Brotherhood of Doom v. The Masters: The Curtain Rises

[ToroMor]

Weeping

Silence had befallen the lonely figure in the dungeon. All life seemed to have vanished from the delicate silhouette of the pale woman. She only wore an airy black ball gown and sat on the cold and naked ground; but she did not feel the chill of the crude stones, for the bitterest coldness was within her. Her thoughts were deeply buried in sorrow, and her fainting awareness was drifting with an abysmal stream of quiet mourning. She could not even remember her name. The sole recollection of her former denomination was nothing more than the vague resemblance of a rose.

Then, slowly but with the inexorable force of a merciless nature, memories soared from the bottom of her benighted heart. She remembered holding a scroll in her hands and speaking words to an unknown stranger. "...at the arrival of this message, our armies are already marching... ". She opened her eyes in a sudden insight. The hordes of chaos were on their way and she had been used as a harbinger of war. Now, she could almost physically feel the approach of him. Why, oh why had he not allowed her to rest in unending sleep? She felt an agonizing cramp in her stomach. She had not tasted blood for years - or perhaps a hundred years - and her vampiric existence was on the edge of extinction. Still, her master did not let her go, but kept her alive, only to prolong this causeless torture. Sorrow overwhelmed her. She tried to cry bitter tears but not one drop of blood flowed from her dry and burning eyes. Dolorously sobbing, she covered her face in her hands, as the memories broke through the embankments of her conscience. She had loved him more then anyone else could ever have loved someone. Melting in the ravaging fires of his lust, she thought that the feelings were mutual, and she had gladly dedicated her soul to him. But on one night, a dreadful night, he had dropped his once beloved like a worn puppet. He tossed her into everlasting darkness, with a breast that was stabbed to death, and he cruelly gloated over her suffering. All her efforts to return to him, even as his obedient slave, were in vain. She had never recovered from that wound and ever since, she was dying. In a fierce outburst of pain, she threw back her head, clawing her fingernails into her long, black hair. A savage cry escaped her violet lips, summoning the hounds of despair to devour her fractured heart.

Finally, all was silent again. The sunken down shape of the anemic woman was drowned in hopelessness again. She was barely more than the lifeless and broken hull of a once proud enchantress of the unholy, awaiting her end in this doomed fortress. And like it had been frozen in time, a subtle memento of her weeping filled the air, in this gloomy cellar, deep beneath the Floating Fortress.

A storm is coming

Andrej, the burgomaster of Latovia, was sitting at the dining table. It was a quite and beautiful day in the lands of Rhudya. The midday sun was shining and Andrej was sipping his regular mug of wine after a frugal meal. He watched his wife cleaning the dishes and admired the look of her firm buttocks. They were not rich people and they lived in a humble village, where days were filled with hard farm labour, but he had a strong wife who had born him two healthy sons and a beautiful daughter, and their house was solid and comfortable. None of the other villagers suffered from hunger or homelessness, and their relationships were mainly amicable. Since they were not protected by a landlord, the people of Latovia had to take care of themselves. More than once, armed bandits had robbed the village. Of course, they could not prevent those thugs from plundering the village but after the plagues were gone, they had always stood together to help those, who had been most severely struck, recover from their losses. And he as the burgomaster...

"Father, the people gather! Father, don't you hear?"

The voice of his eldest son pulled him out of his pondering. Abruptly, he jumped up from his chair and walked to the window, where his first born was staring at something. Andrej felt a sudden nervousness. Now he could also hear some people shouting outside.

"A storm is coming!"

Unhesitatingly, the burgomaster rushed outside. A group of about three dozen villagers stood there and pointed towards the sky. Andrej's eyes followed their stretched out arms. His heart missed a beat and he held his breath. What he saw, was something that seemed so unnatural, that it completely paralyzed him, not being able to catch a clear thought. Over the bright blue sky, coming from the south, a massive front of dark clouds drew near. But these clouds were not like anything that Andrej had ever seen. They were like a compact black mass, like a single cloud of utmost gloom. And they moved fast, faster than Andrej deemed possible! An archaic angst crept up his spine. If this was a wonder of nature, it was a singular one. But Andrej highly doubted that this phenomenon could be of elemental nature. To him, it made the impression of something that followed a distinct will. He had not entirely comprehended the theoretical consequences of his last thought, as he noticed that the ground was slightly quaking. But unlike normal earthquakes, this one persisted. With horror, Andrej began to realize that it grew stronger and stronger every moment, like it was closing in on the village. Some people yelled at him, apparently in beginning panic. But the burgomaster's throat was too craggy to reply anything. He hardly recognized the words at all, his mind being in a state of uncontrolled chaos. Then, the storm clouds concealed the sun. In the same instant, Andrej was able to hear it. It was a coarse chant with a slow, mesmerizing cadence.

