by Mark B Frost
“This is to be my final task,” he answered. “I shall not fail.”
She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Atheme could not be sure, but it suddenly seemed as though she was repressing a heavy sadness. “You have to release the barrier. Unwrap it and drop your natural defenses, leaving your spirit open. Then you must command the sword to release the higher tiers of power, and activate Destruction’s abilities. This will cause the gods to join with you, forming the Hell Knight once more. When they do, immediately toss Kargaroth away so they will not have an escape route. Once you are certain the reintegration is complete, you must collapse into the recesses of your mind, dragging them with you before they’re able to gather power, and reseal the barrier around you.” She paused and opened her eyes. “Once that is done, your part is complete.”
Unexpectedly, Abaddon shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “A foolish and insufficient plan,” he said with a deepening voice. “This will require more than you are capable of, Sinjuin Serene.”
She nervously glanced back and forth between the two councilors. “What do you mean?”
“Your plan could never hope to succeed. Hell can not be killed by the powers of Destruction, just as I cannot be killed by the powers of Death. Did you not think a god as ancient as Destruction would have defenses against this very sort of thing? Even if not, did you not think he would devise them once he knew of your plan? You cannot win. Destruction is too clever by far.”
Atheme edged forward slightly. “Ab, what are you saying? If this isn’t going to work why are we even here? Are you losing control? Are the gods already overtaking you?”
Again he shook his head. “We cannot defeat them. Only Hell himself can. Even the eight gods of darkness pale before the might of Hell. If I become powerful enough, even from within me the individual eight gods will be powerless, and Destruction’s defenses meaningless. To overcome, I must bring my transformed state to its maximum potential. One hundred percent capacity, all abilities and limiters released. In the swell of this storm, our combined consciousness will become all that remains. Destruction’s powers will run rampant, creating weakness where there is none. The only way the Master of Kargaroth can die is if he becomes the most powerful being that has ever existed.”
Serene took a nervous step backward. “The full power of the Hell Knight? I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“It’s not. That is why I have kept it hidden from you until now. But we’re already here, aren’t we?” He reached back and seized the hilt of the Unholy Blade, then held it up in front of his eyes. A black aura began to hover about his body and the sword, pushed back by a small white aura just beneath his skin. “This decision is beyond your control, Serene. I am bringing forth Hell. You must take the gamble and attempt to destroy him as we have planned. Otherwise, all will perish.”
She stepped forward again, trying to control the shaking that had developed in her hands. “Can you control it? Can you keep the Hell Knight idle long enough for our plan to still have any chance at all?”
“In truth, I cannot know. There is an even worse risk, however. At my full power, I don’t know that even the Lifeless Vortex will be enough to kill me. But I will not just let them win. Not without first trying my damnedest to take them with me.”
Atheme took a nervous breath. Serene’s eyes moved rapidly for a few seconds, doing her best to swiftly consider options. Then she went pale, and her hands stopped moving. “You’re right,” she finally said. “It’s beyond my control.” She looked up to him and nodded in determination. “Do what you must.”
Abaddon gripped the wicked weapon with both hands and held it high, pointing it to the sky. “Kargaroth,” he commanded, his voice grown deep and booming across the canyon floor, “despair!” The beautiful silver blade shimmered and glistened, the black aura around it grew more volatile, and the sword transformed into True Kargaroth, the malicious blade that the Hell Knight had carried when Atheme last faced him. The Lord Councilor grimaced at the sight of the twisting length of black serpentine steel, and fell a step back. He wanted to face his nightmare fearlessly, to stand strong; but there were images in his mind, pains in his memories that he could not forget.
The aura began creeping down around Abaddon, growing larger still. He blinked and muttered a strange flowing moan that sounded to Atheme like an ancient rune language. The almost invisible white aura vanished, then the black aura as well, sweeping into his body. He bent over slightly in agony, but he did not lose his composure. He released Kargaroth with his right hand, then with his left sent it flying away, out of the crater and far to the north. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, mumbling and shivering lightly, and soon the white aura reappeared.
Serene acted quickly, thrusting her hands out and creating a huge energy snake. It slithered forward directly at the ether pole. When it came close enough to be sucked in it split in six directions, moving away from and around the pole, rejoining on the other side and proceeding onward to Abaddon. Silver lines wrapped around his body, expanding the white aura, tightening in closely on him and then dragging him toward the vortex.
Even as he slid forward, his body continued its transformation. Demonic spikes and armors began to rip through his skin as his body grew taller. His hair transformed into a long black shroud of smoke that ran past his feet, and his face twisted into the horrific grin Atheme remembered. Within seconds, he was the Hell Knight once more.
But the transformation did not stop at the vision Atheme recalled. The Hell Knight continued to grow, and the black armors continued to expand. Soon the spikes and edges dulled and then were swallowed, as the demonic steel transformed into a strange material Atheme could not place, simultaneously reflective, yet sucking in the light and devouring it. Abaddon’s face disappeared entirely, swallowed first by the same black shroud that flowed behind him, then becoming a streaming flow of black and purple energy shrouds, with deep red eyes of intense light piercing the Lord Councilor’s soul.
