Hey everyone. I apologize for not submitting this sooner, but I had a bad case of writers block, and then I wanted to get to a certain point in the story before posting it, then more writers block, and then I forgot about the story on and off for several months, and then I put it off some more... Then end result is that I'm posting this new chapter on the one year anniversary of my last update. I do not intend for this to become a pattern.
Now, since it has been a rather lengthy time since my last update, I am going to brief the reader of the story thus far. If you wish to skip down to the actual chapter, simply scroll until you see a page break; I'll see you down there.
Unfortunately, I had (about seven months ago) a rather nice recap of the story that I personally found to be rather clever, and I cannot find it now. Hence I will come back and edit this chapter with the "good" version of the recap when I am able to recover it, and for now we shall make due with this one:
Morgan, a paladin, stumbles across an infant demon. He decides to take it back to his paladin citadel because it's been almost two weeks since he's really ticked off the elders.
The demon, named Akakios, grows up trained as a paladin, and only has two friends who are also outcasts. Their names are Roswell and Enric. Akakios also has developed some kind of infatuation with another classmate, named Jennifer. Jennifer is evidently somewhat popular, but is also infatuated with Akakios due to reasons even she is not yet sure of.
The demonic paladin has been called into service at the tender age of 14, to investigate possible demonic activity at the Rouge Monastery. His friends, as a parting gift, craft for him a leather mask that fits over his own face and makes him eerily human looking. En Route to his destination, his group of paladins is hijacked by corrupted rouges, and Akakios runs until he arrives at the Rouge Encampment, where he is yelled at a lot by Kashya. Akakios then takes it upon himself to investigate the Den of Evil, because he really has nothing better to do.
I would at this point like to thank my reviewers for their unending support while this fic was regularly updated. Such people as Ramaon, Stevetheloser, Storm-Pietro, and others encouraged me to keep the updates fast and flowing, and I appreciate their cause and hope that they again find this fic once I start updating again. Now then, on to they story!
Chapter 8
The Den of Evil, Part 1
"I really don't know what she sees in him," commented one of Jennifer's friends, gossiping while eating.
"I know, I can barely look at him without going ill," replied another comrade, eating whole heartedly. This was all of their conversation that Jennifer managed to pick up as she walked past them briskly, although she had to admit to herself, they had a rather good point. There was no denying that part of her stomach squirmed whenever she saw Akakios, and not out of romantic inclination. He was ugly, bordering on deformed. His voice seemed to be constructed entirely of molten tar. And it was just plain creepy the way you could usually catch you reflection in his black, pearl like eyes.
But then, there was something else, something one had to look twice to be able to see. The way the tiny scales of his flesh formed diagonal lines that seemed to flair from his face, making him seem larger yet streamlined at the same time. The way his features were slightly raked back as if he were facing a strong wind, gave a certain refinement to his character. And while his voice seemed deep enough to be emitted from a bullfrog, it also was also strong and definite. And there was something else as well, something that hailed to her mind from the distant past, some shadow of a memory that barely silhouetted against her consciousness.
Akakios stood in front of the cavern entrance. He could feel something inside the cave pulling at him, beckoning him to enter. It was like the mouth of the cave was trying to inhale his soul, attempting to consume him whole, to strip the warmth of life from him and process his mind and body into a useful servant. Captain Calrisen had been right, he could sense his brethren. Akakios took a tentative step forward into the belly of the beast, his foot step causing a small cloud of dust to rise and swirl around his ankle. The feeling of being pulled in neither waned nor waxed, but merely held true.
Akakios clenched and unclenched his fists, determined to put on a display of courage, to show that he didn't have to be afraid. He closed his eyes, trying to untangle the hardened knot of fear that seemed to cave his stomach in from all sides. He took several deep breaths, and it soon became apparent that there was only one way he was going to be able to overcome this obstacle of the mind. He turned, crouched down, filled his lungs to their fullest capacity, then launched himself fists first into the cavern, screaming a wild battle cry all the way in.
Roswell thudded heavily against the wall, flailing to defend himself. He attempted to push himself up and forward, but another quick shove forced him against the wall once more. A powerful arm pinned him against the barrier, the face behind it laughing mirthfully.
"C'mon Ros, you have to do better than that!" chuckled the owner of the arm, as Roswell feebly tried to move the fist drilling into his chest with both of his hands, and completely failing. He could feel his ribs starting to crack underneath the blunt force of his attacker, and he struggled to breath. In desperation, he tried to summon an aura, something he still hadn't accomplished yet. He attempted to focus the energies surrounding his body, to bend them to his will.
