The world around him had turned
into a blur of ashes, flames, and rubble as he tossed magic and bursts of
arcane power throughout what remained of the Monk village. Richard Vandross was, to say the least,
furious. Crimson fury blazed in a stream
of fiery smoke from his mangled eye, and as he searched under every pile of
rubble and corpse, he continued to become more and more desperate and
enraged. Had they come the wrong way? Had the Orb indeed fallen into the hands of a
Dragon? Did they have a chance of
finding it before Byron and his company?
Likely not, but then again, Molis had informed him that he had created a
diversion for the Dread Knight and his group.
That might buy him the time he needed in order to catch up, locate the
Orb, and if the Dread Knight had it, wrest it from his broken body when he was
done toying with it.
"Roak! Now," he screamed, and the Shadowbeast
General appeared almost within a blink of an eye. For once, he gave a stiff, formal military
salute, his knees almost visibly buckling with fear. Vandross might just decide to destroy him to
get rid of some aggression, and Vilec Roak didn't want to think about how cruel
the one-eyed warlock might be about it.
"Roak, I have to know something, and be brutally honest,"
Vandross said, his voice now locked into the twin harmony of possession he had
used only when engaged in combat or ranting.
"Just how fucked do you think we are," he asked, turning to face
Roak full-on, his scimitar gleaming with drying blood.
"Well,
that is," Roak sputtered, nervous as all Hells but knowing that honesty
would, for once, serve him best.
"We're pretty screwed. Um,
my lord," he added, almost as an afterthought. "But all is not lost! We need now only get a fix on the Dread
Knight's location, and we will have the Orb within sight! I can send a couple of scouts ahead, through
the Shadowrealm, point them in the right direction if you can locate the Dread
Knight as you have before. It can be
done, my lord. Only give the word,"
Roak said, almost feverish to be away from the warlock.
"Give
me but a moment," Vandross said, sheathing his weapon and trying to regain
his composure. He focused his efforts on
attempting to feel outward with his magic, sense Byron's energy, his soul. He found scattered remnants of where the
undead warrior had been throughout the mountains, from the monastery to the
east, to the path his own men had avoided due to the collapse. But it was more concentrated there, down
where the bodies of four of his own magic users had fallen to their
deaths. And on that small jut, in the
side of the mountain, was a cave opening.
Inside, he mentally envisioned a Black Dragon, hanging its head in shame
and disgust. It held its right claw up
to the dim light filtering down through the cracks in the cave ceiling, to
reveal a mangled, nearly destroyed stump.
Vandross
whipped his energy back into his body, knowing now what had happened. Somehow, Byron and his group had found a way
down into the Dragon's cave, and managed to best it in a confrontation that
clearly wasn't entirely physical. If it
had been, the Dread Knight would not have left the Dragon alive. However, Dragons were often fond of playing
games with their intruders, and this game had obviously gone sour. Most likely, the Dragon had broken one of his
own rules, and Byron had rather violently objected to his breach of those
rules. More important than any of that,
however, was the lingering trace of magic on the jut. Byron had managed to teleport himself away
from the jut, somewhere not too far away.
Vandross cleared his mind's eye, attempted to get a lock on the energy,
and when he had it, he followed it as far as he could. Byron had reappeared at the entrance to the
mountains, where his company had camped before.
Perhaps someone in his company had taken a severe injury from the Black
Dragon. That would please Vandross
greatly, but he didn't want to get distracted.
He followed Byron's aura another half-day's travel in the blink of an
eye, and found him and his group resting in a wooded area. The Dread Knight himself only interested
Vandross for a few moments; the cask in the middle of the company, next to the
fire they had burning for warmth. He
watched as Byron opened the lid for just a moment, only long enough to shake
his skull in what appeared to be disgust.
For
that brief moment, Vandross felt the Orb of Eden’s Serpent.
"Son
of a bitch," he muttered as he drew himself back into his body and
surroundings. "Son of a
bitch," he screamed, hurling a spear of black vitriol through a pair of
Khan warriors scrounging for loot. Their
bodies shivered and their mouths foamed with saliva and blood, their veins
showing black through their thin orange fur.
They quivered for a moment longer, then erupted in a shower of blood and
some tar-like substance. A single rib
clipped Vandross's shoulder, but he didn't take notice of it, or the welt it
immediately left. He only had room in
his mind for one thing; murder. Byron
would not be foolish enough to keep the Orb with himself, and in the cask,
Vandross would not be able to track it.
Additionally, if Byron had the Orb taken by someone else he trusted to
someplace secret, Vandross would have little or no chance of ever finding
it. He had run out of options, and
decided to take the one risk he had been truly afraid of. "Roak," he shouted, and the
Shadowbeast General was immediately at his side. "Never mind the scouts, and never mind
the last Orb. It is lost to us. The Dread Knight has it in his possession,
and will no doubt have it taken away if he reaches friendly territory."
"Then,
my lord, what is your intent," Roak asked, taking note of the tense stance
the warlock had taken, and the apparent concern reflected in his wrinkled
brow.
"I
will use the only option available. I
will consult with the other Orbs, and they shall undertake the ritual necessary
to awaken the Glorious Mother of Destruction!
When that moment comes, I will have enough power to crush all who oppose
me and my armies! There will be nothing,
no one, who can stand against us Roak!
