The Light Cleaver Chronicles: The Dread Enchantress

Prologue: The Battle for Veloria

“Prologue The Light Cleaver Chronicles ” The sky over Veloria was ablaze with the light of a thousand fires. The once serene twilight was shattered by the relentless roar of battle. Amid the chaos, Vaelion Varendril, known as “The Light Cleaver,” fought with the fury of a man with everything to lose. His resplendent silver armour glowed under the twin moons of Elara and Thalios, his auburn hair cascading like a fiery waterfall, framing a face etched with the lines of countless battles. On his back, he carried a shield of polished silver, emblazoned with a radiant sun, its edges adorned with intricate engravings that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

Vaelion’s piercing green eyes, filled with unyielding determination, scanned the battlefield with an intensity that matched the raging conflict around him. He wielded his sun-imbued sword, Illuminarith, with deadly precision, carving through the Dracoril forces with an almost ethereal grace. His abilities were almost superhuman, his speed and strength far surpassing that of any mortal. He moved with a fluidity and power that made him appear more force of nature than a mere man.

Illuminarith was breathtaking. The sword’s blade was made of a metal that shimmered with an otherworldly light, casting ethereal reflections that danced across the battlefield under the light of the burning fires. The blade was long and elegant, tapering to a razor-sharp point, and its luminescent quality made the sword appear almost alive, pulsating with a radiant energy that complemented Vaelion’s own aura of power and determination.

The hilt was golden and intricately designed, with ancient runes glowing faintly blue. The sunray-shaped crossguard and finely wrapped grip ensured a firm hold, ending in a decorative yet functional pommel that caught the light.

The twin moons’ soft glow struck the blade, causing it to radiate even brighter, as if it were alive. The sword’s design was heavily symbolic, with the radiant sun motifs and glowing runes representing Vaelion’s connection to light.

The ground quaked beneath the weight of a thousand clashing swords, each strike resonating like a death knell through the valley. The sky, once a tranquil canvas, now churned with ominous clouds reflecting the fiery chaos below. The battle was being fought in the Vaelthar Fields, once a place of lush forests and vibrant fields, now a desolate wasteland. The ceaseless war had turned it into a nightmarish landscape of blood and destruction. The once-green fields were now a morass of mud and gore, churned up by the endless fighting. Bodies of fallen soldiers and Dracoril alike lay strewn across the ground, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. The air was thick with the acrid stench of blood and dark magic.

As the bodies fell, the life force of the fallen could be seen leaving their bodies, shimmering like ghostly mist. This ethereal energy swirled upward, drawn inexorably toward the well-guarded chamber where the Dracoril sorcerers performed their ritual. The life force, a haunting blend of green and blue luminescence, rose from the battlefield, flowing toward the chamber like rivers of souls, feeding the dark spell that threatened to consume Veloria.

Vaelion fought on, each swing of Illuminarith cutting down more enemies, the sword’s glow illuminating his determined expression. He knew that to save Veloria, he had to stop the ritual. With every ounce of strength and skill, he pushed forward through the sea of Dracoril, driven by the hope of a brighter future for his people.

Captain Aleric, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, spat on the ground as he watched the macabre spectacle. “Even in death, the Dracoril make slaves of us,” he growled. “May Verenis burn their eternal souls.” Watching Vaelion, he thought to himself, “Vaelion fights like a storm given form, wielding the sun’s fury as if he were born of the light itself. If anyone can turn the tide, it is him.”

The Dracoril hailed from Zenithor, a world rich in arcane energy. Desperate to save their deteriorating world, they turned to forbidden magic that opened portals to realms with untapped resources. Led by Balaga Dravenmoor, “The Lightning Reaper,” and his wife Lyra, “The Dread Enchantress,” they initially offered gifts of magic and prosperity to the Velorians. But their true intentions soon came to light as they began siphoning the life force of Veloria, using their magic to drain the land and its people. Now, after nearly 200 years of division and countless skirmishes, this final battle would determine the fate of both worlds. The Dracoril were perilously close to mastering the power of transitioning between worlds, aiming to open a portal to Zenithor for reinforcements. If they succeeded, Veloria would be lost forever.

The Dracoril, distinguishable from humans by their glowing eyes, fought with a terrifying ferocity. Their eyes glowed with an intense, otherworldly light, a constant reminder of their arcane origins. The hue of their eyes varied, with some glowing a fierce red, others a chilling blue, and some a haunting green. This ethereal glow was a clear indication of their connection to the dark magic that sustained them. The humans of Veloria had learned to fear those glowing eyes, knowing that behind them lay a power and ruthlessness unmatched by any mortal foe.

