Chapter 17: A War to End all Wars
1916 A.D. Amiens, France
"'The War to End all Wars' redefined how mankind looked at war, and the value of human life. Over 19,000 men lost their lives every day in the trenches of the Somme. Some say uselessly. Some invoke a higher cause. I read accounts of the slaughter from many journalists who spent time in the trenches, but I found the account of a certain Peter Jacob to be the most horrible of all. His implication about the Ancient's involvement with the war was hideous, and so obvious. With the horror of the Battle of the Somme scant miles away, and the distant echoes of pounding artillery, a young journalist named Peter Jacob researched his latest story from the front lines. His grim task brought him to Oublie Cathedral, now transformed into a field hospital…"
The air around him was thick with the smell of sweat and blood, making it hard to concentrate. Every now and then, one of the wounded would cry out in pain, moaning something incoherent. Most of the hospital beds had bloodstained sheets covering them, hiding the body of another poor young soldier. Peter Jacob wrote silently in his journal as he surveyed the carnage around him.
"I find no solace in the purpose behind all the senseless violence that surrounds me. Young men die at a rate unheard of in centuries of warfare. Shelling, machine guns, and mustard gas, rip, pierce, and burn their flesh. Men soak gauze in their own urine to stop the insidious gas. The hospitals here cannot cope with the torrent of wounded."
Even as he wrote this, a soldier pulled out a wounded man from one of the tents. He carried the half-conscious man to another section of the cathedral. Peter closed his journal, stuffed both it and his pen in his pocket, and stood up from the table he sat on.
The night sky outside the cathedral was lit up by the constant explosions of artillery shells. The walls shook with every impact, and Peter had to wonder how much longer it would be until the Germans invaded Amiens. The soldiers were fighting valiantly to hold them off, but more and more wounded came in every day. How much longer could they hold out?
He sighed and looked around in silence, noticing that the staff was too busy to bother noticing him. Perhaps he could look around, see what was hidden inside this ancient church. He hadn't had much time to explore when he first came here, but now…
Peter walked down the aisle towards the altar, glancing occasionally at the tents that housed a mortally wounded soldier. There weren't many places he could check out. Soldiers guarded the door to one of the older sections of the church, along with the stairs to the basement. A sealed envelope on the podium caught his attention, and he picked it up without anyone halting him. Peter opened it, pulling out a set of papers. They were orders to one of the soldiers stationed here. Actually, he recognized the name. Pvt. Thompson was stationed near the entrance, guarding a small room off to the side. He had always complained about being stuck there these days, so maybe this would cheer him up a bit.
Peter walked back down the aisle and through a set of double doors. Sure enough, Pvt. Thompson was leaning against a wall at his post, looking as bored as ever. "This came in for you," Peter explained, handing over the papers.
Thompson took one look at them and grinned, speaking so fast with his British accent that he totally lost Peter. He snatched up his rifle from nearby and ran off, leaving a slightly confused Peter behind. He didn't think Thompson would be that enthusiastic to go into battle.
Peter turned around and walked through the door Thompson had been guarding, immediately reeling backwards from the smell of blood that was so thick in the air. Bloodstained body bags lined the floor, and a nearby bench had a revolver lying on it. He slowly picked it up, wondering who would leave a weapon in such a place like this? As he checked to see how many rounds were loaded, a mortar exploded dangerously close to the church, making it shake hard enough to make him stumble. The lights flickered before going out, plunging the room into darkness. He heard screams from the sanctuary of the church, and he instinctively ran to check it out. But as soon as Peter's hand touched the doorknob, the room around him vanished, replaced by a well-lit stone temple.
He hesitantly took a step forward, keeping the revolver raised. He wasn't an expert in firearms, but he could defend himself if needed. While the temple was definitely strange, nothing jumped out at him. He did hear hundreds of screams everywhere, but he couldn't find the source. But when he glanced down at the floor, he immediately shuddered and averted his gaze. "Don't look at the faces… Don't look at the faces…" he told himself, still walking forward. He had seen human faces imbedded in the floor, screaming out to him in agony. The image was seared into his mind, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
Peter continued forward, casting glances at the statues he passed by as he made his way to the large hand at the end of the path. When he was within a few feet of it, the hand opened up, revealing a large book in its palm. He tucked the revolver under his belt, picking it up. As soon as he did, he reappeared in the storage room. Confused and a little freaked out, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The first thing he noticed was a reddish creature standing in front of the doors to the sanctuary. At the sound of him closing the door, it immediately turned to face him and started his way. Peter took careful aim despite his trembling hand, and as soon as the creature prepared to jump at him, he fired a bullet right into its fiendish head. The monster hissed and went down in a spray of crimson, not moving again. Peter lowered the revolver, staring in fear and wonder at the creature. What was it, and where had it come from? He opened the Tome, flipping through a few pages until he found the picture of the exact same creature he killed. It was called a Bonethief, and it "wore the skins of humans."
