From the Dark Well of the Nexus

There was no light. No light in the darkness. The suffocating black of the well of the Nexus. For there was no goodness down here, and had not been for a while. For Cronos guarded it, the Nexus and guarded the channel of power. You could not feel were you walked. For while it was dark, it was cold. Cold that numbed your bones and numbed your mind, till you could feel nothing but the rough stone and the cold of the dark. For stone there was. And metal. There was no nature here. No life. It was the dark well of death. Of cold artificial life and as footsteps echoed the man awoke. Lewis. The only one to live in the well of the Nexus. For he crawled to his feet slowly, not knowing his surroundings, for he had been killed. The footsteps came and Lewis ran. The metal echoed loudly, though not so loud as to be defending. He ran. And listened. Ran through the dark. He stepped forwards, always moving, memory gone with but no idea of what he was, or where this darkness existed. He ran… and fell.

Through the darkness, knowing on that above, far above was the light of grass and water, and fire and ether. Twisting and twirling and spiraling light. And then the machine turned, a thing he did not know, for it spun and from the center a twisted creature. Humanoid but the pipes, those large pipes and wires pushed into his person, and the markings, the hard tribal markings on his head and his torso. The eyes black as night and the scar of bloodied trauma. And he fell. To the cold hard ground. The unforgiving stone that knocked away his breath and knocked away his mind. For minutes he lay, thinking, hurting before standing and climbing to his feet. There was a glow here. A soft one mixed with a harsh one. Another circular room with a single door, half in light and half in shadow. It was the only way out. There was the same light above, but Lewis could no longer see the man in the machine. Lewis, fears plaguing his mind headed out.

For moments the light and shadow overwhelmed him before he found himself looking on a strange place, a place of two halves. And in the two thrones there, in opposing shadow and light, one of white crystal, one of dark stone sat two figures. He knew who they were instantly, though how he knew he did not know. Arella, lady of light, personification of order. And Abbadon, lord of darkness, personification of chaos. Arella’s beauty overwhelmed him, the most graceful creature imaginable, wreathed in crystal ice and marked with silver symbols, of human form, and stood in stark contrast to Abandon’s ugliness. Harsh, dark features sat upon the framing throne of stone, a cruel face with black markings that looked like they had been burnt on to the flesh, like they had only just stopped bleeding. But looking at them again Arella’s beauty seemed to portray dissipation and Abbadon’s ugliness seemed to glow with amusement. Something was wrong here. And then what he had not noticed before. The same wires, plugs that had come from the man in the machine were attached to them both.

Noises echoed. The same footsteps as before. The same stalker. Lewis ran, leaving behind Arella’s concerned and Abbadon’s pleased forms, and turned into darkness. Into the stalker. A creature once again not of this world. It looked like it had been formed from burnt tarnished bronze. A dark disgusting form to it’s features that were almost Wraith like. It stood not on its feet but on its toes, the two long claws on each hand flexing terribly. The claw’s had a web of metal between them, and the eyes, those eyes, not of the creatures, but of what was controlling the creature. Something beyond it. It struck. Hard. A gash in Lewis’ arm, bleeding only slight like a hot sword had made the gash ad sealed it at the same time. He spun, taking out the feet of the creature as he did so, and turned, running through the dark maze, no idea where he was headed but for what his instincts told him. But the creature did not come.

And if he had of listened carefully he would have heard the voice of Arella, the controlling force of order, call out as she passed into death. He did not look as he ran past the machine, the four lights glowing over head. Only, only the red and purple were shining now, the green and blue extinguished, the place of the Machine covered in shadow, and the man plugged into it watching always with his cold black eyes, as Lewis headed down the steps, down to the portal. Down to Jen. Home.

From the Dark Well of the Nexus

Aryanna Aetha

Joined February 2010

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 6

Artist's Description

A short Gothic Ficton story that I wrote for an English project in 2009.
Sort of a Prolouge to a sequel of a 2003 PS2 game called Primal, developed by SCEE, which is one of the best games ever.
I will probably end up doing a whole series of these, probably focusing on Arella and Abbadon.
Comments appreciated.

Artwork Comments

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