“Most glorious one, you must calm down!” The snake made of light sang a song of distress, while the grove exploded in a chorus of anguish and pain.
There was no end to the cacophony lead on by the wailing of the being at the centre. Its androgynous body shook and trembled, bending at impossible angles as it tore light from the hair decorating its head. The moonlight of its skin grew brighter and brighter with each tone, reflecting from the churning waters of the pond, blinding and hurting all who were misfortunate enough to witness it. Even in its anger, it was the embodiment of perfection.
Hundreds of spirits, lesser and greater, sought refuge at the lake’s shores. Despite their efforts, many of them dissolved back into the waters that birthed them. Only the oldest and most powerful amongst them could remember the perfect being react in such a violent manner.
Aeons ago, when the realm of power broke in three and the long dispute started, this being of perfection had raged for the first and last time at the audacity of its peers. In their infinite hubris and lust, the outcast had abused their powers becoming the root of evil. Yet, as unforgivable such an act was, this one had remained calm, because it understood that for there to be light, there had to be darkness. No, it was only when this one’s brother and eternal lover revealed its treachery, that the perfect being was consumed by anger. Letum Mors, forever be cursed his name, did the unthinkable. This malevolent demon opposed Ludwig, wounding him and killing Queen Elda, forcing the King of Spirits to split the realm. One for those who, like this perfect one, remained untainted and one for those who had turned to the darkness lingering in them. And one where the two sides could clash. A realm inhabited by all the creations of each side. It was unfortunate, but those poor short-lived creatures, stuck in the middle, had to suffer and endure if the realm of light was to remain free of the darkness.
However, in his boundless mercy, Ludwig granted them a mighty boon. One day, they would give birth to the Conduit – the mortal form which would house the reincarnated soul of Elda. She would grow stronger, blessed by both demon and spirt alike – a creature of lite and darkness – until the day she is strong enough to take possession of the Jagged Thorne and bring an end to the long dispute.
That hope was crushed, once the Conduit was killed before Elda’s soul could fully form. No one could tell when or if a new Conduit would form, not even the King himself.
The snake made of light remembered all this and understood the anger born of despair which had engulfed the perfect one. It was the oldest inhabitants of this place, almost as old as its mistress. And with the wisdom of the aeons, it sang once more. “Please, most glorious one, you must take hold of your emotions, less you harm those you hold dear!”
“My dearest, forgive me,” the being sobbed, its voice retaining only a shadow of its former beauty. “All of you, please forgive my outburst.” A single wave of the mistress of the grove was enough to give birth to a score of spirits from the now calm waters.
“My dearest, I hate ask this of you, but you must contact my children. They must find who is responsible for the Conduit’s death.” The image of perfection whipped her tears from her boundless eyes, each one becoming a small pearl on the tip of her finger. “Give these to Ansgar, Caden, Ellanher and Maeve. There is a minuscule portion of my power contained in each droplet, but it should be enough to increase their powers tenfold in that realm condemned to never hear the songs of creation.”
“It shall be done, most glorious one.” The snake slid closer to the perfect being. “I would never question your superior wisdom in such matters, but you know that the other side will use this to intervene.”
“It could already be too late,” the mistress of the grove gently caressed the snake made of light. “Ludwig’s chosen champion should have protected the Conduit at all cost, yet he failed. I worry that my actions are too late and the other side has already played its foul hand in this heinous act.”
The snake devoured the pearls and shone brighter, doing as the perfect one had commanded it. Any doubt it had was erased by that touch. The most glorious one had existed since the dawn of creation and was one of the few who had taken part in the long dispute directly and survived where so many had fallen. The chaos of that time could not be allowed to return, nor could darkness be allowed to fully taint the mortal realm. For that to happen, there was only one thing to be done and it pained the snake to act without permission, but the King of Spirits had to be informed of what had transpired. Once the pearls reached their destination, the creature slipped into the cool waters of the pond and swam towards the Crystal Throne.
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“Most cruel one, you must stay your hand!” The snake made of shadows hissed, avoiding the fires that spilt from every crack that crept on the cavern’s walls and floor.
