The Last Pantheon: of hammers and storms

by Jason Jones

  How many years exactly have I been here, I do not know. Nine centuries and then some I think. I am cursed, damned to service. I have run messages, traveled the infernal realms on foot, an errand boy for two thousand years as decreed by God, Yjaros, for my transgressions. Ten centuries in Mictalan, the dead lands, in service to Mowg for my forbidden love of someone that is no more and for hiding her away from Him. Ten centuries more they have also told me, for my assault on holy servants of God, for destroying his temple, and for using arcane powers to defy Gimmorain judgement.

  I remember how insanely I laughed, how I had ripped black lightning strikes through Arabashiel and two of her Gimmorian brothers, Hutriel and Gourses, and how they had feared me. God had not shared my humor, and turned me over to the Nochtilians after my judgement was final. That was long ago, when Sodom of the Ember Tower, Sodom the Archmage of Kivanis, and Sodom the Warlock of Night, were all titles and names that mortals feared, and even many immortals. Now, I am nothing, gone from the world, a world that has forgotten me and my age.

  “Sodom!” Shukuru roars from his flames on the throne, something has happened, many passing demons whisper and keep their distance up in the chasms of the mountains of the damned.

  In a flash of black smoke, I am before him, and I kneel. I have to, the ten trident brands burn on my forearm, forcing me down in pain. One brand for each century of service to Shukuru, the ten skulls on my other arm are for Mowg in the deadlands, centuries I have already fulfilled.

  “Hail, firstborn son of God, mighty Shukuru, ruler of---“

  “Silence!”

  His voice is so strong when he yells that some of my flesh rips from by bones and blows away into the netherworld with fires caused by his breath and stare. It regrows, slowly, painfully, the pain is agonizing beyond words. His dark marbled flesh is beyond black, and his fiery piercing eyes look past me, his chiseled face grimaces under his curved horns of white, and his two forked flaming trident slams to the ground as chunks of rock fall from the air.

  “Rise, brother, and tell me what has caused this, who dares ask such an honor of us?” Shukuru points past me, behind me, so I turn my head to look.

  There, in a contorting pile of black flames, is a squirming form. I see wings, Nochtilian wings, and a clawed hand trying to grow out of the sludge. One of his children, Kashtamias the knight of the eighth Hell, is being summoned from Infiernum, to the mortal world. I have never seen the infernal royalty accept such a request.

  “My Lord and elder, your son is called by the devout, he is nearly ready.” Cancuru kneels behind me.

  The second born son of God, ruler of the endless falls of insanity at the end of Lake Holavis, the Abyss of Kaimhet Kah, he is nearly as tall as Shukuru. His body is white, covered in black bones of armor, and his eyes are as swirling flames. One look, one stare, will cause nightmares that can last mortal lifetimes from his eyes, even unto other immortals. I look to his chest, to the triangle of flames that burns there, and do not meet his eyes. I had once, long ago, and once had been enough.

  “Who are these that call upon us?” Shukuru paces now, back and forth, walking with his green steel flaming trident, wings opening and closing from his back, watching Kashtamias struggle and form on the burned rock floor.

  “A queen, an Armondi queen, niece to Trehad---“

  “And cursed by you, your whore Nareene, Trehad is one of hers. Interesting.” Shukuru grows queit and still, which is worse than his anger.

  “Brother, I had nothing to do with this, you must know that.” Cancuru stands, trembling, but he faces his brother with resolve.

  “No, but I sense you have more to tell me. More has happened. Would you elaborate what your whores have seen on the mortal world? Why the sudden interests?” The Lord of Hell looks to Cancuru, red holes burned from his gaze, melting pinpoints through immortal flesh.

  “Our Gimmorian sister, Arabashiel, has sent word. There are those that seek the curse undone, they move closer to her.”

  “Who, dare I ask, is responsible for such blasphemies as to walk where no mortal shall walk?”

  “A priest, a mortal, yet a mighty worshipper of Vundren.” Cancuru steps back from the stare and his burning flesh began to heal.

  “One priest? And Arabashiel calls in the darkness? Likely she sent word to Gimmor, and your temptress heard of it.” Shukuru glared at Cancuru until he received a nod.

