It took Ivan more than a day to get to the city by foot from the parish that had been his home. His pack contained little food and supplies that hadn't been ruined or raided by the forces of the God of Light and he had left before anyone had found what he had done. He had laid his friends and family to rest and not slept very well for the dreams and the cold and rain, but he let none of that stop him.
His eyes were red and bloodshot if one were to see him. His clothes and armor were stained with blood still despite the rain. One does not kill more than a dozen people with a sword without getting a great deal of blood upon them. He had learned that after the death of his Goddess had torn the oaths he had sworn to her away from him. To never do harm, but in the last defense of the weak and innocent; to never kill another man except that if his death be the only mercy left to him, and to care for all weak or strong, small or tall, in his path. He would need to replace his clothes and supplies soon.
Ivan had abandoned it all. It had been taken from him really, but still in his mind he felt as though all he had known had been betrayed by the God of Light. What did it matter to betray himself? What did it matter as long as that God continued to rule? There was a hole in him now where Istania’s magic had been and Theadus had been the one to rip her from the world. It was only fair to return the favor.
In the early morning hours he managed to sneak through a hole in the wall laid by the siege by the armies of the forces of light. Some catastrophic magic had been worked here, and passing through the hole left Ivan’s skin tingling and strange shivers running down his spine.
Ivan fought his way through the lingering magic and snuck into the remains of the war camp. Most of the veterans were strangely absent. However young and fresh those low ranking militia recruits who remained were still his hated enemies… Now at least. Their watchmen fell to his blade to be dragged and stuffed under houses and into burning rubbish heaps. Poisons made of medicine gathered by young Ivan coated his blades and his mercy was a thing forgotten.
Ivan had learned on his way home and with deadly clarity within the shoulder high stone walls of the parish that the forces of light had been sent to kill them all, every follower of Istania. Had he been entirely sane at that moment or perhaps a little more rational he might have questioned why, but that didn't matter to him. They had stolen his family, his Goddess and more.
His body still ached from the lingering damage of losing his Paladin Job. He found it difficult to speak, or control his emotions. He was constantly feeling sick and drained. The selfless, self sacrificing job had come with a good deal of Strength, Endurance, and Charisma as its main attributes. Istania’s death had banished the magic of her gifted sparks, and her title jobs from the world. Ivan had lost the source of power that had allowed him to become a Paladin.
In the early hours a young knight followed a noise into an alley with a young priestess of Light at his side. The two were uncertain, set to watch the perimeter instead of dealing with the ugly work of cleansing the city within. They were not to simply raze the city, but to cleanse and capture it. They could have torched the city and left. That would have been all the better for Ivan since the flames would not have reached the sealed vaults, but they had not. They wanted something here and he would make them pay for it.
The young priestess tried to scream a warning, but the blade that was rammed through her back and out between her breasts paralyzed her. She tried to murmur her 'Healing Light' spell, but her head was wrenched back and her skull slammed into a wall after the blade that had torn so suddenly into her flesh was ripped from her. Her young knight died without a sound more than a clang and gurgle when their attacker struck him over the side of the head with the pommel of the sword that had impaled her. She lived long enough to see her friend have his head torn from his body as a crazed knight in the blood and dirt stained tabard of Istania, the Goddess of Healing ripped his blade through her fellow follower of the Light's neck.
Ivan had given into his rage again. It was like that sometimes. It made him want to scream at anyone he thought carried or sensed the light of Theadus’s magic within. It made his finger itch to rip them limb from limb.
The two were pushed into the small space under the house in the alley without care or ceremony, and when they were found it was clear that the knight was missing his tabard.
The two were missed at the first call, but not before one of the camps had an urgent need to deal with a sudden bout of poisoning. Magic was used to deal with the worst of it, but two officers died from the deadly poison that had been put into the supplies some time during the early morning. Investigations of the missing pair were put aside until the high command called for a roll call and headcount to make sure everyone among the force was supposed to be there as they suspected sabotage. It was there it was found that several more knights, priests, and priestesses of the order were missing.
The command sent out the elite to deal with and find the resistance forces, but already in the inner city the bodies of the people of Istania the city were burning. None found Ivan, but those who did died in frightening and sudden ways that many would call dishonorable.
