Decent into darkness
Beezel was pissed and shaked with a fury! A jolt of pain ran through his body that mirrored the frustrated yanks he gave the purple blossom sprouting from his temple – a peculiar tick he had when agitated. Magnus, slumped beside him on their worn stone bench, wrung his gnarled hands together with nervousness. It wasn't truly Magnus's fault; the threads that held his mind were breaking, little by little. Right now, the poor fool simply looked withered. Patience for his dear friend returned. "Slowly, Magnus," he urged, "tell me again what happened." Magnus spoke with a shaky and drawn-out cadence. He had become disoriented in the lower levels, "I… I am sorry, Beezel," he stammered, his gaze unfocused. "Didn't mean to… fry the machine. The… the you know whos were around and… Beezel shot to his feet, the bench scraping against the stone with a harsh screech. "You went that deep?" he roared, his control finally snapping. "You blasted old fool! You must have destroyed part of the original systems, the very foundation that feeds everything else!” Magnus visibly shrank under the force of Beezel’s words. Placing a gentle hand on Magnus's trembling shoulder. "Magnus, I'm sorry. It's alright. I will take care of it." His voice was soft now, laced with sorrow. "Your mind may be failing, old friend, but your powers… they remain as potent as the day we built this place." He squeezed Magnus's shoulder before turning and striding down the dimly lit corridor. Halfway down, Beezel paused, intending to offer a further word of comfort. But he stopped short. Magnus was lost in his own world, a serene smile gracing his lips as he watched the things only he could see. Followed by a heart-warming laugh as one of his glowing moths fluttered down and landed on his nose. With a small sigh that Beezel continued on, taking the first left out of the gallery. He missed the fierce, sharp-witted Magnus of their younger years, had admitted to him self he was a bit jealous. Magnus was now shielded from the relentless burden of the crushing weight of their sins and history. He deserves this peace, however fleeting, Beezel thought with a pang of melancholy. But the fragile smile that had touched his lips vanished as the full gravity of the situation crashed down upon him. He would have to go down. Down into the suffocating darkness he had avoided for millennia. Even Beezel, with his razor-sharp intellect, could not remember how they had built the heart of the library. But he could clearly remember the price, the unforeseen and terrifying side effects. The shadows that clung to those lower levels, made tangible by their past regrets and sins. Lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, he nearly walked into the false wall at the dead end of the hall. Wishing he had his old battle hammer by his side. It had been so long since he had last needed it that he had begun leaving it in his personal quarters. It would be a long treck of a week to get there and a week back. And he just didnt have the time to waist on it. The pair had let a few people, and those strange Alchemist people reside in their dwelling, so certain measures were taken to keep them up top and away from the real treasures of this place. And it had worked for the most part. Scowling as he thought about the one alchemist who kept finding himself where he shouldn't have been. Shaking his head, the world now rested on that pest's chest, and both he and Magnus had lost him. The weight of their responsibilities pressed down on him, so much to do, and a frustrating lack of time to do it. With a sharp intake of breath, he drew a slender blade from its sheath. He winced as he sliced open his palm. He pressed his bleeding hand against the cold stone of the wall. A soft beep echoed in the stillness, and a hairline seam appeared in the wall, widening to reveal a hidden entrance. Stepping through the doorway, Beezel found himself in one of the Library's thousands of galleries. A muted stillness hung in the air. His feet sank slightly into the padded carpet of the central way. Towering bookshelves, made crafted from black walnut and adorned with intricate brass filigree, stretched upwards into the unseen heights, their rows disappearing into the darkness. The immediate area around him became illuminated, and a calming, clean light from the glow lights that he had made. This great gallery had been devoted to the humble insect. At the time and he couldn't remember why it seemed fitting that it was where the stairs leading down began. In the very center of the gallery, from which all the rows of books radiated out, lay a circle of polished black stone. And at the heart of that stone, the spiraling staircase of gold and iron began is long spiraling down. Beezel summoned three glowing globes of light. He tucked two into the folds of his cloak and set the third to drift ahead, casting an aethereal glow down the stairwell. His heart gave a nervous thump as he took the first step onto the wrought iron. Each downward step was accompanied by a slight wince from arthritic joints. The spiral staircase was so narrow that he could barely stand straight and maneuver down. The endless turns began. To an untrained observer, it would appear as though the staircase hung suspended in the vast emptiness of a cavern. But Beezel knew the truth: it was a ventilation shaft, with a direct route plunging into the very core