Warlords: Christmas Writings Vol. II; The Darkness

In the middle of December it’s cold outside. Colder so in the arctic tundra that is Navihielo. Chancellor Atticus Flynn however was warmed by the flames of rage and passion that dwelled within him as his led his forces of Lejenda to the wintry beaches of the icy kingdom. In the sky, atop his Dragonite, he looked below at the war ships and troop transports that would carry the entire might of the Lejendan army to enemy shores. He was a majestic sight to behold indeed, in his black armor and blood red cape billowing in the wind. To one of the soldiers below, he was the pinnacle of kingship. He ruled with an iron fist and did not hesitate to take what he wanted. To Milton Grayson, there was no better ruler than Atticus Flynn. He was blind to the darkness that governed Flynn’s heart. He saw it as a gift from the gods. What was darkness to the world, Milton saw as the right to rule those below.

Milton himself was no saint. He was a small time pirate that made his living raiding small fishing ships that happened to drift too far away from Tortuga’s shores. There was a certain glee he found when he saw the looks of terror of the faces of the surprised fishermen. He liked leaving them on a sinking raft even more. Milton’s cruelty and greed were what would make him the perfect candidate for the Dark Lord’s plan.

When the troop transports finally reached the beach, Milton drew his sword and charged ahead amidst the Focus Blasts, Fire Blasts, and Ice Beams. Dancing through the carnage, he swung his sword, cutting down as many Navihielans as he could. As he cut down another nameless foe, he was struck in the leg by an arrow. As he fell the ground writhing in pain, he saw the blood leave him. It flowed freely, making him sick and pale. As he stared to the sky, he saw his hero fall to the ground below and could hear the twisted laugh of Atticus Flynn as he hit the snow beneath him. He closed his eyes. Death could not come fast enough. His artery was severed. Even if no foe found him and ended his life, the arrow would quickly mean his death. As he faded out of consciousness, he saw before him a shade. A creature whose mere visage inspired fear. Giratina. This was Giratina. He wasn’t surprised. He didn’t expect to be welcomed to Elysium after the life he led. But then the dragon spoke.

“Yes. You’ll do nicely,” it said in a whisper.

Milton stared ahead with a blank stare. He couldn’t begin to fathom what this beast had in store for him. And that was the last thought Milton Grayson had as a man alive. It was the moment his heart had stopped that the creature overtook him. Giratina entered the man’s shell. Revitalizing him to a point where Milton was neither alive nor dead. But he wasn’t exactly Milton either. Milton’s spirit was still bound to his body, but it was not in control. Giratina was. And on the field of battle, where Milton’s lifeless body lay, He rested.

The battle ended shortly after, Queen Glacea had taken over on the battlefield after Flynn killed the former King, her father. The bodies from both sides littered the Navihielan earth as those who still lived retreated to their respective lands. Hours passed as the moon glowed above and the bodies began to stink. Finally, Milton opened his eyes. He gasped loudly and sat up quickly, grabbing at air to fill his lungs. He was still alive. How? He looked at his leg, only to see it healed without a mark. He stood up and darkness overtook his vision.

“You are mine child. You will obey. We have much work to do,” Giratina spoke in the same hushed tone as before. Milton found himself answering without thinking.

“Yes milord. We have much work to do.”

Milton Grayson never left the battlefields of Navihielo. He died that day in the cold snow. The creature that left was neither man nor beast. It was darkness incarnate.