In Harmony We Trust, Ryan Matthew Harker [rooftoppers .txt] 📗

of the foul army. All of the evil of AnEerth, from the four corners of the globe, traveled to answer the call to arms, a call that Harmony had sent forth upon his return from exile to his beloved home world. Men and women without honor, murderers, thieves, cutthroats, and knaves, came to swear allegiance and offer support. Sorcerers and warlocks as well as witches and magicians of the darker arts joined the army and added their individual talents to Harmony’s. Outlaw necromancers with their dead or dying servants, chaos mages capable of summoning demons and devils from the very pits of hell itself, pirates from the vast oceans sailed to shore and made the unfamiliar trek inland following the scent of plunder, the gleam of gold glinting in their bloodshot eyes.
All of these and more gathered to the shattered hills and devastated fields of the once lush and fertile land around the partially devastated planetary capitol. What was already an army of millions grew by millions more. Personal servants, hired hands, and even slaves were brought by the many minions of evil as they found places of their own among Harmony’s troops. Never in the history of the world had anyone assembled an army of this size but then never before had there been such an ambitious evil as Harmony.
The devil in disguise, Harmony had no conscience, no morals, and no sense of right or wrong. His driving force was conquest; his sole need was for the satisfaction of revenge, revenge against that damnable mercenary Jeshux, his lackey McAriicoys, and the King and Queen who ordered his capture. They were the instruments of his exile. He would destroy them all and fulfill his ultimate goal. He would rule the world of AnEerth and soon all would be his.
Barely could all the combined magic of the allies of light have stopped him before his retreat to and conquest of Earth. Now, with the sorcery he had gleaned from that world’s ancients, along with the compliment of arcane knowledge that arrived almost with every passing hour, he would be unstoppable. While his mundane troops kept the puppet king and his bitch occupied Harmony and his thaumaturgical tagalongs would tear the royal hierarchy to pieces.
Harmony sat on his throne of bones within the shielding walls of a black tent made from the skin of his victims. The vile warlock, father of death and creature of incarnate evil, looked with thinly slit eyes over his steeped fingers and a twisted smile of malevolence twisted the corners of his mouth while he contemplated his wickedness. Soon his dream would surpass the sublime boundaries of fantasy and enter the concrete realm of reality. Soon his destiny would be fulfilled.
It was almost that time. A time, Harmony felt, that had been foreordained by his birth and would reassure his rebirth into immortality. Not the paltry immortality such as was lived by such as Jeshux and his mercenaries or other naturally blessed individuals throughout AnEerth but the immortality that came from the absolute power that could only be gotten and kept through complete subservience of all life, gained only by enforcing a strict domination of will over all things, through his will, his power.
Power, immortality, conquest, obedience, power, power, POWER!
The words spun through Harmony’s mind, weaving a spell that created a vision of divinity stronger and headier than any sought by others with drugs or religion. Lost in his thoughts this magician of perversion and lust could hardly contain himself for the anticipation created by his lifelong desire being so close was so great that he could almost taste it, embrace and hold on to it, even caress it intimately like a long lost lover finally reunited after an immeasurable separation.
As he continued his meditation he forced himself to relax and closing his eyes Harmony drifted off into a light sleep where his ultimate dream continued unabated.