of the Library, bypassing the treacherous labyrinth of winding corridors, broken bridges, and deceptive dead ends. Within minutes, the faint light from the gallery above was swallowed by the darkness. Beezel extinguished his floating globe. Closing his eyes, he allowed his other senses to sharpen, then slowly opened them, peering into the absolute blackness. If you looked just right and concentrated, you could see hints of swirling black vapors. So pitch, they stood out in the total darkness. "Not all in the void wish to remain hidden." The thought struck his mind like the striking of a bell. To build their great library, many mistakes had been made and sacrifices paid. The stranger Magnus had called this force had been the line they had refused to cross, and in doing so had saved them from damnation. When it had appeared, it whispered promises for little cost. But the wrongness of it was too great for the pair to ignore, and they had attempted to banish it. Slick like oil, this presence wouldn't leave. Just lingered in the forgotten spaces. What scared the two Librarians was that whatever this thing was, it wasn't good, evil, or neutral; it was hollow. That was the best name he could come up with for it. He felt it draw near, and he froze and waited as the formless mass slowly floated over to the stairway. Beezel watched as it got to the inlayed iron and hissed as it touched it. The force retreated, and Beezel nodded grimly to himself. The iron. It had an aversion to iron. A strange but undeniably effective deterrent. He continued his descent. Minutes bled into what felt like hours. Eventually, Beezel rested, leaning against the cold metal of the railing, closing his eyes. A faint breeze, drawn by the shaft's draft, cooled his brow. He tried to ignore the subtle sway and groan of the ancient staircase beneath him. This spiraling marvel of gold and iron had once been a source of immense pride, a testament to his ingenuity. It plunged alone into the abyss, surrounded only by the whispering mist and the vast emptiness of the shaft. A full day and night passed before his foot finally met solid resistance. He had reached the bottom. On wobbly legs, he kept his head down and the lights off till he made his way to the shaft's exit. Beezel let out a sigh of relief and immediately turned his glow light back on. When he had designed the great stairs, he had intended to illuminate the wall so its travelers could see the marvel of what he had created. But before the lights had gone into place, the Stranger had made its presence known. Beezel had caught a flicker of the creature in the light, and it had almost paralyzed him. Not with fear but something worse, and since then, there were no lights to show off his hubris. Sliding on his back down the wall, closing his eyes, and panting, Beezel drifted off to sleep to the sound of metal creaking.
PIPE SNAKES
Magnus! The pipe snakes are back! …….. Magnus! Afraid of the answer Beezel slowly asks Magnus have you been feeding the pipe snakes? Beezel he was so little and cute, I couldn’t help it. Rubbing his temple - Magnus have you forgotten what it to took to eradicate them last time? It took years, and the lives of thousands of humans! What humans Beezel? You remember the hairless apes that think they run things. With a big goofy grin- oh yes them. I’m sorry Beezel I found fluffy after the fact. He was just a baby. Beezel yanks out the sprouting flower on his head in frustration. You kept it as a pet and named it! The now growing headache Beezel rubs his eyes and when he opened them Magnus has disappeared.
Abduction
Hey Beezel do ya think their the abduct and probe type of aliens 5? Magnus what in the name of Bob are you talking about? Old fool look at the markings on the cows... their space cows! Oh yes Beezel and the parents have returned and look a bit mad. SHOULD MAGNUS YANK ON THE COWS TAIL?
Left overs
Magnus was starving and had hidden his favorite dish in the deep cellar refrigerator. His mouth watered as he descended the stone stairs. Opening the fridge, he jumped back in disgust. How long had it been in there? Indeed, it couldn't have been more than a few days... or maybe years. As he started getting mad at himself, the scuttling of an insect distracted him. With a swift move of his foot, he crushed it with an audible crunch. With a laugh, he turned and strolled out of the cellar. He started back up the stairs and thought,"I have to get to the feast in that old fridge before Beezel finds it..
Migrane
Beezel tried to contain his rage, but he was failing. Deep in one of the galleries, he had spent weeks trying to find the old parchment containing a treatise on basket weaving. He grew even more frustrated due to the fact that he couldn't remember why. As his mind spiraled almost to bursting, he saw the most peculiar thing. A rat riding a hovering skull. The rats were a problem, of course, tunneling and eating through his precious manuscripts. But at the sight of this new development, he just rubbed his forehead in defeat. The rats had armed themselves, he muttered.
I laid an egg
Shhh. That strange egg-laying rabbit showed up again. Beezel says I have to sit on it to keep it warm until he returns. But you know he had a smile on his face like he knew something | he didn't.
Fred
We call him Fred he lives under the library. We feed him with what ever we can scrounge up. Otherwise Fred devours the world.
