The Dardanus Chronicle

The fire razed the small sea village of Körch, beloved villa of the Archangel Michael, warrior and general of God’s Holiest Army. Baal, commanding general of the Infernal Armies, gave his signal as his minions and brothers in arms raged forth into the burning town, killing any mortal who stood defiant in their path and gathering the souls of whose who willingly went with the cursed beings.

“Mortals, hear me!” Baal’s booming voice seemed to stop all life within the villa. “You have wronged yourselves in the worship of a false God- He does not love you! He created you to torment and punish you, to curse you as He spits upon your pathetic lives here in this forsaken realm. Go with me, as brothers, for your beloved Michael - your so-called protector, has abandoned you! I… I shall love you as he once did…” Baal grinned to himself as the weakened humans one by one began to drop to their knees, begging for renewed life under the merciless Arch demon. Looking up, he gave the signal to his flying legions of incubi, succubae, harpies, and other inferior demons to begin their attack.

“Go now, my brothers, and join me… in Hell!” Dark, morbid laughter escaped from Baal’s rotting lips as his legions above crashed into the humans like a tidal wave upon the shore, knocking back the screaming mortals and ripping them to pieces, sending hundreds of souls screaming into Charron’s grasp.

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Phaedrus Dardanus, the Blood King of the Dark Continent, sat upon his bronze cast throne with a smirk on his face as he washed his crimson stained hands in an already crimson bowl. Adorned with black armor made from human bone, covered in furs, and his signature broad sword engraved with demonic spells from Lucifer himself, his pale, skeletal features made him seem like the living dead for he had the warmth of a corpse (as well). His throne sat on a high platform in front of a large woven tapestry of a winged figure, robed in black and face in shadow. The figure was in mid-flight with large, black fathered wings stretched to the limits of the woven sky, its arms out-stretched as if beckoning unto the weary for their soul. A script in bold runes ran across the bottom in large symbols that read “Samael Beloved Angel” in the common tongue.

“Shönre, bring me my wine. I wish to celebrate our Master’s victory over Körch.” Phaedrus’s voice was cold and unemotional from his many merciless, inhumane acts of terror, death, and destruction. His acts in Körch during Baal’s battle included numerous disembowelments, slow fire torture, and slow impalement from the bottom through the base of the skull.

“Here, m-m-master…” Shönre said, quivering with fear, knowing that at any moment, his master could snap in unpredictability. Shönre was a small white, hump-backed imp who was missing one wing, a sign of imprisonment to Phaedrus and his blood line for eternity. Phaedrus took the bone chalice in his hands, raised to the light, suspiciously drank a few drops, and waited, seeing if any fowl objects altered the bitter-sweet wine.

“Shönre, why do you tremble so?” Phaedrus asked, intrigued, “What reason have you to tremble before me? Have I not treated you with the kindness that I have been taught all my life?”

“What? Master Phaedrus, is there something wrong?” Black beads of sweat rolled from Shönre’s horned forehead as the imp stepped back as (when) Phaedrus stood up, glaring at him.

“No… it’s nothing…” The pale king held his head in his large hand, his face twisted in slight pain for a moment. He straightened his face and retreated down a large corridor of the darkened stone palace in which he lived, dropping the chalice in a loud CRACK. He came to a large door with the word ‘hope’ written on it in Runes and, with a large sigh, opened the door quietly as to not disturb the shadows. A small rustling came from within the far corner of the room and then a small whimper and a loud cry of distress. Phaedrus jumped a bit at the cry and scolded himself - he knew not to jump at anything anymore. Walking to the noise, Phaedrus looked down into a set pale blue eyes, and once again, his face was pained but this was a different, new kind of pain to him. Thoughts and memories flooded his mind as they both stared into each other’s souls. Phaedrus felt like a stranger to this child of only three years, even though they shared the same eyes. He finally remembered who this child was.