A spark ignited in Roswell, a familiar flame that had always dwelled deep inside of him. He knew he could reach out, that could grasp the strands of power that vibrated just beyond reach of the mortal eye. He could feel them churning, coiling, and wrapping themselves around each other and him. Despite his inability to inhale, he could taste the coppery power, feel the smooth texture. He knew they would gladly yield to him, serve him, ally themselves to him, if he only knew how to ask…
For now, however, the powerful forces would not aid him, in auras or any other form, and as the lack of oxygen slowly pressed in around him, he could see his vision dimming, filling with purple smudges as the inky, filling blackness swelled over him like a heavy fog.
He heard voices, vaguely felt himself fall, and then the fog began to retreat, slowly at first, until he realized he was still awake and that he was no longer dyeing of asphyxiation.
Above Roswell, Enric was glaring at Fredrick Sellers, who now sported a bloody nose. "You're gonna pay for that, you little wimp!" barked Fredrick, trying to stench the flow of blood with both hands.
"Fine," snapped Enric. He struggled up to think of a cleaver retort, but wasn't able to. He and Fredrick glared at each other for several moments, before the larger of the group stormed off. "At least I don't go around trying to kill people half my size!" Enric spat at the retreating form. He reached down and gingerly helped Roswell to his feet. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.
"I almost…" gasped Roswell, still laboring for each breath. Enric allowed him to pause before continuing. "I almost could do it," Ros finally said.
"What, launch an aura?" asked Enric. "You know, I think if you could figure out how to do a good one, they'd leave you alone. Hey, maybe they'd leave me an Akakios alone as well, since you'd be protecting us."
"No, not an aura," replied Ros, straitening up against a wall. "Something…else."
A roar of pain escaped Akakios' throat as a tiny dagger finally managed to tear down his leg, penetrating the armor-like scales of his flesh. He slapped the carver away frantically, and pulled the dagger out of his own limb as four others approached. The carver that Akakios had managed to kill earlier was once again born anew, summoned to life by the black magic of the shaman. The paladin hurled the undersized knife at the shaman, managing to strike him with the handle of it. The waist-high demon returned the favor, launching a fire ball at Akakios' face.
The paladin managed to shield the brunt of the blow with his arms; they were burned now of course, but it was better than taking it to his face. He frantically leapt over the heads of the small creatures, and attempted to put some distance between them and he. Unfortunately, his attempt to escape was impeded by the business-like fist of a disturbingly large creature. Windego, was all Akakios had time to think before he was sent flying over the heads of his previous attackers.
Landing heavily on the stone steps of the cavern entrance temporarily caused Akakios to black out. When he awoke, mere seconds later, the carvers were attempting to bind his limbs together with short lengths of rope. Akakios weekly struggled, pulling the cord off his body and scrambling away. The carvers leapt upon his weakening frame, attempting to prevent his escape.
Putting all his strength into the simple process of crawling, Akakios made his way slowly up the crumbling steps, occasionally making an attempt to shake off the furry hands clinging to his neck and extremities. It was mere survival instinct that drove the demonic paladin on; he knew he'd never survive the crawl back to the rogue encampment, especially not with these beasts weighing him down. After what seemed like an eternity of clawing at the earth while the Fallen clawed at him, punctuated by scattered fireballs exploding about him, he stumbled out into the daylight. To his surprise, the tiny fingers lost their hold on his torn and burnt flesh, their arms unraveled from his appendages.
Akakios knew nothing of the creature's orders to not leave the caves. He hadn't heard the commands that they were to wait for midnight before launching the attack against the remaining rogue brigade. All he knew was that they were no longer pressing their advantage. He rolled over and laid on his back, breathing heavily the scent of the overgrown grass a mere foot from his head.
His wounds hurt, but in a distant sort of way; the nerve endings that registered pain were more sparse and less sensitive than in human skin. Never the less, a steady stream of red blood tinged green continued to pour from his leg, though now it had slowed to a trickle. The flesh of his arms had already cracked and blistered; their slightly higher resistance towards extreme temperature as compared to a human had been proved irrelevant when exposed to the blast of the fire ball. His ribs were fractured in several places, and he was most likely suffering a concussion from his landing. Weather he could feel the pain or not, Akakios knew that he was mortally wounded.