Now, leave me be. I have to
concentrate, focus on this. It will be
dangerous," he said, giving Roak a murderous glance. "Take all but a select few, those who
have a good deal of blood in their bodies.
I may need some sort of collateral for this ritual. Better somebody else's blood than my
own." Vilec smiled in response to
Vandross's, though there was a hint of insanity in the warlock's grin. So far as Roak was concerned, he would gladly
make a few sacrifices if it meant he could get away from Vandross. For perhaps the first time in his entire,
eternal existence, Vilec Roak, Shadowbeast and demon, prayed for the mercy of
the heavens, and he didn't care which god answered his call. No mortal in existence had ever left him
feeling so afraid and ashamed of what he was as the warlock Richard
Vandross. Even Tanarak of Sidius had
possessed a veil of sanity and control; with the Glorious Mother of
Destruction, Vandross would tear the entire world asunder just to get at the
Dread Knight Byron of Sidius.
The
General darted away, leaving the task of hand-selecting the unfortunate few to
Colonel Molis, who immediately chose three Khan and a pair of pudgy mages from
Sergeant Robin's troupe. He nearly had
to drag them away, because Roak had heard him inform them that they were
required to be "honored sacrifices to the will of lord Vandross," as
Molis had put it. He had even lashed one
of the huge Renkas with an energy whip until the groveling demon huddled in a
heap next to the other panic-stricken warriors.
Molis encased them in a huge cage of glowing red iron, bars levitated
out of the surrounding rubble. Vandross
nodded and thanked Molis, then ordered him to return to Mount Toane with Roak
and the rest of the force. The
half-demon approached Vilec Roak, whose only thought was once again
escape. He feared the half-demon Colonel
on the same primal level as he did Vandross, though now that he had time to
think it through, Molis's company was much better for his general well being at
the time. He flashed a fake, toothy
smile at Molis nervously, and the Colonel stood straight and saluted.
"General
Roak, sir," rasped the half-demon.
"Your orders?" A military
man to the core, Roak thought with an inward sigh of relief. Follow orders, keep your nose clean, and
don't draw too much attention to yourself.
He liked that about Molis, at least.
The half-demon, as long as he was employed in a rank beneath his own,
would not be a threat. He had control so
long as Vandross kept an orderly army around him. But what would happen to the order of things
once the warlock achieved the Glorious Mother of Destruction? Would he bother with rank and file, or would
he simply issue orders to his soldiers en masse, and to the Hells with
regulations and order? He shuddered to
think about what would happen in that instance.
Molis would likely mow him down just to prove that he was the most
valuable slaughterer in the army, curry favor with his lord! Then again, without structure, perhaps the
soldier-like half-demon would just leave, and seek some other organization to
assimilate himself into. Yes, thought
Roak, that would make sense. And it
would let him live longer on the mortal coil.
"Can
you create a teleportation rift large enough to pass all of us through, get us
back to Mount Toane, Colonel?"
Molis nodded without a word.
"Good. Make it so," he
said, receiving another sharp salute.
Molis muttered in an ancient and dead tongue under his breath, opening a
breach in the air before him. Through
the rift, Roak could see Mount Toane, his home.
And, perhaps he thought, the good Colonel's birthplace. He would do some more digging when he
returned, find that chamber he had been told about, try to unveil the secrets
of Molis's existence. Of course, he
would have to give Molis something to do in order to distract him, but he had a
dozen choices where that was concerned.
Without another thought on the matter, however, he ordered the
expeditionary force through the rift, and went through only when all others had
left, including Molis. The rift wouldn't
hold for long, but he had to take one last look at the man he had chosen to serve,
and saw that Vandross was knelt on the ground, his head resting against his
chest. In a way, he hoped that Richard
Vandross would fail in his efforts to awaken the Glorious Mother of
Destruction. As silently as a shadow, he
slipped through the rift, and was gone.
The
mirrors in the grand entrance hall of his soul had become of the variety one
might find in a modern funhouse, warping and distorting Richard Vandross's
reflection beyond recognition. In a few,
he even had sprouted black, angular wings like a fallen angel, and his entire
visage had become blurred and vaguely inhuman.
But these were things one might observe if he or she passed through
without the single-mindedness of the warlock.
He had a mission, an objective, and he would not spare time to notice
such subtleties. He wanted only one
thing now, and it lie on the other side of those huge, obsidian double
doors. Wait a moment, he thought,
finally coming to a stop only a few short steps from the doors. They had always been wooden before; now, they
appeared to be little more than two huge slabs of stone, arcane symbols etched
into their surfaces and glimmering the same crimson light that emanated from
his ruined eye when the Orbs and his fury took hold of him. What was this? Some further alteration to his soul? Shaking his head to clear his mind, he thrust
the doors open and stalked across the narrow bridge, over the pit of fire, to
the central dais. The Orbs'
manifestations were gathered, and they had used a series of chains to pull the
casket upright. Within, something had
begun to rattle and groan, almost like a rabid animal awaiting prey foolish
enough to get close.
