Appreciate the wait. Ended up needing to pretty much write an entire other chapter between what I wrote yesterday and today. Felt too rushed. Hope you like it!
“We stay together,” Marcela said to her party. “Whatever happens, no one gets separated.”
She looked across the faces of her friends. Teff and Len had been with her for years, and they were as much her family as her own mother and father. Tamsin and Faelor less so, but they were companions she could trust with her life. And then there was their newest addition, Varris, who had quickly proven himself to be powerful, skilled, and a fast friend.
Each of them had resolve in their eyes.
They were ready, or as ready as anyone could be for this.
Marcela turned back toward the gateway. It stood open before them atop the obsidian rift maker. They had travelled far to find their way here, and finally, they had reached the end.
Beyond the rift, light spilled out. At the front of her formation stood General Korteg.
Encased in black armour from head to toe, he was less a man and more a force. The greatsword on his back seemed almost secondary to the presence that radiated from him. The aura of Byzantius thundered outward in waves, invisible yet undeniable. It rolled through the ranks like war drums, steady and relentless.
Marcela felt it in her bones.
Her pulse matched it.
Her soul throbbed with it.
Behind him stood the first battalion, led by her father—twenty parties strong. A hundred Chosen, gathered for a singular purpose.
They were the vanguard, tasked with securing the other side of the rift and holding back whatever foe they might meet. From the journey here so far, demons were expected. They’d managed to capture a few of them and learned that the warlocks were ahead of them too.
“Forward brothers and sisters!” General Korteg roared, fist pumping the air. “By the will of the Pantheon, we march! Let our faith be our shield, our blades their judgement! Today, we march on Heaven itself, and the gods will stand with us!”
A cheer sounded through the Chosen. It echoed in the army at their rear. Excitement and adrenaline simmered through Marcela’s blood, but she didn’t lose her calm. She felt the flow of Sumi in here. Calmness, serenity, and the inevitable power of the ocean were with her.
Dragons roared to her right in answer, even louder than the rest of them—the Dragon Riders of Drakalyn with Yunillia at their head. They had been sent by Owalyn herself to assist them in their march on Heaven. Why a foreign god would help them, Marcela didn’t know, nor how King Gregory had convinced the Pantheon to accept, but she didn’t care. They were up against monsters—they could do with some dragons on their side.
The battalion moved as one, General Korteg at the front, his retinue at his side. They advanced with their auras blazing. Power like Marcela had never seen before, not even in the Infernal Halls. This was the full might Alveron could spare: an army of Chosen marching against warlocks and demons, driving forward to the aid of their gods.
Marcela’s turn came soon enough.
The gateway yawned before them, a great tear in the world, its surface rippling with shadow and fractured light. She drew a steady breath, then stepped through. The sensation was like passing through cool silk. The world changed.
Noise crashed over her first—chaos, shouting, the roar of magic. Essence flooded the air, thick and volatile. Battle had already begun.
They stood atop a tower connected to a large wall. Along the walls beyond, Chosen clashed with warlocks and demons in a frenzy of steel and spell. But Korteg and his vanguard had already broken through the meagre defences, carving out space for the battalion to follow.
Marcela didn’t hesitate.
She moved forward onto the wall, blade already in hand. There, she took a moment to take in the sight. It was no Heaven as she expected, but an entire world turned into a fortress.
Beyond, the sky was alive with violence. Spells tore through it in blazing arcs, raining fire down upon the fortress city below. They collided midair in bursts of light that flashed and stuttered across the battlefield.
Above them, a rift split the sky. Demons poured through it.
But that was not all. More demons spilled forth from another point, emerging from between two of the inner walls, stone had collapsed inward, reduced to rubble beneath something vast and growing. From the ruin rose a Tree of Damnation, its trunk thick as a tower, its bark dark and pulsing with sinister red essence. Its roots had torn the fortress apart to make space for itself, and at its centre, a great hollow at its centre where the dark rift flickered.
Demons waited around it, standing on guard. At first, Marcela didn’t know what for, and then she saw it.
A shadow beyond the rift. Something was coming through.
At first, it was only movement within the dark. A shifting mass, too large to make sense of.
A limb.
A leg pushed through the opening. Colossal, impossibly thick, its surface like aged stone and flesh fused into one. It forced its way into the world with dreadful inevitability, each inch of movement cracking the air with the strain of its passage.
When it struck the ground, the fortress shook. Marcela felt it through her boots, a deep, bone-rattling tremor that rippled outward across the walls.
The name surfaced in her mind unbidden, heavy with dread.
