“Let us meet this fabled brother of ours, then” Samael said.
They all stepped towards the massive, glowing orb of energy in front of them. None of them had ever actually been to Apollia save Hydra and they were uncertain of how such a process was even possible. Admittedly, such a thing was ironic – they were each an aspect of a goddess, something that as children none of them could ever hope to comprehend, nor as adults, and here they were trying to doubt the physical reality of a portal to another world.
They were able to step into the Gate side by side, all eleven of them in a long line. None of them voiced the desire to go together in unison; it was an unspoken agreement between them. Placing their feet and hands first into the coalescing, spherical waves of energy, they each felt an overwhelming sensation threaten to stop them as the light enveloped their bodies.
It’s a psychic field, scanning our bodies to make sure we’re friendly; push on and it will allow us through, Valkyrie told them. Hydra had never experienced such a resistance, but the eleven of them together must have posed such an index of power that the Gate rebelled against it. Nevertheless, they strode into the energy like wading through a strong tidal current and eventually the portal recognised them for who they were and it let them pass. In a heartbeat, they had stepped through to the other side.
There was a brilliant flash of white, like a sun exploding too near to them. When the brightness began to fade and they no longer had to shield their eyes, they saw that before them was their final brother, amazing and magnificent in red armour trimmed with silver. Large, proud wings spread from his back, granting him the appearance of an angel of war. His plumed helmet had narrow slits for blue eye lenses and he bore on his left arm a broad, circular shield with a picture of a sunburst over a towering city. On his right hip was a long, curved sword in a leather scabbard.
He spread out his right arm and gestured to the incomprehensibly glorious city in the distance beyond him, its glass spires shining in the distance bathed in the pure light of the world.
“Welcome to Apollia, brothers and sisters. I am Seraphim,” he announced. “I am truly glad to finally meet you all again”.
The Apostle stood on an outcrop of rocks on a field of white grass, a soft wind rippling the myriad small blades. The skies contained unblemished, perfect clouds that seemed to shift and change as they were watched. They rested against a rich blue vista that betrayed any reality of a harsh existence beyond it and a majestic star in the distance smothered the world in warmth and splendour.
Even without the knowledge that this world was inaccessible bar the Gate, each Apostle could sense its safety. The very ground spoke to them of isolation and protection, as if the very planet was alive and sheltering its inhabitants with loving arms. It was a tragedy to realise that this place could only ever be appreciated as a holy land to defend against the enemy, not a haven that all legions could live on without fear of monsters coveting its glory.
“Come,” Seraphim laughed softly, seeing all their marvelled expressions. Hydra had already joined him, familiar with this world a dozen times over, though he was always impressed by its beauty. “Let us go to Elysium. We have much to talk about, but let us do it there in the comfort of my home”.
As he said this a Stormfalcon appeared behind him in eerie silence. It expelled no fumes, its engines perfect and more efficient than any of the legions not present on the world. Its hull was painted in his livery, golden yellow stripes marking his legions’ affiliation to him. He turned around smoothly as the ramp of the transport lowered and walked aboard, inviting the others in with a sweep of his hand. He seemed noble to Lupus. Vermillion had fashioned the Custodian of Her Birthplace into a knight in the old ways of the Gothican Empire. It was fascinating to witness him move, let alone speak.
The other Apostles joined him one by one, each gazing incredulously at the wonder of the world they were on. None had expected such grandeur or graciousness; it was the utter opposite of Hydron. It was the paradise prize waiting behind the monstrous, brutal fortress protecting it. Now that he’d seen what the Hydra’s House was shielding, Lupus thought the fortress couldn’t be impenetrable enough.
ELYSIUM CITY WAS as mercilessly spellbinding as its name suggested. Apollia was not only a heavenly place metaphorically, but literally. There were ranks of towers and spires wrought in clear glass, toughened to withstand more than most metals ever forged. The walls of the city were thick and proud, rivalling even the bulk of those protecting the Hydra’s House. Their warm, beige sheen gave them the illusory appearance of soft sand, making it hard to tell from a distance where its defences actually began.
