Rituals
Page 9
“You’re more than welcome to stay the night, Lady Elsa,” Genri offered. “Any family of yours will be contacted by morning and welcomed to any quarter you wish for them.” Elsa nodded and relaxed her posture a bit. “I’m exhausted myself,” she chuckled. “Where’s the closest bed?” U’jeo beckoned for Elsa to follow him, showing her to a nearby suite.
Genri plopped back onto a couch and gave a heavy sigh of relief. “Selling flowers was easier,” he groaned to himself. Then he peered over at Dan’el, who was signing various piles of papers. “Are you even reading what you’re signing for us,” asked the troll. “Bah, it doesn’t really matter,” Dan’el replied jokingly. “This is just in case the city isn’t lost to fire, flood, or the snarling spawn of a megalomaniacal snake god--little “g,’” he added.
Genri seemed to suddenly realize something. “Has Swae been back yet?” “Nope,” Dan’el replied plainly. “Don’t worry. She never leaves her nest unless it’s for a pretty good reason,” he added, never looking up from his autographing. U’jeo had come back and tuckered out on the couch next to Genri.
The troll closed his eyes as the breeze came from the open balconies behind him. The quiet allowed him to faintly hear music playing and to enjoy the ambiance of distant construction. There was something of a flash through his eyelids. He opened them and barely tilted his head upwards before seeing another angel now among them.
Miri’el had appeared, as pretty and as hauntingly tranquil as ever. Our dear sister had fought in battle long ago, but today it’s quite hard to picture that. Her regalia flowed with water itself, and her turquoise eyes tended to paralyze people the first time they’d lock stares with her.
Dan’el gasped and quickly threw up the hood of his armor in attempts to hide his face, but Miri’el simply flicked her finger and the hood was pulled back. Dan’el stuttered. “Long time no see, sis.” “I was afraid you’d be hesitant to lose your legend as ‘the wanderer,’” Miri’el said with a kind smile. “It got old after a few thousand years, I guess,” Dan’el replied casually.
Xavus interrupted the moment with a loud snore. “He’s sleeping,” Dan’el whispered. Miri’el’s eyes turned to Genri. “It’s rare to find a thunder troll outside of Zuhetta,” she commented. “They never really were travelers. Leave it to Sheth’rel to gather one here of all places.” Genri had a curious and humble look about him.
“Would you be willing to return there?” Miri’el asked. “Is this a request, your grace?” Genri replied. Miri’el sat in an adjacent chair to Genri. “Sheth’rel obviously values you. That being said, yes, it would be a request,” she explained. Genri nodded. “I haven’t been in Zuhetta in nearly three hundred years, ma’am. What use am I to you there?”
“Zuhetta is lacking leadership as well,” Miri’el stated, “and you know that the Kut’zurra only take orders from their own. I can help spread a certain story about victoriously wrestling an angel to the ground,” she added with a wink. “I didn’t stretch beforehand,” Dan’el remarked.
Genri looked at Xavus like a father looks at a son. “He will be protected, yes?” he asked. Miri’el grinned. “Does he need it?” she replied almost playfully. Genri looked at the slumbering Xavus, laughing to himself. “Perhaps he doesn’t.”
Miri’el conjured a thin angelic tome that could fit in an average hand and handed it to Genri. “A new covenant is being made with humanity,” she said. “Remember to remind others that they are not alone in their plight. In less than a century, Harth will never be the same.” Genri held the small tome to his heart and gave a humble bow of his head.
Miri’el stood and gave a gracious bow to Genri, then walked over to Dan’el and kissed his cheekbone. She looked back over her shoulder at Xavus, then at Genri. “I expect to have conversations with you on this world again, master troll. Try to stay healthy until our departure,” she commented. Then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished in a dim flash.
People mistake the organization behind demonic forces. Many armies have perished from simple underestimation. They have spies, gather intelligence, learn about their enemies to the extent that they can. Vil’el was always cloak and dagger, patient and precise. She knew how to strike at the heart and leave an unhealable hemorrhage.
