Dark Times Ahead

[Pyrelaria]

[[Written today. Just a bit ago, really. Criticism is wanted.Sort of a .PART1. Kind of thing/]]

The window was ajar; wind passing into the room from the small crack between the glass, the cool night air counter-balancing the heat produced from what remained of the small candles that lit the room as he crossed the space from his desk to his bed, prepared to turn in for the night, extingusihing each candle he passed, until none remained and the night air came unopposed. He took the bed's covers and pulled them away, fixing himself between them and his beds mattress. He rested his head on his pillows and shut his eyes, entering a deep slumber in his dark and cold room. As he slept, a hole began ripping down the side of his wall, an even colder air came from it, as the woman stepped out onto his floor, her long hooded cloak barely brushing with the carpet as she stood. She gripped a scythe, holding onto the long darkened wood from which the curved, silver blade protruded from at the top. She padded over to the man, and looked him over. As if dismayed at the sight of something wrong with the person, she raised the blade, and as it struck through the man, it went straight through without causing a mark to the body, however the man flew from his own body, a replica of what it was as it continued to lay there. He slammed into the wall and awoke, struggling to stand as he looked at his offender. His eyes widened and he rushed for his door, however his hand when through the handle and the woman was upon him once again. She gripped the back of his throat, lifting him into the air. At her side, the man noticed as he tried to glimpse at her once more, was some sort of dog. She threw him across the other side of the room, his head hitting the wall below the window as he skidded. He looked up and glimpsed at his already open window, and as if a vain escape from death itself, he jumped from it, going through it, though still acting as if he had to push it open. The woman followed him to the window and looked down and shook her head, jumping after him as bat-like wings protruded from her back, providing her the means to follow him down quicker. As she reached him she reeled her scythe back to strike, but as they came to the ground she stopped, and lifted herself a few feet away from the man as he was caught by another cloaked figure, a powerful male who looked as if he could tower over them both combined. The man looked at her, opening his mouth to speak. "This is not correct. I thought your training would of taught you better, Maribelle." He spoke to her as if talking to a child, despite the woman appearing as if nineteen.
"I must of forgotten my readings." She spoke back to him, landing and averted her eyes just, feeling his cold gaze upon her.
"Then you shall read more. Sketel," The man called for his own dog, similar to the womans own, who had somehow arrived to where they all stood, in the middle of the road outside of the mans apartment. However, no cars drove by, none were seen at all. The road they were on, and the roads around them, were all devoid of life, as far as he could see. The dog looked at the man and seemed to nod, turning to air and then jumping into nothingness, vanishing, but leaving behind him a small hole, that seemed to expand in the air. He looked at both figures and was carried off inside of the hole with them, while fearing for his life, but being unable to escape from the powerful hands that held him captive.  

[Pyrelaria]

It was an instant, a blink of the eye and he was carried forth into a great hall, cradled like a baby in the arms of his massive captor who strode briskly beside the woman, who had removed her hood to reveal dark auburn hair, and blackened emerald eyes, however all seemed dreary inside this new land. Enormous arched doors ended their path, only to open into a large, dome-roofed hall, at least five hundred feet in diameter. He shuddered as they entered, the air that poured over them as they arrived colder then even that of the night sky where he had lived. Across from them nothing stood between where they were and the massive thrones that lined the farthest wall, five attached to one another, the tallest in the middle, the thrones beside it shrank in height by each one. In them sat mighty cloaked figures, all without hoods, whose faces were shaped as if from stone, cold and hard, and weary. The one who sat in the middle throne seemed as if a god, his hands grasped firmly at his armrests, that came out shaped like skulls supported by small scythe that pointed forward. The thrones themselves seemed pure silver, the backs of the thrones shot ten feet high, ending in crossing, curved blades that glimmered as the white light poured over them from the massive glass dome that seemed to be nothing more then a light itself. He was dropped in the middle of the room, on his hands and knees as he struggled to look up towards those who looked down upon him from their seats. The rest were less remarkable, a brown haired man with pale blue eyes that looked at him with little interest sat to the mans right, and to his left was an elderly male, his hair grey and gone, but his eyes wide and judging. On the far right sat a woman whose brunette hair reached to her elbows, her gaze matching that of a lioness as she peered at him, and at the far left sat man who matched, if not exceeded the mass of the man who had carried him, his powerful arms making his throne seem sheepish in comparison to him. They all stared at him, with no one speaking up for what seemed to be an ageless time.
At least, that was how it was until the middle-seated man stood up, tall and fierce. He spoke strongly, showing no hint of weakness or cowardice in his voice. "And he has no date?" He questioned the young girl who had first assailed him in his sleep. She never took her gaze off of the man when asked.
"Positive, My Lord." She spoke, her voice young and fresh, but tired, as had all the voices seemed to him. "I'm afraid I had forgotten my lessons, and almost attempted to reap his soul. Timmith here intervened in time." The girl finished and went on one knee in an apologetic manner. "Forgive me."
"It is not the learners fault for ignorance, as long as they do not let it happen again. Rise, Gale." His voice sounded throughout the throne room, the sound projecting off the walls around them. "Timmith. I thank you for your intervention. You shall guide this new disciple towards the chambers and initiate him. That will be all. I bid you leave, our business must not stall any longer." The lord waved them off, and Timmith and Gale took him by the arms and lead him to a new hall to their left, which branched off in various directions. He dared not look at them, he feared their eyes as he had those who had seemed to pass some sort of judgement on his life, or what remained of it. They entered a new hall as he was led through a wooden door that creaked as it was opened, and surrounding them were various doors that seemed to lead to living quarters, to whom he could not begin to guess. Gale stopped Timmith, and let go of the mans arm. "I must bid you well, then. I must be prepared and ready for my next assignment, "She spoke to him, and then turned to the man. "I must apologize, and wish you good luck. Don't be scared." She gave a weak smile and turned around, walking off with her back to them as he once more was dragged off through the great maze of halls.  

