Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  Destruction sat winded for a moment, not understanding how he had been brought to feel pain. He looked around and saw shreds of the bodies of the other gods, then called out to them. “To me! We will merge and then crush this insignificant human. Time is wasting, we must kill the Saint.”

  The scraps of gods liquefied and flowed into Destruction. He grew larger still, his armor becoming more deadly and pronounced, his helmet becoming the face of a giant iron dragon as a tremendous energy version of True Kargaroth grew from the grip of his right hand. The powers and minds of the dark gods merged and Hell roared his might.

  He looked forward at the tiny human standing a few hundred yards away from him and charged, his Kargaroth held high. As he was running Abaddon kept growing larger, but not closer. Finally, when Hell felt he was at last on top of the mortal, Abaddon had grown to match his own size. Were he capable of it, the evil god would have grown anxious. But no human could be a threat to him, could be anything more than an insect, and he swung his blade of oblivion recklessly, aiming straight for the insect’s face.

  Abaddon’s left hand shot up and grabbed the hilt of Kargaroth just below Hell’s own grip. The sword halted in its path, and the man slowly began to reverse the swing. He stopped the blade when it pointed straight up and took a step in closer to this ultimate dark god.

  As he spoke, darkness from Kargaroth crept down his arm, transforming it also into Hell’s demonic armor. “I’m afraid I must again borrow your power. But this, I promise you, will be the end of our alliance.”

  Hell swung with his free hand, aiming to crush Abaddon’s head, but the man easily caught the blow and held the monstrous arm frozen. “No!” the divine apparition shouted, finally realizing that he was truly overpowered. “This cannot be! We exceed you! You are human!”

  “One more time, then,” Abaddon chanted tranquilly. He closed his eyes and the mindscape collapsed. As he felt himself once again come into control of his body, he lowered the barrier that held him contained for a final time.

  * * * * *

  Less than three yards away from the ether pole, again the body of the Hell Knight came to a stop. Linked to Serene as he was, Atheme could feel their joint spirits begin to be drained by the monster, as it fed off the power once again too weak to affect it. Atheme tried to gather more energy into himself, but his spirit protested with fresh agony, promising him that if he channeled anything more he would be killed. He tried to think of something, but only blinding pain appeared in his mind, and he could not bring himself to even realize that he might be in danger for his life.

  The Hell Knight grew even larger and opened his eyes. He tilted his head back and stared into the sky, bellowing triumphantly, “This body is mine!” with a voice that shook the entire canyon. He raised his left hand and stared at it, and a blackness that swallowed all light exploded up around the entire arm. “Destruction Wave,” he announced, then began walking toward Serene.

  She screamed and tears rushed down her face, but she was bound tight and could not move. Atheme could feel that his love was terrified, and ideas once more flooded his mind. He believed that he could sever the link sapping their energy, but it would cost both of them most of their strength and still the Hell Knight would come. He tried to think of a desperation move, then his eyes flickered up and caught the Hell Knight’s.

  The shroud that had swallowed Abaddon’s face had parted, and his flesh could be seen once more. The lifeless grin that the Lord Councilor remembered so well did not decorate the face, rather the mouth was small and serious, closed tight. It was not the mouth that struck him most, but rather the eyes. They were blue eyes. A deep, brilliant blue.

  “Atheme!” Serene screamed. “I’m going to kill us now, so that he can’t. It will be easier this way. Pecoros will be able to make Saints of the both of us. We can try to fight this thing from the other side. I just—I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m sorry I failed.”

  The Lord Councilor’s mind was racing, and he only barely felt the pain still ripping him apart. “Do nothing!”

  “You don’t understand! If he hits us with that attack our very souls will be destroyed! We will no longer exist in any form, on any plane!” She shivered in fear as the Hell Knight continued his gradual approach, now less than a full yard away from the ether pole. He was going to walk right through the phenomenon. In her terror she could already see it, the Hell Knight ignoring the most powerful destructive force in nature, walking through it as it simply collapsed from mere contact with him, then killing both Atheme and Serene where they stood with a swipe of nearly infinite power.

  Atheme placed his lips right up against her ear and whispered lightly, “Please, my love. Close your eyes, forget what is happening around you, and do nothing. Trust in me one more time.”

  The back of her mind reached out and drew forth the spell that would kill them both. She only needed to think it and this nightmare would end. Just as she had gathered the courage to do so, she instead hesitated. A soft smile began to spread across her face. Even in the horror of her situation, she nearly started to laugh, and tears of humor began to blur the vision of her approaching doom. Within her mind she dismissed her spell and bowed her head slightly, whispering, “One more time, then.”

  The Hell Knight stopped and stared down at the phenomenon a foot in front of him. His left arm was a void, the power of the Destruction Wave growing ever stronger. So many instincts zipped through his evil mind. So many of them made sense, so many of them were things he wished to do. Yet, somehow, there was only one that he could obey. One unforgiving voice pierced through all of the others and left him with no alternatives, no free will of his own remaining.

  Destroy the vortex.

  He wanted to do something else. He could not figure out what, but he knew he wanted to do something else, anything else. He glanced up and locked eyes with Atheme, wondering if maybe the human held the answer.

