Chapter 11: Angels and Daemons
Eternity. The Dark Void. The Great Abyss. The End of Time. These were some of the names Mark had heard of for this strange dimension which he now tumbled through. But he wasn't exactly falling and neither was he stationary. His mind seemed muddled, his green eyes slightly dimmed with confusion. Recovery was slow and the Tactician's daze faded slowly. Movement, or what little he could, seemed as if he was underwater.
He quickly glanced at the never-ending darkness and the Tactician shuddered. The plan to return from the future through Lucius's magic had worked but he himself had failed in reclaiming his body. Through this eternal, never-ending darkness did Mark find a small glimmer of light in the distance far above him. For an unknown reason, the light never moved and never dimmed, even though the Tactician's senses plainly screamed that he was falling. Straining his eyes, the light seemed to expand. Soon, he could see two demonic beings talking to each other within a room that was partly dark and partly lit. Straining his ears, Mark found himself capable of hearing the two demons speak.
"Yes! I see can she her shadows emerge!" Horror said to Fear within the confines of that strange room. "Can you see it, brother? The desire and want, the need of something to quench that fire within her… This is the beginning of our master's return!"
"Yes, brother!" Fear replied. "The brittle walls which are her only defense against desire has crumbled. It will take but a moment for us to properly show this self-suppressing woman how to please herself instead of another. Perhaps reading her memories would be of help in this new era of existence?"
"Indeed," Horror agreed with a hint of joy. "If there is anything from her memories that can enable us to acquire more power for our master's return, we must seize it!"
"Indeed, brother," Fear smiled as he clapped his brother on the shoulder. "The sooner the child is born, the sooner our master will return to this world to once again bring the Daemon Legionnaires back to its mighty existence!"
"Indeed, my brother," Horror replied, laying an arm over his own brother's shoulders. Likewise, Fear laid his arm over Horror's shoulders. "Anything that can be done for our Daemon Legionnaires will be wholly beneficial to our master's Brotherhood of Nod! One vision, one purpose!"
The two demons cackled harshly and the image began to fade away. In the silence of the void, only the echoes of the demons' laughs resonated within Mark's mind. The Tactician was silent, stunned beyond comprehension. Slowly, he stopped spinning and tumbling, only to land upon firmament that seemed alien.
The son of the Sunfires gazed about, glancing and trying to see through the shrouding darkness. Everywhere was covered by shadows with only a single beam of light that poured its strangely calming essence from the skies above. Looking upwards only to be blinded for a moment, Mark quickly averted his gaze. The light was strong and recovering quickly from his temporary blindness, the Tactician looked down to see the beam of light slowly widening, creating a path for him to follow.
Nothing but the muffled sound of his boots striking the stone floor could be heard in that strange chamber. Mark felt at peace following this strange path that the light above him had created for him to follow. At ease and calm, the Tactician did not realize that the path ended at. Regaining his own consciousness, he began to walk towards a strange stone edifice with statues of creatures in poses of what seems to be peace and sanctity. Slumping on the steps, Mark placed his chin against his chin as he stared at the stone beneath his feet.
"Daemon Legionnaire…" Mark muttered softly, closing both of his eyes. "Where had I heard of it before?"
He sat there on the strange stone edifice's steps, contemplating and striving with his mind to remember. He had heard of the Chaos Legion and of the Scoured Legion, two of the most feared armies that were put down millennia ago by Her Holiness Saint Elimine. But never in his life had he heard of the Daemon Legionnaire. Surely there must be something he had read long ago about the Daemon Legionnaire. Time became nothing as Mark began to lose himself within his own mind, searching through imaginary dusty bookshelves that consisted of his memories. From each shelf he would slowly pull out one book and in the same slow methodical manner open the dusty tome to inspect each page.
