Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

[🎶 Come Early Mornin' – Don Williams.]

Graduation Day dawned as the most sunny morn the island had ever seen. The birds twittered about in the fresh sky and few dolphins skated with green waves in the open sea. High calls of golden kites pierced the mornings serenity, or perhaps added to it.

Israfel opened his yellow eyes to the smell of sweet bread baking. He took a long sniff and pulled out from under the sheets. The events of the previous night poured like warm honey in his head while he was in the baths.

He was still in Bolta's Aerium—that much was clear; when he gazed out through the little light-window over the shower tap he could see the low rises of midsummer clouds. Her house's perch was so high up sometimes you had to ride on dragon's back down. The gods really did love their pride. Rafel wasn't complaining. He liked it.

"My, my, my, whatever's smelling sure smells like heav'n. Good morning, my dears." Rafel greeted the whole house as he came down his gallery bedroom freshly showered and changed. The rest of Bolta's guests had left early from the mountain house, taking flights on Griffins or such other great birds to their various dorms in campus grounds: to prepare for the great graduation ceremony.

Rafel's stare only landed on his friends as he stepped into the vast kitchen area.

"Morning, Your Eminence." Percival walked in with him, yawning wide and moving straight for the pantry. His hands just meant to close around the hot bread responsible for such delectable aroma pervading the entire house when Bolta caught his naughty arm and slapped it away.

"Nope. Not yet. We set the table first."

The friends' hostess: the dreadlocked demigod did a casual turn from her place by the oven and met Rafel's eyes by the entryway. He was leaning on his side and his redhaired head came almost up to the lintel. She offered him a wonderful smile while everyone exchanged greetings, and for Rafel, it was the best good morning of the week.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Bolta set out the fat loaf, still hot from the coals on a tray and watched Ravenna dutifully slice it up. The girl had steady hands. Alas, before she was the famous runaway princess of Eldoria, she was a wench at the Rhobine Inn on the coasts of Titans Landing.

Bolta kept her lightning-blue eyes on Rafel's weird, yellow ones as she pulled the whistling kettle off the stove to the side before finally pulling off her apron and kitchen gloves. She addressed everyone in the resplendent kitchen with an easy smile, the dawn sunlight pouring in the high windows and bathing her thick locks.

"So, last night was amazing, yeah?" Murmurs and nods went up roundabout, "I learned a great deal about how close you all are."

Rafel lifted off the doorway. "Why are we talking about last night when there's this very, beautiful morning? How is our Graduant doing?!" He made trumpeting sounds with his mouth as he rounded the opalstone island and lifted Bolta straight up into his arms. She giggled, trying to wiggle her way out.

"I'm not a graduant yet. I only take the Öath at dusk. Then you can celebrate me, okay?"

"Semantics!" Rafel tossed.

He carried Bolta straight through the adjoining door to the platform with the dining table. He set her at the head of it and said, "no more day's work for you. We'll handle breakfast."

And he led his friends as they set the table up with the sliced bread, jugs of milk, jam spreads and the huge, silver kettle. Under the miracle of that golden dawn, the friends ate with their gorgeous, blue-eyed hostess—who was about to graduate as a [Pegasus Arc] wingleader from the Corynthian Academy for Witches into the Sentinel Corps as Guardian of the Nine Realms.

The skies were just turning from cool marigold into turquoise when the seven friends all hopped on the mighty saddle with Bolta. Her dragon, Coronis was a blue mammoth in the clouds: the largest in the isles, and with Bolta clasping her reins, Rafel and his friends rode down with the daughter of Zeus to the waiting halls of Graduation.

The Aerium faded into the skies behind as a needle edifice glorious and white in the clouds.

Other Fourth-years of the college were already on ground when Bolta landed her dragon some short distance away on a hill. She left Rafel at the flight field and ran up to join with her year mates as they all made a beeline for the grand Citadel looming before them. It was a bit of a colorful procession as Rafel took Ravenna and Corazón's hands and moved for the Great Assembly Halls of Magdalena.