Hunter prey
Humans had been here; he could smell their stink. The dark ruins and passages held the secrets of what had been. But the sacred stone would not give up those secrets to the humans. Foolish as they were, they didn't even remember they had built the place. But of course, that was a long time ago, back when humans had been the rulers of the stars. Through their magic and technologies, they created the sentient stone,depending on it as the foundation of their ever-growing empire.
Reaching out into the stars, they bent the other sentient species to their will. In the beginning, compliance had been enough, but over the eons, their hubris twisted their minds. They became more wraith-like than humans, slowly losing their abilities to wield magic. No longer able to commune with the sentient stones, their empire broke and crumbled.The entirety of humanity became like a glass shattered on the floor. Isolated, the surviving groups changed and evolved on their own. Some grew into true abominations, while others slowly crawled back to their humanity. Unfortunately, the majority just devolved into mindless apes, a horrifying and
despairing sight.
Gelden stood on a stone archway hidden as he looked down at the humans leaving. This one such group managed to crawl away from the precipice and even resembled their old ancestors. It would be many eons, but his tribes Shamans had foreseen they would one day reclaim this land, as his own would die out. Fitting in a way, the planet had been the human's cradle, not his people. The humans had brought his kin here. His only solace was that his people would be remembered in the human mythology. He was of the Eltrany, but the lazy apes would just say Elf.
Beefcake
Bezel had been very upset the poor guy. As he put it the annoying sky god that kept writing about him forcing him to do things.Forced him to help him move. But now he had forgotten why he was there but was very pleased by his reflection. Admiring his big muscles and good looks. Magnus thought he should say something then disregarded that thought. If I tell him he's staring at a painting not a mirror he will rage. Storm off then forget why he was mad. For days Magnus would have to hear Beezels ranting echoing down the halls.
Old Friends
It was a rare and significant moment in the great library when the two old librarians, Bezel and Magnus, bumped into each other. But they had made it a habit to always sit for a spell and catch up with each other. Like most of their meetings in recent centuries, Magnus was a great conversationalist briefly before he would start laughing at things only he could see. Bezel had learned the hard way that what his old friend could see was, in fact, real and not something to be taken lightly. Beezel Tugged on one of the new blossoms that had sprouted on him, wincing in pain as he pulled too hard, ripping it out and cursing the green man under his breath. "I slept with his sister one time! Now I'm constantly pulling these damnable flowers out of me. At this point, Bezel is so angry that he forgets why he is there and leaves.
Once Bezel and Magnus had been some of the greatest thinkers in history, their abilities were feared and respected. Over the eons, they had begun to slow down, as did their minds. Yet, their powers remained as strong as ever. On this occasion, when the two bumped into each other, they both were in a state of clear mind; the madness had temporarily receded. They confided in each other about how fragile the balance was and feared what had happened to the alchemist. "Magnus... if he fails..." "I know, Bezel, that will be the end, and the possibilities for that end are all terrible. My little flying scouts lost him in the old village". Nodding in agreement, Beezel said, " My heart breaks for him, he has suffered so much, but I am amazed this mortal can keep going. Magnus, please give it to me straight. Do you have any real hope left?" Bezel's heart dropped as he noticed the smile on Bezel's face as he stared up into the sky. His friend was gone again. Absently, he tugged on the blossom growing on his arm.
Happy Thoughts
The bad times were truly horrific, especially for those who could see past the veneer of reality. Humans could not comprehend what was happening due to their limited ability to grasp the fullness of the universe. Most human minds would crumble with the realization of how thin the veil was between what they could see and the true horrors on the other side. It is rare, but a few humans through its history have expanded their minds enough to begin to see this. Inevitably, through their meditations, they would see the shadows through the veil. Terrified and unable to comprehend, they would end themselves, or their minds would fail.
Beezel had seen this happen on more than one occasion. Rubbing his chin, he was amazed at how these people managed not only to live but spread all over the globe. Weak but strong of the heart is what the bards would say about humanity, and Beezel grudgingly agreed. Throughout his life, he had seen them rise and let the most ignorant of them take control, driving their people into a new dark age. The atrocities during these times would match how far they had advanced in their last enlightened period.
Lost in these thoughts, Beezel was snapped out of them as the city's lights came on. They, like everything in the new cities of man, were beautiful. As the light from the sun began to fall, glowing orbs rose out of marble pillars evenly spaced along the roads. Rising to 20 feet in the air, they hovered, glowing brightly. Somehow, looking at them didn't hurt the eyes. And if you looked closely enough, you could see the arches of electricity coming off them. Ever the pessimist, he allowed a sliver of hope to fill him. Maybe Magnus was right, that this time the humans got it right? He loved his dear friend and his optimism, but beezel could see the tale tale signs of discontent that always heralded humanity’s fall.