They had held him back before, trapped him beyond the veil. But not this time. The ancient being drew more of itself into the world, rising with slow and terrible force.
Baelkor, the first servant of Uvdar, was free.
***
For the moment, Karlac was forgotten.
Hump stood frozen, staring up at the figure seated upon the upper tier. Loften seemed different from before. There was a weight to him now that had been lacking—a suffocating pressure that pushed against Hump’s senses.
His gaze dropped to the amulet of Anwen in the god’s hand. Light burned within it. Golden rays spread out in all directions, piercing to his Spirit Sight. It seemed that not only had Loften found her spark, but he’d also found a way to store it in her amulet.
“Those are…” Dylan’s voice faltered. He stepped closer, his hand tight around his quarterstaff. “Those are the gods. All this time our prayers have gone unanswered… this is why. It is to these empty thrones that we pray.”
Bud was white as a sheet, still on his knees. He shook his head. “We must be missing something. They cannot be the gods. The gods can’t be dead.”
Hump forced himself to look again. Thrones rose all around them, each one imbued with divinity. Each one containing the husk of those that were once gods. Withered flesh tight against bone. Crowns unmoved. Weapons at their sides. Only the faint glow of essence leaking from what remained. He couldn’t guess at what had killed them, but it must have been sudden for them all to be seated like this.
What do I do now? Hump thought, as Nishari nuzzled his side, whimpering gently.
“It can’t be,” Bud continued, shifting forward on his knees a few places, his gaze fixed on the eight corpses on the thrones at the front.
Kelisia was amongst them.
The Frostfire Witch wore an icy blue robe in her death that hadn’t deteriorated. A crown of ice sat upon her skull, toppled forward slightly. The gemstones embedded in it flickered with Frostfire.
It was easy to pick out who the thrones belonged to. Lady Light’s was of radiant gold. Imirai’s, in contrast, was silver, shining like the moon. And then there was Kelisia’s, forged out of a blue metal that possessed a shine beyond even that of silver, with velvet cushions that looked like ice. Ordana’s was crafted from wood, with a jewelled sun of essence stones at its crest, and leaves growing like a halo around it. Seres’ depicted storms, Sumi great waves, Byzantius’ was forged from swords, spears, and other weapons, while Vesta’s depicted the twelve realms, Loften’s was covered in runes.
And then there were life and death—Emirai and Rathlar. Each positioned either side of Lady Light and Imirai, life on the sight of light, and death on that of the moon. An ethereal aura of cool green radiated from one, while the other brimmed with the nourishing essence of life.
All but four possessed the corpses of what Hump could only assume were gods. Lady Light, Vesta, and of course, Loften’s, were empty. Loften himself was seated in the upper tiers in a throne Hump could only guess belonged to his deceased wife, Anwen, whose corpse Hump had seen in the Remnant Realm. Then there was Osidium’s, which lay in a shattered heap of stone.
Observing with Spirit Sight, Hump realised that every one of them lacked the divinity of the others.
That’s what has changed, Hump realised. That’s why Loften seemed different.
Looking at him again, he realised that it was no longer Loften the mortal before them, but Loften the god.
Loften had said his Divine Spark was stolen from him. It must have been brought here too, and now it was reclaimed.
“Lady Kelisia…” Bud whispered like a prayer.
He waited. Only silence answered.
His shoulders trembled, head bowing. “Lady Kelisia?”
Nothing. The cry that left his was the desperate wail of one that had lost everything.
“They’re gone,” Emilia whispered.
“No,” Bud said sharply, lifting his head. “No! I’ve heard her. I’ve felt her. She’s there.”
“An echo,” Loften said. The word cut through the chamber.
All heads snapped toward the god. He hadn’t moved, yet his aura changed, bent with grief. His gaze drifted briefly over them, distant and unfocused, until it returned once more to the amulet dangling from a chain in his hand.
“Do not look so surprised,” he said quietly. “It has been a long time since the Pantheon was present on your world. The very fact that the Twelve Seals were destroyed is proof.”
“What of Krioc?” Dylan asked. “Is she here too? I do not believe it, for her blessing was given in person.”
“It seems Krioc avoided this fate,” Loften said.
“Did you know?” Bud demanded, charging to his feet, grief overtaking by anger. “When you travelled with us—did you know?”
Loften didn’t answer at first. His thumb brushed over the amulet’s surface. The golden light within it pulsed, faint but steady.
“I suspected,” he said at last. “The fact I could leave my prison unmolested was surprising. That Light would turn on them so completely—well, I wish I could say I’m surprised. She must have been desperate to hold the old gods back without my artifice to enhance our power.”
