Knights of Tezoth

on the day of the catastrophe


With a drawn-out mechanical screech — a groan of pain and despair unknown to nature — the last artifact of a forgotten era tore through the night's canvas like a falling star. The soul-rending crack of shattering glass scattered the remains of intricate solar mechanisms across the surroundings. The force field evaporated in the lower layers of the atmosphere, erupting in flashes of light-fireworks — a farewell celebratory salute in honor of the day of the fall. Billows of black smoke trailing behind the magical comet stood out even against the night sky, eclipsing the frightened glimmers of distant stars. The sun had slept through the funeral of its final creation, and only the lone moon continued to indifferently contemplate yet another blend of madness in yet another mad world.

Having incinerated the crumpled clouds, the titan bored its hull into the slope of a hunched mountain, crushing a dense expanse of forest beneath itself and turning a couple of remote settlements to ash. The breached hull cast off a few separate fragments; the internal organs of a thousand-year history scattered like free birds across the innocently sleeping vicinity. A library filled with boundless knowledge, kind journals, notes, and guidebooks left a crater where the knight's city had stood under its heel. Churches and temples shrouded the surrounding farms in demonic flames. The palace spire destroyed the town hall of the Albus center. With each fading heartbeat of the forgotten giant, another meeting was erased from reality, an engaging dialogue forgotten, a friendly gathering lost, an interesting competition vanished. The combined efforts of dozens of minds and hundreds of thousands of text symbols turned to nothing. With a cruel stroke of a nuclear pen, the legendary work melted away — a work that had once gifted rare emotions to every creator who had lent a hand to its making.

A fiery rain of energy fragments and an agonized (or aconitic?) cry were the final artistic refrains before the epilogue. The city collapsed, burying an entire region beneath itself in an infernal wave. Those close to the epicenter were smiled upon by fate: a volcanic whirlwind instantly disincorporated them into nothing. The fate of the rest was less rosy. Towering tsunamis scattered the few small vessels moored on distant islands. Earthquakes buried residential quarters. The light of the false sun seared the eye sockets and charred the skin of unwilling witnesses to the tragedy. Sonic blasts ruptured eardrums. Fires consumed the green groves and fertile fields. For a long time afterward, the funereal glow of a distant pyre carried across the kingdom the unforgettable aroma of burning flesh and suffering.

Somewhere in the depths of the new crater of regret, a raven wing illuminated in the darkness glinted for a moment. It was only the beginning.


***
The Vecchi estate had long been dozing peacefully. Alsira, as was her custom, was making her usual evening flight over the flower gardens. The light fragrance of delicate plants mingled exquisitely with the midnight chill, complemented by the gentle shimmer of the moonlight. This illusory, tomb-like picture was one of the few things her soul found pleasant.

Not immediately noticing the pegasus's coat beginning to gleam with an unnatural light, she turned in bewilderment toward the hastily approaching dawn. Only then did her mind pierce with startled realization of what was happening. A moment later, a second flash followed the first — more brutal and chaotic. A powerful shockwave hurled them aside with force, spinning them in a hurricane of fiery wind. The moon darted about in fright from side to side, only managing to regain its balance near the ground. Like a shattered city, they tumbled down in the middle of a neighboring grove, fortunately avoiding serious injury. Rubbing her dislocated shoulder, the girl staggered dazedly among the trees for a while, trying to drive the ringing noise from her ears. Even when the night's canvas once again veiled the surroundings, the afterimages of the infernal catastrophe remained vividly etched on her retinas.

— Margel...