The Dark Ichalocha Of Terres Nei

Chapter 4: Alien From Another World

The Fulani-Musai troops were stupefied after watching Seklas and his inner circle of command disappear into a shroud of darkness. However, they kept their guard up for any surprise attacks. "They are gone!" "How about this one? He is still here!" The troops turned their attention to the unconscious Maleek lying on the floor. They all quickly surrounded Maleek with weapons drawn. "Who is this?" "Who cares! He is an invader. Kill him!" Just as the ambitious soldier was ready to remove Maleek's head, a thundering voice resonated throughout the room. "Stop!" 

Suddenly, an older dark-skinned, white-bearded man pushed through the troops. "Let me through!" The troops stepped aside, allowing the older male dressed in a futuristic sage-like robe that was white with black sigil embroidery. He was short in stature, but his mannerisms commanded respect. His name was Baba Bhikkhu Palo, a member of the sage order called "Illuminous Negus Factum.” 

This order guided future monarchs, those in the priesthood, and other sages and warriors in training. "He is responsible for obliterating half of Seklas’ forces. He could be of some use to us." "How do you know this?" "I felt his shakti in that blast wave of energy. He is dying. Hurry, and let's get him to the hospital." "I am sorry, Baba, but we cannot allow him to live," the prominent leader of the Fulani-Musai stated. His name was Ochosee Osha.

The atmosphere in the room remained tense, the fragile truce between the sage and the Fulani-Musai hanging by a thread. Ochosee, though resentful of the situation, understood the gravity of challenging the sage's will. The fate of Maleek now rested in Palo's hands, and the ripple effects of this encounter promised to reshape alliances and loyalties within the Fulani-Musai forces.

Outside the room, whispers and murmurs spread among the troops as news of the sage's intervention circulated. The city's medical hospice awaited Maleek, becoming a nexus where destinies intertwined. As the two soldiers carried the unconscious figure away, the path ahead remained uncertain, and the consequences of this encounter would reverberate through the ongoing conflict, leaving an indelible mark on the course of events.

Ochosee, with his imposing stature, looked on with a mix of frustration and uncertainty. The all-white exosuit armor that adorned him seemed to gleam in the dim light, a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded moments ago. The tight-fitted blue interwoven bodysuit underneath hinted at a blend of modern technology and traditional warrior ethos, embodying the essence of the Fulani-Musai's commitment to both strength and adaptability.

The confrontation with Baba Bhikkhu Palo had laid bare the delicate balance of power within the Fulani-Musai forces. The troops, initially poised for conflict, now found themselves caught in a standoff between their leader and the enigmatic sage. Palo, having asserted his authority, moved with a measured confidence, ensuring that Maleek was taken to the medical hospice under his watchful eye.

SEKLAS & ILALDAOBOTH

On Seklas’ flagship, the atmosphere was thick with tension as Venganza lay prone on a levitating gurney, flanked by the imposing figure of Seklas and his six clergy generals. The once formidable sorceress, known for her mastery of dark arts, now presented a stark contrast – in a dire state, she convulsed in agony, vomiting and hemorrhaging black liquid from her nose, ears, and eyes. The very essence of her being seemed tainted, a consequence of the dark magic she had attempted to wield, further compounded by the disruptive energy wave unleashed by Maleek.

Seklas, a commanding presence with an air of calculated authority, recognized the gravity of the situation. Time was of the essence, and he led his clergy generals through the labyrinthine corridors of the flagship. The passageways were filled with smoke, the acrid scent of burning magic permeating the air, and the intermittent flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls. The urgency of their mission resonated with each hurried step, a macabre dance through the aftermath of a mystical conflict.

As the entourage navigated the chaotic corridors, the ship's interior bore witness to the aftermath of Maleek's energy wave. Wounded soldiers stumbled through the haze, their faces contorted in pain, while damaged machinery sputtered and sparked, echoing the echoes of a battle recently waged. Seklas, undeterred, pressed forward, the urgency etched on his face.

Venganza, still writhing in agony, became a focal point of concern and determination. The once-insurmountable aura that surrounded her had now dissipated, replaced by the vulnerability of a being grappling with the consequences of her own ambitions. The clergy generals, sworn to serve Seklas with unwavering loyalty, formed a protective barrier around their wounded leader; the Viscountess of Nibiru Nei. The generals expressed a mix of concern and readiness to execute their lord's commands.

Amidst the chaotic turmoil, a cascade of system failures surged through the airship, casting an ominous shadow over its once-commanding presence in the sky. The crew, now plunged into a frantic scramble, battled against the encroaching instability, desperately seeking to maintain the precarious position of their vessel amidst the tumultuous currents of uncertainty. The air crackled with a palpable sense of urgency as technicians, clad in hurried determination, darted between malfunctioning control panels, attempting to stave off the impending disaster.