  “Perhaps. There is more.”

  “Do tell, younger brother.”

  I sit still, kneeling between the Nochtilian immortal brothers, listening to what I already knew, for my powers, even here, still reach far.

  “Annar has returned to Castle Gihrasa, he has been freed from his imprisonment.”

  “I expect he enjoyed the view of his heaven, the one you and I burned to ashes?” Shukuru laughs, and the flames for miles around roar into the black airs of hell.

  “He was most angry, yet his power, as per the curse of God our father, has passed to another. A minotaur, who was also seen in the Kingdom of the Crescent Moon. That is not all, brother.” Cancuru steps back again, feeling the anger in each breath from his elder.

  “Let me venture a guess. Haddius?” Shukuru flaps his great wings, the dust burns my skin, but I remain silent and on a knee as I smolder.

  “Yes, brother. He was released. A woman of Siril, and a man blessed by Seirena yet who prays to Alden, the minotaur, the priest, and one that practices the arcane of the white moon, they were all there. It seems---“

  “It would be obvious to a blind man!” Shukuru roars and Cancuru falls back and smolders until he knelt. I feel the flesh upon my face is gone, the cold sensation in the heat of hell, it tells me but bone remains. I do not touch it, for it will regrow, in time. Stifling screams of both pain and maddening horror, I have practiced this for nearly two thousand years of purgatory.

  “The Caricians have sent their mortals, chose them and aligned them in secret, and have declared open war upon us, brother!”

  “I am not certain if that is---“

  “I am! Siril sent his, Seirena sent hers, Annar passed his power, and Vundren took action against Gimmor. They seek to release the city, two Caricians freed, and even Daitann was killed! Mulitan, who went in search of his son, the guardians of Gimmorian passages that must not be opened, he has not returned. And you are not sure?! It has begun, brother, and they have struck the first blows! And you watch and wonder in your insanity above the abyss with no end! Your priestesses are to watch, to take souls to kill and watch more, as we cannot enter the mortal world! They see to prevent these very things! You have failed us, and failed our father! Now, we must fight, brother!” Shukuru roars his decrees, thousands scream as the winds of his voice melt them from the hanging green chains above.

  Cancuru stands, smoldering from head to wings to clawed feet. I feel my insides showing, my bones, for surely nothing remains of my clothing or flesh. I look to my hand, it is black bone, yet traces of red blood begin to reach and smolder to form. To most anyone, the horror would have them screaming as much as the pain, yet this has happened to me hundreds of times, and things far worse.

  “There is more. A woman, a Soujan Knight we could not see with immortal eyes, she was seen by Nareene leaving Hyrastrian with---“

  “The Soujan?! The Knights Soujan have risen as well, brother? And what have you done?!” Shukuru whispers, cracks in the rocks follow his words, small chasms of anger cross the very ground and small demons crawl out of them as if awakened with that quiet anger. They look to me as a meal, on instinct, yet my glare turns them away.

  “They still have but six of the seven, and they will never find Solumet. The Carician thrones will never be filled, brother.” Cancuru paces, glances at me, and I glance away.

  “We have all eleven of our Nochtilians. The Gimmorian council, they have several thrones empty. They cannot do anything without Solumet, the firstborn Carician. They can call no gathering. Only we could rise up, perhaps we wait in the shadows, and kill this
minotaur for God, before they find the last Carician.” Cancuru grins as vile black wisps of saliva burn the ground, falling like a sinister oil behind me. “An offering, to our father---”

  “No, our father has Solumet hidden away, far away. But, our mother Seirena is working with Megos, and the Caricians now have hope, and their unseen guardians as well.” Shukuru paces, trident in hand.

  “We could rise up, take the Primalus Defectus, burn it to ash, and make war on the mortal world from the green moon, brother.” Cancuru smiles wide now. “We could take the green moon once more, as it should be, as the eldest firstborn children of God.”

