The Kakos Realm Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  The arch-mage wound down his message. He’d gotten the emotions of the crowd riled up. They were ready for action, tonight even.

  “The final question is this, what will you do about this threat? Will you pledge your life to service? Will you join our military, or will you take action so that your children might not fall under this threat? The choice is up to you.”

  He stepped back and allowed the temple leader to conclude the service with the usual chants and mantras of benediction. The mage went to his Acolyte and whispered into his ears. He pointed out a few individuals in the crowd and relayed some of the most recent intelligence gathered by local sources.

  ***

  Jorge tried to relax. Things had gone well enough in Kevin’s absence, but the longer the preacher remained absent, the more Jorge recognized that he wasn’t cut out for Kevin’s role. The angel was a protector—a helper, not a leader, and he knew it.

  He was uncertain if the relative slowness of their advance in the area was due to him or was just the natural ebb and flow of things. There had been no converts in the last two days and every door yesterday had been slammed shut on them.

  Rondhale, Jhonnic, Jorge, Rah’-be, and Drowdan sat together in a circle; the twins taught the others a dice game to help pass the remainder of the evening. They waited patiently for the Gleend party to return; they had chatted expectantly throughout the day, hoping that their friends might even return early, however unlikely that might be.

  Between shakes, Jorge tried to explain the differences between the entities of angels and demons in this realm.

  “Angels,” he explained, “are still aligned with God. Because of that allegiance, in this place we are vulnerable to annihilation.”

  Drowdan cocked an eyebrow.

  “Our bodies, in this realm, are similar to yours in many ways; if we were to die here, our existence would cease to be. Our spiritual essence would transform into pure energy and dissipate, like heat, as the chemical reactions within our bodies stop interacting and our organs shut down. These energies would join those same energies that already exist, feeding into the supernatural magic lines that course through this plane of existence. It is these same energies that will eventually overload, rupture, and consume this very place sometime in the future.”

  “But what about demons?” asked Jhonnic.

  “By their nature, their life-force cannot be extinguished. When Satan created this place, he had a certain plan in mind, that is, to lure people away to a realm that he thought he could reign over as master. He set things up in a very specific way with many personal fail-safes in place. One was that the energies of the demons would not cease like an angel’s in this manner. I mean, their essence is not annihilated, separating from their flesh in a sense of death. For our kind, it is all about allegiance.

  “What Satan intended for evil, though, God will use for His glory. This is the place that will burn forever as a lake of fire when a final judgment comes. The demons thought Lucifer had prepared a safety net, some place to keep them unharmed and protected from eventual destruction and from Yahweh’s angels. When a demon is slain in the Kakos, barring some kind of reconstitution spell which I’m sure exists, they remain dead yet alive, simply waiting for the next step.

  “The foul creature’s flesh existence, however, will continue in death. They have no animation and no abilities of their own. The life-essence remains trapped within, tied to its corporeal material and unable to act. It merely exists as a passenger to life while eternity passes it by. Unless somehow reversed, this state acts like a soul-prison.”

  “Soul-prison?” asked Rah’-be. “That sounds ominous. Does such a thing exist?”

  Jorge nodded while hedging slightly. “I am not omnipotent,” he admitted. “From my post on the Great Wheel, however, the Watchers and the Tinkers would talk about things we could see. Such a place must exist, though it must be hidden.”

  Rah’-be perked up at the odd terminology of Heaven, but the angel continued uninterrupted.

  “For demons, though, their place is a different sort of prison. The corporeal flesh will continue to decay despite the energies attached to it; this existence cannot be fully extinguished despite any amount of attrition. Trapped, the demons will remain in this place of punishment when the flames finally come.”

  “The Lake of fire?” asked Drowdan, looking for clarification.

  “Yes. The Lake of Fire is called the Second Death; it is a place far worse than any Hell. It is where those who have been judged must make their final abode. The only ones whom the second death has any power over are those whose names are not written in the Book of Life. Nonexistence is greatly preferable to that.”

  “So the prophesied burning is the Second Death?”

