by Ink Bamboo
To make things worse, the situation was exacerbated by a lack of information. When her consciousness had been summoned by the sacrifice of her Chosen, she had known little of the situation. If not because she had scraped the memory of her host, Alexandra would never have managed to grasp what she did.
Her opponent was the current pope of the Church of Death. An institution she and the rest of the gods had slowly tried to erase from the face of the earth after Amro’s fall. Eliminating them, however, had proved to be harder than they expected. She could now see why.
“It’s about time you raise your head. Don’t you think?” said Alexandra, looking at the priests and paladins still on their knees. A god’s greatest resource in the mortal world wasn’t their own power, but that of their followers. “Every second that goes by, the souls of this kingdom’s people are suffering the torment of being forced to act against their will. Are you not members of the clergy? Where’s your pride?”
Hearing their goddess chiding them for their lack of compassion, the priests and paladins raised their eyes, the awe and admiration they showed for Alexandra increasing tenfold.
As members of the church, they had the utmost respect for their deity. Any disrespect in her presence was considered an unequivocal offense. For her to place the safety of simple mortals above her own image was nothing short of surprising. It represented a level of mercy they could not comprehend as zealots.
Of course, they were completely ignorant of the fact that her command stemmed not from piety, but need. Facing Argent, Alexandra was placed in a complicated situation. The laws of the world forbade her from descending with her true body to this place. Thus, in order to combat him, she needed to use a compatible body as a medium. Doing so, however, came with a few restrictions. Erin’s body, for example, couldn’t hold too much of her power. Using it as she was, she would eventually lose in a battle of attrition. Something Argent had clearly taken into account.
“Go,” she said, commanding the hesitating members of the clergy. Her gaze passed by each of them, finally settling on Magnus. He was her next target, someone she knew could change the flow of the battle.
Unsurprisingly for her, the old man had been looking at her all along. In his gaze she found everything he was feeling: anger, sadness, rage and frustration. Perfect, she thought. That would make things considerably easier.
Without wasting another second, Alexandra did what gods did best — manipulate the hearts of mortals to act in accordance to their will. “If you want to save your granddaughter, you better help them finish with them before this body can hold no longer,” she said. “Unless, of course, you care naught for her future.”
Magnus’s gaze shook, the light of life finally returning to his eyes.
This wasn’t the time to lose hope. This wasn’t the time for him to brood in his hatred for the cardinal and his followers. All of that could be dealt with later. Now, he had to do everything he could to save Erin’s body from reaching the breaking point.
The goddess’s words made that much clear, “There’s no time. Let’s go.”
Quickly, the situation devolved into a melee. Whereas they had previously fought for survival, the priests and paladins were now acting under a holy cause. Any hesitation they previously held towards attacking the citizens of the kingdom was now tossed aside under the orders of their goddess. Her will came before their own.
This was a situation Argent had not expected.
Stepping out of the crowd, he once again revealed himself controlling the body of the king. This time, he was holding the sword that served as a medium with his real body. Looking at Alexandra, he smiled. There was no doubt he planned to stir as much chaos as he could before falling.
“This is fun,” he said. “I never intended to take the lives from those of this kingdom. Fate seems to be forcing my hand through you, however.”
“Do not blame fate for your own choices,” said Alexandra, resting her flaming sword against her arm. Despite talking with her opponent, she was taking a combat stance, something that showed how serious she was about this fight.
The fact that Argent had been able to evade her last strike had delivered a blow against her pride. Her flaming sword was imbued with part of her laws, something that should have allowed her to sever the link Argent had over his puppet’s soul. Analyzing the magical formation he had inscribed over the city walls, she had deduced the king’s body was the anchoring point for his spell. For her to fail her attack after knowing all of this was as insulting as being outwitted by a common human.
Argent shook his head from side to side, sighing before he emulated her stance. “Don’t act like you’re so good yourself,” he said. “The fact that you’re here tells me you have you’re selfish in your own way. A simple cardinal wouldn’t sacrifice their church’s Chosen without their god’s permission. Admit it, this is on you as well.”
“Perhaps,” Alexandra conceded. As a goddess, she delved into the stars for information about the world’s fate every now and then. One night amongst many, she had found a clue that said a grave peril to herself would appear in this land. From then on, she had sent the cardinal and his men to take control of this territory, clearly intending to wipe out whatever danger it had in store for her.
She was now convinced that Argent represented that danger.
Fate, however, liked proving people wrong. Carelessly, Alexandra turned to look at the gates of the kingdom, noticing a troop of armed soldiers marching inside with stupefied faces. They were the rebels, but she cared naught for them. What she cared about was something else entirely.
Amongst the sea of people, she had sensed someone that should be dead.
Someone she had personally killed.
Amro.
Chapter 29
Impossible.
“Impossible,” said Alexandra.
In her mind, no other word could describe the probability of that happening. Amro had been attacked by most of the pantheon, his fate sealed by their sacrifice. Weakened by the lower gods, and finally killed by her own hands, she was sure there was no way for him to have survived. The other gods all thought the same. How then was it possible for a vestige of his aura to appear here, in a land even the mortals considered barren?
