The Forsaken God: The Realms Book Five: (An Epic LitRPG Series)

by C. M. Carney

  25

  Gryph drew deep, even breaths, each one more controlled than the last. When he’d calmed enough to tame his heartbeat, he sat cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes. Raathiel curled around his shoulders and he felt her ease around his mind. It was time to return to the Soul Reverie. The answers he sought lay in the past. He could let nothing stop him.

  The Reverie resisted him, as had become the norm. Its viscous surface pushed against him, and he wished he had time to devote to the technique. The regenerative state of the Reverie was something elves spent a lifetime mastering. Gryph, who’d been born a human from another universe, lacked the life’s worth of experience of native-born elves.

  As Gartheniel had explained it, elvish youths spent the first hundred years of their lives sleeping as the other mortal races did. They spent that century training their minds to find focus, so they were ready when the Reverie first took them. Gryph had neither a hundred years, nor the proper training to handle the experience. It was why he hadn’t rested well these last few weeks. Each time he sought respite, he’d faced an onslaught of past lives. Some were pleasant, a joy to re-experience. In others he found little but pain and despair.

  “Our souls are threads in the vast tapestry of reality,” the Steward had told him. “We elves carry a unique burden. We can experience our pasts, and we either learn from them or be torn asunder by them. Great power, and tremendous danger, lies within the Reverie. Do you know why?”

  “Because I cannot control it.”

  “There are none who can. Attempting to bend the Reverie to your will is as foolish as the leaf trying to control the wind. The Reverie is erratic, incomplete and often without context. It slams us with emotions and truths few can handle, even those of us with the proper training. For you it is far more dangerous. If you are not careful, the joys and terrors hidden in the Reverie can swallow you. You must always be on your guard.”

  Gryph had taken the elder half-elf’s training to heart, and this time as the up and down swells of the Reverie took him, he was ready. He kept his eyes closed, trusting his ears more than his eyes, and listened. Trills of laughter, yelps of fear and howls of anger all drifted to him. These were the notes of his past lives, all the experiences his soul had lived through. An unknowable number of lives. He listened for one voice among hundreds and a minute, or perhaps many hours later because of the Reverie’s odd effects on time, he found the one he sought amidst the cacophony.

  “What is so important that you needed me here, now?” the voice of Ossyrion, the white-clad Old God said. “We’ve nearly tracked down Morrigan.”

  Gryph’s eyes snapped open to find the familiar surge in the surf that announced the emergence of a past life. He turned his body and willed himself towards the voice. Ahead of him, just pushing itself through the silver surf, was another large past life bubble from the same life that had troubled him so greatly these last few months. Standing tall, shimmering in the bubble’s reflective surface was the Old God Ossyrion.

  So, it is true, Gryph thought, sharing the experience with Raathiel. I was Ossyrion. He had no time to ponder that as another voice rose, pulling his attention back to the sphere.

  “I have done it Ossyrion.”

  Reflected in the bubble was another god. This one was shorter and thicker set than Ossyrion and dressed in wrinkled gray robes. Wild, unkempt hair topped his head, reminding Gryph of many a frazzled university professor. His eyes were a mélange of hope and desperation and he fidgeted nervously.

  “Safely? I thought you said that was impossible,” Ossyrion said.

  “It was until I was taught to look at the problem from another angle.”

  “Taught by whom?” Ossyrion asked, his tone wary and dangerous. The unkempt god said nothing, realizing he’d said too much. Ossyrion asked again, this time in a harsher tone, but the other god refused to answer. “Then you give me no choice.”

  Ossyrion’s eyes flared white and Gryph knew he was Analyzing the other god. The smaller god tried resisting but failed. Ossyrion gasped before regaining control of himself. “What have you done brother? I sense the ravages of chaos inside you.”

  Chaos, Gryph exclaimed. That cannot be a coincidence.

  “I made a deal,” the unkempt god said, defiance filling his voice.

  “With the Princes of Chaos? Are you mad?”

  “It was the only way,” the unkempt god said in a low, guilt-ridden voice. Then his defensiveness grew to aggressiveness. “If I didn’t, you could be damn well sure Morrigan would have.”