Her hunters were hand-picked and keen enough to traverse paths of the underworld and strong enough to survive. The only evidence of them--though in eerily small numbers--were often dead terrani guards and heroes. The kills were clean and quick with no sign of struggle ever detected in the aftermath.
The fallen angel had already found her persons of interest, building her strategy accordingly. Despite how despicable she is now, her tactics tended to be fresher than Dom’rel’s. Underestimating these enemies is a mortal mistake, and some will leave you reeling more than others. Vil’el is an architect of torment, and torment is what pierces into the very nerves and cells of a soul’s ultimate existence.
“Bring me this woman,” Vil’el said casually. “Try not to make a scene. We need both intact.” A shrouded hunter replied with a silent salute. He faded into the shadow and was then followed by eleven others. The fallen angel’s laugh echoed from her ruinous throne, amused and excited at the events unfolding.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Veil’Umbra
Iris was lying by the reflecting pool with the two Ser’ja and Maymay. They weren’t totally sure what time it was, but they felt like sharing some drinks in this particularly quaint spot of theirs. Veil’Umbra was a large enough place to make the constant activity still seem manageable. The Glothlith survivors had begun coming a few hours ago. The girls had heard about the ordeal, but not in much detail.
This Veil began changing its own defenses because they knew that their 100,000 fighters were to be replaced by only 53,000 fighters who would be arriving that day from Emi-tel.
“What all do they have you doing?” Maymay asked curiously. “They don’t ‘have me doing’ anything,” Iris chuckled. “I’m just learning a lot on my own. I think it’s all about finding how I can best put myself to use now,” she concluded confidently. Suddenly a vehicle came to a sliding stop at the other end of the reflecting pool, and two doors swung open.
Iris thought she heard her name called out. Then, as the two people sprinting towards her got closer she heard, “IRIS!” Iris’ eye grew wide with shock. She stumbled to her feet, hurrying towards her parents. By the time her legs gave way her father was close enough to catch her in his arms. Iris’ eye became misty as her parents wept and held her. She just gripped her mother’s jacket as tightly as she could.
Iris’ father then looked to Maymay and beckoned to her, embracing her the same way. Iris’ mother looked into her daughter’s eye, as Iris herself finally felt something she’d feared was lost. Maymay eventually asked about her father, setting a low bar for expectations. It was wise of her to do so, as there was no information to be had about her own father’s last sighting.
Ezra found Joon Tyrasus, the science officer from Mera, and called out to her in the passing crowd. The Fo’hemut froze in place, leering at the approaching ghostdancer. “You can’t arrest me on charges against my father,” she stated professionally. “On the contrary,” Ezra replied. “We’re actually glad to find you alive and well.” The ghostdancer politely led the officer along. “Did you have any other siblings, ma’am, other than your dead brothers of course?”
Joon shook her head. “In years past, my father wouldn’t have allowed a bastard of some whore to stay alive,” she stated. “Interesting that you say that,” Ezra replied emphatically, “because your half-breed, half-sister, tore your father’s throat out with her bare hands a few days ago.” Joon stopped again in the street. “You can’t be serious,” she uttered in disbelief.
Ezra nodded and continued to walk. “Your father put that girl through literal hell on Harth. We’re taking intensive care of her, praying that aspects of her body might heal enoug
h that she gets something of a second life. That doesn’t mean we can ‘remove’ the weapon that they turned her into. I swear. Sometimes she’ll look at you like a bird of prey looks at its kill! It’s quite frightening,” he added with a subtle chuckle.
“Are you talking about actual regeneration?” Joon inquired with intrigue, again in step with the ghostdancer. “A gift we’ve found among the underworld’s chemistry,” Ezra replied. “She’ll be in suspension stasis for a little while. It can practically heal mortal wounds under the right circumstances, but it requires some time,” he explained.