Its similarities to the Hydra’s House ended with its power and strength, its beauty the anathema to the black fortress’ unforgiving blandness. Elysium was, quite simply, astounding. The very sight of it could rob an assailant’s desires to destroy it and restore faith to any ally. It was a symbol of majesty, light and hope for all the legions and it could never fail to provide all three in ample measure.
The Stormfalcon that the twelve Apostles shared together flew effortlessly over the citadel like a bird of nature casually gliding from one place to another. Lupus was used to a rocking sensation before deployment to a battle; with this craft, there was only serenity and a feeling of returning home even though he had never been here before.
The transport lifted itself over the second wall, affording them a view of the grand gatehouse allowing access between the two vast halves of the city. A robust drawbridge spread over a sparkling river flowing between the first and second defensive ring of walls. A viaduct reached from the gatehouse towers to the top of the inner stone curtain, joined the two together like lovers.
Lupus overheard Samael scoff at the folly of such a feature. “I won’t deny your city crafting skills, brother, but what made you think it was a good idea to install that?” he gestured towards the large walkway connecting the defences. “If an enemy were to capture the first wall, you’ve given them an open invitation to the second…”
The others already knew that Seraphim had a good reason for it, but they thought it better for him to humble Samael. “It’s merely a temporary design. It serves only to allow the defenders of the first wall to withdraw to the second, if it were to fall. What makes you think we wouldn’t destroy it the second the last legionnaire makes it across?”
It was a sound argument, but Samael wasn’t as foolish as they thought. “It won’t be that easy, you know that. Whether it’s ten or a thousand, you would have to sacrifice some of them”.
“I’m not naïve, brother. I made this city with the aim of punishing any creature thoughtless enough to attack as much as justice demands” Seraphim said. As he spoke, his brethren took in the sights before them and knew his words to be vindicated. “Even a monster can eventually come to recognise something beautiful. If the foe were to attack us, something I doubt Hydra would easily allow, they will have to summon all their strength to do it. Even the shapes of the spires, the gleam of their glass, are designed to inspire awe and desire in any living thing and dispel them of their destructive rage”.
Oz laughed at the intensity of Seraphim’s confidence. “It’s obvious you’ve never met the foe then, brother” he turned to look at the Twelfth with eyes more serious than Lupus could have expected. “The paradigms might hesitate, their minds simple enough to be changed by shiny objects and pretty vistas, but anything above them, from the devii to the Great Enemy Himself, are nothing but blood-thirsty and all too hungry to bring everything to dust and echoes; beautiful or not.”
The Stormfalcon approached the last rise in the city’s foundations. Like the Hydra’s House, the last part of the citadel was built on a foreboding mountain top. Though where the former was dark and brooding, Elysium’s centre was crested with banks of ethereal cloud that granted the city an even greater heavenly aura. As it climbed, Seraphim regarded them all with a confused expression at Oz’s choice of words. By now he had removed his helmet and his sa
nguine features seemed broken by his look.
“Why do you refer to Him as that? The Great Enemy has a name, much like Vermillion did. We cannot fight our foe if we do not even acknowledge His true identity”.
They looked at him darkly, none of them eager to recognise the dark god’s name.
“We call Him that because he does not deserve any respect. We rob Him of His name, He has no right to it anymore. His proper calling is foul and an insult to our ears, as it should be to yours Seraphim” Lupus said, allowing venom to enter his voice for the first time since being in the presence of his brethren. He truly hated the dark god, sworn nemesis to all the Apostles. He could not accept Seraphim’s desire to regard the creature by His true label.
“Invidius cares nothing for your disrespect; he’ll try to annihilate Mankind all the same” Seraphim replied, naming the Great Enemy in defiance of his kin’s wishes.