There was no end to the discorded screams of suffering and torment born from the nightmares of the undisputed master of this place. Its twisted androgynous body shook and trembled, bending at impossible angles as it raged and screamed. The hatred of its flesh bubbled into infected boils, before bursting and releasing the nightmares trapped inside. Its bleached bones bleeding a constant stream of poised malice. The dark blood that flowed from the craters of its missing eyes inflicted unimaginable torture on all it touched.
Hundreds of demons, lesser and greater, sought refuge in the crevasses on the walls and atop titanic boulders, rending their flesh on the sharp edges as they climbed. Despite their efforts, many of them were consumed by the conflagration that had aborted them in the first place. Only the oldest and most powerful amongst them could remember the infernal lord react in such a violent manner.
Aeons ago, when the realm of power broke in three and the long war began, this being of unfathomed cruelty had raged and rebelled against the audacity of the one that named himself King. In his infinite greed and blindness, Ludwig promised punishment to the ones that dared explore the depths of their powers becoming the root of evil. Yet, as unforgivable such an act was, this one had lowered its head, because it understood that for there to be darkness, there had to be light. No, it was only when Letum Mors, forever be cursed his name, challenged the King of Spirits did the unthinkable happen. That malevolent demon opposed Ludwig, wounding him and killing his Queen – Elda. Its actions sparked the long war forcing the King of Spirits to split the realm. One for those who, like the infernal lord, were banished away from the light of creation and one for those who preferred to blindly follow their flawed leader into the entropy of eternal bliss. And one where the two sides could clash. A realm inhabited by all the creations of each side. It was inevitable that those cursed short-lived creatures, stuck in the middle, had to suffer and endure in the name of progress and free will.
However, in his boundless stupidity, Ludwig, forced upon them a mighty curse. One day, these fleeting creatures would give birth to the Conduit – the mortal form which would house the reincarnated soul of Elda. She would grow stronger, blessed by both demon and spirt alike – a creature of lite and darkness. However, Letum Mors had tainted that so-called boon, ensuring that once she is strong enough to take possession of the Jagged Thorne, she would have to submit to him and become his wife instead. A useful puppet to usurp the Crystal Throne bringing a bloody end to the long war. Despite his grand speeches that the infernal lords did not need a king, but a leader. Letum Mors desired nothing else but to rule all creation. After all, that cursed bastard had proven that he was strong enough not only to challenge Ludwig but best him. And the twisted logic of Letum Mors dictated that only those who were powerful enough to shrug any challenger could rule.
The other infernal lords did not sit idle, instead, they plotted and conspired to overthrow the self-proclaimed King of the infernal realm. All of their plans and machinations were crushed, once the Conduit was killed before Elda’s soul could fully form. And with Letum Mors locked in his chambers, refusing to speak to any of them, no one could tell when or if a new Conduit would appear.
The snake made of shadows remembered all this and understood the anger born of frustration which had engulfed the cruel one. It was the oldest inhabitants of this place, almost as old as its master. And with the wisdom and cunning of the aeons, it hissed once more. “I beg you, most cruel one, stay your hand and spare this one!”
“You dare tell me what to do!” The monster roared, its bestial voice extinguishing the fires for a moment. “Do not presume I will not erase you, worm!” Its mighty fist landed next to the snake, crushing a score of lesser demons that had sought refuge near the caretaker of the cavern.
“Hear me well rejects! Quit your hiding, before I dispose of you once and for all.” The infernal lord sliced its decaying flesh with one of its talon-like claws allowing a new nightmare to escape, but before it could manifest in its entirety, he ripped it apart, releasing the demons contained inside.
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“Remember that all of you are replaceable, even you, worm.” The monster leaned forward; its attention fixed at the snake. “I see all the contracts my minions have made and none of them are acceptable. So much weakness. But you have done well to keep track of all of them so that I could punish those who failed me.”
“I do as you instructed, most cruel one.” The snake slid back, squirming under the pressure of its master’s gaze.
“None of them are useful for my plans.” The monster grabbed a dozen demons and crushed them into one. “I name you Zaar! I bestow you with this gift.” The infernal lord reached into his throat and pulled out a tortured and battered soul.
Its cruel smile made the snake shiver in terror. “Margo, my most tasteful morsel. Oh, how I love to chew upon your tainted soul. Such ambition and lust for power. Such a cruel backstabbing whore, you will do nicely. Write down a contract, worm, and send Zaar and this tasteful treat to the mortal realm once done. They must find out who it was that killed the Conduit, no matter the cost.”
