• Chapter One: Chaos
    The man appeared shortly after sunset, walking tall among the stretching shadows of the town. His hood covered his face, and his eyes, an odd shade of yellow, pierced the darkness which they lie behind. His cloak billowed behind him, just barely visible in the darkness: it seemed to be part of the shadows, the way it flickered and licked around in the wind, like a blackfire raging in his trail. There seemed to be a faint pulse about him, as if one could feel the power that radiated from him. The townspeople were used to visitors, human and otherwise, and paid little attention to the man. He walked into the town saloon, and sat down at the bar. Even in the light, the shadows clung to him as if, he were part of them. He looked up at the barkeep, an old, bearded man of about 50. His hair was streaked with gray, and the teeth in his mouth were few and far between.
    “What’ll yeh have, sonny?” the barkeep whistled lightly.
    “I sincerely doubt anything you have here will satisfy my…” the stranger inhaled deeply, and then continued, “Unique appetite.”
    “As long as you aint one of them,” the barkeep said.
    “I guess it depends on your definition of them,” the man whispered coolly. Then he removed his hood, showing his face. The barkeep stepped back and gasped sharply, as did the few other people in the room.
    His ghastly pale skin, the red lines marking out recent scars, the sharp teeth, stuck in a nearly permanent smile because of the apparent absence of lips. “One of these?” the man asks, a sliver of humor in his voice, a chilling laugh filling the air for a moment. He smiled at the thought that these people thought he was a Feeder, and laughed at the thought of a Feeder actually being anywhere near as intelligent as to communicate with humans, rather than to just devour.
    The barkeep, finding whatever courage he had left, steps forward. “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Now.” His voice, stuttering, weak, and high pitched, is anything but intimidating. But the fact he found the guts to say anything at all impressed the stranger, and so he puts his hood back on.
    “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” he said, then took his hood off again, and his face, completely different this time, was revealed again. Still pale, but not as incredibly sheet-white as before, and the scars still there, but now he has lips, and they are not smiling. His teeth, perfectly white, and all still needle sharp, and his eyes, little more than yellow slits set in white orbs. On his head, two bumps that could have been just regular human deformities, but the Barkeep knew better.
    “I’ve seen you’re kind before, demon spawn.” The old man said, then turned away. “You should still probably leave.” He said, then pulled up a charm, hoping to discourage, if not dispel this half demon completely.
    “That won’t be necessary either,” the man said, then grabbed the charm, and crushed it between his fingers. He handed the pieces back to the man, then smiled.
    The Barkeep once again insisted he leave, “Can’t you see you don’t belong here? We don’t welcome your kind nicely on this side of the border, demon.”
    “So be it.” The man whispered, then stood up, and looked at the few people sitting around. A man sitting at the bar, drinking. The three in the back corner, playing cards, and the Barkeep, standing there, staring at him.
    “Farewell, for now. But I will be back. And you will need Me.” he said, then snapped his fingers.
    Suddenly, the shadows from wherever they still were, under the tables, in the corners, even the people’s shadows, jumped out, suddenly very alive, and enveloped the stranger in a dark purple covering, that suddenly ignited into blackfire that spread across the man, flames of darkness licking across his skin. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, and the men stood there, scared for their lives. Scared for their souls.
    Then, as suddenly and mysteriously as he had appeared, the man was gone.
    With a deep sigh of relief, the Barkeep said, “Good riddance. The only things demon spawn like him are good for is causing pain, suffering, and destruction.”
    And pain and suffering is exactly what the man was causing, only, unlike what the Barkeep meant, he was causing it to himself.
    “You never should have shown them!” he yelled at himself, furious to the point of tearing a gash in a nearby tree with his near-claw like hands. “You idiot!” he said, and sat down on a nearby tree stump. Still frustrated and angry, he smacked himself repeatedly on his forehead, not satisfied until warm blood dripped down over his face, slowly beginning to pool at his feet.
    “Damn it…” he said, and stood up. Reaching behind himself, he pulled out a small bag filled with powder, poured a small amount in his hand, and then spit into it. He mixed the substance between his fingers until it was a thick paste, then rubbed it on his forehead, on the gaping wound he had opened.
