Rituals

by Ryan Hastings

  Xavus hollered for help and tried to thrash the critter off of him, but it was not effective. Dan’el and Genri just sort of stood back. “I don’t know what to do here,” the naked angel remarked. Swae was able to hear the ruckus being made by their greeter. “You hit him with a door!?!?” Swae gasped. “XAVUS!” “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT,” Xavus pleadingly shouted.

  Vil’el had selected a handful of the prettiest female survivors in Emi-Shet as her harem. She had personally skinned every surviving member of the “royal race” alive, ordering their remains to be displayed along the outer borders of the scar with every other mortal slaughtered in the ongoing aftermath.

  Her only disappointment was that there was no faithful blood to be found, but she already had plans for the future. While blood and fire were still being exchanged throughout the scar’s expanse across Mol’do, other demons were hard at work constructing instruments of war. Their warlocks, through their magic, were practically reconstructing the pit with the ruins of the city, filling the place with vile runes and organic components.

  One of the girls in Vil’el’s harem thought she had a window to escape while the fallen was pleasured by another one of the harems. Taking a slim glass shard in her hand, she made a swift dash from behind. Vil’el, bearing a wicked smirk, caught the girl’s hand without even looking. She motioned for the other girl to back away, then stood and wrapped her other hand around her would-be assassin’s throat.

  Vil’el took the glass shard and looked into the girl’s terrified eyes. Vil’el laughed out loud in amusement. “You think you had something to fear before,” she mocked. “My side was as safe as life was ever going to be for you ever again.” Vil’el stuck the shard into the girl’s neck and slit her open to her womanhood and then tossed the corpse aside like trash.

  A presence soon filled the area. Vil’el turned around quickly and kneeled in reverence. Dom’rel stood near Vil’el’s harem, as if inspecting them. He was without his armor, but his aura was never any less palpable. “You always did have impeccable taste, Vil’el,” he said, with sinister relaxation. Vil’el greeted the dark lord with a sensual kiss. “I hope you’re pleased.”

  Dom’rel looked out over the demonic expanse and was pleased with what he saw. “That damned worm has this continent in a vice,” he said. “We need to be able to build an army that can rival our foe’s strength if we wish to make any sort of progress, which is why I put you in charge of our little staging area.” Vil’el put her arms around Dom’rel, resting her head on the back of his shoulder. “Take better care of your consorts and maybe they won’t try to kill you,” the dark lord joked. Vil’el rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.

  “We have a number of targets of interest here as far as the mortals are concerned,” Dom’rel stated. “They are to be considered secondary to our goal. I know you’re capable of acting with discretion.” “I’ll find your gifted,” Vil’el said confidently. “Use the poison of our enemy to coat your own blade,” the devil added, raising his hand before him.

  Dom’rel summoned a dark portal. “I leave this in your capable hands, Vil’el,” he remarked. “Maybe next time you stop by we can enjoy the time a little more,” Vil’el replied, giving a departing kiss. “You have my word,” Dom’rel said, backing into the portal and gone from sight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Where the Current Takes Us

  There was a bordering territory to Emi-Shet’s northeastern corner that hadn’t been considered a province for a couple hundred years now--Emi-tel. What is left of the original province is under imperial protection, but its strange environment makes it unappealing for any other reason than for resource extraction.

  This was a steep drop in Mol’do’s terrain, as if someone dropped a heavy stone into a malleable net. Emi-tel was latent with toxic foliage and gases, especially within the valentite mines. Ninety-five percent of the area required the use of a certain protective gear and breathing apparatus, concentrating any population that did live there to a very limited number of options.

  The only major town to speak of was called Gloslith. It was small but well-supplied by the imperial families as a perk for securing such precious materials. But even this spec of a place was in a fight for its life. Several thousand inhabitants had succumbed to madness while Anri’s spawn had begun appearing throughout this unique territory.

