Chapter Seven: Mourning Innocence that Never Was
Azimuth squatted carefully over the clearing, searching for any sign of movement against the coming mountain. The area was naught but the desiccated remains of those who built it, the ruins constructed out of the hills, cliffs and rocky sides as if it were grown from the living rock, many columns of sandy rock and damaged atriums dotting the area, becoming denser in number at the back of the area, a place she can't see clearly without getting closer. "Crude use of terraforming magic." Azimuth commented to herself, but despite how banal it appeared, it was what was not in it that worried her slightly. The trees, flowers, even grass stopped growing at a certain distance from it. 'Dead-Space,' she concluded from all the signs she saw, 'magic to de-buff health regeneration as well as healing spells and potion effects.'
A nervous note fluttered in her heart, fearful she might miss something as not only the party's reconnaissance, but as its lesser member between the three of them. Recalling the party as it was now made her ponder about Vehuel, and the flutter turned into a blade that seemed to rend her open from her chest to her belly and felt such terror and regret as she wondered how Nasazel would view this liberal interpretation of commands from a Prince. Sparing a moment to relieve the anxiety, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wooden icon in the shape of the carriage they had been voyaging on. Azimuth planned to carve a couple boars to accompany it over the course of the journey. She was planning on burning them as sacrifice when they returned to Istannice, per the expectation of the devotion from all Aldrikkni, but she may be considered giving it as a gift to the Prince. "Strange…" She said aloud to herself, pondering the urge as she was putting the wood carving away and resuming her duties.
Over the afternoon, Azimuth made a mental path through which to travel, they would leave their carriage at the very edge of the de-buff zone before continuing. She doubted a creature equal to them managed to stay in the area, and if there was one, they could challenge it and overcome between the three of them.
Azimuth gave a quick whistle for them to follow, and when they were close enough explained her plan.
Felrrin loaded her bag of holding with several scrolls and bombs before they left, feeling that her skills as an artificer would be in extreme demand for this exploration.
Reynard, however, smiled ear to ear as he left his hogs with the carriage, looking to the coming job with more relief then either of his other comrades could spare.
Despite the conspiratorial element that smothered each of them in their own way, Azimuth found Felrrin's near mute silence the most disquieting. She was always so confident, so sly and willing to give her words in with everything, but now, nothing. No words. Not even a smile. Azimuth considered the possibility that maybe she understood now what treachery they have committed for having their driver continue in his duties. Azimuth cared less of the local flocks of barbarians and their excuse for civilizations, but there were certainly tangs of undeniable regret she felt towards them, and both the sand elf and Aldrikkni supplied not only their own individual cases but seemed to pool in excess in leu of Reynard's continued, uncaring joy.
'Almost wish that something was strong enough here to defeat and kill us.' Azimuth thought, a morbid concept she was almost hopeful for but confident would not occur, no matter her blasphemous, private prayers. But if it did… they'd be resurrected in time, back home, failures and traitors both, but they'd still be home, being punished for this choice of theirs.
As the trio made their way across the de-buff laden ruins, Azimuth told her compatriots; "I will scout farther ahead."
Felrrin's face irked at the tone of the request, "You shall not. You are best suited for detecting traps, you must stay close to us in the case one of them happens to be-"
"Then follow where I go, henceforth keep thine distance." Azimuth did not wait to see if she approved or not, quickly dashing ahead and jumping off a ruin to make distance. Though in sight, they'd be hard-pressed to communicate verbally.
Felrrin sighed from it, feeling a strange sense of defeat from the act.
"Hey, cheer up lass!" Reynard beamed at her. He shrugged as he continued with, "Let batty have her time too. And when we get back to Istannice with our intelligence of the place, do yourself a favor and do something you really want to do."
While she had half a mind to retort harshly to the beastman, Felrrin felt a twinge of her senses being teased, the area stilling suddenly, not even the sparse wind that swept the desolate lands stirred.
Felrrin looked on ahead to Azimuth, who stood at the ready, looking about for anything of note, ears twitching slightly and nostrils flaring under her ebony mask. Almost at a snail's pace, Azimuth unsheathed her dagger whilst reaching into her pocket for a poisoned dart.
Readying themselves as she did, they waited anxiously to see what had come to greet them.
From the farthest end of the hills, emerged seemingly from nowhere, a massive beast of meat, metal and bone. Its face a maw of jagged cuts and scars, blackened lips and fiery eyes affixed on a horrid, baleful ugliness, only barely hidden from view by a silvery visor, its armor only covering his legs and feet, leaving a bare chest, mammoth in size, covered in terrible scars among its thick, elephant like hide. In each of his hands, he held massive, single sided blades, sporting no point, cleavers more then swords or axes.
Felrrin spoke first, yelling out, "We are here to see this place's master, bring them to us so that they may be so fortunate to be introduced to our Glorious Prince."
The lips crackled into a smile before he gave a low series of rumbles that reached a faster pace as time carried on. Laughing?
"Azimuth?" Felrrin demanded, a moment of silence. "What can you detect?"
"His strength is nearer to yours then mine!" Azimuth yelled back as she took a step behind her, trying to calculate the abilities of this beast, "I am seeing unfamiliar elements in mine vision!"
The Nephilim moved into a battle stance, his butcher blades held with shaking, nearly uncontrolled bloodlust. "「Martial Art: Unstoppable Stampede」!"
The air rippled as the ruin's defender blitzed forward, Azimuth could not even keep her eyes tracking on the giant as it dashed through the lands between her and it, the cleaver already coming up as he dragged it upwards towards Azimuth.
Bringing her dagger up in a crude attempt to defend against the attack, the nephilim's blade clashed with its flank, sending not only the weapon out of her hand but throwing her off her feet and through the air, screaming as she did so, blood spewing from a wound across her belly and chest.
Felrrin, however, was already busy before this enemy met the bewildered aldrikkni, she reached into her satchel, and quickly brought out her hand, throwing a pair of scrolls to the wind. "Your master summons you to do battle!" The artificer's scrolls quickly took the forms of three mechanical golems, "Helden-Hammer! Tinker-Torture!"
What arrived was a machine of false, bulging bronze muscles, sculpted perfectly to the human form, being that questioning height of being either a massive man or a giant at eight feet. Its face was a mess of wiry cords like those of a beard, in its eyes flared baleful light, and in its grasp, was a hammer of such mass and size, that it nearly matched its bearer in both. Amidst its waist, it carried long tailed medallions, and the skulls of vicious beasts, so dense and so all covering it was practically a kilt to the machine-man.
Finally, out flashed a terrible, laughing shriek, a large cube of iron, the size of a small child, was held up with four scrawny, thin and scuttling legs, where out of its top surface, poured a long, winding coil of steel. In the middle of this springing column, was a massive, terrible eye, lidless, septic green save its center, which bore a peering red pupil.
Felrrin quickly commanded their attack of the giant, Tinker-Torture squealing in delight as it rushed and jumped at the Nephilim, launching its thin, slicing legs at him as he recovered from his attack on Azimuth. The mechanical monstrosity latched its appendages on the flesh of its massive shoulder, blood spurting as it dug deeper with every moment. The Nephilim howled in pain, but it still bore its lustful smile. In fact, it only grew wider. The half-divine abomination dropped one of its cleavers, grabbing Tinker, but as its digits wrapped around the metallic coil that houses its eye, razors sprung from the cord, quickly wrapping around its digits, constraining and cutting its victim in a bloody vice.