"I don't like the sound of that, he muttered, turning back to face the sanctuary doors. As he opened them, he caught a glimpse of another Bonethief leaping onto the chest of one of the nurses. He watched in terror as it dug into her body, disappearing from sight. The nurse stretched out her neck a bit, then turned to face Peter, even though he was hiding behind the door. He heard more screaming from deeper in the sanctuary, and he knew that everyone else inside must have met the same fate. There was no other way for him to go but inside, so he took a deep breath and threw open the door, running as fast as his legs could carry him.
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Food for the Beast
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Peter Jacob had fought long and hard through the labyrinth of catacombs in the basement of the cathedral. The monsters had completely overrun the church, killing or taking over nearly everyone. He had found a rifle and sword during his struggle, along with a Circle of Power with seven points and the Magickal Attack spell scroll. The most shocking of all were the letters from a soldier describing how soldiers who were brought in kept vanishing in the night. What was really going on inside this church? What dark secret was hidden in its walls?
He pushed open a particularly heavy wooden door, feeling a knot of terror build up inside. He was in a massive hall with a huge pit on the other side. He noticed some sort of liquid on the floor around it, and it took him a second to realize it was blood. Peter close the door behind him, taking a few cautious steps towards the pit. He could smell the unmistakable odor of rot and decay with every inch he drew near, and when he came close to the edge, a massive figure burst out from the hole.
Peter fired twice with the revolver, but the shots merely reflected off a magickal shield around the creature. Four red spheres appeared in front of the beast, and they shot into the ground behind Peter. A wall of red magick blocked off his escape, leaving him trapped with the creature.
He turned back to face the beast, the Black Guardian. The battle had begun.
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Peter cast the last 3-point Ulyaoth Magickal Attack spell, and blue lightning shot into the Black Guardian. It roared in pain and collapsed back into its hole, finally dying. He bent over, hands on his knees, and breathed heavily through his mouth to avoid the smell of rotting flesh in the area. The stained glass that had been behind the Black Guardian shattered outwards, revealing a statuette hovering over a stone pedestal. He slowly made his way over to it, reaching out to touch it. But as he did, he felt its corrosive magick close in on his hand, and he opted instead to pick it up after wrapping his hands in torn strips from his shirt. If that beast had been guarding this, it had to be important.
Turning back towards the door he came in through, he finally relaxed a bit. Maybe this nightmare was finally over.
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Memories that haunt
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69 years later…
"…and that was how I came by it," Peter explained, concluding his tale of that dreadful night so many years ago. It may have been quite a long time ago, but the memories were still vivid. "I know it sounds crazy, but there you have it. The only proof I have is that… statue…"
Dr. Edward Roivas, the psychologist who had been interested in hearing Peter's story, leaned in closer to examine the statue while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… It's a strange one. I've seen one like it before…"
"You have?" Peter asked, surprised.
Dr. Roivas nodded, sitting back in his armchair. They were in the Roivas Estate's elegant library, and the statue was on a small table between their chairs. "Yes. Very rare, though. Very obscure."
Peter grew slightly suspicious. How did this man know about the statue while everyone else was clueless? "I've had experts take a look at it, and none of them know what it is. And you do?"
"I'm somewhat of an expert on these things, myself, an interest I developed a long time ago when I was a young man…"
"Then you should keep it," Peter said, rubbing his eyes with a frail hand. "Lord knows I have no interest in it. I'm sure it's the cause of my sleeplessness… I keep thinking about it, as if it's calling out to me…"
Picking up his glass of water, Dr. Roivas raised it into the air. "Then a drink, perhaps? For the gift?" Peter nodded, raising his own glass. "For an unusual objet d'art…"