Rituals Page 20

  Diisu was unaware of just how gifted she was. I watched that lass maintain nearly every school of the elemental disciplines, casting a mastery of protection while enchanting with elemental force and creating ice out of the moisture in the air. Heroes like her truly made war a beautiful thing. Hah!

  The squad got a solid half hour of fun out of that battle. So many of the putrid monsters had been charred or vaporized by now. Barely any rancid smell remained. Azal’el and his company knelt before the Celestial. Kush’hera was quick to motion for them to rise with her claw.

  “I was recently reminded of something, angel,” said the Celestial, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “That we Celestials are bound by no rules of engagement. I apologize for my lack of initiative.” “You must have spoken with my brother recently,” Azal’el chuckled. “A guardian has sacrificed himself upon these lands,” Kush’hera remarked stoically. “Dom’rel can attack me when and if he wishes to try. Zuhetta will otherwise answer to me and, of course, He who sent me.”

  I’ll simply say, for a Celestial to formally claim a territory under such circumstances was a historic event. Even I got goosebumps!

  “I will open a path for your comrades in the western isles to Dema,” Kush’hera explained. “The necromancer from Oleris has already dispatched a million ground forces to seize on the chaos in Kitz. My stormdrakes will maintain aerial superiority there. I have faith the mortals can handle their own in the meanwhile. You five will accompany me to Og’kuuma. I have a particular disdain for the one whispered as “the Vampress.”

  Kush’hera tapped the tip of a claw before Azal’el, and his wings again vanished. The angel sighed, “Seriously?” “You’ve already had too easy of a go,” Kush’hera replied. “Galai’el suffered and gave his mortal form. The least you can do is exert some manner of effort.” Ogg gave a thumbs-up as he still panted.

  Kush’hera walked outside the crumbled wall and stood with her beautiful wings spread wide. A wall of lightning shot along the ground for all of the miles between the southwest coast and the fields of Dema. It was wide enough for any standing army to easily and quickly travel. “I’m sure they’ll get the message,” the Celestial said slyly.

  The stormdrakes roared and took flight eastward. Kush’hera herself lowered her wings for the squad to climb aboard. “And here I am, giving you first class,” she muttered jokingly. Gales began to swirl beneath the Celestial, gently raising her off the ground. Once the squad was situated, the Celestial took off like a bullet.

  They soared north and would travel over Asheya before eventually crossing into Og’kuuma. Meanwhile, the corridor of lighting caught the attention of everyone intended. The phenomenon was so visible from space it looked to be a very part of the world. Formal military and eager civilians alike would soon travel along the lightning path, some simply drawn by the sheer power of the phenomenon.

  The necromancers and the fallen saw this spectacle just the same. While Ket’kia was cornered on her island, Y’neros had something she didn’t have--a bargaining chip. Kush’hera was mistaken in the number she’d quoted. Y’neros had sent everything he had, keeping only his bodyguard and the girl from Chesil.

  I’ll vouch for the man. The girl was undefiled and unharmed. Nonetheless, the ordeal certainly forced the girl to find some resiliency in herself.

  Y’neros was a man of power in every essence of the word. His unholy strength allowed him to wear a literal ton of thick armor and wield a sword that cleaved through homes. His personal bodyguard was a fallen dragonkin omega that shared similar physical aspects.

  “I really should have done this more often,” Y’neros remarked. “It’s quite mellow in here. Doesn’t make it any less awkward,” he added jokingly. “YOU WERE ABOUT TO RAPE ME!” the girl yelled back, arms folded. “LITERALLY! ABOUT TO?” “Profound thoughts can happen at the strangest time,” Y’neros replied casually.

  The necromancer was planning to simply wait for Kush’hera to finish up with Ket’kia and come to him, but what he got was actually more impressive. Miri’el and Bol’rel came from the skies, landing directly before the necromancer. Bol’rel summoned molten chains around the fallen omega in the blink of an eye; and with a snap of the archangel’s fingers, the fallen dragonkin was swiftly transported to hell.