With the opportunity given by Felrrin's summon, Reynard had run up and scooped the downed Aldrikni, and sprinting with the barely living woman as he summoned his own beasts, "Rax! Toofa!" Said hogs dislodged themselves from the carriage, and as they began their charge to their master, a chariot began to form between them with a bright flash, its red wood, gilded finish and many spiked and bladed wheels and flanks forged itself between the beasts, and as it closed, Reynard hopped, the chariot turned sharply, swinging the carriage underneath its master as he landed on it. Taking his free hand, Reynard took the reigns and whipped them sharply, speeding away from the ruins towards the greenery beyond.
Felrrin agreed with their disengagement, and looked to Helden-Hammer, "Protect me." She commanded as she ran to rejoin her companions, hoping that Tinker was able to hold the monster off long enough for Felrrin to get to the carriage. The metallic man was quick on her heels, but when Felrrin sensed the diminishment of Tinker, she quickly spun on her heel and threw her gas globe at the nephilim.
The globe shattered, a thick cloud of lime-green erupted from it and shrouded the enemy and her summoned creature in its toxic embrace. Scant seconds later, she heard Tinker's death cry, a shrill scream that sounded more like the scrapping of metal on a stoney surface then a sound made from any living creature.
The nephilim did not wait so long to affirm its continued existence, one of its massive cleavers being chucked from the iridescent murk, slinging forward with intent and accuracy that quickly cleaved into the speeding chariot, cutting into Toofa, being bisected at the midst of its considerable mass, before cutting the drought pole in half, detaching Rax from it. The chariot collided both with the cadaver of the former and the now unguided mass of the latter in quick succession, flinging both Reynard and Azimuth from it.
The two hit nearer to the carriage but were still so far distant that it may have been leagues away. Reynard gave a glance towards the prone Azimuth, but then saw the carved corpse of Toofa not too far off, then the groaning, cripple backed Rax. His mind froze in complete despair, seeing his tools, his comrades and probably the closest thing he'll ever have to friends and loved ones, dead in his sight.
The nephilim burst from the green, toxic cloud towards Felrrin and Helden-Hammer, the latter quickly moving protectively between his summoner and the encroaching enemy. The terrible marauder swung its cleaver down towards to the mechanical soldier, the latter of who's considerable power as a warrior was able to block more successfully then Azimuth, but only just.
The cleaver bit, and what at once saw as an equal dueling of strengths against one another, the Nephilim said: "「Martial Art :-"
Recognizing this from before, Felrrin reached for a bomb, but too late! " Explosive Strike」! " Bringing his fist up from his flank into the mechanical summon.
Felrrin hadn't stopped in her attack, quickly flinging every bomb she could throw at the Nephilim as her last summoned creature died, the last strike upon his center not only caving Helden-Hammer's side but obliterating what was to be his torso in an intense flash of fire.
The globes of vile vapor joined in the nephilim's fiery fury in an explosion of the miasmic substances. Felrrin stared in disbelief, as not only had the gases briefly encompassed the creature, the explosion likely did far more damage to itself, claiming his own life alongside Felrrin's last summon.
As soon as the firestorm subsided; Felrrin was certain of this superstition. Charred black, and leaning back deliriously, its meaty, toothy grin had dimmed to a lazy, meek smile. Its flesh was bared, skin removed in the explosion or fused to its clothing and armor, and it stared, feverishly, at the sky. A second passed, then another, until it finally tumbled backwards, falling fully on its back and exhaling a long, ragged and desperate before it stopped moving entirely.
Felrrin sighed deeply before looking at her companions, a ragged though standing Azimuth, hand over her gaping, bleeding wound. "You alright?"
"I breathe." Azimuth replied through fanged, bloody teeth.
Felrrin started walking towards the aldrikkni, pulling out a healing potion and asked loud enough for their last companion: "Reynard! Still alive?"
She received no answer. Handing off her potion to Azimuth, Felrrun expected to see the beastman mourning his beasts, saying aloud, "I have potions to resurrect-"
"So did I!" Reynard yelled back spitefully. Felrrin saw three vials at the base of the man as he knelt before Rax, all of them empty, the great hog's side saturated in bright blue fluid. "It's not working!"
"This healing vial does nothing for me also." Azimuth stated, staring curiously at the empty bottle.
"Our items should be immune from the de-buff field!" Felrrin declared desperately.
"We should retreat out of its reach regardless!" Azimuth declared, looking down at her bloody hand, stained a deep red.
"Reynard! Help Azimuth! I'll re-summon my losses to carry your hogs!"
She heard the fox-man shuffle in the sand as she cast or tried to her lost creatures back to the realm. "Heldenhammer! Tinkertorture!"
Nothing happened.
"What?"
Performing the call for her Summons again, she came to a dreadful realization. Whatever effect is present, killed her summoned creatures, permanently.
Azimuth called out, "We should have returned home!" Reynard, dead eyed and numb, said nothing.
"Shut up!" Felrrin yelled back. "Be quiet and go to the carriage!" What little of her façade of control was quickly vanishing.
Azimuth followed orders regardless, but then the fox-man stopped, Azimuth's arm still around his shoulders and stared back at the ruins, life returning to his gaze though it was blemished with abject terror. Without a word, he abandoned Azimuth, letting her drop to the ground and broke out in a mad dash away from both of them, and even out of the way of the carriage.
"Reynard get back here!"
"Sand-elf, look…" Azimuth quietly ordered Felrrin as she looked where Reynard once did, the face of the ruined mountain, a small opening formed just on the outside of her recognizable sight, a shape both terrible and familiar appeared.
The crazed, half mad nephilim. His flesh no longer as rotted and decrepit, 'fresh', and instead of the scarce body armor it once donned, it was clad in turquoise plates of magical glass, in one hand it held a mighty steel greatsword to match his own bulk, and in the other, a matching helmet to his armor.
Felrrin looked down at the still smoldering corpse of the very same nephilim. "Impossible."
Azimuth sighed sourly, standing back up, hands now tarred in sand, pulling out a pair of darts. "Stand. Stand, Istanni."
Felrrin looked back at Reynard and was more then a little tempted to join him in his cowardice, but one last inviolable layer of loyalty to her Prince and her city bade her stay at her fellow's side.
One last time.
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Vehuel's chest was suddenly struck in a sharp, piercing pain, immediately groaning and placing a hand over his heart.
Real pain to the Player for the first time since he arrived in the New World. But to the angel's passenger, the mote of agony that struck his carrier made them both wobble uncertainly as they flew high in the sky.
The birdman let out a terrified squawk, which broke Vehuel out of his suffering induced interruption.
"Quiet, Garuda!" Vehuel demanded impatiently. Removing his hand from his chest, he looked to the earth below them and asked, "Are we close?" The once armored beastman knight clung to his back still as harshly as when they first begun this flight.
"Y-Yeah, maybe another dozen miles further of-HRAAAGH!" Garuda screeched as Vehuel dived and picked up even greater speed, drastically increasing the chance of the angel's passenger to lose his grip and quite possibly perish.
