My Name is Ruin

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  ***

  Pavel went to the attack immediately, fiercely cutting through a group of the creatures blocking the entrance. As gray ashes of the finally dead parasites swirled around the man, he found his way barred by more vampires. The Azat could see the demon was still fighting, but this close to Sheqer, he could see that his companion was already severely injured.

  The form the demon had manifested was already missing a lot of its armored scales. Most of the spiked protrusions which characterized its appearance has been either broken or ripped from its body. Deep gashes could be seen along the length of the monster’s shape. Pavel didn’t know how the vampires were able to inflict such grievous damage to Sheqer, but assumed their unique, strange nature must have something to do with it.

  The Azat was trying to clear a space around the demon to give it some room to act, but their opponents appeared to be endless. Pavel started to suspect that there were more rooms along the two side passageways he had observed. He couldn’t even use chaos energy spears for fear of hitting the constantly moving demon.

  Pavel briefly thought of trying to repeat the wide dispersion variation he’d inadvertently set off in the corridor. Still, again, the presence of the demon to his front precluded its use. It seemed to be the only feasible option as of the moment which could whittle down the numbers facing them, but he had to move to the front of Sheqer. His companion was clearly losing.

  He shouted out his plan to the bard and quickly moved along one side of the battling monster. Then he saw Sheqer move back a few steps, ever hounded by attacks from all sides. The ceiling was now full of the things. They flowed, crawled, and sped across every available surface, all headed toward the pair.

  It was a tiring struggle against a seemingly inexorable tide of masan and masani. Even with his new-found strength and increased physical abilities, hacking and slicing a way through the mass was an endless, repetitive task made more difficult by the need to avoid grasping hands and claws. Many had taken to attacking from ground level, making it more difficult to avoid the attacks.

  “You look like a mangy, sickly, and ownerless dog,” shouted the Azat as he passed by the demon.

  “Endless line of the bastards. I need time to fully heal. These vermin pick at my scabs even before they can manifest,” replied Sheqer tiredly.

  “They could kill you?” asked a concerned Pavel.

  “They could. If they manage to tear me to pieces, I’ll have no dimension to return to in this reality. The Void would just pull me to its emptiness,” answered the demon wearily. “And I am too exhausted to care. Tired of fighting and regenerating at the same time.”

  When Pavel reached what he deemed a safe area in front of the bard, he immediately pulled out a mass of energy, and like putty, spread it across the corridor, forming an impromptu barrier. He knew the protection wouldn’t last, considering that the power he emanated appeared to disappear a few seconds after he separated it from his body. It was a distinctive trait which he still couldn’t account for, not that he understood why it existed inside him in the first place.

  Attackers were sliced as the barrier expanded to the vertical ambit of the passageway. Those who rushed headlong into it were also promptly reduced to ashes. But unlike the effect of his arcane weapon, tiny fires danced on top of the dirt piles. Still, even with the protection to his front, Pavel had to contend with those who remained behind it as Sheqer had moved partially inside the corridor at their rear. A quick glance as he cut the head of one masan revealed the entryway was packed with the creatures, all trying to get at the recovering demon.

  But at his rear was still a considerable number of the monsters who had opted to deal with him, instead of Sheqer. He quickly created another chaos barrier in that space. Pavel turned his attention back to the front, where the previous shield had already disappeared. As he looked at what was facing him, a small child, a girl, stood in front of him. It looked human and was sobbing. Startled, he hesitated for a moment. It was enough for the figure to thrust an extended clawed hand at his heart. The terrible talons ripped through his chest plate, ignoring the paltry defense of his magical shield. He could feel incredible agony as the bony fingers tore through the skin and grabbed his heart.

  I’m dead, the thought immediately flashed through his mind as he felt the metal of his armor split open. Just as the cold, bony fingers viciously cut through the skin and grabbed his heart, Pavel suddenly noticed that everything had stopped in time. But not before his rage and fear at impending death made his body involuntarily release a cloud of chaos energy around him.

