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Chapter LV : Visitation

Midday of Tertius, Eleventh Day of Autumnmoon

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Deep underneath Angkor’s capital, Cedric Curtis awaited his fate, alone, in a dark and barren cell. It had been years since anyone stewed behind those same, rusted iron bars. When The War ended, and the era of peace began, Angkor’s citizens demanded that Richard abolish his use of secret prisons, where men were tortured and abused without accountability. He obliged by decommissioning the dungeons and prosecuting the men who ran them—which, incidentally, were the same men he had himself hired to run the operation.

It was all part of a campaign to bury his nation’s sordid past and write a new narrative emblazoning Angkor’s status as a leader for peace in the region. Along with the right messages from State Media agencies, Angkor’s citizens began to wonder if the contemptible acts performed during The War had really occurred, or if they were merely rumors, started by crazed activists with liberal agendas.

Cedric used to wonder, too, until he witnessed the dungeons with his own eyes. On his way to his cell, the demon-possessed denizens of Angkor led him through rooms of torture and interrogation, where the air still carried the stale and unmistakable scent of sweat and blood. He saw the bullpens, where captured soldiers were forced to squat in cramped spaces without food or water. Some lost their minds within those walls. Most did not survive.

It felt as if the souls of the dead were still trapped, yearning to escape their eternal prison. Their long-lost cries of anger and suffering seeped through Cedric’s skin, just like the cold, damp air. He felt it in his bones. Their fear. Their helplessness. Their loss of hope. Empty hours chipped away at his courage, hollowing out his once-confident façade.

He should have left well enough alone. He shouldn’t have stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, or ventured into areas he knew were forbidden. He should have kept to himself. His instincts told him to stay home, but he refused. And now he paid the price, a penance he repeated to the dull stone walls. His creed, one of rue and regret.

His stomach churned and cramped. He turned to biting his fingernails, a nervous habit he thought he conquered long ago. Before long, there was nothing left to bite. A salty, metallic liquid slid along his quivering lip, dripping into straggly strands of beard. He sucked the wound, cursing the damned ego that drove him to recklessness.

Hours stretched. He had no way of knowing how much. The blackness destroyed all meaning of time. He lay on his back with eyes barely open, though he was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned on the cold, hard stone, sobbing uncontrollably.

A sound shattered the silence, like a thunderclap. His mind sprang awake. It was the iron door, at the entrance, followed by a series of hollow footsteps. He feared the worst. His executioners had arrived … the men who would torture and interrogate him … who would maim his frail body until he told them everything they wanted. The slow and steady clomping nearly drove him insane!

“Who’s there?” he blurted, instantly wishing he could take it back and duck into his cell’s darkest corner.

At first, silence. He waited and dreaded for the darkness to speak. And it did.

“Be at ease, Mister Curtis. It’s me.”

The disembodied voice of Richard Cromwell spoke from the other side of the bars, but there wasn’t enough light to see. It could have been any creature, lurking inside the darkness. Shivers raced up Cedric’s spine as he cowered against the far wall.

The ethereal voice was smooth and buttery. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to harm you. I was deeply saddened, you know, when I learned that you’d been treated so poorly. So here I came, intent on making amends.”

Cedric stiffened. He was chilled. Terrified to speak. The voice sounded just like the man he had spoken to a week earlier. But it was impossible. He saw the man’s flesh tear to shreds and slough off as a demon emerged from inside. Whatever facsimile stood on the opposite side of the iron bars, Cedric wanted to be as far away from it as possible.

“Dearest Cedric,” the voice pressed with eerie sweetness. “Surely, you know I wouldn’t have come all this way for just anyone. I’m here because of you, and your loyalty to our kingdom these many years. I believe that deserves some recompense.”

“Recompense?” The word slipped out of anger, a knee-jerk response to the sheer audacity.

But the voice hardly took offense. It responded warmly. “Yes! Angkor needs you, Mister Curtis. Your design is so very important. The kingdom is under attack, and Zounds is our only hope for victory!”

Cedric was aghast. There was no way the voice could think he’d be tricked again so easily. “Begone, Monster!” he demanded with an unwavering tone. “Richard is dead. I saw it with my own eyes. What are you? A specter? A demon?”

The voice laughed. “Cedric, please … I’m still the same man. What you saw was the manifestation of the Ahriman, one of four beings of immortal power. Power that is granted to me by the sunstone. Power that is now mine to command. With it, I can do things that are beyond human comprehension!”

