Crystalline Chaos

by Gabriela Voelske

  Arariel flopped backwards onto the bed and groaned, due to the after effects not playing nice with his body. Solomon thought best to let him lie there and rest since he could keep an eye on him to ensure he wasn’t getting any worse.

  * * *

  A few hours passed before Arariel finally woke up again, although this time he could see clearly and he felt far less debilitated and nauseous. He glanced up at Solomon, who was concentrating intently on whatever he was doing sat down at his desk. Arariel watched for a few minutes until leaning up was becoming painful on his neck; he did not want to disturb the demon from his work. Lightly lifting himself up he remained in a sitting position for a few more minutes, allowing himself to regain his balance.

  “Feeling better?” Solomon asked, not looking up from his desk.

  “Ah yes, thank you,” he replied kindly. Solomon paused for a second on hearing his response before continuing. He had expected to receive someone who was going to be rather foul-mouthed towards him; the genuine kindness in the angel’s voice was a surprise to hear. Arariel shifted off the bed and walked over to the desk, peering over Solomon’s hunched shoulders at what he was doing. It wasn’t entirely obvious, but he could see some unrecognisable runes and the corner of what appeared to be a book.

  Solomon sighed and leant back in his chair, nearly clipping Arariel as he did so. He looked concerned over something, from the inkwell on his desk he had evidently been writing something down.

  “I’ve been having a feel around the aetherial pathways, seeing what I can find,” he said. It was commonly known that mana existed within the aether of the world, but the mana did not stagnate where it resided; flowing currents carried the aetherial mana around, replenishing the world as it went. “There’s a strange anomaly, it’s hard to tell from this distance but it feels as if another plane of existence is directly connected to our own,” Solomon continued, running his hand through his hair. Such a thing would explain all the events that happened but it would have to have been connected by someone intentionally.

  “At the spires,” Arariel remarked.

  Solomon took a deep breath and sighed again, contemplating how they could investigate it further. “We could visit it personally while remaining here,” the demon commented, obtaining a confused look from the angel.

  “How…?” Arariel questioned, though his query was quickly cut off as Solomon replied.

  “I have my ways; it may be for the best not knowing exactly how it works.” He had a silent moment of amusement as the thought went over the angel’s face. Solomon wondered just what had been said about him by the other angels. Standing back up, he walked over to the bed before sitting down, beckoning Arariel to join him. The angel looked doubtful but conceded to his call, settling on the bed beside him. “Tell me, do you have any experience with plane walking?”

  The question took Arariel’s breath away. Plane walking was an incredibly difficult thing to perform, as such only a very few mages ever manage it. It felt like an honour that Solomon would even consider taking him along on a walk. Seeing his sudden perk up Solomon knew he had hit the mark, someone who did not completely object to the idea would be an aid.

  Solomon reached out and grabbed Arariel’s hands firmly; to keep the spell up consistently on both of them he would need to retain contact to Arariel’s skin to allow his mana to flow between the two uninterrupted. “Are you ready?”

  Arariel’s zealous nod told him all he needed.

  The chant began. Arariel grasped his hands tightly, causing the demon some discomfort but he continued on. Soon the angel could feel strange mana racing around his body, leaving a tingling trail as it went. Next, he was hit with an intense pulling sensation, he tried fighting it but to no avail. Arariel let out a cry of pain but Solomon was not fazed, opting to continue on without so much as looking up. His vision went blank and he felt the ground pull away from underneath him before everything went still. He felt what he thought to be someone touch him, nothing was obvious at the second.

  “If you can hear me, focus on opening your eyes,” a voice rang out in his head; he did as advised and focused everything on his head, slowly opening his eyes. Solomon was in front of him.

  His body now appeared more like a ghostly apparition than the dark skinned demon he was. Arariel brought up his own hands to in front of him, they were similarly ghostly in nature. In doing so he noticed that they were floating a fair distance above Shadekeep. “The first time is always the worst.”