The ones he had killed were single job holders. Trainee’s watchmen, and recruits with nothing more than a mundane education job, laborer, or farmer job to enhance their bodies and minds. Those elite forces would be more like Ivan, and in his state he would likely struggle to deal with any of them.
Yet there were few of the more disciplined troops around. The newer recruits were edgy, frightened, and the main host of the army seemed to have already moved away. That was good. Ivan couldn’t risk being caught, and wouldn’t have had the skill to out maneuver older and wiser soldiers.
It was then that a strange calm had come over Ivan. He was cold, but did not shiver. In fact he found he was often sweating as he dragged away bodies or when he ambushed another of the poorly trained young knights and warriors of the God of Light. Every kill filled him with more nothing. More empty and shallow cold. All it made him think of was how to draw the forces away from where he needed to go.
He watched the frightened militia troops from the dark of ruined homes, and the wrecks of burned out buildings. The rain wept upon their blackened timbers, and soaked into his sullen clothes. And somehow the cold and dark seemed welcoming when compared to the camps obsessive collection of torches, lamps, and magic lights.
Ivan set fires to supplies. He poisoned water supplies with potent herbal mixtures that in small doses he could have used to ease colds or coughs, but when applied in the right amount to a water barrel become deadly poisons to any who came to fill their water skins or flasks.
It didn't take long to get the forces drawn away to search houses through the rain looking for more survivors. As the first day within the city went on Ivan saw more than his fair share of what the forces of the God of Light had done, though they had been neat about it. Bodies hauled away, or prisoners taken to checkpoints, that were really execution grounds in reality as the unenlightened of the God’s followers did more work to take people in with words of peace. Seeing it changed something in Ivan.
Finally able to sneak into the walls of the temple proper in the center of the city in the later afternoon Ivan found a high priestess in the darkened catacombs beneath. She was pretty with the three golden rays displayed by a golden stole over the front and back of her long gown, and flowing robes of silk. She carried a tome in one hand and golden inlaid staff in the other as she tried to puzzle out the locking mechanism to the inner vault after her guards were sent away to deal with a nearby fire that could threaten the temple before they were able to loot it properly.
Ivan had long since dressed as one of her own and approached her from behind. Only the continued rain had cleaned his face and hair. He had hardly slept. He probably looked nearly as sick and worried as all the rest of the Militia of Light forces still inside the city.
His mail made little noise, only about as much as his quiet footsteps as he approached her in the long stone halls. She grew frustrated with her reading and the inscriptions upon the vault door as he came.
She turned her head, golden hair in a neat bun, and took him in as he came close. Her eyes flitted over him not recognizing him, but did seem to take in the fit of his tabard not quite making it to his knees as it should have. It didn't matter, she was busy and what she was doing was very important. They had probably sent this knight to replace the others or to ask for help or something. Either way she didn't have time for it.
“Knight please hold this.” She said, handing him the book.
Ivan took the book calmly as she dug in the leather satchel over her shoulder for some other item. Ivan calmly and simply set the book aside on the stone shelf of the catacomb and stepped forward closing the last of the space between them. The priestess raised her head, her face drawn up in annoyance as she turned on him, her tongue probably ready to call him and his untidiness out.
The priestess was long used to being secure, long used to being surrounded by men she could call down, and would never dare to face her authority. Ivan had seen the type before and keyed onto her over confidence as easily as he saw the gold rings on her fingers, and the gold running up and down her staff. So she was very surprised when her Combat Analytic skill kicked in filling the whole of her current sensation in flashes of stark information.
You are under attack. Call for help as soon as you can.
You have been stunned for 3 seconds by a sudden blow to the head and taken moderate blunt damage to the skull.
Her mind reeled trying to take hold of her stunned body and she felt herself falling. Her Recovery attribute was already bringing her about and getting her ready to fight. It had an effect that had brought down the initial stun as well, but it was no one near as powerful as a properly trained Knights Recovery skill would be. A stun like this without a special attack wouldn’t have kept down a veteran knight.
You have been impaled through the chest and taken considerable damage to critical organs. The damage has increased the duration of the stunned state by six seconds.
