“Ah, the hell with it,” snapped Pavel.
“You won’t find any argument from me, Master. We are already in one. A hell, I mean. The inhabitants of this place remind me of home,” grinned the demon.
***
They continued to the far end of the hollow when the demon pronounced himself able to proceed. A great gash in the wall indicated another entrance, again lit by the crimson illumination. Nothing attacked them as they walked across the cave, though Sheqer pointed out a large flat area in the middle of the space. A large circle was engraved on the floor, and markings showed it to be a ritual site of some kind.
“A summoning and binding ring. Quite complex, too,” observed the demon indifferently.
“Active?” asked Pavel.
For the moment, that was what interested the man. The Azat had no desire to go and inspect it. If it was inactive, he also feared that the proximity of chaos energy might activate it. With his luck, it probably would.
“No. Such complicated occult circles need preparation. But they are only utilized for powerful conjurations. I must admit it included several unfamiliar symbols, and that’s warning enough,” mused the demon.
“Forget it. We’re on a tight schedule,” replied Pavel, continuing to the waiting entrance.
The same kind of corridor greeted the pair once they entered the opening.
“How deep is this cursed temple?” blurted the Azat impatiently after several minutes of following the twisting passageways.
“It’s a large complex, Master. We’ve been passing secret doors. All to empty rooms, I am sorry to say. This entire warren must predate the Kingdom. I don’t sense any magic in its construction. Wise move,” reflected the demon.
“Huh? Why is that?”
“Creations of magic usually disappear when the source of its formation is destroyed or removed. Building a temple complex such as this by human hands or by the physical efforts of some other race ensures that it will continue to be around even when the original founders are dead,” answered Sheqer. “And we’re approaching another natural cave again. But fortunately, I don’t sense any High Demon. A lot of dark creatures, though. Bizarrely dormant.”
At those words, Pavel brought out the arcane weapon which was immediately transformed into a mace. Fighting in such limited confines made him favor the bludgeon. Yet personally, he preferred the smashing and crushing effect of the solid, spiked ball at the end of its handle. Somehow, it appealed to a vague hunger in his nature.
***
A large area met their eyes when they passed through the doorway. Pavel could see it was a cave but worked into the semblance of a room. Shelves had been formed out of the rock, and the ceiling was finished to a smooth surface. In the middle of the chamber were two openings that led to side rooms. The Azat could see the continuation of the passageway on the opposite side of the area.
The room was full of urns, row upon row, all arranged on the four shelves on each side. As they entered and walked to the middle of the chamber, Pavel could sense a terrible, black hunger suffusing the atmosphere of the place. It was a heavy, malignant feeling which gave the impression of a continuing void that demanded to be fed.
It was definitely malevolent and came from the numerous urns. When they reached the center, the Azat could see that the two adjoining chambers were also full of jars. He looked at the bard who was already shaking his head in disapproval. Pavel moved toward one of the containers, intending to examine its contents.
“Don’t,” whispered Sheqer.
The man looked back and asked why, albeit also in a low voice. The bard pointed to the corridor waiting for them, indicating that they proceed first to the passageway.
“What was that all about?” asked the Azat as the duo gazed back at the room.
“Masan and masani,” replied the demon quietly. “And there’s a lot of the blasted creatures.”
“I am afraid my education did not include them yet,” replied Pavel, his memory, or what he could presently recall, drawing a blank. There was other knowledge, though still sealed behind mental doors. “But their presence and numbers do raise a lot of questions. Dreadful and terrible ones. Tell me what I am missing.”
“This appears to be not a mere cult of deranged mortals. As to your lack of knowledge, I am not surprised. I don’t think they are found in this land. Probably somewhere else on this world, but they’re fairly common where I came from,” clarified the demon. “A form of bloodsucker. Vampires or vampyrs in one of your human tongues. But they’re called Masan or Masani. The first refers to the male form and the second term to the female one. Extremely dangerous to mortals.”