  The rattle of gunfire echoed into the heavens as soldiers and civilians defended the only homes and hearth they had left to even consider. The brutality that came with the primeval madness always brought such agonizing intensity to the ensuing battles. It forces the human will for survival. A son may have to kill his father or a daughter to kill her mother. These weren’t their friends and loved ones anymore.

  An underworld razormaul would clear away a crowd of twenty madmen. Then a Gloslith sniper would blow the monster’s head away. Excellent strategy. There were flame turrets designed specifically for this territory to use in clearing toxic debris, and they were certainly being used today. It was incredibly effective against Anri’s pawns.

  Orders and cries went back and forth through the town as defensive postures shifted and the fighters regained a solid parameter. One of the snipers gave a sharp whistle to a nearby maverick, pointing into the toxic fog not far away. The maverick looked through binoculars to see the silhouettes of four large cat-like creatures rushing towards the flank of a mass of underworld beasts.

  The cats ambushed the monsters and destroyed the mobs within a minute. Then they headed for the town gates. “THEY’RE ON OUR SIDE!” the maverick yelled with a smile. Two of the bladed tigers rushed into the town streets to fight while two circled the outskirts.

  As one of the cats slashed its way towards a pinned-down regiment, a massive beast began to charge the group. What flesh could be seen was like stone, and the rest of its body was covered in blunt spikes. The cat leapt for the monster’s throat, clamping its jaws down and sinking its fangs into the soft underbelly. The charging monster became off-target and eventually rammed into thick stone as blood now poured from its wounds.

  The cat continued through the town, leaving the regiment to resume their tasks. Meanwhile, another bladed tiger was moving through homes and buildings with breathtaking agility, focusing on rescuing anyone within. As they rendered the monsters to shreds, the third and fourth were having a field day with the lowly monsters that were plaguing the outlying areas.

  A couple of hours seemed like forever. Blood, scars, and bullets painted the walls of the town, but eventually there was enough of a lull to consider it a victory via sheer extinction of the enemy. Even the monsters of the underworld seemed to have been called back. The number of survivors at Gloslith would total 52,371.

  Nineteen thousand, two hundred and thirty-one of those survivors were trained imperial soldiers. Eleven in total harbored heroic gifts. None were young children or the elderly. The remaining numbers were adept in crisis and adverse conditions. I give them a high probability of success in their overall endeavors.

  There were a number of surviving mavericks, including one that had retired some years ago. He wore a long camo coat and seemed integrated with the established leadership of the group. He was speaking with a familiar Fo’hemut science officer as one of the former bladed tigers approached them as a terrani lancer. The elf spoke with the retired maverick, delivering news of his daughter.

  “She’s in Veil’Umbra,” the lancer concluded. The maverick was physically exhausted by the battle, and this news was enough to make his knees buckle. The man, shedding tired tears of joy, couldn’t believe it. The terrani would be showing the people here to the Veil, providing a sigh of relief for a population that would have eventually met a bloody end.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Southern Star, Northern Night

  The Pawparosi had made a great meal for their guests and provided cushy accommodations. They had finished restoring Dan’el’s a
rmor, earning the commendation of the archangel herself for their efforts. The armor was dark silver with blue and white detailing and edges of gold. The tailors had spun a fresh carnelian steelweave cloak, and the cobwebs were removed from his heavenly glaive.

  Some of the villagers held up a mirror for the angel to see. “I think I’m gonna’ cry, you guys,” Dan’el joked. “But seriously, you did a great job,” he added with a thumbs-up. Meanwhile, Xavus was brushing up on Ephthali’s history and the “unsung province” of Ven’ro, as it’s known to be called in some circles. Meanwhile, Genri was managing to be the loudest thing in town without yet being awake.

  Xavas had tossed several texts aside that he’d browsed through, finding nothing except the standard scholarly information therein. He hadn’t found an answer to “Why Ephthali?” The only possible lead he’d formulated was the location of the old temple in Tristen, thousands of miles away in a perfectly straight line with the Ven’roan peninsula city. He didn’t see Swae approach, carrying one of the Pawparosi like a baby.

