[OSL] Jin Air OSL Grand Final - Page 28

On September 17 2011 14:55 Caladbolg wrote:
The Legend of the Fallen



Once, there was Darkness.

The Darkness spanned the heavens, suffocated the stars of their brightness, choking the breath out of every living thing, constricting all creation with the primal force of its will. Whatever stood before its advance was smothered and inevitably assimilated into itself, drowned in an ocean of stygian black. The fallen wailed, but so quietly that the wind carried off their whimpers. That was its nature, for in its deep silence nothing lives but fear itself.

The Darkness was proud. It had destroyed entire civilizations. It had overthrown the deities. It had attained godhood. Our Savior. The title echoed resoundingly throughout the universe, chanting its imperious song. The Darkness sat upon a throne made of blood, fashioned by hands of violence, and contemplated its own majesty.

Yet for all its vision, it had forgotten one thing. It had forgotten that to have vision, you needed light.

The light came suddenly, blindingly fast, striking from nowhere and everywhere, shattering the Darkness. Like a dagger of purity, it pierced through cloud and ash, purging the Darkness from all corners of the world. The light was fire made flesh, and as it seared through his being, the dark god felt for the first time what it was to truly fear. The reign of Darkness had ended in blood and fire. In rage, it howled destruction. Struck by futility and impotence, it consumed itself and descended into Madness, never to return.

Thus the first dragon was born. From the ruins of the Darkness, with a more ruinous flame.

The First was young. He was strong. And he was not alone. They were six, brothers all. The eldest was a powerful unwinged drake. He had no wings to fly, but his every step sent tremors to the hearts of men. A dragon born of time and earth. He had seen the era of darkness, had waited its end, and before the brightness of the day he laid claim to the title of the strongest. It was not to be. Time and again, the title would not be bestowed him, but not for want of trying. And not for want of strength, for he too would soon become legend.

The others followed in their elders' wake, under the shadow cast by the First and the eternal Second. A few attempted to break free. None would succeed, for they were continually dominated by the stronger dragons, the new gods: tyrants and monsters alike.

None would succeed, until today. Until the Third - who had shown so much promise, so much brilliance that he had burned too bright and too early - came to a realization. He was not born of Fire like his brother; the First, who had tested and bloodied him before his time had come. Nor was he born of Earth like the Second, who had reached glory by means of his unyielding strength. Unlike them, he was born of the Storm.

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It is said that if a second Darkness covered the land, it would be a terror unknown and unmatched in time and history. It would be a Darkness of steel and annihilation , of men who believed themselves gods because of advanced technology and ultimate weapons. Tyrants, kings, queens, and princes would fall before the march of industry and efficiency. In the wake of this would be desolation. The universe would finally fall to Order, and be left a thrall to its master, its ruler.

It is also said that nature abhors a vacuum. That all voids must be filled. When Order falls, absolute power becomes an absolute void of the powerless. As with the first Darkness, power was not to be exercised in solitude. It must be shared, lest it corrupt the soul.

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The Third smiled.

He hid his doubt well. Rising from the depths, he knew that he was nothing. He acknowledged that the expectations had rotted down because of time and failure. The damage was done. They all laughed at his expense. Fallen so far from grace, he was called a king of losers, the afterimage of a fading past. A dragon with broken wings.

The Third laughed.

He had already come to believe in his own damnation. The Second had left him in the dust, to the approval of the crowd. Clawing his way through hordes of pretenders, the Second stepped onto the platform, gold and glory within reach. They all waited with bated breath. In vain.

The Third would never forget that day.

As his brother reached for the prize, the black blade moved swiftly. The mighty but ponderous claws were the first target. Bright blood spurted from the stumps where once were fearsome arms. Incredulous, the Second hesitated to attack, and his hind legs paid for his inaction, buckling under ten thousand precise cuts and dropping the dragon seconds later. The shade was merciless. As the Second roared one last time the black blade swept through his neck, cleaving head from body effortlessly as if the diamond-hard dragon scales were crusted autumn leaves.

As a collective gasp was heard from the crowd, the shade stepped into full view. He had an emperor's bearing; tall, thin, and regal. He surveyed the gaping mouths.

Long live the king.

Slowly but surely, he reached for the starry crown resting on its velvet pillow. Deliberately, he placed it upon his head. He looked once more to the people, perched like a vulture staring at his prey. Finally, his deep grey eyes settled on another pair of eyes in the crowd.

I am not your son. My lineage is greater.

In his mind's eye, the Third saw the one in the crowd simply sigh. In acceptance or indifference, the Third could not tell.

No, you are not. My blood is that of the Storm, of chaos and glory and the truest form of victory seen only through the eyes of defeat. No, you are not my son.

The stranger in the crowd turned and began to walk away, to an imaginary horizon with reflected light. As he did so, he passed by the spot where the Third stood watching. A wise pair of yellow eyes met the young dragon's fierce, silver ones. Nothing was said, yet the immediately time stopped, and the world stood still. Finally, the stranger spoke up.

My Storm has passed. With no regret, I leave it in your hands. Do with it what you will, but never forget who you are, or where you came from, and what you stand for. You are both dragon and storm, united in purpose and power. You are KONG. Remind the multitude that this does not mean defeat, but that it stands for undying passion. A transcendent love for crafting life and stars that is second to none.

The Third coughed.

It was time. The Clown Prince had waited enough. In their vicinity, countless brave souls were laid to rest in their war for freedom. Now, new shackles had been made. Despots ran amok, tainting the craft with the music of hypocrisy. He had already slain the greatest of their number, the self-styled god of the new era. However the war was far from over. This was not about glory, for glory would lead him to the folly of pride. This was not about revenge, for revenge would lead him to the forsaken darkness. This was about love. For him and all the Kongs, love was chaos. There should be no Order in love. Love is jealous, love is strife-torn, love soars above all bitterness between past and future. Love is an innate understanding that the golden result is unimportant. Rather, it is the way you attain it. Not by treachery, but by an all-encompassing Storm of joy.

The Third, the Almighty, unfurled his bright yellow wings and leaped in the air to fulfill his destiny.