But the pain that nagged him in his chest grew more intense as he sped way, and flew, and then suddenly that pain had vanished, leaving a dim, cold and hollow feeling in its place that seemed only more horrific to the man as the seconds stretched to minutes.
Then, Vehuel could smell the spread of magic only becoming more intense, a desert amid the forest formed, an oasis of death among the ocean of life. "Here! We're here!" Garuda cried out.
Vehuel barely heard him, spotting the carriage not too far away, then a path of blood not farther from it, and then…
Felrrin. In two. Her top, severed crudely at the bottom of her ribcage, facing down into the sand, the rest of her torso was splayed and mangled, the meat of her legs torn apart from the very bone.
As he approached closer to the cadaver on stunned instinct alone, he heard crunching. Walking quickly over, undistracted of the discarded Garuda.
He saw the nephilim, hands dyed deeply in crimson as he snacked upon what was once his party. Black fur tangled between his dull teeth, in his hands was barely even a body left and at his feet, a mask of ash lay trampled lightly in sand.
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Garuda stopped at the angel's side, witnessing the gruesome display before them and grabbed the massive celestial being's arm and cried out, "That's the same monster that killed my master!" He was about to voice that they should leave, but the angel lifted its arm.
" 「Holy Smite」 !" Vehuel declared.
The clouds darkened suddenly as if night was reminded of its duties and rushed across the sky in haste of this cue.
And out of the blackened sky, a point of burning white light popped from existence before it scorched down and nearly blinded Garuda when it struck its target, soon after the pillar of light touched the earth, he and all else were sent flying in all directions from the explosion.
Garuda landed on his side after long seconds of being tossed to the winds like a dry leaf, and he crumpled just as surely as when he finally landed on his flank, ribs cracked, flesh opened, and armor smashed at tender angles at his hip and neck. He was dragged along in a roll from sheer momentum before finally stopping and allowed to breathe, in shallow, quick gasp that only made the coming cough feel like it was swaddled in a heavy, soaked blanket, holding it down with its weight.
Garuda's vision stung, his eyes scarred with the light, a solid radiating line that denied the middle of his vertical vision, trying to look around it accidentally like an obstructive piece of architecture. He saw up from where he lay, greenery under him, the death laden desert half a mile away, and as he tried to sit up he cried out in pain as he moved his right arm. Looking down, he saw it wasn't just broken, the burgundy-brown feathers that coated him still burning, and a solid, bare patch of his avian flesh was shown to all the world like a shameful, putrid rash.
Staying down, Garuda looked farther back, the sky still an oppressive black, but closer to him was a great cloud emerging from the earth like a vast, menacing mushroom cap.
Crawling onto his belly and pushing off with his feet, knees and one usable arm, Garuda steeled himself, somehow fearing that the perverse giant or one of his brothers still may have lived and pulled the massive falchion from his back with full intent to use it however he can.
Noting the rain of sand upon himself as he slowly mounted the freshly made crater to its peak, he saw the center of it all. Before the smoldering, charred bones of what was left of the giant guardian of these ruins, knelt Vehuel. In an arm, he cradled the remains of the hairy aldrikkni, though barely scraps of meat at this point were seemingly unmolested by the explosion.
Garuda sighed deeply at the sight, dropping to his knees and sagging into the sandy seat forming around his pressing weight. "Gods… I didn't think anything could kill that creature."
Vehuel snapped his gaze back to the beastman knight, momentarily terrified what its intent was. Vehuel slowly hovering above the ground, still carrying the disgusting, mauled remains of Azimuth, he approached Garuda.
The latter was expecting that Vehuel would somehow lash out at him, for whatever wrong he could see, but instead, Vehuel knelt before Garuda, almost mirroring one another, and the angel said softly, "I've been trying to get her back… why won't she resurrect?"
It sounded so desperate that for a split second, Garuda looked upon this angel, this divine warrior capable of such power and destruction with the most terrible of pity. "Something's wrong here, the Eight Greed Kings were experimenting with magic," Garuda explained carefully, trying to find ways to circumvent or delay certain effects. "When my master brought me here, the sorcerer in our group thought it may have had something to do with death magic so potent, no power or spell could bring back those who died."
"No." The angel shook his head quickly, "No, no no no nononono… you protect your family." He stood quickly, a loose organ, Garuda thought maybe an eye, fell off the cadaver and into the sand in front of him, making Garuda gag and turn away.
The angel continued its half mad, quiet rant. "You, you don't know… she was made by my brother. The closest thing I'll have to what is really happening in the real world right now… and she was named and everything, he made a name for her, you don't know how hard that stuff is for him." Walking from one side of the crater then quickly pacing back to where he stood before. "No, she was my family. You protect your family. Why do I feel so… wrong? Why can't I feel this?" He looked down at what was left of Azimuth. "All I'm seeing is orange and it… I don't want to do this anymore. I want to feel things again. I…"
Garuda was carefully watching the whole thing happen before him, deathly terrified of what may happen next, if he could run fast enough from the near insane angel or say something to calm him down.
As Vehuel stopped in place, the angel turned its head to the face of the mountain.
"Oh no, it's one of the other ones!" Garuda cried out, gripping his sword again, bringing it up, "Not going to assume you can do what you did to the other twice in a row can you?" Standing with a groan.
The nephilim approached the two from the mountain, carrying a massive battle axe, body was bare naked save for the grim, dusty, skull covered loin cloth, its head revealing a sheer, and almost slick, nearly snake scale smooth, layer of hair over its scalp.
As Garuda stared, however, he stuttered, "W-wait… he looks like the same one-! But you already killed him!" Looking to the charred bones at the center of the crater as if expecting that it had secretly run off and donned a new layer of skin.
Vehuel continued to stare at the giant, "Same." He stated simply.
"But… if you can't resurrect your friend, how can he come back?!" Garuda felt hope whither from him.
"Will. Find. Out." Vehuel slowly strode toward the nephilim.
Garuda saw the angel approach the beast with confidence that the hopeless turned around back into conviction, surety of victory of this evil monster, but then quickly turned into such an intense sense of dread at the realization, 'What if he CAN do this twice? Or have worse powers under his sleeve?'
Garuda blinked once before quickly dropping his falchion to the sand and making a mad dash to the forest, and from his momentary elevation, spotted the carriage that once carried the party when it was whole. Considering that he may not be able to make it far enough or find shelter stern enough for the punishment to come, Garuda redirected himself toward where it laid, upside down.
From under it, he knew there was a protected compartment which they held their goods, and they sold so many of them that it was probably big enough to house him and then some! Find the small door, it pulled open in a flop, and was at first confused by how far away the floor of the compartment laid, but assumed his vision must be kind of messed with that attack the angel fried the giant with.
When he placed an arm on one side and started to push his way up, he suddenly found himself landing on the bottom of the storage area on his bad arm. "AH! Damnit!" Looking around, his mouth fell open, noting how the area wasn't just as big as the carriage, it was EVEN bigger. Far bigger! Bigger than the witch's hut! A long, wide hallway led to many doors with signs that hung above their doors. One that caught his eye was 'POTIONS', his body aching with its sight. Looking back at the door to this department, saw the stairs, climbed up them quickly before shutting himself off from the world.
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The axe cleaved into the face of the angel with such a wondrous 'clang', Who-He-Forgot-Name started to feel his eyes leak from how beautiful it was!
