03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  All three stood there, watching a larger-sized Tom try to make the bergrisi a bit more comfortable in the confined, crumbling courtyard.

  Hilda raised her eyebrows. “For a demon prince, he shows an amazing amount of compassion.”

  Talarius chuckled mirthlessly. “I no longer know what the phrase demon prince means. He has been more than honorable to me; more so than I deserve. He extended his trust when he had no reason to.”

  “Sometimes things are more complicated than they first appear,” Beragamos agreed, nodding.

  “We are all going to have to talk,” Hilda said, staring intently at Beragamos.

  “We will. Things are complicated,” Beragamos said. “We still have much more work to do here.”

  “We do,” Talarius said. He could not believe he was addressing the most senior archon of his god as an equal, but things were changing. “However, I have one question first.”

  “Yes?” Beragamos said, raising one eyebrow in some surprise at his temerity.

  “I recently saw a memory mirroring of Orcus at a wedding; the wedding of Aetherus and Eris,” Talarius stated.

  “I know the image. I held the mirror,” Beragamos said.

  “So all of that is true,” Talarius asked, trying to be as stoic as possible.

  “That Orcus is the stepbrother of the Five Siblings—that they were once great, if undisclosed, allies?” Beragamos asked wearily.

  “So it is true,” Talarius said.

  Beragamos nodded. Hilda was staring at both of them in complete and utter shock.

  “And they conspired—” Talarius began, but Beragamos interrupted him with a tight, teeth-clenched grin.

  “We will not talk about that here, in public—not with the Unlife nearby,” Beragamos said grimly.

  Talarius nodded.

  ~

  Tom stood up from the bergrisi, who was finally resting comfortably. He turned to the fallen outer wall to see Morok and his small team flying back in. Tom smiled as they approached. “Good work! I cannot tell you how invaluable your mission was!” he told them.

  The D’Orcs laughed. “And we cannot tell you how much we enjoyed the sweet, sweet singing of the liches as their phylacteries burned,” Morok said before taking a deep breath through his nose. “It is a song of joy that warms our hearts and puts wind into our lungs!”

  “What news of the Unlife?” Tom asked.

  “There was only a small regiment, a few hundred, protecting the commune. We took them out. All other forces are being withdrawn to the central plain. All functional forces are moving into a large circular region on the plane. I estimate about one hundred and twenty thousand, perhaps one hundred and fifty thousand,” Morok said.

  “That must be a huge circle,” Tom said.

  “They are very tightly packed into the circle; it is not what I would consider a battle formation,” the commander informed him.

  “Have your men guard the bergrisi from any Unlife attack. You are an expert on the Unlife; join me on the command tower. We need to coordinate,” Tom instructed.

  Commanders! Tom ordered. All not specifically assigned to guarding the risar or other critical points, herd the Unlife to their circle, but do not engage until further orders!

  “Avatars, to the command tower,” he shouted.

  Citadel of Light, Main Gate: Late Third Period

  Tom hovered over the main gate with Talarius and Stainsberry at his side on their steeds. Grob was with them on a griffin; Beragamos hovered nearby as well. Tamarin had shrunk herself and was sitting on Tom’s shoulder. They were watching as the D’Orc, D’Warg and demon forces of Doom arrayed themselves in the air around the very tightly packed circle of Unlife. It was very bizarre to note the various avatars in the air with them at cardinal locations.

  They had spent about a third of an hour on the Command Center, observing the frantic rearranging of the Unlife army, before deciding to supplement the Forces of Doom with avatars and simply surrounding the Unlife army, which was making it so ridiculously simple to do so.

  “I do not understand what they are doing,” Stainsberry said.

  “They do not attack; they are all just crowding together behind a very fierce front line that surrounds them,” Talarius observed. “They have crammed all their giant zombie bestiary with them into the area as well, the flying ones in the air above them. Is this some sort of bizarre last stand where they stack all the flying undead in holding patterns above them?”

  Tom shook his head. He had no idea. Needless to say, they were very leery of a trap.

