746 YEARS LATER
Mark walked up to the gates of the village, Horan following behind. He’d picked up a jacket’s worth of junk from a nearby deserted town, and was dropping it off here before moving on.
The two demons guarding the hole in the corrugated iron wall surrounding the village eyed the two with suspicion. Horan was currently in his human form, so the most notable thing about him was the eyepatch. They’d finally found clothes that were his fit, so that he wasn’t walking around wearing battered armour. Admittedly, jeans and a denim jacket weren’t the most practical clothes in the current environment, but Horan had insisted on wearing something that matched his eyes.
The village had been taken over by the remains of the demon army Thel had sent across the region three months prior. The human inhabitants had it comparatively rough, but people like Mark who were just passing through did just fine as long as they didn’t make a mess. Mark passed through the gates without issue. His ‘gun’ was tucked into his pants, but it looked so unlike a conventional weapon that the guards paid it no heed. And Horan could have a nuclear warhead in his back pocket and be no less harmless.
While Horan looked around aimlessly, Mark stepped into the trading post and waved absent-mindedly at the proprietor. He unslung his worn backpack and dumped the contents on the front table.
The trader lazily picked through the miscellaneous contents of Mark’s findings. “Long time no see… you…”
“It’s been four days, no need to be dramatic. I know I’ve passed through a few times, I’m just trying to prep for the trek to the next town over. And I don’t know your name either, if it helps.”
“Well, uh… thanks for telling me all that. And my name’s-”
“That wasn’t me asking.”
The trader pursed her lips. “I’ll give you four litres for the lot. Extra half-litre for the bag.”
“What?!” Last time I was here, I could’ve gotten seven for this! Don’t fleece me because I hurt your feelings, that’s not cool.”
“It was uncalled for, sure, but that’s not it. Closest ruins are all dried up, but the demons in charge want the same amount of tribute. We’ve barely got enough for ourselves here, let alone giving some away to scavvers like you. We might have to move to greener pastures soon.”
Mark sighed. “Yeah, the same thing happened a couple stops back, about three weeks west of here. Fine. Gimme the four.”
While the trader pulled out the payment in the backroom, Horan leaned through the doorway. “Psst, dude, how’s it going in here?”
Mark looked at the scrap on the table. “Mediocre. Is something up?”
Horan took a quick look at something outside before looking back at Mark. “We’ve got a code… puce? Is puce the right code?”
“What? A dog? Out here?” Mark left the trading post and followed Horan’s gaze to the entrance. A small convoy of fully-equipped, military-grade APCs were trundling through the rudimentary gate. Armed and armored figures sat on top of the vehicles and peered at the demon guards through their gas masks. Not a single square inch of skin was visible on any of them.
Mark’s eyes widened in an instant. “Them? Out here?!”
Horan’s eye darted between Mark and the new arrivals. “Who? Do you know them?”
Mark took Horan’s hand and pulled him between two small buildings. The convoy slowly moved through the street that the two had been standing in a moment before. One of the figures sitting atop a vehicle seemed to look in Horan’s direction as they passed.
Mark waited for the convoy to pass from sight. “The Servants. Bad news. I thought I’d left them in Africa.”
“The Servants..? Right, I thought I’d overheard something about them moving into the region a few weeks ago. Aren’t they that anti-demon cult thing?”
“Dunno. They’ve been around since right after the Nabbing. I didn’t know they even had an agenda, I thought they were just some bog-standard apocalypse cult. All I know about them is that they show up in a town, trader caravans start disappearing, a bunch of the locals sign up to join them. Sometimes they take over the town entirely, usually they just move on. Speaking of, let’s go. Before this goes south.”
“Wait, did you get the water already?”
“We’ll deal with that later. Let’s go.”
The two stepped back into the main street. About 30 feet away, the demons occupying the village had gathered and were confronting the Servants. Mark didn’t bother to pay attention, but Horan picked up some of the parley between the two parties.
“We’ve heard of your kind around here, Servants. Leave before this gets ugly.”
“Oh, we’ll leave if you do. You and your kind have been driving this land into the ground, and we’ve all had enough. Drop your gear and leave, or we’ll clean up the mess that your army’s made here.”
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“Pfft, you think we’re scared of you and your stupid words? ‘Ilk’ isn’t even a real word! And we’re demons! We conquered this place, and even if our boss is dead, we intend to keep it!”
Horan didn’t hear a response from the Servants. As he and Mark went through the unguarded entrance, he only heard them open fire on the demons. Mark didn’t slow down as the village’s occupiers were massacred in the streets.
Horan stopped and looked back at the village once they were a safe distance away. The Servant convoy had left the village walls and were heading off in the opposite direction from Mark and Horan. About half a dozen of the twenty or so villagers seemed to be following them.
Horan sat down. “Wow, things really did get bad there, huh? And those Servant guys are just… gone. Like that.”
Mark stood next to him and nodded. “Yup, that… sure did happen like you said. I wonder if the people that left with them left their water behind.”