The Final Battle of the Scouring… The First Sprouts of the Tree of Peace… The Coronation of Hartmut… The Genealogy of the Six Lands… The Ascension of Saint Elimine…
Information of the past slowly accumulated in his mind. Time was not a factor. He could tackle this at his own leisurely pace. But he cannot. A lady, his dearly beloved Fiora of Ilia, was suffering out in the painful world of reality. These tomes, these great and venerable dusty tomes, they alone must hold the key of freeing him from this void and destroying these invaders that have taken his body.
In an immeasurable amount of time, a greatly tired Tactician found himself sitting with his back against a shelf. Pausing for a moment to shut the tome, Mark wondered how had he entered the stone building and found the library when earlier he was outside. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, the fire that was burning like a beacon was now reduced to a faint glimmer of an ember. Unable to put the heavy tome back into its place, Mark pushed the closed tome from his lap. It struck the ground, raising a small cloud of dust. With the tome out of the way, Mark closed his eyes and tilted his back against the wooden shelf.
"Why?" Mark whispered to the silence and the darkness. "Why am I sealed away in a realm where only the shadows are my company? Why is Fiora here? By the Relics, why are those demons here? I would at least think that Her Holiness had eradicated their ilk centuries ago… or so I was taught to believe…"
"You presume too much, Tactician of Etruria," a voice said. It was soon followed by a shrill maniacal cackle. Mark's eyes shot wide open and he quickly got up. His right hand reached for the nearest weapon, the tome that he had dropped earlier.
"Who goes there!" Mark demanded as he wielded his tome a little over his right shoulder. "Show yourself!" He heard a snide laugh, but the direction it came from was too general: It seemed to come from behind him. The sound of a robe rustling on stone floor confirmed the direction where it was coming from.
Looking in the direction of the sound, Mark squinted in the dim light. Not too far from him was the form of a human. But this one was abnormally tall in height and had gangly arms and legs. The robes of a Druid seemed to enshroud this being, leaving only an opening for the creature's red eyes to see out of. They were oddly shaped, almost like those of a feral animal's. Suddenly, the tome in Mark's hands didn't seem to be such a good weapon.
"Humans," a muffled but still malevolent laugh came as the soft footsteps of boots sounded closer. "All nerve and foolishness. Never once in their entire history and genealogy have they ever succeeded in riding their world of the Divine Beasts." The newcomer halted briefly and selected a tome from among its comrades on one of the shelves. " 'A Discourse on the Malevolent Spirits'." The shrouded stranger chuckled quietly before replacing the tome. "Interesting title, don't you think?"
"What's interesting is that you know of my rank and my birth nation," Mark said, seething. "Common courtesy, whether you're human or whatever you are, dictates that the host offers the lost stranger his name and hospitality, or whatever little that you can provide." Mark shifted his footing slightly, just in case he might need to fight in a pinch. But instead of being rushed by this stranger, however odd the notion, this oddball gave another of his shrill maniacal cackle.
"Ah, forgive me. I seemed to have lost my manners as you have done so to yours, Mark of House Sunfire," the shrouded stranger took several more steps closer to the Tactician. "My name is Kafka. I am Kafka Pallazo, the resident scholar of this realm. You may call me the Eternal Scholar." The newcomer removed the hood portion of his robes, revealing the rest of his face for viewing. Mark felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen.
This Kafka Pallazo was no ordinary human. His eyes were shaped like any humans, but the red glare in them seemed to be burning like the eternal holy flame in the Holy Temple of Saint Elimine. His nose was rather long and hooked, making this Kafka Pallazo seem like a raven ready for flight. The lips on this person thin and pale, not unlike those of a corpse's. Looking at one of his hands, which was rubbing his rather bony neck reminded Mark of pale spiders with equally pale appendages. His robes were similar to that of Druids except he eschewed the hood and mask. But his magical aura nearly blinded Mark, Kefka's power over darkness radiating in a swirl of malevolent purple energy storm.
"Afraid are you?" Kafka cackled, both of his pale hands gesturing at the shadows around them. "Hard to believe that I'm not human, eh?" Mark slowly lowered his tome.
"What in the name of the Goddesses are you?" Mark asked in a hushed tone.