  The only thing they had noted in terms of a trap was that wizards were frantically creating a runic circle around their forces. One might assume it was some sort of warding. However, what sort of warding could stop the divine and Abyssal forces that were arrayed around the Unlife?

  Suddenly a loud voice rang out from the center of the Unlife. “Orcus! Avatars of the Five Siblings!” a hissing voice proclaimed. “You have won the field today, but we shall fight again.”

  Suddenly the runes the wizards had been frantically writing around the Unlife army burst into a solid wall of flames, shooting upwards to the heavens. A massive heat wave rolled out from the area where the Unlife army was. Nothing was visible through the giant column of flame.

  “Did they just incinerate themselves?” Talarius asked in shock. The surrounding forces had all pulled back several feet in surprise, but the cylinder of flame did not expand.

  Suddenly the giant cylinder of flame reaching to the sky vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The Army of the Night was no more. The plain of shattered corpses and Citadel outbuildings was no more. In its place was a red and orange desert of large boulders, sand and rubble. A wave of intense heat continued to expand outward from the desert, even after the flame was gone. Distortion of the air above the desert indicated that the area was extremely hot.

  “They actually incinerated their army!” Stainsberry exclaimed in shock. “How insane are they?”

  Tom blinked. He had never seen this before, but he recognized the desert of home. He had heard of this spell, and had once pretended he was familiar with it. “No, they did not incinerate themselves. They performed an Abyssal Switch,” he said numbly.

  “An Abyssal Switch?” Grob asked. “What on Nysegard is that?”

  Tom chuckled. “Not on Nysegard anymore. An Abyssal Switch exchanges land on a material plane with an equivalent area of land in the Abyss. That desert down there is a region of the Abyss.”

  “So then the very large region that was here, with the army on it, is now located in the Abyss?” Diocate Aeris asked.

  “It is,” Tom nodded.

  Talarius shook his head. “So the Storm Lords took their entire remaining army into the Abyss?”

  “Looks that way,” Tom said.

  “The Abyss, in theory, temporarily depolarizes animus,” Stainsberry said, frowning. “I have to wonder what sort of havoc that would wreak on Unlife?”

  Beragamos shuddered. “I can’t imagine it is pleasant.”

  “Can we locate them?” Grob asked. “Hunt them down?”

  “The Abyss is a very big place,” Beragamos said.

  “Trying to find someone, or a group of people, in an infinite area takes time,” Stainsberry noted.

  “It does,” Tom said. He shook shaking his head and turned to Beragamos. “By the way, did you send a flying nuclear submarine into the Abyss after Talarius?” he asked the archon.

  The Inferno

  “Good morning!” Chancellor Alighieri exclaimed cheerfully as he came into the officer’s mess, where Heron, Barabus, Cranshall and Sir Lady Serah were eating breakfast.

  “You seem unusually cheerful this morning despite yesterday’s disappointment,” Heron stated.

  “I have excellent news!” The Chancellor smiled at them. “The link to Talarius came back up about an hour and a half ago and it’s been steady ever since!”

  “That is good news!” Barabus smiled happily, raising hi
s cup of tea in a salute.

  “Still in Nysegard?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

  “Indeed. It appears to be a different part of Nysegard, but definitely in Nysegard,” Dante said, nodding.

  “So what caused the link to break?” Heron asked.

  Dante shook his head from side to side. “I have no idea. It is uniquely unprecedented, and short of Sir Samwell’s suggestion of sudden slaying and the subsequent surcease of his spiritual spark upon the mortal realms, or an invasion of Tierhallon, I am at a loss.”

  “But he is not dead?” Sir Lady Sarah asked.

  “He is alive and in Nysegard,” Dante replied.

  “Then we proceed with caution, but our path is now clear. We are going to Nysegard while we can still track him,” Heron proclaimed.

  “To Nysegard!” Captain Cranshall nodded and moved to leave the dining room.

  Astlan, Stone Finger Camp: Late Second Period

  Tal Gor and the other orcs finished saddling their D’Wargs as Elgrida, Ferroos and several others came to bid them farewell.

