Rituals

by Ryan Hastings

  The execution was a taunt for the onlooking defenders. The fallen archangel allowed the soldiers to flank him, simply wiping them away with his scythe and spells. The best any hero could do was to scratch the fallen archangel’s armor. Os’rel could hold a man in the air by his throat as swords broke against him.

  Os’rel cleared away hundreds of troops at a time with his might, while spontaneous destruction continued to obliterate the terrani stronghold. The veil was painted with mortal blood, and its beautiful structures now served as tombstones. Os’rel eventually had the king of the Veil under his sabaton, seemingly insignificant to the fallen archangel.

  “Why are you still struggling?” he asked the king who fought against what seemed like tons weighing on his chest. The king’s eyes grew wide at how calm and almost kind the fallen archangel’s distorted voice was. “THERE WILL BE NO VICTORY FOR YOU!” the king cried proudly.

  Os’rel didn’t even bother to look down. “Victory,” he uttered. “It is just a word and is meaningless in the face of annihilation.” With that, Os’rel drove the tip of his scythe’s blade into the head of the king, as if he were any other soldier. Grabbing a fist full of dirt from the street and tossing it before him, Os’rel planted his scythe in the ground.

  Bone spikes impaled the remaining forces from the very ground, instantly ceasing the constant hail of projectiles. The fallen archangel made his way to the center of the city, carving a glyph of the pit in the stone street. He knelt, placing his palms on the ground.

  The glyph lit up and an eerie hum filled the area. Survivors trying to flee soon found themselves face-to-face with demonic portals, and they were only able to watch in horror as the monsters stepped through. The buildings of Veil’Tasha slowly began to decay, as if they were now ancient ruins. The plants and water even became putridly unusable.

  The screams of those being killed and brutalized by the demonic forces rang loudly. The fallen archangel, satisfied enough with his work, stood to observe the desolation around him. The mutated wings of the fallen archangel twitched, leveling the sturdy palace behind him as if it were made of a child’s blocks.

  “No survivors,” Os’rel whispered through the darkened nether.

  Veil’Tasha’s population of over five hundred thousand was essentially extinguished that day. Only fifty-five bodies would make it away alive in any direction.

  Swae shouted in pain as she and Artimus walked away, staggering against a lamp post. An intense and sharp sensation ripped through her heart, but there was a sort of signature that came with the pain. She knew it was one of theirs. Driven by divine fury, the archangel grunted against the discomfort.

  Swae manifested her four ruby wings, spreading them for yards. She became radiant with energy, prompting many to step back and even take cover. The archangel, bound for the nearest ingress to the four Veils, took off like a rocket towards the Mol’do mainland. Swae drew her sabre as she came closer to Veil’Tasha. Lightning was trailing her flight.

  She landed in the city center like a meteor; her demeanor was calm but intense. Os’rel didn’t flinch at his sister’s arrival. “It’s been a long time, sister,” he uttered. “I expect you’re here to avenge these insects.” “You’ll soon feel what your master subjects his souls to,” Sheth’rel declared, pointing the tip of her sabre at Os’rel. The fallen archangel held his hand open, and his wicked scythe came to him. Blood flung from the blades as he caught it. For a moment, the two beings simply stood each other down.

  Swae charged at Os’rel in the blink of an eye. Lightning flashed and traced her every move. Os’rel countered the initial blow, initiating the battle. The archangels exchanged swings of their weapons that would decimate mortal armies. Powers surged with every clash of their steel. It was phenomenal to observe. Magnificent!

  The rubble of nearby buildings was hurled away by the gales of wind created in the duel. Even now, numerous demons kept their distance. The archangels’ wings were weapons in and of themselves. Sheth’rel’s feathers became like fine blades. The tips of their wings cleaved through solid stone and metal as their duel went from streets to subterranean skies and then back to the streets.

  As Os’rel evaded a slash, he was able to cut Sheth’rel’s face, leaving a gash that ran under her left eye past the edge of her mouth. Swae couldn’t help but look at her blood, this being the first time she’d seen it. It would be a nasty scar, indeed. Sheth’rel resumed her stance, letting the blood drip from her face.

