Infinite Limits

For centuries there had been only silence . . . The gateway through worlds known as the Rift, the Black Door, remained still as glass; a pitch-black mirror that when gazed upon showed only the reflection of one’s soul, and the emptiness therein. Throughout the silence the races soundly slept, dreaming of an age past -- a history of horror that slowly faded to legend, and slower yet into myth. Then the Rift awoke . . . and their dreams turned to nightmares, nightmares into reality. From its pulsating maw spewed the infinite, undead legion assembled from the farthest reaches of a universe in ruins. With only one world remaining in their conquest – one last flicker of life in an otherwise darkened universe -- the full might of the Dark Army descended. An army of races must stand against it; hastily assembled, vastly outnumbered, and utterly unprepared for the evil that comes. Alone, the Guardians of the Gate will surely be swept away. But they’re not alone.


21. Epilogue






Hidden high above within the branches of the Graelic, Adros and Alana watched as the Plague devoured its roots.  Roots that sank into the core of Ki'minsyllessil, fed from the very heart of the elven world -- roots that stretched past continents, encompassing the entire face of the planet -- roots that held within them the lifeblood of Adros' world.

Moments ago the Plague had feasted upon the last of the elven army but still it craved more.  Always more.  From their height, the undead blended as one, forming a black blob crawling up the foot of the trunk.

"It is over," Alana said, resting her long fingers on his shoulder.

"Then I am the last of them."

He stepped away from her, lowering his golden mane of hair.

"The elf prince without a kingdom.  My people have failed, and now the Graelic dies because they were too weak."

"No.  It was I who failed.  The Elder Gods were right, I see that now.  Recreating the worlds is our only hope.  To fight death with creation.  There is no other way."

She tried to pull him into her gaze, to tear his grey eyes away from the carnage below.  But her wide oval eyes remained unheeded, then began misting over.

"Aye, my people were caregivers.  We chose to remain, to save the One Tree before saving ourselves.  But we were weak.  We failed to realize that in order to be caregivers we had to be warriors."

He held in his hands a twisted wooden staff.

"Leave with me now, and your people may yet live," Alana said, softly.

"How can I live knowing I let the One Tree die?" he scoffed at her.

"Adros, it's over."

Finally she had his focus.  She shivered as his eyes of white and gray turned to her, freezing her heart with his gaze.  Though she longed to near him, the hate in his eyes kept her at bay.

"We've failed.  Don't allow the memory of your race to end here."

"I refuse to fail," he stated before turning away to once more watch the roots of the One Tree blacken.

"You cannot fight them.  The Plague cannot be beaten nor will it stop.  Ever."

His hand tightened on the staff.

"Then neither will I.  I will be their shadow.  Hunting them as they hunt us.  Fighting them . . . from this world to the next . . ."

She could feel his heart shrivel, wither and die.

". . . to the end of all time . . ."

Alana could no longer bear to look at him, no longer bear to watch as the Solo Ki -- the Last Elf, left her high atop the branches of the Graelic to face the Plague  . . .



-- Age of Death,

Ki'minsyllessil (Elven home world), Pre Exodus 764 . . .









". . . I know now why we fear the dark.  It will take us all.  It cannot be defeated nor can it be escaped.  We, the living, will fade into nothingness, but the nothingness lasts forever.  For it is without limit.  It is the infinite."

--ADROS, Elven Forefather














The End











If you would like a copy of this work, or the follow up Limits @ Infinity, please look me up @  Also, would love to hear any comments or critiques as well.





Thanks, J.C. Bell  


























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