"Gracious
host," Power said to him, lifting the thin black veil from over her
face. It too had changed since his last
visit; she now looked more like a hag than the visage of beauty he had become
accustomed to. Was this her true
appearance? "We have heard your
thoughts, and acknowledge your wishes," she said, waving her arm before
herself. Once again, she appeared to be
the young vixen he had first seen in the Orb of Eden’s Serpent's
manifestation. "We are prepared to
begin. You need only give the
word." Out of the corner of his
good eye, Vandross saw that the other manifestations were undergoing a return
to their first appearance. Vengeance,
the spider-like Orb, had been rotted and grotesque, more so than usual. Spite, the man-serpent, had appeared for a
moment to have four or five heads, each biting at the other. And Deceit, the shadowy form of himself, had
been black-winged and gangrenous, with boils festering all over his face. But as he turned to look at them each in
turn, they resembled their original manifestations. He should have felt ill at ease; he didn't
care anymore, though. What he wanted
more than anything now was only a few feet away from him; in actuality, within
his very body and soul. He needed only
gain access to it.
"Then
let's get to it," Vandross growled, tossing off his cape and removing his
upper armor. He knew the armor wasn't
really there, but he had to immerse himself in the experience. If he lost himself in the ritual, he would be
able to help the other Orbs' manifestations do whatever they needed to in order
to awaken the Glorious Mother of Destruction.
"Where should I stand," he asked Power, who graced him with a coy
smile.
"Right
there, great host," she said, pointing to a spot only a foot away from the
rattling casket. Vandross moved slowly
over in front of the object, his dark blue tunic shirt clinging to his sweaty
chest. He felt a little nervous, but he
wasn't about to stop now. On the front
of the casket were various strange symbols, one of which in particular held his
interest. It was a single crimson,
baleful eye. The sight of it did not
make him think of his own eye, however.
The sight of that eye made him think, strangely, of other worlds. What other worlds, he thought? There is only this world, here and now!
"Now, Richard
Vandross, cross your arms over your chest, and free your mind, your heart, your
body. Let the Glorious Mother know what
it is you desire! Let the hatred for
those who oppose you burn through your veins, and let that fury be known,"
Power said, her voice turning cold and steely.
She was almost distant in his ears; he had already closed his mind's eye
and crossed his arms, dug down the darkest places of his being. He saw there the potential for rule, the lust
for power and hunger for the fear of others, and for the briefest moment, he
inwardly shuddered. Had he always been
this way, a small voice seemed to ask.
Yes, I have been, he thought in response, grinning from ear to ear. Those too weak to rule must be ruled! Those weak enough to fear should have
something to truly be mortified by! And
why not him?
"What,
about, blood, Power," Vengeance shlurped in his constantly drowning
voice. Vandross hadn't realized until
now just how annoying the spider-beast was when it was speaking.
"There
is plenty available, my brother," she rasped to the spider-beast. "Can you not sense them standing and
huddling near us? Lord Vandross has
prepared an ample supply for the ritual to be carried out. Now, let us begin." The four Orbs' manifestations stood in a
semi-circle around Vandross and the Glorious Mother of Destruction. They prepared several pots of a strange green
substance and set them before them, chanting in a low, guttural language while
weaving arcane symbols in golden and crimson light in the air. The dais they stood upon began to rumble and
shake, and small portions began dropping off into the magma below. Richard Vandross felt bits of himself
dropping like those chunks of stone, peeling away like an inner shell, and he
realized that it was his last line of magical defenses dropping away. He would be completely vulnerable not only
here, but in the outside world. Had he
requested any guards, he wondered. No,
he hadn't, and from the strange way Vilec Roak had been inching away from him,
he doubted the Shadowbeast General would have been willing to take on that
duty. Perhaps if he had asked Colonel
Molis...
No,
he thought vehemently as he tried once again to clear his mind. Something had begun to severely bother him
about the half-demon, as though he were somehow directly responsible for not
only the demon portion of Molis, but the mortal host as well. But once again he cleared his mind, opened
himself to the Orbs.
The first wave of
energy that came from the Glorious Mother of Destruction struck Vandross like a
stone-mason church or castle wall falling on a rat. A small, undernourished rat at that, he
thought as he nearly fell flat on his back.
For a moment, as he opened his eye, his vision blurred into a blend of
his inner soul and the outside world.
The sacrifices Molis had arranged were already being torn apart by
strange black, wraith-like beings whose source seemed to be attached to his own
chest. He closed his eye and brought
himself back within his soul's inner sanctum, and the volume of the Orbs'
chanting had risen to echo through the chamber like a marching cadence barked
by a maddened beast. Vandross risked a
quick look up at the chained casket containing his ultimate prize, and saw that
the chains were whipping back and forth and another shock wave was slowly
erupting directly towards him. He
attempted to brace himself for it, but recalled the strange sensation from
before; he had no magical defenses at the moment! If he survived this ritual, he would hardly
be in good enough shape to eat a bowl of soup!
Something
like a banshee wail ripped through his ears as the second wave of power ripped
through him, and he could feel the slow trickle of blood leaking out of
them. He clasped his hands to the side
of his head, trying to block out the otherworldly noise, but to no avail. Instead, he threw his own head back and let
out a shriek of his own, one of pain and fury, predator and prey. After roughly three minutes of listening to
his own wailing, he stopped, noticing that the noise had stopped. He got himself prepared once again, but all
had gone silent. He opened his eye, and
saw that Vengeance had scuttled forward on all eight legs, and was removing one
of the chains from the casket. There
were five in all, one for each and every single Orb. Vandross himself, the warlock realized, would
have to take care of the fifth one in Despair's place.