"A relic of the ancient wars," Kafka said, inspecting his own spidery hands. "In 'Die Legende des Drachen', we were referred to as 'falscher Menschen', or false humans. Perhaps you have heard of the 'Flight of Az'leih'?"
Mark nodded his head. "The story of how the Dragons fled from a dark and dying world through a series of portals that connected their world with ours, was it not?"
"Very good, for a true human. But no matter, my life story can be told another day. Yours I already know, Marcus Aureolis Sunfire," Kafka cackled briefly. "I am not evil, son of House Sunfire. But I am neither good. You can say that I exist only to be the one who watches all that happens in each individual realm. You may call me 'the Eternal Scholar'."
"You're an agent of the Goddesses?" Mark asked, wary with suspicion. He lowered the improvised weapon of a tome.
"I only observe what I am told to," the other replied. "Nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you would give me back my sole copy of 'The Genealogy of the Holy War', I would be more than helpful to you." Kafka extended a pale, spidery hand palm up to receive the tome.
Mark looked from the cover of the tome, which was decorated, with images of Dragons and Men fighting against a tide of darkness. Reluctantly, the Tactician handed the well-designed tome over to the strange Kafka. The scholar gleefully examined the cover and quickly flipped pages until he was near the end. Mark patiently waited and was on the verge of falling asleep on his feet when Kafka slammed the tome shut.
"Evidently," the scholar said, oblivious to the fact that he kept Mark waiting. "Demons of the same caliber as Horror and Fear can be readily dismissed from one plane to another. Such techniques were used during the Holy War when demons and their servants rampaged on the continent of Yggdrasil. Many demons such as Bhaal the Poisoner and Tybalt the Cursed successfully resisted these attempts," Kafka smiled wanly at Mark, who was eagerly hanging onto every word. "However…"
"However what?" Mark could only watch painfully as Kafka pointed and waggled a finger at him.
"Tsk, tsk," the Eternal Scholar said, smiling as he continued to toy with the Tactician. "I can't just tell whatever it is that you deem worthy of learning, foolish mortal. Only when you realize the folly of your follies can you truly become the Master of your art. In your case, I find it very surprising that even you can lose to a simple demon such as those two that now possess your body." Kafka broke off into mirthless laughter.
Mark could only grit his teeth and curl and uncurl his fists as he watched the Eternal Scholar laugh. What Kafka had said was true. He can't just claim to be a Master Tactician when he has not realized the true scope of what it involves in order to declare yourself a Master. Even though he had studied the entire standard and advanced texts and tomes on the subject of Tactics and Strategy, in his own heart, Mark knew he was far from being a true Master.
"What do you want me to do?" Mark asked in a subdued tone. He lifted both palms into the air, helpless. "I cannot offer you anything beyond my own knowledge of the world of the living, Kafka."
"Excellent," Kafka giggled, clapping his hands together. "It has been nigh a century since I have been allowed by the Goddesses to tour Elibe. We are well overdue for news. Come, you must tell your tales in a place more appropriate." The Eternal Scholar turned around and walked away for a distance. Confused, Mark hesitated. Kafka then turned around and irritably motioned with a hand for the Tactician to follow.
Passing by the endless rows and columns of ancient tomes covered in dust, Kafka led the way out of the vast library. The Eternal Scholar stopped by a massive door, which could fit three full-grown dragons in their prime, widthwise and lengthwise. However, where the door handle would normally be there was a great jewel carved out of jasper. Holding up a hand to tell Mark to stop, Kafka stood before the green jewel. Both of his pale hands resting on it, Kafka proceeded to mumble an incantation in a language that Mark had never heard of before.
However, the Tactician did recognize that the order of the chant was similar to those of magic spells he had heard during his travels. Without warning, the Eternal Scholar flung both arms back, black robes fluttering as a gale blew. Shielding his face with his robe, Mark heard the grind of the massive door slowly opening with sound of metal grinding against stone. As it opened, a pulsing white light blinded the Tactician, causing Mark to cry out in pain as he fell onto his knees as he covered his eyes. Hearing a contemptuous sniff above him, Mark quickly rubbed his eyes to ease the agony before being pulled up by a pair of hands. Opening his eyes, the Tactician only saw light bursts overlapping the unfamiliar faces that were now leading him through the doors.