Balaga, with his fiery red hair and piercing amber eyes, was both handsome and fierce. His muscular build and intricate, glowing tattoos made him a formidable presence on the battlefield. His armour was a light, flexible mesh of dark metal, etched with arcane symbols that glowed with a faint blue light. It allowed for swift, agile movements, giving him the appearance of a deadly dancer amidst the chaos of battle. As he emerged, his blade of lightning and fire became a beacon of destruction.

With a wave of his sword, a blazing arc of lightning and flame tore through the human ranks, scorching the ground and filling the air with the smell of ozone and burning flesh. Vaelion saw the devastation and knew he had to intervene. “Hold the line!” he shouted to his men. “For Veloria! For our fallen brothers and sisters! For honour and freedom!” His men responded with a fierce cry, redoubling their efforts against the Dracoril forces.

Vaelion spurred his steed, Shadowrend, forward, charging through the chaos toward Balaga. He fought his way through the Dracoril ranks, his sword and shield moving in perfect harmony. He used his shield to deflect incoming attacks, the radiant sun emblem glowing brightly with each strike it absorbed. His blade, Illuminarith, danced through the air, leaving trails of light as it cut down his enemies with ease.

As he neared Balaga, Vaelion leapt off Shadowrend with a burst of agility, aiming his blade directly at Balaga’s heart. The sight was like a comet streaking through the sky, a desperate act of defiance. Balaga, however, masterfully blocked the attack with his sword, the clash of weapons sending Vaelion hurtling backward.

Vaelion landed hard, one leg stretched back, the other knee on the ground, his hand gripping Illuminarith which he plunged into the earth to halt his momentum. He looked up at Balaga, his green eyes burning with unyielding determination.

“Your arrogance blinds you, human! You cannot hope to stand against me,” Balaga declared with a chilling calm, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision.

 Vaelion blocked the blow with his shield, the force of the strike reverberating through his arm. “I’ll send you back to the abyss you crawled out from, Dracoril!”

The battle between Vaelion and Balaga was a whirlwind of steel and magic. Balaga fought with a ferocity born of desperation, each swing of his blade sending arcs of lightning toward Vaelion. His armour, though battered and bloodstained, held firm against Balaga’s onslaught. He countered with swift, precise strikes, his sword glowing with the light of the sun itself. Each strike is for those who can no longer fight, Vaelion thought. I will not falter.

Balaga’s eyes blazed with fury as he swung his blade in a wide arc, sending a torrent of lightning at Vaelion. Raising his shield just in time, Vaelion felt the lightning strike with a force that nearly knocked him from his feet. The ground beneath them was scorched and blackened, the air thick with the smell of ozone.

Pressing forward, Vaelion closed the distance between them, swinging his sword in a powerful arc aimed at Balaga’s head. Balaga parried the blow with ease, his fiery eyes locked on Vaelion’s. “You possess courage, human,” Balaga said with calm, “but courage alone won’t spare you from my fury.”

“Fury be damned,” Vaelion retorted. “I fight for my people, for my land. What drives you to fight?

Balaga taunted, “You fight for a dying world, Light Cleaver. Why prolong the inevitable?”

The two warriors clashed again and again, their swords ringing out with each strike. The battlefield around them was a maelstrom of chaos, the cries of the dying mingling with the clash of steel and the roar of spells being cast. The human knights, seeing their commander locked in battle with Balaga, fought with renewed determination, their hearts filled with hope.

Balaga’s lightning blade finally found its mark, slicing through Vaelion’s side, leaving a deep, searing wound. Vaelion gritted his teeth against the pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as blood soaked his armour. Another slash from Balaga’s blade cut across Vaelion’s thigh, causing him to stagger. The pain was excruciating, but Vaelion’s resolve never wavered. He struck back with all his might, his sword cleaving through Balaga’s armour and drawing blood.

Inside the stronghold, the Dracoril sorcerers’ chanting grew more urgent, their voices intertwining in a complex web of sound that seemed to resonate with the very stones of the fortress. The energy in the room was palpable, a throbbing force that seemed to pulse in time with the beating hearts of the sorcerers.

Balaga, sensing the critical moment of the ritual, knew he had to return to the chamber. With a powerful strike, he sent Vaelion sprawling to the ground. As Vaelion struggled to rise, Balaga turned and began to make his way back to the stronghold. But Vaelion was not done yet. He rose to his feet, his body screaming in agony but his spirit unbroken. He launched himself at Balaga once more.

