Secret History Scripture: First Guardian
Anyone who dares whisper our lord's name with bitterness finds a guardian reminding them why his mercy is their only breath. Yet once, he had no empire. No kingdoms. Nothing. Not even me. To insinuate weakness in our lord now invites swift death. Even from me. But all things begin. Even gods. This was his first guardian. The first of many.
—Third passage from the seer Nora
The rot land stretched vast and barren, but the mountains he went to were worse. Once, the goblin would have cowered here—in the past, he was hunted by elves, prey for beasts, a scavenger for scraps. But that was before.
He felt his lord within, sleeping, and wished him well.
"Soon, Lord," he whispered to the air. "I swear it. A beast worthy of the life you saved."
He felt his lord's presence swell with every step. Not just in him, but through him.
Drops of pure shadow wept from his obsidian skin, splashing onto the desiccated earth. They sank deep—not with the violent purity of the Goddess's cursed crystals, but with a softer, insidious blessing. A promise. They would spread. The rot and light seemed to lessen it, but in the earth, it rested to fight and bloom in time.
He still could not help but marvel at the change he had experienced. His old self, when his kin would be meek and led to slaughter. Their only hope was to flee, unless they were the rare few tribes with more unity.
Now, he walked with purpose. Pride radiated from him like heat. Creatures of the dark shrank from his path or bowed low. He ignored them. Unworthy. His lord needed not worshipers now, but power. A bulwark against the Light.
His destination: the mountains. Caves. Beasts.
One beast in particular.
He remembered its roar—a sound that once turned his bowels to water, sent all beasts fleeing, left him cowering in filth, praying to be overlooked.
Now, he strode boldly to the mouth of its lair. Not as prey.
As conqueror.
Death hung thick in the air. Rot and old blood. The beast was home.
Sleep. Peace.
An odor.
Intruder? Challenger?
Rage, hot and primal, flooded its massive frame. It shook itself, muscles rippling beneath scarred hide. Too long since worthy prey! Memories surfaced: youth, tooth-and-claw battles, feasting on the flesh of rivals. Victory earned. Territory bled for.
It sniffed. The scent was wrong. Not prey. Danger.
Fury surged. This was its domain! Paid for in blood! It would spill blood again!
Six powerful legs carried it forward. Twin barbed tails lashed the air. Claws tore gouges in the stone floor. It paced deliberately, refusing to rush, yet thrumming with violent energy.
It emerged into the cave mouth's dim light.
Shock. Confusion.
So small?
A shadow-thing. Smaller than its paw. Yet it stood unflinching. Proud. Closing the distance without fear.
An unfamiliar sensation prickled—deeper than fear. Annihilation?
Pride roared defiance. The sound shook the mountain, a blast of putrid wind aimed to obliterate the insolent speck.
The goblin watched the monstrosity approach. Poor, blind king of nothing. Lost before meeting its true master.
As the roar tore through the air, he didn't flinch. He raised his hand—the hand where his lord watched, intertwined with his shadow-flesh.
Power coalesced. Not his. His lord's.
"Kneel," his voice echoed, calm and absolute. "Before your lord and master. You are his. First chosen guardian. Be honored. Accept his will."
Darkness erupted. Not a spell—a command made manifest. A beam of pure, flowing void lanced from his palm.
The beast tried to recoil. Too late. The darkness slammed into it, engulfing it. A thrashing silhouette within the consuming night, then stillness. Calm.
Understanding flooded the beast's eyes. Purpose.
The disciple smiled. His lord grew stronger.
Abaddon stirred. Disorientation. Fragmentation. Blurred senses outside the warm, fierce flame that was his disciple's soul. He clung to it—an anchor in the void.
Before, the disciple's soul had been a fading ember. Now it blazed, a pyre of devotion. Tempting, but he would never consume it. Not like the Light consumed its faithful.
The land itself felt diseased, tainted by the Light's lingering poison even here. He bled shadow-drops to cleanse it, to claim it, but it drained him. The Light's distant burn was a constant ache in his newborn divinity.
He hated it.
He would remake this world. A bastion against that hateful radiance. Weariness pulled him down into restful darkness...
ROAR!
The vibration tore through his essence. Recognition flared. Desire.
MINE.
The disciple felt his will instantly. The command flowed through their bond like molten shadow.
"Kneel before your lord and master..."