  Fate really is a bitch. I’m dying in a dusty, vampire-filled corridor, far below ground in an ancient, forgotten underground structure. Shit! came the accompanying curse. Yet as furious resentment raced in Pavel’s brain, the bizarre tableau in which he found himself also bewildered him. He knew he should be dead. Even the masan and masani reached by the cloud he released were halfway to being ashes. The vampiric hand which had struck him was also gone, though he could feel the touch of its loathsome ashes on his torn flesh and around his heart. He reflexively shuddered at the notion of such remains inside his body. Yet nothing moved.

  ***

  “A stupid tool of my Mistress got caught in a tangled mess too complicated for him. This is turning out to be one of those days,” a voice echoed in the space before the Azat. A woman had suddenly materialized before him, drifting above the dirt left behind by dispatched vampires. The rest of the horde had been pushed to the sides of the corridor or flattened into the floor, leaving ample space for the newcomer.

  Pavel stood immobile. He was still in enormous pain. The hole in his torso left behind by the masan was gaping open though blood wasn’t bursting forth. Whatever rage was in him had dissipated. The Azat was still angry, but a strange calmness had put such fury on hold. He also didn’t know if moving would suddenly break the bizarre halting of time. But if the visitor could stop time, then she was indeed a force to tiptoe around.

  The Azat tried to look at the face of the woman, but her features and attire seemed to change from moment to moment. He gave up after a few seconds. It made him dizzy, and the attempt gave him a headache. The shifting shape kept looking at him. Pavel wondered what it wanted but deduced that it probably was waiting for a response. He swallowed and felt out his throat. Dead men shouldn’t be able to talk, and he still had a large hole in his body. At least his heart was where it still belonged. The vampire wasn’t able to grab and pull it out.

  “My greetings, and thanks. But I don’t believe I know you,” said the Azat. His voice came out in a rough tone as his throat appeared to be parched.

  “Of course, you don’t. You know my Mistress, but not her Servants. We are countless, though some are closer to her. Those in her immediate circle deal with matters of import. Though I have some reservations if this situation belongs to that category. I am called Kriyamana and deal with events found in the present. Like now,” said the woman. Pavel noticed that the entity sounded peeved even as she talked.

  “And you’re here because?” the man started to ask.

  “Because an unwise being was going to die too early. Of all the matters in all the worlds I am burdened with, I get called to deal with this,” replied Kriyamana with resignation, her hands sweeping around, indicating the current situation of the Azat.

  As the entity made her gesture, Pavel took the opportunity to quickly examine his surroundings. Kriyamana emanated enough golden brightness to light up dark corners of the area. The man saw that most of the vampiric host was streaming from the two side rooms. There must have been more chambers deep inside the mountain, all connected to the corridor where he was now.

  “I get to live?” asked the Azat with some relief. Dying this early wasn’t in his plans. Though he didn’t like how Kriyamana belittled his impending death, or should it be final death? He was still confused about it.

  “Why do you think I am here? You get to live, but there are consequences.”

  O
f course, there are, thought Pavel stoically. There’s always a price to pay.

  “I know that expression,” said the woman sternly. “And no. There’s no price to pay. The outcome of incidents like this is determined by you and your actions alone.”

  The man felt like an ignorant disciple again. Though the Azat had to admit he didn’t know a damned thing about what the woman was saying. Pavel wanted to tell her it was Lady Fate’s fault for leaving him without his full memories and abilities, but he wasn’t crazy enough to say it out loud. Then Kriyamana told him, in a lecturing tone which surprisingly sounded like a reminder, that for every death he suffered, whatever chaos energy he had at the beginning would be reduced. The power he had at the beginning was what a mortal vessel could contain. It’s not infinite, came the prompt warning. Such energy was used to revive him and maintain his existence in this world. The last statement alarmed him.

  “What do you mean by maintaining my existence on this world?” he blurted out.