“I dare not question your command, most cruel one. But resurrecting one of the first witches… the other side will not keep a blind eye to this.” The snake hissed before it devoured the newly created demon and soul in a single bite.
“I care not for the likes of those blind fools!” The monster roared. “The Conduit was supposed to be protected by a trusted covenant, yet they have failed to locate her! Fifteen contracts have been violated and I expect you to deliver their souls to me, once your task of resurrecting Margo is finished!”
The snake made of shadow screamed as painful flames engulfed it. It had no other choice but obey its master’s command. Any seditious thought it had was erased by that torment it suffered because it knew that this was nothing compared to the punishment in store for those who provoked the full displeasure of an infernal lord. The most cruel one had existed since the dawn of creation and was one of the few who had taken part in the long war directly and survived where so many had fallen. The chaos of that time could not be allowed to return, nor could free will be allowed to be extinguished in the mortal realm. For that to happen, there was only one thing to be done and it scared the snake to act without permission, but Letum Mors had to be informed of what had transpired. That cursed bastard of a demon could not ignore this message. Once Zaar and the soul cradled in its deformed hands reached their destination, the snake slipped deeper into the searing flames and slid towards the Jagged Throne.
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The tomb was old. Hidden in the depths of the Wilds in the region known as the Yney. A thick dark forest with twisting paths that trapped all who were foolish enough to dare traverse them. They all became food for the beasts and monsters who inhabited this place that had not felt the sun’s touch, since the first mighty tree had spread its crown.
Eternal night was a fitting surrounding for the final resting place of one of the first great witches and founder of the oldest covenants in existence. The Raven’s Wing was more than an old bloodline. Many of the ancient houses could trace their lineage to it. However, only few dared make the pilgrimage to the tomb for the vigil held on the night of the green moon. Over the centuries a large basilica was erected around the burial vault containing the sacred remains of the old witch.
Those that survived the journey, would be challenged by a pack of its immortal guardians. Ancient werewolves cursed to never shed their bestial forms, they would devour the unworthy and use their blood to the caretakers to be used in the consecrating rituals. The ones that were allowed to continue would pass through the small graveyard leading to the basilica’s entrance. Here were buried the select few witches and warlocks who had earned the right to share the same sacred soil as the founder of the Raven’s Wing. Many dreamed of receiving such an honour, but not had managed it in the last fifty years. An unusual occurrence. Every tombstone testified to the fact that one worthy soul was buried in this place every decade.
This only proved how damaging the conflict between the covenants was. In their struggle to expand their numbers, they had forsaken the quality of the witches they accepted for quantity and superior numbers. Amberly might be a new initiate with a pitiful contract, but she had seen in the ranks of her own house of the Black Feather. They were one of the ancient bloodlines and considered their duty to send a sacrifice and a vigil witness each decade.
Out of the five witches and the dozen enthralled guards they sent, only she and the ten-year-old boy had survived the journey. Her sisters were too weak and had fallen victim one by one to the dangerous path. Old and supposedly powerful witches, they had lost their way and life in the first three days of the ten-day trek to the basilica. To make matters worse, the werewolves had found the sacrifice wanting and ripped the boy to pieces. A sign that the situation inside the Black Feather was worse than Amberly imagined. And judging by the Raven’s Wing caretakers, this was not the first time her covenant was found wanting. However, it seemed it was the first time at least one of those send would actually attend the vigil in three decades.
It was not a common practice, but leaving a covenant was an option and Amberly was going to take advantage of it. If anything, her kind was a practical bunch. Sure, there will be bad blood for a few years between her and the Black Feather, perhaps some curses and hexes she would have to deal with, but overall, nothing major. Yes, this was something the young witch could deal with. Her mind made up, she stepped over the threshold of the basilica with the intent to use the few hours before the start of the rituals to find a better covenant. Preferably one with less internal struggles for power and a sane matron.
The interior of the two-storey tall building was far less morbid than Amberly had imagined. Polished benches, swept floors and cushioned meditation circles with plenty of opiates and smokable drugs to keep several covenants in a permanent trans for a year. All enveloped in the right amount of gloom by dozens of enchanted candles. This place could rival the interior of any den she had visited over the last five years during her preparations as an initiate.