“Why is that?” said Pavel. Information about the different kinds of bloodsuckers ran through his mind. Still, they were all had human or nearly human shapes. The urns looked too small to contain bodies.
Sheqer explained that unlike the usual bloodsuckers, the masan and masani had no physical build that a vampire hunter could destroy. Unless one could find a way to dissolve to nothingness the ash of their mortal remains. The vile spirits maintained their connection to the world through such cinders. But the demon ventured that the tedious process of using a vat of ensorcelled acid would probably do the trick, but it was no guarantee. He hadn’t heard of anybody attempting it.
“That’s where they reside,” explained the bard, pointing to the jars. “The male would sometimes appear as a male child – damnably effective – unlike the female who adopts a partially human adult form. Same as with others of their kind, they prey on humans. But I’ve never seen so many gathered in one place.”
“Then we better leave them alone. For now,” replied Pavel gingerly. “Let’s not add to our problems.”
As the pair turned to continue down the corridor, the Azat suddenly felt the arrival of a powerful energy form, more malefic than they had sensed in the room they had left. It even surpassed the malign aura of the now-absorbed High Demon.
He immediately glanced back and saw a black shape in the middle of the chamber. It was turning into the form of a veiled, tall woman with large, slightly coiled horns. Both veil and dress were black, though they looked worse for wear, as if the apparel had been snatched from a long-dead grave. The man noticed that her bare feet didn’t touch the cold, stone floor.
Pavel could sense that the newcomer was smiling, and a feeling of amused malevolence emanated from the sinister figure. Unfortunately, she also held an urn in her hands. Looking at the duo standing in the corridor, she dropped the jar to the floor where it burst into pieces, scattering gray ash.
As soon as the dust was freed from the urn, a dark mist started to form above it. Then the woman pointed both hands to the shelves on the adjacent walls. The arranged containers began falling to the stone floor. The loud sound of breaking jars filled the room.
The demon quickly shook Pavel, freeing him from his shocked state of horrified stupefaction. The Azat had to admit his morbid fascination was caught by the casual display creating the source of their impending death. The dramatic way of manifesting their nightmares was perfect, some part of the man’s mind concluded.
Then the strange entity disappeared, leaving behind a room full of ghostly figures. A mass of vampiric predators all stared at them. Pavel didn’t know what was worse – the black misty figures filling the room or the sight of glowing, yet empty eye sockets staring their way.
“That bitch of a half-demon witch! Couldn’t she just settle for another High Demon?” cursed Sheqer with deep animosity, in a tone the Azat had never heard the bard use before.
20
A Mass of Death
“But really? A servant of Chaos
consorting with a demon?”
added Kriyamana,
clearly unable to restrain the comment.
“Long story,” replied Pavel.
“I don’t think we could run for our lives,” murmured Pavel, quickly putting away the mace and grabbing the arcane dagger. He swiftly transformed the eldritch weapon into two short sw
ords.
“It could be worse,” replied Sheqer with a shrug.
“What?” exclaimed the Azat. Facing a hungry mass of some species of vampire, he expected a solution, not a comparative comment.
“The rest of the servants are away. They could have been at our back, stopping any chance of retreating,” answered the demon.
“You just fucking challenged Fate!” called out the man. “You’ve got your feast out front. Go, eat your fill!”
“You’re a Fated. I don’t think it works that way. And I can’t consume those freaks. Tried once, made me suffer for several days. Their malign nature is of a different sort. Just doesn’t agree with my constitution. We have to fight it out,” replied Sheqer without enthusiasm.
Just my luck. A picky demon, thought the man crossly. Pavel asked the bard about the different nature of the creatures facing them as he was waiting for the inevitable rush. Strangely, the malevolent assembly had not made a move toward them. Yet. The man suspected the parasites must still be busy waking up more of their loathsome breed.
