Chapter 12: Aftermath
“What are you doing?! We were told to retrieve the demigod alive?”
The scarred man asked the question as he sized the arm of the Acolyte and shook them. The robe-wearing magic user had their gloved left hand shoved into the portal, but their right hand hung at their side gripping some sort of talisman so tightly that its metal edges had cut through the material of the glove and into their skin. Drops of blood were trickling over the artefact, then falling to the stone floor of the chamber. His shaking made the arm swing, and an arc of droplets painted a line across the floor, but the Acolyte did not shift from their place.
“We were too late; the only option is to kill him!”
Their voice sounded strained, but not in pain. The scarred man could see how his ally was pushing more magic through the portal, using it to support the golem, granting it strength and speed that it would have otherwise lacked. Despite himself, he was impressed. The massive construct was millennia old and created using magics that were long lost to the modern day. For his companion to be able to tune their mystic energies so that they could support the ancient creation was nothing short of genius.
“Our patron wants him alive! You can’t just kill him!”
The scarred man did not want to think about how their patron, their master in all but name, would react to them failing in such a way. This demigod represented an incredible opportunity. If it was just squandered . . .
“It’s already too late, the demigod has begun his Awakening, I can feel the energies beginning to converge upon him!”
No! He felt his stomach clench as their plans and expectations turned to ash before him.
Their orders had been to track the unawakened child of divinity and secure him before his powers could be awakened. If it was already too late for that then his companion’s actions made perfect sense. They had failed in their primary mission, so the best they could hope to achieve was to kill the demigod before he came into his full power and take his body back for their patron. It would be considerably less valuable than a vulnerable demigod that could be moulded into a faithful servant, but the corpse could yield several valuable properties that could be exploited.
Hopefully, that would be enough to buy their patron’s restraint, given that they had failed in their primary mission.
Through the portal, he could see the massive form of the golem marching towards the burnt body of the demigod. Despite its reflexes being fast for its bulk, its pace was slow, the result of the ground giving way beneath its enormous weight. As it closed upon their target the Acolyte barked another word, this time one not in any human tongue. In response, the few remaining demon host homunculi came scrambling back through the portal. One of them tried to slash at the fallen agent of heaven with its claws as it passed her, but her sword lashed out and sliced it in two before it was able to draw close. Downed though she might be she was still dangerous. He could see her struggling to her feet, but her legs were unsteady, and her wings dragged her down.
His eyes flicked from her to the golem, to the unconscious demigod, and then back to the golem. Yes, despite her valiant efforts it would make no difference. No matter how she pushed she wouldn’t be able to recover in time to be able to muster the force needed to save her charge. It wasn’t a matter of willpower or effort; it was a simple fact of structural capability. With her wings so damaged she couldn’t manipulate the elemental forces she controlled strongly enough to affect the golem in any useful way. It was like trying to quench a fire using a bucket without a bottom.
The huge construct was almost upon the burnt form when the scarred man saw it. He might not possess the raw power that his ally might have, but he had honed his ability to sense supernatural energies to heights that even their patron had acknowledged. As a result, he was able to sense the building of power just instants before it detonated. He had no idea how the divine energies within the prone figure could have gone from non-existent to critical mass so quickly, but somehow it had happened.
“GET DOWN!”
Even as he spoke the words his body slammed into the Acolyte in a tackle that took them off their feet and carried the pair of them a good distance before they crashed into the stone floor of the chamber. The impact took his ally by surprise and knocked the breath from their lungs, but they recovered fast enough to push against him.
“WHA-?”
Their shouted question was cut off as a massive roar sounded from the other side of the portal. It wasn’t loud in the way a normal explosion would be, rather it sounded as though someone had suddenly lit an enormous bonfire, and the burning wood was now roaring as its flames reached up to the sky. Of course, this was of less concern to them than the searing light that had just flashed across the area near the portal, the area where they had been standing.
One of the homunculi had been so close to the blast that there was nothing left of it other than a black smear upon the floor. The stone itself was glowing a faint red, and the scarred man could easily feel the sheer heat that now radiated from it.
“No! No no no no no . . .”
His ally muttered the word again and again as they waved their hand at the portal, causing it to swivel in place so that the two of them could see through it once more. For an instant the scarred man flinched, wondering if the acolyte had suddenly taken leave of their senses! The action was essentially turning the end of a gun to face them. Then he relaxed as he could sense no more building power from beyond the mouth of the gateway. Whatever had happened, it was over, so it would at least be safe to look.
The scene through the portal was one of total devastation. The entire area beyond the portal was a scorched wasteland; no hint of plant life was left aside from a few still burning remains. Even the very shape of the ground had been changed, a shallow depression having been blasted into the field. The site looked as if a bomb had gone off there, but that wasn’t what the acolyte was referring to. The cause of his ally’s obvious anguish was the golem, or rather what was left of it.