  “What happens if there isn’t some crazy, mystical answer?” Swae asked slyly. Xavus chuckled. Then he put his book down. “There is always an answer, regardless,” he replied. “Answers do come in many forms,” Swae agreed subtly. Xavus sighed heavily, knowing that the archangel was withholding.

  “Prophecy, knowledge, insight, and wisdom: these are all among the blessings humanity has known and been given,” Swae stated. “You were never meant to have everything, but humanity was always meant for discovery and growth. It’s a shame how many traps have been set over the years. Even we become powerless at times,” she spoke softly.

  After a brief pause, Xavus smirked and said, “It’s still quite a trek to Ephthali.” “Our widdle fwends here are gonna’ wemedy that for us,” Swae replied, rubbing her nose against the Pawparosi, as if a switch had been flipped back on. Xavus looked at her with a certain amount of exasperation. “I told them I’d trade the car for a portal,” she remarked. “They don’t get their hands on many machines these days.”

  “Wait! Why couldn’t YOU have just done that back at the city,” Xavus accusingly asked. The archangel shrugged casually. “Rules and personality, I guess,” she replied. “Rules and personality,” Xavus said with a straight face. “Stuff’s complicated,” the archangel declared. “The Fall made things crazy for others besides humanity.”

  Dan’el could be seen in the distance motioning for the two to come over. One of the Pawparosi handed Swae an ornate cane, but a second glance would reveal it to be her sabre as well. It was a clever way to dull down her appearance, but I think she preferred the style altogether.

  Several villagers dressed in archmage attire were gathered in a small, circular clearing to conjure the portal to Ephthali. Genri had been wakened, managing to shuffle along to meet the group; but he dozed off again standing back-to-back with Dan’el. The skeletal angel sighed, saying to his sister, “Just so you know, I’m rolling my eyes.” “At least he isn’t kicking your ass,” Swae mocked quietly. “Hey, I’d been asleep for a thousand years,” Dan’el whispered in defense. “Oh, hush,” Swae replied in kind.

  The ritual began as the Pawparosi worked in synchronization with their steps and motions. Runes, accompanied by elemental activity, began to glow on the ground around them. A blurred anomaly slowly manifested before them, and then a crisp oval took shape that was like a levitating mirror. One could see the ocean in the reflection and the “sandcastle city” of Ephthali on the other side.

  Dan’el tossed Genri through the portal, giving somewhat of an exaggerated exit as he bid the villagers farewell. Swae nodded for Xavus to go. Then she took one of the Pawparosi by the hand and stepped through.

  They unfortunately came through in the middle of a defense force battalion formation. Dan’el had in fact thrown Genri into about a dozen men. As each stepped through they found themselves the center of attention among a few thousand soldiers. The general composition and entry of the group raised eyebrows more than weapons.

  Dan’el waved to a silent crowd like an emperor waved to an adoring one, even though one could hear a coin drop. “Would you stop?” Swae huffed. “I’m the bomb. I can do whatever I want,” Dan’el replied. Swae grunted and began walking through the formation, conjuring her pipe along the way.

  There was a group of commanders coming from the other direction to see what the ruckus was. “WHAT IS THIS?” one yelled. “WHO ARE YOU?” Swae stood in front of the commanders as casually as she always did. “Who’s in the Keep?” she asked. “Who are you to ask,” the commander scolded.

  Swae sighed and rolled her eyes before walking through the group like a blade through water. She had bumped the shoulder of the rather rude individual, which easily staggered the man off balance. The Pawparosi hurried after Swae, casting a spell on the commander’s boot that made its sole melt into the ground.

  Swae observed the rushing of military personnel and the fortifications that had been in development for some time before their arrival. This was the easternmost part of the city (the marine ward) where any sort of government entity (to include the bulk of armed forces) was assigned. The Keep itself overlooked the sea as well as the expanse of docks that had accumulated over the centuries.

  There was actually blue sky over the city, but the darkness in the northern horizon could never be overstated. It was a haunting reminder of what was expected to come any day. Most of the buildings shared a white or sandy-hue color, lined in brown, red, or gold. Brilliantly colorful tapestries gave the city its personality as they danced in the gentle winds, and the sea breeze still reminded you that you were alive.