    Knowing full well that the powder he had just applied smelled strongly of Gui fruit, which was the food of many animals native to the forests in this part of the world, he decided it would probably be best to mask the scent, so as to not bring any unwanted attention. He didn’t want to have to kill another random wandering centaur who misunderstood what it saw.
    The man walked north, knowing the area well enough to remember the river not far from his current location. After a few minutes of walking, he finally stumbled upon the river, and in doing so, upon a Fairy Ring, bumping into one of the over-sized mushrooms. Upon touching it, the mushroom ignited in blackfire instantly, and withered away to nothing as the fairy energy that kept its enormous size was devoured hungrily by the flames.
    “s**t…” he said, looking around in a hurry, knowing that those damned fairies would bring all sorts of attention to him, in the form of not only themselves, but all they controlled in the forest. And he would be forced to kill them all. He sighed. Pulling his shoulders back, and lengthening his claw-like fingers, he saw the first of the oncoming horde. "You’re going to regret this for the rest of your very short, very painful lives," he whispered, then attacked.
    He reached his arm out to the ground, and called to the shadows of the forest floor. They swirled around him, a vortex of liquid darkness, travelling up his arm to his chest, then he swung his arm forcibly out, drawing the darkness out, stretching it to a long strand of power.
    Whipping it around, he slammed it into a charging centaur, and it melted into shadows, ceasing to exist. Willing the shadows to return to him, he once again shaped it into a weapon: this time, a sword. Spinning around gracefully, he arced the sword into a second centaur, and it came apart in the middle. He watched as the horse half fell over and started kicking, and the humanoid half looked at him, mouth gaping with blood starting to pour out. It slowly disintegrated to nothing.
    Sensing another charging animal behind him, he spun around swiftly and thrust the sword into the forehead of a griffon that had attempted to flank him. He slashed downward behind him, and felt the sharp clang of metal meeting metal, momentarily stunned. What in the forest used metal weapons? He turned to look, then jumped back in surprise as he felt the swish of yet another sword nearly catching him on his temple. He jabbed with his fist, and forced a load of darkness into his attacker, who, now incapacitated, was a large, near-human sized male fairy, with large eyes staring lifelessly up at him.
    Upon closer inspection, the fairy had a crown tattooed around his head, almost resembling a halo. Then he realized why he had time to notice such a detail, everything had stopped attacking. He looked around, and noticed that everything had disappeared. No sign of anything ever being there, except the fairy he had killed just a moment ago. And even that was melting away before his eyes, returning to the ground. Then he realized what must be happening:
    There was a Fountain nearby. He sniffed the air, much like a blood hound trying to get a scent. And he got his scent, and it was exactly as he had thought: a Fountain. Looking around, he once again sniffed the air. Catching the direction of the scent, he followed. Thinking now, what force must be near this Fountain, to corrupt it to do this? Then another scent crossed his nostrils: the stench of Feeders.
    “Feeders, eh?” he sighed to himself. “Even here, these things are pains in my a**…”
    No longer content with the speed of running, he summoned the shadows around him, willed himself into them, and Shadow Dashed forward towards his new enemy. The feeling of Shadow Dashing got to him after a few hundred yards, and he stopped, to catch his breath, and to keep his lunch in his stomach. He stopped, so as to observe how close he was to the Fountain, and the Feeders which now infested its grounds.
    He sniffs again, this time to find the scent of the Feeders, and when he caught their scent, he realized a small, yet costly mistake: he had overshot the Fountain by about a hundred yards. The Feeders had sensed him, and the element of surprise was gone. Deciding to just get it over with, he walked right into the Feeder camp, which surrounded the Fountain.
    Not even giving the Feeders a chance to react to his presence, he blasts the small group standing around a blackfire, using the blackfire to envelop them and burn away their very souls. The empty shells fell to the ground, death-spasms kicked in, and then, just silence. He leaped skyward and double flipped over the fence that guarded the Camp, and headed towards the center, the Fountain. Feeders ran at him, but he blasted them away with shadows and blackfire as if they were nothing.
    He reached towards an oncoming group of feeders, and grabbed the nearest one on the forehead. And, much like he had become a Feeder for a moment in that bar in town, he manifested this Feeder’s greatest fear, and started emitting something lethal to Feeders- sunlight.