Pain lanced through her filling her mind destroying her focus. The next thing she knew an arm was wrapped tightly around her neck and she was being dragged. A door opened. She opened her eyes first seeing the blade sticking out from her chest and tried to scream, but blood filled her mouth and lungs. Her staff had fallen from her hands and the knight had kicked the weapon into the now open inner chamber beyond the sealed vault. All she managed was a burbling.
You are bleeding from a mortal wound. Heal the wound immediately with Major Cure Wounds.
You will be dead in 45 seconds without healing. Use any healing spell to buy time.
Her sight whirled as she was thrown and then went black as the stone wall of the catacomb grew large in her vision.
You have been stunned by a blow to the head and taken moderate blunt damage made severe by existing wounds. Call for help as soon as you are able or cast a healing spell to buy time.
The weapon impaling you has been removed. Bleeding has become more severe. You will be dead in 10 seconds. Heal immediately with Cure Major Wounds, or Miracle of Light.
You have used Fortitude of the Light upon reaching critical health and are regaining consciousness under the effects of a potent heal over time effect.
The priestess opened her eyes only to see a boot coming down at her from above and a pair of cold gray eyes.
Your throat has been struck with a blunt object causing severe damage to your head and spine.
You are dead by means of taking more damage than your body could suffer in a short period. High level Divine Healing spells such as Miracle of Light may save you for up to three minutes after your death as your soul remains in your body after using Fortitude of the Light.
Locked inside her own mind the priestess was shocked. Her thoughts came to her now as time slid by. She had died? She had never thought the remaining agents would be so bold as to get past the guard around the temple. That had been one of the most secure areas in the city for obvious reasons. Though they had been called away to search the city for…oh no. She really hadn’t recognized that knight at all had she?
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Two minutes remaining.
The priestess tried to pray. Without her body and mana devoted to the task her god would not hear her, but she had to have faith. She could still be saved. The other knights would have noticed. They would check on her after the noise the short fight must have made. They would!
One minute remaining.
They would come!
Thirty seconds remaining.
You have been beheaded preventing revival through Miracle of Light.
Ivan’s fingers drunkenly touched the glass holding what appeared to be a book made of human skin.
In his hand he held the notebook the high priestess of light had taken from the compatriot of the same rank who had been in charge of the care of the vault. Without the Goddess's magic sealing it the vault itself only needed its runic key put in to open, and Ivan had somehow been able to remember that. It hurt to think about, but he remembered enough, and his hands had moved the runic wheels into the proper positions on their own.
He took it as a sign from his Goddess, a last vindictive wish to give him something to gain the ability to avenge her. He had come here mostly blind, but in faith that there would be something here to guide him to that goal. So he had come. Through fire and murder, death, and pain he had come. They would track him soon, but not before he had come and gone hopefully. In any case he had shut the vault door behind him.
He pulled up the old latch on the sealed case and his nose caught the scent of the old book which still somehow managed to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It seemed to him to seethe with malevolent energy and he instantly understood why his Goddess had sealed it away here. It was heavy, but came into his hands from its cushioned pillow from behind the once magically reinforced and sealed glass.
Its front cover was a grotesque human face stretched over a carved wooden embossing and thanks to his scribe skill being maxed at level 5 he was able to read the strange writing inside no matter the language, the dry pages seeming almost to writhe with pleasure as he touched them with blood stained gauntleted fingers. The skill 'Translate Text' was a potent, yet common, skill to earn with the Scribe Job.
There were many rituals, acts, and arts within the book that might have once sent him reeling in shock or horror, but now he simply looked through the pages curious for what he might find within. He needed something that could help him. Something that could give him enough power, or means to become powerful. A new starting point. Magic to fight against those elites who would come after him with light, healing, and gifts he could no longer compete with.
What he needed was a means to accomplish the new goals that he had, and that he knew were laughably beyond his reach.
The book lacked so much as anything close to an index, but as he flipped through and to the back he did find an appendix of sorts with a strange listing after going through lists of strange spells and vile rituals. None of what the book suggested would give him the lasting power that he needed. Only temporary things, dark, and terrible things, but things that were petty and short lived. Ivan needed something more than a single terrible dark ritual.
