Michael: Last Angel of Earth

One of the most powerful kingdoms in Great Britain was turning away from Ireland and looking toward the English coast. The Kingdom of Uxtrus. Built upon the sins, horrible crimes, and betrayal of its past, this kingdom was among the unhappiest realms in its corner of the world.

Their military, wealth, and notoriety were among its current greatest strengths. Unfortunately, they lack a little in medicine, food production, and clean water. Uxtrus was a totalitarian kingdom. There were a few small opposing groups against the current leadership. Sadly, there had not been any significant revolts for a long time. However, the present threat to the kingdom was a disease, but the current leadership paid little attention to the issue. The people of Uxtrus were depressed. They lived grim lives, but religion helped relieve some of their problems while they lacked supplies.

Religion held quite some importance in their lives and, if anything, has made them more modest. The people of Uxtrus were also moderately spiritual and had beautiful customs and ancient traditions. However, they practiced in secret, fearing punishment from their overlords. At the heart of the kingdom was Ashtanshire Fortress. Built inside a newly desolate volcano, Eleven thick, square towers surrounded the fortress in almost a perfect circle around this incredible fortification. They were connected by enormous, narrow walls made of yellow stone. Ornate windows were scattered generously around the walls in seemingly perfect symmetry, along with holes of various sizes for archers and artillery. A moderate gate with broad metal doors, a regular bridge, and hot oil pots guarded the city within the extinguished volcano, leaving one entranceway in or out. Giant statues of kings decorated the bridge outside, memories of past conquests. This castle had stood the test of time; it stood it well, despite cracks beginning to show here and there.

Inside the fortress was the throne room. Slender braziers, half enclosing each of the fourteen basalt columns, lit up the lower levels of the throne hall and covered the entrance in warm oranges and dancing shadows. The paintings of vast landscapes on the terraced ceiling danced in the flickering light while statuettes and stone effigies looked down upon the porcelain floor of this impressive hall. A ruby rug split the entire room from the doors to the throne, while ribbon banners with burnished sides hung from the walls. Between each flag hung a lantern; all but a few have been lit and, in turn, illuminate the sculptures of the fiercest creatures of this kingdom below them.

Big, washed glass windows were covered by draperies colored the same ruby as the banners. The curtains have been adorned with jewels and delicate patterns. An imposing throne of marble sat atop a tall elevated platform. The throne was covered in textured and layered sculptures, and fixed on each of the wide armrests was a jade head of a legendary creature. The thick pillows were a dark ruby, and these two had been adorned with ornate margins.

And who ruled this kingdom of wealth and despair? A fierce dragon warrior named Zarakoth and his Draconian Ravagers. Zarakoth was the epitome of the dragons of old. Dark ruby eyes sat tightly within his thorny, long skull, which gave the ruler a savage-looking appearance.

Several small central horns sat atop his head, just above his short, round ears. Several rows of small horns ran down each of his jawlines’ sides.

The ruler’s nose had two short, curved nostrils and tiny tendrils on his chin. A few sharp teeth poked out from the side of his mouth and showed a glimpse of the terror hiding inside. A thin neck ran down from his head and into a bulky body. The top was covered in crystal-like skin, and armor-plating rows ran down its spine.

His bottom was covered in smooth skin and colored darker than the rest of his body. Four powerful limbs carry his body, allowing the ruler to stand tall and intimidating. Each limb had five digits, each ending in huge claws seemingly made of crystal. Enormous wings grew, starting from his shoulders and ending at the end of the shoulder blades. The wings were bladed in structure, the inner sides of the wing were full of minor holes, and each bone structure ended in a curved yet blunt tip. His long tail ended in a sharp, arrowhead-shaped tip covered in the same crystal-like skin as its body.

In his left hand was a large, narrow, curved blade made of obsidian held by a grip wrapped in exotic, ruby-red sharkskin. Dual-edged and razor-sharp, this weapon was a champion’s choice. It crushed enemies with cleaving hacks and piercing stabs. The blade had a small, curled cross-guard, offering just enough protection to the owner’s hands and adding a weight balance to the sword. The cross-guard had a basic sphere on each side, standard on many Ravagers’ weapons. A wide pommel was decorated with a reasonably common gem; the blade itself was engraved. His name had been artistically etched into the blade, adding to its beauty and wickedness. This weapon was used only by those with vast wealth, power, and authority.

As Zarakoth sat on his throne, the doors opened, and three Ravagers and a white-haired woman entered. The ravagers shoved her toward the throne’s steps as the ruby eyes of Zarakoth greeted her.

“Lady Beth,” said Zarakotn, “What a surprise.” The dragon lord placed a paw on the woman’s shoulder. She felt a soft grip coming from his paw. Looking at the mighty ruler, she did her best to exuberate confidence.

“Zarakoth, dear. It’s been a while. I wish my arrival came under better circumstances. But as you can see, things went-” Zarakoth leaned his bulky head toward her and spoke in her ear with a low growl.

“Where is your crew?” he asked. Beth gulped and replied to her client, trying to avoid his imposing gaze.

“Well, our ship was ready to leave the island when we encountered resistance.”

“What kind of resistance?” asked Zarakoth.

“A small company of priests from Ireland found our ship and-” Beth yelped as the dragon king’s nails dug into her shoulder. She winced in pain.

“Men of the cloth bested you?!” shouted Zarakoth. Beth scrambled to finish her sentence before it was too late.

“B-but these priests, th-they were accompanied by-by-by a Nephilim,” said Beth. Zarakoth loosened his grip on her.

“A Nephilim, you say? Do you play me for a fool? The only Nephilims that are alive serve Lucifer and his army.” Beth shook her head.

“Not this one. This one is different. Specifically, he has angelic tattoos on his back, angel wings.” Suddenly, Zarakoths tail wrapped around her neck, choking her. He lifted her in the air and turned her upside down. The dragon king then asked for the Nephilim’s name. She managed to get out one word.

“B-bar-barjon,” she gasped. He cracked her neck with a quick break and dropped her lifeless body onto the floor. One of the ravagers soon spoke up.

“Do you think she was telling the truth, my lord?” the ravager asked.

“Truth is a matter of perspective. However, the idea of a Nephilim working on the side of good does raise some questions.” Zarakoth stroked his bony chin and ordered the three Ravagers to take a small company of soldiers and fly to Ireland.

“Sir, how will we know where to find him?” said another ravager.

“I have allies on the small island. You will go to them and ask around. Find this Nephilim and bring him to me, alive if possible.”

“And the others?”

“Kill them.”