An End Not Unlike the Beginning

Part I

The horse's hooves pawed at the ground. Pebbles scittered down the slope
and were lost in a hollow pit. Whinnying softly, the horse snorted once.
His breath billowed upward slowly in the crisp morning air.

Below, beyond the pits, beginning in a symetrical scar that started at the
edge of the earth beyond the slope, going north, east, west, and south,
narrowing lapping upon the stones of a giant, gleaming fortress that rose
from the ground...

Meta-Licana. Once a shinning, white castle. Crowned with towers built of
blue glass and white marble. An angel asleep among the emerald valleys,
banners waving in the air, windows sparkling. The jewel of the southern
kingdoms.

Now a ruin. Its towers, blasted by the fire of enemy hydras and gryphons.
Its walls, cracked, perforated, scorched by flames. Its outer shell
scratched by the talons of dragon and troll alike, dripping with oil from
many attempts at scaling to the highest peak: the chappel.

They had run to the chappel. In hoards. There to cower and shake with fear,
while the attacks thundered outside. They prayed to their gods. They
pleaded in vain. Any one thing they did was doomed to failure. What were
miserable humans with no sorcery?

And yet...

Gripping the horse's reins harder, its rider held it in check while he
surveyed the sight. His eyes narrowed. They became as slits, cold and
calculating. He was looking at the spires of the chappel, at the blackened
hole in its right wall. His gaze traveled slowly, meticulously, from the
fortress to the to the craged earth surrounding it. Nothing was left of the
once green valleys. All life had been destroyed there.

Save those walled in by Meta-Licana's protective stone pillars. The
watcher's gaze was dark, hard. He gripped the horse's reins harder and
spurred the horse to its left.

"Dark Schneider," he murmured.

                                 *********

It seemed to him, looking back now, that there had never been a time when
he had not felt Dark Schneider. He didn't know who that was, but still, he
felt him.

No one ever said his name at home. His mother never spoke about anything
unpleasant. He never spoke unless spoken to. How then could he have known
Dark Schneider? Had he ever really known him, or was he remembering
distorted images?

And still, there had never been a time when he did not know Dark
Schneider...

                                 *********

The castle had not been built. Neither had it risen omniously from the
ground some accursed day, enveloping the land in darkness and spreading out
forbidding wings. It had always been there.

Lord kall-Su descended the heavy stone steps, lighted here and there by
braziers on the walls. The fire glittered in pure white metal. He wrapped
his snowy cloak about him as he turned a particularly damp stairwell, but
other than that sudden, almost mechanical action, he was as a marble pillar
descending into the bowels of the castle.

It had been built in the olden times. it was as old as this new world. Four
hundred years had weighed heavy on it.

Four hundred years. Has it really been that long? It seems like such a
short time, when one thinks about it. And was HE alive, even then?

This thought made him stop for a moment, but he continued on his way with a
decicive shake of his head. No. He is almost invulnerable, but he is not
eternal.

One last turn brought him to a massive, oaken door, sealed once in heavy
metal. He put his fingers to the wood. It felt cold. His skin tingled. He
removed his hand quickly, frowning.

Noiselessly, he pushed it open. A soft, red glow engulfed the room. Unseen
fires flickered amid the smooth marble, the harsh rocks, the lifeless
bloodstones. Intricate webbing snaked about the floor, its pattern trailing
down the stairs. Kall-Su's footsteps echoed in his ears as he descended to
the room's center. Massive columns, lost in the darkness above, darkness
that presumed to have a ceiling, framed a gigantic, monstrous figure,
forming an overlooking cage down into an abyss from whence rose horns,
body, and breath of the slumbering god.

Kall-Su looked down into that abyss. He felt pulled by it, seduced by it.
His breast rose and fell in a slow cadence. He stood thus, enraptured by
the sight of this behemoth of darkness, this his one, true god, Anthratax,
for what seemed like ages.

Did he think, as in the slope overlooking Meta-Licana? No one would have
been able to tell. He seemed as one dead, save for the fire in his eyes.
His eyes always betrayed him.

"They are quite helpless."