From the distance comes the thunder
And takes their breath away
Eternal night forever
The price they have to pay

The storm of death is comin'
Through the wind and rain
The midnight bell is tolling
The horde is on its way

The earth was now trembling from the stamping of uncountable footfalls. Under the darkened firmament, ahead a curtain of smoke, a gargantuan number of torches wallowed over the world. Wherever this sinister moloch reached inhabited areas, houses blazed up like straw and the screams of death clang throughout the lands.

Andrej shook his head. Was he dreaming? It all seemed like a nightmare. This couldn't be real! May the gods have mercy on them. He shouted at some of the villagers that surrounded him, their faces bathed in cold sweat: "We must pray to the gods! Fast, to the priest!" A group of about twenty people started running towards the house of their shaman, which was at the outskirts of the village. They had never been very anxious about the gods but now, as their nemesis drew near, they realized that the neglected pantheon was their last chance to survive this day of damnation. Andrej was the fist one who arrived at the priest's cottage. Without knocking, he flung open the front door which lead into the main room of the holy man's house. Just to freeze in awe. The shaman was sitting on the floor, his body limp and his mouth wide open. A long ritual dagger stuck in his skull. Apparently, the old seer had driven it upside through his chin, directly into his brain. But to Andrej, the most horrific aspect was that the priest's tongue had been punctured and was now sticking on the dagger like a piece of grill meat. A gurgling sound emitted from the throat of the moribund man. The other villagers that had meanwhile arrived at the hut tried to enter the small room, but the burgomaster forced them outside and closed the door behind him. He was drenched with sweat. As he turned around again, he stuttered at the priest. "By all the gods in heaven, what..." But he immediately fell silent as the shaman addressed him with a loud and growling, ogreish voice. "RUN. YOU. FOOLS." In the same second, Andrej realized that it was impossible that a man could speak, with his tongue sticking on a dagger. With a desperate cry, he fled through the door, away from this abhorrent house, from the blasphemous remains of the priest. And the terrible voice followed him, mocking him with demonic laughter.

Outside the house, Andrej was shocked once more. A pillaging mob of hellish creatures had already reached the village. How could they be so fast? Andrej felt the poisonous sting of panic in his mind. He had to reach his house and protect his family, somehow! As fast as his feet could carry him, he sprinted towards the center of the village. Fire and bloodshed and the screams of women were all around him. For a moment, he noticed that those screams were far too sustained to be the screams of agony. But he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on reaching his home. Nightmarish creatures with coarse weapons ran all about and he had to carefully avoid getting in their way. Breathless and at the end of his endurance, he reached the village's central spot. From here, it was only a hundred yards to his house. But wait! A pack of orkish looking vandals was running from that direction directly towards him. They must have spotted him. He whirled around. The village was a burning ruin, the marauders were everywhere. There was no point in trying to escape. This army had flooded the land like a tsunami from hell. Suddenly, the chaos in Andrej's head ceased. All of a sudden, all things seemed perfectly evident and inescapable. He would die soon, and all of his people with him. But he would not stand down without resistance. He would fight. Andrej quickly looked around. Within his immediate reach, a flail was lying on the ground. Somebody must have dropped it there. Hastily, he picked it up and turned to the pack of marauders. They had almost reached him and they were swinging rust speckled, chunky sabres. With a frantic outbreak of rage, Andrej threshed at the foremost enemy. But the massy wight did not care for this blow at the least, but instead rammed his fist into the face of the burgomaster, who fell flat on his back, losing his futile weapon. Exploding stars were dancing before Andrej's eyes as he struggled to maintain his conscience. His mouth was filled with the splinters of his teeth and his head felt like that of a drunkard in the morning sun. He expected his death within the next second.