“Adriena…that’s your name, isn’t it? Adriena Dardanus… my d-” he paused for a moment, “…daughter…” His mind snapped. Memories of his family flooded in and over whelmed him. Had it really been three years since that fateful day that he had to prove his loyalty to the Dark Legions? Phaedrus began to scream in frustration, pain, and anger as he sent himself into a frenzied rage. His eyes welled with crimson tears for he had no mortal tears within his corpse-like body to shed as he set out to destroy the room. The baby girl wailed in fear as the crib she was laying in was smashed by her father’s rage, her body covered in the debris of the fury as Phaedrus ran out of the room, tearing down tapestries, knocking over busts and pottery on his way to his chamber. He broke to his knees before his bed-side, blood tears dripping from his face as he wept in agony.

“I… why? Why do these memories still exist within me? My Lord, why do you betray me? Baal!” Phaedrus screamed out loud, beckoning for his master to come but nothing came. “Master… no… these memories should have been erased from my mind and now, I am forced to relive them over and over. I can’t take this! May Death take me for what I have done now and in the past! I do not want this life! Take it from me! Take it! TAKE IT!”

Phaedrus screamed late into the night until he was so exhausted, he blacked out on the cold stone floor in his chamber. Shönre peaked into his room shortly after the screaming stopped and noticed that his master was unconscious on the floor. With all his strength, Shönre dragged Phaedrus to the bed and covered him in furs.

“It’s about time for that poison to start in his system…Good bye, my master…”

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Later that night while sleeping, Phaedrus tossed and turned in what appeared to be a horrid nightmare. His pale hands grasped the heavy animal furs that covered him, droplets of sweat poured like a river down Phaedrus’s brow as his body writhed ad twisted.

“N-no…please… I have served you loyally! I have done nothing to deserve this!” Fear, an emotion only observed just before he took someone’s life, permeated the dark king’s voice as he cowered in his bed. Phaedrus’s eyes snapped open, his normal pale icy eyes turned to [(shifted) dark] grey and his heaving chest caved upon itself as his last breath escaped his withered lungs.

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Phaedrus…

Phaedrus, loyal servant, come to me…

“Who is there?” responded the confused Phaedrus, who stood heavily dressed in his black and red bone and iron armor, last worn in full attire at his father’s funeral. Phaedrus looked around him, fining nothing for miles as he called out into the nothingness, “Where am I? Who calls for me?”

“The ones you serve call for you…your time has come…”

From the deserted sky came a great wind storm, carrying with it a figure which defied gravity. As the figure stepped from the wind and landed, the winds died and Phaedrus recognized whose presence he stood in, “I am Samael, Beloved Angel of Satan, Follower of Lucifer, Prince of the Sky, Tempter of Eve, Son of Semiazas, Brother of Sonneillon - I am the Angel of Death.” It was the figure from the tapestry which hung behind his bronze throne.

“I have taken many souls from your fellow mortal kin, Phaedrus,” Samael spoke calmly as he walked towards a single standing stone arch that stood alone in the desolate, arid, grey world the two beings stood in, “You have also slain many of your own brothers and sisters in your realm and yo-”

“What do you mean ‘your realm?’ Where have you taken me? Answer me!” Phaedrus grew angry at the angel, raising his hand to strike out in anger.


“YOU DARE TO ATTEMPT TO TOUCH A HOLY ANGEL OF THE 7TH LEVEL OF HELL, PHAEDRUS, KING OF THE DARK CONTINENT, SLAYER OF NATIONS AND KIN, ETERNAL SERVANT OF HELL?” Samael turned quickly, his hood flew back and revealed his form. White hair as bright as newly fallen snow whipped back as he turned. His beautiful, glaring emerald eyes shone all that was ancient as they angrily bore through Phaedrus’s very soul. Tremendous black wings shot from his back, casting horrid shadows that seemed to open a gateway into Hell itself. Samael’s figure was human-like, tall, slender - one of his favorite forms. The angel retracted his great wings, folding them neatly behind him as they disappeared, and calmly spoke, “You have abused your privilege of the knowledge We have given you, dear Phaedrus. Now, it is time for you to repay us for our deed…”

