“What do you wish of me, my Lady?” asked Hatu finally. He found he couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. If he was going to die, then so be it.
“An agent of Chaos. Neither of evil or good alignment, as quaintly described by mortal and god alike. There’s no place for a Lord of Ruin in this world, Hatu. But there is a need for one to keep back the darkness and ensure that balance remains. Ruin and devastation will come in the wake of such an interesting struggle, and I find no one else better to do that task.”
“As you wish, my Lady,” replied Hatu, still keeping his head bowed. An enormous relief filled him, and he realized he didn’t want to die. Yet.
“Then here’s your bargain, Ruin. A mortal you shall remain, bereft of godly memory regained, armed with the blade you seek and the basics of magic. Knowledge of the darkness you shall have, and in the time ordained, seek out and drive the blight affecting these lands. The seeds of malignant evil have been planted; some have sprouted. Cut them down before they spread and corrupt the balance. Burn the field if you must. I will return in ten of this world’s years and render judgment on this reality. And you,” came the words to his mind. Strangely enough, they sounded amiable enough.
4
Choices
“The tribes here are gone,
dead or scattered to the eight winds.
But Pavel Maveth would be
their words for what you desire.”
Hatu digested carefully what he heard. He would remain a mortal, retain no memories of his past as a deity, some basic magic, and a broken sword. The man had no doubt the remaining shards were within the shrine. The Lady had not even said that it would be a reforged blade. All that with a tall order of pain and possible death ahead of him.
Walk this world as one truly mortal, he reflected somberly.
Not that he disliked being one, unlike many so-called greater beings. What held back the exile was that being human, even with a few magical spells at his command, was several rungs down the ladder of raw power. He had been long accustomed to wielding ruin and devastation at his fingertips, abetted by the occasional senseless destruction, and now that would be gone.
Right at a time when the exile believed he needed it. He didn’t doubt that he’d be meeting some vehemently violent objections from mortals and deities alike once he started on his new calling. Reflecting that he barely had learned how to be a human, Hatu figured he was good as dead. Yet he didn’t speak out what was on his mind. For the first time in his long existence, Hatu truly feared who was before him.
“I am yours to command, my Lady. That is if Lord Chaos has no objection,” replied Hatu softly.
That was another dangerous consideration that came to mind. Fate was a cosmic entity mighty beyond words, but so was Chaos. He understood that his Master had Order as its counterpart. But Fate? His memories as a dark deity told him the Lady had no such corresponding foil in his reality. The same must also be true in this world, assumed Hatu.
But despite having one of the truly powerful beings in all the dimensions before him, the man known as Ruin still had his loyalty to consider. Though he had not met his liege lord, Hatu knew his own nature. Of Chaos, he came, and to Chaos, his spirit would return when the anointed time arrived. Hopefully, that would be some time far in the future.
“Your loyalty does you credit,” said Lady Fate gently. “It becomes more impressive that, considering all that has happened, Chaos still has your allegiance. But fear not, in this matter, your Master has given his blessing and approval. I am, from now up to the end of your period of trial, your Master and Final Judge.”
Hatu bowed again. His gut knotted, and he wondered if his leg muscles were as weak with the worry the exile now felt worming its distressing way inside his being. He knew it was a human emotion, but even deities and other powerful beings were also subject to the same fear. Everybody feared unwelcome death.
“As your Will decides,” said the entity called Ruin. What else was there to say?
A long glowing sword suddenly appeared before him, the blade buried in the ground. Hatu instinctively knew it was the weapon he had been searching for, now magically made whole. The man saw no point in checking the shards in his possession; he knew they were gone.
“Something useful for a mortal, I guess. An ethereal blade bound to Ruin. But as with my gifts, a twist,” said the being. Hatu didn’t know if he merely imagined the faint laugh underlying the statement.
“A powerful blade. Formidable in the proper hands. Worldly deities it could send to the ether and shrieking Prime Demons to the emptiness that awaited them. Yet no man, of a proper soul, could it cleave. Nor any of innocent blood spilt,” continued Fate. “But it could change its form to any weapon your heart desired. Or the occasion demanded.”
“My utmost gratitude. A weapon fit for cleansing then,” remarked Hatu. Deity-killers were understandably rare and fearsome weapons, though the Lady’s variation made the blade before him unique.
“Quite apt. Go south. Find the tower of the battle-mage Encratas and he’ll teach you what you need to know,” said Fate. “A hermit with his own brand of idiosyncrasy. But my mark is on you, and those favored by me would see it. Whether they’ll aid or attack you is their choice. Even those favored by Fate have some human weaknesses, and my favor is easily lost and resented.”
“And my gnats, your Ladyship?” asked Hatu, gathering the courage to ask. A mark?
“I did say balance, not the rise of one over the other. Make your choice in such matters, Ruin, and choose your name,” remarked the entity. “Do remember that all your actions will matter in the final weighing of your spirit.”
Spirit, not soul, noted Hatu passively.
“The language of the people of this region is one I am not familiar with,” said the mortal. “The being called Hatu will soon be gone, a memory of the past, relegated to the time if and when I would be able to obtain justice for what was done to me.”