  Somehow, Gryph knew the other god spoke the truth.

  Ossyrion must have also realized it as his anger eased. He sighed and spoke in a gentler voice. “What did you promise them?”

  “The deal was mine, as is the payment. It is my burden to bear. But I do not intend to pay it.” A crooked smile pushed the unkept god’s face into a sneer.

  “Explain,” Ossyrion demanded.

  “I know how to remove our Godheads. We can be free once more. You could have your old life back.”

  A shade of desire broke the certainty on Ossyrion’s face and Gryph knew his former self was sorely tempted. But then the white-clad god sighed and stood tall. “That life is gone, no matter how badly I wish that it were not.” He put a hand on the smaller god’s shoulder. “We cannot change what was brother, only what will be. Even if what you say is true and we can remove our Godheads without bringing ruin, Morrigan will never let us be free. He will find us wherever we go in the Realms.”

  “Then we use what I have learned to build a new place, a paradise far away from Morrigan, far away from the Princes. We build a place where we can all find safety.”

  “I know you never wanted any of this brother, but we cannot leave the Realms to Morrigan. Billions of lives would end, and he will always come for us. You know what he desires.” The unkempt god collapsed into a chair, fear waging a battle with guilt on his face. Ossyrion’s shoulders relaxed and his voice grew warm. “This is not your fault. Morrigan alone is responsible for what he has become.”

  Tears welled in the unkempt god’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “We need your help. I need your help. The others and I will take down Morrigan, but we need you to remove his Godhead. Then he will face the justice he has earned. Will you help me?” Ossyrion extended a hand.

  “What if we fail? What if he takes me again?”

  “That was not your fault.”

  “Thank you for lying, but without me, Morrigan would have never learned about the boy. He would never have unlocked the power of Soul Magic. If he learns what I now know, it is over, all of it.”

  “We will not fail,” Ossyrion said. “Not if we fight together. We need you, brother.” Ossyrion pushed his hand out further and with force.

  The unkempt god took the proffered hand and let Ossyrion help him to his feet. He looked the white-clad god straight in the eyes and it seemed to give him strength. After a moment he nodded and spoke in a firm, confident tone. “I will be there. I will fight by your side.”

  “Thank you Cerrunos. I knew I could count on you.” Ossyrion drew the unkempt god into a deep hug. “And once we’re done, if you still wish it, I will help you build this paradise of yours.”

  Gryph’s mind reeled. Cerrunos was the Forsaken God. And he betrayed us all. The silver sea roiled, reacting to his shock and anger as he lost control of the Reverie. The scene shifted, and the bubble flexed. It was about to cast him out again, a sure sign that his shock was affecting the Reverie.

  I am here Menaaire. Find the calm in my voice. Use my strength.

  Gryph did and his mind calmed. The froth of the silver sea mimicked him, settling and calming. He eased out and an almost magnetic attraction pulled him back to the massive sphere’s surface. His hand pressed into the surface and he was back in Ossyrion’s memories.

  He stood on the same high grassed plain from his earlier reverie. He could still hear the remnants of the scourin
g winds that had announced Morrigan’s arrival tearing at the high grass behind him. The other Old Gods, Casserius, Dymeria and Obekai, for Gryph now remembered their names, stood with him. A shimmering white energy shield expanding from Ossyrion’s hand failed.

  The scouring dust cleared and there, striding towards them with calm purpose, was Morrigan, clad in midnight black plate armor that shimmered with motes of starlight. A chill rushed down Gryph’s spine. I have seen this before. Morrigan’s armor bore an uncanny resemblance to the Soul Reliquary, the mass of condensed soul remnants that had empowered the Scourge of Souls.

  He crafted his armor from the remnants of consumed souls, Raathiel sent, her words infused with deep horror.

  Gryph knew she spoke the truth, and a snippet of memory rose from Ossyrion into Gryph. Not just any souls. The souls of the Old Gods.

  “So, this is how it ends,” the Dread God, the man with many names, said. “Where is Cerrunos? He and I have much to discuss.”