The demon answered that the masan and masani were animated by a different kind of demonic power. They were also associated with disease and sickness. Their visits to human settlements to feed also invariably resulted in a plague of some sort. It was a telltale indication which led the inhabitants to adopt the appropriate measures to destroy them, or at least drive the nightmarish beings away.
“So, there’s a means to drive them away?” asked the Azat, suddenly finding a ray of light in the threatening darkness.
Unfortunately, it was an elaborate ritual requiring esoteric ingredients and incantations which were also deadly to demons. Pavel cursed. He saw movement in the dark mass before them. He told his companion to get ready.
“I am afraid those bloodsuckers will have to be your concern. We have a dark mage at our backs, escorted by two huge wolves. Weres, I suspect,” replied the demon casually.
“Fate plays with a stacked deck full of horseshit, and you fucking jinxed us,” swore the man. It was becoming an abominable situation. They were trapped.
Sheqer laughed. Then the hungry mass of vampires suddenly rushed the Azat.
***
The first wave flowed into the small entrance and crowded into the limited space before the man. It was a simple matter for the man to cut off extremities trying to grab him and slice through misty bodies as they came nearer. It was a repulsive assembly of appendages and disgusting faces. The Azat focused on cutting off and slicing through whatever came within reach, forcing his mind not to dwell on the repugnant bodies to which such things were attached.
The ethereal weapon was enormously effective. Even the touch of its blade as it sheared off outstretched claws was sufficient to dissolve whatever supernatural bonds held a masan or masani together. Misty forms flashed as they turned back into ash and dropped into the floor, bereft of any threat.
Many of those who first came at Pavel had forms of warriors, though the man saw they looked more like ghouls clad in armor. But the disgusting light that served as their eyes shone brighter as they attacked, and the Azat could feel the creatures were trying to mesmerize him as they came within spitting distance.
His arms whirled in a flash of destruction, dispensing a final death to those who came within range. Pavel had adopted a modified figure-of-eight defense with his swords, creating a whirling, slicing, flickering arc in the air. Then he heard a thunderous blast at his rear.
A slight aftershock accompanied the explosion, but it wasn’t enough to knock him down. For a few seconds, the man did worry about the demon. Then the concern disappeared under a renewed onslaught. Meanwhile, he could hear the sound of a furious exchange of magical spells and the roar of terrible creatures he knew so well.
Catching a breather, he took the chance of inquiring after the demon, though he kept his eyes on the snarling mass outside the entrance. It was evident that they were preparing another rush at the waiting Azat.
At that point, a passing thought in the mind of the man took in the observation that the vampiric creatures didn’t stink. They carried with them the moldy smell of the grave, but none of the repellent stench that accompanied the presence of rotting flesh. Pavel was prepared for the latter, seeing that the horde looked like decaying revenants. Thankfully, his olfactory apprehension didn’t materialize.
“Holding up, Sheqer?” the man cried out.
“What do you think? He’s a dark mage. He knows all my tricks and has a pair of flea-bitten mutts with him!” shouted back Sheqer.
At the insulting description, loud growls filled the corridor, and Pavel distinctly heard the bodies of the beasts slamming against Sheqer’s magical barrier. The Azat himself had similar protection, but it had a simpler and much weaker magical matrix, just enough to prevent two or three swipes of those huge claws. Encratas had told him that his limited knowledge of the lore prevented more sophisticated conjurations from being cast.
“Can you hold off these bloodsuckers for a while? Thinking of switching opponents even for a few seconds. I might be able to do something about your opponents. I really need you to focus on helping me here. There’s a lot of them,” muttered Pavel when the two moved closer to each other.
“Why don’t you just blas…” began Sheqer.
“Quiet! You’re facing a mage. Do you think I want him to see that?” snapped the man.
“Right. Just say when. Just don’t lose your mind when I change my form against those bizarre monsters,” replied the demon. Some smugness had returned to the demon’s tone. Despite himself, Pavel was amused at Sheqer’s reference to the creatures as monsters. It was the last thing he expected from the bard as a way of describing their opponents.
