Casovan was ushered in by a blank-faced follower. He found the divine representations of mortals here disturbing; in fact, he found this whole place disturbing. When he moved in, there would be changes.
He had debated what guise he should take for this visit and settled on his old form. News from the mortal realm was that the brown-robed followers of the Prior had recently ransacked the Father's fortress-like temple in the mountains; the girl was truly a menace, but no doubt effective. It wouldn't be wise to project too much power to the Father anyway. Puregods were like house cats, getting their backs up and hissing at the slightest threat.
Three white thrones appeared on the grand expanse of the terrace. The Father sat straight-backed in the largest one, his hawkish features glaring at Casovan. The second chair was almost cloven in two, as if someone had taken an axe to it, and the third was significantly smaller and covered in familiar vines.
“Prior. Your ascent has been impressive, if ill-advised.”
“Casovan is the name I have known the longest; Prior is merely—"
“A mistake.”
“An opportunity,” Casovan corrected smoothly.
Casovan contemplated the white surroundings; now that he had so many followers, he had a better understanding of the divine and could see the workings of it. He fashioned a comfortable lounge chair for himself and reclined with a sigh.
The Father frowned as two of the followers approached Casovan and genuflected at his feet.
A image appeared in the air between them; it showed a secret place in the mortal world, lit by candles. A well-used torture rack leaned against the wall, surrounded by painful implements. On a small table in the center was an open case, and inside sat a white sword with a blade like living smoke.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Yes, I believe I do, an interesting relic.” Casovan extended his divine sense to feel for the sword or any mortal that might wield it. No god could touch the blade, but the Father’s champions could already be here. Sensing nothing, he relaxed slightly back into the chair.
“This sword was wielded by a Faelen assassin to cut my Brother out of existence. Then it was used on Cloda, Selentos and Davot. I tried to save each of them, but they wouldn’t listen to reason. Tell me, are you reasonable?”
“I have often been most fondly described as reasonable, the very voice of reason.”
“I will explain the choices before me. One, I could cut you out of existence and take over the church of the Prior.” A plain wooden stool appeared next to the thrones, landing with a wooden clatter. Say what you liked about the Father, but he already had a keen understanding of the Priory brand.
Casovan opened his mouth to speak, but the Father held up a hand for silence.
“This would involve a great deal of effort on my part, and I am currently troubled by the Faelen and their games with the fates.”
Casovan rolled his eyes. “A good job too; the last thing we want is for them to come back.”
“My second option is to let you continue to develop this new organization under my purview and that of my priests.”
Thus, the church of the Prior would be commanded by the priests of the Father. An appealing solution, Casovan himself wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Of course, the Father would crush the Priory over time until it dwindled to nothing and died, but in some ways, that solved the problem for Casovan.
Casovan told the Father as much and was rewarded by the stern mask cracking the slightest smile.
“Now onto the final matter. You and your cohort took a champion that was hidden from the fates. I see from your reaction that you know this, but I also know that it is not possible that you have anywhere near the capacity to have hidden him yourself. When he dies, you will discover who did this, and for what purpose.”
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“It wasn’t you? We always thought it was you, a little double agent play so to speak.”
The Father answered with his characteristic stern silence.
“Don’t worry about him. Konrad's a loose cannon; he never listens. I’ll cut him off first thing in the morning,” Casovan assured him.
“You will cut him off now.”
“Like now, now?”
“You will complete your ascension and join me; the loss of your champion will not trouble you as the Prior; you already have more power than you could have dreamed of; new champions will come.”
The silence from the Father was echoed by the divine servants, who all ceased their work and glared at Casovan, even the ones that he thought were his.
“I don’t like Konrad as such, but if I cut him off now, it could kill him. Imagine if he were rock climbing or something. A shock like that would send him to his death.”
As Casovan continued to gibber, he glanced down at the mortal plane. Over to the north, on top of the mountain that held his ancient power, he saw a tiny black dot appear.