  “He is far from here, where you will never find him,” Ossyrion said.

  “Why do you protect him? He was a coward then, and he is a coward now. He does not deserve to be a god.”

  “You are right, but he is a god. None of us can change what is, no matter how much we want to,” Ossyrion said. “Not even you.”

  “That is where you are wrong. Cerrunos knows this truth. That is why he hides.”

  Ossyrion breathed deeply and looked Morrigan right in the eye. “It is not too late to stop this madness brother.” Morrigan lowered his head and for the briefest of moments, Ossyrion believed there was still light inside the Dread God. But then his eyes went cold, and he looked right at Ossyrion.

  “But it is too late, brother. You know what I’ve done. You know why I do it. To stop now would …” Morrigan paused, battling the ancient demons that lived inside his soul.

  “Asheara would not want this.” It was a last ditch, desperate hope, one that Ossyrion knew was likely to fail, but he had no choice.

  The Dread God’s eyes snapped up, burning with silvery flames. “I do this for her, and the Realms will burn before I quit.”

  “And I brother, will always be there to stop you. No matter the cost.”

  Gryph knew the truth of both men’s words deep in his soul. I am about to watch myself die, Gryph thought. Then faster than his mind could follow, the battle was engaged. The earth surged under them and the air burned. The energies unleashed on this small corner of this small world tore at the very fabric of the Realms.

  Alone, none of the four could hope to lay a hand on Morrigan. Each of them took near fatal wounds and their cause looked lost, when the golden god, using every one of his martial perks and boons, created an opening with the blade of his golden sword. It was not much, but enough for the others to all lay their hands upon the Dread God. Their grips, like iron manacles, clasped onto the arms and legs of the Dread God and in a low whisper, one Gryph felt in his head as much as heard, Ossyrion spoke the last word any of them would ever say.

  “Now.”

  At once four Prime Godheads, four motes of pure energy peeled open, unleashing a rage of energy unseen in the Realms since the moment of their creation. The raw force shredded the bodies of the four Old Gods in an instant, but their minds held long enough to direct the pure power at a single point.

  A point, both infinite and non-existent, sparked into existence. It simultaneously exploded inwards and outwards, folding space and time and tearing open a rift to another universe. With a final act of will, pulses of energy, all that remained of Ossyrion and the others, enveloped Morrigan and pushed through the rift.

  Then, as quickly as it had opened, it closed, exploding outwards and bringing ruin to the Realms.

  Gryph screamed as the raw power of an unleashed Godhead punched into him throwing him away from the large silver bubble. He soared for what felt like miles before impacting the surface of the silver sea with a solid thwack, skipping like a stone on a calm pond. Every nerve in his body burst into a rage of pain and then, his eyes snapped open, and he was back in his room. Gryph jerked awake, his eyes wide and his breathing ragged.

  “Holy shit. I need to talk to Lex.”

  26

  “What!?” Lex yelled as he yanked open the door to his chambers. Gryph had banged on the door for more than a minute before the loud snoring on the far side of the door ceased and the confused grumbling had turned to swearing.

  "Oh, hey, it's you," Lex muttered, some of his anger easing on realizing it was Gryph. The trusty NPC’s hair was a wild mess and he wore an ill-fitting silken robe that Gryph hoped did not belong to him. Lex’s eyes widened in alarm as a whiff of lavender flowed past. Then the sleepy twitter of a female voice pushed over them.

  “Lexie … come back to bed. I’m getting cold without you.”

  Gryph peered past the scruffy NPC, his dark vision piercing the blackness to reveal a lithe elf woman leaning on her elbows, her feet kicking playfully in the air behind her. She nodded her head to Gryph. “Your Lordship.”

  “Yrriel,” Gryph said, keeping most of the amusement from his voice. He looked down on Lex. The burly NPC blushed like a teenage boy, but then smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “I need your help with something.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Lex asked, jerking his head back towards the elder elven woman. “Kinda in the middle of something … like a first time ever type of something. Hint, hint. Go away.”