[Pyrelaria]

The behemoth pulled apart the double doors laden in iron before them, opening into a room non-too cramped whose ceiling was easily hundreds of feet away from the floor, and rounded off to a small hole that pierced through the middle of the ceiling. Directly below, a blackened steel cage sat steady, it's door slightly ajar and creaking as it wavered back and forth by inches, reflecting the rest of the room. Barely able to make out his surroundings, the man pondered as to his purpose here, fearing if anything that the cage was for him. They were not the only occupants within the space, as two other hooded men paced around to different tables that curved with the room, as if in preparation. Timmith walked over to the cage and peeled the door wide open, its eerie creaking filled the room with a sound that made him shiver. Without resistance, he was pushed into the cage, locked inside by a heavy iron bar that sealed the door. He grasped the bars in panic yet said nothing, fearing his fate had been long decided for him. The hooded men who had just been frantically roaming about the room, had stopped at a lever, and removed their scythes, similar to that of Gale's from whence he saw her, and jammed them into small holes on either side of it, locking them into place and pulled back on the lever. Suddenly a large clank was heard and the cage rose into the air, pushed upwards by powerful beams that extended him into the heavens. As he came upon the hole in the ceiling, the entire roof split apart into claw like plates, opening up to allow him through, and as he rose well past where the ceiling had once been, they had closed on him once more. He looked skyward, however he saw no sky. Above him, what he would of assumed should have been sky, was little but a new sphere of ground. No clouds specked the land that was laid above him, but moved through the middle of the two earths at a pace slower then clouds regularly were, as if in suspended animation. Directly above him, however, was a might castle that seemed to follow the gravity of the ground beneath him, however it hung from the earth above, and at the end of it spiraled some sort of black rock that shone greater as it descended towards him, spiraling off into a holster for some mighty rod that jutted down at the ending of the building. The cage gave a rusty stop and he soon found himself standing there, miles off the ground and miles still from the sky above him, yet simply feet away from the rod that seemed to emit its own energy. He feared for himself, but found something relaxing in the rod as it pointed itself at him. The clouds that surrounded the beams that held the cage began to move quicker, and swirled around the beams up and down, gathering around them and dispersing everywhere else. Eventually he saw no clouds but those that surrounded him and his cage, that reached meters over the castle above him. Yet they were not between him and the rod, they stayed apart to reveal the green tint forming around the rod that aimed towards him. The tint grew stronger, brighter, and eventually surrounded the object it had once come from, forming a pole of the mystical energies that crawled towards him. In a split-second, the energy shot into his eyes, down his arms and legs and surrounded him. He almost screamed, had he not been engulfed in the bright green magics. The clouds quickly flew away from the sight as the entire cage became surrounded, and as it dispersed, small sparks of magical residue surrounded him and the cage, and he laid against the wall of the cage, his eyes closed, most of his clothing burnt save for the was of his trousers and the collar of what had once been his shirt. Sparks came off him, too; little green shocks that traveled over his body and soon lessened in strength. He forced his eyes open and staggered to stand on his own. He felt queer, his arms seemed to contain the power of the 'verse itself, and his legs felt as if they could lunge over the mighty walls of churches and castles alike. It was his back that felt the most changed, his back that burned twice as much as the rest of him, where the sparks had not stopped. He attempted to rub his back away of the pain, but as his hand reached just over his shoulder he soon realized the cause; He had grown wings. Dark, featherless wings, black as the world that surrounded him. Talons grew from the tops of them, the skin-like membranes kept together to fit inside the cage. Yet still he did not scream. The comfort from the rod was gone, but a new sort embraced him. He no longer felt scared of this world, and the darkness that had inhabited it seemed lifted. He could see more, now, then he had once had as the cage he sat in made its descent. His arms and legs were burnt, but the pain that thrived in him seemed to give him new strength. As he entered the once more ceiling, the bleak and dreary room he had been in seemed little more then a finely constructed one, now able to spot the various concrete bricks that were built around the iron foundations of the room itself. As the cage came to the ground, Timmith stood before him, with a light smile on his face, just barely noticeable, yet he could notice it now. From his mouth he asked him a question, one that no one had asked until now, when it was deemed unnecessary.
"And what would happen to be your name, sir?" He asked in a polite, yet powerful tone in a slightly formal manner, and he could tell that made him feel out of place to ask such a thing.
"Ryker." He said, his first words since the night he was brought into this strange world of darkness, the first words since he was dragged through the halls and struck by the aura that left him in such an awesome state. His face looked solemn as he spoke, with a sliver of the relief that overcame him entrancing his tone. "Ryker Shayne."  

[Guardian of the Skies]

You are good... you remind me of one of my classmates, but luckily your vocabulary cannot compare, or you aren't using it in order for readers to understand... I can can actually comprehend more than 3 words per sentence. I swear that kid writes his paper, then uses the computer's thessaurus to replace every single word.  

[SpunkyOtaku]

Major issue I have here, though it's only because this is a fairly new piece, but work on formatting. See where you can break paragraphs better, make them a bit shorter and easier on the eyes. The rest... eh, I'll mention at another time.