  “Do it, Abaddon,” the man whispered softly. “Do it now.”

  I am no Abaddon! he wanted to scream. But he did not have control of his voice. He tried to walk away, but he did not have control of his feet. He had control of only one part of his body.

  Destroy the vortex.

  His arm. His left arm, swallowed by Destruction Wave. Left with only one action to take, and unsure of the consequences of that action, the Hell Knight reached forth and thrust his arm into the ether pole.

  Atheme Tethen was a man who had seen many strange and unique sights in his lifetime. But at the end of his days, had someone asked him to choose the single most incredible thing he had ever witnessed, it would be this moment. As soon as the power of the Destruction Wave came into contact with the ether pole, two different chain reactions started. First, the Hell Knight began to shudder and shiver, his body growing fuzzy and distorted, then finally slinking down into the vortex, sliding off of Abaddon layer by layer like a second skin. Secondly, the darkness from Destruction Wave filled the vortex and began pouring out, spreading through the air, devouring the light and causing the ground to crumble and crack, blistering Abaddon’s skin as he stood exposed to it directly. Only their greater distance protected Atheme and Serene from the creeping dark energy dome.

  As his body was torn apart by the joint pull of the ether pole and the ripping wave of Destruction, Abaddon looked up and gave a sad smile. The sound could not be heard, but Atheme was able to read his friend’s lips as they whispered, “I am human.” Then the two struggling forces of unnatural nature seemed to overcome one another. The dark energy suddenly imploded and collapsed into the center of the vortex, and the ether pole erupted outward, throwing a massive explosion of sound, light, and heat that overcame everything and threw Atheme and Serene flying far away.

  * * * * *

  Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. How long had he been unconscious? He felt dead. He definitely felt like he had been dead. How could he be expected to wake up with this pain? With this weakness? With this weight that sat upon his chest?


  His chest. He explored that thought. He sent his mind reaching to where his chest should have been. He found it a mass of pain, the rib cage being crushed beneath some huge weight. But it was definitely there. It was definitely his chest. He was definitely still alive.

  He could not open his eyes. There were weights on them, too. He slowed himself down. He was trying to move too much. He needed time to find his body again, to familiarize himself with it. Slowly, painstakingly, he found and checked each part of himself. He lay doing this for the better part of an hour. Broken bones everywhere. If he could even get up and walk it would be a miracle. But he didn’t really have a choice, did he? He couldn’t just die here. That was not what warriors did. It was not what leaders did. It was not what friends did.

  His friends. He had to get out, find them, make sure they were okay. He had to go now.

  He reached for ether. To his surprise, he found some. He carefully adjusted his focus to it, grabbing it tightly, binding it to his will. First he had bones to repair. He did so gingerly. An hour passed like this. The ether stream remained graciously steady and his work went well. Then he began feeding into his grey magic. This was more difficult. The Morolian ether had been strong, but the Asterian ether here was scarce. It didn’t matter. He gathered enough strength to move, to expand his muscles, to feel the mass of weight sitting on top of him become light enough to lift.

  Atheme exploded out of the ground and gasped for air, sending a small rock shower out around him. He was lucky. He had only been buried a couple of feet deep. Much deeper and he would not have been able to find any ether currents, and he might have never been able to gather the strength to make his way out.

  He gingerly stood and looked around, not sure where he was. He tried to figure out exactly where he had been blown from, where the ether pole had once been, but his vision was so blurry and unfocused he could make little of his surroundings.

  Then he saw a strip of white cloth on the ground. He recognized it as the tip of Serene’s cape and instantly threw himself to it, digging ferociously, throwing aside rocks and sand and boulders alike. She was not very deep either, and soon he had her freed. He lifted her into his arms and lightly smacked her cheek a few times, praying to Pecoros that she was alive.

  She opened her eyes. They were the prettiest things he had ever beheld, two beautiful sky blue gems staring up at him in a world of brown. “Serene?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No more Sinjuin Serene. She served her god well and died fulfilling her mission. It’s only me now. Just Relm.”

  Atheme smiled and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Just Relm,” he echoed. “Never have two words so small made me so happy.”

  He lifted her close and kissed her. They held each other that way for a long time, drowning sorrows and joys and anxieties and reliefs into one another all at once. No more words needed to be said. They were together again. They were one.

  When they finally separated, he asked her, “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t think so. My leg’s broken. Maybe both of them.”

  “I can take care of it.”

  He lay her back down and moved down to her legs, gathering more Morolian ether and carefully setting the bones into place.

  “Atheme,” she asked, “did Abaddon...?”

  He nodded. “When your leg is better, we’ll look for his remains. I doubt there’s anything, but I have to know. If there’s even a charred, broken skull to bury, then at least we can give him proper homage.”

  She fell back lightly onto the rocks behind her, staring up into the clear evening sky, and shed tears for the man who had given everything to save the world. The man who did not break, who did not surrender. The man who, in the end, would not bend even before the gods themselves.

  Chapter 45.

  In the Heat of Battle

  The Cainite reserves ambled about New Cainis waiting for word to be brought in. They had been told they would probably not be needed for this battle, so none of them were taking their duty very seriously. On the other hand, they had been ensured a personal execution at Stratas’ own hand if they were not ready should they be called upon, so they made certain to remain alert.

