “Sure, dad, go on; I’ll be fine,” he spoke in Pavlovian reply, his face still buried in the novel he was reading.

     Believing Daniel was making fun of the teacher’s plight, the class erupted into laughter.  Clutching his stomach, the overweight monitor hurriedly left the classroom.   

     In the wake of the man’s pain and embarrassment, Daniel Morlion had come into existence, whereas no one had ever before taken notice of him. 

     Like a sleeping spider awoken by a struggling moth in its web, Chris Marshall’s eyes lit with a sinister amusement. 

     Had Daniel been paying any heed to his surroundings, he would have noticed Chris whispering to the young man who sat next to him.  But Daniel was so enrapt in his novel that he didn’t even notice when Chris Marshall, a few seconds later, had come to stand before him. 

     “Hey.”

     Daniel looked up, and saw Chris Marshall’s hazel eyes staring back at him.  The captain of the swim team was standing almost on top of him it seemed.  Daniel suddenly found himself prisoner to another reality, and for the first time in his life it was the one in which he actually existed.

     “Do you have a pencil I could borrow?”  With those words, Chris Marshall’s left hand disappeared beneath the opening of Daniel’s shorts and began a swift journey upward. 

     Within a matter of seconds, an erection pressed against Chris Marshall’s fingers.  Shock and lust collided.  Daniel careened backward, and crashed to the floor.

     Once again, the class erupted into laughter. 

     “Yep, he’s a fag.” Chris Marshall said as he made his way back to his chair. 

     Daniel Morlion was past the point of tears.  It seemed for the longest while that he couldn’t stand.  The laughter of the class held him pinned to the floor. When he did arise, his eyes met Chris Marshall’s.

     “What?  Touching it wasn’t good enough for you?  Are you waiting around for me to suck it?  Well, let me tell you, queer; it ain’t never going to happen.” 

     Not able to withstand anymore ridicule, Daniel ran from the classroom.  A host of questions and improbable explanations seared his mind as he fled.

     Why had Chris Marshall touched him?  Maybe Chris liked him, but he had messed it all up by jerking backward as he did.  Perhaps Chris was secretly bisexual and had to protect himself by saying what he did.  That had to be the answer.       

     And then Daniel Morlion asked himself the most dangerous question of all.

     How could he make it happen again?  

           

     Daniel Morlion wondered how much longer he was going to live.  The board to which he had been bound was full of holes; he knew their purpose was to allow his blood to drip down to the scrawled markings on the floor beneath him.       

     “You promised you weren’t going to kill me.”

     “Did we?” The one who had been Stuart spoke. 

     “I didn’t say any such thing.” Justin was grinning like a Cheshire as the words slipped from his lips.

     “Nor did I,” Jeremy said in quick succession, as though the bodies of the twins still held some form of symbiotic chemistry.

     “If only one of us said it, why it couldn’t possibly have been true.” Stuart turned to Marek and feigned to chide him.  “Marek, you really should learn not to speak for all of us.”

     Marek stood by, sharpening a blade.  Daniel knew instinctively how it would be used.  Self-preservation kicked in and clamped down on his fear.   

     “You chose me because I’m a virgin, right?  Well, do you know how rare those are in today’s world?  Just how many did you sense in the halls of the high school?” 

     “Enough for our purpose.  It was easy enough to get you.  It shall be just as easy to get another.” 

     “How much of my blood do you actually need for the spell?”
     “A few drops, but we’ll butcher you for our amusement.” 

     “Look, we can make a deal.  A deal that will amuse you.”

      “Speak fast, human.”
      “You want my blood; I want my life.  I’ll willingly be the key to open your doorway as often as you need.  It will be very convenient for your purposes, but I want something in return.” 

     “Other than the gracious act of allowing you to continue taking breath?  Human, you’re very greedy and more than a little foolish," Stuart said mockingly.  

     “The time for talking has passed.”  The blade sharpened to his satisfaction, Marek drew near to the altar. 