  “Shaman?” Elgrida nodded to Tal Gor. “With the Grove having assured us that the alvar have fled our lands, we celebrate our people’s first decisive victory over the alvar in thousands of years.” She shook his hand. “This is truly a good omen of what is to come.”

  Tal Gor nodded. It was good. Trevin D’Vils had assured them that her ship, which had returned after a few days away, had verified the alvar were gone from orc lands. She had given both himself and Ferroos link stones to contact the Nimbus in the event any more alvar were found. She had also promised to proactively monitor alvaran activity.

  Tal Gor mounted Schwarzenfürze. “We thank you for your assistance, and for continuing to guard the prisoners. Contact us if they need to be cast into the Abyss!” he smiled at Elgrida and Ferroos.

  “Good fortune in seeking the Doom of Astlan, apostle,” Elgrida said.

  “Apostle?” Tal Gor asked her curiously.

  “We do not like the term Emissary of Doom; it sounds too much like a diplomat,” Elgrida said.

  Tal Gor winced at the frightful comparison. He could not argue that point—he had not thought of it—but now, particularly after the last several days, it was unmistakable.

  “So we have decided to refer to you as apostles. All of you,” Ferroos said. “A thousand years from now, when storytellers around campfires regale children of the Restoration of Glory, it will be much better to speak of the Apostles of Doom and the Quest for Justice!”

  Tal Gor nodded with a broad grin. “Thank you all!” He looked to Bor Tal and Zargvarst, who both nodded back, and then they launched themselves into the air towards Jötunnhenj and their Doom.

  The First Lacuna

  Nysegard, Teampull de Ùpraid

  Sutekh, God of Chaos, Lord of the Desert Storm, Purveyor of Change, stood before the scrying pool beside his long-term ally, Dysnoma, Goddess of Anarchy, and their very useful compatriot, Baron(ess) Tartibsizlik. The scrying pool revealed an aerial view of the battlefield around the Citadel of Light, where the Storm Lords’ army had just fled the field of battle in defeat.

  “Well, Tartibsizlik, your warning was most prescient,” Sutekh noted.

  “The Lord of Law, the Oath Maker has returned,” Dysnoma said acidly. “Your minion and his allies did not finish off the Oath Maker as promised.” She glared briefly at Sutekh.

  “It has been expensive,” Tartibsizlik said, hir face flashing to that of an angry old crone. “We have lost an entire Maelstrom, and now the Storm Lords have lost half of their supposedly overwhelming army, even with the interdiction and four risar at their disposal.”

  “The Unlife are useful for the fear, disruption and chaos they bring. But perhaps it is time we recognize that they have their limits,” Sutekh said.

  “Clearly,” Tartibsizlik agreed.

  “Perhaps—or is it their leadership?” Dysnoma asked.

  “Your suggestion?” Sutekh asked.

  “Perhaps we should not put all of our Unlife support in the Storm Lords. I think it is time we provide Czernobog von Smerti with the resources he has been requesting,” Dysnoma suggested.

  “If you wish,” Sutekh replied. “However, Orcus is moving quickly to undo much of what we have worked these last six thousand years to gain. We may need to move even more aggressively than that.”

  Dysnoma chuckled. “I hope you were not expecting me to disagree? You know there is nothing in the multiverse that I want more than to punish my dear brother. He must suffer for our mother’s fate!”

  The Second Lacuna

  Citadel of Light, Dungeons: DOA + 20, Early First Period (During Battle)

  Rede sat despondently in his cell. He had not seen the saint or the priest in what he guessed was two days. Fortunately, however, the guards had continued to bring him blood and fresh water, and emptied the chamber pot. Not that there was ever much for him to leave in the chamber pot, given his liquid diet.

  Unlike a vampire, dhampyrs could and did eat food as well. They preferred meat, naturally, but could digest anything their non-dhampyr parent’s race could eat. He could survive on blood if need be, at least for longer than a non-dhampyr could survive on water; however, it was not particularly healthy in the long term and he would get sick.