Phaedrus’s heart was in his mouth by the time Samael calmed down as he was too afraid to speak at all now. Silently, he watched Samael turn around, smiling, and began to walk again. As the angel walked, the ground began to violently shake and the ground split open to meet the rise of more archways. They seemed to fuse together like they were made of water, resembling veins that ran like roadways through the flesh. As they walked beneath the arcs, Samael began to explain what each represented:

“These archways portray the various ages of mortals. They contain within them what was, what is, and what will be. Etched into these are the morbid stories of war, destruction, bloodshed and death. The first arc, if you saw, was made from soil and twigs. It was a simple age of simple beginnings that turned to darkness when man found hatred in his heart. This one,” Samael stopped beside a green tinted archway, “is made from something called ‘microchips,’ a type of technology that created much turmoil and burden. It is also made of blood, flesh, and poison. These humans are the sole cause for the poisoning and corruption of the earthen planet. They also cast your land into a permanent darkness Pathetic people, the mortals of this age…nothing but lies, corruption, deceit, and betrayal.”

The last arc grew from the ground like a mighty oak, sturdy and strong. This was the current age of human beings, made from fur, flesh, bone, fire, and metal. In the middle of the arc, there was a picture of a man carved in bone, his arms out stretched. In one hand, the man held a sword and in the other, a torch. Phaedrus’s eyes grew wide with the recognition of himself, then cast his gaze to a pair of mighty marble doors, monolithic and cold. He around the doors, finding that they led to nowhere! Engraved on the front of the left door, there was a lotus flower, its petals stained with blood red paint. On the right, a great horned skull was burned into the marble, the eye sockets were carved out to leave a depression in the stone, giving the eyes a sort of eerie aura.

Phaedrus looked around again, panicked. Feeling desperate and alone for the first time in his life, he began to slam his fists into the doors, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Samael! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone…alone…”

The doors slowly wheeled open, bringing to light the severity of the darkness within. In the distance, Phaedrus could hear a thick liquid spilling from something in the middle of this strange room. He heard a click - a single candle burned from the wall, a dark voice called from the shadows.

“Come Phaedrus, slayer of nations, mortal kin.”

Phaedrus stepped forward to hear a loud SLAM! The doors fastened together, resonating a thundering echo through the room. The candle light grew and spread, lighting multiple candles that lined the walls of the now illuminated circular room. Robed in black and seated on a throne of flesh which spewed a fountain of blood from each arm sat the true Samael, Angel of Death. His great feathered wings were extended to their full length which reached the walls of the room. Surrounding the throne was a small ring of blood which was constantly filled by the gushing fountains from the throne that pumped like a beating heart. Samael’s body remained the same, but his eyes were deeply set into his skull, and seemed cold, distant from everything that was around him. He seemed to have lost what was left of his ‘humanity.’

“You have committed too many a crime, Phaedrus, son and murderer of Phidaem, slayer of countless human nations, betrayer of mortals and immortals alike. You alone have abused our legions in your pathetic wars in the mortal world,” Samael’s voice grew deep and hoarse. Standing up, he stepped towards his guest, “Do you know why you have come here? You have been betrayed by your own slave, such as we have been betrayed by you. Phaedrus Dardanus, your soul has been brought here to the Land of the Dead for its punishment. ‘What the body may do, let the soul be marked. What the soul is marked for, let there be fierce punishment,’ is that not what God has written in His laws? Your punishment has been decided, deceiver…You once cried ‘Let Death take me for what I have done!’ Yes, you remember, don’t you?”

“No…no! My father tried to kill her! It wasn’t my fault! I had to do something to save my mother so… so I-”

“You killed him! Murdered your own father in cold blood! And to prove your allegiance to me, you traded your own wife’s soul for the gift of immortality!” Samael laughed darkly, watching Phaedrus break down to his knees, clutching his face in his hands as he wept. “Look, look at what you have been reduced to, mortal! Blood tears you will forever cry to atone for your sins in the presence of your ’savior’…” As Phaedrus took his hands away from his face, he cried out as he saw his hands covered in thick, black blood as the light slowly withered away.

“May Death take you, King Phaedrus Dardanus of the Dark Continent, and I will!”

There was the sound of metal against stone, a sudden flash of light, and a piercing scream broke the stillness.