However, something inexplicable happened. Between the sparkling spots that still bounced in his sight, a strange light loomed above the land. For a moment, Andrej had the curious impression of a fortress that was flying high up in the blackened sky. Why was he still alive? But there was no time to ponder, his life was in peril. He rolled around and tried to stand up, trying to again get hold of a weapon. He would fight to the very end. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the orkish horde with their sabres. But before he could force his waggly feet to seek for his flail, a glaring ray of light carved the night. With a mindblowing crack, the central place of the village exploded. A plethora of dirt and meat fragments bespattered the burgomaster and an invisible fist hurled him ten yards backwards into the dirt. Barely conscious, Andrej tasted the blood and entrails of his former enemies in his mouth. Kneeling amidst this inferno, he was shaken by waves after waves of vomit, until the bitter fluids from his gall bit his bursted lips like vinegar. Somehow, he rebound and stood on his feet again. With blurred vision, he saw that the center of the village had transformed into a gaping crater. Andrej's mind already scraped at the boundaries of mental sanity. With legs that felt like jelly, he tumbled through this acherontic night with a sole destination in mind: he must reach his home. And he finally succeeded. But as he witnessed what barbarous fate had been fulfilled on his wife and children, his mind snapped. He carelessly left behind the raped and scorched cadavers and aimlessly strode away. Outside, crimson thunder hailed from the sky. It was a divine spectacle. Majestically, beams of pure energy sank down from the hovering fortress, and wherever they hit the ground, they obliterated everything within a vast perimeter in an illuminated display of godly might. However, Andrej was no longer able to comprehend the events. He had lost his inner coherence and his reasoning was destroyed. Like a slobbering idiot he stared at the pandemonium, with wide open mouth. As finally the land was drowned under the next wave of the dark horde, a brutish creature cut off the head of the former burgomaster with one ferocious blow of its battle axe, releasing his wrecked mind into the grace of eternal oblivion.

Siege

Anomaly, the leader of the Masters, was immersed in meditation. The interrogation of his prisoner had revealed nothing substantial. She was merely a mutilated marionette, sent by the Brotherhood as a messenger - and more so as an insult! After Anomaly feeding her with her own rotten entrails, he had hacked her to pieces and roasted every bit of her undead meat in the cold flames of an unhasty disband spell, until her cursed soul burst under the flagrancy of its martyrdom. All the while, Anomaly's unemotional demeanour remained untouched. But inside, his cold and murderous anger grew.

Only a few hours ago, the armies of the Brotherhood of Doom had arrived on this insignificant and solitary world. In this moment, over two thirds of the lands had fallen under the iron fist of the evil horde. Regardless of their losses which they had to suffer from the cannons of the Floating Fortress, they were now approaching the point where the fort was levitating over the northern parts of Rhudya. Anomaly frowned. No riches and no fame could be gathered in this forsaken place. There was no apparent reasoning behind the attack of the dark forces. It looked like the Brotherhood had committed this world to its doom just for the purpose of making up some sort of playground for the clash with the Masters. Anomaly nodded to himself. Very well, the games ought to commence. He commanded the stronghold to advance towards the enemy forces.

Getting a closer view, Anomaly overlooked the colossal size of the dark army. This had to be the biggest army that ever marched across the surface of a world. Their number was legion and their frenzy was absolute. It was a mixture of all kinds of abhorrent creatures. Slobbering orcs with crude sword-axes trampled down the scorching ruins of slaughtered peasants, raging war rhinos ran berserk among the opposing troops and black dragons dropped from above to spit their wrath upon all who were so unlucky to walk the ground underneath them. Demons, red skinned and with erect phalli, pitched into the mortals, ripping and devouring their prey alive. All resistance that was put in the way of this unstoppable mob, sent by landlords, dukes or kings, had been effortlessly wiped from the face of the earth. Now, the only question was: would there be any survivor left to report of this unparalleled massacre?

The Fortress opened fire. The blazing guns sent a staccato of devastating energy blasts to the ground. The sequence of their impacts shattered and ruptured the surface of the planet, opening a gaping trench of enormous proportions directly in front of the squalling horde. The effect was almost non-existent. Not slowing down the slightest bit, the foremost battalions sprung into the trench and forfeited their lives in undamped berserker rage. Soon, the wizards and master builders of the Brotherhood erected gates and bridges, and even if the dark army lost tens of thousands of foot soldiers in the rift, it was nothing to them and no one cared. It did not slow down their storm in the least, and billions and billions of hideous monstrosities swarmed over the lands beneath the Fortress.

