Prologue

Darkness… untarnished, perfect darkness.
No life, nor light…
Nothingness has been born anew by an unseen power.
His reign has begun…
A dark figure walks in the void that he has contrived into reality.
Invisible is he, for the figure wears ebony, the color that surrounds him,
the color of death. Nothing lives in his nullity, except him, for now. The
perpetual shadow will vanish soon, however, only under its originator's
orders.
The man's silken cape flutters in an unseen breeze. It ripples like black
water, ever so smooth and elegant. It's perfect in every aspect. Idly, ever
so idly, he walks through this world. As he strolls gradually through
nothingness, ground forms under his feet, and spreads. Like lacework, or more
so a web, it moves across the blackness under him that he intends to be the
land. Mountain ranges, plateaus, valleys, hills, canyons, plains, and every
other known landform comes to life as the moving soil sculpts the imaginable
ground, which was darkness. The man suddenly ceases his casual walk. Silently
he tells the net of moving land when to halt. It should form a perfect
sphere, like all planets should.
Finally, the sound of deep-toned, tumultuous rumbling discontinues after
several, drawn-out moments of waiting. The land has been completed. A smile
flickers on the pallid, bloodless face of the gentleman. He then continues to
gait silently through his world. Grass and other flora grow on the hearty,
fertile soil around him. It grows at a hastened pace, much faster than it
usually should. So far, his layout is flawless, down to every attribute. This
is how he wanted it to be.
Looking up to the heavens with his sparkling, azure eyes he lips a spell,
and waits. Like an artist might paint a canvas, an inky night sky appeared in
the dark, gloominess above. The bluish, black sky was dotted with a myriad of
stars. It was truly a sight to be witnessed, but only the gentleman saw the
ravishing vision of the forming sky. The brilliancy of the twinkling stars
almost made him forget what he was to finish and why he was there. The man
had never seen a night sky before. Nevertheless, he imagined it indefectible.
Thus, it was.
Content with the newly formed heavens, the mysterious man glided along
holding his head lofty in an arrogant manner. His cloak still was being blown
smoothly by the westbound wind, but the atmosphere around him made the action
look even more compelling than before. After walking for sometime, the man
stopped suddenly and eyed his surroundings. He was walking on the desert's
rough, tawny sand. Yes, this would do.
Slowly, he reached for a flask dangling from his belt by a short, weathered
robe. In a matter of seconds, the lissome man had untied the flask from his
belt. He threw the rope aside nonchalantly. With his long slender fingers he
unscrewed the cap, then tossed it aside as well. Holding the canteen in front
of him, the man stared at it with his lifeless, azure eyes. Then, with one
fluid movement, he emptied the flask with the remaining water inside. The
puddle before him, resting in the sand, started to expand with rapid speed,
the oceans were forming out off the little water in the canteen. Soon, the
sea spread over the horizon and out of the man's keen eyesight. It was
faultless, the ocean, land, and sky. Together all three formed an almost
heavenly surrounding.
The graceful man then turned on his heels and headed in the opposite
direction, only one more thing to complete. Small forests, lagoons, and whole
ecosystems form around him as he walks through his world. All it needs it
life, but that would be up to another. For now, he just needs to erect some
sort of shelter before the elements would get to him. He quickened his pace
tenfold, when dawn comes evolution will return to normal. Plants will slow
their growth, landforms will deliberately stop sculpting, letting the
elements do their work. Finally, life will come with daybreak. He was not the
one for a social atmosphere. That's why he liked being a powerful sorcerer,
you could isolate yourself from the world around you with simple spells. They
would never find you, ever. If you intended, that is.
His fast-paced gait turned into an all out dash. He had to find shelter.
Anything would do now to suit the man, anything. Bursts of speed kept him
going mile after mile, but he always tried to keep a suitable speed. He
didn't want to fall under exhaustion, which would prove to be a weak demise
to any powerful sorcerer. The stars around the horizon were becoming dim, or
had completely disappeared by now. The skyline was outlined with the many
colors of dawn: the myriad of rosy pinks, peachy oranges, and scarlet reds.
The man was running out of time. Night was at its finale, and it wasn't
looking for an encore. His heart was pounding like a sledgehammer. Things
weren't looking good for him.
The darkness was letting up. The light of the rising sun made the
blackness of night become grayish and dim. Forgetting that he should be
pacing himself, the sorcerer tore through the tall grasses of some unknown
plateau with a continuous burst of speed. He didn't slow when the sun started
to creep across the horizon behind him. He actually ran faster, pushing
himself to the limits of his human body. Mile after mile, the man ran until
he could see what he was looking for. In the distance, barely visible, was
the outline of a tower. It must have forged out of his will to find shelter
from the sunlight. Once more, he was overjoyed to be powerful.
