**Author's note: I typically update once a week on Friday/Saturday but I put two updates out this week because the last chapter, "Night Falls" felt like it needed to be with the "Alberich" chapter. My views are telling me a lot of people missed the previous installment, so make sure you check back a chapter to get the full story. Next week is a big one.**
It was well after midnight when he made his move. The door would squeak, so he had to use the window. He didn't want to disturb his new traveling partner. Easing out of the cottage by twisting himself out of a parlor window, he alighted with ease on the ground outside. Reaching inside, he gently took hold of his weapon. The glaive responded dimly to him, likely due to the influence of the wretched magic repressing towers on this strange world.
Alberich took a breath, and began quietly walking down the northern road. He wanted some time alone to be with his thoughts, and to commune with his guide, the holy spear that called itself Valkyrie.
The Tzaangor had once been a human, learned in the sciences and arts. As a man, he had attempted suicide in his home world after being captured by enemy forces during a war. Instead of the void of death, he had woken up nude in the middle of a circle on an alien beach, his body rapidly twisting and transforming into what he was now. Before his transformation could be completed, he had slaughtered the strange robed men who had brought him into existence. The leader of the men was in possession of a mystical weapon, something that he had seen in his dreams through his old life. He had thought it to be the Spear of Destiny itself (and perhaps it still might be, through some miraculous quirk of fate) but when he had wrenched it from the lead occultist, a strange presence had instantly introduced itself as "Valkyrie" and had given him the skill and strength to kill every single heathen on the sands. He did so, despite never having used such a weapon in his life. The spear then told him that he had been "chosen" for a purpose, and that he had been blessed by the Great Architect.
Left alone with the dead magicians, he had discovered a book written in English that had detailed how they would transform a man into what they called a "Tzaangor", a birdlike animal man, which is what he was now. Apparently, they had planned to transfigure and then sacrifice their poor captive, but fate had other intentions. The unlucky victim who had provided the body for this ritual had been a prisoner to these foul warlocks, and it was unfortunate that his soul had been obliterated to bring Alberich here. The Tzaangor wasn't complaining that he got to exist, however. This was as an opportunity to begin again fresh in another body. The beastman had cast off his old name with his humanity, and had chosen the name "Alberich" from an opera he had once enjoyed. His old name and his old life were both gone. It briefly made him sad. His family was missed, but this was what fate had in store for him, so he was forced to accept it.
The night air was filled with many living scents and sounds. He was still getting acquainted to his new body. Having the head of a noble bird wasn't all that terrible, he conceded as he reached over with unnaturally long clawed fingers to touch his black hooked beak. On his head, he had filed down the short curved pair of horns he had developed, not liking that it made his silhouette look like some sort of devil. He considered his transformation an adequate price to pay for having the incredible skills that he had now. He rarely got tired, his body effortlessly healed itself, and, most of all, he had been gifted the ability to wield true magic.
How wondrous that there was magic! Alberich beamed in excitement. It had only been a few weeks since he had found himself on this new world, but he had learned much. On that very first night of his existence here, he had used his powerful new psychic powers to telekinetically throw one of his aggressors into a bonfire. The world he had traveled from had very limited magic, and only if you knew strictly where to look. Magic was dim here at the present, but would return soon, he was certain. The cursed black towers were failing, Valkyrie had told him. They were the source of the erratic suppression of energy on this new world.
In the few weeks he had been here, he had noticed that the influence of the towers was very inconsistent, their power fluctuating wildly. One turbulent afternoon while communing with Valkyrie, he received a vision of a strange man of metal who was attempting to interface with a tall tower across the land, inexplicably interfering with magic's ability to manifest itself in this world. From the short visions he had beheld, he could tell somehow that this metal man was fighting a losing battle. He would be able to exercise his skill in magic once again, and he was greatly looking forward to it.
There were some rather unsettling similarities between this world and his old world. He had tried not to think about that, submitting fully to the will of the Great Architect. He had tried to ask some of the very few people he encountered on the road about knowledge of a planet named Earth, but the people ran off screaming, terrified of his appearance. He supposed that was fair.
Valkyire had guided him well instead, and had taught him how to survive in this new world. Through it, he had honed his combat and magical abilities when the influence of the towers was minimal. The weapon had been unimaginably helpful to him. It also had guided him to places of interest and importance. Two weeks ago, it had shown him a vision of a woman in blue fire with the galaxy in her hands. It had shown him that he was needed to help gestate another great leader, and he was all too willing to oblige. Along with the fire-woman, he had a vision of a suspicious looking golden statue, and knew that both would be found near one another. The statue reminded him of something he had seen in his old world, and when he had discovered that there were people worshipping it, he had a dark laugh.