  “Not quite. The great conflagration to come is only its beginning. When Satan bows to Christ, the lines of power and energies will shatter and erupt in flames. The flames are a mere precursor to the horror that is the Lake of Fire. The makeup of Kakos cannot be undone; it amplifies the energy that the fire will emit. Energy cannot be destroyed, only transmuted, and so this amplified energy will continue to compile upon itself, intensifying, roiling—it will create an eternally escalating, swirling pit of consuming, tormenting flames.

  “After these flames have amplified over a millennium during the Final Reign of the Lord, it will finally be worthy of the name Lake of Fire. Following that reign comes a final rebellion, and then the judgment. These fires will be unlike anything ever imagined, an intensity surpassing even the scorching sun.

  “It is eternally terrible, exponentially painful, and the eternally dying, yet indestructible bodies given to those at the throne of judgment will endure the flames for all time without end.”

  One dared break the silence following the description. Rondhale contemplated shaking the dice in a wooden cup, but Jorge’s description of damnation had sucked all attention from the game. Rondhale spotted Sil-tarn running towards them as fast as he could. Something about how he ran indicated a problem.

  Jorge went immediately to his feet. The group ran to meet Sil-tarn.

  Out of breath, Rah’-be’s kinsman gasped, “The stage! It took them… Fire!”

  They turned as one unit and saw flames rising in the distance, leaping skyward from where they had built a platform and podium for Kevin’s final message. Sil-tarn, Miklaw, and Miklaw’s nephew Phent, had been gathering firewood from the castoffs they’d piled up during construction of the stage.

  “What took them?”

  “A giant creature! Dark. Black. In the air. A wyvern?” He panted. “Men from the city… torched it… burned the stage.”

  Jorge stood defiant and turned to face the city. He wanted to charge in and rescue his friends, but he knew the risks were too great. Even though he was confident he would survive any defense that the Luciferians might mount against him, Miklaw was already as good as dead, as was his nephew, Phent. No good could come from an offensive; an attack just before their last evangelistic message could have a disastrous effect on their goals.

  Jorge could only clench his fists in anger and pray for his friends. If they’d taken them alive, perhaps they wanted something from them. But the angel understood the methods of their enemy; he prayed that his friends would find quick and painless passings into the next life.

  ***

  The wyvern rider guided his beast through the air at incredible speeds. Mere seconds had passed since the moment his creature snatched its prey. The creature jerked and rolled as it streaked across the sky with a captive in each taloned paw.

  Prock had learned from his previous encounter with Rashnir: strike hard and go fast so the enemy cannot draw upon their defenses. The winged mount jetted down and mercilessly dumped the two men into an intersection in the Grinden streets. Prock’s mount never touched down; it pulled back up and shot into the sky as soon as it dashed the men into the dirt.

  The two captives rolled to a stop in the dust of the r
oads. Miklaw and Phent looked up to find themselves surrounded, completely encircled by a crowd of bellicose Luciferians. Each one brandished a weapon of some sort. They practically buzzed with hatred.

  Men, women, and ekthro moved aside to clear a path. The opening parted at the far end of the enclosure providing a clear view of the vacant city street.

  “Run!” the two men shouted to each other. It was the only potential escape route.

  In the blink of an eye, the wyvern swooped in and crashed to the ground. Its gaping maw snapped shut on Phent; biting through his midsection with vicious teeth, it engulfed most of him. The monstrosity’s lithe neck swept forward like a giant whip and knocked Miklaw back into the opening.

  The wyvern lifted its head into the air and shook violently, like a dog destroying a rag toy. Phent’s blood rained down on the cheering crowd as the surprised man cried out.

  Pointing its nose skyward, the wyvern used gravity to help its throat muscles force the prey down its serpentine neck. Phent gave one last, pained cry as the beast’s constricting gullet forced his broken body down its esophagus.

  Miklaw screamed in protest as his nephew’s final cry muted to nothingness. Tears streamed down his cheeks. They mixed with street dust to make dark, muddy streaks. His eyes locked on the beast’s saddled rider.

