Behold! The aforementioned trainwreck that is chapter 155.
Hey, all! I'm alive. I wish this site had a feature which allowed me to post quick status updates. It would also just be fun to interact with you all, but this late in the game I guess setting up a forum would be silly, right? Hmm. Let me know how you feel about that; if enough of you are interested, I could set up an instagram account so I can more easily interact with you and keep you updated on how each chapter is progressing. Maybe that would help keep me motivated, sheesh.
Regardless, I'm here! Ish. I put off actually posting this chapter for a long time because I don't have much of an idea on where to go from here, because we are- to both my horror and relief- very, very close to The End. fin. Epilogue.
...Sweating bullets over here.
A huge thanks to Kira Vulpes, as usual, for her tremendous help in making sure each chapter is neat and clean. And thanks to all my readers for your continued support. I'm honestly shocked by all the people who've stuck around for this long, and by all the notifications I still get for new people who find me and for some reason like my work enough to add me to their favorite/follow lists.
Before reading on, I do recommend maybe going back and skimming a couple chapters to make sure you're not too lost, as this one is go-go-go and I don't want to leave you feeling like you stepped into a room full of people running in circles and screaming with no rhyme or reason. I am really, really sorry for the long gap and I hope I won't do it again.
Thanks to all of my reviewers on the last chapter! I'm sorry for not replying as I usually do, but please know that I read and appreciate them all, and I'll do my best to respond to all the comments I get on this update.
That's enough housekeeping for one day. Without further adieu, please enjoy the explosive chaos (pun intended) that is the beginning of the end of this long and wild story.
You Won
Deniel bolted from his cot at the rapid pounding of footsteps and a light approaching his cell.
"Deniel Waren!" a familiar, urgent voice called, followed by High General Derek peering between the bars.
"I'm here." Deniel rushed to the door. "Listen to me, the Blesseds are in danger. My grandfather-"
"The explosives, I know." After a brief jangling of keys, Deniel heard them clatter to the floor. Derek muttered a curse; the light shook wildly as he snatched them up and unlocked the cell, throwing it open. "We have minutes to either get them out of here or find the fuse and cut it. Help me."
"Minutes?" Deniel followed Derek and jogged beside him back down the hall toward the central chamber. "How do we get the Blesseds out without the Lord Rector's men stopping us?"
"There is a secret passage in the dungeon that leads about a half mile outside the keep grounds, where we should be safe," Derek huffed as they entered the dimly lit central chamber- lined, Deniel noted with alarm, with crates. Explosives. Lots of them. Surely this was more than they needed to blow up the keep.
The Lord Rector didn't intend to just blow the keep's foundations and sink it into the earth. He intended to incinerate it and all the people within. There wouldn't even be bodies left to identify afterward. Deniel's blood ran cold.
Why? What did the Lord Rector have to gain from murdering so many people? Why didn't I see this coming?
"All…all the servants," Deniel managed. "Are they-"
"They're being evacuated," Derek said. He opened a safe set into the wall and withdrew a weapon- Deniel's sheathed sword. "Unfortunately, that means that the Lord Rector likely knows we're on to him now. Time is of the essence: he may decide to blow the place ahead of schedule so we can't escape." He tossed the blade to Deniel, who caught it deftly in both hands. "We'll split up. Call for me if you find any Blesseds- or other prisoners, although I'm not aware of anyone else down here."
"Yes, High General." Deniel indulged himself in holding the sword for a moment before fastening it to his belt. Moons, it was good to have his weapon back: some semblance of security, whatever good that did him, considering the forces they were up against.
"Start on the outer halls and work to the center, where the secret passage is," Derek ordered.
No, this methodical approach would take too much time. Deniel cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: "Hello!"
His voice reverberated in the central chamber and echoed back to him from the dark halls. "Blesseds! We're here to get you out. Where are you?"
Derek grimaced, but listened along with Deniel. A heavy silence filled the air between them.
And then a distant male voice called back.
Deniel started running without waiting for the High General.
"You need the key!" Derek called, and Deniel turned around to see Derek tossing the ring his direction. He grabbed it out of the air.