  He assumed the war was in full gear by this point. He based this assumption on what little he knew of the army’s plans and the fact that the number of guards was lower than it had been previously. He sighed, shaking his head at the irony of his situation.

  For his entire life, even after his symptoms emerged, he had been on the side of the Light. He had done what he could to support their village and people. He had always rooted against the Storm Lords and their army. At least until he’d been forced to join them. At which point, as miserable as that might have been, it was his side.

  Now, however, he was trapped in the dungeon of the Citadel, awaiting inevitable death. His only hope was for the Storm Lords to overrun the Citadel, killing everyone in it and then freeing him. How horrific! His own life depended on hundreds of thousands of people dying.

  He closed his eyes for a few minutes of uncomfortable rest, but was suddenly roused by some really bad whistling. Someone—one of the guards, obviously—was making their rounds and trying to whistle. However, it was really bad whistling; almost like what a child would do when learning to whistle.

  “Hmm. Human. Male. Ehh,” a very nasal voice said before the whistling resumed.

  “Human. Female. Not too bad, edible,” the voice said to Rede’s shock. Did the guard just describe a woman as edible? The whistling did not resume, fortunately.

  “Another human male. A bit stale-looking though,” the disturbing guard said. The guard then inhaled deeply for some reason before making a small cough. “Probably shouldn’t be smoking this. Outside the Abyss, it always gives me the munchies, and this smorgasbord is a bit lacking.”

  Rede shook his head. Outside the Abyss? As in the place where demons live? Something very odd was going on.

  “Hmm, another human female. At least there’s some meat on the bones,” the clearly demented guard said.

  Is this some sort of intimidation? Trying to scare prisoners into giving up information? Rede wondered. That had to be it. There were no other logical explanations.

  “Another male. Hmm. This one seems to be a bit catatonic. Unless I miss my guess, he’s also way past his sell-by date,” the nasal voice mused.

  A very strange scent reached Rede’s nose. Dhampyrs had very acute olfactory abilities, as did many predators. He peered out the small, barred window of his cell.

  Suddenly an extremely ugly, mottled face with a pipe sticking out of its mouth appeared in the window. Were those horns on his forehead? Rede tried to squeeze himself further back into the corner.

  “Whoa!” the ugly creature exclaimed. “What do we have here? Do I smell dhampyr?”

  Rede said nothing, simply stared in terror at the creature outside his cell door. Had
the Storm Lords summoned a demon to come for him? He didn’t know if they could or would do that, but he was certain that the Citadel would not be using demons.

  “Hmm, not very talkative, are you?” The face looked down and Rede heard the sound of papers being shuffled.

  “I am going to assume that since you look like a dhampyr and you smell like a dhampyr—and because there is an empty wineskin that reeks of blood—you are a dhampyr!” the demon said, for clearly it had to be a demon. Nothing else was this terrifying.

  “What is your name, dhampyr?” the demon asked.

  Rede remained silent.

  “Ahem. How am I going to know whether to eat you or rescue you if you won’t tell me your name?” the demon asked.

  Rede swallowed hard. The demon arched an eyebrow, opened the eye under it wide and simply stared at him.

  “Rede,” Rede finally said.

  The demon suddenly smiled, revealing very sharp fangs, much more frightening than Rede’s or, for that matter, Vladimir’s fangs.

  “See? Much better!” the demon said, looking down and shuffling papers. He held the papers up, several sheets in each hand above his head, and peered back and forth between them. “Hmm. This is such a pain.”

  More papers came into view at the bottom of the window, as if the demon were holding them in a second set of hands. The demon looked down at those, shaking its head and grimacing. Finally he looked up. “Sorry for the confusion. I’m working from my old notes.” The demon sighed. “I misplaced my book, so I’m kind of going by the seat of my pants.” He shook his head sadly. “And the problem with going by the seat of my pants is that I don’t own any pants!” He then began to nod, apparently to himself. “As you can imagine, this makes things rather difficult.” The demon looked down and stared fruitlessly at the papers some more before lowering his upper hands and shuffling all the papers. “What’s your last name?” he asked.