  “You look good in red, sis,” Os’rel taunted. “Thank you for giving me something to remember you by, brother,” Sheth’rel replied in kind, again charging at the fallen. The power surrounding Swae intensified, and the elements around her became utterly unstable. Her aura and glyphs shown even brighter. Os’rel strained this time as their weapons clashed. “When it all comes down to it, your kind will always be limited,” the third-born remarked.

  Os’rel, taking to the offensive against his sister, cleared the deadlock. His strategy remained similar to before, but he noticed his opponent providing substantially more resistance. It was taking more and more strength just to parry Sheth’rel. She now controlled the center of their ring.

  Swae’s sabre began to find its way through Os’rel’s armor, as she drove him back through the ruins of the city. The fallen archangel attempted to engage in aerial combat but found no relief from Sheth’rel’s onslaught. Swae drove her sabre into Os’rel’s gut while crashing him into the ground.

  Os’rel, staggering to his feet, pushed Swae away with a concentrated shockwave.“I’ll be having that scythe back,” Swae panted, herself tiring from the duel. Os’rel grunted and flung his putrid blood from his gauntlets, readying for another skirmish.

  Swae didn’t continue with such a melee; she instead spread her wings wide. Light began to pulse through the archangel as she shown with her Eternal radiance. Os’rel conjured a portal, but the portal was destroyed almost instantly from the swirling Light. “If you think I’m letting you run, you’ve sorely misjudged me,” she said.

  Os’rel remained silent. “Your judgment, however, has been passed down,” Sheth’rel added. Os’rel clenched his weapon and roared as he took off at Swae. The fallen archangel was stopped in his tracks, as if heavy chains now weighed him down. His armor began burning away like cheap wood. Swae remained emotionless as her brother writhed.

  The holy energy seemed to come alive and snake throughout Veil’Tasha. The demons that had been summoned were wiped away like the nothingness they were. Within moments, Veil’Tasha was again as quiet as the grave. Swae stood alone among the aftermath. She was somewhat disappointed that no corpse of Os’rel remained. Exhausted and hearbroken, she fell to her knees. The archangel repeatedly ran her fists into the ground with anguish.

  “You didn’t disappoint me, Swae,” Dom’rel said from behind the third-born. Swae’s eyes grew wide with distasteful surprise. She turned around quickly and started to her feet. Before she knew it, Dom’rel’s hand was around her neck and she was lifted into the air. “You still let your emotions drop your guard,” the dark lord remarked casually. “That scar will look good on you,” he added, tightening his grip on her throat.

  Dom’rel released his sister just before her air would’ve run out. She gasped and coughed as she fell to the ground. “Now, don’t try anything funny. I don’t think either of us are ready to deal with such actions,” the dark lord stated. “You gave him up?” Swae grunted. Dom’rel smirked slyly. “I’m just doing a bit of reorganizing. Besides, Os’rel’s soul has better uses now.”

  The dark lord crouched before Swae, taking some of her blood on his fingertip and tasting it. “What do you want?” Swae uttered. “I simply took advantage of a situation to see my younger sister,” Dom’rel replied innocently. “I even touched up the bit of grey in my beard.” Swae kept her mouth shut, simply staring at her brother with uncertain intensity.

  The devil chuckled
as he stood back up, manifesting his sullied wings as a dark portal opened behind him. Sheth’rel remained silent and stoic, never breaking eye contact with her brother. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll see some more of each other,” Dom’rel said with a grin. “Maybe next time you can wear something a little sexier.” Swae lifted her middle finger as the portal closed in around the dark lord.

  “Maybe next time, if you’re lucky,” Dom’rel remarked before the portal dissipated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Soldier

  “TAKE COVER!” a cog yelled, as poisoned spikes and toxic artillery rained down. “MASKS!” Roju yelled, prompting his unit to apply protective gear against the putrid projectiles. “FUCK! I CAN’T SEE AS WELL WITH THIS DAMN THING ON!” yelled another cog. “BETTER THAN HAVING YOUR BRAIN BLEED!” Roju replied, firing his assault rifle over their constructed cover.