It didn’t make any sense at all.
Glaring at the rebel troops flooding the insides of the city, Alexandra tried her best to find the one causing her confusion. Today, however, just wasn’t her day. Surrounded by Argent and his puppets, most of her attention was split amongst the sea of enemies attacking her vessel. Its destruction was something she could not risk. Not while someone with so much knowledge of the gods was present.
Fortunately for her, her opponent was equally distracted, momentarily preventing him from capitalizing on her disturbed self. As if controlling thousands of puppets wasn’t taxing enough, Argent had also split part of his attention towards the newcomers. Much like Alexandra, he could feel a familiar energy coming from amongst them.
“This aura...” muttered Argent, many of his flesh puppets turning to look to the recently arrived rebel troops. “It smells of death and rot. But only members of our — ah, I see.”
The one responsible for taking my legacy and killing Noelle must be amongst them, he surmised, breaking into a malicious smile. I might be able to fulfill my original mission, after all.
Glancing at the rebels, both Argent and Alexandra pondered over different ideas, eventually reaching the same conclusion: they had to defeat their enemy as quickly as they could, using the opening that would create to search the newcomers for the one they were truly looking for.
For now, however, they had each other to worry about.
“Come,” said Alexandra, “I have no more time to waste on you.”
“How interesting,” replied Argent, the body of the king running forward with renewed bravado. “Neither do I.”
✽✽✽
Hope can give humanity the strength to overcome any obstacle.
M
agnus became the incarnation of such a notion once Alexandra extended him a deal. If he destroyed all of Argent’s puppets, she would release Erin’s body, even going as far as to clear her from her duty as a Chosen.
This was a chance he couldn’t miss. He needed to beat the odds and bring victory to his side, for that was the only way he had to save his granddaughter at this time. It was something he knew was practically impossible. Every second that went by, the divine essence of the goddess was eroding another piece of Erin’s self. Once time ran out, there would be no saving her.
But even then, he needed to try.
On the off-chance that he was wrong about his chances, he had to keep doing his best.
Long gone was the time where he could cast spells. Having spent most of his mana reserves and being unable to control the mana in the environment, Magnus had been forced to take a sword off the hands of a paladin. Putting in practice long forgotten swordsmanship, he was now tiring not only his mind, but his body.
Fight.
That single word incarnated his will. Striking vertically, horizontally, and diagonally, Magnus took down the remaining foes one by one. By the time he came back to himself, he was surrounded by a pool of bodies. Even his comrades had stepped aside, afraid to be caught in his flurry.
“Die!” Magnus shouted, his sword cutting through another one of Argent’s puppets. Unwilling to give up, the old man refused to comply with the complaints of his body. As long as he had a breath inside of him, as long as he could still move, and as long as he was still alive… he would never give up.
Thus, when the rebels came inside the city, he didn’t see them as enemies. No, he saw them as allies, people who represented an opportunity to achieve his own goal. Even if he had deceived them and even if he held nothing but contempt towards them, Magnus knew he could work something out. Consequently, he didn’t hesitate to place his pride aside, immediately running to kneel before someone he had long stopped calling his rival — Arkus.
Facing the rebel army’s commander, the old mage brought his knees to the ground, stabbing his sword on the dirt as he lowered his head.
“Please help us,” he said. “Name the price. Anything you ask, we are willing to pay.”
Unable to understand Magnus’s plea, Arkus turned to look at Morgan, a mix of anger and confusion on his face. The bronze-skinned commander was still trying to process what was happening inside the city. To say he was confused would be an understatement. He had never expected the current situation.
“What’s going on in here?” asked Arkus. Just a moment ago, he had rushed his way inside the city walls with the rest of the troops marching behind him. He had been expecting to face the church and its followers as enemies, not as a party in need of his help. Facing this situation, it took him a great amount of effort to restrain himself from acting on impulse, taking the time instead to analyze his surroundings.
That proved to be the right choice.
There were far bigger things that deserved his attention.
For starters, the civilians were behaving like beasts, tearing at the throats of the clergymen with their bare hands. They acted with no fear or hesitation, displaying skill not befitting of their humble identities. Because of that, the members of the clergy were being forced into a corner, valiantly holding on through the restrained use of heals whenever their energy permitted.
But that wasn’t what shocked him the most. In the midst of them all, two shadows appeared and disappeared, flashing by different corners of the battlefield with swords on their hands. Like a natural disaster, anywhere they stopped to fight was turned into rubble.
Arkus was able to recognize them both for who he thought they were. The taller one was the king — a man he had served for several years in the past. The shorter one, on the other hand, was the young girl he had previously seen at Magnus’s side. According to the old mage, she was a Chosen for the Church of Light. If not for both of their demeanors being vastly different from what he remembered, he would’ve had no doubts about their identity.