  “I was hoping to keep him, but I suppose that’s fair,” Y’neros remarked professionally. The archangel waved his hand, causing entire portions of the necromancer’s armor to be disintegrated, revealing a sinfully calm expression on the man’s face. “Brother,” Miri’el remarked quietly, knowing that Bol’rel had little patience for Y’neros.

  “I must be right,” Y’neros stated peacefully. Bol’rel punched the man square in the jaw while Miri’el sighed. Bol’rel paused and then punched the necromancer again. The only thing keeping the necromancer’s head on his shoulders was a combination of Bol’rel’s restraint and Y’neros’ own demonic strength.

  “Can I ask that the limit be three?” the necromancer groaned. So, Bol’rel punched him once more. “A smartass, still?” Miri’el asked. “Oh, come on,” Y’neros replied, casting a spell to fix his shattered bones. “A man in my position? I would assume both of you know where I started. Having a curious faith can be dangerous,” he said with a sly tone.

  “It’s your decision,” Miri’el said to the girl who returned the question with a look of shock. “You can’t be serious?” the girl asked. “He’s linked his life with yours at the soul’s level,” Miri’el explained. “It cannot be undone, except by death or apparently through a deal.”

  The girl looked at the necromancer. “You weren’t kidding? That whole crazy scheme you went on about afterward. That’s what this is?” she shouted. “I could drag you about as far as the gates of hell, but you’d still have to find your way back,” he replied casually, “while that pretty body of yours would explode from the inside out.” Realizing that any dishonesty would have been found out by now, the girl’s decision actually came easier than expected.

  “He lives,” she stated. Bol’rel grabbed Y’neros’ face and clawed a mark-like, line-tear down from the edge of his right eye. The necromancer could tell he began to feel funny. He began to sway around in his chair before slouching over as if he’d been drugged. Bol’rel took the necromancer by his greave and dragged him down the steps, conjuring a portal as he casually walked. Miri’el took the girl by her hand. “Where’re we going?” the girl asked. “Someplace quiet,” Miri’el replied with a smile.

  They appeared in the small temple at Zufa’zuf. Bol’rel’s wicked appearance actually terrified the acolyte at first sight. The archangel dropped the unconscious necromancer on one of the pews where he simply rolled off onto the floor.

  “So, what happens with him?” the girl asked. “He’ll be in a brief coma,” Bol’rel replied. “I’ve washed quite a bit of nasty spirits out of this one. I could’ve made it far more painful,” he added hintingly. “KINDNESS!” Miri’el scolded. “Miri’el will remain here,” Bol’rel continued. “The Celestial’s declaration allows her to do so. No war will come to this place.”

  Miri’el, turning her attention towards the girl, conjured a small verdant flame in her palm. “I know you wanted a simple life,” she said with empathy. “Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice anymore.” “Wait, what?” the girl asked curiously.

  The green flames slowly left the angel’s hand, gracefully snaking around the girl with the twitch of Miri’el’s hand. The girl was certainly frightened but confused by the lack of a burning sensation. As they rested on the girl’s skin, the flames became ancient runic tattoos from times before the necromancer gift was weaponized. The girl, feeling that her very being was overhelmed with activity, gently and carefully sat down.

  “I do apologize, child,” Miri’el said to herself, “but there are certain things we need sooner rather than later.” The last of the flames left Miri’el’s hand, creating a light-filled g
lyph around the girl on the ground. The room was dizzying, so the girl lies down. She was mumbling in tongues with the whispers that caressed her mind. The fingers of Miri’el’s right hand continued to twitch rapidly, installing a sort of code in the lass. Flickers of light continued to exchange between the girl and the angel. Then, after a moment, Miri’el dropped her hand and the luminous spectacle ceased to be.

  The girl was peacefully asleep as an awkward hush fell over the temple. “What IS going on out here?” shouted an elderly voice. The troll priest came out. His eyes were not yet adjusted as he shuffled angrily towards Bol’rel, seeing only a large grey blur. “Are there really no young ones to replace you, priest?” Bol’rel sighed, joking in his own way. The archangel’s voice halted the old man in his steps while the acolyte bowed quickly onto his hands and knees. Bol’rel took the glasses from the old man, crushed them in his bladed gauntlet, and then let the dust slide from his fingers before the priest’s face.

