Approaching the great Temple complex the procession stops at a great staircase. Priestesses come and unhook the animals from their carts of riches and bones, taking them to a more gradual path up the hill curving off through a stone gate to fields of gold grain and orchards of endless bounty.
Entering the temple the Deadman shakes in fear, this is the heart of his greatest enemies inner sanctum. He marvels at the mighty marble columns, rising 30 meters to a ceiling of gold leaf, perfumed cedar beams and gleaming bronze plates illuminated by thousands of candles.
It reminded him of his old life, scented oil on the priestesses, incense and fine offerings of food. He remembers his own Great Temple that once stood in the great city, burned down twice and never rebuilt. He remembers the thousands of alters he put to the sword as well, trying to wipe out all the old cultures sacred spaces.
In another life he would had broken these pillars with machines of war, siege towers, catapults and put all the adherents to the sword, taken the artisans and priestesses as slaves to sacrifice on Solomon’s great tabernacle, pouring gouts of blood on the Arc of the Covenant, burning the bodies to the Heavens.
As if provoked by these profane thoughts the great female warriors of Artemis seize him suddenly. Breaking his legs and putting him in irons. The High Priestess of Ashtoreth, Hypatia. Coming down from behind the statue of Ashtoreth says, “I thought we had been rid of you once and for all, Hermes Trismegistus.” The Deadman is confused, are they addressing him?
The High Priestess continues, “A great enemy has been brought to us today. We shall feast and burn your bones to dust as you have done to thousands of our people.”
Stepping forward, Demeter says, “We have more pressing matters than him. A mortal soul that died bringing Ashtoreth’s hero Mercury The Black Knight, home. He lies before us. I have come to ask the Goddess to restore her to life.”
The High Priestess says, “We regretfully must decline. The power of Ashtoreth is diminished as her temples have fallen, our sacred groves burned. The spark of life cannot be pulled down from the Firmament with out something pulled from a being willing to give up its ghost in return. We also have our own fallen to return from the Spirit.”
Demeter smiles and says, “I have been considering this. Since this soul aided my journey to the underworld to rescue my daughter, that I could not have entered with out the company of a soul willing to risk death. I offer my own spirit to raise this mortal soul from the sleep of death.”
Persephone cries out, pleading. “No Mother, you cannot! You have existed from the birth of the Universe! You cannot trade eternal life for the wink of life in a mortal who will return to the earth after a mere century at most!” Demeter says, “I give up nothing, it is the honor and duty I hold to give this soul the chance to grow to womanhood, live a full life and become a wise follower of our dying cult.”
Hypatia, the High Priestess of Ashtoreth responds, “It is out of the question. Until we find a worthy soul to sacrifice their life to restore Mercury, we must focus on our own duty. And preserve these sacred precincts for the proliferation of Ashtoreth’s glory and preservation of teachings at the verge of obliteration.”
Demeter rising with eyes of fire strikes the High Priestess silent, instantly turned to crystal, encased in quartz. Demeter and Persephone embrace. Artemis comes in the Eastern portal framed by a great Rising star on the Horizon with Ophelia and Octavian just in time to see Demeter cry out hallowed words in a forgotten language and fall on her sword, plunging it into her upper belly under her ribs. Dorotea startled, opens her eyes. The High Priestess shatters free from the purple chrysalis preventing her from intervening.
A somber tone abounds the death of a Mother Goddess who watched the world form in her youth. Demeter, the old Goddess of easy childbirth, harvest, abundance. Restoring the health of dying infants and watching children in times of peril over deep and rushing waters now lies face down on the stone floor. Millenia of stories and a wealth of knowledge lost to history just as the suns last rays sweep through the Western Portal.
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Artemis, with eyes of jagged rage seizes The Deadman screaming, “A light has gone out in the world forever, and yet you still live. You craven swine. Burner of the innocent, ‘Hangman of the imposter god of Zion,’ ‘Witchhunter rapist of our sisters’, killer of our mothers. Why should you continue to exist while our most holy and righteous die in your place? Your only use to this world is to spill your spark of life into The Black Knight Mercury. ‘Hermes the Coward.’ You can’t even remember your crimes. Now you die for the resurgence of the Goddess cult.”
The Deadman doesn’t defend him self. There is no defense for slaughtering the innocent, breaking jaws of Holy Men, smiting pregnant stomachs of mothers, throwing children to wild beasts and smashing monuments into dust. He just wishes he could remember. These are all accusations leveled against a man with no memory, no soul and a body held together by rags and thread. It would indeed be a wise trade to die so that a Goddess such as Demeter, or a God such as Mercury could be reborn.
A sound of great stone dragging over stone fills the temple. The central temple effigy of Ashtoreth steps forward, a free flowing dress made of heavy Marble gives her a gravity like a mountain that walks. Her booming voice at the head of the temple speaks. “Am I to have no say in my own house?”