     “Wait!  You’re evil, and what I want in return for my blood is evil.  I want you to enslave someone to my will.”

     Intrigued by the words Daniel had spoken, the four looked at one another.  In his desperation, the boy had unknowingly spoken to the truth of their existence. 

     “Now, human, you speak the language of The Riveners.”  

     "Riveners?"

     "Demonic spirits that take possession of the bodies of the recently deceased and reanimate the flesh."

     Daniel was grateful Marek had responded; the longer The Riveners kept talking, the longer he remained alive.  "You mean the Dungeons and Dragons Crew are dead, their souls I mean?"

      "All but me," remarked Marek with a smile.  "I was spared, because I offered them as a sacrifice to our Queen."

      "If you're not a Rivener, then how did you become older, like the rest of The Crew?"

      "Being a Rivener had nothing to do with the accelerated aging.  That was an enchantment performed by our Queen; the bodies of boys are useless upon a field of war."

      "There's going to be a war?" 

      As Marek unleashed a wicked laugh, Daniel caught sight of the fangs in his mouth.  Whatever he believed he was, it was apparent that Marek was no longer as human as he professed himself to be.  

       "We imagined a war, a glorious war against the forces of Light," Marek paused as he drew himself close to Daniel's face, "but you have unknowingly spoken of the prophecy this night.  By your actions, shall war be averted; The Darkness shall take all, and The Rebellion of The Light will be crushed."

 

     The Dungeons and Dragons crew had undergone a transformation.  The remains of their old skins lay heaped in a pile on the stone floor of the castle.  What replaced them stood several feet away, each relishing his new appearance, the mirror being one another’s eyes.

     “Wow, and I say this in the least gay manner possible, you two look totally fucking hot," Marek gushed as he stared open-mouthed at Justin and Jeremy.  Each had chosen matching azure cloaks and tights.  A dark, somber grey, only the twins’ tunics and boots darkened the vision of walking sky.

     “I think I want my boxers back,” Jeremy complained.  He looked down at his stuff, a visible mass in his transparent azure tights. 

     “We’re men aren’t we?” Marek countered.  “What have we got to be ashamed of?” 

     “Easy for you to say; you’re wearing black.  A dwarf couldn’t approach you and get an accurate count of your pubic hairs.” 
     “What does our man in scarlet have to say on the matter?” Marek questioned to the reticent Stuart, who stood by the door, sword in hand, visibly on edge.  “It was common for the men of this time period to walk around with their dicks showing.  All the women went mad for them and spread wide their legs!  How do you think the world go to be so populated?  Stuart, tell the twins that they have nothing of which to be ashamed.”      

     “You tell them and leave me the fuck alone.” Stuart’s voice was ice carved from anger.   

     “But I already have, Stu, and I was counting on you to second me.”

     “Tell them what you told me about going home.”

     “We don’t want to go home; we just got here.”
     “Yeah, Stuart, we haven’t even had an adventure yet.  I’m not going back until I cock an arrow up some evildoer’s ass.” 

     “You get a bow in your hand, and suddenly you think you’ve become Legolas.”

     As the twins bantered, Marek eyed Stuart and sensed the silent rage building within him.  He stared directly at his friend as he spoke, trying with brevity to defuse the situation.

     “Orlando Bloom, how could he forget to put in his contacts?  Hi, I’m blue-eyed Legolas; no, wait a minute; now, I’m brown-eyed Legoas.  What a dumbass!”
     “Tell them, god dammit!”  Everyone went silent with the explosion.

     Then, they heard what their voices and laughter had been drowning. 

     Footsteps sounded on the stairway that led down to the storeroom of the dead.  The crew heard them and turned pale. 

     There was no other way out of the room except those stairs.   

     “Someone’s coming!  Oh, God, someone’s coming!” Jeremy’s panicked whisper spoke to the terror each of them felt.       