  The old man’s failing eyesight was restored with the last grain of dust and glass that fell. His eyes lit up, and he couldn’t help but to bow as low as he could. The guard then came in from his post for some coffee and saw the acolyte and the priest in their positions. It took a couple seconds before he bowed as well.

  “You just NOW got in here!” the priest exclaimed. Bol’rel motioned for the three conscious mortals to rise as he turned towards his sister. “The rainbow bridge from Chelsea to Shiro is alive. I don’t doubt your success; but keep in mind that as the world’s population moves, so does everything else for which mankind is known,” the archangel explained. “And these gates are not meant to be used without strategic forethought.”

  “Okay, ‘daaaaad,’” Miri’el replied jokingly, rolling her eyes. Bol’rel sighed as he cracked his knuckles and knelt. The archangel put his palms to the floor, and the room (let alone the small structure) actually changed in appearance. The ceilings grew high and were adorned with grand design while the floors expanded beyond into various annexes.

  The very essence of silk materialized and was woven into unsurpassably skillful tapestries that lined the granite walls. Ornately-polished bronze and brass were the metals of the detailing. Chaotic molecules became splintered wood that was then made into the purest of wood furniture.

  The many windows would paint the interior with the colors of their staining on a sunny day while arcane lamps lined the rest in beautiful braziers. The archangel, looking back at the raggedy mortal bunch still present, brushed off his hands. Bol’rel patted Miri’el on the shoulder. “You can take them shopping; how’s that for kindness?” he boasted.

  Miri’el looked at the archangel with exasperation. “Not really what I meant by ‘little acts,’” she replied.

  Indeed, Kush’hera had easily decimated the necrotic presence in Og’Kuuma. Her mastery of air allowed her to break the sound barrier while the cataclysmic elements at her command tried to keep up. The angel’s squad was only able to fight after they’d finally come to the capital fortress of Thenil--but, do I really need to get into how one-sided it was?

  Nope.

  The vampress was backed onto the ledge of her castle. One of her arms was already missing from the battle that ended the lives of all of her monsters and men. The utter fear in her eyes and her wheezing breath were satisfying to all.

  Kush’hera had just enough room to land. When she did, she held the point of her claw at the necromancer. “Oh, dear,” the Celestial remarked casually, “you’re far too small for me to cut you as many times as I want to.” The vampress pathetically tried to crawl towards the ledge but was gently blown back by a gale to where she’d started.

  The Celestial pondered whom she wanted to finish the job, eventually pointing to Ogg. “YEEESSSSS!” the warrior roared. “You’re familiar with their hex of ‘immortality?’” Kush’hera asked hintingly. “AYE, MA’AM!” he replied with bloodlust. “She’ll feel everything until the heart is physically destroyed. DUMB BITCH!” he yelled as his axe cleaved off her foot.

  “NOOOOO!” the vampress brutally cried out with every ounce of pain seen in her eyes. She hollered and cried as the warrior literally butchered the troll into a barely attached head to some of what was left of a torso. The remains barely twitched or made a gurgle anymore when the warrior tore out the heart and tossed it into a pyre.

  “Now then,” Kush’hera began. “I must settle some elemental matters in Asheya. I’m sure you five can find your way to Uhr’Erra. Regardless, there will be a great lingering darkness in Zuhetta, but there are still many of their initial horde to cull. After you’re satisfied with your job in the northeast, go south through Kussuum and cross into Dema at the southern tributaries. By that time, there should be enough of a calm to decide some manner of leadership,” the Celestial explained.