  The Acolyte returned a baleful stare, the same one permanently affixed to his visage. He dismounted with clear, deadly purpose. Puffing a quick note on his tiny flute the wyvern took back to the skies; chanting Luciferians filled in the remaining gap and barred Miklaw’s escape.

  As the Acolyte approached, Miklaw sprang back to his feet. He called his sword to hand and held it before him, like Jorge had taught him. Cerulean flames leapt off the eyes of all those present, and for a moment, Miklaw thought that the mighty power he held in his hands might persuade the crowd to disperse. But the Acolyte continued his approach; his purpose and resolve remaining unchecked by the presence of the seemingly omnipotent weapon.

  The darkly clad assassin brandished a pair of wicked kamas, one in each hand. Their serrated, sickle heads made the crowd prattle with excitement, murmuring with expectation. They had been promised a demonstration of the effectiveness of the ‘ãbêdâh.

  He whirled a kama expertly in his left hand, idly displaying his impressive skill; he used the demonstration to unnerve his opponent and awe the crowd. He held the second weapon firmly in his forward hand, advancing with guarded sidesteps to test his prey.

  Prock probed the krist-chin’s defense and rapped the metallic moto of his weapon—the middle part that extended from the pommel to the sickle-blade—against the flaming blade of his opponent. The impact flashed white at the point of contact. It snapped and sizzled like lightning in the dark.

  The supernatural backlash created on contact made the moto glow bright red where the weapons made contact. Heat rose from the assassin’s tool, but it remained unscathed and the glowing redness and heat quickly dissipated.

  Miklaw’s face fell, his eyes incredulous. He could hardly believe what he had just seen. He didn’t understand how or why his enemy’s weapon resisted. His enemy merely grinned at him.

  Fully convinced of the potions effectiveness, the Acolyte pressed an assault on the older krist-chin. The only sounds that filled the air were of weapon striking weapon, the shuffle of two combatants’ feet, and the grunts of the older krist-chin as he tried to fend off blow after blow.

  Prock was only toying with the krist-chin. His skill was far superior, and he wanted to make a demonstration out of Miklaw—to wear him down and whittle away at the enemy piece by bloody piece.

  Miklaw looked the acolyte in the eye and recognized the foul intent; he quickly formed a new plan, knowing his life was forfeit anyway. At least he could use the situation as one last chance to demonstrate his faith.

  He chuckled, recognizing the sudden freedom from the burden of survival. Miklaw began parrying blows with an almost lazy effort. He started to preach between the probing assaults of his enemy. Miklaw backpedaled to keep distance with the deadly acolyte and began proclaiming the truths of Christ as loudly as he could. The crowd murmured again and Miklaw could see a wild look pass over on his opponent’s face.

  Prock rained a relentless barrage of blows down upon Miklaw who found it easier to defend himself when he no longer cared about his life. His only goal became proclaiming the Truth, regardless of whether it fell on deaf ears and hardened hearts.

  The defensive maneuvers left him winded, and yet he persisted with proclamations. He understood that he would soon find breathing unnecessary.

  Miklaw ducked and rolled through an attack that would have severed head from body. The adrenaline made him feel young again, but his defense could only hold so long against this superior opponent. His only effective tactic was to keep as much space as possible between himself and the acolyte.

  With distance separating them, Prock stopped his frontal assaults; he stood erect and assumed a non-threatening posture. Miklaw lowered his weapon slightly, thinking that perhaps his opponent was giving him an option to speak. The Acolyte crossed his arms in front of his body and holstered his kamas. His arms remained at his sides, his eyes locked on Miklaw.

  Miklaw paused, and then opened his mouth to speak. He had only gotten one word out of his mouth, “Jesus,” when the Acolyte whipped his hands back and forth three times each; each flurry thrust a throwing star.

  Tiny, wicked disks of iron shaped like the blazing sun targeted the heretic; the filed rays glistened razor sharp. All six iron shurrikens lodged firmly into the shins and legs of the impromptu preacher who collapsed to the ground; the pungent smell of exposed marrow filled the noses of those nearby.