  “And who would take the throne on Gimmor, God’s throne, our father’s throne? Who would have the power to sit and decree it? Only Yjaros has that power, or perhaps his three betraying children. Yet neither Megos nor Seirena would side with us and allow it to be undone, and She that has no name is gone from this world. So, we cannot. And God is gone, our father wanders the dimensions alone and has left us to maintain the balance of the realms and the judgements he passed.” Shukuru is in deep focus and thought, now glancing at me from time to time.

  “So a mortal war again? Send in all of Altestan, His chosen people, the ones we hold sway over in His absence? And we watch from here, never to leave, only to watch and sit? This is forever, where once we sat on the green moon, dined and spoke to our Gimmorian brothers and sisters, and enjoyed immortality. I cannot spend another ten thousand years down here, Shukuru, I have gone insane from the first ten millennia. Soon, I will not be me anymore, and I will meld with the abyss. I have seen it in my future.”

  “Sodom, how may centuries do you have left in my service?” Shukuru looks down at me.

  “None, your magnificence. This is my last trident, I near the last of my purgatory. Hail Shukuru, firstborn son of God.” I speak as I have to, hearing of hopes that want me to smile, but I do not.

  “Why him, brother?” Cancuru looks down at me, I feel it.

  “Because he is powerful, mortal, he destroyed all of our temples on those mountains once, he knows the way, and I tire of his presence. If we send our own, it allows the Caricians to do the same, and we do not know what forces Alden has in his white heavens. Our little wingless brother has been quiet up there, for too long. We need eyes, since your Nareene is unable. We send Sodom to destroy the city of temples, unseen, with this.” Shukuru opens his hand and a green stone and steel ring floats to my finger.

  “Gimmorian stone, so the Caricians will not see him and he can travel the stone portals, but what of the Soujan? They will see him.” Cancuru asked.

  “He has Moiritas, the sword of Mowg, and it is bound to him, his arcane powers are of a time that this world does not even compare to, and his release hangs on success. No mortal will stop him.” Shukuru smiles and looks at me again with his red glare.

  “Besides, he did it once before. Rather ironic fate, is it not?”

  “You are cruel, brother. Blissfully devious, yes. But what of your son?”

  “Do not worry for Kashtamias, he knows full well what must be done.”

  “Yes brother.” Cancuru laughs along with Shukuru, a wickedness upon the airs of hell with no equal.

  “Sodom, you will destroy the city of Mooncrest and reduce it to ashen waste, kill the all that dare trespass, and then come back to me to be released. Should you fail or refuse, I will add another thousand years to your purgatory, in Kaimhet Kah, with Cancuru, where your mind and spirit will twist to nothing and be forgotten. Should you try and run or hide, I will plague you with an endless hunt of my most vile demonic servants. Do you accept?”

  “Yes master. Hail Shukuru, firstborn son of God and lord of hell.” I answer quickly, knowing that freedom from here, after two thousand years, is worth anything and everything. I also know that the son of Shukuru will be there, and I will die by his blade. Kashtamias will see that I receive not one breath of freedom when the deed is done, but I have time now, time to think and plan.

  “You see, brother, it is that easy. In any regard, send word to the priests in Altestan, whisper to them to tell their three emperors of all that has occurred. They will finish what is left on Agara in years to come, thinking our words in the shadows are those of our father. We shall answer their prayers, with a most bloody reward.” Shukuru flies up to his throne, picks a hanging woman from the chains above, and begins to eat her alive. He smiles as he chews, the screams and pouring blood fill the air around him.

  “And allow my son to be summoned, a gift to our devout in Armondeen. Let them enjoy a victory there, until Sodom levels the place to the ground, for all eternity. My son will enjoy some mortal carnal pleasures, I am sure.”

  “But brother, that place, it could be our unholy temple, a new beginning to retake the mortal world. Why destroy it so?”

  “Because, your interest in it spurns me, Cancuru. You move without my blessing, you plan ahead of me, and seek to be prepared before your elder. This I know, this I have seen, and this I shall destroy.” Shukuru smiles wide, blood dripping from his recent meal.

  “I have no idea what it is that makes you believe such lies and---“

  Cancuru stops his words, seeing her form walk slowly from behind the throne of his older brother. Cancuru glares at the slowly reforming form of Nareene, the deception swirls his eyes, yet I stay motionless.

