by Wolfe Locke
"Just go," ordered the Demon Prince. "You’re useless to us as you are now. I cannot hold this place forever; if I fall, the Earth falls right along with me.”
Chapter 48: Schism
Distracted by the key, the Wormwood abominations disengaged from their fight with Adramelech and headed straight for Seraph, and Seraph knew he was in for the fight of his life as he summoned forth his ethereal arms and prepared to meet them head on.
Knowing based on the damage the Demon Prince had already sustained that this was not a battle he was going to win, Seraph made a plan to disengage and readied himself. He was not ready to die and had no intention of falling here and turned towards the nearest Infernal and lashed out with Ajana’s Wrath. While the lamia spirit was engaged, Seraph turned to the next Infernal and embraced the monster with every one of his ethereal arms while using his Abyssal Touch to reduce the monster to ash.
The Demon Prince seemed to notice Seraph about to be swarmed and swung out a spiked tail as he slammed his monstrous hand into the ground. The shockwaves caused many of the monsters that had emerged from the mist to fall over stunned while those nearest the area of impact had their legs shattered. The spiked tail impaled the closest Infernals still standing as the demon changed tactics. He bellowed and spewed black smoke, obscuring the room, and Seraph within it, allowing him a bit of cover by which to escape.
A door shimmered into existence as Seraph held the demo’s key in his hand and turned it in the empty air. Ignoring as he did all the monsters that had begun to press in all around him. The oddity of it all struck Seraph as funny as he stepped through the doorway to the armory.
On the other side of the door, Seraph found himself in a vast and cold storeroom. With shelves filled with fantastic and terrible artifacts, weapons, and armor. It made the armory he had visited with Sadie seem amateurish in comparison, but one thing held his attention and drew him in.
One shelf was entirely devoted to one of the more terrible artifacts that he saw. Neatly folded piles of Blacksteel skin. The Black Emblem resonated in recognition, and for Seraph he knew what those sheets meant to him.
"This was a part of me," Seraph whispered to himself as he walked over and traced a hand over the length of it, seeing an impression of himself within the grooves and contours of the material. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled it off the shelves thinking to try and absorb it; instead it crashed onto the floor. I’m not ready yet to handle it, Seraph thought glumly as he turned back towards the shelves to look for more pieces of himself.
Two blackened angelic wings were hooked to the wall, mounted like a trophy. The wingspan they represented easily eclipsing the length of a man. I recognize those too, Seraph thought in morbid fascination as his shoulders ached in phantom pain for a limb he no longer possessed.
Footsteps echoed from down the way as a masculine voice called out from within the darkness, a voice that Seraph did not recognize. “So you’ve finally come, have you, Seraph, to reclaim what’s yours?”
Seraph turned and responded, “Yes, I’ve come to collect what’s mine. My true body.”
The admission was met with a laugh and from within the shadows out walked a being that Seraph with all his time in the dungeon had never seen before, at least not directly. A Thousand Handed One. A true Thousand Handed One. “That’s no more your true body than the one you’re wearing now, Seraph. Though I do find it odd that this form you’ve chosen is weaker than I had expected you would have been at this point. I supposed it can’t be helped. The Black Seraph wasn’t human, and you, you are mere humanity."
"That’s why I’ve come for my body," Seraph answered, bristling at the criticism, but on edge as well, knowing this ancient creature before him was nothing to easily be trifled with. Its power could easily surpass that of any Demon Prince.
"Ah yes," cackled the Ancient Monster, "the rift in time I’m sure. I told Amarath it was a mistake to send us all back, but that fool hardly listens to me. He’s sentimental about you lot, forgetting his own purpose as the vanguard against Aeon’s Blight."
Seraph chose to ignore the comments the Ancient Monster made. "Will you help me then? I’m trying to stop the blight of the future from spreading through the rift. If I can’t seal it, everything will be destroyed," asked Seraph as a curious expression settled on his face, wondering just who this monster and its master really were.
The Ancient Monster stopped to riffle through a chest and pulled out an ifrit’s horn and threw it towards Seraph, and Seraph instinctively recoiled away from it as the malevolent energy still within the horn assaulted his senses and forced him to his knees. "Just as I thought," muttered the monster.
"What is it?” asked Seraph, noticing the look of concern that had crossed the Ancient Monster’s face.
"You’re not him anymore, and I would know, I was the one who cut him into these pieces," replied the Ancient Monster nonchalantly. "You’ve unlocked the use of the Black Emblem but it’s not resonating with you like it should, a portion of that former power should have seeped through and manifested. How odd, considering there’s a portion of your own power sealed within it alongside Amarath’s."
Seraph’s heart dropped as he considered what the Ancient Monster was saying, "So I can’t use it then? I can’t use my old body. Then what was the point of all of this then? I should be back there fighting."
The monster laughed and stood up straight as it approached Seraph, sizing him up with its own giant eye. "The Black Seraph was never so concerned with a sense of responsibility or duty. But since you seem to want to be the hero, you can claim that body, I won’t stop you."
Seraph noticed the odd way the wording was phrased and waited for what else he needed to know.