Atheme watched his compatriot move across the ground at a painfully slow rate. He reasoned to himself that things were proceeding as planned and he no longer needed to stand guard. He collapsed his sare and headed over to the other side of the pole, just behind Serene, trying to convince himself that it was not out of fear for the black creature that now stood at nearly fifteen foot in height.
As the seemingly lifeless monument moved closer to the vortex, he began to grow apprehensive. In spite of the monstrosity his eyes observed, his soul reminded him unequivocally that this was his best friend. He could not make the same mistake again, he could not allow his fear to forget that somewhere in that shell, Abaddon still lived, and he needed Atheme’s help.
Until now he had forced himself to deny the truth about what was going to happen. But as he watched the Hell Knight—no, Abaddon—slide toward the point that swallowed wind, rock, and ether alike, he could contain it no longer. His insides screamed for him to stop this, save Abaddon, attack the enemy that threatened him. But this time there was nothing that he could do, and for the sake of the world, nothing that he should do. For a minute, hundreds of ideas and panicked cries screamed through his mind, and he knew that he was about to go insane.
Then, just as Abaddon was only five yards away from the vortex, his body came to a stop and Serene screamed. The sudden sound gave Atheme’s mind something to focus on and his feverish panic broke. He started to act, his hand flying for his sare, then he realized he had no action to take. His hand stuttered and he turned to the Saint. “Why isn’t it working anymore?”
Her body was twisting in sharp pain, and she shouted between fierce cries, “He’s grown too strong! I don’t have the strength to move his body anymore! He’s siphoning my power!”
Atheme hesitated for only a second longer, then dashed to Serene’s back. He wrapped one arm around her waist, then the other up between her arms and laid his hand on her neck. She leaned into him, only out of weakness, and tried futilely to stop him as he began
activating grey and white magic spells.
“Atheme, you know you can’t—”
“If I can’t then I’ll die. That’s all there is to that. Take my strength, Serene. I’m about to use Haste. In these intense currents, if I survive it, my power will be extraordinary. Take that power and amplify your own, finish this before the Hell Knight does.”
“I can’t. This is too much, this isn’t how I planned it. I don’t see the point.”
He layered grey and white magic together over and again, creating a latticework of magic that hurt even as it healed and strengthened him. After he had all of the spells he knew in place, he started casting them again, layering himself with more enhancements than was safe for a human body even under steady currents. He knew that if he was going to survive a partial phase shift under these conditions, he had to take just the right risks.
“Forget the plan! Forget the damned point! Forget Sinjuin Serene and her foresight and logic. As Relm Sarin, the girl who loves and trusts me, take my power!”
Her eyes drifted shut and tears slid out, and there was a strange pulse from her. Atheme felt it spread through his arms and into his chest, then felt a strange snap as their spirits linked. He completed his supplemental spells, then executed his Phase Shift matrix.
“Mal-oste haruste.”
The pain that day was a thousand times worse than the worst he had ever felt. Training with Calvin, training Abaddon, injuries from battles, even the ghastly wounds of the Hell Knight were trivial compared to the torment of having mind and spirit pulled in different directions by currents of power moving too fast to see or even feel. He did not die, he did not faint, but he did cry as he was blinded by his own agony. How has Abaddon lived with this pain for so many months? was the only thought that passed through his enfeebled mind.
Serene’s power overflowed from his sacrifice. She regathered her spell and sent it out once more, binding it even tighter around the body that had now fully transformed. As it began sliding forward again, Atheme gradually came to accept the new pain that made every second feel like years, and he opened his tear-brimmed eyes to watch what was happening.
* * * * *
Abaddon was lost in a whirlwind of magic and chaos beyond his comprehension. He was trapped, deep inside of himself, with gods nearly as old as his entire species. They lashed out at him with power he did not understand, whispered things to his mind that he did not know how to reject, and he slowly felt himself begin to transform into something he was not. Just as he felt he was to be overwhelmed by a sea of corruption, his warrior instincts flared forth one last time and created a defense mechanism.
A vast plane spread across the emptiness of his mind and he felt himself land upon it. Beams of light began to carve out the air around him. Soon he looked down to see his body, clad in his old black outfit with grey gloves he had worn for so long. He heard sounds around him, and out of the shadows creatures began to appear.
He stared across the endless expanse of the plane before him and thought about running. But the Daemon did not run from his battles. Even with that aside, he realized that the mindscape was just an illusion, created to allow him to face his foes on terms he could understand. No matter how far he ran they would still be right there with him.
The eight gods of Kargaroth stepped forth, each given a body designed from Abaddon’s memories of them. Destruction, huge and black, plated in armors of void. Death, slim and empty, a wraith of sorrow with fierce claws like scythes thirsting for blood. Hatred, stout and red, his skin turbulent like lava flows. Chaos, everything, everywhere, all colors, all forms, nothing. Corruption, red and bleeding, his own body oozing away from him. Deception, small, lightly colored, beautiful and inviting. Terror, green, body sharp and angular and covered in spines. Cruelty, tall and lean, spattered in red and black, a huge toothy grin torn into his face.
Abaddon straightened his back and tried his voice, finding to his surprise that he could speak here. “Stay back. I will fight you.”