At this point, the attack on the Floating Fortress commenced. Innumerable demons, dragons and valkyries leaped into the air, dashing towards the Masters' stronghold. They were followed by an army of gryphons, vampire bats, giant hornets, harpies and other winged creatures. Support was given by black cloaked warlocks, levitating in guru seat and throwing lightnings at the walls of the fortress. Witches were reciting ancient tomes, brewing unspeakable horrors in their cauldrons and throwing ruinous curses at the fort. Translucent apparitions rose up to the sinister heaven. Millions of phantoms, ghosts, spectres, wraiths and other condemned souls, that had fallen prey to the Brotherhood, intoned a mournful chant and drifted with the nocturnal winds towards the enemy's bastion, to release their venomous malignity. Sorcerers opened magic portals to the shores of the fortress' surrounding island, and through them, endless streams of troopers gushed onto the land of the Masters.

The Floating Fortress answered with an unbelievable barrage fire. With all cannons blasting at maximum rate, the hovering structure bolted out a hundred energy blasts per second. The airborne attackers were scattered to pieces and seared like midges in the candle's flame. The surface of the Rhudyan lands was hammered and ploughed and turned into a smouldering pulp. The legions of the damned were severely shaken. The blazing bolts cut through them like crop. Myriads of torn corpses fell from the tortured skies, and among the marching mob, baneful havoc reigned supreme.

Nevertheless, the armies of darkness were endless. From thousands of conquered worlds, they regorged through black portals onto the shattered ruins of the once picturesque Rhudya. They were far more than these dwarfish lands could bear, and for every wave that got annihilated, tens of bigger waves pressed after, howling in madness and eager to spill their blood for the glory of their doomful lords. By and by, the pall of winged raiders consolidated and started to surround the fortification. As they drew nearer, the Fortress cancelled the ground bombardment and concentrated its cannonade on the direct attackers.

At the same time, the fortress spat out huge swarms of defenders. Energy beasts, undead chimera and mindflayers, lower class Masters and unseen creatures from segregated dimensions skeltered to hold off the assault. Innumerable spawns of malady clashed and clung to one another in this deadly ball, and frazzled flesh rained from above, as for a while, the battle waved to and fro. But the Masters' guarding capacities were overstrained by the ungodly mass of aggressors. One by one, the descendants of the besieged asylum were slain and the gunfire was veiled by myriads of assailants. Then, as the black fog of winged assassins finally enwrapped the stronghold in their beastly coat, the siege of the Floating Fortress had begun.

Anomaly emerged from meditation. He directed the Fortress' guns to focus on keeping the gates free from intruders. Fixed on such a selective defence, they should be able to deal with any number of storm troops. This measure would leave the walls unprotected, but it was very unlikely that any of those lesser minions of the Brotherhood could do any serious harm to the barriers. Nonetheless, it was an intimidating feeling to know the Fortress completely covered with foes. The arctic mien of Anomaly assumed a trace of grimness, while a manic sparkle appeared in his bleak gaze. It looked like this was going to be no cakewalk. The Brotherhood of Doom had revealed sacrilegious powers. And the main battle would probably ensue before long. He would crush them for their unbearable arrogance! He summoned his Pillars to their respective gates, where they would await the arrival of the prime warriors of the Brotherhood. Meanwhile, he would amass all of his powers to meet his appointed adversary, the leader of the dark forces.

The end and the beginning

Under a black sun, Toromor, the Christ of Darkness, was standing on a dusty hill, beholding the legions of hell as they marched in endless, blasphemous procession. Here, where the start and end of destiny arose, a vampire overlord was playing the bagpipe and his eerie voice intoned an ancient tune.

From Seven points of Darkness
beyond the mountains and the ruins
I will come for you
Across the Fields of Rage and Yearning
with Power in my hand
I will come for you

Toromor looked over his shoulder. Four juggernauts of Doom were standing behind him, waiting. He nodded. The five showed a grin that could have been forged at the end of all time, in the center of the whirling maelstrom of the void. Then they stepped through a dark portal, which closed behind them.