     “Come on, man, open the gate!  We’ve got all these weapons, clothing, and shit.  We’ll go home and strategize on how to handle this place.  Then we’ll come back and fight the big bad that’s coming down those stairs.”

     Marek didn’t answer them. 
     “Man, what are you waiting for?  Let’s go!”

     Tears had begun to trail down Jeremy’s face.  The footsteps drew nearer. 

     “Stuart, make him!  Make him open the gate!” Jeremy was nearing hysteria.   

     “He says it’s our destiny to die here.” Stuart’s eyes were closed, his voice a low whisper.  “That’s what he wouldn’t tell you.”    

     “Oh, Christ!  Oh, Jesus!  Oh, fuck!  Oh, shit!” Jeremy had lost all control over himself.  He slunk in a corner of the room and began to weep. 

     Justin went to his brother and held him, a trembling mass of fear in the Darkness.

     “Draw your sword!”

     “What?” Marek replied incredulously. 

     “You brought us into this place, and you’re going to die trying to get us out of it!  Do you feel the evil emanating from whatever is walking down those stairs?  It’s coming for us, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting it take me without a fight!” Stuart’s blade was held so taut that his biceps ached; the steel was so near his face that he could feel the cold radiating from it. 

     Marek looked at his friend.  He unsheathed his sword and mirrored Stuart’s stance.  

     Overcome with fear, clinging to his brother, Jeremy began to speak incoherently.

     “We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?  They’ve meant something, haven’t they?  Our lives, I mean?”

     The footsteps had come to a halt.  Whatever had come down those stairs stood just a few feet away from them, enshrouded by Darkness. 

     It was the Darkness.

     “Hey, Stuart, look at me.” Stuart turned to look at Marek.  The leader of the crew smiled wickedly and dropped his sword.  “Happy hunting, fucker!”  

     The next moment, Stuart was lying dead on the floor. 

     The twins heard a body fall to the floor and then a muffled cry.  Like a rabbit being strangled.

     Justin outstretched his arm and draped his cloak over his brother’s eyes.  He himself stared out at the Darkness, watching it take shape, revealing itself for what it truly was. 

     “Don’t look, Justin!  Oh, God, don’t look!”

      In another instant, the twins were dead.  

 

     Daniel wasn’t invisible any longer.  Everyone saw him; they all knew his name. Daniel Todd Morlion.  Queer.  Fag.  Abomination.  Chris Marshall’s bitch.  Whipping boy to the entire student body (the role he had usurped from the vanished D&D Crew). 

     He could no longer become lost in the novels he read.  His assailants found him even there and forcefully drug him back into reality.  A rock flung at his head.  A basketball flying ‘astray’ in gym class and careening into his face.  ‘Accidents’ befell Daniel one right after the next, especially during lunch, when the student body was least supervised.  Three hundred students crammed into a cafeteria, where words or fists could fly without warning or witness.   

     Today, though, would be different.  Daniel had made it outside without being pursued.  The sky overhead was grey and threatening.  It was their favorite pastime, beating him, but only if was convenient, not if it meant getting wet. 

     Perhaps this would be the day Daniel ventured off into the rain and never returned.  “Student found dead of suicide in woods near school”.  It was the headline tomorrow’s newspaper could read. 

     “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” Daniel thought silently to himself as he walked to the old field house by the school's abandoned track.  As usual, it was deserted, and made a perfect place for someone who wanted to enjoy their lunch without any sort of ‘accident’ occurring.

     Daniel sat against the wall on the far side of the building and reached into his backpack, his purpose being to retrieve his lunch.  His hand hadn’t even closed round it before he heard a voice from within the field house.

     “It’s alright; just lie still; it’s almost passed.”

     Daniel let go of his hold on his lunch and stood as quietly as he could.  Cautiously, he gazed into the dusty, grime-covered window.  On the floor sat Catherine Tyler.  In her lap, his body sprawled out like a gunshot victim, lay Chris Marshall.  He had obviously been crying; the tides of grief were still convulsing through his body. 