There was so much good here, yet many people started to listen to the madmen and zealots screaming about the good old days and of purity. On one occasion, a zealot had tried to get the mob to stone a man for something stupid and trivial. Beezel's heart soared when that snapped the on-lookers out of the zealot's spell. As the people dispersed, he met the zealot’s eyes. There was no light in the eyes, only a void of nothingness. Beezel smiled at the memory. Yes, he thought this time would be different; humanity would break the cycle. Beezel couldn't help it; he let the hope surge into him. He needed to find Magnus. He turned the corner with a smile, and all that hope and possibility for the future was ripped from him.
He stumbled and almost fell as he saw it. The chared remains of a person chained to a post in the alleyway. They had been burned alive, and a sign spiked into their chard remains that simply said witch. Beezel had never struck out at humanity before but was losing it. The energy in him rising, building momentum. The part of him that screamed not to was being drowned out by the sight of this poor woman’s remains. As he was about to release Hel on everything, a child came running into his line of sight. She held a red balloon and pointed at the remains, asking her mother what that was. The anger died in Beezel with the mother’s response. “It's nothing, dear, just a bad person.” And the pair moved on, already laughing about something else. Beezel turned in a circle, looking at all the people. No one cared or seemed bothered by what had happened. Beezel had seen many atrocities in his several centuries of living, but this was different. No one cared, and no one was affected by this crime. A part of him died, severing some of his ties to his emotions and hopes.
Sentinel
Everything I know and love no longer exists, nor has it ever with the breaking of time. Have you ever wondered why time works and never falters? Better yet, how,or more precisely, who maintains time and ties your reality to it? It's okay; you can't be blamed for not knowing. Your perception of reality is so tiny. And that is perhaps a mercy, for all of reality is collapsing in on itself, and none of you know or will know until it's too late.
Shrouded in mystery, the keepers were ancient, even when the Elder Beings first emerged. Even I, with all my knowledge, cannot fathom their true nature and purpose. They were indifferent to what you might perceive as right or wrong, unwaveringly carrying out their enigmatic duties. Morally androgynous, they were a force of stability. But like every coin, reality has two sides. Lurking in the dark was the keeper's counterweight. A shadow of reality so hidden even I know nothing more about it than that it exists as an antithesis to our reality.
It created horrors to destroy the keepers and extinguish their light. Horrors beyond your capability to understand were unleashed. The keepers, thankfully, had created their own protectors. For countless eons, the powers of reality fought off their enemies. The hoards of darkness crashed upon the shields of the keepers. But the keepers armies held firm, causing a stalemate. The keepers maintained the flow of time but didn't control it, so something out of their control changed; for what it is, I couldn't say. But the battle lines began to break down, weakening the keepers so that the realities of the nine worlds bleed into one another, like dyes of different fabrics leaching onto each other. In desperation, the keepers built their Mechanical Automatons and placed them in the nine worlds. Tied to the keepers, they acted as Anker points, holding reality in place and standing sentinel, silently watching and waiting. The damage was done, of course, but this had stemmed the rising tide. And for many Eons, stability held firm once more.
The keepers, as ancient and powerful as they were, had forgotten they were not all-knowing and powerful. The darkness exploited their hubris. Out of the formless void, a silent whisper emerged; unnoticed, it rode on the tides of time. It slowly found its way into the nine worlds through the ebbs and flows. It slowly infiltrated the minds of many, twisting and warping them towards the darkness. The world's light dimmed, everyone oblivious except one protector in the world of man. The sentinel’s tether to its keeper had begun to fray, allowing the automaton to gain a sense of self. Slowly, it developed its consciousness and began to act independently. Alarmed by this, its keeper tried to regain control of its creation, but it was too late. The tether snapped, and the world of man was lost to the keepers.
Cut from the control, the sentinel could see objectively what was happening. Watching as the light in the universe slowly died out and the fools so oblivious to it. With this, the sentil learned anger. The sentinel had watched the people of Midgaurd for eons and had learned love. Created as a force of stability and protection, the sentinel didn't need to learn honor or justice; the sentinel was justice guided by honor. Cut off from its creators, it forged its own army in preparation. The keepers could create life, but their creation could not, so it created machines forged in the fires of the Aether.
As its preparations ended, the sentinel could do no more than wait and watch. It watched as the darkness spread out on the tides of the universe, turning the vibrant colors of life that branched out from a single source out to the other worlds into a pitted blackness. Then, all at once, that silent whisper became a lilting tune, and the void struck out. The keeper's Armies fought valiantly against the horrors, but the keepers were overwhelmed and slaughtered by the millions. In a pitiful panic, the keepers took their machines and fled.