Aya Naamah followed behind, all smiles, with the others.

A half-hour passed and the friends didn't even feel it.

They were all seated in the clarion halls of the fine assembly as the Headmistress rose from the front row of red executive seats and took to the podium. She was so elegant in her silvery dress and glass heels as she climbed the dais. Her steps made no sound. Before her, all the students of the [C.A.W] flowed, like water. The halls were decorated in lavish inflorescence and ribbons. The best of the realms. Glitter from Florentia, diamonds from Treft, and snows from Frostholm.

The very hall sparkled. Dr. Nicara Shetty raised up her alluring, bespectacled face and spoke softly to her audience. She was an enchantment.

"Good morning, Corynthia!" She hailed her pupils.

"Hurrah!!! Hail Corynthia!" The students cheered back, ebullient from the thoughts of the ceremony about to commence.

In the front seats sat the fourth-years: embellished, ornamented, and filigreed in the colors of their factions. Their own occupied rows were just behind that of the professors. Rafel looked up from his segment where he sat with his other Phoenix Arc mates in maroon leathers and spotted Bolta in front. She was splendidly attired in her ocean-blue commando garb.

About to graduate as a Sentinel with epic control of [water force] and [spirit light], she, like all the graduating class were required to dress to suit their [Druid Orders]. As such you could see those in golden magus cowls and hats, some in midnight shawls: sorceresses and wizards. Those in flowing red graduating as healers. It was impressive, really.

She seemed to hone in on Rafel's staring, and turning from the front, Bolta blew him an air kiss.

Rafel grinned back as his eyes slid further up to the professors who were intent and listening on what Nicara was saying. She was giving the speech on valor and roles to be played by a 'good witch'. But were there any good witches really?

He tried not to laugh when he spied the professor of Dark Arts Cultivation, Dr. Emery Blood in his smaller chair. Up next to Major Tanaka, his little stature was pronounced—because the female Coach was quite brawny.

"Peitho," Rafel told his system, who he knew was forever at his beck and call, "send this message to Professor Ivoria on the left end of the Tutors row. For her ears alone. Tell her I will be requesting her help in that matter we've spoken about. It won't be long now."

[Ding!]

[Host's request is confirmed and sent.]

[The wildling professor, Doctor Ivoria Grimm has received and sends back:]

['As you wish, Israfel. I shall await your signal.']

Peitho responded this to Rafel some seconds later. He wasn't really listening to what Nicara was going on about. His system replied in [mimicry], using the voice of the Doctor of Poisons to speak in his head so that it was like it was Ivy talking to him directly.

He didn't want to cause drama at the Graduation ceremony but what better place to out and oust a lying, murdering Headmistress than at a parade where all her students and tutors were gathered.

Nicara would get no chance to lie.

And only one to tell the truth.

The sun's rays were hitting through the majestic stained glass windows in slanting arcs of a countryside fall when the fourth-years were called up and ushered to take the stage. All of them.

Your journey continues with empire

Rafel and his girls—and Percival watched as the whole graduating class of witches climbed up to the dais, the red-carpeted aisle marking their line. The diamond tree podium was moved away and the Orb was brought in. The same orb it was rumored that had crested the top of the Great Witch Mother, Magdalena's staff.

The Orb shimmered black and gold energy of light on an alien-looking stalk. All the [Fourth Year] graduants stretched their hands forward to it, and then they kneeled.

And began the Öath Couragio.

Their voices, male and female, joined as one; a strange medley of voice but sure and strong. They together said the words they had recited secretly in front of mirrors since they first stepped foot on this island's grounds, hoping to chuck them out in public. And now they could. The Oath went thus:

"I, Witch of the Nine Realms, upon Magdalena's Orb do solemly swear and take this oath as a knight of sorcery and songspire; courage and might as helm and wand, to act honorably, to protect the helpless, and behave justly to all."