As the disciple spoke, Abaddon expanded. He tore free from the confines of the cave floor where fragmented drops of himself lay weak and gasping. Pouring into the beast, he merged with its roaring, vital soul—a bonfire compared to the disciple's focused flame.
The beast thrashed in its mind, bewildered by the god-force invading it.
PEACE.
Calm descended. The beast's primal rage smoothed into understanding. Awareness. It knew its lord. Its purpose.
Guardian.
Abaddon observed through new eyes—many eyes, seeing distorted vistas. Six legs, not two. An alien, powerful form. He moved the massive body; it obeyed seamlessly, embracing its master's will.
He looked back at the disciple through the beast's compound vision. The obsidian goblin knelt, awaiting orders. Abaddon had none. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.
The contrast was stark. The disciple's soul: a nurtured, devoted flame. The guardian's: a vast, wild bonfire of raw power. The urge to consume that strength surged through him, primal and demanding.
He rejected it.
I am not the Light. He would not take and demand. He would share. Elevate. Grow with his chosen rather than consume them. Yet twice now he gave no real choice... a thought for later. He needed them, so he had to take.
The merging solidified. His control over the guardian deepened. Through both vessels, his essence continued its slow, blessed corruption of the land beyond the cave.
Yet unease persisted.
This place still felt wrong. Not the cave—the world. Blessed and poisoned by the Light. Even the distant forests whispered with verdant taint. Nature's light. He despised every trace of it.
Revulsion overwhelmed him. Focusing his newborn power through the guardian's massive form, he expelled pure darkness.
Liquid void. Gallons splashed onto the cave floor, spreading like oil. The effort drained him utterly; the guardian beast collapsed, sharing his sudden weakness through their bond.
But in the spreading pool of his essence, Abaddon felt whole. Safe. Free. The Light's taint receded where his darkness flowed. Like the Goddess's crystals, but righteous—cleansing her rot with his truth.
The blurry distortion of his fragmented sight cleared within this claimed sanctuary. Breath came easier.
Finally safe. Finally whole enough to rest.
He slept.
=====
Too much time had passed without answers.
The king's thoughts churned in desperate circles—why hadn't the goddess demanded her champion's return? Why hadn't Luan reported back? Where was the scout he'd sent for information? His spies claimed they found nothing, but how could there be nothing?
He caught himself thinking these dangerous thoughts and flinched, glancing around his empty throne room. Even silent blasphemy felt like an invitation for divine retribution.
Fear had stolen his appetite, his sleep, his ability to drink wine without terror that the goddess would find him unworthy for failing to produce results. Nothing remained of him but stress, gnawing at his sanity like a parasite.
No reports from his captains. No answers from his spies. The silence stretched like a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing day. The goddess held him in her grasp, and without her champion to handle matters beyond the palace walls, he felt utterly exposed.
He sent for his most trusted spy, needing updates—anything to break the crushing weight of unknowing that had tormented him for weeks.
The spy materialized from shadows with practiced silence. Under normal circumstances, such skill might have pleased him. Instead, it reminded him that the goddess could appear just as suddenly, demanding answers he didn't possess.
"I need answers!" The words exploded from him before he could moderate his volume.
The spy remained bowed but looked up with confusion. "I cannot answer questions you do not ask, my lord."
"Don't mock me! You know what I mean!" Panic filled his eyes as he tried to focus, tried to lower his voice, but the words poured out anyway. "I need to find out what happened to Luan! What happened to the team I sent to find him! The hero of light cannot just disappear!"
The words tore from his throat before terror could strangle them. He'd meant to whisper that information, not shout it for every ear in the palace to hear.
When divine wrath failed to manifest immediately, his relief curdled into greater fear—she was waiting. Gathering her patience before delivering punishment for his failures.
"Find out now," he croaked. "I don't care how long it takes, but make it concrete. No more assumptions or maybes. I need answers."
The spy rose smoothly. "Understood, my lord." Shadows swallowed him in a blink.
The king slumped on his throne, repeating a desperate mantra under his breath. He hadn't failed the Light—he still served faithfully. He just needed time to gather information. Time to provide satisfactory explanations.
He just needed time. Just needed time. Just needed...
The throne room's silence pressed against him like a physical weight, heavy with unspoken judgment and divine expectation.
Outside, somewhere in the growing darkness, his answers waited.
He prayed they would be the right ones.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmUizhq1pA8
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