User blog:Spartan--112/"ArchAngel" (Chapter 1)

I created this short story in inspiration of an epic song dubbed "Archangel", created by the movie trailer music production company, Two Steps From Hell. I suggest you taken a listen to it before reading this, but be wary that the story parallels with the song only up to around the halfway point.

LINK: < Will be added soon. Sorry! :( >

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This isn't the whole thing!

ArchAngel

Chapter 1

Glorious light shone throughout the gleaming Citadel, a utopia that exists beyond the physical realms of Man.

Eternally overlooking this utopia was the group of judicial superbeings known as “The ArchAngels”, who protected the leader and creator of the Citadel, Chancellor Mayor Rah’Ksun, since the beginning of the Citadel’s conception.

Yet despite its title as a utopia, something sinister lay fallow within the luminous Citadel, as it always has been since its arrival. Many a star year ago, one of the best ArchAngels grew weary of continuously serving. He soon left his position as Cherub Archduke of the ArchAngels, pilfered the most prized and powerful armament of the ArchAngels: the Great Lance Sword of the Three Suns, and departed from the Citadel alongside several other, similar-minded warriors. Branded as traitors to the Citadel forevermore, their names were forever dishonored and restricted from circulation amongst the general public in a precise, widescale Realteration Campaign.

Since their departure, they have spread terror and horror amongst members of the Entente of the Citadel by committing unspeakable forms of attack. These unjust attacks have been known ever since Malchion, the thief, left the Citadel, but they have reportedly become much more grim and gruesome in the last nine star year partitions, and with each passing partition cycle the ArchAngels have grown increasingly wary and somewhat paranoid in preparation for the inevitable attack on the Citadel from Malchion and his Malchionites.

As on any other star year partition cycle, the leader of the ArchAngels, Seraph Lord Chrysaor, stood watch at the Bell Tower, a lofty temple that stood above all other buildings in the Citadel, save the Creator’s Hall of the Citadel. He overlooked his city in the opening hours of the cycle, as her always did. He observed the cityscape with his three watchful eyes, scanning the city for any sign of Malchion.

Suddenly a Rank II ArchAngel flew in from nowhere. He fell onto one knee in respect to the Seraph Lord and said “Sire! Malchion is here! Malchion is in the Citadel!”

Chyrsaor whipped around, unsheathed his sword staff and commanded “Make haste!” while following the lesser ranked comrade.

A few partition clicks later Chyrsaor asked, “Where is he?” But before he could acquire a proper response, the other ArchAngel was decked by a black-winged being. Using his magiks, the Seraph Lord grabbed the Malchionite, brought him close, and impaled him with his swordstaff.

Wrenching the sturdy blade out of the insurgent’s body, he helped the rookie get up off the tiled floor, and said flatly to him, “Where is Malchion!?”

The Rank II hesitated out of what seemed to be shock for a transient moment, and then said “The Dome of the Citadel.”

Chrysaor’s eyes widened; the Dome was where Malchion stole the Great Lance Sword and began his journey down a path of no return.

The Rank II made a mad dash towards the Dome with the Seraph Lord in tow. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the Pavilion of the Citadel, where they saw dozens upon dozens of black and white winged warriors, armed with hot-plasmaic steel staves, axes, and blades, either fighting each other with ardent intensity on the ground or giving rough chase to each other in the sky. As the two Angels moved towards the Dome, Chrysaor saw sparks fly everywhere, and the lines of red and blue blood that stained the white ground; the battlements had collapsed.

Halfway down the Golden Mile to the Dome of the Citadel, three black-winged Malchionites abruptly came upon the Seraph Lord, their swords drawn and lined with yellow radiance. Shoving the Rank II ArchAngel out of the way, they rushed the Seraph Lord.

With a smart flick, Chrysaor collapsed the long handle of his sword staff, brought his second hand onto the hilt, and, in one elegant, lateral slash, cut open the rebels, who fell and split into halves, skidding and halting at his feet.

With a transient visage of disgust at the corpse-halves, Chrysaor cocked his head in the Rank II’s direction and once again helped him up.

“Stay here, rookie,” the Seraph Lord said tersely to the Rank II. Chrysaor turned around, spread open his wings, and launched into the air, flying low towards the ground, sword aglow. As he sped through the air, several other ArchAngels attempted to follow him, but they were quickly forced to break off in order to contend with more Malchionites.

Chrysaor soon entered and landed in the titanic and black interior of the dome. Chrysaor looked around, casting his attentive eyes over the expansive area for Malchion. He quickly flew around the several miles wide dome, utilizing his magiks to light the way and his third eye to look behind him and, for many moments, the Pedestal of the Great Lance Sword, vacated by its rightful owner nine star years ago. With each passing partition click, Chrysaor grew more desperate to find him.

After he scanned the entirety of the dome, now seemingly empty, he stopped in mid-air and bellowed, “MALCHION! SHOW YOURSELF!”

Suddenly the light clack of polymerized sandals filled the air; Chrysaor instinctively raised his sword and flew down to the entrance to face the source of the noise. The darkness of the Dome and the dull brilliance of the sun rendered the approaching figure unrecognizable and black with shadow. Chrysaor stood still as the figure moved closer and closer until the figure was inside the Dome with the Seraph Lord.

It was the Rank II ArchAngel.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some action, lotsa intro stuff. But fret not; action will be the only thing happening next chapter!

You are free to comment/flame at will. (Trolls will attack this for being non-AT.)