All the mortal Priestesses fall their knees. “I have an alternate offer. The dead and resurrected Hermes has no memory of his old lives, any of them. Before he was a tool of the evil Wizard Solomon, he was one of us. A noble and wise guider of spirits to the other side of eternity. He was killed and risen so many times, he is but a shade of his former self. A shadow in the netherworld. Now he is before us, not for judgement, but to be freed of the evil incantations that enslaved him and so many others to build the temple of horror in Jerusalem. The hordes of Zion, Devil God of the corrupt, seeker of vengeance and blood. His evil priests even now to seek slaughter this world in a sea of fire and misled hate. We do not require sacrifice like the puny gods of stone age death cults. We bring forth the spring sun and rain from the depths of winter. We bring healthy children forth from lands plagued by death and despair. These noble animals hold the key to restoring life. Will you living creatures sacrifice your selves to this mission?”
Dorotea now cries out. “No, you cannot ask that of these innocent animals. They have no voice to give their consent. They have no understanding of language to speak their fears and discontent.” Ashtoreth smiles, “Very wise indeed, young one. I can see why Demeter felt so strongly about you taking her mantle in the world of men. I have a solution, so that these beings can speak.”
Looking to Octavian and Ophelia, “Do you understand all that has been said?” Both answer in strange voices. Octavian speaks, “I will sacrifice my life, so that your hero Mercury can be reborn.” Dorotea dashes to him grasping his neck and kissing his face crying. “No.” in an anguished moan over and over. Ashtoreth smiles at Ophelia, “Do you also believe in this quest?” Ophelia speaks, “Although i do not want to die. I will abide to bring back the Goddess Demeter.”
Ashtoreth smiles, marble of her face cracking under pressure revealing a white aura beyond the stone within her Effigy. “No Ophelia, you will not die. I will bond your spirit to Demeter so if ever you are in fear or peril she will be with you.” Dorotea can only manage a sorrowful half smile.
Drawing a sword Artemis walks over to the noble beast Octavian. “Are you sure, o wise one? You would suffer death so that this immortal can rise again?” He is silent but steadfast. Artemis cradles the head of Dorotea and they both stroke the mane of Octavian, the most brave of all war horses. Artemis says, “Do you want to wield the killing blow?” Dorotea shakes her head. “I would rather sacrifice myself than see any harm to either of them.” Looking deep into Octavian’s eyes, Artemis pushes Dorotea back. Artemis retreats to the end of the temple where the Bones and Armor of Mercury The Black Knight lies at her feet and states. “If it is your wish to die Octavian, come and receive the the killing blow.”
Octavian races forward from the opposite side of the temple and Artemis recoils the sword back into a defensive stance, point rearing towards Octavian’s breast bone as he rushes forward seemingly ready to trample her. Sword plunging deep into the space between his lower neck and front legs, directly into his heart. In an instant he is gone. Transformed into flakes of gold leaf floating in the air. Wisps of gold waft down onto all present. Suddenly the Deadman Hermes cries out, “Wait!” In the moment of Octavian’s death all the knowledge of his life comes back. He knows the spirit rising from the Armor of The Black Knight is not is not Mercury, but that of the Giant King, behind the door he was nailed to. He remembers it was he who slew Solomon the Satanist, and he was killed by his own armies for it.
Evil Laughter fills the Temple. A reddish glow from within the Black Armor of Mercury glows. The profane wizard, the Dead-Giant King, Sorsos in the red cloak is born into the world again. The manifestation of horror and atrocity. The Evil Wizard who wrote incantations to call forth demons on this world, who filled great burning pits with the children of Canaan. The father of all that is corrupt and dishonest, now in the form of a great warrior.
The Deadman is reduced to ash. Behind a great plume of smoke rises Hermes, Wise and Benevolent Angel of Death. Hermes is clad in radiant gold and jewel encrusted armor. His skull face sparkling white, metallic gold wings stretch from his shoulders. A purity and white light shines from his healing aura.
As the glowing cracks in the Black Knight’s armor spew molten drops of steel on the floor of the temple, Mithras the mad child who slunk silently among the worshippers of Ashtoreth’s temple now begins stabbing women in the Temple, dashing down braziers into an inferno of fire.
Solomon, in the Armor of the Black Knight begins his own attack, smashing down pillars and carving through the faithful. In seconds it is over. Solomon and Mithras have fled into the Ether. In their wake Artemis and Dorotea both collapsed in the sneak attack. Persephone, out of breath and wiping blood from her brow looks defeated at the dead and dying priestesses of Ashtoreth, the Goddess statue broken in half, partially shattered after falling halfway down the stairs.
Hermes, now a great winged Skeletal figure of radiant light bares witness to the destruction, tears of blood run down his skull while he holds the rubies given to him when he was a frail corpse by Dorotea.