There
was little he could have done, however, to be ready for the third shock wave of
power. A small, blue streak of lightning
shot from the lid of the casket and struck him squarely in his mangled eye. His body in both his inner sanctum and the
outer world was wracked with convulsions, and foam began to drool out of the
sides of his mouth. He could smell the
small hairs on his neck burning, singed into small, curled wisps. Thankfully for him, the energy lasted only a
few seconds, and his body slumped forward, his head striking the stone dais
hard. He pulled himself upright again,
and saw Power removing a chain. The
casket trembled a little, but had otherwise remained still since the first wave
of energy. Had there been a reason, he
would have worried, but the following hits from the Glorious Mother of
Destruction had given him no reason to believe that it was dormant. Rather, it seemed that with each expulsion of
energy, the casket and the power within was calming, becoming less. Vandross reached down within himself for a
moment, and detected the power he had felt strike him waiting there, scrambling
to be released for the slightest reason.
He was indeed receiving the power he sought; it was simply turning out
to be much more painful than he had imagined it would be. It wasn't as though he wouldn't survive, he
would. But he was going to be in a lot
of pain afterwards.
Another
shock wave, another chain removed. The
fourth shock wave, the fourth chain removed.
Finally, as the fifth wave of power ripped through Richard Vandross's
body and soul, he hardly felt anything more than a slight buzz, as from
drunkenness. He rose to his feet, his
body wrapped in a shroud of blue and red magic, his eyes burning with hellfire. The patch over his right eye had been burnt
off, and a single point of darkness marred the yellow and crimson heat escaping
from the socket. His body felt feather
light, and he stalked forward to the casket, grabbing the only chain attached
to the casket's lid. With a single
heave, he tossed the lid over the edge of the dais, and as it splashed into the
magma below, a spear of darkness ran Vandross through. For a moment, he thought he was being
attacked, that he had loosed some sort of trap.
But as the shadow weapon pulled itself into his flesh, he realized that
this was the final step, the ultimate moment.
It had worked! He now possessed
the power of the Glorious Mother of Destruction; and with it, he vowed inwardly
as he looked at his real world surroundings, laughing at the sight of the
destroyed sacrifices, he would bring such horror to the world that none would
go unscathed.
Upon
his breastplate now stood a new emblem.
It was a set of blue claws joined by a single line connecting their
tops. As if grasped in those claws, a
crimson eye stared sightlessly from his armor.
Perhaps
it was the breeze blowing in from the northwest, or perhaps it was the
sensation that an eye was upon him; regardless of the reason, Byron wanted the
Orb destroyed more than ever. The others
in the company continued to sleep restfully, perhaps for the first time in a
long while. They had been harassed,
harried and rushed into conflict and confrontation ever since meeting the Dread
Knight. One of their party members had
died in the process, and two had found eternal love in one another. Alex, the Ki Fairy, had found a friend who he
felt he could continue on with after Byron's inevitable departure from the
mortal coil. It seemed that despite the
damage done to their company, they would all go on to see this battle to the
end. The fate of the lands of Tamalaria,
and perhaps even those lands that lie across the great blue seas, rested in
their hands.
Good
lord, Byron thought with a sigh, what a cliche.
Such words could be read in any of the corny fantasy tales he had
pursued as a youth. But they might, in
his circumstances, be true. If he didn't
stand against Richard Vandross, would anyone else in the land be able to defy
him? Possibly Rimzan of Gray, but the
Paladin had been injured in his battle with Tanarak of Sidius, and hadn't gone
into battle since the day he exited Mount Toane with Tanarak's head gripped in
his scorched gauntlet. There seemed to
be few more fitting individuals than himself or those who accompanied him now
to deal with Vandross and his armies.
Another chill breeze blew through the camp as he turned his thoughts
aside to a more personal matter. What of
his relationship with his lord, Oun?
Would he be able to atone for his crimes as Byron of Sidius? Or was he doomed to suffer below in the
Hells, forever banished from any god's domain?
Would his questioning of his own faith bite him in the ass? He believed that other gods existed aside
from Oun, but he had never chosen to accept any of them as his own, never made
vowed allegiance to them. Would they in
turn condemn him? What were the right
answers, and furthermore, was he asking the right questions? He had no way of knowing anymore.
The
hulking Dread Knight rose and approached Shoryu and Ellen, waking them for
their watch shift. The couple dragged
themselves groggily to their feet, rubbing the remnants of sleep from their
eyes. The company would be well
protected and warned should anything occur, and so Byron let himself lay down
near the fire and drift off into slumber.
He knew even before he fell fully asleep that he would have another
conversation with Voice this night. As
he regained his senses in the cemetery, he saw that the burial plots were well
tended and groomed, and the headstones looked new. And in the black void above him, he thought
he could make out a hint of light streaming down to cut through the fog that
usually blanketed the cemetery grounds.
"The place looks good," he whispered, almost to himself.
-Thank
you,- said Voice from the air around him.
-I have attempted to make things more hospitable for your arrival. We have something to discuss, Byron.-
"I
would assume as much," Byron mused as he sat cross-legged by the lone tree
in the whole cemetery. The ground was
still fresh from his battle with the Dreamstalker, perhaps because he wanted it
to be. A reminder that he was no longer
the fearsome General of Tanarak's armies.
"We don't exactly have tea and biscuits when I'm here, now do
we?" Voice chuckled softly in the
background.