“Fight us?” the voice came from no one of them in particular, but rather all simultaneously, echoing throughout his reality. “Why would you fight us? You are one of us. You are us. Do not waste our time. Rejoin us, brother. Let us be made whole again.”
They closed in on him, slithering slowly, forming a circle around him. As they came closer he felt each of their influences tug at him intently. He knew that when they were upon him, they would be one again.
“No!” he screamed in defiance. He dashed forward and struck the god directly in front of him. Destruction fell a few steps away as his face shattered from the impact of Abaddon’s fist. Hatred and Cruelty set upon him instantly, grabbing both of his arms. He grunted as various pains shot through his simulated body, then his arms stretched and twisted a second elbow to give an uppercut to each of his captors. He straightened his arms back out—only now realizing the control that he had here—as Death thrust ten claws deep into his back.
Repressing a cry of shock, Abaddon reached back and seized Death’s face, then spun him about and flung him into the attacking Corruption, whose body fell apart at the collision. Deception stepped forward and unleashed a giant blast of dark energy. Abaddon knocked it aside with his left hand, and blasted an energy ball of his own with his right. Deception disappeared into a smoldering crater as the next god stepped up. Terror slammed both of his fists into the plane beneath their feet and the spines on his arms shot through Abaddon. He was only barely phased by the weak god’s attack. He swung an open hand, shattering the spines, then delivered a powerful downward chop to Terror’s head. The god was split in half, the remnants of his body disappearing in an explosion of shrapnel.
Chaos jumped onto Abaddon’s back, transforming into electrical energy and spreading throughout his frame. He brought his hands out in front of him and began pooling Chaos into a small ball between them. He took the ball and threw it into a charging Hatred, and the two gods exploded. He turned finally to face Destruction, who had recovered and was standing tall again.
He crouched and braced himself for a struggle, but Destruction only sneered. He lifted one of his massive hands forward and pointed a single finger. Abaddon screamed as waves of unholy energy came from the ground below him, the air around him, even from within his own body, and began devouring him.
The other gods reappeared now, all resuming their positions in the circle around him. Each lifted a finger and pointed, binding him deeper. When he was crushed down to his hands and knees, unable to move, Destruction took a step forward.
This time the voice that echoed in Abaddon’s mind was not the chorus of gods, but Destruction alone. It was louder than the chorus had been, more authoritative, piercing and cracking the very reality of the mindscape. “Did you think you could fight us? Fool. This is all mirage. That body is not you. These bodies are not us. This is your mind’s pathetic attempt to bind us to a form you can overcome. We cannot be limited by the power of your pathetic human mind. Our species exceeds yours. Did you forget? We are gods. What made you think you could match us? Just what do you think you are?”
Abaddon stared at the two hands before his face that he did not have the strength to lift. He was bound, he was immobilized, he was defeated. Already he could feel himself changing, the waves of energy the gods poured into him filling his soul. He was becoming the monster again. His thought merged with the thoughts of the gods, their memories filled his mind, the chorus started to become his chorus. Then, as he felt himself on the brink of surrender, as the minds of the eight gods played and danced within his, he came to a realization. The gods were not merging into his mind. The fact that they stood here fighting him showed they were already in his mind, they were already a part of him. In that instant, he fully understood the gods of Kargaroth.
“If you are gods, and you want this body so, then destroy me,” he taunted Destruction directly.
“If that was what we desired, then we would do so,” came the cold response.
Abaddon focused hi
s mind so intensely that the plane he sat upon began to rumble, and slowly his paralyzed arms began to lift. “No. You wouldn’t. I see it now. When I first tapped into the power of Kargaroth I felt a longing, a great need. I always believed that it was my own, that I needed Kargaroth and its power. I was mistaken. That need that I felt was your own.”
“Whereof do you think you speak?”
“You need me. You ran out of power long ago and no longer have the strength to sustain yourselves. I understand now. You’re not trying to take control of me. You’re trying to become me. When we were merged I was not able to resist the urges that flowed through me, and I became what you desired. But even if I did not become you, even if I remained only as Abaddon, you would come to me. You need me to survive. You’re afraid of dying. You’re afraid to go into the final abyss. You’re afraid of that which you are part of, because you understand it all too well.”
“Fool!” Now Destruction’s voice was backed by the chorus of the other gods. “You are a puppet for us! An instrument! A simple tool!”
“You’re afraid of me. I can hear the terror. In the outside world, you were once gods. But here, you are dependent upon me. You need me.” With excruciating effort, he tilted his head up and gave Destruction the Daemon’s smile. “Because we are in my mind now. Here, there is only one god.”
Slowly, but no longer struggling, Abaddon rose to his feet. Destruction brought his other hand forward and pointed with all fingers, commanding the other gods, “I will hold him firm! Merge with him!”
They dashed forward, closing in on him in an instant of thought. Just before their ethereal bodies came into contact with his, he raised his left hand. They stopped where they were, frozen in time, shrieking in agony. Abaddon snapped, and his body turned into a dome of exploding power, sweeping through all of the lesser gods effortlessly and knocking even Destruction back.