The man could sense weariness in the bard’s voice. It was clear that his companion had not fully recovered from his injuries. Either that, or the chaos energy had affected Sheqer. Pavel merely took note of the observation. A dark mage and its pets awaited him.
“Now!” shouted the man. The two quickly changed places.
Pavel momentarily glimpsed Sheqer in the middle of his transformation. The demon was turning into a large, black beast, with a scaled body studded with numerous horns, and a wicked tail marked with spikes all throughout its length. Arms protruded from its entire mass, about six to eight, surmised the Azat. The hands had long, sharp, bony claws for fingers. Though the man believed even the limbs were made of bone.
The face was the strangest part of the transformation, even as Pavel merely caught the change at its midway point. The jaws were beginning to extend, pulling the rest of the face with it, the entire ensemble also surfaced with thick scales.
Three large horns had emerged from the demon’s head. It looked like a crocodile’s head but with more vicious fangs. The Azat wasn’t really struck by what he saw. If Sheqer adopted two heads, or coated his entire body with slime, then he might have been impressed. Not shocked but fascinated.
But as he turned, a magical lance intended for the demon slammed into him, piercing the barrier and the chest plate of his armor. It brought great pain, but the agony was bearable. Whatever that spell was, it was one meant for a demon, not a man. He immediately countered with a burst of his own. The spear of chaos energy flew unerringly toward the mage, pierced the protective barrier of the man, and opened a cup-sized cavity in the chest.
What happened next surprised Pavel. The energy he released quickly spread from the impacted area, enlarging the hole as it silently burned its way around the hole with a glowing black fire. The mage fell backward, his black hood dropping from a bald, emaciated, and almost chalk-white head. The only conclusion that the Azat could manage was that whatever evil or malign energy filled the mage was anathema to chaos.
The man was the first dark mage the man had met in his current iteration, and Pavel couldn’t help but realize that Sheqer knew what he said when he described mages as pallid mortals. But the demon was understating in making the unflattering description. The scrawny corpse de
served more colorful, unfavorable words.
The massive werewolf guards gave the dead man a cursory glance. They immediately went to the attack, leaping across the narrow space. Pavel panicked and attempted to fire off several bursts, while bringing up his swords to shield himself. He didn’t even consider his personal magical barrier as protection. The simple conjuration wouldn’t even survive the crash of one of the enormous beasts against it, much less a swipe of those massive claws.
What came out of the Azat was a cloud of power that completely filled the radius of the corridor and then swiftly moved forward. It covered a short distance, a few feet, before disappearing. But it was sufficient to engulf the pair of werewolves. The energy dissolved the beasts as it reached them and reduced what it touched into nothingness. Not even a horrified yelp escaped its victims.
Pavel turned to face the vampiric mass. The demon had already moved to a space beyond the entrance, and a swirling, confused melee met his eyes. The movement of Sheqer was probably to give himself space to strike as the form he adopted wouldn’t be useful in the narrow confines of the corridor. But it also exposed the demon to more attacks. Some of the vampires had crawled up the ceiling and were dropped on the now standing figure who was furiously slashing left and right with all its appendages.
It was glaringly apparent that Sheqer was going to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The man had observed that the attempts of their foes were now focused on grabbing the demon’s appendages. All it would take to kill the bard was a concentrated push to force him to fall. Then the weight of numbers would do the rest. The vampiric mass was clearly succeeding. Pavel could see that Sheqer was already desperately trying to keep his balance as he tried to keep the horde at bay.
The man prepared himself to join the murderous and whirling struggle. The use of the energy within him had again somehow increased his strength and agility. Pavel could feel it, and with its rise, a joyous and intoxicating rush flooded his mind at the prospect of battle. Grinning, he ran toward the chaotic mess of limbs, fangs, and claws.
My Name is Ruin Page 21