A day had passed since the incident in the ballroom and the ritual of bonding. His left knee bent on the cold stone floor of the vast throne room, Prometheus waited, flanked by an enormous undead knight. The knight was draped in black armor and bore a large shield strapped across his back. Even while he knelt, his three-meter stature cast a mighty shadow over the rest of those present.
To his other side stood a smaller undead, no taller than the black ghoul himself. This creature wore a rusty armor as if it was a treasure, and carried two curved swords at his waist that scraped the stone-tiled floor and produced a ringing sound each time. The swords were matched with two antlers, which were the color of the earth, and spouted from each side of the likewise reddish-brown helmet.
Ezra had introduced the two undead warriors as Caine and Erafros, both being two of the three generals of Gared's legion, while the vampire was the third and final one.
"My generals, and trainee." Gared the abominable said as he down upon them from his throne. "Report."
Ezra immediately began, followed by the one bearing antlers, Erafros.
They talked about the war with the elves in Aldruan forest, their standstill with the mountain races and the hunting of wyrms up north for mana cores. All these topics were completely foreign to the Black Ghoul; he could only store them away in his mind for later. There was even talk of mana crystals, a greedy king, and someone having a certain merchant around a certain little finger, but without context it made little to no sense.
"Ah, and now that the pleasantries are out of the way." Gared the abominable tugged on his beard as he spoke, his alert gaze focused on the black ghoul. "You must be wondering why you were so close to kill yourself yesterday, even when you had no intention to do so, yes? The simple fact is – it was a test, a test to measure how the ritual of bonding worked. Of course, I doubted nothing less, as I assume you are a pitifully low level, but one does not attain my years unless careful."
Prometheus stared at the old man, unsure of how to respond. He tentatively nodded his head. The old man seemed to accept this as enough, for he smiled, rose from his chair, and patted Prometheus on the shoulder.
"Good, good, now – you need to get stronger." the aged necromancer said as he sat down and pointed at the rusty general. "You will go to the mountains, and Erafros will go with you and take command of the legion at point. Yes, among the tunnels and shafts, and in dwarf and gnome blood, there and so you shall bathe and be reforged. You have great potential, Prometheus, but a general you are yet to be. Erafros will train you as you journey – but once there, you must go with the vanguard and prove yourself."
"Yes, milord." Prometheus said, having been told by Ezra how the proper way to reply to the dark lord of the craggy peak. "As you command."
The way Ezra had prescribed involved only two words: YES and POLITE.
Gared turned to Ezra. "I need you elsewhere. Catch up with Clayford and help him subjugate the remaining elven tribes."
The vampire grinned. "A pleasure, milord."
"Oh, and one last thing!" the dark lord seemed to remember something, a light shining behind sunken eyes. "The scroll that alerted us to Prometheus. It contained the detailed instructions of the summoning ritual used to summon him. I have studied this ritual deeply, and it seems to be a way to more actively summon a sentient raising, compared to luck or relying on the path itself, although how an apprentice did something I haven't succeeded in myself is a mystery. "
The old man paused for a breath, then continued. "This particular summoning ritual is a medium to a space which I have never before encountered. I can feel a powerful force blocking me from accessing this space, all my attempts at prying having been rebuffed. Yet it is weakening by the day – a year or two, and I may be able to break through and reach inside. If that happens, then the war will turn in our favor. We could start our conquest of the living in earnest."
"Now, go. Prepare to fulfill the tasks I've given you."
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Prometheus stood looking out from the window of his chamber, a lone figure silhouetted against an unyielding sky outside. His mind raced with the implications of what he had been told by the dark lord of the craggy peaks.
A way to summon more... of me? Flashes of familiar images filled his vision.
His action of crushing the blue core had allowed the mana to merge with the world of the living and forever be lost to the beings from beyond the world. But that terrible place, in the depths of the universe, where only the worst of the worst ended up, where the truly monstrous figures of eons past were kept – that place was made with the help of the blue core and kept in check by the same power, a power no longer present.