Ahriman … Cedric recalled hearing that name chanted throughout the ritual. He also remembered the mural painted on the wall of the king’s conference room, in which four demons waged war against mankind. In fact, one of those demons had an appearance resembling the creature from Richard’s transformation. The recollection sent icy shards throughout his veins.

“Wh-what are you saying?” His voice was shaky. “Th-that the sunstones are somehow connected to th-these … demons? And you intend to harness their powers, like they were t-t-tools for your ambitions?”

The being that sounded like Richard answered firmly. “It’s hardly as trite as you make it sound, Mister Curtis. The secrets of the sunstones have been lost to generations of ignorant worshippers and nations that failed to realize their true potential. We shouldn’t fear the Ahrimen’s power any more than our ancestors feared the power to control fire. It can be harnessed, and I have the means to do it!”

Cedric couldn’t believe the hubris, but he gathered his wits to respond. “What would a man do with such power? You would risk unleashing the wickedness of these fiends … for what? I don’t suppose you expect me to believe you want to save Angkor from Kitezhian insurgents?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The Richardesque being paused, creating a fog of silence more terrifying than its voice. But it did speak, and its response was far from welcome. “You already know the answer, Mister Curtis, so why ask? Indeed, the stories were fabricated. It was necessary to garner support. And soon, it won’t even matter.”

The Craftsman was crushed. Even after hearing Mason’s story, he still held on to a glimmer of hope that he merely misinterpreted his kingdom’s intentions. But now, Richard’s confirmation made it unavoidable. Inescapable. His hope withered like a dry leaf in winter, long in servitude to its tree, ready to be scattered to the wind. This demon … this Ahriman … had corrupted his kingdom to its core!

Cedric practically choked on the words. “Then it’s true. You caused all that suffering … killed innocents, destroyed families, incited anger and distrust … my own colleague of more than twenty years is dead. Murdered! For no other reason than because his Kitezhian descent made him a scape goat.”

The betrayal heated Cedric’s blood, giving him the courage to confront his so-called sovereign. “Not just Mason. Men and women across Angkor were arrested from their homes and thrown into prison camps, where they await slaughter without trial! Even our own people, who agonized through years of war, had their hopes of peace trampled. You did all of this … just to harness the power of a demon! Because you wanted their power. Because of avarice!”

The voice of Richard sighed, almost convincingly. “Yes … and though you may not see the wisdom until my strategy comes to fruition, know that I’ve done it not just for myself, but so that Angkor and its people shall prosper.”

Cedric felt his temperature rise, suppressing his fears and replacing them with fire. “Is that what you think?” The anger burned, a rage that could not be quenched until the words left his lips. “You go ahead and tell yourself that, Richard—or whatever you are—but I want nothing to do with it! Your methods are evil, and these demons will bring naught but ruin and destruction to this country. To the world! You’re a madman.”

The voice lashed back. “Watch your tone, Mister Curtis! I’ve granted you plenty of leeway, given your value, but I’ll not stand for insolence!”

Cedric realized he was in no position to fight back. He felt helpless. All he wanted was to plead for a bit of sanity.

“I implore you to stop and think. The power might be great, but at what cost? What kind of nation will we become, if we must pay with our very souls by committing these travesties!”

The voice was merciless. “Pull yourself together. You used to be a smart man, but all I hear is parochial drivel. Besides, we’ve already revealed to the world what the sunstones are capable of. There’s no turning back now. We either eat, or get eaten.”

The words took the breath from Cedric’s chest. It didn’t sound like Richard at all. Not anymore. “What are you saying? That we’ve already gone too far, as if that’s justification for pushing further? We’ve already experienced the heavy costs of a drawn out war. If what you say is true, a battle fueled by the power of these demons could decimate both sides. We could end up with nothing left. Before you took the sunstone, we already lived in an age of prosperity. But now, you could very well end up without a kingdom left to rule. What good is it, then, to provoke all this destruction in the first place?”

The voice went an octave lower. “You think too small. The old wars were about ruling over land, but our goals are so much greater now. When my plans come to fruition, we’ll have unlocked a realm of immeasurable power. Our losses may be great, but whoever remains … whoever survives and attains this power … will rise as Gods!”