  The archangel drew plenty of odd stares as she walked around the Keep grounds like she owned the place. People murmured and pointed at her if they caught a glimpse of her azure markings. She decided to check the debate hall first, noticing only three individuals among the five hundred seats.

  The three old men were former district representatives for the city and province, who had now been thrust into executive office by default. Though they masked it well, Swae could see the panic in their minds. These actually were some good men, but they were still just politicians. “You weren’t given an escort, ma’am,” one of the men confusedly hollered from across the hall.

  “They had more important things to do,” Swae replied, once she had approached the men. She greeted each with a handshake, feeling the slight tremble in each one. “You certainly look like you’re here for business,” one of the men remarked. The archangel smiled. “Would you support a leader if I found one for this place?” she asked hintingly.

  “Ma’am,” one replied humbly. “Who are you? Exactly?” Swae sighed and leaned against the podium. “Sheth’rel, the archangel, the big sister, the cardinal,” she mumbled. There was silence as two of them adjusted their glasses trying to see her better. They muttered among one another but seemed to lack a sort of perception. Swae sighed even heavier before leaping into the air and manifesting her four ruby-feathered wings.

  Bright red runes were like a halo around her, and lightning became her blood. A swirling gale of holy radiance filled the halls while there was a singular tremor felt throughout the city. Apparently, Swae opted to secure authority through optics.

  Technically, she wasn’t supposed to do this.

  Quite a crowd gathered in the few moments that this spectacle took place. The three men and everyone else who’d come in were bowing with their faces to the ground. The radiant archangel closed her eyes and looked up as she touched down. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she uttered apologetically. She turned back to the ever-growing mass of people. Lightning and energy were flickering around her. “Rise, please,” she said gently, as she motioned around.

  By now, Xavus and the others had made their way through the crowd. Swae pointed at Xavus. “THAT MAN!” the archangel proudly shouted. “YOU ANSWER TO HIM AS A CHOSEN AUTHORITY. YOU�
��RE CLEARLY AWARE OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES. NOW, I BRING THIS ONE BEFORE YOU, AND I COME AMONG YOU TO DECLARE EPHTHALI A LIGHTHOUSE OF HARTH.” The last of her voice echoed, resting on a bowed and silent crowd.

  Genri hit Xavus in the shoulder. “That’s got to be the world’s fastest coronation,” he boasted and laughed. It took a minute for what just happened to set in with Xavus. He looked at Swae as if to say, “What have you done?” The archangel had reverted to her less flashy self, though her runic tattoos glowed as bright as ever. “Now, get to work, your majesty,” she added with a wink.

  Xavus hurried after the archangel. “Wait a minute. You can’t just leave,” he hollered. “I’m not leaving, doofus,” Swae replied, “but I am going for a swim while we’re this close to the water.” “Why me?” he asked plainly. Swae stopped and turned around. “One: You’re one of the best younger minds of Harth. Two: you’ve got plenty of time to get a bloodline going. Three: you’ve proven yourself in battle. Four: you knew who you sided with before you met me. That should be enough,” she concluded.

  Xavus nodded and gave a short bow before the archangel. “Xavus,” Genri interjected, “We should probably get acquainted with things around here.” Xavus agreed as his newly appointed position continued to “sink in.”

  In Veil’Umbra, Iris lay in bed sweating as she slept. Her mind was invaded by a darkness with which few were truly familiar.

  “A human,” whispered a terrible rumbling and hissing voice. “Interesting. I don’t think I’ve met a human before. I wonder…” the voice added, followed by a feint hiss. Iris was in abyssal dark, feeling like a presence was wrapped infinitely around the darkness. She was trembling and alone, afraid to even look into the dark.

  “Perhaps I can use you to some advantage,” the voice spoke to itself. “Seeing as how this was such a rare calculation…Yes…there must be a game to be played. There always is with them.” Iris huddled as tight as she could to herself.