Part 13 – The Reckoning

Xarthos struggled to his feet, his scientific mind reeling. “How?” he gasped. “The artifacts… they acted on their own. They are… sentient. They are alive.”

Sheral’s red-booted feet touched the scorched metal floor with a soft, deliberate sound. “They are a part of me,” she corrected him, her voice now a low, commanding tone that resonated with the power of her very being. “And you hurt them when you hurt me.” She took a step forward. “You will recall your armies. You will surrender the technology you have given them. You will answer to the Grand Council for the lives you have taken. This war ends tonight.”

Even in defeat, Xarthos’s arrogance remained. He let out a broken, wheezing laugh. “End the war? And return the world to stagnation? You didn’t save Lemuria, Angel. You have doomed the rest of the world to darkness!”

“You didn’t give them enlightenment, Xarthos,” she shot back, her voice ringing with clarity and conviction. “You gave them better swords. You are not their savior. You are just their master.”

Seeing his words had failed, he lunged for his discarded Null-Harmonizer rifle. In a blur of crimson motion, she was there first. She snatched the rifle and, with a single, contemptuous flex of her incredible strength, crushed the complex weapon into a twisted, sparking ball of useless metal.

“There are no more tricks, Xarthos,” she said.

At that moment, the laboratory doors were blasted inward. A wave of savage warriors, the elite chieftains of The Hoard, poured into the room. “Kill her!” Xarthos screamed.

With a collective, guttural roar, the barbarian horde charged. What followed was a symphony of destruction. Sheral became a whirlwind of unstoppable force and breathtaking grace. A chieftain swung a massive energy axe; she moved with the fluid grace of her perfect athletic form, the powerful muscles of her back and legs coiling and releasing as she sidestepped the clumsy blow. She delivered a precise strike to his chest, sending him sprawling. Another warrior swung a heavy mace; she caught the blow on her forearm, the corded, powerful muscles of her arm absorbing the impact without effort, and with a swift counter, shattered the mace’s head with a single punch.

Plasma fire erupted from several rifles. She moved through the energy bolts as if they were raindrops, her magnificent body a study in deadly elegance, disarming the barbarians with lightning-fast strikes.

Then, unexpectedly, a wiry barbarian, moving with surprising agility, darted in from her flank and flung a thick, foul-smelling rag over her face and mouth. A wave of dizziness washed over Sheral instantly. Her magnificent physique began to betray her. A tremor ran through her legendary legs, their divine strength seeming to dissolve into a watery weakness. Her strong, toned abdomen convulsed as she gasped for air, and her knees buckled, sending her to the floor. The barbarians roared in triumph, swarming her.

Xarthos’s eyes widened. A flicker of surprised hope ignited in their depths. “The compound! It’s working!” he yelled to his warriors. “Keep it on her! Don’t let her breathe!”

But the artifacts within her responded. A wave of cleansing energy washed through her body purging the toxins from her blood.  With a guttural cry of defiance, she erupted, a surge of raw power blasting the clinging barbarians off her. She staggered to her feet, no longer a swaying victim, but a breathtaking vision of restored divinity. She launched herself into the fray once more, a blur of motion, her strikes precise and disabling. The battle was over in less than a minute.

She turned her attention back to the now utterly defeated Xarthos. She grabbed him by his gray robe and shot straight up, crashing through the multiple levels of the black fortress and into the night sky.

Her return to Eldoria was a spectacle of legends. She descended into the Grand Plaza with the force of a meteor, cracking the iridescent crystal floor. She strode toward the Crystal Palace and kicked open the great doors to the Council chamber, throwing the sputtering Xarthos at the feet of the astonished Elders and a stunned, silent General Kaelen.

Sheral stood before them, a victorious, awe-inspiring figure, her body radiating a power that was both terrifying and beautiful.

“Warlord Xarthos of The Hoard,” she announced, her voice ringing with absolute authority. “I bring him before the Grand Council of Lemuria to answer for his crimes.”

Elder Theron, his face filled with awe and profound relief, was the first to speak, his voice trembling slightly. “Xarthos… look what your ambition has wrought. You sought to enlighten the world with fire and have brought only ashes. The Angel has brought you not just to us, but back to the justice you so arrogantly abandoned.”

Xarthos, pushing himself up to his knees, his face a mask of dirt and defiant hatred, spat on the crystal floor. “Justice?” he sneered, his eyes wild. “You call this justice? Hiding behind your living weapon while my armies are scattered? I offered the world a future! I offered them strength! You offer them stagnation in a pretty, crystalline cage. This is not an end! You cannot undo what I have done! The Hoard will not forget the power I showed them. Others will rise! My vision will prevail long after you have all crumbled to dust!”

“He speaks madness, but there is a sliver of dangerous truth,” Elder Valerius interjected, his voice sharp and pragmatic. “His armies are scattered, not destroyed. We must now address the clean-up. And the matter of his trial… he is of the Royal Blood. This will be a delicate affair.”

General Kaelen finally spoke, his voice a low rumble of authority, deliberately ignoring Xarthos and Sheral both. “The Warlord is captured. The war is won. My armies will begin the pacification of the eastern territories immediately. We will hunt down the last remnants of The Hoard and systematically dismantle every piece of technology he gave them.” He gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod in Sheral’s direction. It was not praise, but a grudging acknowledgment.

Sheral listened to them all, her expression unreadable behind her mask. She had done her part. She had fought the monster. Now, the politicians and generals would fight over the peace.

“My part in this is done,” she said, her powerful voice cutting through their debate and drawing all eyes back to her. “I brought him here to face the laws of Lemuria—the laws he sought to burn with the rest of the world.” Her gaze swept over all of them, from the wise Theron to the pragmatic Valerius, and finally rested on the grim-faced Kaelen.

“What you do now,” she said with a quiet finality, “will define the peace we have just won.” She then turned, and with a whisper of displaced air, shot up through the high, open ceiling of the chamber and into the sky, leaving the Council with their prisoner and the heavy burden of the future.