The massive figure still stood, which was a testament to the resources, skill and effort put into its original construction, but there was no way that it could still be considered functional. Most of the front to its head and chest, along with its hands and the majority of its forearms, were just gone, melted away leaving only molten stumps where they had been.
“It’s gone, the words are gone, it’s dead . . .”
In truth, the scarred man didn’t care, but if a possibility of hope would snap the robed figure out of their anger then he could at least make the effort.
“Perhaps it can be repaired?”
“No, the words that gave it life have been destroyed! There’s no way for me to recreate them, I haven’t the skill or the knowledge to even attempt it!
Well, what could he say to that? Not only was this a huge financial loss, it was also a loss of a powerful asset upon its first deployment. Looking back through the portal something else caught his eye, caught it and then held it fast. Before the remains of the golem, there was a figure lying on the ashen ground. He couldn’t see much in the way of details, not with them as covered in soot and ash as they were, but it was clear that skin that had been burnt and blackened was now healthy. Damn it!
“No! This . . . I won’t accept this! They do not get to simply walk away!”
The scarred mage was taken aback by the sheer venom in the acolyte’s words. There was something there that went beyond simple outrage. There was genuine hatred there. Before could even think of anything to say, the robed figure brought up both their hands, lines of bloodred energy following the movements of each finger. In the space of a couple of seconds, those gloved fingers danced and twisted, leaving trails of magical power behind them. The scarred mage could only watch in awe as the lines formed the outline of a basic mandala. In the next instant, more power flowed into the lines, snapping them into solidity, magic circles formed from raw magic ready and waiting to be used. Then the acolyte’s hands clenched, magic surged and the mandalas burst, power rippling out of them and flowing through the portal.
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“What did you just-”
The mage’s question was cut off as another figure moved into the view of the portal. Blonde hair and gleaming armour made it easy to see this was the agent of the heavens, still injured but noticeably better than before. Whatever had devastated the landscape hadn’t harmed her, and she was making her way past the broken form of the golem and towards the sprawled figure.
“Close it!”
There wasn’t any time for questions, he just snapped the demand with all the urgency he could. At his words the robed figure stiffened, more power gathering around them, but before they could speak he shook his head.
“Close it! The demigod has come into their power, and we do not have the forces to try to kill them. The maiden is healing and soon she’ll be able to sense the portal if we leave it there. Close it, this has been our failure, and that cannot be changed.”
There was clear frustration in the Acolyte’s posture, but in the end, their hooded head nodded and a gloved arm gestured. The portal shrank and closed, the magic that had powered it fading away into nothing. For a moment all voices were silent in the chamber, the only sound coming from the old oil lamps that provided illumination.
“What did you do?”
He asked the question carefully, not wanting to start a fight. That earlier flash of hatred . . . it had been unexpected, and the last thing he wanted was to have it directed at himself.
“A last stab at them,” Now the acolyte sounded almost dismissive. “I infused my will into a spell and sent it through the portal to meld with the ambient infernal energy left over from the destruction of my creations. I do not know how effective it will be, but I sent it to attack the agent and the demigod.”
The words left him stunned, all he could do was stare at the robed figure, trying to process what had been said. Then the question burst out of him, unstoppable as the eruption of a volcano.
“You imposed your will on hell-born energies?!”
That should have been impossible, the powers of hell, even the simple ambient energy of that plane of existence, were of a higher order than the raw mana of the mortal plane. It required a certain level of power to be able to command it, a level of power he was certain the robed figure before him did not possess.
“Not directly, I am far from that tier of power.” There was a pause as the acolyte seemed to assess him before they continued. “The hellish energies have been sitting in my creations for weeks though. Creations born of my power and steeped in my magic. Those energies have grown . . . used to my signature, enough so that I can impart very basic commands upon them, commands that shall quickly fade. Or at least, that is what I believe.”
The scarred mage stared at them, trying to fully grasp their words.
“You . . . you don’t know? You don’t know what will happen, but you did it anyway?”
That seemed beyond reckless. The powers of hell were not to be tampered with carelessly, it was a realm soaked in so much malevolence, suffering and despair that the very nature of it’s energies was inimical to other beings. Anything from that place, be it denizens, energies or just simple materials, was saturated with a will to hurt, corrupt and destroy.
“What does it matter? Those energies are hundreds of miles away and in the presence of an agent of Heaven. If they attack, then they might injure the demigod before they are neutralized by the agent. Should they escape then they are far away, unlikely to trouble me. They are unimportant. What matters is the result of our mission.”
The mage felt a pit form in his stomach as the grim knowledge he’d been trying to distract himself from settled into place.
“We failed.”
The two words echoed like tombstones falling into place, the scarred man making no effort to lighten their impact.
“Not completely.”
At a gesture from the robed figure one of the homunculi stepped forward and placed a strip of torn cloth into their gloved hand.
“This is from the demigod. We may not have been able to secure him, but gaining his blood is a victory in itself. With this, there are a myriad of options available to a skilled magic user, everything from curses to simple monitoring.”