-You
do not often use humor, Byron. You are
good at it. It is something I have never
been very adept with. Perhaps we should
discuss that which I summoned you here for.-
"Yes,
let's," Byron said, leaning back.
-The
one known as Vandross has unleashed an incredible power unto himself, with the
aid of the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent already in his possession. But his control over it is hazardous, at
best. If he obtains the fifth Orb of
Eden’s Serpent, he will not only possess the power of the Glorious Mother of
Destruction, but he will have full control over it. That must not be allowed to happen,
Byron. You must destroy the Orb when the
sun rises. It is the best time to do
it.- Terrific, Byron thought
grimly. We'll just be awake enough to
risk destroying ourselves for this thing.
He had taken a short peek at the Orb before rousing Shoryu and Ellen
from their slumber, and knew that the company could indeed destroy it
themselves, but the effort would leave them as weak and vulnerable as newborn
kittens. But he knew now how it could be
done, for Voice had already related to him how to do it.
"Let's
just get one thing straight. When we do
this, the power of this Orb of Eden’s Serpent will be utterly vanquished,
correct? No chance it's going to flow
through the realm to Vandross, right?"
-Of
course not,- Voice said, almost sounding indignant. -I know about these things, Byron. I am a Keeper, and have been in existence
since long before your birth. I have
served many souls, some I am not so proud of.
I have experience in matters concerning the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent, from
both sides of the struggle. You needn't
worry about my knowledge of these things being false or less than it should
be.- Byron nodded, reassured by Voice,
his Keeper.
"Well
then, what else is there to talk about?
Unless that was all, because trust me, I've had a bad feeling about
Vandross's progress for most of the evening."
-I
have sensed this. Your emotions are well
placed, Byron. You will see the results
of his newfound power before you reach Mount Toane, Byron. Cities shall be razed to the ground, and many
thousands shall die before you put Vandross in his grave. But rest assured, there are armies forming to
defend the land, and aid you in your march on Mount Toane.-
"I
seem to recall that not helping much the first time I marched into Mount
Toane. In point of fact, that's exactly
how I ended up this way," he said, growling at Voice as he spread his arms
wide to indicate his undead condition.
"What have you to say about that?"
-It
is possible that you were always meant to become thus,- Voice said
cryptically.
"I
beg your pardon? I was a faithful
follower of Oun! Even now I am
attempting to serve my lord, but I receive little more than more pain for my
troubles! One of my allies lies dead in
a shallow grave because of this quest.
Was that meant to be?!"
Byron took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Voice hadn't done anything to him, after
all. He shouldn't lose his temper with
the Keeper. "My apologies,
Voice. I have seen much that tries my
patience and faith."
-Yet
both you retain, Byron, and that is well.
It proves you to have great wisdom, for few greater tests can be made
for you.-
"Well,
pardon me if I harumph at that, my good friend," Byron said with what ire
he could muster, trying to remain friendly.
"I feel like I'm tilting at windmills out there, Voice," he
yelled emphatically. "I have
regained the flesh on my hands, the sensation in my nerves, yet not my true
nature, my whole body! So long as Vandross
lives, I cannot be whole. Yet when he
dies, so too, do I die," he added, whispering his words as though to
himself. But he knew better; he knew the
Keeper could hear every word uttered here, and some not uttered.
-Yes,
that is quite a conundrum. I believe
that is what you mortals refer to as a paradox.
You know, damned if you do, damned if you don't?- Byron chuckled softly to himself.
"And
you say you have no sense of humor. I
simply want this all to be over with, Voice.
I am prepared for my judgment before my god," he said, standing
erect. "And by the way,
Voice," he added as his figure began to fade, his shoulder being nudged by
someone so as to awaken him for the trial ahead of destroying the Orb of Eden’s
Serpent. "I have a better paradox
for you."
-Truly? And just what is that?- Byron began walking toward the entrance gates
of the cemetery, his figure becoming translucent.
"If
you want peace," he said, unsheathing the Morning Glory as he stood to his
feet in the waking world. "You must
prepare for war!"
The
members of the company stood around the Dread Knight, staring at him with
puzzled gazes. "Um, you feelin' all
right gov," Morek asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Just
fine, master Morek. I know you're all
probably very tired still, from the struggles we have encountered, and the
terrain we have most recently slogged through.
We have been tired before, however, and now is the time to take the
action we know we must. We must take
steps to destroy the Orb of Eden’s Serpent." Byron placed the cask in the center of the
group, who formed a circle around it. He
quickly removed the lid and stepped back, and all of them watched in wonder as
the black artifact of arcane power and knowledge hovered in the air about
them. "We must all use every
resource at our disposal, but we must be careful not to harm one another. For those reasons, James Hayes and I shall
stand across from one another. Our
Paladin powers are great, but each of us is defended against them by having
them ourselves."
"No,
Byron," Shoryu said, shaking his head vehemently. "You may have the powers and soul of a
Paladin, noble and pure, but your body is still the product of Tanarak's black
magic! The risk to you is
enormous!"