"Yes," he said, turning from the abyss, but feeling its presence wrap
around him, support him. Behind him stood a tall man, wrapped in darkness.
He was almost the darkness. But not quite. He was Abigail. Kall-Su had not
been amazed at his sudden appearance because he knew Abigail to be always
there. The older man was not a mere believer of Anthratax. He was a
fanatic.

"We must not underestimate them, though. We have lost both Gara and Arshes
Nei thanks to them..."

"Because of Dark Schneider."

"Yes."

Kall-Su paced the halls of their underground sanctuary silently. His answer
had been cold, precise. But Abigail, following him with his eyes, smiled. A
strange light came into his eyes. Kall-Su came to a halt and looked down
into the abyss of the god.

"Fifteen years ago," he said, "we began this war, with Dark Schneider. He
was a ruthless, violent man. Invulnerable, we believed him. He almost took
over the whole world. He would have. He could have taken it all."

"But he was killed in Meta-Licana by the High Priest Geo Noto Soto. He
should have remained dead."

"And still, he is alive. I know not how."

"And fighting against us. He must be mad. Surely, with his power, he could
have just retaken Meta-Licana."

"True. He is no longer the Dark Schneider we knew..."

"Or so we suppose. He must still be his old self if Gara and Arshes Nei
joined forces with him."

Kall-Su did not answer to this. At the mention of that name, Arshes Nei, he
had closed his eyes. Opening them again, slowly, he turned towards Abigail.
It seemed a contradiction. Kall-Su was young, of a slight build, clothed in
shinning white. His short hair, grazing the nape of his neck, was platinium
blonde, his eyes, sober and calm, were light blue. Abigail was tall, of a
large, impressive face, possesing a strong jaw, and a cruel mouth. He was
clothed in stern greys and blacks. his short, black hair was beginning to
reside, leaving a wide forehead. He was impressively large. he should have
been turning to Kall-Su and commanding with a voice of thunder. He knew
this. But it was Kall-Su turning towards him and, with a quiet voice, sure,
strong, and clear, commanding him.

"Still, Abigail, if we are to establish Sosal Kingdom, promised to us by
Anthratax, we must forget whatever Gara, Arshes, or Dark Schneider were.
They are our enemy. And we shall show them exactly what that means.

                                 *********

His mother had been beautiful. She seemed as a ray of sun. She warmed and
gave life. She laughed tenderly as she held her son, as she told him
bedtime stories, and showed him the stars.

One night, though, after a particularly stormy day, Kall had awakened,
scared and sweating, in his room. Sobbing, he grasped the bed covers, his
knuckles white, his breath gone. A moment later, he was running down the
hallway and into his mother's arms. He cried into her chest and she
smoothed his hair, kissing the top of his head softly. Kall didn't know
what had scared him. He was just glad his mother was there.

If he would have looked up, if his exhausting cry hadn't led him into
uneasy slumber in his mother's arms, he would have seen her face.

Tense, scared. She looked at him as if she were terrified of him. And tears
slid down her beautiful, smooth cheeks.

                                 *********

Tiara Noto Yoko cracked the door to the hall outside her room open quietly.
A look of deep suspicion marked all of her features. She popped her head
out of the door a little and surveyed the hall.

Empty. Good.

Quickly, secretly, she emerged from her room. A basket brimming with dirty
laundry was in her arms.

I love Luche kun. But I really can't afford to have the little darling get
to my underwear anymore. Great gods, he must have washed them about ten
times this past week alone!

Basket in hand, she ran silently, or so she hoped, down the steps of
Meta-Licana's surviving wings. She moved jerkilly, afraid that anyone would
see her running around with a basket of underwear. Now that would be a neat
sight: Tiara Noto Yoko, daughter of High Priest Geo Noto Soto, scampering
about Meta-Licana with dirty panties... A real breakfast treat.

Turning a corner, she pressed againsy a wall and threw one glanze into the
castle's washing room. Empty too. So far, so good. Pleased at her succes,
she dived in, basket in hand, at one leap. She took in a deep breath and
smiled, ready to shout out Thank goodness, when she froze.

Towel in hand, with hair dripping wet, and stark naked, Luche was looking
at her. An impish grin was beginning to firm on his lips.

"Ne, Yoko san," he said, "now you're even coming to see me bath, eh? You're
more fun than I thought."

Yoko's slap was hard, decisive. It echoed throughout all of the room, and
drew blood from Luche's lips.