“You seek vengeance against Fate?” came the amused answer.
“Oh, no, your Ladyship. Only for betrayals and traitorous acts by those beasts back in my reality,” replied Hatu. In his mind, if there was a chance for vengeance, he’d gladly take it. “My exile could have been done by all my enemies combined, but for my trust and friendship to be basely betrayed, that I would never forgive.”
“We’ll see about that. Sometimes, friendship was never really there in the first place,” replied Fate idly. “Your name?”
“Death and destruction in the words of the people of this region,” said Hatu.
“The tribes here are gone, dead or scattered to the eight winds. But Pavel Maveth would be their words for what you desire.”
“Then Pavel Maveth, I shall be.”
A sudden amber glow erupted from the floor, forming a circle around Hatu, bathing him in its light. The prostrate mortal didn’t move or even raise his head. Fate was weaving her web, and Ruin knew there was nothing he could do about it.
Ruin could feel most of his powers being drained and a strange cloud descending on his mind. He could sense inquisitive tendrils racing through his memories and an unusual malaise attacking his body. The light increased in intensity and then, as abruptly as it emerged, disappeared.
***
A man found himself standing in a darkened cave, a longsword of a bluish hue held in his right hand. A strange fog clouded his memories. It was lifting, yet the clarity he so desired couldn’t come fast enough.
Who am I? He wondered. Did I hit my head on a stalactite in the darkness? What’s my name?
Suddenly, he remembered. Pavel Maveth, the last of the Order of the Iron Band.
I am Pavel Maveth, he mouthed his name silently. Then a thought came to him, and he stared at the peculiar weapon in his hand. I was searching for this blade.
Iron Band? Pavel quickly searched his memory. No, not the last. A mere journeyman warrior. An Azat, not even a Bohater, or a full squire of the Order. The circle of legendary heroes who had f
ought against the darkness was no more.
Pavel glanced at the sword which had been at the center of his quest. He now recalled its legend and its rumored abilities. Only, if a dangerous creature jumped out of the shadows, he would be helpless, unless his assailant was tainted by malevolent magic.
He’d have to use his armored gauntlets and punch his way out of trouble. A desperately stupid concept, but it was all he had at the moment. The warrior looked at his armored hands. The protective metal gear appeared undamaged, but he could feel an unnatural warmth on the inside of his right wrist.
The man removed the armored glove. A stylized tattoo met his gaze. It was clearly a shield, and it appeared to be lit by an inner yellowish fire. But it didn’t hurt, though he could sense an almost imperceptible throbbing. Pavel touched the symbol etched in his skin.
Memories came back swiftly. Of a duty undertaken and a judgment at the end of a fixed period. Of an identity created, certain knowledge, and a command to go visit a hermit battlemage. Command? thought the man. More like a compulsion. An unscratchable itch.
At the same time, Pavel could feel a segregated mass of knowledge within his mind, but it was locked away. Hidden behind an impenetrable mental door. Or doors. He was sure. It was an awful feeling – being helpless and ignorant at the same time. It left a disturbing void within him.
He gave the dimly lit hollow a final look, idly noting the mass of tumbled-down stones to his front. Something told him it was a small temple, but it had served its purpose. Sighing heavily, Pavel gripped the blade, using it to light his way more than as a weapon held at the ready. He turned and started walking out of the cavern.
Go. Struggle. Fight. Break the ranks of darkness, Pavel Maveth, a firm female voice sounded in his mind, startling the man. His memory, or to be more exact, what was allowed in his mind, told him who it was. He didn’t reply. If it was a blessing, then it was a ruinous one for a man as unprepared as he was.
***
The Greater Demon was waiting for him. Pavel remembered having bound the creature but was now unsure how he did it or what would happen now. At least he had the ethereal blade.
“Ah, a mortal. Yet I sense you are not my Master but also him in some strange way. This is confusing,” voiced the creature, its sepulchral voice echoing in the small clearing just beyond the mouth of the cave. “But my vow was to a version of you which now does not exist, so I hold my oath to be void and useless.”
Pavel smiled grimly and took a defensive stance with the sword in full view. A part of him did expect what was happening. Loopholes in binding oaths. The race of the blasted thing in front of him was quite fond of them.
“Then come, demon. Try to have your fill,” he taunted. Somehow, Pavel knew his confidence had basis.
The figure in front of him abruptly changed to a gigantic black shadow, that of a clawed, misty wall, highlighted by two large embers of red fire balefully looking down at Pavel. Small flashes of fire erupted from the fiery orbs, as sinuous coils of fog swirled around the man and the demon.
The massive form suddenly shifted back to a nebulous humanoid shape. It was the smoky figure of a young warrior, though details were hard to discern due to the shifting swirls of dark mist. It looked at Pavel, curiosity evident in its eyes.
“More a mortal, you have become, and with power greatly lessened. But I sense a mighty hand over you. A battle between us does not have a foregone conclusion, even with that hurtful blade in your hands. I believe my power now eclipses your own,” remarked the demon in a perplexed manner, its crimson, slitted eyes examining the mortal before him. “Your dark toy did suddenly collapse like a puppet with cut strings.”