Seeing that the tower was not too far off, the sorcerer took one, long
glance behind him in order to see how near daylight actually was. The sun was
over the horizon, but its rays had yet to reach him. He stood there for a
moment, then two. The young alchemist wanted to admire his artistry one last
time, before he was to go take refuge into the tower. It was a beautiful
sight, so peaceful, so serene-
A solo ray of the sun's light caught his eyes and seared them with
unimaginable pain. Immediately he shields his face to prevent any more agony.
However, it's too late, the sun is out in full glory and he is left to fry.
Almost instantaneously, the feeling of forming blisters is over the man's
hands and face. If the sorcerer is to stay outside any longer he will die.
Blinding, incandescent light surrounded him; his hope was growing dimmer as
the sun was growing stronger. The man had to act now, or never.
Utilizing what strength was left within him, the dying sorcerer drew his
silken, ebony cloak over his head and began to run towards the looming tower.
Seeing with his second sight, he ran. Never slowing, nor stopping. Finally,
after running for a moment or two, the charred figure of a cloaked man
reached the tower. His face stung, and the blisters on his hands were all
nearly broke open. He didn't care. He was alive. The man felt lassitude as he
fumbled with the entrance. It would not open. Using his quickly, dwindling
power, he forced the door open with a hint of a spell on his blistered lips.
Abruptly, the alchemist lunged into the tower with all the vigor left in
him. His cloak fell from its hooded position to reveal his sun damaged skin.
The heavy, oak door slammed behind him. The sorcerer laid sprawled out upon
the floor. His breath was shallow and sharp. After several minutes, he stood
up uneasily. However, the charred man had to rely upon the nearby wall for
support to stay vertical. Slowly, ever so weakly, he looked down at his
hands. It took him a minute to get use to the absolute darkness that engulfed
him, but did it ever feel good. His hands gradually clearly into focus, and
he saw what his last glance at his creation had coasted him. White, fleshy
blisters covered most of his knuckles, palms, and backhand. Between them was
charred, incinerated flesh. The overpowering smell made him cringe in
disgust. Pain pulsed dully in all areas of his exposed body, but he wanted to
see what happened to his face before any healing spells could take place. The
sorcerer could feel the gore on it. Most of the matter was from the broken
blisters, but not all of it was. A mixture of blood, pus, and sweat, no less.
He was injured badly, but he would live.
Pushing off the wall, the man got ready for the healing spell. He lipped
it silently in the darkness, but the pain only doubled in his body. Once more
he tried, but more damage was done than good. It could only mean one thing.
However, it couldn't be. Could it? Gradually, the information sunk into his
sun damaged flesh. He was undead. Healing would not work on the immortal, but
dark magic and time would. A small smile flickered on his face. His eyes
sparked, this could prove to be advantageous.
Days passed, then weeks, animals started to evolve from another's creation.
Many species were like him and loathed the day, but dominated the night with
honor. Nocturnal animals they are called, however they were the minority.
Most animals, unlike him, lived in the day and slept at night. However, sleep
wasn't necessary for the undead, thus he avoided it from all aspects.
Nevertheless if time was tedious, the undying man would sit in his throne
room and look at the possible futures that awaited him. In addition, he would
find new, enhanced spells to suit his needs as an undead sorcerer such as
vanishing and the ability to possess minds.
A century later, however, his enhanced second sight alerted him of
something drastic in the outside world. Knowing that he was always right, the
undying man looked into it instantaneously. What he saw made him
apprehensive, and enraged. A species walked the earth, mocking his very
existence as the solo dominance. They were his counterparts. His features
were their features. However, they had one advantage over him, they were
immune to the daystar's brilliance. He, in turn, was not. Of course, the man
was more powerful, but this one disability could render him helpless if this
species ever were to turn against him. Rivalry was not a strong point of his,
so he was forced to take his concealment to another level. Using his regained
powers, he created a visual shied on the tower. It literally disappeared into
thin air. However, this didn't come without a catch. The hex could be broken.
The man doubted that mere humans could do so. Thus, he did not have any
misgivings about his plan. It was ingenious, but not totally flawless.
Watching these "humans", he saw that they had utilized the use of magic.
His worst fears had come true. His creator had betrayed him, it had been said
that the undying man would be the solo magic user. He had lied. Rage pumped
in his veins, he had to have revenge. No, he longed for revenge. The hunger
for it replaced his soul. Now they would see. Now, they would all realize
what they had tampered with. They would feel the wrath of his true,
everlasting, power.
Vowing for their death, he remained content.
And in the darkness he called home, the undying sorcerer prepared for
vengeance that was well deserved.