The Lost Rangers
A Rescue Ranger fanfic by John "UrthQuake" Bonefas
All content in this portion of the story belongs to the author. Feel free to
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Prologue
--ONE--
Beautiful....
Pure....
Unspoiled....
These were the words that passed through the mind of the figure standing in the ashen circle as he looked up into the night sky. The midpoint of the night was almost upon him; he could tell because the full face of the larger moon was approaching its zenith. Nearby, the smaller moon, which was also full, was approaching its proper position. Seeing their slow, methodical, glacial movement through the bejeweled heavens was both relaxing and unsettling to the creature. After all, he always took great pleasure in seeing the sheer beauty present in nature. But he also knew that he had a job to do, a job that would require a great deal of effort, concentration, and ritualistic timing to accomplish.
He looked down at his circle and brooded. He knew perfectly well the risks inherent in such an endeavour. This was a task which no one had ever attempted; many in his field of work had only speculated that it could now be done, but not without potentially dire, even disastrous consequences. The immense energies which had to be manipulated to accomplish this task were of a nature that his people were only beginning to understand. There were many of his people who believed that to dabble in such things would invariably spell doom for their world. Some of this person's closest friends and advisors had advised against the attempt; they feared that the energies would destroy him utterly, or worse, rend his still-living body, mind, and soul apart. But as he considered these risks, he cast his gaze outwards again, to the verdant, forested countryside surrounding his demesne, to the skies above, which, in spite of the glare of the twin moons, still glittered with stars. These were all the inspiration he needed; it was for these things and more that he was doing this.
DING!
His reverie was abruptly interuppted when his precisely timed astronomical instruments, which he had rigged to a crude alarm system, rang out behind him. The moons would be at their zeniths in about thirty seconds. This sort of astronomical event--both full moons reaching zenith over this particular part of the world, according to his calculations, occured only once every 300 years; if he could accomplish this task, he would be around to see it again. And again. The location was also purely his design as well; it was situated at a nexus of the energies which he planned to use. When those thirty seconds pass, his immediate vicinity would be charged with the peculiar, ethereal substance which coursed through his world, his body, his very being, as it did with all creatures great and small. At this point, he would begin.
He was the best practitioner of his art in the world. No one in recorded history had even come close to displaying the skill in these sorts of tasks that he had. His unique combination of raw, inborn talent and keen intellect had created in him a great power--a power that only he could use to any degree of safety. He knew that this casting would be hard; but he believed he had the blessing of the gods themselves; after all....
DING!
Thirty seconds had passed. It was time....
The figure raised his hands above his head and began chanting words from a large tome open before him. These were words of power, words he had scribed down to call upon the energies now buzzing about him. Words to increase his power, to focus the energy upon him and him alone. He then began moving his arms and hands about in a precise mystical dance; a dance which would prepare him to receive the immense energy which he was calling. Over the next ten minutes, the creature chanted words unheard before, performed rituals and motions never seen before, for this was a spell which was unlike any other in history. As the energy swelled around him, winds started up around him, the sky clouded over, leaving only the twin moons, on which the caster kept his gaze fixated on the entire time, never removing them for even a fraction of a second. The ground underneath him shook as if in fright of what was happening. Nearby, the seas began roiling as if in pain. Anyone who had the misfortune of being nearby would probably think the world was coming to an end....
Finally, the caster reached the climax of his ritual. He had gathered the necessary energy; there was enough of the magical stuff around him to... now! He made his final emphatic gestures and screamed his final words of power at the top of his lungs. The sound made by this final rite was deafening, the light created by the release of energy blinding.
And then, the light and sound contracted in on themselves, into a solitary figure now standing amid a devastated landscape, underneath a sky which bore a pair of sad-looking moons and many duller stars.
He felt the power coursing through his very being, and with it new words passed through his mind.
Power....
Must... protect....
Cull... impure....
Cleanse....
Bring... death....
Chaos....
....HATRED....