“No!” Solitaire screeched, holding her hands to her ears in an effort to repel the horrible sound. Phoenix walked over to her and whispered soft words of comfort to calm her tremors. For reasons Lupus could not find, his sister was traumatised by the dark god’s true name. Its utterance had affected them all, but her pain was too real.
“I did not mean to-“ Seraphim began.
“Then you won’t say it again, will you?” Gaia scorned, joining Phoenix to ease their sister.
Seraphim looked genuinely hurt to have caused such distress on Solitaire. Despite being the Twelfth, it was obvious he didn’t know everything about the others.
As if given a cue, the Stormfalcon descended into the royal courtyards of the citadel and touched down on the spotless sandstone floor. There were no landing pads to leave the ground unspoiled like the Hydra’s House had, but given the uncanny cleanliness of the transports on Apollia, there was little need for them. Lupus admired the wonders that his brother commanded here, but couldn’t help thinking how much that would change if the war really was to come to Elysium City.
His thoughts were interrupted as they disembarked from the Stormfalcon into the Great Courtyard of the citadel. Before them was a wide, paved plaza lined with pink blossom trees embracing the central path up to the quaint house at the end. There were other, smaller white blossoms that led to a single statue at the centre of a sprawling fountain. The white stone of the water feature was unblemished and flawless, its intricate patterns leading every eye to the figure perching in the middle.
The Apostles whispered and murmured at its sight until one of them was cohesive enough to speak. “Is that…Her?” Gaia asked.
Seraphim and Hydra, both used to the sight, stood back and allowed their brothers and sisters to gaze upon the only similitude of Vermillion in existence.
“Yes, it is; the Auranair incarnate, resting here forever to watch over us all” Seraphim answered reverently.
“It’s…” Cerberus began
“There are no words” Nightingale finished, and she was right. Though the statue took the shape of a woman in plate armour, much like Calla’s but more intricate and cast in grey stone. The lack of colour didn’t detract from Her beauty though and the hair that cascaded down her shoulders seemed to flow more fluidly than stone had a right to do so.
The Auranair held in Her right hand a copy of the sword She carried into battle. The weapon had two blades, though in truth it looked as though a single piece of steel had been divided down its centre to create a massive, deadly tuning-fork, its outward edges sharp and curved at the top where they should have met. In Her left hand She bore a circular shield, more elegant and fearsome than Seraphim’s own, its features enamelled with the heads of three wolves. Seeing that image alone struck the Apostles with a shiver of warmth, though none of them could say why.
The face the masons had cast Her in was the most impressive of all. It had a singular expression, yet alluded to a hundred others. Some saw hope in her smile, others saw grim determination. Her eyes spoke of love and courage for the Guardians, whilst others would read hatred for Her foes. Even Her head was angled in such a way that it was clear She was using her ears, pointed at the top to the barest of degrees, to listen to the war around Her. Though, here, there was no battle, only serenity.
Valkyrie was amazed by the Auranair’s helm, hints of golden inscriptions at its rim and between the segments of plate that were fitted perfectly to her head. At the back was an array of feathers much like the Apostle’s own, but these were from a bird so divine that it seemed almost a crime to wear them to war.
Samael and Phoenix were both captivated by the vambraces shielding Her forearms from harm. They had engravings on them that resembled the forms they took, but they were crafted so wondrously that they belied their use.
Nightingale on the other hand was mystified by the silks She wore underneath Her suit of armour. They were cast in-motion and appeared to be able to shift and distract the beholder with every movement, but for all the hints of Her superior ghostly appearance, the Apostle was struck with admiration, not envy.
Hydra had seen the complexity of Her appearance many times before, but he too seemed to be in awe of it. Waterfox paced around the feature with a look of welcome humility, trying to work out how She achieved such a mixture of states, but he could find no easy answer. Gaia too was gazing upon Her with curiosity and found it hard to know which part of the statue to scrutinise, each individual detail so profound that it was impossible to take in the whole without missing something crucial.