“Could I see her?” Joon asked. “Of course,” Ezra replied. The two took the rail-line network across the city to a structure that resembled a small temple, a healer’s sanctum. Joon was in subtle awe by the mixture of medicine and nether-originated properties, which, curiously enough, was attributable to the nether radiation of Ani-Vex.
He led Joon to a beautiful natural chamber that was lit with sun tears, set with a small pool of spring water in the center. Strange algae gave the pool a bluish glow. An unconscious Sophia peacefully rested upon the water’s surface.
Joon could still clearly see the various forms and fashion of scars that riddled her kin’s body, feeling sick at the thoughts she quickly fought off. Ezra pointed to a small device placed on her neck. “The agent is gradually introduced through that,” he explained. “Once the elements are spent, the ring will detach and allow her to regain consciousness.”
Joon crouched beside the tranquil water, taking note of the handful of features they shared. “We do have a similar profile,” she said with a grin, subtly seeming to compare their breast size at one point. “But, I got the better half there.” Ezra rolled his eyes. “You Fo’hemut women!” “Our family name is synonymous with brutality,” Joon rebuked. “I have to take pride in something about it, don’t I?”
“Do you agree with our position to assign her to the young priestess?” Ezra inquired with a feint expression of amusement. “She needs to be close to the Light,” Joon agreed, “and if she served as an imperial bodyguard, she has the personal credentials to fight or protect anyone.” There was silence for a few moments. Then Ezra asked, “If you don’t mind, milady, how did you manage to turn out so differently from your father?”
“He first had four sons and then a daughter some years later. His wife wouldn’t survive the birth of the daughter,” Joon answered reminiscently. “He made a choice,” Ezra remarked. Joon agreed. “I looked like my mother. He couldn’t bear having me around,” she added quietly. The ghostdancer hesitated and sighed. “There was a story about Sophia in the capital,” he began. Joon waited for the man to continue, sensing death in his tone.
Ezra finally said, “Despite what she endured, she achieved a title among the soldiers and citizens. They called her ‘the angel of death,’ as ironic as that is. Then again, it speaks to her having killed every man that violated her along the way, including commanding officers, soldiers, and officials. I believe she killed 193 individuals during one bloody night. All were of the Fo’hemut race, women and men,” he explained. “More than half were dismembered by sheer force, not by any weapon or blade.”
Joon’s heart could only sink so far. She blew Sophia a kiss. “Get well soon, sis,” she said softly. Then the two left the sanctum. Joon, still in disbelief at the odds of such an instance, would need to become acquainted with the Veil and be integrated into its infrastructure. Joon peered back one last time as Ezra went on about the Veil’Umbra’s history.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That Whole Relationship Between Wolves and Sheep
The portion of the caravan, of which the bloodlions were a part, had come to a resting point, with no more than a few more days’ journey from their destination. There hadn’t been room to allow for shifts of operators, and unfortunately mortals do have to rest. The expanse of caverns and bridges was dimly lit at best, and drop-offs could go for miles.
While I understand human sexuality, some of the times you choose to engage one another is just brazenly surprising.
Sahja and Fia took the opportunity for their own sort of alone time, making a pad not far from the flank of the caravan. The two made the sort of love people write stories about. What else can I say? At least they got the job done.
As they took a moment to rest, Sahja suddenly froze up and his eyes grew wide. He could barely make a sound or move. Fia watched as the four red eyes of a hunter’s mask emerged from the dark, and Sahja helplessly saw the same on the other side. Before Fia could even think to scream, she was taken by the throat from beside Sahja, muted, and handed off to another hunter who disappeared into readily available shadows.
Sahja had a singular glass-like needle lodged in his lower back that had essentially paralyzed him. He was straining just to scream as the hunters began to walk away. Finally, he was able to force out a single, “FIA,” loud enough to draw swift attention from the caravan.
The glaive of a terrani bladedancer soared just above the ground to cut down one of the hunters at the knee. The other monsters quickly took off while the wounded was quickly shot dead by sharpshooters. The creature lacked any reaction to pain.