The young witch’s breath caught in her throat when her eyes stopped on the grand altar at the far end. A single large block of rough yellowish limestone. It had to be at least three meters wide and a meter tall, covered by centuries of spilt blood. At its base were placed five polished skulls, each one bearing the mark of one of the great infernal lords.
“Sarthal Lok, master of anger, devourer of emotions. Kai Nem, mistress of cunning plots, lover of betrayal. Mertahl Lux, master of hatred, bringer of violence. Xal Ata, master of torment, harbinger of pleasure. Asmodai Val, master of torment, father of nightmares.” Amberly recited as she was taught while making twenty-five steps to reach the alter, stopping exactly five away from it. “I accept the cursed gifts you offer.” She finished as she dropped to one knee in a flowless single motion.
As the ritual demanded, the young witch placed a single silver coin, stained by a droplet of infant’s blood, at the piles gather at each skull, making sure, hers was not the sixth to stand atop.
“You have been taught well, child. You may stand and join your sisters, for we are one family, a single covenant in this place.” One of the hooded attendants spoke.
Careful not to look at the faces of the two women observing the ritual of supplication, Amberly rose to her feet. While doing so, her keen eyes noticed the faded outline of a skull at the centre of the limestone block’s side. It was almost unrecognisable, but there it was, just above the five. This was a curious detail, however, questions in this place tended to shorten one’s life. After all, it was not curiosity that killed the cat, but its inability to disguise it.
The young witch stopped her gaze on the glass coffin embedded inside the alter. Inside it were the mummified remains of the founder of the Raven’s Wing, ready to receive the blood of the offered sacrifices, which would lessen her torment in the infernal realm for the upcoming decade. It was also a grim reminder that sooner or later even the greatest among them violated their contracts. If she was careful, Amberly could hope to retain her power and youth for a century before paying the final price and resigning her soul to the demon or demons she would have contracted by the time the end came. Forcing her mind away from such unhappy thoughts, the witch turned around with the intent to build new friendships and alliances.
She had made it halfway to one of the meditation circles, when a blistering wind blew through the basilica, consuming the flames of the enchanted candles. Startled the girl jumped, just to see the shadows rush towards the ceiling. Within seconds they formed a gigantic serpent with burning eyes. Spines and writhing figures danced on its body, barely contained within the large space. No one dared move and unnatural silence enveloped this sacred place. For a greater demon like this one to manifest on its own, without the need for sacrificing a small town, something fundamental had to have happened.
“Daughters of the Blackened Heart. You have violated your contract!” The creature said with finality that sunk like cold teeth in Amberly’s soul.
As one, all five members of the named covenant, the witch had marked as potential targets for her plans, were consumed by the serpent. Their screams send shivers down the spine of everyone who heard them. Not only their souls, but their bodies were dragged into the infernal realm. Whatever torture awaited them, would pale in comparison to what Amberly would receive once her time came. This she understood on a primal level and it scared her the most.
“Listen, you cursed wretches! The infernal lord Asmodai Val, in his endless cruelty, offers freedom of torment and the embrace of oblivion when you violate your contract. This great boon will be bestowed to the one who finds the killer of the aspiring witch Helen, who died on this day near the mortal town of Esthergrad.” Amberly rocked her mind, trying to comprehend the serpent’s poisoned words.
There was a lot the demon was hiding. The masters of the infernal realm did not offer such gifts for a failure that could not survive until she could sign her first contract. Whatever the true reason was, would probably remain a mystery, but one thing was certain there would be a lot of danger involved. The kind that had one of the five great lords worried. However, it was an offer that could not be ignored. Salvation and escape were the end goal of every witch and Amberly would be an idiot to turn a blind eye when it was practically forced in her hands.
The demon twisted and bit its body, its tainted blood dropping on the glass coffin. “All of you are found wanting for such a task. The most cruel one has decided that this wretch should be granted new life, to guide and prepare you, while she competes for the same prize!”
“Arise, Margo the Raven.” In a cacophony of screams, the glass coffin shattered and the body inside wailed in anguish as it was given new life.