Who-He-Forgot-Name paused, stepping back to laugh! Laughing was great! But he was surprised that the angel wasn't laughing with him… so he hit him in the face again to see if he heard the sound so sweet!
By the time of the third swing though, the angel caught the axe with its hand, twisted it away from his grip so hard that it broke Who-He-Forgot-Name's fingers! But before he could share in its wonder, the angel took his other fist and pushed it so hard and fast into Who-He-Forgot-Name's chest that the angel was inside of him now, and then pushed out of his chest from the back!
Who-He-Forgot-Name tried to laugh but coughed instead, feeling the fingers inside of him like white hot pokers gripping around his heart.
"Why. Don't. You. Die." The angel demanded.
The angel is stupid! And the for the first time in ages, Who-He-Forgot-Name spoke: "Can! NOT! DIE!"
The angel took his other hand, reaching for Who-He-Forgot-Name's face, pushing a finger and thumb into his eye and prying the lid open. "Then. Pain." Before pinching his fingers, crushing the organ in a spray of gore. Before Who-He-Forgot-Name could laugh at the joke, the stupid-angel ripped out his heart and dropped him down to the floor. 'Oh! There's where I left my legs!' He thought before the body he had decided to die.
Pain. Plainly painful. Pain. Physical! Wonderful!
Who-He-Forgot-Name floated slowly up from the Red Waters of Home-In-Mountain, the new body coughing as he finally could laugh at what the angel is doing! The nephilim giddily swam to the side of the Waters, found his way to his room and found new toys to play with his new friend with!
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Garuda gulped down the red potion and sighed, it tasting vaguely of herds and cinnamon, and felt a pleasant warmth cross over his arms. Lifting up his right hand again, feeling no pain, inspecting his burns, his ribs and bruises, he finally smiled.
Agreeing that he should probably pilfer the place for food and a place to sleep, having absolutely no intent of leaving these strange confines until he felt the battle outside was well and truly over. Find his way to consumables, he gorged on foreign delights and rich foods like he's never dreamt and could only see from windows. Delicious desserts, wondrous wines, and an hour passed before he had the need to relieve himself. Returning to Potions, hoping to find an empty vessel to… utilize, Garuda saw stranger and stranger potions. Ones for water breathing, invisibility, and then increasing facets such as strength, dexterity, constitution, intelligence and so on, but bellow them were categories he couldn't quite understand, having the strange trio of letters he couldn't recognize, but two were the same. One was a sheer, vertical line, with a small, horizontal line at its bottom going right, the other was a pair of lines meeting at the bottom angel, reminding him of a sharp, cup shape, before the first letter appeared again, followed by other scribblings he couldn't describe coherently.
'They were all the same potions for the attributes, why give them sub-categories?' Garuda pondered, picking one up. A loud hiss brought his attention back to the door, seeing a blinking, barely visible magical seal on the wall opposite of the open-door fizzle and die. "That… can't be good."
Slowly the entire area began to hiss, and various seals revealed themselves to him, following the same life cycle he saw before. Until the very last faded from his sight, and in the room of a thousand potions, Garuda and its content were sent flying, being tossed around like bugs caught in a purse.
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Vehuel called out, "And ye shall overthrow their alters, and break their pillars, and burn their groves with fire; and ye shall hew down the graven images of their gods, and destroy names of them out of that place." Without a conscious thought behind the action past the need to punish the one who dared harm his blood and kin, Vehuel turned into his fourth form. One readied for the Apocalypse.
The angel's humanoid form disappeared in a flash of light, but the flash kept still from where it was and condensed slowly into a vague sphere, a small black pupil forming at its center. The 'eye' moved to its sides, flanked by stony, gold, floating arms, and above it; a massive crown of gold, and at its aft formed a ribbon and before the mountain, it seemed like the sun came down and armed itself with a ray of a thousand wings.
"「Holy Smite 」"
The same spell that was used before was but a pale shadow of what had now been cast. Instead of a great explosion, the air itself seemed to have caught fire, seemingly the molecules of water, oxygen or hydrogen capable of being truly sanctified enough to bear the holiness of the attack.
The mountain melted, like so much snow on a bright spring morning. What ruins the Greed Kings tried to hide in the mountain were made bare to the world, like bones on a carcass, flesh being steadily ripped apart by time and nature.
And for once there was a desert, cursed by death from the foul magics used there, there was something akin to a momentary collapse of all the bonds of nature, neither proton, neutron, electron, light or reason survived the small moments the angel smote the mountain and its surrounding area.
As the spell ended, reality reaffirmed its hold and patronage over the area, the sky was no longer dim like a deep night. It was now as if the gods set fire to clouds, burning pyres of grey in the sky like great piles of kindling.
Garuda, crawled back out of the carriage, flesh pierced by shattered glass and wounds soaked in the cocktail of magical potions as he stared up at the being that hovered over the range of mountain and nearby forest.
He shuddered, "Are you a… god?" As the world burned around him, he pondered if he was somehow going to be the first witness in the destruction of this world and every creature, animal and plant on its surface. Beginning right in front of him. Out in the distance, a vast wave of silver and golden winged angels not too unlike the form Vehuel revealed to Garuda initially, flocking toward the massive, sky rending abomination that was once his former employer.
'There was always a good reason I never wanted to come back here.' Garuda thought before he began to laugh madly as nervous tears soaked onto his burnt feathered cheeks, the potions that soaked himself seeping into the open wounds created by their shattered containers.
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The Minister of Matters, Shiehk, walked through the Gate into a sterile land of powdered glass, sparkling in the sunlight, ozone bleached her sense of smell before it was overwhelmed by the rankness of ammonia and tangy burnt metal.
Angels in all their variants patrolled the skies as two the archangels were in position at the beginnings of the ruins out from mountain's embrace. Walking within ear shot of the pair of celestial beings, Shiehk inquired, "How often has the creature returned?"
"Frequently. Seventy-six times. His equipment has been gathered by the sand-elves and is being investigated, seemingly he ran out of arms and armor and is coming out, naked, bare-handed to meet us two though less frequently." Rulthiel informed.
Shiehk's eyes wandered the area, spotting the spells and wards that protected the area from further inspection, though the raw display of divine might that Vehuel displayed would likely have drawn the eyes of those a world away. "Where is our Prince?"
Nothiel pointed north, away from the arena of madness, "He demanded to be alone, and curses God for the fate that had befallen to those of the party."
Shiehk nodded towards them, before making the slow walk towards the Prince's general location.
She spotted him nearly half a minute later, seeing him sitting on a dune, but his massive size and giant wing-span made the sight so strange it was nearly humorous to look at, if not for the constant reminder that Shiehk now strode on the pearly, sandy remains of not only a dead land, but a piece of earth that was effectively exposed to a primordial fury that could have shamed the most wrathful of demons in its intensity, rending the local area of space-time into a fissure of psycho-reactive matter; Vehuel was effectively God for a scant few moments over this patch of ruin. The insane nephilim guarding this hidden outpost could have been killed countless times, decades or centuries could have passed in it with how much mana Vehuel reserved for the act, and the enemy they now contend with could have lost more equipment then they had presently collected to not only the Seraph's wrath but from the simple passage of time.