"The
risk to the lands of Tamalaria and the entirety of the mortal realm is greater
if we do not make this effort," Byron growled in a clipped tone. "Now, Ellen and Selena shall take up
opposite sides," he said, shifting the circle around some more. "And lastly, Morek and Shoryu. Ellen and Selena, you shall each use your
greatest powers on the Orb. But
remember, no spells that would put any of the rest of us at risk. I understand the difficulty in that for you,
Selena," he said, looking directly into the Pyromancer's eyes. "Pyromancy is especially deadly against
Gaiamancers, and many of your spells affect entire areas. Simply channel that extra mana into a single
target spell, understood?" Both
Human Pyromancer and Elven Gaiamancer nodded, looking to each other for
reassurance. "Morek, you have
several sets of enchanted gloves, right?"
Morek nodded. "Any that will
protect you against all the magic that's going to be getting hurled at this
thing?"
"I'll
have to put on two sets, but one is skin-tight.
Shouldn't be any problem."
"Good. Once we begin, you start wailing on that
thing as hard as you possibly can," Byron said, talking faster as he
went. Something was stirring deep within
him, some snake coiled in the shadows of his soul. The Orb, he realized, was trying to call out
to him, to that which Tanarak of Sidius had created within him. It was trying to coax him into absorbing it,
as he had feared all along it might.
Such wondrous power it could bring him, it seemed to say. Power enough to reclaim his Human body, power
enough to take back his home! Power
enough to destroy Richard Vandross and take the remaining Orbs for
himself! No, he thought to himself,
calmly, patiently. He continued
speaking, slowing down, preparing himself. "Shoryu, from opposite Morek,
you shall volley your arrows at the Orb.
Make certain they are mystically charged before firing them. We have little or no room for error here,
people! Let's get this done!"
"What
else is there, Byron," squeaked in Alex from Selena's shoulder. "I'm a pretty good judge of lies or
half-truths. After all, they're the
majority of my conversational repertoire.
You're leaving something out here," he said, folding his tiny arms
across his chest. Byron tried to smile.
"You
are right as ever about that, my diminutive friend. Indeed, there is one thing more to be done,
but I shall shoulder that responsibility myself. When at last the Orb begins to crack under
our collective energies, which we must use all of, by the way, one must take
the Orb in their hands. They must
channel the convictions of their faith, their energy, and allow their very soul
to touch that of the Orb itself. When
this is done, I shall reject the Orb, and all it stands for. That, shall seal its fate. Now, are we all on the same page
here?" Everyone around him
nodded. "Very good then, my
friends. Let us begin!" Without hesitation, Ellen and Selena began
channeling blasts and concussions of their own respective schools of magic into
the very core of the Orb. Morek launched
himself forward, gloves slamming into the Orb of Eden’s Serpent, sweat pouring
down off of his brow from his proximity to both the artifact's force, and the
magic being focused at it. His blows
hammered into the Orb, causing waves of force to blow through it and into
Shoryu on the other side, pushing the Cuyotai backwards. But his aim was exact, and each mystic
arrowhead plunged into the Orb's outer surface.
Standing
opposite James Hayes, Byron began chanting low in his chest, summoning up the
courage and strength of conviction he would need in order to resist the Orb's
call to his darker nature. Hayes himself
was already blasting the Holy Cross spell into the Orb with as much magical
amplification as he could muster. With a
Q Mage in the group, the effort might have been made easier; their powers
mostly expanded those of others. But the
company would have to do what they could on their own. And thus far, it appeared to be working well
enough. The Orb of Eden’s Serpent had
developed a single crack in it, and when Byron focused his shaft of holy light
through it, several more appeared, accompanied by the sound of glass
shattering. Small sliver fragments of
the Orb clattered to the ground, and the company poured more of themselves into
the effort with each passing moment.
They pummeled the Orb as hard as they could, but it became clear to
Byron that Ellen Daires was waning, and quickly. With all the Pyromantic power flowing out of
Selena's body, Ellen was struggling just to keep striking at the Orb and
defending herself from the overflowing energy on Selena's side.
Byron
drove his cannon of power into the Orb with as much effort as he could, finally
cutting the stream off and drawing the Morning Glory. It was, after all, a weapon of enormous
Paladin power, and channeling his own power through it would take less energy
from him. With a single war cry and a
leap, he brought the blade down directly into the center of the Orb, stabbing
it from above. The waves of darkness
stopped flowing off of the Orb, and as the others of the company fell to the
ground, burdened with fatigue beyond anything they had known from such a short
period of time, Byron slid down and clutched the Orb between his bare
hands. His metal gauntlets lay on the
ground behind him, abandoned when he began the ritual with the others. For a moment, he felt nothing. Then, however, he found himself once again in
the cemetery.
"Voice,"
Byron shouted to the void above him. The
sky in his inner sanctum had gone dark as pitch, and lines of crimson light
stitched themselves back and forth in the air.
"Voice, where are you?! Is
the Orb affecting you?!"
-It
is not-, the Keeper said from the darkness.
-I am quite fine. You must do
what you need to, and do it soon, though.-
Byron looked down, and saw that he still held the Orb in his hands.
)You
needn't do anything he tells you, Byron of Sidius,( another voice intoned, its
rumble and timber coming from the artifact that Byron held tightly between his
hands. )You are Byron of Sidius! You are the great and powerful General of the
armies that once swept over this miserable land! Claim me, claim my power for your own! Together, we can destroy the one who hosts my
brethren, and take them as well! You
will be host to the Glorious Mother of-
"No,"
Byron said, pressing his hands in towards the Orb, attempting to crush it as he
would strangle Vandross if the warlock were before him. "You cannot tempt me!"
