Shattering Darkness

     Entire worlds played out beneath his feet. Little villages were built brick by brick, painstakingly slowly. Cities grew layers upon layers of buildings. Nations overcame the greenery that surrounded them. Intergalactic empires exploded across galaxies in the blink of an eye, only to splutter and fade just as quickly.

     Time was of no importance here. The very fabric of reality tore and ate away at itself, with only scarce threads of magic to hold it together, to separate the living world and what lay beyond. Sometimes, he tried entering through the ripped pieces, to escape this wretched realm, only to be thrust back into nothingness.

     This white Korbat was little more than a Vernax crawling up a window, only staring into a much larger world he could never be a part of. Even if the glass underneath were to break, he'd be lucky to get noticed before something swatted him away.

     But he still wanted to leave this cage, despite the hopelessness of such an idea. His head grew more cluttered as he pressed deeper into the darkness, all but threatening to push out the insignificant details of his own life.

     Once, his people called him Lord Darigan. They used to be prosperous, happy, knowing nothing of war or disease or the thousands of things that plagued the world. However, before he came to rule, renegades invaded their land and whisked away their most valuable possession.

     Darigan closed his eyes. He could still remember it perfectly.

     His father had rushed him out of the throne room, handing him to a young Moehog sorceress. Her head hung lowly, though Darigan could swear her eyes glowed sickly green. The Korbat youth refused to take her hand, instead ready to prove his mettle against the invaders.

     The knights who were foolishly welcomed to their kingdom had broken into the castle. They moved quickly through it, guided to one specific objective: the orb, a magical artifact said to bring prosperity and wealth to whoever possessed it. The clanking of their armor grew louder as they pushed through the Darigan guards, who were armed with weapons made of the finest metals, young things, never before used in battle. The invaders' aged and weathered swords made quick work of them.

     "Go!" yelled Darigan's father, his personal broadsword in hand. "I will handle this."

     Darigan would not relent. His father couldn't possibly hold his own against the Meridellian knights. No, he wouldn't watch his father perish. He would fight!

     "Please, Father--"

     "Now!"

     Before Darigan could protest any more, the sorceress muffled his jaw and whispered gently, sliding away behind a pillar. Darigan's world immediately phased into a blur, darkness framing his vision. A large bang through the throne room door kept him in consciousness long enough to see the invaders rushing through and striking his father down without a modicum of effort.

     The knights laid an amulet in a crevice upon the wall, which slid open, one brick detaching away from the other. The orb sat as their prize, like a precious golden pearl.

     "For Meridell!" one knight yelled, wrapping his paws around it.

     "For King Skarl!"

     The other memories were vague. All he could remember that things immediately began to change. Buildings which had been built mere months ago began to crumble. The citizens of the citadel mutated into hideous beasts, henceforth named "Darigans." The very soil broke down into ash.

     Darigan was their new lord now. With his people suffering around him, what other solution would a young leader think over other than to pursue the orb? He couldn't just watch them perish . . .

     And in one silent dream, a ghostly Gelert with nothing but a sword, a Skeith whose skeleton glowed under his skin, and a specter of a faerie with a burning heart appeared before him. They would let him truly embrace his ambition, acquire the power to rein retribution upon Meridell, and take what was rightfully his . . . for a price. And to Darigan, no price would even begin to measure against the well-being of his people.

     They would lead him to Meridell. They would push him to create an unstoppable army to take back what as rightfully theirs. The sorceress who was with Darigan on the day of his father's demise, Morguss, stood with him every step of the way. It was then that the citadel took to the skies.

     Meridell. King Skarl. The names always incited in him nothing but contempt and hatred, and it only grew decade after decade until he'd approached Meridell. The kingdom stood smugly among lush forests and flowing rivers. Its people grinned and laughed without heed to any worry in the world.

     Darigan did not hesitate to go directly for the castle immediately, just as the Meridellian invaders had so long ago. He ordered his men to retrieve the orb no matter what the cost, to eliminate anyone who tried to get in their way. Meridell put up some semblance of a fight, but they failed against the citadel's might, and Darigan quickly had the orb swirling between his hands.

     The Three stood beside him in this moment of victory. The orb's power, they pointed out, could lead to much greater things than simply returning his people to what they were before. He could start a large empire, give them that they truly deserved. He could have the world, and crush the entirety of Meridell in the process.

     This was not to be. Galgarroth heard of his plans and tried to reason with his lord. The orb, he tried to remind him, only needed to bring prosperity, and that was more than enough. There was no need for further damage, no need to subjugate anyone else. His pleas fell on deaf ears.

     In the end, he betrayed Darigan. He teamed up with the Meridellian thieves and brought an end to him. Even with the power of the orb at his hands, Darigan could not go against the will of his own kingdom.

     Thus, he failed. He failed in his ambitions, his greed, and his quest for vengeance. And the price he had to pay--his very essence, trapped in the realm of the Three forever, or at least until he could break their hold.

     You can try to break free, the Gelert, Revenge, had told him, smirking, You regret being so greedy, so mindless in your pursuits, but you won't ever be free of me.

     Darigan never thought himself trapped by Revenge. If anything, he didn't think he ever sought it at all. He was in the right, he was sure. King Skarl and his knights were the ones who broke into the citadel. They took his father away from him. They drove the citadel into destruction. They deserved justice.

     He stopped. Justice. Was it really?

     Images of King Skarl and his wretched kingdom during the war appeared before him. At first, he only saw Skarl's knights struggling against his army. He saw their weapons break as they fought with blind loyalty. Darigan slouched as he stared closer at the scene.

     He looked past the king. He saw farms burned, marketplaces razed, poor Meridellian citizens running everywhere in fear of the approaching beasts, these invaders who had seemingly attacked them for no reason at all. They'd never done anything wrong, they cried, why was any of this happening to them?

     These Neopians did nothing wrong, yet they suffered his wrath. They suffered for the actions of their king, and a king was far from the same thing as his people. Darigan laughed weakly to himself. Galgarroth turning on him was proof of that. Had Darigan been stopped too late, his people would cease to exist at all.

     What he did was far from just. He'd let all his rage fester, and when it had an opportunity to manifest, it exploded. Darigan fell to his knees, placing his hands against the scene. It had all finally worked out into place.

     He thought of three little words that would shatter the realm he walked, that would let him fall back into his own world.

     "I forgive you, Skarl."

     But it would be a while before he would forgive himself.

The End