  “You know that you are not of this reality. Every year that passes uses up a tenth of your original power. By the appointed time, you’ll face judgment as a mortal bereft of any power from Chaos,” smiled Kriyamana. Pavel instantly hated her expression. “Frequent deaths might result in losing all your chaos energy sooner than you would like, and reviving someone, like that pet of yours, would also result in a permanent loss.”

  She’s enjoying telling me that? mulled Pavel as a slow-burning outrage started within him. And I have to pay a toll for my existence in this world?

  “What’s the cost of a death? And how much energy did I lose by reviving Sheqer?” he asked instead, controlling his temper.

  “A tenth of your power will be lost when you are revived. Lose all the stored energy within that shell and you can’t be regenerated. You’d be dead. Permanently. Oh, bringing back that demon didn’t cost you much. Just a bit. All your pet needed was something to keep its form together as its own nature and abilities did the rest of the healing,” clarified the entity.

  “But really? A servant of Chaos consorting with a demon?” added Kriyamana, clearly unable to restrain the comment.

  “Long story,” replied Pavel.

  21

  Samandar

  “Tell you what, Sheqer.

  The moment I see or hear you serenading her instead with your lute,

  I’ll tear holes in that lovesick bard disguise,” warned the man.

  The woman glared at Pavel for a while. The man stared back even as he felt his body knit itself back together. Somehow, he didn’t fear the entity. His stubborn stance was a glaringly presumptuous, possibly insulting, reaction on his part. But he found that he didn’t care one whit. To his mind, Kriyamana was but a messenger, and he doubted if the being would make his life more difficult. Right now, it was already incredibly punishing and confusing.

  Still, the Azat felt unnaturally weaker, so he assumed Kriyamana was telling the truth about losing part of the chaos energy he had at the beginning. But the revelations merely reinforced his belief that Fate was indeed a bitch. Trust the Lady to give you a gift with strings attached. The man did have an important query, though.

  “Does using the energy within me deplete it?” he asked idly.

  Since they were on the subject, Pavel hoped Kriyamana would give him the answer. If it were the Lady, her Mistress, the man believed he’d be inundated with oblique and obscure references and responses. As if he could understand what was meant by such bewildering and vague declarations.

  “No. And that was a stupid question from one such as you. Of course, they don’t! You’re the nearest vessel of Chaos. They return to their source, unless it’s a question of bringing a moron back to life,” replied the woman. “By Fate! To what kind of mortal did my Lady entrust such tasks? Enough of your inane queries. You have tasks to perform. Finish them and restore the balance. Now, I thankfully take my leave. I pity my sisters and brothers if they’ll be the ones sent to you once you die again.”

  Once I die again, observed the man, thinking about Kriyamana’s parting comment. She sounded so sure about that unwelcome possibility. It was a feasible outcome, but one he’d try to avoid. Pavel briefly resolved to keep under control his odd penchant for mayhem and violence, but the dangerous feeling felt so good.

  The spirit abruptly vanished, restoring movement to the frozen scene. Pavel thought her insult was well worth the knowledge he received. He could let loose without worrying about emptying whatever was within him. The price could be physical weakness or mental exhaustion, but those penalties were but temporary. Avoiding risky situations and side-stepping vulnerable spots in his actions were what he had to instill in his brain.

  That would be difficult, he concluded. This mind of mine seems to enjoy those circumstances.

  The Azat quickly grinned as he felt his strength rapidly coming back. Temporary indeed, he reflected grimly as he grabbed more chaos energy and released it as an aura of his body. The range was extremely short, but it caught those coming at him after the vampires within range of the involuntary release had been reduced to dirt. His blades resumed their grisly and destructive work, now accompanied by periodic bursts of deadly power.

  Pavel began moving forward, cleaning out the corridor as his feet slowly marched toward the intersection leading to the side passages. But despite his newfound confidence, a sliver of fear remained within the Azat’s mind, reminding him that he was mortal. He could be killed, and ten years was a long time.

