Chapter four: a Dangerous Fulfillment

The monster in the distance roared. Alcaster moved swiftly, snatching through the night. Grendel had been positioned behind a tall column of the church, and, commanded not to interfere, he watched from afar. The night was growing cold, the clouds swirling before the moon, obscuring the light. A large mountain loomed behind the church. Its snowcapped peak rose high above the them all, glinting in the faint moonlight.

The balrog in the corner of the church was motionless. Perhaps he is slumbering, thought Alcaster, moving forward with great care and stealth, taking measures to not disturb the rubble that lay in masses over the floor. I must not awake it until the opportune moment; that is vital. He calculated and estimated in his mind, whilst he crept toward the sleeping beast. It is a dark being; I will use holiness to subdue it… I will be tactical.

He waited until the last possible moment before attacking, drawing out the situation in his mind, playing each part out like a rehearsal. Then, with almost insane ease, he darted forward and stabbed with his staff. The instant the staff touched the monster, it awoke and, as though it had been pricked by a bolt of lightning, roared in anger. Its wings unfurled from its sides, lashing out like a massive parachute. Alcaster jumped back with great speed and alacrity for a man so old and drew his staff through the air, preparing to summon lightning… something the balrog would not permit. The great beast lumbered forward, somewhat uncertain on its feet, slashing with its thick claws, but catching nothing each time. Alcaster was too quick on his feet; he rotated and pivoted until his back was against a thick column, then shouted something into the skies. Immediately, six bright, insane bolts of lightning charged down from the bridges above the church, each one hitting its target perfectly. The monster bellowed in pain, falling backwards and stumbling into a pillar, blind with agony. Like a matchstick, the pillar tumbled and crashed onto the smooth, stone floor of the church.

Alcaster turned around and ran across the church until he had escaped the wrath of the balrog, who now, at a complete loss of control, was shooting out spheres of intense fire rapidly and at random. Grendel retreated further behind his column as a piece of flame struck the wall near him, incinerating the left sleeve of his robe and burning his hat. The wall cracked and gave way beneath the fireball; an existing reminder of the terrible, great power of the balrog.

As soon as the balrog had calmed, Alcaster turned around and positioned his hands. His whitened bow leapt to his steadied gloves as he aimed for the balrog’s head, now numb with an insane rage. If he will not admit fear of his own accord, thought Alcaster to himself, I will force him to… he released his first arrow. It flashed, like a brilliant star across the church, and slammed into the neck of the balrog, causing it to screech like a banshee and paw at the arrow, breaking off the stem and capturing the head deep inside. Alcaster a second time, and a third in quick succession, but the balrog had learned; it pulled a piece of rock over its form to protect it and continued to attack with his darkened fire.

Alcaster had begun to get nervous… he felt that the battle contained too many variables. But there was no time for revision; he would have to improvise. He muttered another quick charm and a guardian arch angel appeared above his head, brightening the scene considerably, sending massive shocks of energy tumbling through the air, causing it to shimmer majestically. He strode out from behind his column, a maelstrom of protective light swirling around his robes. The balrog, sensing an undefended adversary, launched its entire weight forward, swinging it easily on its thick arms, like a gorilla. It landed several feet from the magician, crashing into the floor, sending quivers across the ground. It slashed the shivering barrier, but to no effect; the arch angel plunged downward with its sceptre and found purchase on the balrog’s flesh.

“Replication,” said the magician, speaking aloud to night with a hint of deception. “I demand it.” His eyes glimmered brightly as his form was reproduced, traveling in a great wheel around the monster, who looked shocked and taken aback; it stared around, unable to decide which one it should attack first. Was it one person, moving at an incredible speed to produce this effect, or was it more than one, all moving continuously to confuse him? It could not know.

Alcaster cast another spell on the balrog, this one far more potent. A bright bolt of jagged lightning flashed through the air, striking the balrog in the chest. As soon as it left his hand, he had cast another one, which came into action as soon as the bolt found its purchase on the beast. Another six, tremendous bolts of lightning arched from the bridges high above the church floor, crashing into the balrog and sending it stumbling into the wall of the circle where strong hands heaved it back into the centre. There had never been more than one magician facing the balrog, but it had little idea; Alcaster had been teleporting in a rapid, continual, circular movement around the balrog to deceive it, and, seemingly, it had worked to great effect. Grendel watched the scene with astonished eyes, sensing that the balrog was becoming tired.

It struck out once more with its claws, and lashed out with its expansive wings, both times missing and striking nothing but air. Alcaster ceased teleporting, his robe and cape settling back on his bent form, and turned to walk around the balrog, who stared through veils of blood red vapour at the magician, containing its anger to a mere look. As he walked, in a perfect, round circle around the beast, he let his staff fall to the floor; it secreted a thick, white chalk that settled on the ground, in a complete circle around the monster. This accomplished, Alcaster turned to look at Grendel.

“I summon,” he said, his face serious and impassive, “the holiest dragon.”

Light flooded like a wave through the entire church instantly, blinding out all details except the magician and his adversary, as though it were these two the spell had aimed to capture best. The white circle on the floor had condensed into a colossal portal, engulfing the balrog in a clean, pure light. Grendel could not see well; he witnessed a vast, disfigured shape emerge from the portal and settle into the air above the balrog. It grasped the beast in its titanic, vice grip and crushed, like pincers of steel. With each of its movements, another wave of intense light seemed to flood across the floor. Grendel could see nothing but the bright, untiring light, and hear nothing but the continuous screeching and roaring of the balrog; it had fallen to the ground, beneath the entire weight of the creature in the portal, who gave a volcanic, explosive bellow to the night, that caused the ice and rock on the mountain above the fall down on the church and land around it.

The rocks fell from the mountain and lodged themselves in the holes in the ceiling of the church, crushing pillars and columns and eliminating the light, stanching out the fresh, clean air and blocking out all light from the outside.

Alcaster turned and walked toward Grendel at a slow, sedate pace, never once looking back over his shoulder at the two combating giants. “Grendel…” He murmured, “That is it.”

Grendel studied the gentle face of the magician as he heard the explosion of more rocks falling above and around the church like an on going avalanche.

“The balrog has been defeated, and this sanctuary,” he gestured around him, “Once a sanctuary for the heavenly and holy, has become cursed… it is a cursed sanctuary… and this balrog, no matter how decrepit, will remain here for a long, long time. But we will not, I hope. I have fulfilled the prediction; the prophecy; Chrishrama is not a storekeeper, he is an oracle; an oracle, who has, I think, envisioned the future of victoria on a grand, unrivaled scale… I value it. It is time, I think, to leave.” And he stood, grasping Grendel’s hand and pulling him away from the remains of the balrog, now scattered across the floor. The light behind them began to dim as the dragon was removed from the church, pulled back into the clasps of the portal.

Alcaster muttered a final spell and a thick, wooden door appeared before them, against the wall farthest from the balrog. He pushed the door open with his staff and gestured forward, encouraging Grendel to enter through the door. As the young magician stepped forward and through the door, Alcaster smiled, looked around the church one last time, and followed after him, closing the door tight behind him, leaving the deep, dark, desolate dungeon to collapse in complete and utter despair.

continued…