The King slept fitfully. He tossed and turned in his sleep, dreams of war and death disturbing his slumber.
In his dream he was dressed like the knights of eld in an ancient suit of armor. He sat astride a huge war charger, also decked in full armor, and he wielded a great flaming sword as bright as the sun.
Charging through hordes of his enemies he sundered his foes limb from limb until his armor and that of his mount ran red with blood. All around him his war cry was joined by the screams of his comrades as they died about him.
Ahead in the distance the King caught sight of his adversary, the sorcerer Harmony, and spurring his magnificent steed forward he rushed the dark magician, trampling friend and foe alike in his haste to dispatch the foul blight from his beautiful land.
Weaving such spells of savagery as never before seen Harmony seemed unconcerned by the King’s mad rush, only a devious narrowing of his eyes acknowledged that he noticed him at all. Then the King was upon him and with a triumphant smile of victory brought his flaming sword down for the death blow.
Waking with his war cry still on his lips and streaming sweat from his naked torso Zakeriah sat upright with a start. The covers were damp and tangled about him, his large goose down pillows lay discarded on the floor.
Rising up from within the shadows of the corner where she sat to watch her husband sleep, Queen Mega’N left her plain wooden chair, came to Zakeriah’s side and wrapped her arms around his moist neck.
“It’s alright,” she said. “I’m here.”
Zakeriah’s breath had been coming in great gulps as he came awake but quickly slowed to a normal rhythm as he sat cradled in his lovely wife’s arms.
“A nightmare?” Mega’N asked.
“No.” Zakeriah answered then paused to collect his thoughts. “Well some aspects were nightmarish,” he whispered. “But overall I think it was a foretelling of victory.”
“Tell me,” Mega’N whispered.
The King reiterated the details of his dream, touching only briefly on the fighting and ending with the look of surprise that had leapt into Harmony’s eyes as his sword fell for the killing stroke. He remarked upon the unique vividness of the dream, the full color and the attention to detail, he could remember the scent of blood and the scratches on the armor of his fallen comrades. All of these things were unique in that he hardly ever dreamed, never in color and hardly with such minute detail. This dream had been as if he lived it.
Mega’N listened quietly while her husband told her his dream. Over the decades she had heard many and she knew intuitively that this one was like none of the others. When he had finished she unwrapped her arms from his body and sat back to stare intently into his eyes.
“What?” Zakeriah asked for there was concern in her gaze.
Mega’N hesitated; uncertain she should voice her doubts. The King was under enough stress as it was, even more so now that Harmony sat outside the city with his vast army than after the sudden destruction of the surrounding countryside.
“What is it?” Zakeriah urged softly.
“I don’t know,” she began. “I just don’t think you should trust the message of this dream.”
“What do you mean?” he asked skeptically.
The Queen was a completely different person in private. Any that knew her would say that she was cold, insensitive, even callous, that she had a stinging tongue and an unending supply of sarcasm. Only a very few would note that she had any capacity for sympathy, compassion, or kindness. But in private, with a few close friends and most especially with Zakeriah, she was a completely different person. Soft spoken, generous, and capable of being very wise in her deductions, Mega’N was- by some- a very well liked individual.
The king in particular saw her inner self, the true person behind the ruling mask, and was in himself almost the sole inspiration for this gentle person.
Zakeriah’s skepticism softened as he perceived the turmoil his wife’s thoughts and emotions had been thrown into by the revelation of his dream and he reached out and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“Honey,” he spoke softly, his voice full of emotion, full of the love and respect he felt for this feisty little woman and her opinion. “What is wrong?”
Mega’N drew a deep breath and said, “Something doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure that your dream means you’re victorious. I don’t think that you should face Harmony.”
The King smiled but not condescendingly. “But what else could it mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I have a bad feeling about it though and I don’t think you should ride into battle.”
“Darling,” Zakeriah whispered looking into her eyes. “It is my place as king to lead my men into battle; to ride at the head of our army as it goes forth to war. We fight for the continued peace of our way of life and for the love that we all have for all of AnEerth.”
“I know,” she said lowering her eyes, ashamed for her fear but unable to retract her concern.
“And not only AnEerth,” Zakeriah continued. “We’re also fighting to free an enslaved world. Fighting for the freedom of Earth and all of its people. They don’t deserve to live under the yoke of that madman, shackled and forced to serve his whims. The Earth and its people must be saved as right now their existence is as all of us would exist if Harmony were to win. Not only us and the Earth but all of the people of any world that Harmony might choose to visit his madness upon.”
The truth of her husband’s words and the passion with which he spoke them pulled at Mega’N’s heartstrings and increased the anguish that she felt but still she persisted.
“But, my husband, if the Chosen Ones are ordained to be the downfall of the Dark Lord then how can your dream be accurate?” she pleaded. “How can it mean what it seems you think it to mean?”
A shadow of doubt crossed Zakeriah’s face but he quickly replaced it with a reassuring smile.
“I don’t know,” he conceded. “But everything will turn out all right. You know as well as I do that everything works out for the best, every time, exactly as it’s supposed to.”
“Just because something is supposed to happen does not mean you have to like it,” the Queen grumbled.
Now it was Zakeriah’s turn to hug her and offer the healing comfort of his embrace. He could feel her small body trembling though she tried to hide it.
“Perhaps not, my love,” he said. “But regardless, what will be, will be and there’s no use to fret over it. Come, let’s go back to bed. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow and we’ll both need our rest.”
“Aye,” she agreed and slipped from his grasp to retrieve the pillows from where they had fallen on the floor.
Soon they were both back in bed and it was not long before Mega’N heard the rhythmic breathing of her husband slow back to its normal sleep speed. It was, however, a long time before her thoughts ran their course and she allowed her own breathing to join his.


The sun slowly rose over the Citadel of Gontiluna as the mercenaries made their way down the stairs to stand in the middle of the great square.
Candlelite and Absinthe, back in human form, gazed at the carnage strewn up and down the stairs and all across the square. Half eaten corpses and chewed on remains of what had once been arms, legs, hands, and feet lay scattered about the ground, discarded haphazardly. Even a smattering of heads with the flesh flayed