Chapter 17

Isalis has been built on what was thought to be the final battleground between Heaven and the world of man, otherwise known to the elders as the Holy Cataclysm. The battle had been so brutal that the very earthen plates beneath the area had shifted several hundred meters, and part of the continent had fallen below the other as to create a large shelf. A great flat span of rock reached for several miles, and it was into this great stone wall that the city was created.

The current populace did not know the truth behind the city's history, and merely thought that the grand city of Isalis had been build into the giant vertical wall of stone solely for protection. This sheer wall lifted several hundred feet into the air and protected the eastern front of the metropolis.

A great battlement had been created on the historic spot and Isalis quickly became the capital city of the known world. Numerous large spires rose into the air along its solid granite walls. A great number of the wealthy and powerful chose to call Isalis home, often living in great luxurious mansions. The largest congregation of Church buildings also sat within the confines of Isalis, occupied by the eldest members of the Cloth.

In the center of the structure lay the largest chapel within all of the Church. Its thick granite walls rose several stories high into the air, and great windows of colored glass littered its exterior and roof. Where most chapels and church buildings of the outlying areas were modest and plain, the ones found inside of Isalis were extravagant and ornate. It was believed that the luxurious décor of the main steeple might gain more favor from the Heavens above.

Within the confines of the elaborate chapel sat the man called Darria. He had risen to power quite early in his life, and the high priest was able to secure his place as supreme bishop well over two decades ago. It was by his will in the highest seat of the Church, that the many laws of the land were created and enforced. The world of man bowed to his immense power, and he was highly revered by the people for his great work.

Standing on top of the great stone cliff bordering the city of Isalis was the man called Donovan. He was no longer part of the Holy Protectorate, and he had fallen long ago from the graces of the Church. He struggled day by day to find any purpose to his existence. He often struggled with himself to find any motivation to keep living. Today, his reason for being was simple. His purpose was revenge.

The great ornate chapel had been built directly into the giant stone wall. Its rear wall had been carved directly into the native stone, and the other three walls had been constructed with thousands of giant granite blocks. Due to its location, the position of the building was the very center point of the entire metropolis. From this center structure the rest of the city had been built outward in an immense half circle.

Because the eldest priests lived and worked within the Church buildings, the parish of the city had the greatest number of Protectorate members assigned to their defense. At least a hundred guard members watched over the upper sages in each of the individual towers both day and night.

Donovan reached into one of his satchels, and broke open a small powdered capsule within his fingers. He drew this magic sand underneath the lid of his right eye. His vision became extremely clear, and he peered down several hundred feet over the cliff face. Even though it was a considerable distance away, he could see a total of fifteen members of the church guard down below. Each of them was assigned to the defense of one of the three massive doors leading into the chapel. Each of the tall wooden doors glowed with an orange aura around their edges as well. It was an unusual amount of men to be positioned solely for the protection of this building, and it appeared as though each of the doors had been secured with a spell of some sort.

The roof of the tall building was made from a single immense glass window. A rainbow of colored panes formed spectacular angelic shapes within the transparent surface. Donovan imagined that the interior of the main room must shine brightly with multiple hues cast down upon its floor.

From this distance it looked as though the chapel consisted of just one lone chamber, and that it was most likely reserved for communications between the Heavens and the parish. It did not look as though the populace of the city was allowed to visit the great glass palace.

Donovan stood up on the dusty cliff top. He looked across the horizon and felt a stiff breeze blow across his face. The warrior stood there looking into the distance for several moments. A calm came over his body as he stared at the cloud filled sky above him and the green fields beneath.

The warrior took a deep breath, inhaling the cool spring air. He took one step and leapt off of the great mountainside.

Donovan fell from the cliff top at a tremendous rate. The great glass chapel below was quickly racing upwards towards him. The panels of stained glass glinted in the sun as he dropped from the sky.

With a quick motion, he unhitched the sword from his back and held it pointing down towards his feet. He began to chant a few mystic words, and prepared to impact with the roof of the chapel.

Donovan's armored form smashed through the intricately designed glass. Shards of glass sliced through his unarmored face and skin. Twisted pieces of metal and colored crystals dropped from the ceiling like a great shower of rain. The fallen pieces danced and shattered upon the great stone floor. Colored dust and piles of leaded metal were all that remained of the once majestic window.