Pavel just grinned and maintained his posture. Demons were not known for being predictable, with a few brainless exceptions. If the extradimensional entity had something to say, the best way to encourage such behavior was to keep silent.
But the human subtly adjusted his position to one with the hard rock of the cave behind him. Fighting the demon within the hollow, if ever it came to that, was a proposition he didn’t want. The unlit surroundings alone would give the creature an unfair and possibly decisive advantage. Pavel noticed the sun was coming up, and the dawn which accepted him back to the surface was leaving.
Then to his great surprise, the demon abruptly sat down on a stone that rose from the ground. The being stared at him with a thoughtful look in its hazy face. It wasn’t what Pavel expected, and he slightly lowered his blade, though he didn’t change his stance.
“I am a stranger to this reality, mortal. Drawn by some powerful, arcane means to this alien world. To guard a stupid box containing shards of an incomplete sword. As to why and by what means I was forcibly taken, I have no idea, but the stench of an agent of Order greeted me when I arrived,” the demon told Pavel. “I don’t like this reality. Not only because of the loss of most of my abilities and the warping of my own ambitions.”
“And what are those, if I may ask?” said Pavel. The exile intended to merely humor the demon but found that he was genuinely interested in the creature’s motivations.
“Power, of course. What else? More of it. All demons, in all the dimensions, want that to the exclusion of almost everything else. I am quite powerful, almost of a High rank among my kind. But this world does not grant me the opportunity and strength to fuel my craving or recover what I had lost. Nor do I want dominion in this reality. Its ways and workings are too strange for me, and it is not the time for me to conquer a world beyond my own,” replied the demon.
While the being was speaking, Pavel, absent most of Hatu’s memories, momentarily thought of asking the creature’s name but desisted. There was power in names, and he doubted if the demon would willingly offer it.
Then Pavel noticed that the demon’s attention had already shifted. The being was staring blindly at the hills surrounding the deserted campsite and was apparently lost in its thoughts. But the smoky figure continued to talk. The man suspected it was because of the extreme confusion besetting the demon. The sudden change in fortunes had resulted in an unaccustomed introspection on its part and talking was its way of clearing its mind.
What Pavel understood was the demon would like nothing more than to return to its world. Its counterparts in this reality were its enemies as far as the creature was concerned. Apparently, the rite which grabbed him could only have been done with the assistance of other demonic entities, and that by itself spoke volumes about the reception it could expect as a solitary entity.
“And I don’t want to be in the company of their ilk. I have no idea what their powers are, and given what happened, a diminished Greater Demon of my reality is obviously nothing to them. But subsuming my essence would definitely be on their list if ever they came across me,” said the creature resignedly.
“I wonder what that agent of Order would do once he or she realized you were free,” added Pavel. He was starting to enjoy the demon’s bout with self-doubt.
“True. And it was a she.”
It was an answer which again led to a period of quiet as the demon continued to think. Pavel could sympathize with the worries and concerns which now beset the creature. Bereft of an attachment to a powerful mortal or being, stranded on a different world, a dangerous and unknown road waiting before it, the demon clearly had few, if any, options left. It vaguely reminded Pavel of something, and the demon’s plight struck a concordant note within the mortal.
“I am again caught in a crossroad, one more dangerous than before. To wander this world alone would surely result in my demise. But to pledge my allegiance again to you, one so mortal and reduced in power, is a choice likewise fraught with great risks,” observed the entity dispassionately.
“Assuming, of course, that I accept your offer,” Pavel replied quickly. “A demon by my side is also a circumstance not without attendant danger. We could settle the issue of who survives right now, if you like. It would make matters simple for the loser.”
The demon laughed. Surprisi
ngly, it was the laughter of a human.
“Unfortunately, our kind are cowards at heart. We engage in battle only if we are sure of winning or there’s no other choice,” said the entity. “I admit the result of a fight with you isn’t exactly tilted in my favor.”
“What do you want? And do you have to give a name with which to call you? It is tiring thinking and talking to you as a nameless entity,” asked Pavel, still not relaxing his battle instincts.
“Names and humans? You are now clearly one of them. This compulsive trait of giving names to everything and everyone – so human. As if the act of naming bestowed ownership or power. Your kind does not change its nature across dimensions.”
“Really?” said the surprised Pavel. It was something of a revelation. Being mortal and a human strangely felt like a new experience for him. Though the comment added to the confusion in his mind. He knew he was human, yet something in him told him he was more than flesh made real. A memory emphasized that he was an agent of Fate and Chaos. Yet human. It was a muddled dichotomy that wasn’t helped by the demon’s indirect references.
Yet despite the mental turmoil, a familiar obstinate streak told him to stop over-thinking it and concentrate on surviving. As he turned his attention to the present, the demon’s continued dialogue caught his ear. It showed that the being had a more than passing familiarity with mortals.
“Naming mountains, for one, usually after the one who ostensibly discovered it. As if the act of granting a label gave ownership or dominance over the natural feature. Names given to children by their parents. Colorful names, all with meanings, and usually reflective of the qualities they wished the child would have. Wishful thinking,” came the explanation.
My Name is Ruin Page 4