"Come, mortal," he heard the Eternal Scholar say. "Keeping the entirety of the heavens waiting for you is not a very wise decision. Za'hai, Demir. Help him through."
They stopped by the door, the pair of hands letting go of him. Remaining upright as he opened his eyes, Mark's own jaws fell into oblivion when he saw the true magnitude of the grand chamber, his eyes also wide in awe at the awesome majesty of the massive chamber. Three thrones carved of stone with flecks of jewelry embedded in them were mounted at one end of the chamber with at least twenty steps made of pure white marble surrounding it. A walkway embedded with a mosaic of dragons, humans, and other creatures of supernatural origin covered the entire floor, with only a white marble path that led directly from the main entrance to the front of the encircled throne.
People—no, people of all civilizations past and present—lined along the sides of the grand chamber. Some, carrying staves whose power stones radiated with pure power, wore garbs similar to those of the Etrurian Church. A small white cap that rested snugly on the top of the head, white robes that easily reached the floor and a black collar that had a vertical white strip at the throat. Some, wearing robes of pure white with black trimming and a cloak that shone of silver, did not carry staves but still power spilt from their being. Behind a marble pillar with gold veins woven into the stonework stood several beings wearing gray robes that covered their entire bodies. Some of them looked particularly shifty but upon spotting their faces when they turned towards him, Mark was surprised to see that these masters of the Elder Arts looked no more different than the Bishops and Sages that had mingled freely among all the people of the chamber.
"Come," Kafka called, his voice carrying through the silence of the chamber. "You can amuse yourself in the heavens with other intellects such as myself when your time comes. You mustn't keep Our Ladies waiting."
Mark hesitated for a moment, unsure whether or not this was a dream or true reality. Kafka gave an exasperated sigh and came back to him.
"Need I paint a picture for you to convey my message, mortal?" the Eternal Scholar said in a tired tone. "Go! The ladies before you waits."
Upon the largest throne sat a woman whose appearance seemed both powerful yet gentle. She seemed ageless, as if in permanent youth. Her garments were white robes that seemed to flow and float at the slightest hint of air moving. However, this heavenly maiden had a white veil over her face, concealing her features from all in the chamber. Surrounding her throne were similarly garbed maidens, some carrying strange wooden artifacts in the shape of lanterns in their hands while others wielded staves with a myriad of colored jewels mounted on top.
Letting go of the breath he was inadvertently holding in his awe, Mark found that he was standing directly in front of the three thrones on their shared podium. Looking up at the maiden wearing pearl white robes, the Tactician's own jaw sunk further at the sight of the golden hair, the sky-blue eyes, and the serene appearance and feeling that this woman simply could not hold back.
"Welcome, Marcus Aureolis Sunfire di Nibelungen," the maiden said, beaming at him with a smile of pleasure. "Please, consider this place to be your new abode for the present."
"We know you have questions," a second maiden said gently, picking up where the first had left off. This one was also a stunning beauty, a blue-haired maiden whose beauty also left him breathless. She too was smiling at him. "But in time, those questions will be answered."
Mark could not get a handle on this new sudden torrent of information. The first maiden had called him "Marcus Aureolis Sunfire di Nibelungen". Wasn't "di Nibelungen" the name of some famous warrior of an ancient legend he had read before?
"You are confused, yes?" the third maiden asked plainly. Mark's mind jerked free from the ruts of logic to gaze at the third maiden. She, unlike the previous two, did not bear so much as a faint smile on her face. Hers was hard-set, jaw locked in a seemingly uncomfortable clinch. "Your confusion, understandable or not in this situation, will be cleared up immediately."