  Roju watched as a luminescent ball came down on the tank crew to their west, exploding and covering the immediate area with necrotic acid. “WATCH FOR OUR OPERATOR’S FLARE!” a cog shouted. “SHOULD BE ANY DAMNED MINUTE!” “THAT MINUTE CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH!” Roju hollered back, hurling an incendiary grenade.

  “Two o’clock!” the crew’s overwatch shouted, referring to the illumination in the distance. As numerous tanks hailed down fire on the marked position, the incoming pit artillery slowly came to a stop. The distant thunderous booms were like music to Roju’s ears as he continued to lay low from the pit fiend’s down range.

  “Courtesy of the BFC forward armor, you fucks,” shouted another soldier of Roju’s crew. Roju picked off a few more scattering undead before pressing his back against the cover and sliding down to the ground to catch his breath. Sniper fire and the occasional artillery shell could still be heard from the forward divisions, but for now the battlefield had settled.

  “How’s the gun?” asked a high-ranking cog. Roju chuckled. “Phenomenal, Sampson; thank you,” he replied, handing the rifle off to be inspected by one of its engineers. Sampson looked the weapon over. “Everything seems to still be in order. TIA, toss me a cryo fragment,” he hollered.

  “Do you need it? Or does Roju need it?” Tia replied spitefully. “Woman! Don’t give me that!” Sampson hollered. Tia grinned and then went to retrieve a cryo fragment from their cache, tossing it to Sampson. “I’m glad we have the two of you,” Roju laughed. “You keep things lively around here when the action dies down.”

  “You sure you don’t want her?” Sampson remarked. “I could use a brother-in-law that isn’t a complete fucking idiot,” Roju laughed out loud. “Do you often try to sell your sister?” “That’s your problem, Roju,” Sampson stated. “I offer you a gift and you say I’m trying to sell you something.” “Awww,” Tia said, hugging Sampson from behind. “You think I’m a gift, but that doesn’t excuse your trying to whore me out.”

  “You ready for your overwatch shift?” Roju asked. “Of course.” Tia replied with a smile. “But they switched me to a 20mm. I only get to shoot the big ones,” she added somewhat downheartedly. “They just wanted to give you a caliber to compliment your bust,” a passing engineer remarked.

  Sampson lit a cigarette and joined Roju on the ground. “I have to admit,” he began with a heavy sigh, “I’m worried these skirmishes are just a test.” “What do you mean?” Tia asked. “I mean, what happens when they get organized and come at us at once?” he asked. “From what I’ve heard, in the mess that is brewing out there, I don’t think they really can organize,” Roju remarked.

  “Consider this scenario.” Sampson began drawing a crude map in the dust. “Most of our encounters have been against demons, but we know those other things are amassing somewhere. The enemy of our enemy flanks our enemy, and both enemies hit our gates like water from a broken dam.” Roju pondered the idea, coming to agree with Sampson’s scenario. “You’re in charge of this crew. If you think an order should go out, send it out,” Roju replied casually. “But I’m asking you?” Sampson replied.

  “I can hold down the fort,” Roju stated. Sampson was pleased by the accord. “Transport flare!” he hollered to a crewman. “Aye!” the crewman hollered back. A green flare, shooting up into the dark sky, shortly followed. “You may want to stress this being a somewhat time-sensitive issue,” Roju added, glancing at yond crews attending to recent casualties

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The New Broken Bow

  The Zuhettan alliance, a network of islands and a handful of inland territories, was something like a constellation. While there was some semblance of calm in certain areas, there was no shortage of tears and mourning among survivors. Everyone had lost much to get where they were, but they did well to find and keep their faith. There were still those among the breaches and isolated places who were shaping their own stories through this tribulation.

  The corridor Kush’hera had carved through the land created a lasting highway from the western coast to Dema. It was easy to fortify and maintain, although it required a substantial troop number. Merchant and private ships dotted the waters around Zuhetta as some still fled to the islands and others held out hope to find a functioning state.