Shiehk was tempted to call out to her Prince but decided that with the Seventh Legion deployed in the area, they had all the time in the world and it was probably best for him to come to her, sitting next to the Seraph in the sand. Shiehk said nothing, but watched him carefully. Vehuel occasionally dug a hand into the sand at his thigh and let it sift slowly through his fingers.
"I can't feel anything." The Prince said after a time.
Shiehk looked at him confusedly, "What do you mean?"
"I should be sad, like before. Very sad. So sad it might've killed me. So why am I… not?" Vehuel's 'helmeted' head shifted sharply from side to side on occasion.
Shiehk thought for a moment, "I'm not sure… why would you be sad?"
Vehuel looked away from Shiehk, "I liked Azimuth, Felrrin, and Reynard. They did what I bade them, and… did things… horrible things while I was away and I wanted to punish them, but then I saw what became of them and I…" he placed a hand on his face, "They're dead because of me, and we can't bring them back."
Shiehk wanted to correct Vehuel on the status of the fate of the probably the last living member of the party, Reynard. He was likely alive, but wasn't sure if telling such a thing would have made his confrontation with this situation worse. 'No. No, that's something I will correct.' The rings of concealment that all members of the party wore to hide them from Shiehk's wrath were all recovered save one. Vehuel saw Felrrin and Azimuth dead, so the chances that the beastman fled from the conflict was probable. Since, she could not use her scrying magics now, the man was likely still wearing it.
"I think I'm not sad because I know what they are, what you all are." Vehuel stated. "Either that or my emotions have been emptied out of me by the attrition of being what I now am for so long."
Shiehk blinked, "What do you mean 'what I am'?"
Vehuel looked at Shiehk and stared at her for the longest time before he looked downwards and asked, "What do you remember before we came to this world?"
"Much, why?"
"Do you remember us ever just… talking?"
Shiehk raised a brow, "Before we didn't have much to talk about, especially after the failed battle at Nazerick."
"What about your father? Ozzydamandius?"
"Of course, we talked about plenty, we um…" Sheihk tried to think of the time she saw him last. He came to the palace, walked around the area, then came to her. Then he left and never returned. "Wait, give me a moment." She scrunched her eyebrows together harshly trying to recall a moment when they spoke. About anything. She could think of when the princes talked to one another or Harshad-Twenty-Seven. In fact, the harder she thought about it, the more she grew increasingly concerned at how perfectly she recalled them speaking, but could not find a time she traded a single word with them. "I… must be thinking about this too hard, we've obviously spoken before!"
Vehuel sighed deeply, "This isn't real. None of it has been. You, this world and the world before it were all created but a bunch of humans behind a computer screen."
Shiehk rolled her eyes, "Obviously," she stated sarcastically, "that explains so much."
Vehuel tilted his head, "Are you serious? Have you known the entire time?"
What shocked Shiehk wasn't how earnest he sounded but how relieved he appeared at it.
Before she could get a word out, Vehuel nearly groaned out, "You had no idea how worried I've been with this! What else do you know? Do you know who I really am? O-or your father? Anyone? What about the city?" He eagerly asked.
Sheihk was actively started to worry, not only about the Prince's sanity but also her own. "What do you mean? Who do you think you are really?"
Vehuel's shoulders no longer slouched as he sat straight up, "'Think'? Why am I even asking? You and everyone has been speaking Italian the whole time here! I-I, my actual name is Luis, I'm thirty-seven, over three-hundred pounds and own a restaurant called Local Joy! My brother? His name is Michael! He's a theological therapist and works with bishop Be-!"
Shiehk was feeling a narrow, icy dread in the center of her chest as she stood and screamed, "SHUT UP!"
Vehuel's hunch returned slightly in both surprise and dread, "Um, are you-?"
"I AM REAL YOU BLOODY NUMPTY!" The outburst was starting to gain the attention of nearby angels. "I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'VE ACTED THIS WAY BUT THIS IS REAL! ALL OF IT! ME, YOU, THE THREE PEOPLE YOU WENT EXPLORING WITH AND GOT KILLED!"
Vehuel gave an audible shudder at the declaration, the once gold hide of Vehuel returned to a bronze hue all too familiar to Shiehk. "WHAT MADNESS HAS EFFECTED YOU SINCE WE CAME TO THIS WORLD HAS ONLY WORSENED AND I WILL NOT PLAY GAMES TO ALLAY YOUR GUILTY CONSCIOUS!" Then, without another word, she opened a Gate back to Istannice and went through.
Vehuel took a step back, recoiling at what he did, the fear that would have overwhelmed his mind at what Shiehk will now do only being barely kept at bay from the orange haze.
The two archangels floated slowly towards their maker and Vehuel spotted them, dreading that he'd make the same mistakes with them, holding up a hand. "P-please, stand back."
They stopped in their movements but did not cease in their want to ascertain what had just occurred. "Father, what has happened?" Rulthiel inquired.
Luis couldn't say anything. Do anything more, merely hover.
People are dead. Dead.
He looked down at the ground, wondering where he lost Azimuth's ashes.
'If you find how to be more human again, can you share it with me?'
The memory brought the wave of emotional defeat that he'd somehow managed to delude himself into keeping at bay. His armor didn't dim in its luster, but the joints and narrow gaps seemed to grow closed, and he stopped moving entirely, his form stuck in a pose without motion, his arm extended out to ward away his two sons. In that briefest of moments, the true weight of all he had done was rested on his mind and soul, the effect overcoming him only sparsely failing in its effects, but it was long enough to be terminal.
Then the skin like armor began to audibly tear, cracks wreaking their way across the seraph, before whole sections of his body just fell away, leaving the basest form of the divine creature in the center of its once mighty shell.
Where Vehuel once stood was a vague shape of a thing that was only loosely made to mimic humans, a frail, moist and vulnerable mass of flesh that in the instance of it being pink when exposed to the outside world, veins a fiery red, now withered into a grey lump, soaking the dusty glass into its side.
The two archangels nearly tore through one another in their rush to aid their dying father.
[][][]
High Priestess Kelart was in the throne room as the Minister Shiehk and smiled at her arrival, "Minister, hi! Do you know where Prince Luis is? I've really been meaning to talk with him."
Shiehk stormed past Kelart, muttering, "The 'Prince' can goto hell!" Just as blackened, scaly spikes erupted from under her concealing clothing.
Kelart stared bug-eyed at the… elf? … Dragon? Walk to one of the stairs that led to the higher floors in the palace. She had a rather direct feeling that she definitely, absolutely shouldn't push this element, but she's been waiting around the throne room for nearly half a day and the Prince hasn't come back, so… she started making rounds. Asking the random sand-elf sentry, graeci hoplite, even the odd beastman.
But after her last attempted to communicate with a native, she noticed: there was not one angel hanging about as they often did.
She bit her lip, then began asking for the Commander of the Seventh Legion, Vehuel.
That got multiple reactions, none of them good, nor productive. They looked… solemn. Depressed. Then continued their silence.
Whatever had occurred, it wasn't good, but the Minister seemed to sound like at least the Prince was alive. 'Damn, both of them away at the same time. And I was-.' The thought shot through her like lightning. 'You, YOU massive idiot!' How many signs did she just miss because she was distracted by all the crazy stuff happening?! Thinking back to the hint Luis provided to what exactly he was, 'My kind cannot tell a lie nor a false name, you know me as Luis and this name was my first'. "Vehuel IS Prince Luis! An angel cannot lie, and he mentioned he had to do a quest to become an angel, I am a giant bloody moron!" She declared to the palace.