"But this is your only key-"
"Change of plans. I will try to find the fuse," Derek said. "It's probably down the same hall as the secret passage. You get them out, and come the instant you hear my call. Waren's men are likely guarding the fuse."
"Yes, sir."
Deniel dashed after the voice in the hall so fast he nearly lost his footing. He caught himself with a hand on the wall and used his momentum to shove off, barreling toward the voice.
Varasach raised her head from Garmadon's shoulder at the sound of a far-off call.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered.
Weak light from the nearly-extinguished lantern by the door flickered in Garmadon's moist eyes. He had not spoken since coming to.
"I think someone is coming," Varasach whispered. "What…" She turned. The voice was closer this time, accompanied by echoing footsteps.
"Vara!"
That was Lou! Varasach leapt to her feet. "Here! We're here!"
"I hear her this way. Vara!"
Pounding footsteps in the hall. Keys rattled, and the door which Varasach thought would never open again swung inward with a loud clang. Den stood there, breathless. Varasach started to run to him, but was intercepted by Lou, who hugged her tightly.
By the time she overcame her shock and started to return the embrace, he had already begun to pull back. He placed his hands on either side of her face and examined her.
"Are you all right? Vara, are you all right?"
Funny to hear this from him: he looked so pale and weary, breathing hard, hands shaking. He was in bad shape after losing his connection to his Gems and taking that fall.
Varasach nodded, tears of relief spilling down her cheeks.
"Glad to see you're okay, Vara," Den said, and squeezed around them in the doorway. He knelt on the floor and grabbed the King, touching the dried blood from where Lou had drawn out the poison. "Mena preserve us. Are you hurt?"
"So you're awake." Lou tersely sized Garmadon up. "Stand up, would you? Let's go."
"I'd ask what happened," Den said as he stood again, then helped the King up. "But we don't have time. High General Derek is searching for a fuse and other prisoners. Is anyone else down here?"
"High General Peran," Lou answered. "Beyond that, I don't know." He glanced at Garmadon, who now stood to the side, gaze downcast. "How much time until the explosives go off?"
"The High General says we have only minutes," Den answered. "I hate to leave anyone behind, but there may not be time to find Peran. But- no, that isn't right. You guys run, and I'll find him."
"You know about the secret passage?" Lou asked.
"Thanks to High General Derek. But I'm not exactly sure how to find it."
"That's all right," Lou said, "I do. I'll lead the way."
Derek looked Lou up and down, probably thinking what Vara already knew. The older man struggled just to remain on his feet as he took Varasach's hand.
"Wait." Varasach stepped back and went to Garmadon, now supported by Den with an arm around his shoulders. She hated the defeated look in his eyes as he tried too hard to avoid her gaze. She took his free hand and squeezed it. It was cold.
"I've got him," Den assured her impatiently, pushing her from her father. "Get out of here!"
Varasach went back to Lou and ran out with him.
Derek met them in the central chamber, holding a lantern which barely kept the dark gloom of the dungeon at bay.
How funny, Varasach thought, taking in his face, cast in dramatic and grim shadow. I used to mistrust him, and thought that the kind-looking Lord Rector was my friend. Appearances aren't everything.
"I don't understand," Derek said with frustration. "I couldn't find a fuse."
"Maybe they haven't laid it yet," Den suggested hopefully.
"Or maybe they plan on leaving a man behind with a torch to blow himself up with the Keep. The good news is, I found Peran. Deniel, give me the keys."
Den fumbled in his pocket, then dropped the keyring in the High General's palm. "Should we split up again?" he asked.
"Fortunately, he's in the same hall as the not-so-secret passage," Derek answered, and headed that way, motioning for the others to follow. "Stick together. I can free him on our way out."
"You all right?" Varasach heard Den ask Garmadon in a low voice as they all entered the hall, lit only by the High General's light.
"Fine," Garmadon murmured. Varasach turned her head as they walked, searching his face. Though his eyes flitted away when he caught her looking, he seemed more focused than before they'd left their cell. This bolstered her confidence: perhaps he would be okay.
