[a ghost story] prologue

he was floating before a great sphere, its magnetic powers drawing him in. he tried to resist it with his will power, but to no avail; he was just too close. the powerful melody that radiated from the sphere sang sweetly to him, tempting him to touch it, to experience the wholeness that it brings.

it was hauntingly desirable. he must touch it. he must know what it contained!

and so he reached out for it, stretching both his arms slowly, with the sensible part of himself tugging at them trying to resist. it felt like he was in a dream, floating and reaching for a treasure that is not there. but it is there. and he could almost taste its desires.

only a few more inches. come on, you can do it.

just then, a voice broke through his dream. it was distant, but it was there, breaking his concentration. it was familar, belonging to someone he had known or still knows. his mind was twirling, dizziness about to over come him. and the voice grew louder still.

"...you will be the end of us all," it said. "don't touch it or you will be the end of us all!"

the end of who? what was it talking about? he spun around, looking for where the voice came from. but no one was with him. all was dark except for the senselessly pulsating sphere that floated only a few feet before him. but the voice continued to speak.

"remember. try to remember who you are. you are our only hope. our race depends upon you."

hope? in this relentless darkness, how could anyone find hope. but the sphere could change that. it can give hope. it is the light that shines in a place of darkness. the only thing here was him and the sphere.

the sphere.

he stared hard at it, ignoring the colorful arrays of light that it generated. he tried to see past it, through it. there was something within it, something that woul be lost if he touched it. and so he stared harder and harder, a surge of power resurfacing within him.

and in a moment of triumph, he saw it: a reflection of himself. he remembered who he was. he remembered what he needed to do. and with that memory, he quickly said an enchantation and a ghostly blade appeared in his right hand.

he raised the blade high above his head as if to strike down a foe. he said a few words of prayer and in almost an instant, drove it through his heart.

a painful quake soared through his body. every nerve in his body felt the aftershock. and he let out a gasp of breath as the blade also punctured his lung.

he closed his eyes and surrender to the pain.

but he was not done.

with his left hand he reached for the sphere. the reflection within the sphere was one of horror. it was his face, but he didn't control it. it tried to become beautiful and desirable again, but his eyes were filling up with blood and that was cancelling the illusive powers of the sphere.

all of the sudden, every inch of darkness gave way to light. the sphere radiated so brightly that the ray of flames seared away at his flesh, peeling it from the bones that it was attached to. the force alone nearly blew him off his course and into what was left of the dark abyss.

it was greatly unbearable. his outstretched fingers were melting before his very eyes. every nerve in his body being burnt away and he was grinding to a halt.

but then again, he was also dying. and his people were dying. and so with whatever strength he could find, he tugged on, inching closer and closer to the sphere until his fingers...

and then darkness... the sphere was gone... the voice was gone...

he was gone. only shadow remained...