He now expected his escape had been possible because of the diminishing powers of the pantheons as they lost the power of the blue core, the shackles weaker than they should have been. And it was only a matter of time before others were free as he – and the thought of meeting those monsters evoked a feeling Prometheus had thought he had long ago discarded.
The black ghoul shivered despite being undead, trembling like a man – and not the god he once was.
The terrible memory of knives that never dulled, in beautiful slender hands, and the scraping of flesh and bones. The divine body of a forgotten titan that could regenerate from but a hair – and a warden whose desire to maim, rip and tear was never-ending; the son of the holy man, the light-bringer.
The familiar image of his father and uncle who he'd helped imprison. Two of the twelve titans who ruled the world before the battle of the gods – Iapetus and Cronus.
The enormous idol of destruction who almost tore the kemetic pantheon apart – Seth
The images were but a few of the many he had been imprisoned with – and feelings of despair seemed to crush him there and then. He tore through the mirror that stood in his room – its splinters cutting though skin – but felt nothing. He screamed and raged, destroying everything in the room but the stone walls.
He had finally escaped, free to do whatever he wanted. And now this – his darkest nightmare come through. No, this was not even a nightmare, because he had never in his wildest dreams imagined it.
Prometheus had outsmarted the dark lord of the craggy peaks, aware of his own immunity to mental manipulations and therefore the ritual of bonding.
From Talia, he had learned that an active skill didn't necessarily give a confirmation of its success – only through his lack of response did she understand its failiure. This made him to believe that the experienced necromancer didn’t fully rely on his ritual, he would confirm the success on his own.
And seeing a cunning in the man's eyes similar to his own, he decided not to underestimate this mortal at all.
The command came suddenly, but he reacted swiftly, following his earlier thoughts without hesitation. He knew he was weak and could be easily taken down by them. There was no reason for them to bring him to this place only for him to commit suicide. He thought for a moment that maybe the whole thing was an attempt to search for traitors, yet – in a split second – decided to put his trust in what he believed was the right answer.
That they didn't want him dead, and wouldn't let him die.
And he had been right.
But it's for all for naught now... He clenched and unclenched his hands, black blood running through thick veins under his dark skin. As he stood, stuck in thoughts, a terrible wrath began to churn within him. A wrath that had been there all long, only waiting to be released.
After the war of the gods, he'd tricked his nephew, Zeus, into eating bones and fat instead of meat. Angry, the lightning god had taken away fire from the humans – the race whom Prometheus found the most interesting in the whole universe.
In retribution, Prometheus had stolen a lightning-bolt from his nephew and given it to man, thereby giving them fire once more. The ruler of the Olympian pantheon had banished him in return, barring him from the blue core's power – for only members of the many pantheons shared that privilege.
Ever since that day, there had been a wrath inside him. Over the millennia of imprisonment, torture and passage of time, this wrath had only grown.
A thought crossed his mind admist the anger and despair. Maybe I can hide myself. No, my name is known, they will know who I am...
"NO!" His roar shook the destroyed room.
He was a titan, the supreme trickster, and god of fire.
He was the destroyer of the blue core, a being who had done what no one else had ever done, and never would.
One year? Two years? He had the power of the blue core on his side, and his determination was as powerful as ever. Whatever it took, he would get stronger. He would use any means necessary: kill, cheat, manipulate, devour, conquer and rule. Nothing could stand in his way if he wanted to defeat it. Prometheus was done being meek and shackled — he would never be that person again. His first goal was to stop the old necromancer from performing a summoning ritual.
This most likely meant killing him, and if he wanted to kill Gared, he'd have to kill Ezra, Erafros and Caine too, and even many of the necromancers. For this, he needed power. A lot of power. And if he couldn't get strong enough to stop the necromancer... then so be it. He would trample upon the divine beings as they came – even if some of them were his kin...