  The fourth time the Acolyte’s hands returned to his sides, they retrieved the holstered kamas. Prock charged his surprised victim with incredible speed and used the fiendish weapons to systematically carve the krist-chin apart while the crowd erupted in a frenzy of acclamation and bloodlust.

  ***

  Rutheir and tyr-aPt, kings of two kingdoms that overlapped, one above-ground and one below, met to discuss current issues. Strangely, grr’SHaalg was not present as he usually was. Both kings knew that grr’SHaalg was true underground ruler. The role reversal was ironic; grr’SHaalg had been the workhorse when Nvv-Fryyg was on the throne. Now, however, king tyr-aPt conducted business of the realm while grr’SHaalg secretly ruled the goblin kingdom in all but name. His ambitions knew no bounds and his aim was to rise above all the goblin kings as a subterranean shadow king, controlling each kingdom’s rulers through guile and subterfuge.

  grr’SHaalg was away to meet with Zilke, Frinnig’s ekthroic subaltern who had been sent to the goblin realms to teach, train, and embrace their ekthro brothers. Both Rutheir and tyr-aPt were under no illusions; they used the whole guise of religion as a false front for their own plans. There were certain powers and factual truths inherent in it, but for the most part they saw religion as a clever tool for controlling the masses and effecting personal gain. The trick to success was in knowing where you stood in the pecking order. Overstepping one’s niche was a deadly proposition with the Order. If you pleased those beyond your own glass ceiling, one could enjoy wealth and power within your own boundaries.

  There were also those in the Order who felt unquestionably committed to their faith. Most Luciferians started out that way, but many ranking monks and mages became extremely corrupt as they advanced, especially those who dealt frequently with their demonic pseudo-deities.

  Zilke was one of those followers who had zealously committed to his faith. He currently trained at the monastery outside of Grinden and was one of its most promising students, despite his ekthroic heritage; Frinnig worked closely with him, giving him special training so that he could advance ranks at a faster pace and maybe become a temple leader at an early age. Because of Frinnig’s interest, Zilke had been given a prominent role in the temple services; it was part of an advanced training initia
tive that Absinthium helped craft. Zilke, a rising star of the Luciferian monastic inductees, had been assigned to train the new ekthroic religious initiates.

  Needing to meet the personal needs of both human and goblin-kind, a cave outside of Grinden made a suitable training location for the selected ekthro. The cavern was situated in a hilled area not far from the Luciferian monastery. There, they had access to the surface as well as the cool underdark. An access tunnel opened into the rear of the cave where it joined the goblin tunnel network.

  Absinthium tailored a training method for the nonhuman initiates, but until it was fully ready, the goblins were given the same basic training as other Luciferians. Some changes would be needed in protocol, such as a religious exemption for the call of goblin war drums. With so much training invested into them goblin monks would prove too valuable to waste on the asinine skirmishes and feuds their kind was so prone to.

  grr’SHaalg kept an eye on Zilke, gauging his value and place in the grand plan. Zilke was very much like Frinnig; he was a part of the order because of his faith, not because he craved control or power. If other goblin initiates had such a genuine faith, they would be much easier to manipulate in the future, like these local Luciferians. grr’SHaalg made sure that Zilke did everything exactly as desired. Even though the training plan that had been adopted for the goblins was an accelerated program, no goblin monks would be of any use to their plans for quite some time. This was a test group, a forerunner to inspire others of their kind.

  Absinthium’s plan was to keep the krist-chins under close observation and then trap them like bugs in a web; the demon would eventually come and destroy them personally, should they prove too resilient. Rutheir and tyr-aPt met to design exactly what type of web they should cast.

  beh’-tsah desired a single strike to completely annihilate the cultic group with one mighty blow now that the politics of the situation had been dealt with. They had polarized the Grinden people into complete acrimony regarding the religious dissidents. The demon wanted to spring this trap and weave the web tighter, but there remained some uncertainty as to how long it would be until the spider could come and feed.