In the midst of this mechanical pandemonium, Venganza, the once formidable sorceress, lay on a levitating gurney, bearing the weight of her battered form. Her weakened state did little to quell the unyielding fire within her spirit. Determination, undeterred by the physical toll exacted upon her, echoed through the caverns of her uncontrollable coughs. "Return me to the battlefield. I will win this war. My enemies will burn," she screeched, her voice cutting through the chaos, a testament to the indomitable fervor that fueled her very essence.

Despite the dire circumstances, Venganza's resolve remained unwavering. Her proclamation echoed with a fervent determination that surpassed the boundaries of physical limitations. The airship, a vessel battered by the dual forces of mechanical failure and the relentless onslaught of battle, bore witness to the clash of wills — one determined to prevail against all odds, the other, a vessel straining under the weight of its own vulnerabilities.

The crew, caught between the impending catastrophe and the fervent demands of their dying leader, found themselves at a crossroads of duty and desperation. The airship, now an emblem of fragility against the backdrop of the ever-expanding tempest, teetered on the edge of a precipice. The once-commanding presence of Venganza, though weakened, radiated an energy that transcended the physical realm, echoing a defiance that challenged the very fabric of their reality.

As the technicians toiled tirelessly to rectify the ship's failing systems, Venganza's screeches reverberated through the corridors, serving as both a rallying cry and a haunting reminder of the stakes at hand. The fervor in her voice resonated with a burning desire to return to the battlefield, to confront the enemies that threatened to shatter the very foundation of her ambitions. Her proclamation became a mantra that reverberated through the beleaguered airship, infusing it with a last vestige of the unwavering spirit that had defined its mission.

The urgency of the situation became even more apparent as General Mazumi, one of Seklas' trusted subordinates, expressed a growing weakness. "Master, what is happening to me? I am starting to feel weak. All of our powers have been disrupted. I am starting to feel the effects of it, as well," Mazumi uttered faintly, embodying the collective struggle faced by those touched by the aftermath of Maleek's energy wave.

Seklas, with determination etched across his face, navigated through the turmoil and arrived at the stasis room. However, the scene within was no less chaotic – most of the machines lay damaged, engulfed in flames. The ship's crew, skilled in the arcane arts, hastily worked to extinguish the fires using a combination of ice and water magic. In the midst of this pandemonium, Seklas surveyed the room and identified a few undamaged stasis pods.

"Quickly get Venganza into stasis," Seklas commanded, urgency evident in his voice. The chief archons, under Seklas' direction, carefully placed the ailing sorceress into one of the functioning stasis pods. The ambient hum of the machinery and the hiss of extinguished flames formed a dissonant symphony in the room as the process unfolded. Seklas, casting a concerned glance at Venganza, understood the gravity of the situation – the Delirium Insanctum, the powerful magic that fueled Venganza's abilities, needed to be stabilized to prevent further deterioration.

"Lord Seklas, many of the quartz circuits have been damaged. We don't know if the stasis chamber will work properly," one of the chamber operators stated, a note of urgency in their voice. Seklas, in no mood for setbacks, responded with a menacing threat, "Then make sure it functions properly! Venganza is dying. I'll drink your soul if she dies and excrete it across dimensions!"

With a swift and determined motion, the chamber operators lifted Venganza into the stasis chamber and sealed the door. The chamber began to fill with Delirium Insanctum, its black liquid state enveloping the frail form of Venganza. Seklas, ever watchful, inquired about the status of the other stasis chambers. "Are the other stasis working?" he demanded to know. "There are a few that are offline!" reported one of the operators. "Fine, get them functioning,” Seklas ordered without hesitation. "Yes, Lord Seklas!" The operators hurried to comply, understanding the gravity of the situation and the consequences of failure.

Seklas, his mind burdened by the weight of recent events, departed from the stasis chamber, leaving the subdued environment behind. His path led him through the arcane-lit corridors of the flagship, navigating the remnants of a battle that had unfolded with unforeseen consequences. The journey concluded in his private quarters, a sanctum where the air hung heavy with the echoes of dark ambitions.

Within this private refuge, a large black orbuculum, a mystical scrying device, levitated in a stasis field. The room itself seemed to bow in deference to the formidable power it contained. Seklas, with purposeful intent, approached the enigmatic sphere. The dark gem at the end of his staff, a conduit to arcane energies, pulsed with a reddish glow as it made contact with the floor. The room shuddered with latent energies as the massive orbuculum began to fill with red-orange swirling vapors, a manifestation of otherworldly forces converging within the glass sphere.

As the mystical energies coalesced, a haunting, resonating voice emanated from the depths of the orbuculum. Seklas, acknowledging the entity within, performed a profound act of submission. He fell to his knees and prostrated his face toward the floor, a display of humility before the unseen force that held sway over his destiny. "My servant, why have thou failed me!" the haunting voice echoed, reverberating through the confines of the private sanctum.

