Zakum Unbound
The origins and fate of Zakum
"Tell me about Zakum, Grendel. How long has he been around?"
"I knew him when he was a man."
That revelation startled the cleric out of his musings entirely.
"I knew you were really old, Grendel, but seriously…"
The wise man of Ellinia stroked his long, pointed white beard, floating in the midst of his magic library, an archaic runic circle surrounding him in midair at all times. He gestured to a shelf, and a thick red book flew out in a flurry of dust to his hand. Blowing the patina of age off the worn cover, he made another gesture and the book flipped open, its yellowed pages turned to the cleric.
"He was the most promising of our students."
That second statement further disturbed the cleric as he gazed upon the dark brown face of a giant of a man. The hard set of his jaw, the odd shape of a nose broken many times and the thick black eyebrows drawn together over eyes of fire drew a forbidding picture. He wore a stone helmet – the very same Zakum Helm most high-level adventurers wore – and stone armour that bore the dreaded runes of the Zakum everyone knew.
"No adventurer today has more than one master! Who were his teachers?"
"Myself, and the ancestor of Dances with Balrogs: Dances with Drakes."
"There were drakes and balrogs back then?"
"And worse. Now where was I? Oh yes. Zakum began life as a warrior. He favoured the two-handed axe, and followed the dark path of the Crusader. In time, he ascended to Hero status, slaying every evil known to the islands of Ossyria and Victoria."
The book showed the stone-clad warrior beheading a Balrog with one swing of his dread axe.
"He was our hero – the four wise men at the time took great pride in his feats. Every warrior aspired to be like him, but he was arrogant, and shunned all praise, evading the company of the wise men and never seeking their counsel. He was not content! So he sought me out. I was still meddling in dark magic at the time…"
"I know," the cleric replied sourly, "I gathered 2000 or more cursed dolls because of that!"
"Hey, you got the nifty hat, right?"
"Yes, but I prefer the white one, so I sold it."
Grendel did a double-take.
"After slaying tens of thousands of zombie monkeys, you sold it?"
"Hey, I made a profit. Tell me more about when you met Zakum."
"He came to me, after mastering the way of the Hero. He demanded that I teach him the ways of magic. I asked him which path he desired, and he simply said, all of them. So I did. He was insatiable. After setting the hills ablaze and poisoning the oceans, he learned how to freeze volcanoes and cause thunderstorms. Finally he delved into the mysteries of holy magic, and it was there he stumbled."
"A demigod in his own right stumbled?"
"His heart was dark, young cleric. Divinity cares not for evil men. He could learn no more. He had mastered it all until that point. I should have known what would happen next."
"He started destroying the world, didn't he?"
"He killed all the wise men except me, because he thought I could teach him the ways of holy magic that he failed in. I tried to explain that the Light would not enter Darkness, but he did not believe me. I was his slave. He sealed me in this library, and that is why to this day I cannot leave here."
The cleric's jaw dropped open in awe.
"Hundreds of years inside here…"
Grendel's eyes went dim.
"Thousands. That is also why I cannot die. This seal makes me immortal, undying, so I can neither kill myself nor can anyone kill me. He demanded that I find a way for him to learn holy magic. Whenever my attempts failed he would… he would kill children in front of me."
The cleric felt the disbelief and then revulsion at knowing it was true. Grendel's eyes did not lie.
"My God! What a blackheart!"
"Incentive, he called it. The entire world was under his axe. Hundreds of adventurers of every class and creed united against him but he slew them all. He created demons that still haunt the world. He resurrected ancient evils such as the Balrog, and made them undying so that no matter how many times they are slain, they rise again."
"But how is it Zakum became that monster of stone with eight arms?"
"Ah, that is the next part of my story. After he had killed the strongest leaders and warriors in every nation, after the world knew darkness for a hundred years, he finally created an item that would unlock the mysteries of holy magic: the Eye of Fire."
"What, you mean that fiery sphere which summons the Zakum we know at his altar?"
"No. The true Eye of Fire was made from one of his own eyes; he plucked it from its socket and imbued it with every power and every magic he had ever learnt."
"He gouged out his own eye?" the cleric almost retched.
"Yes. Imagine if he had used his heart! The eye's staggering amount of power broke the seal against darkness. Holy magic, once forbidden him, flowed into his being, and Zakum was truly a god, able to slay anything and heal any wounds to his person. That is why to this day, the vilest of people may become clerics."
Here Grendel paused.
"And then?" the cleric urged.
"And then… the Wingless found him."
The book turned a page. The first thing the cleric saw was a harlequin mask, grinning, and the eyeholes misty with otherworldly light. It was attached to a body swathed in an ebony robe whose folds glittered with stars.
"What is that?"
"Call it what you will. An angel without wings. A demon. A god. A devil. A harlequin. It doesn't matter. It is these things, and more."
"What did Zakum do?"
The book turned a page. There was Zakum, god of all he surveyed, bent under the heel of the Wingless. A bright blue marking, four lines crossing another four lines in an X shape, emblazoned the Eye of Fire which the dark god held in one hand. Another shining blue mark, two triangles connected to each other at their apex, forming a skewed hourglass shape, marked Zakum's forehead. His great axe lay in pieces on the ground.