  The center of the crater—which was now the center of the city⁠—had been paved over and converted into a neat little town square, with benches and tables placed about for comfort. Most of the reserves were taking shifts hanging out in this area, leaving a few guards and runners on the outskirts and giving one another opportunities to relax. One band had even brought along food and beer. They lounged about enjoying themselves in the late summer sun, until a strange occurrence interrupted their revelry. At the center of the park, the air began to shimmer. A man dressed in red with a black cape and fedora stepped forth, carrying a long and elaborate staff.

  “Hey!” one of the reserves shouted. Several of them rose to their feet, snatching their weapons. “What are you doing there?”

  Kinguin gave them a winning smile. “Nothing that you can stop, I assure you. Suffice it to say, today was not the best day to be a Cainite.” He turned the Staff of the Magi upside down and stabbed it through the pavement, muttering incantations. The Cainites rushed to attack, but a huge blue dome suddenly encased the intruder. Those unable to stop in time collided with the dome and were blown apart by a backlash of magic, but even those who avoided this fate were not to live much longer.

  Kinguin spoke the final words of his incantation and raw power swept through the city, melting away the ambling Cainites and their town square. The spell was only a fraction as potent as it had been when the Lord Archmagus had used it against the emergent Hell Knight, but it was enough to incinerate the soldiers that had remained behind, as well as the buildings they had erected. In a matter of seconds the center of the crater was restored to the desolate pit it had been a year ago, and Kinguin was the only living thing present.

  He surrounded himself in a new barrier, knowing better than to step unprotected into the superheated wasteland, and used a magical platform to carry himself to the far side. It took him a while to clear the radius of the blast, forced to move at the slow pace of his transport. His explosion had covered less than half of the area of the crater. A few Cainite buildings on the outskirts of the new blast were still standing, and a few others had been thrown outward as debris. He impatiently maneuvered his way through the obstructions, ignored by the few survivors—who were still trying to determine what happened—until he reached the other side. Once there he immediately cast more Seekers upon the Ducall region.

  Things were still moving quickly, but he had gained the time needed for the next step. “In any case,” he gloated, “phase one is accomplished.” He turned back and ran a few more scans over the ruins of the city. There were still several hundred Cainites alive in various buildings, maybe as many as two thousand. Most of these seemed to have been injured even before his blast, and others ran about in a confused panic. There was little chance they would be able to get organized and make a contribution to the battle in the north. He turned his attentions back to his task at hand. He tapped his staff to the ground twice, and prepared to gather energy from it to summon forth the Automatons.

  To his chagrin, he received no response. It took the Staff of the Magi nearly two and a half years to recover from releasing its charges, and it had been little more than half that since his encounter with the Hell Knight. Using the final technique before it had achieved full incubation had caused the Staff to now fall into complete dormancy. Kinguin scratched his head and stared at the Crystal of Aeons. “I can’t believe it. I made an oversight. But I’m Kinguin Peet! I don’t make oversights!” He continued to stare forward blankly, his mind racing. He had to think of a solution to this problem. He had sworn to Kulara he could uphold his end of the plan without the Barki. If he failed and Felthespar fell, then Kinguin’s pride would be responsible for the destruction of his homeland. He could not allow such a possibility.

  Finally
he seized upon his idea. Wasting no time to deliberate the risks involved, he had the Staff release the Crystal of Aeons and let it fall into his hand. He gripped the amethyst crystal tightly, braced himself, and stabbed it into his abdomen. For a second there was nothing, other than a warm pain that spread throughout his nervous system as he hunched over. Doubts began to creep in, and for a moment he worried that the gem itself was truly inert.

  Then the crystal found a new source of magic—Kinguin’s own soul—and merged itself to it. He was instantly filled with a rush of power from Asteria. His eyes turned to twin pools of burning energy, a fiery aura arose from his body, and he slowly began to hover a few feet above the ground. He raised a finger and pointed in the direction of the Tunnels of Percephir, and instantly the Automatons there flared to life and began to form ranks. Once all fifteen hundred were lined up in one long row, Kinguin began floating north, and his hollow machines followed.

  * * * * *

  “Where are the reserves?” Stratas demanded as soon as he recognized his messenger.

  “There are no reserves, sir! There is no more New Cainis!” The poor man was shivering and kept casting glances over his shoulder.

  “What are you talking about? What happened?”

  “The city was destroyed! Destroyed by the devil himself! I saw him, floating in the air, eyes burning with fires from hell, an army of unnatural devils marching behind his back. He turned the city into a burning wasteland, slaying all of the men and women and now he’s coming here with his evil army to devour our souls!”

  Stratas knew this was some form of exaggeration, but he could not make enough sense of it to determine what had really happened. He was certain enough that reinforcements were not coming, and the Cainites could no longer return to their city. For the moment, that was information enough.

  He looked about for some way to drown his rage, and his eyes landed on Kulara Karfa. With a roar he charged through Knighthood and Cainite ranks alike, ramming into the General from behind and knocking him forward onto his face.