She turned, ready to rush back up the stairs to Pavel and his daughter, Message the queen, and-
A long necked demon, its feature horridly mutilated, eyes peeled, lips rendered for the yellowing, sharp teeth to see, nose sliced off at the base. The demon plucked from his lute a single, horridly high note, and spoke without moving its mouth a deep though strangely soothing voice. "Ah, the truth is now revealed. A pity. I'm afraid I will have to remove the theory from your mind and confine you to quarters for the ti-"
A glowing white tipped arrow bounced off the side of his scalp, the infernal creature not even phased let alone harmed.
The yellow, slit eyes of the demon slowly drifted from Kelart to the opening of the palace. There, Pavel readied another arrow. "Custodia, I think we may have run out our welcome." He started walking toward the pair, bow still drawn and trained on the demon. "I've had an eye on this one since the day we arrived. Honestly, I thought I was paranoid, seeing things, vague shapes that weren't there. I'm just glad it was more concerned with you then me. Now, I don't know how long it will take to send a message to the Queen, but I'll give you all the time I can." The tree-branch nose archer stared dead at the High Priestess, "Get my daughter home."
The demon sighed and placed a hand on its chest, "I take this as your initiation of a duel, mister archer, I keep to my word, and have not started this. If you continue to distract me from my duties, I will-."
Pavel shot another arrow, striking against the demon's exposed teeth. "Sorry, my finger slipped. You were saying something?" Pulling back another arrow, not the least bit apologetic.
Kelart didn't wait to see what happened next, dashing madly up the stairs for their quarters. "Ugh!" She groaned aloud, "The one time I want my meat-head sister to get in the way and she's not here!"
Pavel knew any pretense at conversation was pointless so he began his assault, trying to keep the demon off-balance and at a distance, letting loose arrow after arrow, hoping that while he applied the pressure it would deny or delay the demon from going invisible again. He could track it, but that was likely when the demon wasn't in a battle or knew it could be seen, even vaguely.
The demonic bard was almost amused, no arrow managing to even harm him due to his armor rating far outstripping the attack power of his foe, and even if it somehow was, he was playing the quiet tune of Negating Physical Attacks on his lute.
A dozen seconds later, Pavel knew all too well that he was doing basically nothing, a chill rushed through him even as sweat gathered on his brow. As he saw the demon continue to do nothing, he decided to take his time and aim for something more… important.
He stopped, knelt, pulled his bow slowly and aimed at the demon's left eye. The demon stared back, inactive as always, but Pavel could swear he saw a phantom stretching of a smile on where his lips were meant to be.
Pavel shot the arrow, and it struck home. And this time, the demon screamed out, dropping its decorative lute to the floor and grabbing at its face, the yells were so alien and terrifying to Pavel he felt the breath in his lungs blow out cold air at the sound as he stood.
Black blood erupting forth from the wound, the arrow's shaft half way into its head as its pleas of pain slowly subsided before eventually the demon fell to the floor, dead.
Pavel smiled, the cold sweat on his brows and cheeks turned red with the rush of victory. 'These people could be beat, he just had to know where to hit them!'
This guy seemed important to Istannice though, if he was watching one of the Custodia sisters so closely, so as he went to gather his arrow from the dead demon's head, Pavel's eyes shifted from one side of the chamber to the other, ready to snap back into combat.
As Pavel reached down to take the arrow, he was surprised it just slipped out of the ocular cavity, he felt no weight or resistance from the infernal being's cadaver, almost like nothing was there.
That is when Pavel noticed that the lute the demon dropped was not where he left it, in fact, nowhere to be seen at all.
Pavel heard the tiniest plucking of a string, almost sounding like a harp, before he saw another glimmer of a shape, just out the corner of his eye.
The Archer of Black gave a pained gasp as he turned, as a dagger was plunged into his chest, right into his heart. Pavel remained aware for a time that surprised even him, as the demon's form emerged from the magical mirage of the demonic bard, alive, standing and without a mote of harm inflicted upon him. In his other arm, he cradled the lute, plucking at it delicately with its long, bony fingers. "For all your weakness, human, your aim is true, and you showed no hesitation. I shall bury you with dignity in the Depths below."
Pavel tried to retort, a quick insult before his body realized just how utterly dead it really was, but blood flooded his mouth, choking him before he dropped to the floor of the palace like a bag of potatoes, the arrows from his quiver spilling its contents across the floor.
Pavel could feel his vision dim with every breath, every blink, he tried his best to slow both down, slow his heart even though he was only barely aware of how it wasn't working anymore. Time didn't seem to slow as much as it felt like time was being smothered, making everything seem sloppier, stickier to the man, and then he could see every particle of dust that his breathing picked up and then cast away with how lackadaisical time seemed to be running. Thinking was impossible, he could only feel and remember, and as he thought back, the fingers of his mind barely brushing against the older ones, he remembered the first time he held Neia in his arms, only a few months old, always regretting he missed the day she was born, and with what little of his life managed to linger in him, his last sight was of his daughter rushing for him from the stairs.
[][][]
Neia held up one of her father's hands, warm but limp in her grasp. "Papa?"
Kelart was afraid to say anything to the young paladin, both due to the terrible events which just happened to the girl's own father and the fact that the thing that murdered him was still within twelve paths of the crime.
Kelart eyed the demon, and the demon stared right back at her. "Brave fool."
Uncertain if it was referring to Pavel for fighting him or herself for coming back at all, Kelart stated, "This… this will mean war, I swear it." Kelart threatened, both due to the vague possibility it might force the Istanni to take a step back from doing anything further and out of an earnest desire to avenge her friend and comrade.
The demon didn't seem phased but broke its stare with Kelart when they both heard Neia start to weep. The infernal beast looked on the tragedy with what could be described as weary fascination, "One does not war with ants, only sweeps them aside and let Fate decide their demise." Plucking a single note from his lute before turning his back on them both, looking up at the opening for the palace and gave a startled gasp, "Somethings wrong…" he spoke in a whisper.
Kelart was afraid to question it, but the sudden change of mood to the demon didn't alter her own feelings of hatred and despair, only seeming to add dread to the cacophony.
An arrow flew from just out of Kelart's peripheral vision, striking against the demon's back.
Both of their sights snapped back to see Neia, still kneeling at her father's side as she struggled to place the arrow on her father's bow, before she painfully pulled the string back. The implications of how Neia might follow her father's fate made Kelart to want to stop the girl from attacking, but when she looked on the paladin's gaze, Kelart froze.
For while both Baraja had an innate and dreadful look in their eyes, it was passive, casual, could not be helped. Neia's vengeful wrath only seemed to magnify this inborn curse tenfold, lids red, tears soaking her cheeks and the purest form of fury were born in the girl's eyes.
Kelart knew she could do nothing to save Neia when she saw her young friend's gaze; she would avenge her father here and now or she will die besides him.
The demon seemingly felt nothing from Neia the way Kelart did, as the demon proclaimed, "Ahh, for it were another time, I would sing of the beauty displayed before me, but something must have happened, I can feel the stress of my fellows far from here, t'was something terrible and I-!"