Donovan had cast a spell immediately after hitting the great window, and he was able to slightly slow his fall. Unfortunately, he was unable to completely reduce his speed and his armored form still slammed into the stone floor with great force. His metal armor buckled upon contact and several of his bones broke from the impact. Blood began to flow from numerous cuts and punctures. His form lay crumpled on the cold hard floor.

The broken warrior struggled to pull an object from one of his purses. With much pain and agony he was able to secure the item. He placed the item within his mouth and promptly ate it. His body retched upon the floor as magically his skeleton and injuries were mended. Audible sounds from the broken bones within his frame snapping back together echoed through the room. Wounds, which had moments before bled profusely, were now sealed. Without taking a moment to lose consciousness as Ifriit was ought to do, he forced himself to stay awake during the process and slowly attempted to stand.

Extremely groggy due to both his fall and the holy fruit, it took a moment for him to regain his composure and finally be able to survey his surroundings.

As he had previously thought, the great chapel consisted of a single large room. No pews or other seats could be seen within the wide space. Tall granite pillars which held up the great roof reached upwards towards the sky. The glass ceiling above had been shattered, and the midday sun gleaned through the great gaping hole.

Three large wooden double doors could be found on each of the manmade walls. Each of them still glowed with an orange aura, presumably still sealed shut. Frantic pounding could be heard on the opposite side of each, as if the guards outside were desperately trying to enter the locked room.

Donovan quickly scanned the entire room and could not find another soul. He appeared to be inside of the great chamber alone.

The center of the room contained a great seal that was embedded into the floor. The symbol upon the stone floor was the image of a single enormous twisted feather. Behind the seal near the back of the chamber sat a single large chair upon a short pedestal. The throne was quite ornate, and it was trimmed with a multitude of gems and bright stones.

Sitting in the chair was the frail body of a very old man. His robes were dark purple and trimmed with gold. To his side stood a tall white staff. Donovan's single eye was able to focus in on the figure, and instantly recognized it as his foe. It was the supreme bishop Darria.

Still reeling a bit from the fall, Donovan straightened his back with a crack and spoke. "So, this is what has become of the great high priest Darria. I must congratulate you on your achievement. I did not think a man I left for dead would be able to rise so high within the Church annals. How does it feel to be the supreme bishop?"

The figure did not answer. The elderly man did not move.

"How long has it been? Thirty long years? Do you remember my disfigured form, Darria?"

The supreme bishop still did not respond. All that was heard was the old man struggling to breathe.

Before Donovan could speak again, the air within the room began to feel charged. A thick field of energy perforated through the air.

The warrior's senses tightened. "What magic is this?"

A quick flurry slammed into Donovan and he slid across the stone floor. A great gash appeared within his upper right leg. Thick blood began to drain from the wound.

Before he could stand to see what caused the blow, another attack the same as the first came slamming into his chest. A tremendous gust of wind passed into his form. It felt as though he had been hit by a stampeding bull, and he struggled to regain his footing.

Lying on the granite floor, he scanned the area for his attacker. Nothing appeared within his sight.

Before he could blink, a giant blur appeared before him and struck his form again. A giant dent appeared within his chest plate and he coughed up a mouthful of blood. Several of his ribs snapped with great pain, and he struggled to breathe. Fluid began to fill into his lungs.

A ghostly figured materialized before him. The creature was gigantic, easily dwarfing the injured warrior. It stood twice the height of the warrior upon the ground. The thick forearms of the being were enormous, and giant white veins traced the muscular limbs like gnarled tree roots. Its chest was of equal size, and it wore great bands of transparent fabric upon its form. Covering its head was a thick golden mane that flowed around its bulky shoulders. The mystical hair billowed through the air even though there was not a single draft of wind within the room. Upon its back was a set of stark white wings that extended a distance away from its ethereal torso. They slowly undulated through the great room almost appearing wraithlike.

The being had the face and body of a man, but its eyes were hollow and its visage appeared catlike. A massive chiseled chin stuck out from its flat nose. Several large teeth were blaring from its quivering gums. In its massive hands it held a hefty sword made of glasslike metal. It remained standing motionless in front of the old warrior.

Donovan spit up another mouthful of blood which sprayed out on the stony floor. The wounded man tried to stand. With a struggle, Donovan was able to use his sword as a crutch and pulled his bleeding form up from the floor. He stood facing the creature, wobbling on his unstable legs.