Cedric had no retort. Richard’s call for humankind's apotheosis might have been meant as inspiring, but for Cedric, it was proof of his hubris. The Craftsman not only feared for his kingdom, but his bones ached at the tragedy that would befall all of Gaia.

The clomping of boots resumed. The Richard-thing had started to pace. “I’m not naïve to the risks, you know. There are ways to control the Ahrimen … to stave off their corruption. That’s why Zounds is so important.”

Cedric’s ears perked up at the mention of his airbase. But he couldn’t imagine what it had to do with controlling the Ahrimen.

“I’ll ask you once more.” Richard’s voice suggested he had run out of patience. Negotiations were over. This was the final offer. “Think carefully before you answer, for the wrong choice will have dire consequences!”

Cedric had no intention of giving in, but he had to wonder. “What good do you think Zounds will do? It was never designed to be an effective weapon against demons.”

The Richard-being cackled. “Is that all you think your glorious design is good for, Mister Curtis.” He laughed harder, putting his remaining sanity into question. “No … this has naught to do with firepower. Did you forget what kind of fuel your new ship runs on? Perhaps there will be time for me to explain it to you, once you join me at my right hand.”

Cedric was certain. Whatever creature stood outside his cell, it was not the man he once knew. He could never agree to provide aid, no matter what this madman wanted. Much less give up his precious skills to design a weapon for the Ahriman’s arsenal. And yet, he was still afraid to say no.

“How could I agree, after the evils you’ve wrought? You expect me to build a design that could very well cause indelible harm upon innocent people. I want no part in your wars. Why don’t you just leave me out of it!”

“Every blessing requires sacrifice,” the voice argued. “Forget the sunstones, and imagine what life would be like, if Angkor emerges victorious. You said yourself that we lived in an age of prosperity, following the last war. That’s what success looks like, Mister Curtis. At least, to the victors.”

Cedric still could not see through the darkness, but he could have sworn he saw the Richard-thing’s face split into a wicked grin. “After enduring some amount of hardship, the strongest who remain in Angkor will thank me for the greatness I shall deliver unto them. When I finally have all four sunstones, I’ll rebuild this country on a cornerstone of wealth and power that will last a thousand years! No—that will last an eternity! You will witness this, Mister Curtis—this I promise you.”

Cedric shook his head, despite the futility of such a gesture inside his darkened cell. “You don’t get it. Violence does not lead to peace. It only begets more violence. If you wish to serve your people, you must protect them, not control them. After they learn what you’ve done, the people of Angkor will never forgive you—much less thank you.”

Old King Richard’s cheery tone slipped away, replaced with the voice of the madman.

“Bah! It matters not what you think. I told you, already. It’s too late to turn back. Even now, our neighbors in Koba and Vineta plot to turn their sunstones against us. I’ve tried long enough to convince you. Zounds must be operational, and you’re the only one familiar enough with the design to ensure its timely schedule. Either you agree to my terms, or you’ll pay for your impertinence!”

Cedric winced. He wanted to stand firm, but he felt weak and diminutive under this creature’s intimidating threats. If he refused, he would face pain, distress, torture, and other forms of coercion. Yet, if he agreed … if he delivered Zounds to this creature, he’d be giving the Ahrimen one more tool to subjugate the world.

The Craftsman uttered his response. His voice was fleeting, but no less committed. His lips formed the words, while his breath very slowly left his lungs. “I cannot ….”

Light or not, he knew the creature’s face twisted in anger. “You are making a profound mistake, Mister Curtis! One way or another, I’ll have my airbase. It matters not if you complete it from your comfortable office, or by candlelight in this prison cell!”

“Sire, please! You’re not yourself. This Ahriman has changed your perception. It—”

“Silence!”

Cedric cringed at the sound of Richard’s fury. At one time, he would have gladly done anything his king had asked. But no more. Richard’s benevolent spirit was gone, a victim to the demon he had invited into his body.

“I’ll not stand here and be lectured by the likes of you!”

Cedric heard the sounds of footsteps storming off. He panicked, fearing he might have made the wrong choice. His heart beat strong enough to leap out of his chest.

Once the heavy iron doors shut, there was silence, and plenty of it. Cedric curled up in the cell’s corner and closed his eyes. Strangely enough, he felt peace. His moment of weakness and doubt had passed, and he felt the comfort of having stood for his principles. Despite what lay ahead, the former Grand Craftsman drifted into a deep and restful sleep.