Chapter 1: Ends with Beginnings
A shadow spreads from the feet of twelve figures, roiling with fury; its dark form reflects the heat of the fires and shattering earth around them. Standing resolute, these twelve appear motionless against the turmoil that surrounds them. Fractures rend the very fabric of space and time as ribbons of reality tumble past the figures and into the infinite spiral of the void. The void to end it all, the destroyer of hopes, the eater of worlds, the end of the world.
The last vestiges of grand cities crumble and melt into the flows;, a single tear rolls from the cheek of one of the twelve, a tall and plain woman. As it falls it lifts delicately from her sad face, drifting softly towards the abyss. The figures solemnly turn to form a circle, wet eyes glistening with the sorrows of the billions of lives now lost to eternity.
Holding their heads close, the Twelve begin the final conversation of the world.
‘We must decide now, or else share in the world’s fate. We can no longer set ourselves apart.’
‘Anything we do now would be folly.’
‘I agree, what chance would we create?, You have all witnessed the Waystones.’
‘Going back now would not save this place or us from its fate.’
The fires crackle as huge fractures of land and sky roil away into the all-consuming maw of the end. Ghostly figures blink in and out of existence as time compresses and lives replay important momentous events. The seas boil and rage and the mountains are shattered and rebuilt in each instant. Cold winds blow and whip enormous storms into spiraling frenzies of jagged volcanic glass, ice, wind and rock. However, the figures stand tall and strong against the swirling gales.
‘And I say we have a chance still to save them all, repair the damage done.’
‘We may only succeed in delaying the inevitable.’
‘Or prolonging the suffering of all!’
Time begins to collapse on itself and spheres of ages past begin to dissolve and decay as bubbles rise to the surface of rapidly flowing water. Spires of molten earth crystalize and burn in the inescapable furnace.
Finally one of the twelve, an elderly man yet still tall and strong with a look of kindness in his eyes holds his hand up. The others stop and look with reverence upon this old man for he was the first of them.
‘You must all trust me, brothers and sisters,’ he whispers, the sound quiet yet carrying in the emptiness surrounding them.
‘I foresee a possibility, however remote, to restore the world and save its future’
As the world enters its death throes and begins its final collapse, the old man reveals his plan to the other eleven of his order. Finally, they stand together, and together, they begin.
Each turns their attention towards the gaping maw of the infinite void and clasped in each of their hands is a wooden totem. A wand of solid oak, a Bamboo sword, a mask of raw pine, a bramble switch, a crown of rose, a ring of elm, a flute of reed, a sculpted ebony raven, a brooch of woven sakura blossoms, a polished redwood longbow, a solid iron gum shield and a staff of pure maple.
Each of the twelve radiates power and a powerful aura envelops them, licking like tongues of purple flame around every degree of their form. Time begins to slow completely as the twelve bend and reform the universe itself, their powers coagulating and clotting the great maw of the void. Towers begin to form around them as a huge citadel of black stone heaves up around the hole. Spiraling rooms and grand halls explode into existence around them, drawing power from the twelve and materials from the void for its construction. Laboratories and libraries, galleries and gardens, beds and bridges all spring forth and slide from the imagination into reality.
Suddenly, as if it has sensed its own imprisonment through a horrific primal intelligence, the void begins to spark and erupt. Strange shadowy beasts leap forth, forming from elemental refuse and forgotten memories.
The twelve maintain concentration as they walk together towards the center of the void itself. The spiraling vortex becomes solid as they walk shimmering in reflected black. Strange abominations leap forward to stop the advance, claws, teeth and deadly bodies aimed surely at the figures encircling the void. Lightning flashes from the bramble switch as the severe, dark-haired woman wielding it leaves her place in the circle and she wades effortlessly as a dancer through the sea of strange beasts, cleaving them as she moves. Beside her the youth with the bamboo sword carves waves of fire through his enemies. The others tighten the circle and move closer, still straining against the flailing tongue of the vortex. Soon two more of the twelve move back to fight the creatures and strange forces assaulting them. A tall silvery haired man batters the shadows away with his huge shield and dissolves them with one swipe of his huge hammer, and beside him, the small frail girl with the crown of rose fractures their forms with prismatic beams of light.
Finally the others join the fray, the golden-haired regal woman wielding the oak wand swings it with careless abandon, severing limbs from their shadowy bodies as lines of silver stripe their forms. The young man dancing with his flute of reed sends blasts of ice, fire and wind with each note. A shambling mass of pine firs erupts from the mask of pine as the man beneath it transforms into a wooden tree beast, rending shadows with his long golden claws. Arrows of blood red light streak through the hearts of those chosen by the woman wielding the redwood bow, a sweeping storm of ravens decimates the creatures as the pale thin man walks through the battlefield directing its flow and the elderly woman with the ring of elm sends the creatures flying in droves with a single sweep of her arm.
In the centre of the conflict now stand the final two companions: The old man with his staff of maple and the beautiful dark haired witch with her woven sakura. Working in unison they push, pull and strain against the incalculable forces now spiraling from the small hole in the center of the hall’s inky black floors.
With a final force of will the two force the trailing blackness into the floor and working with their last ounces of strength they push against the strain of the void. The other ten join them and together they stand ready. A crystalline column begins to grow, at its core is a beautiful rainbow of colour splitting in a spiraling braid along its full length to the high roof of the chamber. With the final push, the seal is completed and the shadowy beasts drift away as the world becomes silent once more.
With their energies spent, the twelve collapse across the floor of the great room, their energies dwindling they each utter their last words and shed their last tears before they are claimed by death himself.
As the final tear rolls from the old man’s cheek and his last breath is taken, he grasps the maple staff with chalk white knuckles and prays to the universe that he has done and will do in the future enough to save this world.
The world sits silent and mourns the loss of its greatest heroes and the birth of its salvation.
Shattered Cosmos 
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