The angelic creature remained still and continued to sneer at the warrior. Thin trails of transparent drool hung from the edges of its mouth.

Donovan reached into the cloth bag upon his waist and pulled from it a small, thin cylinder.

The dead eyes of the giant seraphim widened. It twisted its giant body and tried to flee away from the warrior.

Donovan uncorked the magical vial and threw it at the beast. The glass object shattered along its back and a thick black liquid sprayed across its giant wings.

The massive angel roared and dropped its weapon. Windows that lined the stone walls shattered from the scream, and their glass fell to the floor. Black fire began to grow upon the creature's rear with a black ooze eating away at its ghostly body like acid. A horrendous blue smoke emanated from the burning wounds. The beast's giant wings caught fire and popped with horrible explosions. Bits of ghostlike feathers fell to the ground. The black fire continued to rage as the beast struggled to put it out.

Donovan reached into his purse yet again. He was able to pull another glowing fruit from its recesses just before falling over from his injuries. With pain quickly filling his body, he swallowed the Ifriit seed whole. Fire erupted from his skin and his body twisted in pain. His wounds stopped bleeding once more, and the warrior struggled to keep his consciousness.

The beastlike angel spun and scrambled in futile attempts to put out the magical flame. In desperation, it reached back with both of its massive arms and tore what remained of the wings upon its back. White fluid filled the air behind the creature, and it bent down on its giant knees. The black fire had been extinguished, and all that remained of its once majestic wings were gaping holes filled with white blood. The monstrous angel let out a howl of pain that echoed through the chamber.

Donovan regained his fighting stance. He sprinted up to the wounded angel kneeling on the ground. With a quick strike from his ancient sword, he lopped off the right arm of the beast at its shoulder blade. The massive muscled limb flew through the air, and the seraphim let out another roar.

The beast stood up and faced Donovan. With a quick rush, it attempted to tackle the advancing warrior.

Donovan anticipated the maneuver and held his weapon forward in a thrusting position. The beast's charge caused the blade to skewer through its abdomen. A spray of white blood spurted into the air and the monstrous angel stopped in its tracks.
Donovan shifted his hands and lowered his body. Using all his might, he held the hilt of the embedded blade firmly and lifted it towards the air. The silvered steel cut upwards through the upper torso of the giant angel. A giant seam appeared vertically up its chest and Donovan removed the blade.

The warrior stood back as the lifeless body of the being in front of him slumped towards the ground. It landed with a great thump that shook the floor. A mixture of white blood and bright white light flowed from each of the wounds. The figure began to shake violently and Donovan retreated. Moments later the ghostly flesh exploded into nothingness and all that remained was a glasslike skeleton.

Donovan turned his attention to the supreme bishop Darria. A mixture of red and white blood covered the warrior's armor and hands. A thin trickle of red liquid dripped from the corner of his mouth.

The fallen Protectorate soldier walked towards the man in his throne. The aged man sat in his chair, motionless and struggling to breathe. His eyes were glazed over and his frail form had aged terribly. His once thick burgundy hair had become grey and thin, with large spots appearing visible along his scalp. A multitude of wrinkles littered the creases of his face. His musculature had withered and degraded with age. His clothes, as well as his skin, appeared to be falling off of his fragile bones.

Donovan drew his sword.

Lifting it high into the air, he struck the paralyzed man across his skull. The blade split through the center of the bishop's head, and continued down tearing through his chest. The frail body crumpled due to the force of the blow and the once mighty Darria lay in a bloody heap at the base of his throne. Blood seeped from his dead body down the pedestal onto the great feathered seal.

The old warrior let out a sigh. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the anger within him dissipated. He walked to the center of the great seal and stood there staring out through the opening in the ceiling. He watched giant white clouds pass across the bright blue sky.

Moments after the bishop was disposed of, the orange aura around the wooden doors faded. The once sealed doors opened up with a flood of Holy Protectorate soldiers racing into the room. The startled guard members stood temporarily frozen staring at the two corpses that lay in the giant chapel. They quickly composed themselves and began to train their eyes on the old warrior standing in the center of the seal.

Donovan lowered his head to look at the army before him. Without hesitation, he lifted his great silver sword to the ready. His single eye scanned the large group of soldiers. He stood there, sword at the ready, and awaited the retaliatory attacks from the members of the Church.