With the manner of veneration to which the fourth-years took the Oath, you would think them being knighted by the Highfather and Queen. But it a way, it was a knighting, for there was no code in all the realms more chivalric than the Öath Couragio.

A generous applause resonated in the grand Hall from the other Years and flowing audience of proud parents and invited alumni. The clapping was marked with smiles and gazes of inspiration. And the newly graduated Witches of Corynthia were just rising to their feet when—

BOOM!

The doors blasted right in.

A general hush fell over the crowd as everyone in the hall turned back as one to check the source of the sudden noise, and the graduants stiffened like a still photograph for a painter. A blast of cold wind came hurling in with the shaking doors. Rafel smelled snow... and fire.

In with the frosty gale came flecks of blizzard that immediately stung the eyes of those watching, and ashes that smelled of brimstone and the deepest rings of the underworld.

A single heeled, long and very beautiful leg stepped in through the swinging doors.

[🎶 MONSTER – Jacob Banks.]

The shoes on the long legs were needlepoints, and could stab off an eye. The force of [ice vortex] which had blasted in the Hall's doors nearly took the wood off its shingles. Before Rafel even looked up those long legs, he knew he who they belonged to. He smelled her on the fucking wind.

But still, he raised his yellow eyes, and it was confirmed.

. . .his auntie.

Lilith fucking Firstborn!

"Hello, my darling boy."

Her siren voice carried on the air like a lover's kiss. Such honey in such cruelty.

All in Magdalena's decorated hall was petrified.

"Nicara, what are you waiting for?" Lilith said again as she moved further in, followed by—to the utmost agony of Ravenna—her father and just about the entire Court of Whispers. The million-copper question was what in the gods fucking eye were the Fallen doing here?

At Graduation?

Before anyone in the room could even understand why the dark Dowager had mentioned the name of the school's headmistress, Nicara stepped up from behind the fourth-years and said,

"I'm sorry."

Immediately following her bizarre statement were eight scarlet [Tiger Paws] that erupted out from her chest. Like tentacles of an octopus, they blew past the standing section of the graduating class.

Whiff!

Only a few of the graduants were quick to react and duck before the adamantine claws of Nicara's [Tigress Devil] plunged into their necks.

Nevertheless, those eight demon hands claimed the lives of most of the graduants. She beheaded them, in a single offensive swipe. Thirteen sliced heads dropped off necks and rolled down the dais, plunking with sickening thuds on the lush red carpet.

The bodies of those graduants dropped after their heads.

Everyone's jaw in the hall dropped to the floors.

"WHAT THE—"

Parents. Students. Tutors.

Incredulity laced every face in the astonished crowd. Rafel jumped up from his seat as cold sweat furrowed down his back. His eyes met that of Professor Ivoria's across the rows of seats. He gave her a silent nod. The nod.

It was his signal. The call to arms.

Dr. Ivy ripped off her white coat as plants from the garden burst through the stained glass windows and slithered to her, forming a vine webwork about her. And she screamed to the petrified hall of well-wishers. "IT'S AN ATTACK! GET UP, YOU LOT. IF YOU CAN FIGHT, STAND WITH ME. IF YOU CAN'T, FLEE!!!"

It was like everyone had their motility returned at that moment. They all burst out of their seats and rammed for any available exit. Almost everyone.

Rafel and his friends, and the fourth-years who had survived the mass beheading dived for Professor Ivoria and stood with her. . .to fight.

Rafel stood before his auntie in disbelief. Silly him. He had wanted to out Nicara so much he hadn't bothered with the bigger picture. She had beat him to it, outing her very self, literally, as a murderous, betraying, lying cunt.

Lilith took calm steps into the abandoned hall and sent Rafel a cruelly beautiful and evil smile.

"Oh, my darling boy. Did you really think you could leave me, nephew?"