He thought back to the woman asleep in the abandoned cottage. The blessed weapon had never steered him wrong. Even when the degenerate idol worshippers had found and subdued him on the road, he still had not been guided wrong, and he had been greatly surprised when the fire-woman of his visions had rescued him from his crucifixion. It was fortunate that the cultists had thought his weapon was cursed, and had refused to steal it, tying it up with him and leaving him to die.
A question now rang in his mind: What would he do now that he had found her? What would the spirit advise? He held the glaive and concentrated as he walked, willing the connection between spirit and mortal yet again.
Can you hear me, oh spirit? The Tzaangor said to his blade in mind.
The response was somewhat weak. He had grown strong enough now that if he concentrated hard enough and physically held the glaive, it would respond, despite tower interference. He was rewarded when a whisper came to him. Greetings, noble warrior. I have seen your success, and I am pleased.
It was truth that you spoke, and the visions shown! My deepest thanks to you, spirit! Alberich replied, walking briskly down the road. The night air was very pleasantly cool, and he was reminded of autumn hikes when he was a child. After he had walked a few hundred paces or so, the Tzaangor found a downed tree near where the farmland was transitioning into forest. With great physical ease, he hopped up and laid down on the tree's mossy flanks, taking in some alien stargazing ringed with the dark shadows of tall trees swaying in the night air.
The stars being completely different was upsetting, but he was learning to embrace the philosophy that all things must change, and with change, could come grand fortune. The Great Architect promised it so.
Is she as powerful as the visions say? Ah, how strange things are now! He held Valkyrie in one hand, and leaned his head against the blade. It was cool and warm at the same time, and felt as if it held a low electric current.
She is important to your journey. She is greatly favored by the Great Architect of Fate. You must keep her safe. You swore an oath to follow your last charge many years ago. You must do it again for someone else.
Alberich opened his eyes. An oath? But, she was a woman, he thought. As a human, offering an oath of servitude to a mere woman would've been unthinkable to him.
The glaive sensed his hesitance. The gods have their reasons for their choosings, and you will not question them. He felt an ache at his temple; Valkyrie was displeased with that.
The Tzaangor wondered for a moment. The last person he had sworn an oath to was gone, and so was the world he had lived on. He was dead too, he supposed, and his original body was likely dust on a planet he would never see again. But, spirits are eternal. They go to different places after their physical deaths. The Hindus had known as much. Perhaps her soul had come from someone great, soaring through all of time like an eagle? She had even said that her soul had come from another world, just as his did! Ultimately, it did not matter the body anyone wore when considering the philosophy of an eternal soul. The wisdom of the Great Architect had led him well this far, and had shown him many things. Who it chose to work through was not for him to judge.
He thought about the woman again. He could also sense a seething anger under her skin, making her sweat smell of danger to those who knew what that smelled like. Perhaps he could influence that anger, and drive her toward righteous causes, benefiting himself most of all. On top of it all, the fire of magic burned behind her eyes. The Tzaangor had suspected her to be a magician from the beginning. Valkyrie had told him as much, but to be in her presence was another thing, even with suppressed magic. Once the towers were inactive, he would be able to see what both he and she could accomplish, and he simply could not wait! His future seemed bright indeed.
This Erika woman had been chosen by the Great Architect, and that was all there was to it. He nodded. Valkyrie was correct; an oath was required. When a good moment presented itself, he would give her his oath. He wasn't certain whether or not to disclose his full past to her yet. She had said she had come from a different world as well, but the probability that it was his was minuscule. However, he thought he heard her begin to say "English" when referencing a journal she was reading back at the farmhouse, but he wasn't sure. For now, he would not be generous with his history. His story would likely make him appear unbalanced if told in its entirety.
Alberich laid back on the mossy wood, and relaxed his strange new body under the luminous light of the foreign sky, almost as bright as a full moon to his sensitive eyes. There was barely any light pollution here to veil the foreign stars. God was indeed a consummate artist in His paintings of the night sky, wherever one happened to be. He admitted that he was somewhat homesick, but he would have to adjust. He must embrace change in all its forms, he reminded himself. The Great Architect would not guide him wrong.