It was hard to feel any more broken than he was. Yet as he turned through page after page finding only more petty and simple rituals that would only help him kill an army or two he began to feel something.
Crushed maybe. Crushed against the bedrock of his soul, where there was little left to go. All that probably waited for him now was death. He had snuck in, but hadn’t the presence of mind to think of how he might get out. So maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe one of these rituals was just what he needed.
“For more spells, rites, rituals, and summonings please use this ritual 'Shade of Samiel' as listed below if what you've found in Grimoire of Valhasabub lacks what you desire. The demon shade of the Devil Samiel will be glad to bind you into a contract to bring you what you desire.”
Ivan read it over quickly, and found he had the perfect supply of 'Blood of the Ordained' laying on the floor behind him, and he started to laugh. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. He was still damaged from the loss of Charisma. His emotions were a boiling sea of acid, and his mind, caught up in attribute loss to a lesser degree, wasn’t doing much better with his emotions going rampant behind the wheel.
Using the priestess's blood he drew out the circle with only a few attempts and managed to channel mana into the ritual circle. It hurt. Burning pain ran up and down his arms, and into his spine. His heart beat like a hammer against the inside of his chest as the mana left his body.
His Inspect Person skill activated as he gained a new job skill as it was meant to do outside of combat upon advancement to inform him of changes in his status when they happened. It saved status changes made during combat for the next inspection or triggering occasion instead of using mana that he or another person with the same skill might need to continue on into the next fight. So there were a few new developments on this conjured floating scroll that appeared before him.
You have gained the Occult Ritualist Job upon successfully activating a dark ritual. This job has provided small bonuses to your Intelligence, Insight, and Spirit attributes instead of a first skill to aid you in casting more magic.
He stared at the glowing blue scroll as it floated before him after being startled for a moment. It also denoted another change in its log. Some horrified little part of his brain was trying to stuff away the mess of his recent memories as he read it.
You have gained the Amateur Assassin Job and its first skill perks. ‘Unseen Intent’ allows you to deal more damage when your hostility isn't sensed by your target or when you strike without being seen. In addition this perk and job have enhanced your dexterity and agility, and gives you a small bonus to handling light bladed weapons.
You have gained the Amateur Assassin Skill ‘Poison Enhancement’ improving the damage dealt by any poison made by your hand. Blades coated with poisons will now have a greater effect. Any poisons you craft will have increased effects.
You have gained the bonus perk ‘Fury’ increasing your damage resistance and damage dealt while in a state of pure rage. This has weakened your Insight attribute and may be detectable by those with high insight. This was caused by killing several enemies while in a state of pure rage.
You have gained the Remorseless perk by killing the innocent in cold blood without feeling the slightest regret. This has weakened your Insight attribute and may be detectable by those with high insight, but has improved your ability to resist emotional based psychic attacks and influences.
You have gained the Butcher perk by dismembering a number of fallen foes. This grants you minor bonuses to dealing damage to the limbs of future enemies, but this perk is detectable and may serve as evidence of your crimes.
His stare went on a little longer before he dismissed the scroll with a slow moving hand. Behind it a shadowy figure waited for him patiently.
Ivan felt the room spin a little and he staggered as a wave of sudden sickness rolled over him, but stayed upright. It was mana fatigue. The ritual had drained him, and his stamina was low too. Most uses of magic came with an incumbent stamina cost. He knew that. He should have been fine, but he was… he was still very damaged.
He looked down at the shade not remembering for a moment or noticing the circle of blood and the beheaded corpse of the priestess behind him until he looked at it again. His mind flashed with memories of dragging her past the sealed doorway to hide the body before he noticed she was still somehow channeling magic. It made him so furious that he had beheaded her. For what reason should she have a chance to survive with a hole through her heart and her throat stomped in after what Tanya had been through? The injustice of it made him want to tear her apart all the more.
A small voice of thought and memory jibbered in horror somewhere inside the molten sea of his mind.
“You have summoned me, one of many shades of the Fallen Angel Samiel, Ivan son of Nathaniel, Follower of the Betrayed Goddess of Healing. I am pleased to meet you and I bring you greetings from the Demon Realm.” It said, its voice was smooth and words refined with an accent that was strange to Ivan's ears, but he understood it clearly.