The bladedancer quickly found the shard and removed it from Sahja’s back and then continued running into the dark. Dozens of terrani heroes were soon in pursuit, splitting off in various directions as the hunters had. Sahja tried to stand, but an intense and sharp pain prevented it. Katya rushed to tend to Sahja while Artimus joined the heroes in their hunt.
“STAY THE FUCK STILL!” Kat yelled. “There are splinters from that thing still inside you. I need to dissolve them.” She manually pulled several slivers out and then hollered for an acidic solution that would eat the remaining shards and some of Sahja’s flesh. Aside from the pain he was in--and more was to come--the bloodlion was also “activating.”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Kat uttered, carefully pouring the vial on the wound and observing the growing effort by a few soldiers and heroes to keep the bloodlion in a detainable position. Kat then administered a potent painkiller and sedative to Sahja, designed specifically to counteract this initial “Override” as it’s called. The bloodlion’s flesh was already healing from the acid as his muscles expanded and his bones cracked.
Artimus had caught up to a lone hunter and was in range to trip the monster with a runic mine. “I’d rather take you back in one piece,” he said confidently. The hunter seemed rather infuriated by the fact that its retreat was interrupted. Artimus had cornered the fallen darkdancer, casting a powerful runic spell and dotting the ground with hundreds of energy mines between Artimus and the Vile--enough that it actually lit up the cavern ceiling. Hah!
The fiend drew its menacing blade; and like a cornered animal, it became easy for it to make mistakes. The fiend also failed to realize that a single small rune had appeared on the stone behind it, which soon released in a concussive blast that forced the creature forward into the amusing trap. Each rune detonated similarly with a blunt force and with disorienting effects.
The hunter eventually staggered out with its facemask almost instantly meeting the hilt of Artimus’ sword. The fallen was able to regain its bearings to a degree but was always on the back foot. Its strikes were still fierce and as powerful as ever, but the bloodlion was enjoying this little match more than anything. It was one-sided from the start.
Artimus masterfully deflected an incoming slash, breaking the monster’s sword in the process. The hunter drew two quickscythes and was immediately again on the offensive with every bit of prowess one would expect from a fallen darkdancer. The bloodlion seemed a step ahead of every slash and lunge, toying with the monster until he found the swing he wanted.
Despite the length of Artimus’ sword, he cleaved the hunter in half at the waist in less than arm’s length. He plunged his glyphed blade down into the monster’s heart. “Two pieces is good,” he declared to himself.
Soldiers and heroes were hollering back and forth on what to do, not wanting to kill or wound the man, but not wanting to lose their own lives in the process. Just as Sahja’s grip tightened, a dart plunged into his chest. The dark eyes he now had seemed unphased, but the body swayed enough to convince Katya to fire another tranquilizer into Sahja’s thigh. She had to put five of the projectiles into the bloodline in all.
She then grabbed a bag of medical supplies as the bloodlion’s body finally seemed to be going down and rushed back to Sahja to be sure his heart wouldn’t stop altogether. Artimus and the other heroes that had pursued the hunters returned over the following minutes, bearing more evidence of their attackers. When Artimus sat next to Kat, he bore a look of concern he rarely had in his life. She had a similar look about her.
The only sounds to be heard were the chatter over the infamous and rare vile corpses as Artimus pondered the situation. The other heroes weren’t thrilled that their resident demonologist seemed utterly baffled by the occurrence. The thought of a high-value kidnapping didn’t keep in line with what was known about vile hunters, but it was what they wanted. The maverick’s attention for that was more worrisome.
Artimus heard someone holler. “What if they come back? We killed two of theirs!” Artimus responded with, “They got what they wanted. They could give a lesser damn about their dead, dumbass.” Katya leaned into Artimus and calmly whispered, “There’s something wild in that one,” nodding at the sedated bloodlion. “I don’t know if that will work a second time.”