"But," explained the monster, "if should you reclaim this body, your death is all but guaranteed. The Black Seraph was remade in the image of Amarath’s shadow self to purge the dungeon. A chance that took months to come to fruition. You may have his memories, but you are not him, not the Black Seraph. For a time though, you can borrow that power, not as some imitation avatar, but the actual body. All it will cost you is your life. So, tell me, is a day enough time to save the world?"
Seraph thought for a second to try and figure out the angle, but almost immediately regretted it and shook it away. There was no yes or no, to this. It was only do or die regardless. "It’ll have to be," replied Seraph as the monster nodded approvingly and began to grab at the various indexed parts of Seraph’s old body and began to bind the two together.
"Only a day, Seraph," reminded the monster as it worked. "And maybe not even that long."
Chapter 49: The Becoming
"I accept," Seraph answered as his words echoed in the room and the Ancient Monster smiled approvingly at the quick response.
"Good," it replied, "I’ll make this as quick as I can, though quick does not mean painless. This will not be an enjoyable experience for you I’m afraid.”
A tentacle arm lashed out and seized around Seraph’s neck around the Black Emblem and slammed it onto a table as Seraph collapsed. "You’re lucky you have unlocked all the aspects of the Black Seraph or this process would have killed you already," the monster told him matter of factly and otherwise unconcerned as Seraph writhed in pain on the ground.
Another arm lashed out, easily grasping onto a sheet of the blackened iron skin, while others dug through vials and crates, pulling out an assortment of bones and organs. "I cannot actually give you the old body you had back, at least not completely," the monster explained as it slapped the bones on the table and poured out a vial of mana-rich ichor over the bones before moving one of the sheets of blackened steel skin in place to act as a seal.
Seraph’s stomach turned as he saw the monster’s grim work as it used bolts and a needle and thread to piece together the various parts and create from it a monstrous version of his former self, a collection of scarred and depraved tissue stitched together with mana fibers. Eventually, Seraph passed out as dark dreams took him.
The room was dark, formless, and endless, like a void beyond the edge of reason and Seraph looked around at the unfamiliar setting, confused and disorientated, unable to gather his thoughts. “Where am I?” He muttered as he walked forward, his footsteps soundless as he moved.
“Inside your head.” Came a reply and Seraph turned to see himself, The vestiges of his true self, the Black Seraph. A towering man who stood head and shoulders above all others, Black wings that glistened even in the gloom and emanated an aura of absolute power.
“You’re me?” Seraph commented in wonder.
The Black Seraph shook his head in disagreement. “No, you’re me, at least a version of me. An imitation cast through time that clings to life.” Seraph considered the words until his attention was distracted by the sound of crying and turned to see a younger version of himself, hunched over. The Black Seraph nodded and directed him to examine the boy Luca.
As Seraph approached, the boy recoiled in fear and looked around frantically with sightless eyes that showed milky white orbs. “Just leave me alone.” The boy shouted and Seraph couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pity rather than anger.
“It’ll be ok, I’ll get you out of here,” Seraph promised, unsure if he actually could.
“So long as you live within you,” explained the Black Seraph, “The boy cannot. He will continue to fade away until he ceases to be, and then when he has been fully assimilated, we may emerge fully.”
Seraph looked at the boy in pity and his thoughts turned to his father. He had made a promise, he would keep it. “I can’t do that, and you know why.”
The Black Seraph nodded. “I refuse. We are eventual. I will not allow us to fade away into nothing. If I have to consume you both I will.”
Seraph stared hard at his future self and did the only thing he could think of. He summoned a flash of light and dashed forward, grabbing the boy and ran away. From behind him the Black Seraph laughed, there was no escape and as Seraph looked down at his younger self, he felt himself drawn into those blind eyes, towards whatever nightmare plagued the boy as a unwilling passenger to a memory
*************
Luca’s mind snapped from trauma, forcing the boy to disconnect from reality. He was stuck in place; staring into the unblinking eyes of his dead father was more than Luca could bear. Bile rose in his stomach as Luca turned his head and vomited. His terror kept him immobilized, even as blood and vomit pooled around him.
That fear was helping to keep him alive, forcing him to choke back his sobs and tears, lest he to his ultimate detriment draw attention to himself. Eventually, after an unknown amount of hours, Luca stopped noticing the smell; Luca’s senses had become deadened to it.
Silent tears rolled down Luca's cheeks as he silently screamed and raged in his mind. Unable and unwilling to use his voice, fearing the monsters would return. Luca feared the dark and whatever other secrets it concealed. Even the phone he carried was no longer working, the battery dead, and the service having been disconnected long before.
Luca was spinning out of control as his thoughts raced. Desperation settled into Luca as he tried to wake himself from the nightmare he was in. Each time he opened his eyes, the terrible reminder of his fate remained as did his internal screaming. No, no, no. You can’t be dead, Dad. I need you. Please, Dad, wake up.
As his body began to shake from fear and nerves, Luca tried unsuccessfully to escape into the recesses of his mind. Compartmentalizing himself, picturing he was anywhere else but inside the car. But even in his imagination, Luca could not find an escape. All he could see was his father’s dead and lifeless eyes staring at him.