Horan looked up at Mark, disappointed. “People are dead, dude. Tact. We’ve talked about it.”
“What? It’s just demons that are dead. And we’ll need it if I’m gonna make it to the next town over. You might’ve forgotten that small detail.”
Horan got back up, slowly. “Okay, fine. Sorry.”
“...Alright, sorry if I sounded mad there. Let’s just check out what’s left and, uh…”
Mark trailed off as he noticed a small pinprick of light flash into existence in front of him. The light quickly grew until it formed a sheet of white light the size and shape of a door. A slightly indistinct voice sounded from within the light.
“Hey there, fellow Primus! This is your formal invitation to Prophecy’s Eve, the biggest event of the end times! We here Norse pride ourselves on being the best partiers in northern Europe, and we’re offering to prove that title to every Primus left on earth! And just to prove how much we care, you can bring a plus one! So step through this magically attuned portal with your plus one and have fun at the biggest party the post-apocalypse can offer! You have about a minute until the portal closes. Less, after that invite. So, uh, hurry up.”
The voice went silent. Mark spoke first. “So, uh… does that sound-?”
“Mark, the Norse have climate control. I know it’s not as bad for me as it is for you, but I’ve been walking around in this almost-freezing weather for three months, and it’s starting to get to me. We’re going.”
-
In a deep, dark cave in some forgotten corner of the Down Below, behind a book’s worth of defensive sigils, Ligivul lay silent. Her family hadn’t bothered in doing any more than the bare minimum to ensure that she wasn’t getting out. She was still in the outfit she had worn on the day of her incarceration, and her mouth was still sealed shut. Her arms were chained to a stalactite, and her legs to a stalagmite. She hadn’t moved for seven and a half centuries. She was used to it by now. There was nothing to look at, nothing to think about, nothing to feel. Nothing except the frustratingly humid cave-air, anyway.
Her mind, silent for centuries, picked up when she heard something. No, ‘heard’ was the wrong word. She was picking up thoughts, but they didn’t seem to come from her own mind. It was like she was thinking for someone on their behalf. It took her a few minutes for her to focus her mind enough to understand what she was picking up.
She felt… mild relief. As if she hadn’t expected to have made it this long without going insane.
…What? Ligivul wasn’t sure if she had gotten that right. Was she going insane? Did she know a Primus who could do this sort of thing?
She got the impression that she hadn’t met the source of these thoughts. That they would introduce themselves, but that this encounter was better off being strictly… cosmically professional?
What did that even mean? This was getting weird. Whoever or whatever was interacting with her, they could seemingly tell what she was thinking just as easily as she could.
She felt annoyance, like she was dragging something out. The thoughts began to slow down, as if they were trying to make themselves easier to understand: Whoever this was, they were communicating with her for a reason.
Ugh. Ligivul had no idea what was going on, but all these thoughts sloshing around her normally inactive mind was very uncomfortable.
The annoyance expanded to exasperation. She got the idea that the other party’s thoughts couldn’t be broadcasted into her noggin forever. Noggin? She never used that word…
…But she relented. She didn’t exactly have anything else to do.
The feeling of relief came back, far greater than before. She remembered everything about her ‘destiny’, as if she was examining her own past. Suddenly, the thought entered her head that all the conditions for the prophecy to begin had been fulfilled. She began thinking that she was the perfect Primus to help someone with their… ‘apocalyptically-oriented’ goals.
But… the prophecy? She hadn’t thought of that in a long time. It was hard to remember the details, since this sudden influx of thoughts into her head was giving her a migraine.
The annoyance was back in full force. How could she have forgotten? It was the whole reason her family had locked her up in there. From some other vague perspective, it seemed guaranteed that she had some pent-up hate to be let out.
But was this all this other person wanted? For Ligivul to fulfill the prophecy? Because if that was the case, she wasn’t interested.
She felt indignant. Was she really okay with being stuck in some dank cave for all eternity? Would she just let her jailors party it up after what they did to her?
Well… yes. She wasn’t particularly happy with her current situation, but she knew that she was a threat to her family if she was free. And while her family had been dismissive and hostile to her, it was certainly justified. She didn’t want to hurt them, even if it was supposedly her destiny.
She felt some sense of understanding. Destiny could be scary and oddly unpredictable, and her family could be terrifying. After all, her brother had rendered her permanently mute. And besides, there were plenty of people out there who wanted to cause just as much carnage as her, and they would be happy to have the opportunity. She just needed to give the word, and she would be set free by… her thoughts cut off there.
But the mystery benefactor didn’t need to try and sell Ligivul on this anymore. She didn’t care about who wanted her to do it or how hard it might be. She wasn’t doing it. She just wanted to be left alone in her cave, unable to hurt anyone she cared about.
Her thoughts offered her one last pitch: She wasn’t the only option for ending the world. There were plenty of primordial terrors sealed away in the far corners of the universe. If she didn’t want to do the deed herself, then at the bare minimum, she could chip in to help bust out another one. Her thoughts offered a few examples, and the visions of what might be began…