With a surge of adrenaline, Vaelion focused all his strength and skill into his next move. The battlefield seemed to slow around him, the chaos fading into a blur as he locked eyes with Balaga. The air crackled with tension, the opposing energies of their weapons creating a palpable aura of anticipation.

Vaelion feinted to the left, drawing Balaga’s attention. In a split second, he pivoted on his heel, his movement fluid and precise. He swung Illuminarith in a wide arc, the blade glowing with the radiant light of the sun. Balaga, anticipating the strike, raised his lightning blade to parry. But Vaelion was ready. He shifted his weight and twisted his wrist, redirecting his strike to the right with lightning speed.

The sun-imbued blade met the hilt of Balaga’s weapon with a resonating clash. Sparks flew, illuminating the fierce determination in Vaelion’s eyes. He used the momentum of the clash to spin, his feet dancing across the scorched ground with an agility that belied the weight of his armour. As he completed the spin, he brought his sword up in a swift, upward slash aimed at Balaga’s exposed wrist.

The tip of Illuminarith sliced through the air with a searing hiss, catching the Dracoril warrior off guard. Balaga’s eyes widened in shock as the blade connected with his wrist guard, shattering it with a burst of radiant energy. The force of the impact jolted his arm, loosening his grip on the lightning blade.

Vaelion pressed his advantage. He stepped in closer, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. With a swift, powerful kick to Balaga’s knee, he forced the larger man to stagger backward, his balance momentarily compromised. Seizing the opportunity, Vaelion spun again, this time bringing his elbow down hard on Balaga’s forearm. The combined force of the strike and the previous blow to his wrist made Balaga’s fingers spasm, and his grip on the lightning blade faltered. Vaelion didn’t waste a moment. With a final, decisive twist of his sword, he hooked Illuminarith’s guard under Balaga’s hilt and wrenched it free.

The lightning blade flew from Balaga’s grasp, arcing through the air before crashing to the ground with a thunderous clang. Vaelion’s movements were a blur, his reflexes honed to perfection by countless battles. He spun on his heel once more, his eyes blazing with determination.

In a seamless, fluid motion, Vaelion lunged forward. His sun-imbued sword glowed brighter, as if imbued with the very essence of daylight. He drove the blade forward with all his might, aiming for Balaga’s heart. The tip of Illuminarith pierced Balaga’s chest plate, the enchanted metal giving way under the force of Vaelion’s strike.

Time seemed to stand still as the blade drove deeper, the radiant light consuming the darkness around it. Balaga’s eyes widened in shock and agony as Vaelion’s sword found its mark. The energy of the sun surged through Illuminarith, flooding Balaga’s body with blinding light.

Vaelion held the hilt with both hands, his muscles straining as he pushed the blade deeper. The light intensified, casting long shadows across the battlefield. Balaga’s roar of defiance turned into a gurgling gasp as the last of his strength ebbed away.

With one final, powerful thrust, Vaelion pierced Balaga’s heart completely. Vaelion, his expression grim and resolute, watched as Balaga’s fiery eyes dimmed.

“Curse you, Vaelion,” Balaga choked, blood seeping from his lips. “Curse you and your entire lineage!”

Vaelion gazed down at him, his eyes like ice. “The void abyss calls for you.”

Balaga’s body convulsed, and as his life force left him, it shimmered like a ghostly mist, swirling upward. Vaelion, exhausted but determined, took Balaga’s mask and cape. He then removed his bloodied and battered armour, his body marked by deep, searing wounds and numerous cuts from the brutal battle. He picked up his shield from the ground, strapping it to his back and covering it with Balaga’s cape.

Inside the stronghold, the air was thick with arcane energy. The Dracoril sorcerers, robed in dark, shimmering fabrics, stood in a circle around a pulsating pentagram. Their voices chanted in an ancient, guttural language, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. The life force of the fallen flowed into the pentagram, feeding the ritual, strengthening the spell.

Dark tendrils of magic snaked through the air, converging on the pulsating heart of the pentagram. The sorcerers’ chants were a haunting melody, weaving an intricate web of power that thrummed with malevolent intent. Lyra, sensing something amiss, turned her gaze toward the entrance just as Vaelion burst into the chamber, his presence like a beacon of light in the darkness. Her violet eyes widened in fury and disbelief as she saw him wearing Balaga’s mask and cape.

“No!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “You will suffer for this!”

Vaelion met her gaze, his eyes unwavering. “For Veloria,” he whispered, his voice resolute despite the chaos around them.