“She betrayed them all,” Emilia said.
“Three of them,” Loften corrected. “Light, Osidium, and Vesta. It is far from her first betrayal. You saw what happened to me and Anwen.”
“The Wandering Wizard,” Hump said.
“Yes,” Loften said. “The old gods were too powerful for us to face, and he would not aid us. She led us to take his knowledge. That is all a Divine Spark is—an interpretation of the Will of the World, and a relationship with it. An understanding bound to your soul.”
“You... you knew. That the gods were dead. That Kelisia was dead. The whole time we were with you... helping you...” Bud shook himself from a disbelieving stupor. “And you said nothing?”
Loften’s head tilted. For the first time, his focus sharpened. His aura changed again, his own anger rising. “It is not my duty to comfort you. And don’t pretend aiding me was altruism. None of you are one of mine and you gained much from me in the escape as well.. You have lost nothing.”
Bud’s jaw clenched. “Nothing? My life was for Kelisia!”
Loften stepped down from the throne, and the very air shuddered. He seemed somehow greater than before—larger, and more powerful. Even surrounded by dead gods, Hump found himself unable to look away.
“My beloved wife was slaughtered. Her spark torn from her.” His hand tightened around the amulet, the light flaring. “This is all that remains. That is loss! All you had was a bond with a ghost.” He jabbed a finger toward the thrones. “Well, there it is! Attempt to claim it for yourself if you so wish. You can die in her loving embrace.”
Wings erupted from Bud’s back. His sword was out in an instant with the hiss of steel. Frostfire danced in his eyes.
“Stop it, Bud,” Emilia said, placing herself between him and Loften. “He’s not our enemy.”
“He dares to belittle this!”
“He is hurting too,” Emilia said softly. “We all are.”
Bud let out an animal snarl and threw his sword aside. He slammed his arms down at the air and roared, wings blazing even brighter before he finally drew them back in. Emilia took him into a hug as he sobbed.
“I only wanted to speak with her,” Bud cried. “I only wanted answers.”
“You have your answer,” Dylan said. “It was not that she ignored you. She was dead.”
“But my path. All my ideals. Everything I lived my life by was for her.”
“It was for you,” Hump said. “We’ve said this before. And we don’t have time to dwell on our own emotions. As we speak, warlocks, demons, and quite possibly our own people descend on the last jump of the Path to Heaven. And Karlac is still here.”
“You’re right,” Emilia said.
“I’ve been on the lookout,” Celaine said. “I’ve heard nothing. Seen nothing.”
“We followed a demon here, Loften. A devil named Karlac. Have you seen him?”
“No,” Loften said. “I’m not familiar with this demon, nor do I care. Osidium is not here so I will be leaving.”
“Did you not hear us?” Dylan said. “Warlocks have come to release the old gods. You must help us stop them!”
“I will do no such thing. My responsibilities were dissolved when they locked me away, a convenient tool for when I might be more ‘malleable’ some day.” Loften snorted. “And look around at their ‘Heaven’. All those divinities, lying around like so many broken toys.”
“What’s to stop us from claiming a spark now?” Hump asked.
“You can try,” Loften said. “But people far more powerful than you have died at the attempt. Perhaps the spark of a lesser god would not kill you, but their understanding was weak. They did not grasp what we did. It is only with your own understanding that you can comprehend a spark, otherwise the power will kill you.”
“Are there no words that can convince you to help?” Emilia asked, even as Loften began to stride toward the door to the great hall.
“There is nothing left here for me,” Loften said. “Look at this place. This is what is left of the Pantheon. Already it is crumbling to dust. Essence is breaking down; intent is fading and with it the restrictions placed on the old gods fall too. There is no repairing it now. Given time they will be free. And they might as well be. They could do no worse.”
“Are you not seeing what is before your eyes?” Bud yelled at them. “Look around you. None of this matters. The gods are dead.”
“Only some of them,” Loften said. “And not the ones that should be.” He paused in the doorway. “You would be wise to leave this place before it is too late. Already Baelkor has descended upon the fragment outside.”
With that, they watched Loften go.
Once more abandoned by the god. They looked to each other, then to the thrones that surrounded them. The vast chamber seemed to close around them, the light feeling dimmer without his presence. The shadows seemed to pool between pillars and beneath the tiers of thrones, stretching longer and darker. Yet the divinity upon each throne pierced through it.
Hump felt his own temptation at such pure essence all around him, and in an instant, he knew why Karlac had led them here.
There was only one thing the devil could want. One thing above all else.
Power.
The power of a god.