“Please if you would let me know what it is that you desire I will converse with my master to bring you what you need. For a price of course, but there are many things my master will accept in trade.”
“I need....” Ivan said and staggered once again.
Sudden murderous clarity was coming to his mind as though a fog had lifted from his thoughts to be replaced by the hot wind and thunder of a vicious summer storm. His heart started to beat hard in his chest and a cold sweat seemed to swim over his skin as his eyes fell over the ritual circle and the blood that covered his hands and arms. For a moment things just came in flashes, random memories of the old days, but one became clear.
He heard her voice, soft and dry, and felt the warmth of her feverish skin against his own, her fingers tingling his skin with sensation wherever she touched. The memory of his lovely Tanya wanting to be close to him in her last moments. The fog seemed to descend over his mind again making his thoughts far away, cold, and strangely rational. His hands stopped shaking as in his mind he heard her voice.
“I love you Ivan... More than anything...” Her words cut into him and his mind seemed to scream.
His mind tried to relive every moment he remembered of her. He was caught in it before the shade, his lips unmoving, but still trying to scream as he had over her grave. He fell to his knees unaware of his hands clawing at his head and streaking the flesh blood through his hair and across his face.
The shade watched and soaked in the violent emotions of the damaged young man before him. His agony and despair became anger, and a kind barely mortal. And then in a cold wave became an icy determination that fringed on the edge of madness. The shade did not have a heartbeat, and could not sweat, but felt like it should have learned how when the young man who summoned it overcame his fit and looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.
The demon shadow, still mostly formless, bowed its head politely to Ivan, a gesture of acknowledgement meant to tell Ivan the shade was still listening. The shade didn't know if the half mad young man had understood for certain, but at least the boy did speak. His voice was a ragged shaken thing, but his words were more than clear enough, and the shade suddenly understood that wave of determination that had come before.
“I need to kill a God.”
The shade starred and was unable to respond. Usually it was summoned by this warlock or that onto worlds already corrupted. Those petty minded and small time conjurers had petty and small time goals. A contract for this kind of demon, or a ritual to destroy a business partner, or the knowledge of something long forgotten. This...this was something new to it to say the least, but given what the shade had sensed of the young man's emotions this was truly his wish.
“I need a guide. Someone to...” The boy said, his face suddenly streaked with tears, and remained bent over and twisted in anguish.
“Someone to teach me what I need to do. How to do magic now that my Goddess is gone...”
The boy seemed to shake and ran one hand like a claw across his face as anger like an open furnace poured through him to the shades senses. His psyche was breaking. His mind was crumbling around an anger not entirely his own, however the boy had come this far his sanity was sundering. The shade could only imagine what type of demon would come should this boy in this state. It was fascinating.
“I NEED TO KILL AND TAKE EVERYTHING FROM HIM! EVERYTHING! TWICE OVER!” The boy suddenly screamed falling forward onto his arms cradling his head, his words coming out as something barely understandable as human language before he suddenly began to sob.
“My family...my parents...the Wars of Light took them. He needs to stop. The killing it needs to....it needs to...” The boy's words came out broken by miserable sobs. “Took Tanya from me...my parents...my family....everything....I can't....I can't do it on my own...”
The boy cried and clawed at his head as he ground it against the stone floor of the catacomb in an extreme emotional fit.
The shade was still stunned for a moment longer as it took in the tantrum, and the boys stated ambition. Bound to work independently with the authority of its master at hand it considered what it might just do and the best way to slip a dire price out of the boy.
“And what would you pay Ivan? What would you offer to the Lords of Hell for assistance in this task?” The shade found itself asking. It was only natural.
Ivan's sobs cut off and all was quiet for a time except for what seemed to be a sudden storming hail of rain that fell on the building above thrumming through the stone and dirt.
“Anything. Everything. But I have nothing. But I will do anything to make him feel what I have...” The boy answered and the sound of his gritted teeth played with the scraping of his fingers against the stone tile floor.