The room, bathed in the eerie glow of arcane energies, seemed to respond to the presence of the unseen entity. Shadows danced on the walls, casting an ominous tableau as Seklas awaited judgment from the enigmatic force that spoke through the orbuculum. The very air resonated with an aura of authority and ancient power, underscoring the gravity of the moment.

Seklas, in his prostrated state, responded with a voice laden with a blend of remorse and explanation, "Master, I apologize. Unfortunately, we had an unforeseen mishap or, should I say, an unseen visitor! It seems that there was this being that appeared through the gate. He had the power to destroy most of our forces."

The haunting voice, a manifestation of a potent and ancient entity, responded with a tone that hinted at both displeasure and an expectation for accountability. "I have seen this being who usurped my freedom. I was close to feasting on the soul of this being. My age-old enemy thwarted me. It protected the alien."

Seklas, still prostrate, absorbed the weight of the revelation. The entity, long acquainted with the ebb and flow of power, expressed frustration at the interference that had disrupted its designs. The swirling vapors within the orbuculum seemed to respond, echoing the unseen entity's emotions. "What must I do, Master?" Seklas inquired, his voice a mixture of subservience and determination, understanding that the entity's will shaped not only his own destiny but the fate of the forces under his command.

"Rebuild our forces and reopen the gate,” the entity commanded, its directive cutting through the air like a razor-edged whisper. "And what about the alien? He is too powerful to let him roam free in our realm. Shall I kill him?” Seklas sought guidance, aware that the entity's desires held sway over matters both grand and minute.

"No! He has so much power for me to feast upon. Capture this usurper; I can feast on his soul," the entity declared, its desires rooted in the insatiable hunger for the arcane energies that flowed through the veins of powerful beings.

"Yes, my lord," Seklas replied with unwavering obedience, accepting the mantle of responsibility for the tasks ahead, knowing that the intricate dance of power and submission in the private sanctum had set the stage for a new chapter in the unfolding saga of mystical intrigue. As the orbuculum darkened, the room returned to an oppressive stillness, and Seklas rose from his prostrate position, fully aware that the entity known as Ilaldaoboth, his dark master, had set the course for the dark machinations that would shape the fate of realms beyond mortal comprehension.

"As for you! You have been in contact with this being's power. I will feast off the residue from your body," he declared, his voice a chilling symphony of power and cruelty. The servant, a mere pawn in the cosmic chessboard of fate, could only respond with a resigned acceptance, a whispered acknowledgment of their impending doom. "Yes, my master!" they uttered, a reluctant surrender to a destiny sealed by forces beyond their comprehension.

The atmosphere within the chamber shifted, becoming dense with an otherworldly energy. A sphere, once aglow with an eerie crimson light, now turned inky black as Seklas commenced a dark ritual. He began to extract ethereal particles of light from his own form, a grotesque dance of power, as these luminous fragments were drawn towards the sinister orb that hovered before him. The sphere absorbed the extracted essence voraciously, its surface pulsating with an unholy hunger.

Within the confines of the orbuculum resided Ilaldaoboth, a dark entity of unimaginable power. As the residual energy flowed into its ominous domain, the entity emitted a low, baritone moan that resonated with a peculiar blend of satisfaction and malevolence. "DELICIOUS," it hissed, a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of the netherworld. Ilaldaoboth reveled in the feast, its insatiable appetite for the arcane sated, if only momentarily. The room itself seemed to shudder under the weight of the entity's pleasure, a cosmic resonance that marked the consummation of a sinister pact.

The origin of this unholy communion is traced back to the clandestine dealings in Seklas' private quarters. There, in the veiled recesses of his ambitions, a pact had been forged with the malevolent entity. A bargain of power and vengeance, a Faustian agreement that would set in motion a series of dark machinations. The intertwining destinies of master and servant, now bound by an unholy alliance, would unfurl in a tapestry of treachery and manipulation.

The crimson sphere, having absorbed its fill of spectral essence, now hung ominously in the air, a harbinger of the impending darkness. Seklas, his countenance an eerie amalgamation of triumph and malefic satisfaction, surveyed the room with an intensity that bordered on madness. The servant, resigned to their fate, awaited the next twist in this cosmic drama, knowing that their existence had become an integral part of a sinister narrative beyond mortal comprehension.

As the echoes of the ritual subsided, the chamber fell into an uneasy silence, pregnant with the weight of impending malevolence. The dark entity within the orbuculum, now fortified by the stolen energies, pulsed with an unnatural vitality. The pact was sealed, the die-cast, and the stage was set for a macabre performance where power and vengeance danced in an unholy union. The fate of both master and servant, now irrevocably entwined, would unfold in a series of malevolent crescendos, each note resonating with the echoes of a pact forged in shadows and sealed in the sanguine glow of arcane power.