Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign - By Phillip Jones Page 0,9

remained ambiguous, and his eyes were nothing more than dark saucers. A massive army of shadowy creatures of all shapes and sizes was standing behind him. Some were small while others were hundreds of feet at tall and equally as long.

The dagger in the assailant’s hand had an ivory handle, but the blade was strange. The steel it was made from waved back and forth—similar to the way a serpent’s body would undulate and end at a point.

Opposing the angel’s attacker was yet another army. They, too, were silhouettes, but not as dark. They were gray, almost as if there was an aspect of good about them, yet they did not offer the sleeping Shalee a feeling of peace. Again she stirred, pulling the pillow closer.

Amidst the ranks of this gray army was yet another visible being. It was an image of a small girl who wandered between them. And as the dream took Shalee closer to the child, she could see it was Chanice. The child’s face looked vacant of emotion, and she was holding an urn filled with ash. The side of the urn had been engraved—Miss K.

A moment later, Chanice poked her head out from behind one of the members of the gray army. Her expression turned to sadness as the urn fell out of her hands. The vessel disappeared into the nothingness that existed beneath the feet of both armies as a wind swept through the masses. Piece by piece, Chanice crumbled and her remains were carried away.

Agonized, Shalee tried to scream, but she was unable to make a sound. Then as if some unseen being pulled at her, she was forced to face the leader of the gray army. The feeling was strange. It was as if he knew she was there. The majority of his body began to materialize as everything beneath his neck took shape. He was tall, and had on a long, brown, rugged, leather robe. Beneath it, he wore tan leather leggings. They were battle worthy, and over them, black, heavy boots extended high on the calf. His chest was covered with a white shirt that had a low cut neck, and above it, a hood had been pulled over his head, yet his face remained obscure and gray.

The weapon of the gray army leader was long. It hung from his right hip and had markings on its hilt, markings that disappeared beneath his hand as he unsheathed the blade. The steel the weapon was forged from pulsated, almost as if the weapon was reacting to some sort of secret melody—like it was alive.

The dark being hissed, still holding his dagger against the angel’s throat. “She’s mine,” he proclaimed as he tightened his grip. “She chose me! I’ll end her before I allow you to have her back!”

The chivalrous form lifted his sword and pointed it at the assailant’s head. For the first time since the nightmare began, Shalee realized that she had taken the place of the angel. Somehow, she had become the object of the gray-faced man’s affections. And worse, she could feel the pain of the wound that had been inflicted by the dark being’s dagger. She could even feel the heat of his breath as the force of his words beat against the back of her neck.

“I won’t leave empty-handed!” the gray leader warned. “I have suffered and will claim my reward on this very Peak! Stop hiding behind her and fight me!”

“Ha!” the dark leader scoffed. “As if you have the power to defeat me! This is my plane ... my domain. Go back and beg to live in his good graces, for you won’t find peace here.”

“The door has been shut,” the chivalrous leader retorted. He dropped his sword to his side. “There’s nothing to return to. If you have the nerve, let’s settle this.”

As the dark assailant removed his dagger from Shalee’s throat, he cast her aside. A moment later, he unsheathed a sword that hung from his hip, and accepted the challenge. With the blade pointed in the gray leader’s direction, the detail of this new blade became clear. It, too, pulsated like his challenger’s weapon, and it was equally excited for battle.

The sounds of searing steel filled the twilight sky as the combatants engaged. Both armies cheered, but now, an elderly woman emerged from the crowd and grabbed hold of Shalee’s arm. The woman’s hair was silver, and she was holding a staff with an orb attached to its end. Though only