Here in the world of man, my fellow humans were utterly ignorant to all of this, and most died from shock as the Elder Beings invaded and began their tuning of the world. The sentinel and its army fought bravely but were losing almost immediately. The Powers of the Elder beings had changed somehow, making them more powerful and resilient. It was like the Elder Beings were operating on an unknown frequency.
The sentinel killed its enemies in droves as it watched its creations being obliterated. Fighting through the battle, the sentinel found the enemy's General. A Great bulbous creature with molding leathery skin. It looked down upon the sentinal and drew its maul. The two clashed with a sound of thunder heralding the beginning of their fight. It was long and sustained. The Darkness’s champion held the advantage, beating down the Sentinal repeatedly. But each time, our hero rose back up and fought on.
For myself, well, I could do nothing but bear witness. Like always, I was part of reality but not of reality. I knew our hero needed to sever the General's umbilicus to the powers of the Elder beings. And I swear to you, I tried to warn him! I screamed out to him until my vocal cords tore, and my tears blinded me. Wiping my eyes, I gave into despair as I watched the general stand over our defeated hero. It rose its maul for one last killing blow.
I have lived long and watched the world in a disjoined timeline. One day, I was far in the past, others into the future, so much so I cannot tell you which is which anymore. The experience of this has fragmented my mind as a way to cope. But I promise you this one thing: my account is true. I have not spared or embellished anything. I must hurry to get the rest of this out before my mind fails again.
My heart wrenched at the sight of our hero. Then my mind cleared because I remembered this day. This was the day I became unglued in reality, the day I died. Realizing this was a memory, I could stop it, and the battle froze in time. I walked away. I needed to watch myself die to see what happened after. I am sorry for my selfishness I hope you can understand. I took my time walking to where my nightmare began. As I did so I let the horrors around me sink in. For who else was going to remember? I made my way to the old city of marble. Forgive me again; I can not remember the city's name. It was something like Jefferson, DC, or something along those lines. As I arrived, the air was repelling me like I shouldn't be here. And I probably should not have. You are not supposed to watch yourself die, after all.
As I searched the disintegrating city, looking up, and I couldn't help but smile a little. There he was through the Aetheric Window, scared and alone. Back in my home, along the rows of dusty bookshelves, my dear friend and I watched out for him occasionally. We sent him out into the Wildes after all. Letting the memory continue, the scene sprang to life once more. So.. if the Alchemist was up there, then I must be down…. There. My heart ached anew in a selfish desire to stop myself. To prevent myself from being lost. But I watched my younger self as I used the power given to me by the oracle. Standing before the horrors of the Elder Beings, my hands together as if praying. Chanting the words of power before my eyes shot open and with a deathly scream, Pushing my hands out before me. That searing white light shoots out of me into the void.
I had used it all and was successful in stopping the tuning. But it had killed me in a way. Looking down at my lifeless body as the gateway winked out. As I stood on the hilltop, my heart skipped a beat. This glowing green little moth came down and landed on my corpses forehead. Then another and another till I could no longer see my corps. The wind kicked up, and the moths scattered. In a way, I wasn't surprised to see my corps had disappeared with them. My old self had started its new journey, unglued to reality and at the mercy of times ebs and flows.
Closing my eyes, I was overwhelmed; I knew what lay in store for myself. Then I felt a tickle on my cheek. I assumed it was nothing, for I had not been able to so much as feel the wind on in my hair since I had become unglued. But then it happened again, and my eyes flew open. A little green moth hovered at my cheek, its wings lightly touching my face. Then I noticed the ground's weight and the wind's coldness.
I had come full circle! I was bound to reality once more! I feel no shame in telling you I cried like a babe for a long time. Every smell and sensation new again. But as is the way, the world's weight came crashing down on me again, and I gathered myself up. Unsure of what to do I wandered and found myself back at the sight of the battle. Broken machines and rotting corpses lay everywhere. Seeing the sentinel, I ran to it. It was still alive in its way. But its mind shattered. It just looked down at the ground, defeated as its golden energy slowly left its body. Placing my hand on its shoulder, it turned to look at me. The sadness in its eyes broke my heart. I stayed with it as it slowly bled out. So its last moments were not like its life… Alone.
Finally, it lifted its head once more as if to say something, but before it could, the glow in its eyes faded, and it became still. How do you honor a hero that was never living? How do you honor a hero who was completely unknown to the people he sacrificed everything for?