)Why
are you so adamant? Perhaps, because you
know that what I say is true! Think of
the power, Byron of Sidius!(
"I
am that foul creature NO MORE," Byron screamed as he hurled the Orb
skyward. As it hovered aloft over his
head, Byron was assaulted by a wave of images in his mind's eye, images of his
time in service to Tanarak of Sidius. He
stood atop a pile of bloodied, broken bodies, the flesh torn from the bones and
fed to the lowly demons and beasts he commanded. A heart, still beating from the woman's chest
he had torn it from, squeezed over his skull, the blood absorbed into his
bones. The lust, the power, the rush of
the kill, all of it flooded back to him in a moment's time. He could hear voices pounding at him, rushing
him from every side, commanding words of power, all.
"I
am your master," he heard from his left.
For a moment, his body was wracked with pain, and his arms flailed about
his body as a surge of black lightning poured into him. His vision cleared just enough to see a
vision of Tanarak of Sidius, his cruel, long face glaring at him from behind
his darkened hood. "You shall obey,
Byron! Now, kill them! Kill them all," the warlock hollered in
his broken, raspy voice. A long,
bone-thin arm, as pale as the Reaper's horse, pointed at a small stone church,
dozens of armed Paladins standing out front to defend the women and children
inside. In a flash of light and nearly a
loss of all forms of consciousness, Byron found himself looking at a smoldering
pile of stone and blood. Bones jutted in
awkward, unnatural angles from plates of ruined armor and scraps of flower
dresses, the sort worn by young girls.
"Enough,"
Byron shouted, clearing his own vision and glaring once again at the hovering
Orb of Eden’s Serpent.
)How
is it that you resist? Why?!(
"We,
who stand against the darkness, shall see it banished by our holy light,"
Byron exclaimed. "No matter the
cost!" With a war cry that made
several of the lesser gods shudder in their respective heavenly abodes, Byron
thrust his left palm toward the Orb, and unleashed the most potent Holy Cannon
spell he could muster. Another scream,
filled with hatred and pain, agony so acute that the world itself stopped for a
brief moment in time, shredded the air.
The smell of brimstone swept through the air, filling Byron's lungs with
the scent of the Hells, and his mouth with the taste of curdled blood. A moment later, the entirety of his mental
environment went black like the void around the cemetery, and he could hear,
see, smell, feel and taste nothing. Am I
dead, he wondered. Is this it? Is this the limbo to which my soul has been
damned?
-Do
not worry, Byron. You are safe, you are
alive. You are not dead,- said Voice
from the darkness. -However, you are,
broken. The power you used has,
backfired somehow.-
"What
do you mean," Byron asked of the darkness, feeling a tad worried, but also
sensing a slight breeze blowing over his body.
He would be waking up soon.
-The
dark powers you once possessed, are now less than they were. You shall not be able to fully rely on black
magic anymore. Your powers, as a Dread
Knight, are fewer than they once were.
Your powers as a Paladin, however, are returning more fully. Do you understand?-
"Understand,"
Byron said, almost gasping with exhilaration.
"By Oun, yes I do! I am less
the creature of Tanarak's design and more myself once again! This is excellent news!"
-It
is also a double-edged sword, Byron,- Voice continued, not missing a beat, not
letting Byron take too much comfort in his own revelation. -Without that dark power so very ingrained in
your makeup, the powers of Richard Vandross and his followers will damage you
more thoroughly than it has before. You
shall have to be cautious, and you shall have to be completely merciless with
those who deserve it. You understand, of
course.-
"Indeed,"
Byron said as Shoryu and James Hayes helped him to his feet. "I understand."
It
began as a twinge in his head, and rapidly grew into a roar as Richard Vandross
felt the fifth Orb of Eden’s Serpent's elimination from existence. It didn't matter, he thought with a wry grin. It was over and done with, and there was
nothing he could, or wanted, to do. He
didn't need the Orb; he had possession of the Glorious Mother of
Destruction. He had returned to the
throne room in his home of Mount Toane, and had begun a sweep of the inner
chambers after sitting in his throne a while, thinking of new methods of
torture and cruelty. He was looking for
something very specific, but he couldn't think about what it was. Irritated that he had forgotten the purpose
of his query, Vandross sought out a handful of Shadowbeasts and turned them to
dust with a lash of a crimson energy whip.
Nobody important, he thought to himself.
Once again he set out to find the source of his continued discomfort.
But
he couldn't get that thought back, despite his continued searching. Perhaps, he thought in a moment of clarity, I
should just get some rest. After all, he
had been through quite an ordeal. He had
taken the ultimate power of the Orbs of Eden’s Serpent into himself, and
without the fifth and final Orb in his position. He had unleashed only a small fragment of that
power into the world, and he hadn't even rested or eaten anything since his
return to Mount Toane. Yes, he thought
to himself, his vision clearing and his thoughts falling into order. Yes, some food, a bath, and then some
sleep. That would do him good. Leaving the tunnels of Mount Toane behind, he
snapped his fingers and teleported instantaneously to his bedchambers. He opened the stone door and poked his head
out, seeing a pair of Khan sentries posted near the end of the tunnel. "You there, you two! Come here," he shouted, beckoning them
to him with a wave of his hand. The two
tiger-men stomped up to the open door, and gave Vandross a stiff salute.
"M'lord,"
they said in unison. "What do you
require of us," said the Sergeant, being of higher rank.
