“So what exactly do you want from me? Why tell me any of this?” Roch asked, sweat dripping down his pale forehead as Cyoc’s back faced toward him. The cloak around his mentor practically shimmered in the darkness, taking in the rancid bloodlust that poured out of the massive beating heart that hung by chains in the center of the room.
“What an interesting question. I’m glad to know you’re open to this,” Cyoc turned his gaze to Roch as he continued, “So open to the prospect of being used. Not many would willingly partake, to join in on our little feast of fools.”
“Feast of fools?” Roch questioned as Cyoc chortled in response. “The feast is what I call this, to split the main course into many meals. Whoever gets the biggest piece wins, right? I’m going to make sure that’s me and my benefactors and no one else. If there are any scraps left over, I may be inclined to toss them away for the others.”
“So your big plot, your prophecy… it’s as much of a competition as anything else, even more so. You’re not all working together, but instead toward your own goals and endgames.”
“Of course,” Cyoc stated with a cold tone, “This is a battle to decide the fate of not only our world but the fate of the entire Ether. Why wouldn’t such an environment give rise to both ruthless and vile conflict? I have a very clear advantage, I was put in charge of the experimentation and transplantation of the heart and vessel, but beyond that my uses are few and far between.”
“So even you are nothing but a peon?” Roch almost seemed to laugh at this prospect, that the man who trained and mentored him for many years was instead only another grunt, another tool to be used and discarded by someone better.
“Yes, I’m a peon… but I have more value than anyone else, you could say. I’m quite close to climbing the metaphorical ladder of power and joining the ranks of leadership, and you will help me ascend.”
Cyoc was cold and concise with his beliefs. “I hold a valuable position that can’t be filled by anyone else, not anymore, that is.” A twisted grin began to take shape on his lips, shaping into a wide and ferocious smile as his teeth showed from underneath. “With Enshil’s fall came my rise, and now only I know how to perfectly transplant the heart into the selected vessel.”
Cyoc extended his arms outward, embracing the shadows around him as if he were some sort of demonic king, the shape of grand wings formed from his skewed arm span.
“I now hold all the pieces, and so even those old monsters have to come and seek me out in order to further their own wicked agendas. You could say, I’m the true master of Direfell now. Reimar is both mighty and frightening, even having received his authority from the Grandmaster of Midnight, but authority means nothing in the face of true power.”
“I need you, Roch, for a very specific task,” Cyoc explained in a cold and desolate tone. As if he were speaking out into the air, or to a complete stranger.
“You can provide the vessel with something I cannot, and that is why I’ve sought you out and brought you to this place,” with each word, Roch’s expression turned grimmer. “I can prepare the vessel’s body, and more so than that I can prepare the God’s heart… but you must prepare the vessel’s mind. You must train the vessel and make him a mighty warrior, someone who can withstand the rush of power that will occur upon transplantation.”
“You brought me here to train him?” Roch asked in shock. “Why me? You trained me, why can’t you train him?”
“That is not the path I shall be taking, I’m not meant to be his mentor… you are.” Cyoc kept his gaze tracked on Roch as he explained, “I have another task to handle while you do that, something of equal importance. The vessel must be ready by the time that the heart is fully recovered, otherwise Direfell runs the risk of facing the same fate that befell Enshil so many centuries ago.”
“Enshil fell because the city lord stepped out of the shadows too many times, stepping out of bounds and moving his intentions out into the light,” Cyoc continued on, “Truth be told, I believe that the Grandmaster would’ve been more than happy to leave him be, but he had drawn the ire of too many, and so there was no other choice.”
“Wait, what?” Roch asked with a concerned look, “Enshil fell because they plotted to use this sort of dark power to wage some sort of great war, right? The Grandmaster would’ve destroyed them either way, eventually.”
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“Would he?” The robed elder chuckled to himself, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the Grandmaster would’ve acted regardless, and Enshil was destined to fail from the beginning. Or perhaps nothing in this world of ours is as it seems, perhaps the wars we face are only as they appear on the surface.”
Cyoc stepped further away from Roch as he spoke, arriving closer and closer to the heart that he could practically touch as blood was pumped through it.
“You will train him and prepare him both physically and mentally. The vessel, the God will become one with his own powers. His destiny predetermined, forged through bloodshed and war beyond anything we’ve seen on Midnight before. A war that spans countless battlefields.”
As Cyoc spoke, a warmth spread out from around him. His body was wrapped in a thinly veiled layer of energy, burning away as if countless puny flames.
He extended out his arm, bringing it up in front of his chest as his eyes fell on the numerous etched markings carved onto him. “I have but one stipulation. Do not do anything that could damage his markings. He’s been specifically manufactured, so any alteration could hinder our plan significantly. Beyond that, you’re free to strengthen and train him however you see fit.”
Roch spoke out with a cough, “So what? You say that as if I’ve already agreed to take him on, to recruit some stranger that I haven’t even gotten to know…”
“Indeed, this isn’t up for debate I’m afraid,” Cyoc stated matter of factly, “I’m afraid this is beyond you, and I cannot afford to have you slow down or interfere with anything. You will train him just as I trained you. Bring in that fellow Androma to assist you if you believe that would help, but you will obey.”
Cyoc paused for a moment to emphasize himself, ending the discussion with a resounding command.
“You will train the vessel.”
Roch could only lower his head and obey, listening to the words of his elder, a man who had not only trained him but who also held many more secrets than he could possibly imagine. Roch was feared and renowned throughout the region nearest Direfell as being a strict tyrant, but even he had to give ground to this man.
If he declined Cyoc’s orders, he doubted if he could even make it out of the chamber they both found themselves in. It was a sort of fight or flight moment, and Roch had chosen the latter option as he opted to obey.
“So where should I even begin?” Roch asked, moving the conversation from one point to the next, “Should we go to Direfell and rely on the sturdy walls of the city to protect and hide him, mentoring him from within?”
“It’s not a horrible suggestion,” Cyoc replied with a finger pressed firmly against his chin, “The main issue is avoiding any prying eyes… that is why I selected you for this task, after all. Perhaps you can recruit him under a false pretense, make him one of your special little soldiers and use that as an excuse to further his strength.”
“Regardless of what you do,” he said as he turned his gaze to face Roch, “You must ensure not only his survival but his growth. If you fail, not even I can guarantee your survival from those demons who wait within the shadows. They’ve put in an extraordinary amount of effort into creating the perfect warrior, the perfect God. If you fail to repay their efforts, you’ll face their combined wrath.”
“Oh, what a pleasant thought,” Roch mockingly said with an awkward sigh. “So you want me to take him on as a fake potential recruit, using that excuse as a cover to train him further? Question; should he be informed of any of this? I’m sure that once he becomes strong enough to fight for you, he’ll also be strong enough to think for himself.”
“What is your point?” Cyoc inquired with a deadpan expression.
“Seriously? You don’t see the flaw in lying and deceiving the very man you’re trying to turn into a God? You want your future God to ignore you, knowing that you’ve lied to him countless times, keeping him in the dark for most of his life?”
“What he thinks of me is irrelevant. I shall take all of his hatred once this is all over and direct it at our enemies. After all, Gods only have power for as long as people believe in them. He has to follow the rules and play the role, regardless of his own selfish intent. Midnight isn’t a place where betrayal sticks… it’s a shallow thing and will soon be forgotten once the next issue arises.”