Prince Stygian, as he liked to be called, paced on the narrow deck on his isolated mansion that overlooked the north side of the San Francisco Peaks, which loomed over the small city of Flagstaff. The tormenting rain had softened to a thick drizzle and he allowed himself to bask in the fresh air before the sun would rise and plunge his world into grey.
Like all Darccare, Stygian worshipped the night and clung to the darkness. The dark skies calmed him, but he knew trouble and chaos would be disrupting any of the fake calm he might be allowing himself to indulge in.
Stygian’s body stretched tall and thin. Long white fingers run over the beads of moisture clinging to the handrails. They grasped a glass of blood red wine and he took a brief sip. His black hair was slicked back over his skull and his body became grind work of light and dark, arcs and motion.
Vile and the Dark Alliance had reached his world and nothing would ever be the same, not for him, not for the humans, not even the animals and plants would escape its wrath.
Rather than be destroyed, the Darcarre had joined the Alliance, as had the Glooms and the Caradon. Part of him had no problem joining sides with his worst enemies as long at it would bring change to the eons old stalemate that existed between the competing races of Xemmoni. Of course he hated the Glooms and despised the Caradon, but that rivalry ranked quite low on his current list of concerns.
First among them was the blundering short sided might of the Caradon. They tended to use their muscles and numbers to solve every problem, instead of their minds and manipulation skills, although he figured they might be on short supply in that department. Yet if they charged in and were damaged by the opposition, or even if they weren’t, Stygian had a good idea who they would be hitting up for more shock troops and fodder. Yes, the Caradon might be numerous, but in his eyes, one strong Darcarre with good foresight and plotting skills could accomplish more that two hundred of those muscle bound drooling freaks.
The Glooms were another matter. They were the secretive creators. Who knew how long they had been planning for this battle or what forces they could bring into the conflict. They tended to send in their minions and were more inclined to use their mental skills to avoid being slain needlessly. In many ways they could be a fiercer competition to the Darcarre than the endless minions of the Caradon’s armies of chaos.
He also wondered if his dubious allies noticed the flaw in their plan. They sought to create a world of mists where the Glooms would gain power and would allow the Caradon to move armies through unseen. However, there were certain regions of the Earth where such an influx of moisture would be resisted and harder to maintain. A good example of this was the south-western region of the United States.
This area would resist the banks of fog without any supernatural aid to the point where it wouldn’t be worth the waste of Baal to send more. With even a small center of strength, the Stalwarts could raise a resistance and with so many of the Caradon minions being aquatic, it would be difficult for both them and the Glooms to combat these areas.
This was one of the reasons he relocated to Flagstaff. The temperate sky island could be controlled and used to assault the desert in nearly every direction, yet was cold and wet enough for him to be able to use the strengths of his allies.
Now he just had to gain control of the region in time for this ownership to save the day for Vile Darken when he would need Stygian’s aid the most.
Yes, he had much to do, but another problem tugged at the back of his mind as his black boots marched over the wet planks of his deck.
The Splinter Darcarre.
Not every member of his race approved of the Darcarre joining the Dark Alliance. Many had refused to do so and had either actively or passively fought against both the Alliance and their own brothers. In his region there existed such a nest. It was lead my Klich and located in the ghost town turned artist colony of Jerome.
Klich and his brood were not strong enough to do much to threaten his plans, but they were dug into their mountain town like a black tick on a fat dog. He could finish them if he wished, but he doubted the task would prove easy and the last thing he needed to do was lower his strength.
The Splinters would have to wait and he would just have to hope that they stayed to themselves and didn’t lower his standing by having members of his own race, which he couldn’t control, living so close to him and in the center of what could well prove to be the final battle ground for the control of the whole planet.
Letting out a sigh, he summoned one of his followers telepathically. Nigh appeared moments later. “Yes my Prince?”
“Take another man and head into town. We need to learn what resistance if any may lurk there?”
“Stalwart or Xemmoni my Lord?” Nith said while folding his hands within his dark robes. Nith kept his head bald and had covered much of his arms and legs with dark angular tattoos, he looked like a vampire drenched in ink, but would serve him well.
“Both and anything else you might find. We are behind in our planning. Even mundane matters like controlling the leaders of the local law enforcement agencies must be considered. We need to work fast, but we also need to know what we are up against. I will leave this matter for you to begin.”
Nith bowed. “It will be an honor. I start at once.”
As Nith took his leave the sun began to struggle through the clouds to the east. The rain burned away and Stygian couldn’t help but take it as an ill omen.