  Tok’tala and Om’Borla were joined into a single country, renamed “Bos’Novi.” Fesheyn became the official capital due to its size and its considerable existing resources. It also had a substantial remaining military force. The coastline of Bos’Novi was quite a bustling place to be these days as settlements grew from Fesheyn to Zufa’zuf.

  Kush’hera called forth Dynn (a horde of elemental ghosts) to begin harvesting the resources Asheya could offer the allied forces. It was quite an amusing sight when the first of these friendly ghosts appeared in the cities, dropping off a thousand-pound shock core before it waved goodbye and disappeared again. Hah! By the looks of these cute phantasms, you wouldn’t expect them to carry such weight.

  Indeed, the battle lines were becoming increasingly defined.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Choose Your Weapon

  Trova introduced Enysa to the local chapter armory. Her jaw dropped at the sight of all the instruments of death. “Oooh,” Ensya gasped, taking what were two quiksteel lashblades. She put them on a nearby table and then returned to her browsing. She grabbed two darksteel handcannons. She wouldn’t be able to wield pistols without her modified strength.

  “I’m not so sure I feel safe with you so heavily armed,” A’mi remarked. “Oh, hush,” Enysa replied playfully. “Trova’s going to teach me to be a badass.” “Here,” Trova said, tossing Enysa a compact semi-auto shadowcraft rifle. “Guns are always a good place to start, especially since you’re coming into this fresh.” “Fresh?” Enysa repeated.

  “Meaning you’re not pre-wired with a gift,” A’mi stated, drinking a relaxing serum she’d concocted. “Aye,” Trova affirmed. “We pretty much have to start from the ground up with you.” Looking down the sights with the red glow of her eyes, Enysa seemed to like the fit of the rifle. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said.

  “Good,” Trova answered, laying out several daggers and thrown weapons, “because you’ll have plenty of work to do on your own.” “What were the darkdancers like that took you in, Trova?” Enysa asked curiously. “They were friends of mine; that should say enough,” Trova replied. “I’m sorry,” Enysa said humbly. “Don’t worry about it; they did their duty just like we’ll do ours,” Trova responded in kind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Welcome to Harth

  In Shiro, one could now see the construction of a military staging area outside of the pass that leads into Ramm. Ramm, the swarmland’s dwarven country, had been made into a putrid hive of nightmarish insects. King Amon was to lead the counter-offensive into the pit-held territory that claimed the lives of hundreds of millions of his kin and fellows.

  This would be no easy or brash task, for there were still the darkened lands of Gol and Vae’yir to the south.
Evermore, the former city-turned fortress, remained a powerful conduit to the hellish forces that were therein. Sooner or later, Baaltha would have to be dealt with; but that time had not yet come.

  The meeting of the voidkeeper and voidmancer in Rime proved to be productive, as Rime’s science division took careful notes of their discussions. While void energy had been used for transportation in the city’s recent history, it was small scale and somewhat sloppy. The very idea of a city being powered by void energy made the voidkeeper eager to apply her gifts, but this would be a timely project.

  Defining “weaponization” will certainly be a fine line to walk.

  The lady Firebourne has given birth. The infant of Light is now among the people of Shiro and of Harth.

  Dak remained a smoldering and ash-covered land where fire was still in plentiful quantity. Dak has become Yojun’Sha’s newfound domain. The fallen guardian, remaining relatively quiet among his own devices, was among those few that could survive the blazing conditions and elemental aftermath.

  Rayne had already entered her three-year stasis as a broodmother while her Parraeysian citizens found their new lives among the tranquility of a restored Light to the isles. Radagast worked to learn what he could about Azkelon from any remaining documentation. If in fact fallen brood remained there, it would have to be addressed. Gizmo and Twitch, partnered with his Ma’ji pupils and “uncle” Zeit, had been heading an engineering project to “modernize” the ancient dragonkin grounds.

  In Mol’do, Dan-hali continued their own cleanup and recovery efforts. Swae had returned to Mol’do with her face bleeding. She told them of the lives lost to the fallen archangel and of the annihilated terrani Veil.