Luca snapped his eyes open, reality, unfortunately, grounding him, even as he mentally pleaded. Dad, please, you have to be ok. Luca willed and wished for his dad to say something. Still, no matter how badly he wanted and needed his father to be with him, guiding him, helping him, and protecting him, nothing changed. Paul’s eyes remained devoid of signs of life.
In his heart, Luca knew that no amount of wishing would bring his father back to life. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. On some level, Luca knew he bore part of the responsibility for his dad having been killed. If he had not been afraid, if he had just gone with his father and tried to escape without fighting him over it, his father would still be alive. If Luca had not had a disability, they would have both been able to get away to safety.
Hours passed as the day became night. All the while, Luca remained trapped where he was, unwilling to try and move out from beneath his grim hiding place. Throughout the dead of night, Luca would fall asleep periodically in short but miserable bursts. His arms cold, freezing as his body shivered from the chill of the night. The only mercy granted him was that the relative heat of summer prevented him from dying of exposure. Or that the storm Luca had seen early on the horizon never hit him.
For Luca, the worst were the brief periods of intense awareness as long shadows plagued his mind, flooding him with fear as jolts of adrenaline ravaged his body. His mind assumed that every sound he heard in the night belonged to one monster or another. Judging from the sounds of nails against stone, Luca knew the assumption wasn’t entirely wrong. The car was moving a little as things better left unseen passed by.
The truth, though, was that even staring out into the night at the moving shadows was preferable to the alternative: having to stare into his father’s dead eyes. Luca wasn’t sure if he could free himself, and he was too scared to try, and until he was ready, few other options existed.
Sheer panic flooded Luca’s body as the windows of the car went completely dark. The car’s suspension groaned as shadowy figures stepped onto the hood and the trunk. Luca heard the sound of bestial growls and sniffing of a predator.
Luca knew what they were, more monsters. Actual monsters, not just the nightmares that plagued his thoughts. He held his breath, trying to silence the sounds of his body. He heard voices in a language he had never heard before. His mind almost stretched to its breaking point as the figures jumped off the car and began milling about, sniffing the air. Luca closed his eyes, completely paralyzed by absolute fear. “Dad, save me, please. I don’t wanna die.”
When Luca heard the monsters move away, passing by the car and down the road, the floodgates opened of his emotions, and he cried. Tears flowed freely down his face as he sobbed. It was then that Luca knew he wasn’t getting out of here alive. Even if somehow he got free from the car, he was still crippled. He wouldn’t be able to outrun any of those things from a wheelchair, and that’s assuming the road would be clear enough for him to pass over it in his wheelchair.
For the rest of the night and into part of the next day, Luca remained in place, unable to gather the courage to try and free himself to escape. When the sun came up, Luca caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. He was covered in blood, and it clung to him in coagulated lumps. Even his father’s body was starting to change, appearing bruised and stiff as decay set in.
Eventually, as time passed, Luca soiled himself when he was unable to move from the spot. By midday the next day, Luca was ready to try and get out. His body ached all over from being cramped in the back of the car. The weight of his father's body shifted more on to Luca, making it difficult to breathe with the increased pressure against his lungs. Flies began to swarm, landing all over him, crawling over his face and his eyes. From outside the car, Luca could see a group of crows waiting patiently to feast. Their otherworldly gaze was never leaving him. He, like so many bodies on the road, was marked for death.
As he grew weaker, Luca knew he needed to escape. Though he had no idea how to make that happen. Luca had no idea where it would be safe to go if somehow he managed to escape. Whenever Luca tried to think of what would happen once he was free, he couldn’t imagine any ending that didn’t result in a terrible death.
"I'm all alone now," Luca realized as he talked to himself, his voice low. The noise was somewhat startling to him. It was the first time he h
ad heard a voice in days. "First Mom, now Dad. It's just me. I have no idea what to do." Luca looked towards his dad, saying, "Dad, I need you, please; I'm sorry. Help me." But Luca received no response from the man, only the steady rot of his father's body and the smell of his filth as the flies crawled, the bugs and the maggots keeping him company.
Before nightfall, Luca finally found the courage to try and get free, not wanting to spend another night in the car, fearing what night would bring. But when he tried to move his father’s body off of him, Luca found his arms lacked even the little strength they had had before. No matter how hard he pushed the body, no matter how hard he tried to pull himself out from under it, neither budged. His little bit of strength was exhausted.
The more he struggled, the more Luca noticed the disgusting smell of fetid decay. His hands slick with blood made it difficult to gain any traction to grab onto anything. Luca lost more time as he broke down and cried at the helplessness of his situation. He was cold, his stomach hurting from hunger, his head pounding from dehydration.
Luca knew his body was likely fighting all types of infections. He wasn’t going to survive this. He felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness. In the middle of the night, Luca summoned the last reserves of his energy. With one last effort, he grabbed his father by the arms and found them too stiff to maneuver or bend. Not wanting to give up, Luca tried to roll the body on its side, but blisters that had formed on the skin burst. The skin itself giving way as noxious fluid spilled out, causing Luca to throw up again and pass out from the effort.