That was true; he had to admit, however . . .
“Will it be enough?” Seeing the robed figure turn to face him once more he continued. “We were sent to capture a demigod, one that he could bind to his service. Do you think that he will be willing to just accept a bloodstained rag in place of the original prize?”
The acolyte slowly nodded in agreement. No, it was unlikely that their patron would be willing to accept such a failure. Worse, he was unlikely to forgive that failure. The god that had accepted them into his service was generous to his servants, but he was intolerant of anything less than perfect service. The acolyte had already lost the trail of the agent on heaven once, and that was all the failure that would be accepted. This intolerance was hardly a surprise when you took the origins of the deity they served into account. In his mythology mankind had been created to serve the gods, to perform the labour the gods wished to avoid so that the divinities would be free to live a life of leisure. To him, mortals were tools, and tools that failed in the task they were assigned to needed . . . replacement.
“We need more.” The scarred man stated, voicing the thought going through both their minds. “The blood is a good start, but if we want to buy our skins then we need more.”
“What? What could we get? What does he want?”
“It’ll have to be something powerful, something that can make up for the loss of a demigod servant.”
That was enough to give them pause. Demigods were powerful, even the weakest of the Legacies was able to instinctively do things that would take even a gifted mage years to learn under normal circumstances. This demigod had been no mere Legacy though, he was a direct child. All the signs that they and their patron had been able to divine had pointed towards him being one of the most gifted of the children of the gods that existed at this time. Acquiring anything on a par with him was . . . unlikely, to say the least.
“Is there no chance that we can still scoop him up?” The scarred agent asked. “He might have awoken, but he’s still new enough. If we can get him away from the Maiden then perhaps he could still be turned to our patron’s side?”
There was another pause as they both considered his words and then the Acolyte shook their head.
“No, under other circumstances I might consider trying it, but as things stand we lack the resources to achieve it. My forces are broken, and my most powerful piece has been lost. The Maiden may be weakened, but she will recover quickly, faster than I can. Even with the homunculi it would be unlikely we could overwhelm her, the golem was the queen piece that made this attack feasible.”
He frowned at that, his left hand tapping against his hip in a small nervous tick.
“Then we need something else. Might any of your contacts be able to find something of suitable value?”
The hood nodded slowly.
“The golem was the greatest piece that they have ever been able to acquire for me, but if I provide enough incentive then they may be able to step up their operations, find something else. What of you? Do you have any connections that could aid us in this?”
He paused for a moment, thinking over the contacts that he’d been able to make over the months since the sun turned black and those once legends had returned. There had been dealers, people who had seen the shifting of the tides and had figured out ways to profit from it. They sold artefacts off on the black market in ways similar to the people his host had dealings with but were more vicious and less discerning. They were tomb robbers, pirates, slave traders and the like. There were also others, those that were less interested in the monetary aspect and were more in it for the power and favour trading. A witch doctor coming into their power, an ambitious demigod in South America, a cult leader with a pair of Legacies serving him, even . . .
. . . Ah, yes. Her.
that could work, but it wouldn’t be easy, or cheap, and he wasn’t just talking about money. She was the sort to trade in blood and pieces of souls, favours that you couldn’t get out of no matter how much you might want to. Even so, there was no denying that she gave you what you paid for.
“I . . . might know someone, but she isn’t someone to deal with lightly.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s one of the myths, not a deity, but one of the mortals that ascended far enough into legend that she escaped mortality. Still, even gods are careful around her, so I think she might be able to help us. The problem is what she’ll ask us for in return.”
“If it’s money then I can cover it, but I doubt it’ll be that easy.”
The scarred man shook his head.
“No, we will need to be careful of what we ask for. She can provide a great deal, certainly something that he will find satisfactory, but she will ask for a price equal to what we want, and she will want something that will be in her best interests, not ours.”
As they spoke the two of them had left the bare stone chamber and climbed the stairs into the castle proper.
“Just who is this ‘she’ that we are talking about? Is she truly in a position to help us in this matter?”
He replied with three words, three words that made up the name of the immortal that had made him an offer in those chaotic days after the Black Sun. Back then he had decided to follow his current patron rather than become indebted to her, but she had left the offer open. Now that he thought about it, might she have known that a day would come when he would seek her out?
“Oh.”
On hearing that name his ally let out a single small exclamation, then sat down rather abruptly on the chair that had been right next to them. He felt a certain satisfaction at the reaction, finding it pleasant to see his normally inexpressive host finally show shock so clearly. Most of the time their heavy robes and obscuring spells made their body language as masked as their facial expressions. This though, this was too big for concealment, and it was the first time he’d ever seen the acolyte so taken aback.
Well, he supposed he could understand it, after all the name he had just dropped was not one that was easily dismissed. In many ways, the one he spoke of was more successful than many gods had been in the art of spreading chaos and ruin, and one didn’t enter into contact with such people lightly, not if one wanted to see the next sunrise.
Though at this point, did they really have much of a choice?