Glittering on the jewel-encrusted cave, the blue sun shone its cool rays onto the tiny islands below. A crowd of people were around the seemingly-plain plaza, observing in complete awe the rising of the morning sun. The islands looked as though they were submerged in water; wavy streaks of all shades of blue rustled on the uneven surfaces of small canopies dotted around in isolation. The large crowd were all cloned in design: everyone had a strong, muscled build, with small round heads and brown cat-eyes, plus lilac, furry skin. However, everyone was all different in ability. All of the crowd could possess and control anything smaller and weaker than them, and use it to achieve their goals, but there was one. One which was more possessive and demanding in magic than all of her race.
She lay inside the cave of the Blue Sun, eyes glittering blue-brown and magic bouncing on her fingertips. She lay on a huge, blunt shard of ammire, a hybrid of amethyst and sapphire, and her small, slender feet tapped the glinting, cold floor. On her head she wore a crown of plant material, which was forest green and dark purple, surrounding an uncut shard of diamre, another jewel hybrid. She wore an intricate, custom-made dress: a strapless silk corset with ribbon lacing, bows and pure amethysts snaking around her curvaceous figure, and a ruffled, forest green skirt covering her long legs, with sapphires and amethysts stitched into the ruffles. The queen of the race.
On her lap was a huge book that housed pages of legendary tales. Her silk-gloved hand held a sharp writing feather that was drenched in green ink from crushed up leaves. She began writing on the thin, crinkly papyrus paper, hand shaking. She closed her sweet eyes, observing the raging war happening before her eyes. Her kingdom was not as it used to be...
A sword was aiming right at his face as he raised his fist to block it. His eyes scrunched up in pain as a fountain of red, sticky liquid spurted from his thin wrist. In return, he fired a ball of glowing red from his fist and saw his attacker go flying into the red night. All around him, bodies of his fellow enemies and acquaintances lay in messy, rushed piles, all reeking of dead magic. Further out, a wave of Hyrohns swiftly edged towards him, swords raised high, stained with Beulahn blood.
He raised his head, bravery hiding his true fears. A dragon of fury and power rose in the pit of his cut stomach, and his feet and fingers tingled senselessly. Every second, the Hyrohns glided closer and closer to their decided fate. The glow of magic started to emerge on the palms of his bony hands, and faded stars started circling his shaky hands. The Hyrohns screamed in anger and their eyes spat poisonous emotions out. He waited until the last minute, and then he was unable to hold it within.
A red whirlwind spun around his thin, weak body, stars gleaming all over his face. His Founder appeared before him, and her eyes glowed bright red, the key to unlocking his true power. The Hyrohns stopped, taken aback by this Beulahn's strength, afraid expressions on their pointed faces. He began spinning, the entire world blurring before him and disappearing, replaced with a mixture of glitter and stars. Everybody was useless to his godlike ability.
A huge vortex leading to oblivion grew and thrived above the Beulahn. The Hyrohns froze in fear and stared at the being that would choose to decline their mercy. The whirlwind was a cocoon to that very Beulahn, and he closed his eyes, and saw the picture of Hyrohns' scared faces whirling around the air. He was unstoppable. The Founder had given him victory. As the whirlwind died, he whispered into the thick night air:
"Thyrure rethre, guith fredse lunnah matarh! Let the lies end and the truth begin!"
The queen screamed and the book snapped shut and spilled out of her hands. The precious green ink was spread everywhere, and the pages were melting and mixing with the dark green liquid. Her face was of horror; her eyes grew small and she began to stop breathing. Her body tensed up into a tight foetal position, hands shrivelled up and feet crunched and disfigured. As her dead body lay, the Blue Sun vanished and the islands were plunged into a world of darkness, trapped from freedom and an easy life. As the inhabitants fell unconscious in their canopies and the mixture froze, all that remained was a small scrap of papyrus paper, the last words of the queen.
Thyrure rethre, guith fredse lunnah matarh! Let the lies end and the truth begin!"