  “Nareene, once one of yours, is now one of mine, brother. Her tongue is far too loose, her ambition great, and I hear you two have been most busy upon the mortal world. Now, I order that place destoyed, once again.” Shukuru glares at his younger brother.

  “Yes, brother. It shall be done.” Cancuru vanishes into a puff of lingering horrid black smoke from behind me.

  “The temple, devoted to we firstborn, it shall be endeavored by mine own, for us all, brother. It shall rise atop the blood and ashes of this place, the son of the dark first angel himself will offer the initial sacrifices to his father, and our mortal worships shall know who I am. Before you, as it is, and always will be, brother.” Shukuru grinned.

  “Yes brother, as it is.” Cancuru whispers from his misty form.

  “What are you waiting for, Sodom? Start walking. I will be watching you very closely.” Shukuru swallows the head of the woman he had been eating, her eyes stare in horror at me, yet I turn and start my steps.

  Then I stop. I caught the ring as it was tossed from the lord of hell. I think of the blade that will never leave my side, Moiritas, and in black smoke it is there, in my hand, with but a thought. My flesh is slowly forming anew, blood drips where my feet burn upon the red rock, yet I kneel.

  “Hail Shukuru, firstborn son of God.” I rise fast and turn away from Nareene and Shukuru, just as he takes another victim from the thousands chained, and begins his feast, one that would last for years.

  Through Infiernum I walk, knowing it will take months to wind my way through, many months for each of all eight hells. Then from there I will take the boats of bone across the lake, avoiding the Abyss. I know Mictalan is right after, the lands of the dead and the lost, and I know how to get out to the mortal world. Mowg will allow it, for he and I share many secrets, ones no other immortal even knows of.

  My heart races, my steps are quick, and all my memories flood back to me. My powers, my blade is across my back, and I will see the fresh air of the mortal world once more. Still, I can not remember her name, the woman I loved, the one they took from me. I see her face in my mind, with every step…

  “Lord Sodom? Lord Sodom, wake up Lord Azarris.”

  I spin fast, hand raised and glowing with green flames, and I blink. I feel the fire in my eyes, the red blood arcane of dark protections, it is instinct, as I still think I am there. The dream was too real, the memory too strong, it carries into the moment.

  “Aaarrghhh!” I roar out a wicked warning, pointing my fingers at her, fingers smoldering with orange flame wishing to be released.

  It is Ranny the housemaid, she gasps, and stops touching my shoulder. I ha
ve fallen asleep in my study again. My neck aches, from the position on the floor resting between my desk and the wall.

  “Sorry, so sorry Ranny. Just a bad dream was all.” I stand quietly, trying not to wake the whole house as I topple into the desk and send things crashing to the floor. Ranny is backing away from me, fear in her eyes. I rub my cheek, dismissing the arcane flames on my fingertips right before, and pull a snag out of my long brown and gray waves of hair as they are tangled inside my robes.

  “It is late, my lord, good night.” Ranny puts her hand over her heart, making the sign of the feathered cross, and looks to me as she backs away.

  I have frightened her, I know it, and her maternal instincts have taken over inside of her. She likely thinks me wicked, with the small spells she has noticed over the last few years, and the one time I caught her in the wine cellar looking for the other study, the secret one. I sigh.

  “Good night, Ranny. I will see you in the morning then.”

  “My lord, I must go into Gillian tomorrow, harvest time and all. Perhaps I will see you later in the day. Good night.” Ranny walks away, her hand trembling.

  “Damn it.” I whisper to myself. I hope she will not mention anything to anyone at the church, and I hope I have not been talking in my sleep, escpecially with that vivid dream.

  I walk past the halls, up the curving stairs, and look at the hand and a half blade over the mantle. I think of it in my hands, and no sooner have I thought it, and black smoke appears and the sword is in my grasp. I think of it back on the mantle, and the same occurs. It glares at me, as if Mowg can see me through it. I sigh again.

  “You are supposed to keep me safe, from your own brethren, Moiritas. Try harder then, for my dreams are haunted with Nochtilian terrors.” I speak to the sword, why, I do not know.