It didn't take long to reach Peran's cell. Derek unlocked the door and Peran ran out, urgently, his wounded hand wrapped in a strip of cloth torn from his uniform.
"Hosts, you look rough," Derek said. "Looks like you can walk fine, though. I'll take a look at that hand when we get out of here."
Peran nodded curtly, saying nothing, and followed the others further down the hall. Varasach jumped at every sound as they went: the lack of opposition from Waren's men during their escape added to her already tense nerves.
At the end of the long passage, the door leading into the secret passage hung open: apparently the Lord Rector had decided it wasn't worth keeping secret any longer.
Varasach caught sight of something on the floor near the open door. As they came close she realized what it was: the body of a young man, lying face-up near the wall. Curly auburn hair, closed eyes, blood on his mouth and pooled on the floor beneath his thick winter coat. The smell of blood and defecation immediately made her stomach turn, but for some reason she couldn't look away. Why? She was no stranger to death.
Deniel murmured a curse, hurrying past the body. Lou and Garmadon avoided looking at it for too long, but Peran seemed unable to look away.
Who was this young man? Another body to add to the pile of those who had given themselves on her behalf?
Varasach touched Peran's sleeve; he leapt with surprise, blinking at her. Then he took a sharp breath. "Traps! There are tripwires ahead. Poisoned arrows, right near the door and on the stairs near the end of the tunnel."
Deniel, already in the tunnel, froze and turned back to the others with wide eyes.
"That's new," High General Derek said with a frown. "I should have been informed about this. In an evacuation, this oversight could have cost the Blesseds their lives."
"I suppose that was the Lord Rector's intent," Lou said. "In an ironic twist of fate, Peran, you may have saved us all with this warning."
Peran grunted. Varasach noted how he looked back at the body on the floor.
"No time to stand around," Derek said, missing- or ignoring- the regret in Peran's face. "Follow me, carefully."
It was snowing.
The Lord Rector looked up at the sky, at the thick clumps which fell on his face and clung to trees and the uniforms of the dozen or so Guards who stood around the mouth of the secret passage. Funny how snow stifled the sounds of their breathing and fidgeting as they watched him.
He continued looking up, if only to avoid meeting their gaze.
Deniel…oh, Deniel, my child, why?
He could not shake the malice in the boy's face from his mind. His snarl as he gripped the bars of his cell door, declaring that he would rather die than become the new King.
"…Lord Rector?" one Guard finally spoke up, hesitant.
Lord Rector Waren cleared his throat, turning to the man. He could feel their anticipation like static in the air. "Leave me, please. All of you. I need to pray."
The Guards hesitated, glancing between themselves with disappointment: they had expected to be here when he lit the fuse.
But in the end they obeyed, saluting with a hand at their breast before following the footpath in the deep snow.
When they were gone, the Lord Rector found he could hide his emotions no longer. His legs shook, and he fell to his knees, uncaring of the cold as he punched the ground with a fist. Tears filled his eyes.
"I gave everything to you," he prayed through his teeth, spreading his sallow, liver-spotted hand in the snow. "My life was yours, and I held nothing back. I killed in your name. I took the lives of men, women, and even children whose only crime was that they followed the archaic and impotent Retired God of the Third Age. My soul-" he tugged at his clothing- "my robes drip with the blood of the gentle, the peaceful, but I did it! I did it for you, and I brought young Prince Garmadon up in the same way, as dear to my heart as my own son. Ending his life now hurts almost more than I can bear, but I knew I could do it for you."
Snowflakes caught on his hair and eyelashes. He bent over double, breath hitching in his throat and coming out in small puffs.
"But Den?" he whispered. "My own flesh and blood?" He closed his eyes tight and wept
The boy was a staunch idealist. A gentle, quiet young man who looked up at the stars with wonder and made his books of poetry as much a part of his uniform as his sword. He would have made a King finer than their land had seen in a long, long time.
It wasn't supposed to come to this. Den wasn't supposed to find out the truth. But of course he had: it wasn't for no reason that he had been given the honor of working in the King's Keep itself, instead of being trapped in the grind of street patrol like most others his age. He was a bright and insightful young man who proved his worth with or without his pedigree.