     He looked like a fallen angel.  The image was burned into Daniel Morlion’s mind, he knew, for all his life, but the memory was not adequate.     

     “One shot, just one shot,” he pleaded as he nervously fumbled through his bag for the camera he always carried.  Once it was relatively firm in his trembling hands, Daniel took a deep breath, turned back to the window, pointed the camera and… 

     Chris Marshall’s eyes met his, but Daniel, against all reason, couldn't look away from his obsession.  Yet, for whatever reason, Chris didn’t make a motion, and his stillness gave Daniel the courage to lift the camera again and to fire off a succession of shots.

     Catherine was staring down at Chris, cradling him in her arms.  The image reminded Daniel of a statue he had seen in a textbook, the one of Mary holding Jesus in her arms after his crucifixion. 

     “The Pieta,” Daniel whispered as he leaned further into the window, scuffling the side of the building with his foot in the motion.

     “Who’s there?” Catherine asked fearfully. 

     The answer was no one.  Daniel was already sprinting towards the high school, one singular destination in his mind.

     The darkroom.  

 

     She wasn’t in the picture.  Standing in the red glow of the darkroom, Daniel stared down to see that Catherine Nagle didn’t exist.  Instead, it was Darkness that cradled Chris Marshall.  Stranger still, his body seemed to radiating Light against the black mass that surrounded him, as though the two opposing forces were at war.   

     There shouldn’t have been any light in the photographs.  Daniel was shooting through a filthy field house window; the sky overhead was grey and threatening rain.  He hadn’t dared to use the flash.  So from where had the illumination of Chris Marshall’s form originated?

     As the photo continued to develop, another face was slowly materializing, one that leaned in towards Chris Marshall's throat.  The mouth was nearly whole; the lips were parted, and Daniel clearly saw fangs. 

     “Vampire.”

     As the horrified whisper of a word slipped through Daniel’s teeth, the door to the darkroom swung open.  Light poured in and destroyed the photographs.

     “Damn it!” Daniel screamed. 

     “Oh, man, I’m so sorry,” one of his fellow yearbook classmates apologized.  “You didn’t have the ‘in use’ light turned on.  I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

     In his haste to develop the photos, Daniel hadn’t been thinking clearly.  Now, the photographs were gone, and he hadn’t studied them long enough to believe what he had seen was real.  He discounted the strange specter as a freak photographic anomaly, and then left the darkroom to confront Catherine about the man that only one of them could have.     

  

     The bell dismissing the last class of the day had rung.  Chris was staying late for swim practice, and Catherine was alone, en route to her car.  She was turning the key in the door lock when Daniel asked,

     “What did you do to make Chris cry?” 

     Catherine spun around incredulously and locked eyes with him.  “What are you talking about?”

     “I saw you and Chris in the field house.  I want to know what you did to make him cry.” 

     “Who the fuck are you?”

     Although rage and indignation commingled in her voice, Daniel continued undeterred.  “It doesn’t matter who I am.  All that matters is that you’re hurting him, and I’m not going to allow it to continue.”

     “Chris is going to kill you for saying this shit to me!”

     “He won’t hurt me.”
     “Why the hell do you think that?  Why, of all the people on this earth, would Chris Marshall give a fuck about you?”

     “Because he’s in love with me.”

      Catherine began to laugh hysterically.  Daniel suddenly wanted to hit her. 

     “You can laugh all you want, but it’s true!”  It sounded desperate, as though Daniel were trying to convince himself of what he was saying.  “He’s touched me the way you touch someone when you love them.”

     Catherine broke out in laughter again, but there was a different timbre to it now, more pitiful than mocking.

     “So, you’re the fag.  Chris humiliated you in front of half the school, and you’ve somehow fallen under the impression that he loves you?”