  “Sheth-rel selected this man, Kush’hera,” Azal’el commented respectfully. “If there is a fight to be had in Dema, should we not be there?” “The third-born was right to pick him, but only his heart has been truly tested. Consider my assignment one of his survivability,” Kush’hera replied. “Make it to the fields of Dema alive as instructed. Then he will have my formal blessing to be a mortal ruler.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  People Killing People

  The situation in Kitz would soon take a rapid and violent turn for the worse. By now, millions had dispersed from the capital fortress to the surrounding countrysides. Several high-ranking officials, for which Trova had hopes, had been eliminated by the opposing party before they ever got out. Some were tortured more harshly than others. Martial law was instilled inside the walls, leaving roughly two million quite terrified civilians remaining.

  The warlord at Kitz had over four hundred thousand professional soldiers and heroes in his ranks, preemptively sending one hundred fifty thousand out in all directions to deal with the separatists in the countryside. These were very well-armed and well-trained troops, both strategically and effectively. There were numbers of encampments and small villages that barely had a fighting presence with which to begin, leaving families to whatever cruelty their agressors chose.

  Within the hour, following the first shot fired, there would be two hundred thousand mortals fighting between both sides. The rattle of gunfire and artillery had filled the day, now turning into a gruesome and terrifying night. The grasslands were red and wet as fleeing individuals found themselves tripping over corpses in the dark. In a few cases, some found that playing dead next to said corpses to be quite the survival tactic.

  Roju was accompanied by a pair of cogs dug in at their front’s continuing skirmish. The man truly proved himself as an elite soldier. He was sturdy and mobile. Roju had gone through thousands of rounds of ammunition and dozens of weapons. The cogs had recently supplied him with alchemical tracer rounds, giving color to his proven marksmanship. The components were bright and potent enough that they actually lit up, quite nicely, the shadows of the battlefield as they zipped by.

  One of the cogs was maintaining a stationary turret. The other helped coordinate a supply line and managed luminous rounds that provided light for the surrounding areas. This particular area was farther southwest from the city. The fighting had dulled down just a bit by now when a bold troop transport came charging at their position through the smoke and dark.

  The cog on the stationary gun loaded a specialized clip that contained diamond-infused slugs. “You’re sure this won’t just explode in my face, right?” the man hollered. “If they do, just consider it an improvement,” the other cog hollered back. The cog on the turret grunted and uttered a curse, pulling the trigger as an act of faith. Hah!

  The rounds flew downrange, easily shredding through the vehicle’s armor. The cog, clenching his teeth as the turret felt like it would simply fall apart at any moment, had to fight against the intensified recoil. To the hero’s relief, the vehicle was visibly off their original course, now heading straight for some nearb
y trees.

  As the transport came to crash and the survivors began to run for cover, Roju was already close enough to pick off the ten soldiers before they could even ready themselves. Roju, knowing what was truly at play, took little satisfaction in taking mortal lives here. He became rather furious at the sight of a young boy, now dead by Roju’s hand, who was among the soldiers in the transport.

  Meanwhile, Sahja had actually taken point on the largest front to have gained ground back into the city. It was about this time that the warlord’s men realized that their ammunition caches had been syphoned out or destroyed, a slight-of-hand strategy infamous among bladedancer military counsel. HAH!

  BUT! Now the necrotic army had slithered in, cloaking its bloody entrance into the chaos around them. They were flanking the capital fortress from the east, ravaging any souls in their path. The honorary guardian noticed a curious sensation coming upon him, but he was still fixed on the enemies in front of him. Then the poor souls, who were about to meet the edge of Sahja’s blade, dropped their weapons at the sight of allied forces coming at a distance through the lightning corridor.

  The guardian simultaneously saw the first of the demons coming from his former enemies’ flank. “GET BEHIND US!” Sahja yelled, preparing to meet the demonic horde. “FALL BACK AND GET THE WORD OUT!” the guardian commanded the soldiers he was about to kill just moments before. The men ran with all they could give, unarmed, and utterly terrified. They certainly did get the message across with the colorful warnings they shouted.

  Offensive lines began to transform to defensive lines while the incoming allied forces engaged and filled in where they could and when they could. Quite a sight, my friends! Dema once again found itself at the center of a hellish and quickly transforming battle with every corner being consumed by combat.