After Deniel's parents' death, the Lord Rector had raised his grandson with one trajectory in mind: to help him ascend to the throne once the tainted Blessed bloodline had been purged. But now that he had refused, what was the Lord Rector supposed to do? He had no other young blood relatives. Without someone waiting in the wings to take the crown after the Blesseds were gone, that power vacuum could very well spell their doom. The end of civilization as they knew it; a return to the days before Mena gathered them together under a single banner.
"Is this what you wanted?" he whispered. "I cannot even begin to fathom why…"
He did not finish the treacherous thought. Instead, he straightened, taking a deep breath, and pulled a small box of matches from an inner pocket in his green and black Priestly uniform.
Hands shaking- not just from the cold- he opened the matchbook and tipped it so one fell into his open palm. He stood, walking back into the stairwell where the first fuse rested, hardly detectable within a metal tube set into the left wall. Quietly and discreetly over the course of several winters, trusted workers had dug into the walls of the passage to install these fuses inside metal tubes, replacing the dirt afterwards. This ensured that, even if his plans were found out, the fuse could not be easily discovered or cut.
Without giving himself time to second guess, he struck the match and set it to the fuse. It took a moment to catch, but once it did it hissed with a flash of angry yellow light, then burned out of sight. Down the stairs, racing through the wall of the dark hall to where the other end was set into a single crate of explosives. The Lord Rector turned and, with the same match, lit an identical fuse set into the right wall. Then he left the maw of the passage, shut the large, heavy wooden trap door so it was flush with the frozen ground, and walked a safe distance off. He could not see the King's Keep, of course: even if not for the thick foliage, the keep was over a half mile away. It would take a bit of time for the fuses to reach their destination, and so with that time he kept walking, abandoning the path to trudge through deep snow.
This was it: the day he had worked toward his whole career. His moment of triumph. And yet, all he could feel was a heavy, unrelenting regret as he braced himself for the rumbling impact of the far-off explosion.
Drying his face with his sleeve, he again looked up at the overcast sky. Falling snow stuck to his eyelashes and melted on his hot cheeks.
"You won," he prayed. "Deniel was right, Hosts consume him. I lost everything, but congratulations. You won."
A flash of light burst through the tunnel.
Peran looked behind him. A rumble in the ground; a fiery speck from the distant mouth of the tunnel. A look of terror on Varasach's face as she froze. She flagged behind the rest by several paces.
The sound hit Peran's ears half a heartbeat later: the rumbling of falling rock, a rushing like blood in his ears, rattling him to his very bones, pushing him back a step. The distant fiery speck bloomed and rushed through the tunnel toward them at blinding speed.
Varasach began to run again- she had only paused for a brief moment, but even that was too long.
The roiling fire bore down on them like a tsunami- as fast, as deadly, as inescapable. Peran continued looking into it, even as Varasach passed him. There was no way they could get out in time.
He turned and grabbed Varasach by the arm. She cried out and struggled to get free, but the sound was lost in the roaring of the explosion.
He wrapped his arms around her, and they fell to the ground as the full force of the explosion bore down on them.
It gets difficult to take the Priests seriously after you realize they've essentially been worshipping Overlord their whole careers. Let me tell you, that monster is laughing in his grave right now: Waren can think what he likes, but this whole plot was Overlord's brainchild. Waren needs to count his lucky stars because if Overlord hadn't been killed, Waren and Den would have both been caught in that explosion, and the crown would have gone to Nephilim.
You read that right. Overlord may be dead, but his machinations, beliefs, and will carry on. Kai's generation has a lot of cleaning up to do if they hope to put an end to this.
Well. I suppose I don't have much to say, except another sincere thank you to everyone who's still here. I've been struggling these past couple months (as I'm sure a lot of us are) to keep my head above the water-I haven't been reading, or creating, or doing anything productive outside of work. I feel like I'm on my way back up again, though, so let's hope I can ride this wave to the finish line. I truly appreciate all of your support. And stay strong; you are not alone.
Thanks in advance for your comments and reviews. Have a great week, everyone.