  Arariel hoped it was the case, he’d rather not repeat that in a hurry. “What plane is this?” he enquired, a quick glance around revealed nothing overly out of the ordinary, aside from their appearances.

  “The one between the living and the dead.” Arariel flinched, it was the plane that restless spirits became trapped into and it was a dangerous place if they overstayed their welcome.

  After a while of trial and error on showing Arariel how to move within this plane, they had begun moving towards the spires. Within this plane they should be safe from detection, but not safe from harm. Eventually, the bulbous crystal towers came into view, growing continuously in size as they approached.

  Up close, the sheer size of the things became notable; the amount of mana trapped within them must be overwhelming. Numerous smaller spires surrounded the central spires, creating a protective ring. At the bottom of the middle spire, something caught their interest. A light was being emitted, catching on dark shapes nearby. It was then they became aware the area was seething with dark bodied creatures, of various shapes and sizes, each as deadly as each other.

  They descended warily, keeping an eye on the creatures suddenly spotting them. A normal creature would never spot them, but one from another plane may be able to pick up on them. For now, it appeared they were oblivious to their ghostly presence at least.

  The source of light soon came into view; it was coming out of a circular entranceway, neatly carved in the crystal structure. Curiosity took the better of them and they decided to take a peek inside, although it was not what they had been expecting. Long winding staircases extended around the walls of the structure, branching off into different rooms. There were more doors at the base, which they guessed lead into the side crystals, to which they imagined to look similar inside as this one. Above they could hear someone muttering to themselves, not loud enough for them to hear what was being said, however. Arariel broke off and went to investigate the sound. The action was not to Solomon’s liking; whoever they were below evidently had control over the spires and the creatures.

  He rushed after Arariel but by the fact the voice had stopped he knew he was too late, their presence had been spotted. The angel, however, had not picked up on the fact and came up level to the individual, before jerking back and dropping from the air. Although in this plane his body looked fine, Solomon knew he had been injured badly enough to knock him out.

  He sped over and caught Arariel, sheltering him from any more attacks. Immediately after a pulsing bolt came flying at Solomon, causing him to quickly move back. Repeated barrages came at Solomon, for now, he was managing to dodge them as they came, but he needed to cast the spell to attach them back to their physical bodies. After another bolt, he began chanting, preparing the spell as fast as he could. Just as he finished a bolt clipped the edge of his wing, but it was not enough to cancel his casting. They vanished, leaving the mage angrily throwing bolts below him.

  * * *

  “Do I ask?” a voice questioned, echoing in Solomon’s head. Blearily he looked up at the demon talking to him; a rather amused expression was on his face.

  “What do you mean, Dumon?”

  “Look down,” he replied and Solomon gazed down, not sure what to expect. Below him lay Arariel; sometime during the assault he must have physically wrapped his arms around the angel’s body, covering the rest with his wings. He paused, before casually removing his arms and sitting back up, quietly dusting himself off. Solomon glanced over to Dumon, his vision was becoming mo
re focused now. The demon’s gaze was not on Solomon though, instead, he was to be looking at the angel. His eyes followed his line of sight and he was greeted by a notable bloodstain on Arariel’s clothing, right where the bolt had hit his ghostly form. Without hesitating, he scooped the angel off the bed and looked over at Dumon, who was already beckoning for him to come.

  The two of them progressed down the corridor, with his wing emitting a stinging pain that reminded him of his own wound. They arrived at an expansive, well-lit hall that was lined with beds and various potted plants. It was the main healing room for injured demons of all shapes and sizes; it was even capable of properly treating a demon the size of Kaiser without losing any bed space for others. Dumon was the head of the hall, an old and experienced healer who could treat nearly everything that was laid in front of him. Solomon often helped him out with any more magic related injuries that normal medical practices found difficult to treat.

  “What happened to him?” Dumon asked as he helped Solomon lay the angel out onto one of the beds.