“For Tanya. For my Goddess. And for whatever reason made him think to kill us all. I want to rip him apart with my own hands. I want to drag the heads of his bishops, his high priests, his knights, and his hero before him and make him feel the same despair I have!” Ivan answered, his voice becoming a scream by the end.
The rage in his blood shot eyes made the shade almost want to back away. That was not a normal reaction for it. This entire situation was strange. A fresh world. A knight instead of some conjurer, and the follower of a Goddess no less. A recently dead goddess anyway, but still. The shade was about to answer when it found that it didn't have one to give. For the first time in the countless years since its creation it hesitated, but the solution came to it all the same.
“Are you sure Ivan? The road to such a goal will twist and change you.” It found itself saying once again as if it had the capacity for compassion.
If it truly had eyes it would have felt itself blinking in confusion. Why would it hesitate to condemn a mortal? Yet its voice was almost gentle in comparison to the agony of the boy before it. His bloodshot eyes rimmed with red and lined with faint trails of crimson blood stared up at the shade showing certainty in the mad half grin half snarl on the boy's face.
“There's nothing left for me here. There is only death and before that...” The boy snarled trailing off.
“Before that I want...need the God of Light to suffer as I have. I want to rip away all that he holds dear and present it to him on a pike before his very eyes before I rip his heart out with my own hands!” The boy said spittle flying as his voice once again came near screeching barely containing it to an understandable level.
He flew into another half mad fit, throwing himself half onto the floor before clawing at himself again. The shade was beginning to wonder how much use a mostly insane child with no magic sparks would be, but the boy had asked the right questions, and the shades master might find his insanity interesting enough to repair it.
“I will contact my master.” The shade answered after a moment and relayed everything it had seen, heard, and sensed to its master.
In no time at all as mortal things were concerned the shade got its answer. It was good that the courts were in session. There were many things brought into play to aid with this request from nearly all the factions of Hell. All wanted a piece of a ripe new world and this boy was both the first key and door to that end.
“Take these scrolls Ivan.” The shade instructed pulling a pale leather tube from the shadow stuff of its body.
“They are the contracts to answer the strength of your ambition and will contain the details of your pledge to shadow and darkness. Take them, do as they say, and know that all of Hell has...put its faith in you.” It said with a small pause over the grim irony.
Ivan took the tube of scrolls with shaking hands not really certain he was believing what he was seeing. He was shocked. His mind scrambled trying to make sense of why or how it had been so simple. He hadn't dared hope that this would work. It was just that he simply had to try. Something. Anything. Anything at all. He slipped the pale strap of the tube over his shoulders.
“Next if you are to survive this place and what surrounds you we will work together to summon your guide. The one chosen is wise and most knowledgeable among all demons, but her very touch, her very scent will twist and corrupt you. Be steadfast. Remember your ambition and never forget your hate. Hell will remember it and bring it upon you when you need reminding, but that is a thing best avoided.” The shade found itself saying and finally realized what had been happening all along.
It made it want to laugh. Its master was pulling its strings now, and maybe even a little before without so much as paying attention to it. Now his master was speaking through it and using its shadowy limbs to guide this mortal youth. Did this mortal really have such potential? Very well. It would watch and learn from its master’s actions.
“Take up the body of the priestess behind you. We have yet another need for her blood, and her flesh so touched with the divine will make good material for the being we will call to guide you. Here. This spot near the corner here will do well. Take up those candles and prepare a pentagram as you have done before.” The shade instructed Ivan following its every command as they moved together into the next room.
Though its master was pulling its strings the shade still wanted to laugh. Such a pathetic human boy. Yet still it had to wonder just what or who his master would have the boy summoned so it watched and did not even attempt to resist the pull of its master's hands. Not that it would really have the power to anyway.
It watched and listened as its master laid out the instructions for the boy and used its shadowy limb to guide its hand into the design of blood around the body of the priestess.
“Very good Ivan. Worry not for the blood spread freely by the body. Keep to the design. Yes...yes.. Very good.” His master mused through its body, but the shade itself suddenly felt a chill seep through its spirit as the design came together telling the shade just who its master meant to bind to the boy.
Through its connection to its master it could almost feel Samiel smile at that reaction.