Neia shot her next arrow, the demon catching it in an unseen flash of movement before the demon frustrated pointed that same arrow at both Kelart and Neia, "Listen now you pathetic ingrates; save your wrath, for as measly as it may fuel your pathetic might, it could save you in the events that may be unfolding now."
As if on cue, a massive Gate appeared at the head of the palace, nearly at the foot of the throne. Out floated two massive, massive archangels, and being held up between them, was an equally massive though vastly different beast entirely.
To Kelart's eyes, it looked like a mass of raw flesh, as if a man were skinned alive and somehow managed to stay alive from the ordeal, but by the way it hung from the angel's grasps, it remained living only barely.
"Go, retrieve our sister!" The archangel in crimson ordered the one in blue, who quickly flew up and then out of the palace.
"My Prince!" The demon cried, dropping his lute to floor before falling to his knees. The cry, the clear emotional despair almost mirroring Neia and her father.
The exclamation from the demon caught the unskinned being's attention, as it wobbled its heavy, featureless gaze to them all. And despite the lack of eyes or even eye-sockets, Kelart could feel its sight on her, pressing, intense but… uninterested, before the sensation left and it fell on to someone else.
Then it locked its vision on the now deceased Pavel.
And out its back, wings like branches sprouted in a squelch of blood as it floated towards the party of humans.
"Father-!" The red archangel warned desperately, following the other 'angel'. "Your condition is critical! You must rest and-"
The angel extended its arm limply, "「Resurrection」"
[][][]
Pavel blinked harshly, trying to remember how he got wherever he was. It was dark, it was calm and as he laid his head back it felt like he had finally found a way to relax after years of just working.
In a startling flash, Pavel opened his eyes and saw he was sitting at a table draped in a fine white cloth, the center laid a bottle with a candle lit at the end next to a strange cross shape with an elongated bottom. Pavel looked around the room, the walls were a calm and comforting light blue, numerous other tables like the one he was sitting, all trailing to a simple wooden door, next to a clear glass wall that had script Pavel didn't recognize written on its surface.
No one was in this building save him. Or so he thought.
Pavel tried to get up off his seat but could barely find the strength to move his neck let alone leave his station. The Archer of Black simply lolled his head back into his chair and blinked, breathing slowly. Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard an object being laid in front of him. "Don't go to sleep," the man said as he slowly walked to the chair across the table from Pavel, "I don't know what will happen if you do."
Pavel watched the man carefully, not that he was too worried he'd surprise the archer. The man must've weighed a ton with how big and tall he was, his brown skin rolling in waves of fat mounds, and he seemed to shuffle more then walk, and when the portly man pulled back the chair to sit, the seat made an audible creaking as it stressed under his weight. Pavel noted his tar black, slightly curly hair and unkempt facial hair, his eyes were closely set and he had a nose that nearly rivaled Pavel's own in obtrusiveness.
Doughy, brown eyes that Pavel couldn't read as truly expressing sadness or merely naturally having such a constant expression, looked down at the table and the plate before them. "Wanna try one with me?"
They were fluffy, bread discs, topped with a tall, light hat of cream, dressed with strawberry slices. "What are they?" Pavel reached out for one, barely managing to drag it towards his nose.
The man stared at his own article of food and sighed, "The first thing I made when I got here. The only thing I'm good at." Biting into it, taking a healthy chunk into his teeth, smearing the sides of his baggy cheeks with the cream.
Pavel bit down far less, not partial to sweets, but hummed with agreement at its taste: perfectly balanced between sweet, creamy, bready and fruity. "Not bad."
"Huh, thanks." The fat man wiped his cheeks clean, sucking on his thumb of any loose crumb or cream he could find, before distractingly looking to the side and with a strain to his voice said, "I… uh… I don't think we've got much more time left."
Pavel closed his eyes a moment, "So, that's it? I'm dead?"
The fat man shrugged, "Sorry."
"You're not how I imagined the goddess of death would look like."
The fat man gave a tiny, sad smile. "Well, I'm here to make sure you don't go her way… this Resurrection stuff is weird because I think I'm dying too."
Pavel blinked, "Who are you?"
The man breathed in deeply, nodding his head lightly before looking back at Pavel, "Just the wrong person in the wrong place. Made a few bad mistakes, hopefully I can do one good thing and convince you to leave the restaurant before our times come."
Pavel shook his head, "You're not the only one's who did wrong, we can fix it together."
The man leant against the table, "Not right now. I… need to stay, see what happens. You though? The tiny, terrifying looking blonde girl's your kid right? You have family to protect, to love. You need to get your butt moving, me though? Just wanted… something to remind me of home, some conversation… can you stand soon?"
Pavel breathed in sharply before gripping the sides of his chair harshly, groaning as he forced his legs, merely fleshly logs to him now, to hold him steady as he rose. The archer was tempted to inquire further but could somehow feel as if something were… chasing him, the feeling of crawling cold you get when one hears heavy, undeniable footsteps coming straight for you.
"Go, take care of your family." The man demanded, sounding both panicked and urgently optimistic for Pavel.
Pavel gave a deep nod before shuffling his way to the door as fast as he would risk. The door seemed so impossibly far from where he wobbled, but the longer he turned his back on the man and no longer able to hear his deep, labored breathing, made a spur of motivation to get moving faster.
As he reached out in desperation for the doorknob, Pavel made the briefest look back. At first, he thought it was all black, a void, through and through, but as he looked not even a millisecond into it, he saw something move, "No…" Pavel said in a whisper as it locked eyes with him.
[][][[]
Pavel coughed harshly as he woke, Neia and Kelart quickly rushing to his side and raising his head and chest, blood caking his lips and chin further as what blood was stuck in his throat and lungs were forced out. Blinking harshly, feeling even weaker now then he was in that restaurant with that fat man, Pavel looked to the side and saw a massive man like creature, skinless, with the most bizarre looking wings one could call 'wings', slowly limp its head and float down to the ground next to the trio of humans, and lay fully on the ground, before the being seemingly shriveled up, its fleshy tones graying before it gave a strange shudder.
Then it died.
Pavel quickly pieced together the situation, two massive angels hovering over to the Seraph's place of final rest before quickly dropping to the floor onto their hands and knees.
"You should leave." A woman told the trio of humans. They all looked to see the Minister Shiehk not too far from them, for how long she had been there none of them could say. While her clothing still concealed much of her, odd holes had formed at her back and hips, revealing scaly skin, and on her face the cloth that covered her face bellow her sore, red eyes were soaked in tears. "I will find and Gate your fellows back shortly." She then lifted her hand, muttered the spell and the portal opened for them.
Neia and Kelart exchanged a single look, agreeing that anywhere else was better than here, taking one arm of Pavel's each, lifting the man, Neia loosely dragging her father's bow with her free arm, with the priestess taking most of his weight.
They walked through the magical door and were met with the familiar sight of Hoburn's walls.
[][][]
Istannice almost stopped living alongside its last Prince as the seraph's cadaver was being carried to the Treasury by his three archangel children; the beastmen stopped their fighting and feasting, the demons, aldrikkni and beasts of the depths ceased to pray, the angel's lustrous flights were now grounded crass marches, even the graeci forced every vessel at sea even abroad to return home and lay anchor.