  “We were attacked during a phase walk.” To demonstrate his point, he pulled his own wounded wing into view. Dumon glanced at it before taking his attention back to the angel’s wounded shoulder; Solomon’s wound appeared fairly minor, although wing injuries can be a nuisance to heal, Dumon knew. He slipped the angel’s robes off from around his shoulder and looked at the wound hidden below. It appeared severe from his first impression, as the angel’s pale golden tinged skin made it easily visible.

  Solomon was scrambling around to get the tools Dumon would need to stabilise the wound. An angel had much softer skin than a demon so a thicker needle was not needed to allow Dumon to suture the wound closed. Neatly, he placed the equipment onto a small table next to the healer before moving to the other side of the bed, taking a proper look at the wound himself. Much of the skin still remained, if it was damaged and torn in places; the main damage appeared to be below as the spell had exploded out from underneath his skin.

  “Check for any magic residue,” Dumon instructed, Solomon nodded and ran his hands around the outside of the wound, using his necrotic power to check if any part of Arariel’s wound was emitting any energy above the level of just damaged tissue. Anything injured or dying emits a type of energy that those skilled in necromancy can pick up, such energy can be used to fuel the art to a dangerously powerful level. The demon, however, was just checking if anything was unnaturally dying off, opposed to just being naturally damaged like the rest of the wound.

  “I can’t obviously feel any residue,” Solomon replied, it made him confident that Arariel’s wound was clear and safe. Dumon nodded and began suturing the torn muscle back together; it had been damaged in several places and was taking some time to correctly reattach it. The angel would certainly be feeling this wound for months afterwards. Solomon felt ashamed, Arariel had been eager to be taken along with him and he winded up getting him injured. He sighed as he watched Dumon clean the freshly stitched muscle again, before starting on sealing the wound up with the damaged skin.

  “He’ll be fine,” Dumon commented in reply to his sigh, “though he’ll have a notable scar.”

  Solomon knew a notable scar would go down brilliantly when Arariel returned to Uriel; he did not wish to think of the backlash it would create. Dumon soon finished and wiped the angel’s body clean, before gently moving him underneath the blanket to rest. Turning his attention to Solomon’s wing, he grabbed a thicker salve and covered the wound with it. It was no more than a widespread graze, but it still needed to be kept clean.

  “Go and inform Sebastian of your findings, I’ll watch over him,” Dumon directed to Solomon, who was stood there in a daze.

  Solomon snapped out of it and bowed to the demon, walking out of the room at a brisk pace.

  * * *

  Sebastian had remained in contact with Uriel the whole time using a magical relay that Solomon had set up a while ago. It transmitted the voice of its user but presented no image, so Uriel had to intentionally lace his tone with venom, though his words indicated his true interest in some of the things the Demon King was telling him. When Solomon burst into the room Sebastian excused himself for a minute, giving the angel time to calm himself.

  Solomon briefly explained everything that had occurred. Sebastian, on the one hand, was pleased they had found something, but he did not appreciate the implications of their findings. He placed Solomon’s hand onto the relay and Solomon quickly became aware of Uriel’s presence on the other side.

  “Tell him,” the King ordered, causing Solomon to flinch. He had wished to delay informing Uriel about Arariel’s condition for as long as possible. With a sigh, he conceded and reiterated everything to the relay, noticing Uriel remain silent for the whole thing, minus the odd shuffle. Uriel remained silent for a moment longer once he had finished, considering what he had just been told.

  “Pass it back to Sebastian.” For once his voice sounded sincere, much to Solomon’s astonishment; he had expected Uriel to lay into him over Arariel’s injuries. Without question, he let the relay go and gestured for the King to retake it, who did so with a raised brow.

  “I think we need to pay a personal visit to the Magi Council.” The Angel Monarch was aware that they would know something of this situation if they weren’t being upfront and honest about it.