  “That’s not true honey,” Yrriel said, curling a strand of her silver hair around her finger. “It’s been three times already.”

  Lex beamed, clearly proud of himself. The tie of the robe loosened, and a flash of flesh snuck past Gryph’s guard. He screwed his eyes shut and scowled, nose turned up like he smelled something foul. “I am overcome with deep feelings of disappointment.”

  “Come on man, she looks great for her age.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” Gryph looked back at Yrriel. Lex turned to follow his gaze.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I told you, I like my men with some meat on their bones.” She eased off the bed, the sheet wrapped about her and walked towards them. Lex ogled her with ardor as she approached, and she leaned down and pecked him on the cheek. “You boys do what you need to do. I’ll be around.” She moved past the two men and walked down the hall.

  Lex watched Yrriel wiggle down the hallway, the sheet hanging off her shoulders like the thinnest of shawls. The stocky NPC cocked his head to the side as he watched. “Do you think she’s doing that on purpose?”

  “Yes,” Gryph said. “Most definitely.”

  Lex sighed in deep satisfaction and then grunted. “I really hate you right now.”

  “Oh, I know,” Gryph said with a smile, surprised at how relaxed he felt. With an annoyed harrumph Lex waved Gryph inside and listened to his tale.

  “Well, that is … um … earth shattering, literally. And it sounds awful, but how do you expect me to help?”

  “We need to find Cerrunos.”

  “He’s dead, hence why he’s called the Murdered God.”

  “If he’s dead, then who murdered him?”

  Lex shrugged. “I dunno, Morrigan probably. From that story you told me he was one scary bastard.”

  “You need to learn to listen better. The Old Gods banished Morrigan, to Earth. That’s how he became Alistair Bechard and then re-invaded the Realms as Aluran, the High God of the Pantheon. He couldn’t have murdered Cerrunos. Have you not been paying attention to the entire back-story?”

  “Sure, I have, mostly.” Lex looked down at his feet, then when the silence became oppressive he spoke again. “So, you’re saying that Cerrunos wasn’t murdered, isn’t dead and is hiding somewhere?”

  “Yes.”

  An introspective look crossed Lex’s face and then his eyes widened. “You might be onto something.” He rushed to a chest at the foot of his bed, tugged the top open and rummaged through, tossing bits of clothing, empty wine jugs and other random detritus over his
shoulders. After several seconds he removed a thick tome embossed with gold and silver. He handed the book to Gryph.

  The Writ of Cerrunos.

  Item Class: Base - Item Category: Passive/Active

  Passive Powers

  Power (1): +10% increase in the effectiveness of all Prayers, Incantations and Order Spells.

  Active Powers

  Power (2): The Writ of Cerrunos allows a Priest of Cerrunos to commune with the deity. Through daily study of the Writs of Cerrunos, the priest will earn the ability to invoke the god’s power through Incantations, spoken prayers with spell like effects. One new Incantation is available per level.

  NOTE: Cerrunos, the God of Knowledge is Dead, therefore communion with him is impossible.

  Gryph read the description, his eyes drawn to the note that insisted Cerrunos was dead. “What better way to hide from your enemies than to convince them you’re dead.”

  “Yeah, it’s a solid plan,” Lex agreed.

  “Does the book have any clues?”

  “I dunno, haven’t read it.”

  “You haven’t read the book that could, maybe, tell you who you are, where you come from and what your purpose in life is?”

  “When you say it like that I sound like an idiot.”

  “Not sure there’s another way to say it.”

  Lex raised this voice. “Why would I read it? They told me the dude was dead and since I couldn’t commune with the bastard, I saw no reason to read his damned autobiography.”

  “Then why’d you get all excited and redecorate your room to find it,” Gryph asked, hands flailing around at the mess Lex had made. “What made you think it can help us out if you have no idea what it says?”

  “I never said I had no idea.” Lex tore the book from Gryph’s hands and opened it. “Vonn said there’s some good stuff in here.” His voice lowered a bit. “He might have even said something about Cerrunos maybe not being so dead.”

  “Vonn said? Vonn has read it, but you haven’t?”