The ritual reached its peak. The pentagram within the chamber pulsed violently, dark magic swirling in a powerful maelstrom. Suddenly, the air around them crackled with energy as five portals tore through the fabric of reality. Each portal was a swirling vortex of light and shadow, its core a blinding white surrounded by rings of shifting hues.

The powerful magic began to drag the individuals towards different portals, their bodies pulled by an unseen force. Vaelion felt himself being sucked into one of the portals, the pull irresistible. The portal shimmered with a haunting beauty, its edges crackling with energy that hummed like a celestial choir.

As Vaelion was drawn closer, Lyra’s eyes blazed with determination. She watched in horror as the portals began to separate them. The sheer force of the vortex threatened to pull her into a different portal, but she refused to be parted from her quarry. Gritting her teeth, she summoned every ounce of her magical power, her body straining against the force.

With a roar of defiance, Lyra altered her trajectory, using her dark magic to force her way towards Vaelion’s portal. The energy around her crackled and sparked, the very air seeming to vibrate with the intensity of her will. She pushed through the swirling chaos, her eyes locked onto Vaelion.

The vortex fought against her, the pull of the other portals attempting to tear her away. But Lyra’s determination was unyielding. Her movements were a blur as she harnessed the dark energy, her form flickering with the strain of her effort. Inch by inch, she forced herself closer to Vaelion’s portal.

Finally, with a final surge of power, Lyra broke through the barrier. The force of the vortex converged on her, and she was dragged into the same portal as Vaelion. The world around them blurred into a kaleidoscope of colours and light as they were pulled through the portal, the energy consuming them both. Together they plunged through the portal, emerging above Earth, their bodies enveloped in white light as they fell like shooting stars.

Vaelion crashed in Winsford, a small village in the southwest of England. He was still adorned in Balaga’s cape, his body carrying the wounds and weariness from the battle. Blood seeped from his side and thigh, his strength waning as he struggled to keep his eyes open. The heavy rain that greeted him was a stark contrast to the fiery chaos he had just left behind. The village was peaceful, its cobbled streets and quaint cottages illuminated by the warm glow of streetlamps. The rain slicked the stones, creating a soft rhythmic patter that seemed to welcome him.

Vaelion, now without his armour, only had his shield strapped to his back, hidden beneath Balaga’s cape. He struggled to stand, his vision blurred and his body trembling with exhaustion. Every step was agony, his injuries threatening to overwhelm him. He collapsed onto the wet stones, fighting to stay conscious. As he lay there, he realised with a sinking heart that he could not sense the presence of his sword, Illuminarith, nearby.

Meanwhile, Lyra’s arrival in the Mojave Desert was marked by the blistering heat and the vast, empty expanse of sand. She landed gracefully, her raven-black hair fanning out around her as she rose to her feet. The desert was a stark contrast to the current desolation of Veloria. The sand stretched out in all directions, a vast empty expanse.

In the distance, she saw the lights of racing trucks approaching. As they neared, she locked eyes with the drivers, who immediately fell under her spell. Stopping their vehicles, they emerged, entranced by her presence. Lyra could control the minds and actions of those who were weak-willed and, depending on the circumstances, could also exert a small measure of influence over those who resisted.

As the men who had stopped their trucks approached her, Lyra felt the scarcity of magic in this new world. She tested her power, issuing commands with her thoughts and watching as the entranced men obeyed without question. She sent one man back to his truck, watching through his eyes as he drove away, her vision expanding to include everything he saw. Each command left her feeling a drain, a reminder of how little magic this world held.

Her expression hardened with cold determination. Her goal was singular: to find Vaelion and exact her revenge in the most excruciating manner possible. Balaga, her lover and soulmate for the last 400 years, had been taken from her, and she would stop at nothing to make Vaelion pay. She would locate any remaining Dracoril and establish her dominion over this new world.

“I will find you, Vaelion. No world can hide you from my vengeance.”

Vaelion lay in the rain-soaked streets of Winsford, fighting to stay conscious, a sense of resolve washing over him. He would find a way to defeat Lyra, protect the people of this new world, and perhaps find a way back to Veloria. His journey would be long and fraught with danger, but he was determined to see it through.

In the quiet village of Winsford and the vast expanse of the Mojave Desert, two powerful beings from another world began their quests. Their destinies, now intertwined, would shape the fate of a world they had yet to fully understand. As they navigated this strange new land, their clash would become a legend, a tale of survival, betrayal, love, and revenge echoing through the ages.

I hope you enjoyed reading the prologue of The Light Cleaver Chronicles: The Dread Enchantress. Follow us on Twitter and Facebook for updates on the launch date. Thank you!