  Chapter 8: Dancing Shadows

  Sakura awoke to find herself nestled against Ciel’s chest, having been wrapped in several layers of blankets which bound her wings to her body. She remained still for a while, listening to his chest as he breathed in and out before staring up at his face. He appeared to be sleeping deeply, which made her wonder just how long she had been unconscious for. The events of the day were still firm within her mind, though she couldn’t remember much after she had started carrying her father back. She tried to look over his shoulders to see if she could see anyone else, but Ciel’s wings blocked her view. The room was quiet, except a crackling fire, not giving her any hint if her father had woken or not.

  Turning her head back she paused for a moment to think, she needed to wake Ciel up somehow. Contemplating many methods, she opted to go with the gentlest one first. Prying an arm free from the blankets, she began to stroke his cheek. The plan had appeared to work, as not long after Ciel had begun to stir. He looked down at her and smiled, glad to have her wake up so swiftly.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?” he whispered to her, not wanting to disturb the others yet.

  “I’m fine, I think. How is my father?”

  Ciel gazed over to Drake, though to what he could see Amnur was still unconscious. “He hasn’t woken up yet,” he responded, causing Sakura to sigh and lean further into his chest. Ciel blushed as she did so, tightening his arms around her. Something in the hut was wrong to her, though; the shadows cast by the fire appeared to writhe as she watched them. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Her recent ordeal must be playing tricks on her.

  “Is something wrong?” Ciel queried, after being clipped by one of her horns. Once again she looked at the wall, but this time the shadows were still.

  “…No,” the girl replied. Would he even believe her if she said such a thing? She had no idea, but she felt that she would just embarrass herself if she brought it up. Ciel peeked up, on the wall was a peculiar device that functioned as a clock, which showed that it was still early in the morning. His back was starting to become sore from being sat up for so long and he would need to change position to sleep the rest of the night. He laid onto his side, resting his head on a pillow and Sakura’s head onto his arm.

  “It’s still night,” he commented, though Sakura looked slightly more sceptical to his reasoning. She accepted it, however, wrapping her now completely freed arms around him. The last thing she wanted was to be alone right now, not with her mind playing tricks on her.

  * * *

  Crono woke as dawn broke, not that he expected it to be obvious if he looked outside the house. The fire had sta
rted to run low now, burning through its last reserves of fuel as it crackled away. He stretched and heaved himself up to fetch more firewood as they would need to cook some food to eat once everyone had woken up. As he returned from the pile of firewood he noticed Ciel and Sakura sleeping together and smiled, it was a sweet sight to see the two of them. Judging by the way she had her arms free of the blankets, he guessed that she had already woken up once. Amnur still lay unconscious, though, his wounds were greater than that of his daughter’s but he had expected him to wake up by now.

  He paced over to Drake and gazed over Amnur’s body and spotted the book he was holding tightly. It appeared old and worn and evidently it was important. Crono carefully reached over and pried the book free, placing it down by his bedside before stoking the fire. He sat down after returning, opening the book in an attempt to work out why it was so important to him, but he was greeted only by a language he could not decipher scribbled on old parchment. Admitting defeat, he put the book down as the one person who could read it was still incapacitated.

  A thought made him glance over to Sakura; had Amnur by chance taught her the language present within the book? It was his best hope right now. Crono strode over to her side and bent down and began to gently shake her, causing her to wake. She retracted her arms and he lifted her up, causing Ciel to groan but not stir. Lowering her down to the bed, he sat her on the edge of the mattress before settling down next to her, showing her the book in question.

  “Can you read that?” Crono inquired, watching her open up the book. She skimmed through some of the pages; while she had been taught the language, she had never been given this book to read before.

  “Somewhat. Some of the handwriting on the pages is hasty and not the easiest to read, though.” Sakura intently stared at the pages before her, trying to decipher the text. The style of writing hinted at a form of field journal, as whoever had written it had not settled down on a table to do so.