  ***

  Finally, he reached the middle of the hallway and felt the presence of the demon coming up behind him. At that point, Pavel noticed their enemies had stopped attacking. He could see them gathered at the far end of each side passage.

  “Are you alright?” the man asked, still keeping their opponents in sight.

  “Fully recovered, thank you,” said the demon, now back in his bard guise. “The entire corridor is clean, and you’ve put the fear of Pavel into them.”

  “Good. I do hope they remember me,” replied the Azat dourly. “That should make them run away next time.”

  “I don’t think they’re in the mood for more. These creatures may be minions, but they are sentient and know when to cut and run. See? They’re withdrawing. Slowly, but definitely backing out,” remarked Sheqer.

  The bard was right. Pavel could see the creatures slowly withdrawing. But he wasn’t satisfied with what he saw. The slowness was an indication of being caught between following the dictates of their demonic mistress or fleeing outright. The horde could change its mind in an instant and come at them again.

  The man let loose chaos spears in both directions, firing the energy bursts one after the other. Loud, unearthly shrieks greeted his actions. It was a weird change from the unnatural silence which accompanied their earlier attacks. The mass of vampires on both passages turned and fled, leaving behind flaming piles of their brethren. The demon laughed at the spectacle.

  “That’ll teach them!” exclaimed Sheqer. “Now, if I may, a question, Master?”

  “Yes?” replied Pavel.

  “I saw you die. To be more precise, I saw a clawed appendage rip through your body. In the area of your heart, I believe. How come you’re still alive?” asked the bard.

  “Long story,” said Pavel. He noticed the frequency of his use of the phrase was rising. “It appears I only have nine lives left.”

  “What are you, the proverbial cat? Though those animals only have one life, despite all statements to the contrary. Except for some of magical origin. But still, ten lives in all? And why only ten?” remarked the demon. “Quite an arbitrary number.”

  ***

  Pavel refused to answer any of his companion’s questions about what happened. He was wary about how the demon would use any knowledge it obtained. The Azat already knew he had made a mistake in revealing what he’d told Sheqer, even if the bard saw him at the receiving end of an obviously fatal strike. The nine lives statement was clearly an error.

&nb
sp; “Fine. Let’s leave it at that, Master. But let’s be careful about those lives. You still have to send me back to my world,” said Sheqer finally. The man speculated that the bard’s reply was at least good news. The demon still held the Azat’s survival and growth as its priority.

  Nothing bothered the pair as they made their way deeper into the mountain. Then the demon abruptly stopped and held him back.

  “I smell her.”

  “Your favorite half-demon witch?” asked Pavel, not without some amusement. Even he could sense a strong magical field ahead. He remembered how the bard reacted when the dark being appeared in the corridor.

  “Yes. Her. Quite powerful too. A cross between a High Mage and a High Demon. We need to be careful, Master. But I’d give one of my five horns to be given the opportunity to rip her heart out,” answered the bard eagerly.

  Five horns. Sheqer’s true form has five horns? thought Pavel with surprise.

  “You’re right. But the fact that she used minions to attack us back there instead of doing the job herself speaks volumes,” reflected the man, leaving aside his curiosity about Sheqer’s real appearance for the moment. Then he thought of something.

  “You said you’ve got five horns. She’s got only two. You can take her, I guess?” said Pavel, half in jest.

  “It’s not only the number of horns which matter, Master. The form and size are normally also taken into consideration. She’s got lovely, sizeable ones,” remarked the bard. “I’d say the gorgeous thing is two or more notches above me.”

  “Just remember you’re here to kill her, not marry her,” said the disgusted Pavel. Lovely? Gorgeous? Don’t tell me this ducking demon with a cursed lute is interested in the witch.

  “Tell you what, Sheqer. The moment I see or hear you serenading her instead with your lute, I’ll tear holes in that lovesick bard disguise,” warned the man.