                                 @@@@@@@@@

Later, stuffing the last of her underwear into the scrubbing machine, she
blew at her palm.

I hit him too hard, she thought. Slowly, with that slight teenage hope of
seeing manly skin coupled with the chaste blush of actually seeing it, she
stole a glance at Luche through the door that divided the scrubbing room
from the tubs.

He was sitting at the tub's rim, rubbing his cheek. A towel was wrapped
around his waist. His long, white hair hung in wet rivulets down his back.
He was indeed a sight.

But, Yoko thought, scrubbing at her laundry slowly, he's not really my
Luche kun... Luche is a child, barely fourteen. This is a man...

She sighed. Luche, her beloved Luche, had been the unknowing vessel for the
soul of a dead wizard, the legendary exploder wizard Dark Schneider. Yoko
didn't know what to think about that. But he had been released from Luche's
body to save Meta-Licana. Now, Luche was no more. In his place was this
wizard; bad mouthed, violent, and womanizing.

And yet...

She knew there was still something of her old Luche in him. The spell of
release had been so that both souls shared one body. It was neither the
child nor the wizard, but a merging of both, that Yoko now beheld.

Slowly, stretching like a cat, aware of the female audience, he stood up.
He rubbed his cheek silently one last time, closing his eyes, dark
eyebrows, a sharp contrast to his snowy hair, knitting together in savage
thought. Opening them, he looked at Yoko, eyes glittering.

"Hey, bitch," he said, mocking her, "That wasn't even a decent slap."

                                 *********

You will kill me one day, my son. You will kill all of us.

She had not said it like that. But he knew it was what she meant. He
realized it when he was barely eleven. She would look at him for hours, and
a fear would come into her eyes. Silently, he would look at her as well,
and then turn away.

He knew why she was scared. He felt it. How could he not? Power. Inmense
power was growing inside of him. He could feel it pulsing in his veins,
filling his heart, making his head throb.

It hurt him.

Because it hurt his mother. She never said anything. But she didn't have
to. He knew too. He was scared as well.

Evil, he thought, starring at the ceiling as he tossed and turned at night
in his bed, this power growing in me is evil... and I know-- I know I'll
hurt someone someday. I'll hurt her... He tossed and turned for many
nights, clutching his head. He felt a presence there, whispering. It called
his name. And he couldn't make it go away.

And he was alone. So alone.

                                 *********

The voices rose and lowered in rythmical desonance. From her window, Yoko
could see Bon Jovina, the captain of the palace guard, in the courtyard
below, waving a baton wildly and shouting at the lazy morons in the back to
sing louder that, for pride's sake, this was Meta-Licana's illustrious
hymn, not a wash song. The voices rose even more then, and Yoko closed the
window shutters.

Sprawled on her bed, Luch--no, Dark Schneider, flicked an ant from his
fingernails and grinned.

"Man, they sound like trolls. I bet even trolls would sound better than
that, if given the chance. Not that that square of a Kall-Su will make them
sing."

So saying, he swung his legs to the edge of the bed and sat up.

"Speaking of which, are you people simply going to wait around for him to
come knocking down another door?"

"We can't abandon Princess Sheila, and you know that," was Yoko's answer.

"I wasn't refering to you or Sheila or even to that senile Bon Jovina. I
meant me. Gara, maybe, and Arshes. We can't wait around for him forever,
you know. Or this whole castle will be in even more trouble than it has
been these past months. He'll come tearing down the walls to get the seal
for that god of Abigail's. Frankly, I think they've both gone nuts. We
wanted the world... They're plotting to blow it up or something. I don't
even know what they want! But if it's that laughable Utopia Arshes was
talking about... boy!"

Yoko leaned against the shutters and gazed at Luche as he cursed on half to
himself. She felt truly helpless. She couldn't say why...

Dark Schneider knew the enemy. Had been the enemy once. He talked about
them like old chums... Save for two of them. Arshes Nei, the dark-elf
sorceress. And Kall-Su. Why?

Why...?

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part II will be coming pretty soon, folks. This story has two years writen,
all we need to do is get our lazy selfs htmling. Ha ha. How's it looking so
far, eh? Send us a note, if you'd like. We won't mind. The Knights of
Meta-Licana