Cerberus and Solitaire were the opposite of each other in expression, posture and reaction. The former stood silent and stoic as though he could barely look at Her without feeling unworthy, the latter smiled with joy and blushed with excitement to see the avatar of Vermillion so resplendent and regal as befitting Her title of Auranair. She almost went to lay a hand on the statue, but Phoenix saw her reach out and held her back to keep the stone untouched and sanctified.
Lupus drank it all in with them. For him, it wasn’t just the strength that the Auranair exuded from the outside, but it was the integrity and the might of her heart and soul that he could see and be engrossed by. Next to him, Calla held his hand and stared at the statue with the same amazement and love he did. They shared in the moment of seeing the look of their goddess, their All-Mother, for the first time since the Blessing. It was a sacred instant, holy beyond measure.
“Magnificent though She is, we should proceed” Hydra said, firmly enough to break them from their paralysis yet soft enough to do it gently.
“Seraphim,” Lupus called, releasing Calla’s hand not unkindly and facing him. “Take us on”.
Seraphim bowed his head with the slightest of degree, imperceptible to a human, but enough for him to show his acquiescence. Behind him was a humble manor house, no less impressive than the city spires, that he called home. The courtyard was vast with various buildings of differing functions. There were defensive towers nearer the mountain-top wall, but precious few other visible defences. Lupus could understand that, because this was a sacred place; Seraphim didn’t want to spoil that with architecture made for war. Somewhere in the depths of even the most complex of puzzles was a reward with no more walls to hide it away; the Hydra’s House was its twin example.
Seraphim led them into his residence with pride and happiness clear on his face, his helmet carried like a stranger under an arm. He left his shield on the transport, his striking armour protection enough, though he wore it more out of habit than fear of battle. At the entrance to the manor, above a wide expanse of marble stairs, was his legion’s commander.
“Aquila,” Seraphim greeted him, placing a hand warmly on the legionnaire’s shoulder. So, maybe other legions do show the same familiarity with their Apostle as mine do, Lupus thought. He was glad to notice it.
“My Lord, your halls are ready” the commander replied and bowed, unaffected by his Apostle’s light-hearted mood. Who could blame a man for being so familiar with his friends when his family had finally come to see them?
Seraphim tu
rned to his brethren.
“Shall we?” he asked rhetorically, walking through the doors to his place of solace.
INSIDE, THE ATMOSPHERE was serene. The only sounds were calming; the trickle of water running down miniature waterfalls set into the sides of the corridors, the soft rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze came through the open doors and the exquisite birdsong of tiny winged creatures flitting through the air.
Lupus remarked to Calla how tranquil the place seemed to be in contrast to the threatening, aggressive nature of Hydron.
“The two fortresses protect the same thing, but set a task like this to even a thousand men and nearly none will have the same approach” Calla answered. He agreed with her wisdom, a characteristic he had seen before on Gothica but one that had blossomed fully during their time apart.
The wooden floor was firm and resilient under their heavy armour, yet it felt natural and inviting to their feet. It seemed alive, moulding itself to change according to who stepped on it, shifting its own design to better support the largest of them. As the living oak reinforced itself around him, Lupus suspected that it could sense what he was; the enemy, by comparison, would be ensnared and held stuck by the adaptive ground. He was beginning to realise just how subtle Elysium’s defences were, a stark difference to those of the Hydra’s House.
Art depicting a dozen different scenes were spread across the walls of the winding corridors. Some were framed, others were simply painted onto the stone, spongy and odd to the touch.
“I may call it home, but it’s as deadly as any wall in the city. He who would come this far would rue their effort” Seraphim smiled back from the front of the group. He stopped at the entrance to a quaint room, for the main part absent of much furniture.
“This is my study,” Seraphim explained, his arms stretched out as if to bring it all into his embrace. “It is the place I talk on all things important to my legions and I: life, purpose, progress…and war. Now, for the first time, we Twelve will discuss together” he bowed, bidding his brethren to enter.
The Deian War: Vermillion's Apostles Page 25