     “I got scared when he touched me.  It made me nervous, so I pulled back.  His hand was still up my shorts.  Everyone saw what he was doing.  He had to call me that name in order to protect himself.  He loves me; I know he does.  You don’t touch someone like that unless you love them.  And you’re pretending not to understand because you’re selfish and want to keep him all to yourself.  You make him cry; you can’t possibly love him.  He wouldn’t cry if he were with me.  I’d do everything for him.  I’d give up anything.  I’d…”
     “Go home, kid.”  Catherine’s voice had altered; it was softer and almost maternal in its tone.  “Go home and pray that Chris forgets that you exist.”
     “I won’t…”

     “He touched you that day out of spite.  He wanted to embarrass and belittle you in front of as many people as he could.  Chris hates homosexuals.  Do you remember Fran Christensen?”
     “The one whose father...” 

     “Yes.  When Chris found out he was gay, destroying Fran’s life became an extracurricular activity for him and the rest of the team.  They did it for pure enjoyment.”

     “I don’t believe that.  Maybe all the others, but not Chris.”

     “Why do you say that?”

     “Because he’s beautiful.  He looks like an angel; he’s perfect; he has everything.  There’s no reason for him to be mean to anyone.”

     Catherine looked down and smiled sadly.  “Ah, now I am beginning to understand.  Let me ask you…” She paused, not knowing his name.
     “Daniel.” 

     “When you think of being with Chris, in love I mean, and of him touching you, what comes to mind?”

     “You’re just asking so you can make fun of me.”

      “No, really, I’m not.  Please tell me.” 

      There was a framed Frank Dicksee print of the balcony kiss from "Romeo and Juliet" that hung on Daniel’s closet door.  Daniel re-imagined himself and Chris in that scene and focused on the thought each night as he drifted off to sleep.   

     “Chris and I would do what everyone in love does:  hold hands, kiss one another a lot, sleep near a fireplace on a cold winter’s night, and I’d always be telling him how beautiful he is.”
     “And what about his other needs?  Sex, I mean.  What about when he wanted to fuck you?” 

     “He wouldn’t ‘fuck’ me.  He’d make love to me, and I’d let him.”

      “And, of course, he’d be gentle.”
      “You can’t hurt someone you love.”

      The response wounded Catherine; she closed her eyes for a brief moment to steady herself, but then reopened them to address another question towards Daniel.  “What about giving him blow jobs?  Would you do that?”
     “Yeah, if he wanted one.” 
     “Believe me, he would, all the time, and he wouldn’t care whether or not you wanted to give him one.  Have you ever tasted cum before?”

     “Mine doesn’t taste so good, but I’m certain his would taste much better.”

     “Daniel, Chris Marshall’s semen is no different than that of the rest of the male population’s.  Gag-inducing.”

     “No, it’d be better, cause he’s perfect.  That’s what you don’t realize.” 

     Unexpectedly, Catherine raised her shirt, and Daniel saw that her ribs were heavily bandaged.  “You see this?  Three broken ribs, courtesy of the man you swear is perfect.  Why did he do it?  Who knows?  He’s so far gone that I doubt even he could tell me.”
     “He did it because you made him cry.  He’d never cry if he were with me because I’d never do anything to upset him.”

     “What kind of fantasy world you live in?  You want to profess your undying love to Chris?  Be my guest!  March right into the locker room, put your hand on his always-hard dick, and tell him that you want to have a giggle love fest with him.  Go ahead; tell him how beautiful you think he is, and I guarantee those will be the last words you ever speak in this life.  Because two seconds later, your severed head will come crashing through one of those plate glass windows!”

     “No matter what you say, I’m not giving up on him.”
     Catherine had gotten into her car, and was sitting in the driver’s seat.  “Oh, don’t worry; no one gives up on Chris Marshall.  No one.  Because once they do, they don’t live long enough to rejoice in their liberation.  Ask his mother,  or more appropriate for you, because your fate is starting to mirror his, go to Crestview Cemetery and ask Fra