“Explain,” ordered Arkus. Pathetic as he seemed in this moment, the man before him was still a mage of great knowledge and prestige. If someone was able to understand the current situation, it would be him. Even more so now that he was requesting their help.
Gathering his thoughts, Magnus raised his head from the ground, his eyes growing more solemn as he answered. “The Church of Death,” he said. “They took over the city and its inhabitants, corrupting their souls in order to submit them to their will. We need your help to stop them, as time is of the essence.”
Arkus nodded, his mind quickly processing the information as he drew parallels between the way the citizens of this kingdom were behaving and the way his own undead army acted on the battlefield.
A short pause ensued before he answered.
“I see,” he said, realizing Magnus’s answer was a plausible explanation for what he was seeing. “It seems the situation is different from what we originally expected.”
“Very different,” replied Richard. During Magnus’s explanation, one of the shadows had been kicked through the walls of a building, calling his attention to herself. Rising up from the debris, her white dress held no marks, still pure and untainted. She had only looked at him briefly, but during that instant, Richard had felt his soul leaving his body. It made him realize the church had involved them in something far beyond the scope of their knowledge.
“That being said, I can’t help but feel like he’s leaving some information out,” noted Morgan. As one of the main officers of the rebel army, he led the charge along with Richard and Arkus. Given how the rest of the council were behind the troops, it was up to them to make this decision. “I don’t like being blindsided by people I can’t fully trust.”
“Agreed,” said Arkus, his sword leaving his sheath. “If what he says is true, then the lives of the citizens here are forfeit. Why then should we add our own to that list?”
“Because if you don’t stop them here, they will take over your kingdom for themselves,” warned Magnus. Pitiful as he was in this moment, he was no stranger to the hearts of men. Fear was oftentimes more powerful than silly promises and rewards. “You’ve already witnessed the power of one divine artifact. Now imagine going against the full power of a church with many others in their hands. If you don’t move now, you will never again get the chance to claim this land as your own.”
Silence ensued amongst the chaos. By now, most of the troops were done entering the city, only the cloaked undead, and the few left behind to control them yet to step through the gates. Feeling the tension rise, Arkus’s gaze met Richard’s, both of them nodding as they reached a decision.
“We fight,” said Richard. “I didn’t spend years hidden away in the arid north to lose my kingdom to members of the church, death or light alike.”
“Agreed,” echoed Arkus. “The citizens of the capital might be beyond salvation, but those from the surrounding towns are not to blame for this situation.”
“Your orders?” asked Morgan.
“Shoot the flares,” commanded Arkus, turning to look towards Magnus. “Since the situation has come to this, there’s no point in hiding we have a divine weapon in our hands.”
“Not unless that goes against our interests,” added Richard, turning to look at the mage as well.
“No,” confirmed Magnus. “Divine weapons are divine because their inner-workings are out of the reach of mortal men. Not even the members of the Church of Death should be able to control something that was created through divine means.”
“Good,” answered Arkus. “I expect your church’s full support in dealing with the consequences of this.”
“You’ll have it, even if I have to kill the cardinal myself,” assured Magnus.
There was no harm in promising something he planned to do anyway.
✽✽✽
“Are you ready, boy?”
“I am.”
Hidden amongst a group a
cloaked undead, Zaros marched into the city. A few minutes ago, a column of light had descended from the sky, sending the rebels into a hectic disarray. Worried about what that unexpected phenomena might entail, the officers had ordered most of the troops alongside him to prepare for battle.
Along with two others, Zaros was tasked with controlling and summoning the undead. Because of this, he was ordered to mix amongst the cloaked troops, his safety ensured by both anonymity and the black marble that was still in the rebels’ control. Something Zaros knew would change before long.
From the beginning, he didn’t intend to follow the commands of the rebels’ council. He had other goals. A purpose that took priority over the rebels’ own.
Revenge.
Crossing the threshold of the city, Zaros realized he had no reason to worry about the consequences of his actions anymore. Scurrying around, followers of the church, the rebels, and even the citizens of the kingdom were fighting against each other. Originally, he feared his actions might unleash chaos into innocent members of the populace. Now, however, he was at ease.
Amro had been right. Their lives had been forfeit. Seeing them with his own eyes, Zaros could tell the civilians had been separated from that which made them human. Much like the undead soldiers at his side, their eyes were vacant of any will or desire.
“Go,” the voice in his head instructed. “You have a goal, don’t let anything stop you.”
Without need for further encouragement, Zaros followed his instincts. Mixed in with the undead whom were rushing in the direction of the city’s populace, he readied his trusted weapons. Two daggers he had robbed from the first noble he had ever confronted.
With each of his moves, another soul was released from their prison. Controlled as they were, Zaros was sure the victims of his attacks were happy to be freed. Short of making it quick, he knew he had no other way to save them from their pain.
Slowly, the boy made his way towards the place the members of the church were fighting. Covered by his black cloak, most of his moves were hidden from the onlookers. In their eyes, he was simply another one of the undead helping them achieve their goals.