"Food,
my good man," Vandross said in as pleasant a voice as he could
muster. "And some fresh clothes, if
you could manage it. The same style and
appearance as these," he said, referring to his own raiment.
"Of
course, my lord," said the Khan as he sent off his lower man. "Something troubles you of late, my
lord," said the Khan, his tone indicating to Vandross that this was
territory that he would rather not tread on.
But, the tiger-man was not accustomed to fear of any kind, it seemed; he
bore the markings of a clan Chieftain, and Khan Chieftains were fairly
notorious for their willingness to go into battles they clearly couldn't
win. "I know not what it is, but it
has made you rather, well, disagreeable for the men."
"What
do you mean," Vandross asked, curious to know what it was exactly that was
bothering so many of his minions. He had
noticed that even Vilec Roak had become distant, and afraid.
"I
mean, sire, that you have become exceptionally frightening to all around
you. Most of the Khan have requested
that their quarters and assignments be shifted in order to keep their distance
from you, and lessen the amount of time near you. The Illeck mages set up barriers to ward
against you, to warn them of your presence.
Even the Shadowbeasts, denizens of the seven Hells, do their best to
avoid contact with you. And, to tell the
truth, sir, even General Roak is disturbed by your powers and temper."
"Well,"
Vandross said, striding over to a full-length mirror and taking a good, long
look at himself. He looked and felt like
hell on earth, his hair disheveled, his skin the color of ashes, and his eye
smoldering with crimson light. "I
do suppose I'm not the man I once was. I
thank you for your frank honesty, Sergeant," he said, pivoting slowly on
his heels to face the soldier Khan.
"It took courage to speak to me in such a fashion, and I commend
you for that. There has been something
on my mind, that much is true. Sergeant,
you're a man of obvious strength of character.
Does anything frighten you, as it does the other Khan and
Shadowbeasts," the warlock asked, washing his face with some of the water
in a basin.
"There
are few things that intimidate me, sire," said the Khan, standing slightly
straighter, his proud mane ruffling slightly.
"But I am man enough to admit to one fear, my lord," he added,
clearing his throat.
"And
what might that be, Sergeant," Vandross asked, seating himself on the edge
of his bed.
"Well,
sire, I can't swim," muttered the Khan, half to himself. Vandross tilted his head at the Khan and
stared at him a moment, seeing the set of his jaw, the shame of his
admission. Surely the massive, muscular
Khan was joking, right? Vandross burst
out laughing then, a rough bark that turned into a hyena's cackle.
"You
have got to be kidding," he nearly shouted. "So you can't swim? So drowning is your greatest fear?" The Khan nodded roughly. "Well, that's actually a bit of a
relief, Sergeant. We're nowhere near a
large body of water, and I can't think of a stream nearby that you aren't tall
enough to stand firmly in," Vandross said, pouring himself a drink from a
private flask under his bed.
"Sergeant, I need you to do something for me. It's about what's been bothering me most
these days, and it isn't Byron and his ilk."
"Sire,"
asked the Khan, raising an eyebrow.
"Hear
me out," said Vandross, yawning.
"Colonel Molis. You know
him?" The Khan visibly stiffened at
the name, but Vandross could tell it wasn't fear; rather, it seemed to be
disdain, for he could hear the slight rumble of a growl emitting from the
Sergeant.
"Indeed,
my lord, though I do not know why you continue to allow him to have a position
of such high command. May I speak
freely, sir?" Vandross indicated
that he could. "Sire, I do not
trust him, or any of the demonspawn. I
do not enjoy the company of Shadowbeasts, and Molis is a half-demon of a sort I
have never even heard of! His powers are
too many, too great, and too unknown!
You should decommission him and send him scurrying back beneath whatever
rock it is he came crawling out from under!" It struck Vandross just then what he had been
looking for all day; the place where Vilec Roak had told him that Molis had
been using as his personal quarters.
"That
would be an excellent idea, Sergeant, except that I don't know where that is,
precisely. Vilec Roak tells me that the
first time he saw Molis, the Colonel was coming from a darkened cavern deep
within this very mountain," Vandross said, reaching around the Sergeant to
the other Khan, who had returned with a set of clothes over his arm and a tray
of food. Vandross took first the food,
setting it on the lone table in his room, then the clothes, laying them on the
bed. "Speak to the General, on my
orders. Find that chamber,"
Vandross said, turning away from the Khan Sergeant. His eyes were brimming with crimson light, a
fire rekindled from before. He was in
command, damn it! Molis should not feel
like a threat to him. He had the power of
the Glorious Mother of Destruction! He
had summoned and freed that demon! Yet
there was doubt, subtle but very much there.
"And when you do, come back and tell me what you find. I will know this Molis through and
through."
"And
if he turns out to be a threat, sire," asked the Khan, extracting his
claws audibly. Vandross turned to face
the Khan, his eyes smoldering and smoking with power. His shoulders were set, his hair standing on
end, and the sheen of grime and dirt on his skin seemed to mix with his own
dark aura.
"Unlikely,
Sergeant. I created him, and there is a
condition to his existence. He can never
cause me direct harm."
“What
of indirect harm, sire?”
“If
that becomes an issue,” Vandross said, biting an apple from the tray and chewing
slowly. “I’ll just undo him. You are dismissed.”
No comments:
Post a Comment