    The burning, cleansing light swept through the Feeder-made shelter, and suddenly, shrieks of pain were heard in all directions. The pain was so widespread; he could almost feel it himself. He burned his way through the Camp, with little interruption. Then, as he approached the center door, the door that lead to the Fountain, he stopped the light, willing himself to return to normal. He inhaled sharply, and focused for a minute. He looked around him, and willed the souls of the creatures he had killed to himself. He felt the darkness creep towards him, seep into his mind and soul. He looked at himself, and smiled. He was no longer unusually pale, and the bumps on his forehead had become slightly longer, and stretched to points. He looked back at the door, the only thing standing between him and the Fountain. Drawing his hands to his sides, he closed them into fists, and smashed open the door with as much power as he could muster. The doors flew open, and off of their hinges, and kept going, as if there was gale force winds blowing them away. Then the doors stopped. They landed on a few Feeders, crushing them under their own shelter in a cruel twist of irony.
    Just as quickly as he had entered, he was surrounded. He saw a Feeder who was much taller than the rest, and had scars around his arms, chest, neck, and legs, and who also seemed to command all the attention and obedience of the Feeders around him.
    “So, you lead this clan?” he asked, his voice merely a whisper among the growling obscenities of the Feeders, yet far more powerful than all their voices combined.
    “What matter to you, human?” he asked; his rudimentary English skills hardly legible in a sentence.
    “I’m here to free the Fountain, and to clean this section of the world from filth such as you.” The man said, staring the leader straight in the eyes. “I’ll give you one chance, to pack up and leave. Save yourself from death. Return to the Demonlands, and I will spare… most of you.” He smiled.
    The Feeders laughed. “A human, force the Feeders to the Demonlands?” they laughed even harder.
    In a movement so quick, the Feeders couldn’t even see it, he used the shadows he had absorbed in the forest to form a sword again, and slice the leader’s head clean in half.
    The laughter stopped immediately.
    “I guess it’s not as an absurd a thought as you imagined,” he said, a smile still on his lips, and he smiled. His teeth, just as sharp as the feeders, gleamed in the moonlight. The Feeders stepped back, now aware of the enemy they faced.
    One Feeder, more adept at speech than his brothers, grunted, “Who are you?”
    “I am Chaos, son of the Lord of Shadows, rightful heir to the Kingdom of Darkness. I am your worst nightmare.”
    The Feeders stared for a moment. Then, realizing the depth of the situation, they fled in terror. Chaos watched them flee into the night, and smiled.
    “Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t tell them about the fact that you were exiled, hm?” a voice said lightly behind him. He smiled, warmly this time, and turned to face this voice he knew so well.
    “It’s been too long, Fear.” He said, and embraced his twin in a firm handshake, then a quick brother-hug.
    “Too long indeed,” Fear replied, then faced the direction the Feeders ran. “So, what did you really come here for?”
    “Just what I said, to free the Fountain.” Chaos replied with a shrug.
    “But why? Watching humans struggle with those illusions is so entertaining,” Fear said.
    “I agree wholeheartedly. Alas, I was coerced into freeing the Fountain, so that is what I must do.” Said Chaos.
    “A summoning?” Fear asked.
    “No, a payment.”
    Another question, “Sacrifice?”
    “No. Information.” Chaos answered.
    “What kind of information?” asked Fear.
    “So inquisitive… Fear, I’m starting to think that you got more human in you than I did,” Chaos joked.
    “If that were true, then why am I not exiled from the Kingdom?” Fear replied.
    “You didn’t accidentally destroy the old palace and nearly kill half the royalty in the Kingdom,” Chaos reminded him.
    “Ah, yes. The Accident. How tragic,” Fear said, and smiled.
    “Enough of such things. How fares my kingdom?” Chaos asked.
    “Your kingdom?” asked Fear, clearly amused. “It shall be my kingdom, brother. You were exiled. You are welcome to return when I take my place on the throne, and will be given many privileges, but the kingdom will be mine.”
    “We shall see, brother. We shall see,” Chaos replied.
    “When the time comes, brother,” said Fear, “First you will wish for victory. Then you will wish for peace. But when I’m finished…” he inhaled deeply, as if savoring the moment. “In the end, you will just wish for death.” Then Fear disappeared into the night, leaving Chaos to find his own shelter, in the Fountain, his back against the setting sun.