The demon's fading, scrambled thoughts tried to register a plan, to come up with a way to save its self. Could he make it to the rogue encampment from here? He wasn't even sure in what direction it was. If he found it, would the rogues even allow him in? A stranger who's stupidity had caused him to be very nearly killed was of no use to them; plus they had more important things to worry about.
Hadn't one of the zombies dropped some form of healing salve? It was shortly before he found the Den of Evil, and stupidly he hadn't taken the small bottle with him. If he could somehow find the elixir in his state, he could perhaps heal himself enough for a second assault on the Den of Evil. That would allow him to prove himself to the rogues. At last, Akakios had something resembling a plan. He still hadn't moved a muscle when he drifted into unconsciousness seconds later.
"None of you feel this is a bit excessive?" Samuel asked. The numerous guards looked at each other and shrugged.
"Well, yes," admitted one of the guards. "But I'm sure Alvis has his reasons."
"He has reason for ordering that twelve guards…"
"There's fourteen of us, sir."
"More to my point. Reason for ordering fourteen armed guards on one man." The one man in question was slumped over in the corner, wide awake but barely able to move. "Look at him, he can't even get up! We could have sent the rats that we catch in the kitchen to guard him for all the difference it would make." The guards were once again forced to meet Samuel in his conclusion; Morgan was weighed down by an intricate system of chains that connected from his body to various support beams of the wagon.
"You're right," agreed one of the larger men. "But what can we do? When I asked Alvis why we needed to go so far, he threatened to feed me to the moat creatures one inch at a time, starting with my toes so that I could watch. I mean, what do you say to a guy like that?"
Samuel paused for a moment, thinking. When he looked up, he said, "Tell you what. I'm relieving one of you of your duties."
"Alvis said that there had to be fourteen guards or else…"
"Don't worry, there'll be fourteen guards."
"Ok," said Enric, slamming his fists into the sand filled sack hanging from the ceiling while Roswell steadied it for him by leaning his back against it. "You can feel the energies that auras come from, but you can't do anything with it." It disturbed Roswell slightly that Enric was able to summarize in one sentence what it took himself thirty minutes to explain. Enric paused a moment from his pounding, asking "What does that mean, exactly?"
"What does what mean?"
"The fact you can sense the power without being able to use it," continued Enric, resuming his attack. "Maybe what you're sensing is something else entirely. Maybe it was just something you ate." Roswell took a bite from his apple, being cautious doing so as his head was constantly bobbing around.
A few moments careful consideration and chewing, and Roswell continued. "I'm pretty sure it's real, because I've, well, felt it multiple times, and if it was a hallucination you'd think it would be a bit more, I don't know, random."
"Not necessarily, I heard of a guy that had hallucinations he was underwater."
"So what?"
"He lived in the desert."
"That's irrelevant. However, I do think you might be on to something with the whole, 'it may be something else' bit. The only question is how do we find out?"
"Ask the aura summoning teacher. Tell her what you saw, and maybe she can tell you if it's the real thing or not."
"Can't do it. She says that if I can't summon an aura next time she sees me, she's gonna have Samuel run me through the obstacle course."
"Samuel can't be that bad, Akakios seems to like him."
"Akakios can make it past the first obstacle without passing out."
"Look, seriously, the wall isn't THAT high."
"Can we just drop it?"
"It's at most five feet; you're taller than it is.
"We can move on at any point now."
"Right, sorry. So asking Katrina is out. Where do we find out what a legitimate aura power source looks like?"
"We could hit the Book Shelves," thought Roswell. "There's probably a resource on how to distinguish energy patterns in there."
"Fine, we can try that right now," replied Enric, peeling off the gloves he used to protect his hands. He rubbed his knuckles for a moment, then jerked his thumb at the punching bag. "Sure you don't want a turn?"
"I'm good. You don't have to come with me if you don't want, I know you find the place boring."
"I'll come; you'll need my help reaching anything above the second shelf."
"Oh, don't make me hurt you." Enric just grinned.
(A/N)
I am hoping to update relatively soon, and to keep this story on the first page of the diablo fics for a sustained period. Just in case I don't, though, allow me to divulge the reader in some spoilers on the fiture of the story; if you do not wish to know these things, I recomend you turn away now.
Akakios isn't dead, and will not die in the next chapter.
Enric, Ros, and Jennifer will begin to realize that they have gifts outside of being paladins.
The story will go on and off the beaten path of the DII story line.
The story will end shortly after the compleation of "Act 2", for reasons which will become evident at the time.