Her two companions exchanged looks of shock, amazed how quickly their dark companion had quickly driven to the heart of the issue at hand. The second opened her mouth in protest, but was silenced by the first's upraised palm.
"Don't you think our guest deserves to rest first, Atropos?" Clotho suggested, gesturing at Mark. "The method you chose to bring him here, however quick and efficient it was, has indeed drained much of his strength."
As if by some oddity of his body, Mark did feel a bit drained. Looking sideways at Kafka, Mark glared at the Eternal Scholar as if all of this was his fault. Kafka just shrugged and jerked his head towards the three maidens. As he turned back, Mark saw the dark one named Atropos shake her head at Clotho.
"Having him rest will only delay the inevitable, Clotho. The sooner we tell him everything about the current situation on Elibe, the better off he'll be. Then he won't have to stay here any longer than necessary." The second maiden laid a hand on the headstrong Druid's arm.
"As much as I agree with you, sister," the second said soothingly, patting Atropos's arm. "This time I must disagree. We cannot just merely pull someone from another plane of existence, do our business and then send him or her on back to their world. Such a thing would drastically drain the astral energies of both planes, Atropos. Nor you or I or even Clotho would be able to repair a tear in the fabric of existence without causing severe catastrophes in either plane."
"I know that, Lachesis," Atropos said, biting a lip out of frustration. Her blood-red lips turned even more crimson with the addition of her brighter blood. "But the longer he stays here, the sooner those pair of demonic wretches down on Elibe will cause problems for everyone."
"We'll just let him stay here for a short duration, my dear sister," Lachesis replied, conjuring a white cloth from midair with a twist of a hand. She then pressed it against Atropos's lip. Mark could not help but watch with extreme interest at how quickly Atropos's lip had healed since it had been bled. "A day or so will restore his energies, not to mention give the smiths enough time to craft a proper weapon for him to use against the Daemon Brothers."
"That is sound, Lachesis," Clotho said, leaning forward so that she may look sideways at Atropos. "Besides, wasn't it you that suggest that we equip a di Nibelungen with knowledge on demon slaying along with a proper weapon to carry out said deed?"
Atropos looked from one sister to another for a moment. Sighing, she shook her head before holding up both palms in surrender. Smiling, Clotho looked once more at Mark.
"It has been decided, Marcus Aureolis Sunfire di Nibelungen. Today and tomorrow, you shall remain here with us. It is our most sincere hope and wish that you equip yourself with whatever knowledge you wish against the two Daemon Brothers that have been plaguing your homeland."
She then gestured Kafka over with a twitch of her forefinger. Immediately, the Eternal Scholar sprang forward from his alcove and knelt immediately in front of Clotho with his head bowed respectfully.
"Kafka will show you to your quarters, Marcus di Nibelungen. Please rest and cast aside your worries. On the morrow, I fear you may break once we have broken more news for you. But for now, Kafka will do his duty. Please, follow him."
Rising and giving a salute, Kafka bowed before turning around. Patting Mark on the shoulder several times, the Eternal Scholar led the way out of the throne room. However, Mark remained standing a few moments after Kafka had stepped out of the chamber. Speechless and numbed, Mark could only nod his head several times. Without a word, he turned around to follow Kafka, who was waiting slightly impatiently outside.
Once the Tactician was out of sight and earshot, Atropos sighed and shook her head once more before resting her head against a fist propped on her throne. Lachesis could only smile and pat Atropos once more on her other arm. Clotho rose from her seat and stood before her two siblings.
"As much as I have enjoyed bringing mortals from their realm to ours, I must admit that it's been somewhat tiring and trying as of late, my sisters," Clotho said, barely managing to stifle a yawn. "Yet, I find myself agreeing once more with you, Atropos. Sending him back immediately would be prudent and wise, but doing so readily in such a short span of time would do damage to the fabric of the cosmos, wouldn't you agree?" Atropos waved a hand flippantly.
"We're the three goddesses of magic, sister," Atropos said with an exasperated sigh. "What is there in the entire length and breadth of the cosmos that we can't do?"