The Council of Ministers waited and debated with both mournful desperation and barely contained terror of not only being leaderless but knowing that their last Prince could possibly not even be able to resurrect, no matter how much coin they spent in the process.
"We should destroy the Holy Kingdom," The Archangel Nothiel stated, "their offenses have gone unpunished and the latest insures their death."
"No!" Aesham countered the angel, the demonic bard still devastated at being the first to see Vehuel in this state in the city. "Our Prince's last act was saving one of their own! We would spit on his efforts and spirit if we were to act so spitefully!"
Minister Melkoth quickly interrupted, his trademark and seemingly permanent smile clearly gone, giving the sand-elf a dreadful gloom to his words, "We obsessed over those pathetic mongrels for too long, we should do nothing for or to them, and await our Prince's return!"
"And if he does not return?! What then?!" Alaon bellowed, breaking his usual stoic resolve with unmitigated agitation.
They all bickered. Save one: the Minister of Matters. Shiehk sat at the table's head where they debated but heard nothing from her peers. She ran her fingers up and down the spear, Gungnir, with all the attention she could summon. She was given command of the Seventh Legion, asked to be secure the city if he were not to return from rescuing Vanniel. Did this order still carry, were Vehuel not to return? 'He made that choice then, knowing what you know now.' Vehuel didn't think she and the people here were 'real' in fashion, so why did he care to give Shiehk the responsibility? Why not anyone else, or leave the city entirely, or just abandon his 'daughter' to the fate that may have awaited her?
Shiehk laid back in her seat, releasing Gungnir from her morbid fiddling and closed her eyes. 'Your father didn't return, and he was a Prince, like Vehuel and likely shared this strange concept of something being less real. The angel is different from Ozzydamandius, but what? What could compel someone to abandon something they were invested it, real or not, whereas others would carry on with it to the very end?'
'Love?' Shiehk scoffed to herself, 'Don't be absurd.' There was something to it though, or maybe something not too far off from the theory. 'Obsession? Habit? Could it be something as simple as joy?' Why would something 'real' want to mess around with something 'not real'? Shiehk concluded that it was likely not something she could comprehend, but she smiled briefly at how she remembered Vehuel was so happy, so relieved that he thought he knew who or what he 'really' was?
Then she felt dead to the world at recalling how destroyed he was when she lashed out, felt dead to herself. An awful, heavy sour fruit the size of a gourd grew in her chest at the memory, sickening her, paining her thoughts and she had to blink hard to stop herself from crying at the memory. 'You failed, you stupid weakling! He trusted you and failed your Prince!'' The thought made her breath catch in her throat, giving a loud and audible gasp that made the other ministers stop their arguments and stare as she started to weep once more.
Shiehk, knowing both she was making such a childish display and was undeserving of being their peer, had to look up and away as she lightly sobbed.
The sight did something the boasting of loyalties or the rattling of sabers could not do: place the weight of the event into full perspective. With the Prince gone; nothing will be the same, and even if he were to return, this day will be forever remembered and haunt them to their last.
"We…" Shiehk tried to speak, but stopped herself as the word came out laden with phlegm and sorrow. Coughing, she started again; "We withhold all elements of Istannice to the city and to the mountain ruins for security against that fiend our Prince and his party came across. We have three heroes to bury, three and a Prince if our lord decides if he found us unworthy to return to."
[][][]
Vanniel cradled her father's remains in her arms as her brothers made their finishing touches to try and bring the Prince from death. The 'form zero' that all angels have, so strange to her sight, almost completely human in proportion save for only a scant number of trivial elements. She looked down at it with… a remarkable amount of certainty, even when her brother's luster dimmed from their lack of heart, she shone silver and undeterred. For she knew she would go to the same lengths to save him as he did her, no matter what.
"All is prepared." Nothiel declared, his normal brass-gold armour a tame bronze. Gesturing to the massive vault around them having been partially hollowed out to allow Vanniel to place the remains of Vehuel at the center of the vast collection of gold. While the body was unnecessary, she and others agreed, unfoundedly, that having it in the room may 'assist' the process.
All three of the archangels formed a line, hovering above the vault as they began the guild resurrection process. The vast mountains of coin melted then flowed into Vehuel's deceased form, bubbly and frothing on his 'skin', before it all was so quickly absorbed by the Seraph.
The archangels descended to Vehuel, encircling him, and felt their hearts lift as their father began to move, the gray colour that covered him in death washing away. The malformed angel sat up, looked at his hands before looking at the three archangels above him. "This is real now." Vehuel spoke in a bizarre mix of dread and joy.
The angelic siblings exchanged confused looks at one another before they looked down at Vehuel once more, the Seraph standing before them. Vanniel inquired, "What do you mean, father?"
"For if I know now if this was false before, that is no longer true." Vehuel nodded his head slightly, "Fiction and play is now truth and consequence." Looking away from the trio of angels before snapping back up, the strange, dreamlike stupor that once possessed him leaving and he was once again uncertain as the last thing he could recall before his death returned, "Shiehk?! Is she alright?!" Then looking at his hands, suddenly shaking, "T-the human man! His child! They are safe?!"
Vanniel held up her hands, "Peace, my Prince. They are all alright, the Minister of Matters has been attending to the council of her peers but has recently entered seclusion in her quarters. The humans of Roble Holy Kingdom have been returned home, unharmed."
Vehuel seemed to sigh in relief from the news, "I… I…" then the fear that washed over Vehuel was washed away and he stood straighter, "We… I have made many mistakes, for both you, my people, my city and the denizens of this new world." Clenching his hand into a fist, "We must try and redeem these errors… but now I must ask; the process to bury my fellows, Azimuth, Felrrin, Reynard, what is being done with them?"
Vanniel continued explaining, "There was nothing left of their bodies to bury, we have however arranged for their ceremonial coffins to be paraded through the city before being buried in their respective people's crypts."
Vehuel looked away again, clenching and unclenching his fist. "Good." He forced himself to say, "They deserved a proper burial."
Nothiel said, "We are overjoyed at your return, father. We do not know what we would have done without you."
Vehuel turned his head again, trying to ignore the comment as best he could. "His Feet, Part of Iron, Part of Clay!"
Nothing happened. Vehuel remained in his still vulnerable, fleshy form.
The pregnant silence filled the vault as the new, unknown facts of reality came into play. The three archangels were unsure what this meant for a seraph, or any heteromorph for that matter, if they cannot alter their shape at will. The seraph of audacity, however, saw it as another thing to worry about but later. "Can someone get me a bathrobe or something to cover up, please?" Luis sighed.
[]
Howdy folks. Short and sweet; focusing on finishing Rise of Istannice soon and making the sequel to it in the next few chapters. I was originally just going to have it play out like how Overlord would have, but since I still plan on adding Nazerick and Ainz to this fine kettle of fish, I have to do something different, and came up with an idea how the story can be parallel to Ainz's own, but I have to set it up first. It'll be uncertain to most characters involved, especially the New Worlders, but with Luis specifically it'll be an almost ironic turn of events. I shan't say more but am greatly looking forward to it above my other fanfic projects which I have respectively archived for later dates.
Hopefully, I'll get back to this sooner! Adios!