"The Wingless drew the Surge rune on the Eye of Fire, shattering that most powerful of relics into thousands of smaller pieces that everyone calls the 'Eye of Fire'. That is why Zakum is summoned every time an 'Eye of Fire' is dropped at his altar… he is trying to collect the fragments which were scattered to the wind. But, he is ever tormented in his prison of stone and flame. He will never gather all the pieces, because there are too many to count."
"What about that other rune on his head?"
In response, the image in the book came to life. Flames roared in the background as the Wingless spoke to Zakum.
"Life shouldn't be wasted, so I'm sealing you for an indefinite amount of time."
"I am a god!" Zakum roared, but was unable to move an inch under the Wingless' heel, "I have laid this world under my feet!"
"Why?" the Wingless asked.
"Because they didn't listen to me, and now I'm known and feared!"
"By a handful of survivors."
The Wingless pushed Zakum's head into the ground, cracking the great stone helmet.
"Just disappear."
To Zakum's screams, he did, melting into the ground with his Eye of Fire. The Wingless stood back, his robe flapping in the thermal winds of the volcanic cavern. From where the Eye of Fire had been planted, there sprouted what is known today as the Zakum Tree, chains hanging from its lifeless black branches, the area marker for Zakum's altar to this day. Tiny sparks of flame grew from its branches and then scattered to the wind – seeds of the Zakum Tree, each known as the 'Eye of Fire' in memory of that evil relic. Once that cursed tree had grown, the Wingless spoke again.
"You are undying, Zakum, but your power now has limits. This world's heroes will seek after you, and break you again and again. As you have made the world suffer, you shall suffer for always."
The image froze in place. The cleric was speechless, so Grendel continued.
"The Wingless was not finished. He hunted the creatures Zakum had made undying."
A page turned. Pianus, the giant Doom Flounder, was swimming merrily through the oceans. The big fish hopped out of the ocean long enough to crush a boat under his girth and eat the sailors.
"But Pianus has a big scar on his forehead, and can't swim an inch!" the cleric said. The image on the page came to life again. The Wingless, gliding through the water as effortlessly as his prey, kicked Pianus square in the forehead with the same heel that laid Zakum low. A great crack resounded through the oceans of Aqua Road.
"He broke his skull!" the cleric interjected, "Yet Pianus didn't die! What monstrous strength!"
Stunned but not dead, Pianus drifted to the seabed, a terrible X-shaped scar bleeding across his entire forehead.
"You're dangerous, but useful," the Wingless declared, "So I'm taking away your ability to swim. Without anywhere to go, your mind will develop into something more worthy."
"So that's why the scar on his head always glows, and he has those massive telekinetic attacks," the cleric murmured. The page turned, and the Wingless was standing before the tiny ghost known as Papulatus. All around them were the bodies of hapless adventurers, killed by the terrible magic of the selfsame ghost.
"Why are you destroying this place?"
"Because all this belongs to me, so nobody can set foot here!" the ghost yelled. A little Tick-Tock, a poor wormlike creature burdened by its big clock body, waddled past them. The Wingless looked at the Tick-Tock, looked at Papulatus, and the harlequin mask grinned wider.
"It belongs to you, so you should be a part of it."
The Wingless lifted a slender gloved hand, and drew a circular spiral in midair, the blue lines forming a whirlpool that never seemed to end.
"Phase."
Papulatus let loose a horrified screech as he was drawn closer to the Tick-Tock, which squeaked with terror. They met in the midst of the spiral rune, and changed.
"You're stuck with it, so you can't ever leave this place. Not that you wanted to, anyway."
The clock from the Tick-Tock became grossly larger, morphing into the giant Papulatus Clock which guards its tower today. The Tick-Tock's face stretched and skewed, forming the giant clock face. The tiny ghost was seated atop it.
"Now you are useless without your clock, so you can keep time until I return."
The image became just a picture again. The cleric let loose a pent up breath.
"So what does all of this mean?"
"It means," Grendel said, "That it is possible for Zakum to return."
"What?"
"You know the Holy Stone of El Nath, which judges an adventurer's wisdom in order to advance to the third tier?"
"Yes?"
"What does that fat stone demand?"
"An artifact of concentrated black magic: a Dark Crystal."
"Yes. But who made that stone?"
"…wait a minute. Zakum?"
"Yes. It's like a container for his soul. It feeds on the dark and evil energy of this world. Everyone thinks it's a relic that destroys evil with its wisdom, but the truth is, Zakum made it that way – while he was still a man – so that he could absorb whatever power remained out of his grasp."
"You must warn the other wise men! Tell them to stop sending adventurers there! They're feeding Zakum!"
"Yes, they are, but you can't deny power from those who have toiled for months and sometimes years to achieve the third tier."
"How devious is his dark heart!" the cleric despaired, "Is there no hope?"
"Why, yes. The Wingless will return, as ever, and stop him again."
"But the last time he was allowed a hundred years' reign!"
"Indeed. But it is all according to his will, not ours."
"I refuse to believe this. There must be another way!"
Grendel offered a sad, weary smile.
"I have seen nations rise and fall. I have pondered these thoughts every day of my endless life. All that remains is enduring our fate."
"What will comfort
us?"
"I will leave you with this poem, cleric."
Grendel cleared his throat and a light seemed to shine from those eyes that had seen so much.
"So it came to be, that once that cursed winter passed so long ago, the seeker appeared.
Wrapped in the starry night and the sky above, he came upon the self-proclaimed master of all. A question did he ask, but the answer was not what he wanted, and punishment did he weigh upon the fallen one, for sins both past, present, and future."