His downy feathers set on edge as he sensed something. What it was, he did not know, but it bade him look to the south, in the direction of the statue. Alberich sat up, and swiveled his head, curious.
Dimly, he could see the shadow of the vile golden statue on the hill, and the sky, he saw a snake of an aurora lick across the stellar tapestry, a brilliant lash of blue and magenta. It was quite beautiful, he marveled. He sat admiring the sight for a short time, until the logical part of him chimed in curiosity that such a thing should not be visible at this latitude on this world. He had puzzled together that he was in the northern temperate hemisphere from his travels. As inspiring as the sight of the aurora borealis was, seeing it on the same latitude as Portugal was unusual.
The Tzaangor's feathers were still standing on edge when he stood up to observe the rest of the sky. The dancing lights were fixated across the southern horizon. That made even less sense. This had not happened here before. Perhaps there had been a solar flare, or perhaps this was some unfamiliar magic phenomena? His senses were alight like fireflies, his intuition clawing at his mind that something felt out of place.
Look to the tower to the north, he felt his blessed weapon suggest. Good idea.
The tower was not visible from where he was under the canopy of tall trees, so he simply decided to climb the nearest one. He left Valkyrie on the log below. In leaps and bounds, he scrambled up the nearest trunk. His claws made this exceedingly easy, and within a minute, he had reached one of the upper boughs of a tree.
He was facing south when he emerged from the canopy, and saw, once again, brilliant lights dancing across the sky like a faerie wild hunt. It was indeed very beautiful, but as he studied it, something about the colors also turned his stomach and made his instincts crawl in revulsion. Something felt "off" here, and he could not place exactly what was wrong. He turned his head toward the north, where the tower would be. When this particular tower was active, a white light would emerge from the very top, like a candle. It was easily visible from far away, and was a convenient navigation tool on dark, relatively clear nights like tonight.
Only now, there was no light. The tower had "gone out" once again. With a quick sweep of his perception, the Tzaangor could feel magic in the air. Alberich didn't have much time to celebrate as he felt something that oozed of wrongness running through the forest below. His senses told him that it didn't belong. He scrambled down the tree to grab Valkyrie, just in time to see a bizarre creature vault into view on the road. It stopped a few paces away from him, cocking its bizarre head at the beastman.
It stood on two legs, and looked something like a large bare-skinned flightless bird with dappled purplish skin. The vaguely equine head contained a peculiarly long tongue that lashed at the air near to him, and its ruby alien eyes studied him with a strange glow. It was about as tall as he was, and did not seem to have any sort of forequarters. Alberich had never seen such an odd creature, and he was more puzzled by the encounter than anything.
It wasn't until Valkyrie shouted DANGER into his mind that he realized that the animal wasn't innocently curious. With a few lashes of its dripping tongue, the monster leapt forward in two graceful bounds, displaying bird-like claws on its legs in an attempt to slash him. Alberich swung out of the way, and let the creature carry its momentum into a large shrub. At least whatever it was didn't seem to be very smart, he thought as he saw it crash into the brush.
Do not let the tongue strike you, warrior! His glaive warned him. Slice off the head! Kill it quickly!
The creature had recovered, and had warbled a strange noise as its tongue once again lashed out at him. This time, the tongue grazed his shoulder, and he was briefly stricken with conflicting feelings of agony and pleasure, momentarily stunning him. The creature attempted another jump at him, but this time, Alberich was able to wildly swipe forward with the blade, cutting a gash on the side of its neck. The Tzaangor fell to the right of the monster. The creature made obscene noises as it bled a silvery liquid onto the road which turned to vapor after a few short seconds. What was it?
As it bled and screamed, Alberich swung around, readying Valkyrie. The creature attempted to turn around and charge again. The Tzaangor aimed a heavy blow at its long neck. It moved at the last moment, resulting in a messy partial decapitation, splitting the creature's head laterally. Despite it's grave injuries, it still stood, struggling to find him. The thing's pained screams along with its revolting tongue filled Alberich with loathing, and in another angry chop, he had fully decapitated the unusual thing. The corpse twitched for a few moments until a ghastly pink fire that smelled of cloying perfume burned the creature completely away as if it had never existed.
Spirit, what was that beast? Alberich hurriedly asked his blade, stunned by what he had felt when it had touched him. It responded with a sense of swift urgency.
Your charge is in danger, noble warrior! Be swift, lest your dreams of hope and glory die in the cradle! These creatures are servants of the golden idol and the Pleasure God! The Lord of Hosts calls his minions to him!