“You are procrastinating, and I would know why.” The red glow of the Father's anger infected the shimmering white all around them, but Casovan just smiled.
“I really didn’t see this coming, honestly, but it appears that there was a third option. You have to hand it to the boy, it’s quite elegant, really.”
The Father’s gaze swept to the mortal plane, searching for his champions, only to find to his horror that the only one he had left stood on the edge of the abyss.
----------------------------------------
Konrad beat helplessly on the walls of his mind, but Lyran was in control. Her ancient power flowed in full force, and as the Fist of the Father aged before Konrad’s eyes, he felt Lyran grow weaker.
The terrible secret of Lyran’s power was laid bare. It was why she had stopped him from pushing its boundaries. Her power renewed, but in order for there to be renewal, there must also be death. It could heal, but part of the life of the subject was used in the process. The well Konrad tapped into when he pushed his powers to the limit wasn’t him using his own lifeforce, it was Lyran’s power draining his body.
The Fist of the Father had become ancient beyond belief, his skin tight on the bones of his gaunt face. The old man barely had the strength to raise his arm, and the noise that came from his throat was a dry wheeze.
“What did you do?” Konrad demanded.
“What you could not,” came the response, faint as the air stirred by a drifting leaf.
Konrad didn’t need to take back control of his body, Lyran simply faded away to nothing. Her ancient power remained, but it sat in a tangle in his mind, lost and forlorn.
“Lyran,” Konrad cried.
But there was no answer from the small god of healing; she had been devoured by the very power she drew from. From the beginning, she had been there to help him. He couldn’t think of a time she hadn’t answered his calls for aid, and her healing gifts and blessings had saved him and his friends' lives innumerable times.
“She’s gone,” he murmered, the words sounding hollow.
Spirit gave a mournful howl, and the sound shattered something deep inside Konrad, and tears fell freely into the snow.
The air was rent open, and Konrad stared into a dark void. Serena was the first to step out, followed by a woman with a face like a skeleton. Behind them both strode the archdeamon Persecus, and trailing him was the ancient witch Rhendra.
“Champion, I have come to collect your debt,” Persecus stated.
Konrad felt empty inside, and he looked to Serena, who gave a subtle nod. He still had a duty to finish what he started.
“What will happen to him?” Konrad croaked.
It was the witch who had accompanied Serena who spoke. “Him, nothing really; the abyssal plane is much like this one. When this is all over, he’ll be free to leave, depending on the deal he makes.”
“Do you accept?” Persecus asked.
“Yes,” Konrad said, ignoring the pained noise that came from the throat of the aged Fist of the Father. Let someone else condemn him; Konrad had given enough.
“A fine gift, so much so that I might find myself in your debt, champion,” The Archdeamon picked up the Fist of the Father tenderly in his arms like he would a small child and walked him into the abyssal realm.
Konrad’s mind felt numb, and he struggled to pull all of the parts of the plan together.
“Will it work, Serena?” Konrad asked.
“If he’s the only remaining champion linked to the Father, then Persecus will use the bond to drain power from the Father into the abyssal realm until there’s nothing left. It’s what Lot had planned for you and Casovan when we first came here. It was a good plan, Konrad, I’m proud of you.”
“Wait, where are you going?” Konrad asked. He wanted to tell her about Lyran, about her sacrifice, and how he had been wrong about her all along, but the words wouldn’t come.
Serena stood on the edge of the void, her normal composure marred by a sad smile. “I chose the bigger demon, and so I have debts to be repaid. When I’m done, I’ll return and seek you out, Champion of Small Gods; of that, you can be sure.”
The void closed with a sound like a sharp intake of breath, and Rolo helped Konrad to his feet.
“Did we do it? Did we win?” Rolo asked.
“That all depends on the others, Otto, Athir and Issie,” Konrad replied.
Nearby, Renau, who still held the disguise of the hook-handed champion of the Father, groaned and rolled over. “Will someone please tell me what on Parthanea just happened?”