The Evil Overlord’s List

by Manuel Sieunarine

Evil Overlord List is Copyright 1996-1997 by Peter Anspach.

888

Lightning cracked through dark clouds while the rain seeped deeper into his robes. The cold wetness ran down his neck, increasing his feeling of discomfort as he faced the four teenagers in the temple courtyard, the shadows of his ancestors frowning upon him. Freshly slain, Everoar’s carcass lay low at its master’s feet, its once majestic wings in shreds from the onslaught of Alundris.

“Though you have killed my great beast, you cannot defeat me! I am INVINCIBLE!”

“Give up, Nesius! You have already lost!” the red-haired, green-eyed leader shouted above the thunderclaps, the legendary sword Alundris held in his hand. Nesius lifted high the Wingless Shard, its stony razor edges cutting into his hands and making the rain run red down his trembling arms.

“Alundris shall NEVER prevail against the power of darkness!” Nesius screeched.

“The Wingless Shard is a force of good, not evil!” the busty, fallow-haired priestess tried to reason; “It will destroy you!”

“LIES! I control its power! I will destroy you!”

The Wingless Shard began to glow, its facets shining with inner light. For no discernible reason, a Latin choir began chanting in the background.

“He’s really going to do it!” the muscular, hairless monk warned, “Everyone, get back!”

While the three others ran for cover, the wielder of Alundris stood fast, wind and rain lashing the wild locks above his determined eyes.

“What is he doing?” the diminutive mage whined, cowering behind one of the pillars recently broken in combat with Everoar, “Nesius will kill him!”

“Believe,” the priestess said, squeezing his small hand, “Believe in him.”

Meanwhile, their common foe was gloating to their leader.

“Behold, mere mortal, the Shard’s control over the elements!”

The rain stopped. This is not to say, it stopped raining. The rain was still there, but it had stopped moving. Millions of droplets hung static in the air around the temple. The awestruck monk reached out and pushed aside raindrops with his hand, as though parting a curtain.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” the wielder of Alundris challenged.

“Foolish boy! Feel the wrath of Nature herself: Wingless Rain!”

The raindrops moved at the impulse of Nesius’ will, no longer in flight, but clipped of their wings, enslaved by his ambition. Nesius made a cutting motion with the Shard, and the rain shot in piercing waves at the red-haired youth, cutting away his armour as though it were paper.

“Die!” Nesius laughed, but the hero was unsmiling. Alundris flashed, and broke through the waves of water. Its wielder leaped across the courtyard, swinging the legendary weapon in great sweeping motions to fend off the slashing rain.

“No!” Nesius cried, and invoked the Shard once again, raising great stone walls from the ground between him and the vengeful blade. Alundris tore through them, splitting rock and water with equal ease.

“This cannot be! I am INVINCIBLE!” Nesius screamed, holding the Shard aloft to beseech its power one last time. Lightning blazed, and Alundris was sent flying with its wielder, both crashing onto the broken flagstones where Everoar had trod.

“No!” the priestess cried, running to the smoking body of their leader with the mage and monk in tow. While she busied herself casting healing spells on her fallen hero, Nesius laughed.

“That shall be the end of all who oppose Nesius, Prince of Darkness!” he cackled, but then a lightning bolt struck the Shard, causing Nesius to stagger and roar with agony, clutching the stump where his hand had been. The Shard hung in midair where the bolt had struck, no longer shining but burning a turgid red.

“No man is meant to control Nature!” the priestess’ voice resounded, “Nature herself shall be your judge and executioner!”

“No! NO!” Nesius howled, bleeding on the stones where his ancestors had knelt in prayer to Nature, their goddess, “The Shard was made by MY ancestors! Its power is MINE!”

“How can you, a man, seek to control a goddess?” the monk asked in defense of his religion, “She is our general mother, and none may enslave her!”

It was raining again, the hard driving rain of condemnation. Nesius looked up from his ruined hand.

“This is MY time!” he yelled, and ran towards the Shard.

“NO!” the priestess and monk shouted, but pride had overwhelmed sanity, and as Nesius laid his remaining hand on the Wingless Shard, his being was unmade in a blast of fiery justice.

As though waiting for this cue, the rain stopped without being stopped, the thunder ceased, and the clouds gave way to the first rays of sunlight in many long, bleak months.

“Nature… is free again,” the priestess said, and looked upon the still silent face of her hero, “But at what cost?”

The mage looked for Alundris. He saw it, glimmering with its own light.

“Alundris has never done that before,” he said. After a moment of pondering, the monk looked where the Shard lay.

“It is glowing with the same light as the sword.”

The mage collected the weapon and stone of lore and brought them to the priestess.

“Do you know what this means?”

She wiped tears from her eyes.

“No, but I will try to find out.”

She rested the sword in the hero’s cold, dead hand and the Shard in his other hand. A blinding light from his body forced them to look away, but wonder of wonders, they heard him cough.

“Fish, you are alive!” the priestess squealed, and crushed him to her chest while the mage and monk laughed in wonderment. Fish gently disentangled from her and stared at the sword and stone, still pulsing in his hands.

“Never again will these be used by mortals. I will seal them here – in this temple – where they were crafted, along with the accursed body of the beast, Everoar.”

Thus said, he walked to the inner sanctum of the temple where the altar lay. The Shard fit into the altar’s groove, along with Alundris, the magnificent blade sliding into its stony sheath, nevermore to shine.

The earth trembled, and outside where Everoar lay, the ground opened up, and swallowed the beast whole. The hero Fish walked outside, the sun smiling upon his face.

“The world is a beautiful place.”

The next day, at his father’s grave, the son of Nesius paid his respects.

“What a doddering old fool,” the boy said, and walked away.