It's time, a voice whispered in his head. His lord and master had given him the signal to act. He poured a fine grey powder into a cup and filled it with tea. It worked silently and was untraceable, but it didn't kill. In that way it was a failure as a poison, yet it was perfect for his purpose.
After stirring it in, he brought the cup from the small kitchen over to the bed. A young boy lay there, his face ashen. Black veins could be seen under the nearly translucent skin. The skin hung loosely on his thin, gaunt frame, the fat and muscles having melted away.
What remained of his once thick black hair was now thin and dry. It was plain to see that if the healers didn't get there soon, the boy would perish. Although he was young, he was unlucky enough to be afflicted with this cursed disease.
Carried in the blood of only a handful of demons, the black death was almost always fatal. It was as much magical as it was biological, requiring the combined efforts of ten high-ranked priests to cure. They were too far away and the boy was too weak to make their way over to the capital city of their church, so they could only wait in the small inn until they came.
“Here now, drink up.” He tilted the boy's head and put the cup to his lips. The boy's eyes opened slightly, his pupils cloudy and unfocused. Obediently, he swallowed down the tea before closing his eyes and falling asleep once more.
With the help of the poison, death would come shortly. In a few hours time the boy would slip away, and it would be too late for the priests to do anything.
As he stood watch by the bed, a priest and a paladin came into the room.
“How is Jermain doing?” The priest asked him worriedly, his brow furrowed in concern. Ulfred was in his thirties with long brown hair. His cheeks and chin were rounded from eating too many sweets and pastries, yet it gave him a jovial and cherubic expression. He was someone as kind on the inside as he appeared to be on the outside.
“Not well. If the priests don't come soon...” He trailed off, giving the impression that it was too painful to talk about.
Ulfred looked at him with sad, sympathetic eyes. “I'm sorry, I know that he's your friend. If it's too hard to be around him, Gregory and I can keep watch for a while instead.
“Thank you, but it's because he's my friend that I can't leave. I need to stay by his side and pray for Freya to save him, and if she can't do that, then for her to guide him to the next world.”
The priest looked uncomfortably at the paladin. The black death didn't only kill the victim. At the moment of death, the soul is tainted and transformed by darkness, giving birth to a demon. If it seemed that the high priests wouldn't make it, they had to purify and destroy the body before that could happen. It would kill him, but it would save his soul.
About to voice those concerns, Gregory spoke up. He was a tall man with close-cropped blonde hair. His face was scarred and weathered from many battles. “If in case the priests are too late-”
“I know what needs to be done.” He cut him off, masking his voice with a false impression of pain. “If it comes to that, I'll do it myself.”
Shocked at the declaration, Gregory exclaimed, “there's no need for you to put yourself through such suffering. Both I and Ulfred would gladly bear such a burden on your behalf.”
“Freya teaches us that it is only by suffering that we can learn and grow. I too am a priest, so I can't pass this off to someone else, especially since it's my own friend.”
Almost in awe of his sense of duty and his strong faith, Ulfred and Gregory bowed before him, brought almost to tears by his speech. With his head bowed, Gregory clenched his fists in anger and bitterness. “If it wasn't for that demon, none of this would have happened.”
The demon that infected Jermain was a frighteningly strong one that was almost unheard of in the mortal world. The church had underestimated the strength of this one and had only sent a unit of fifty men to deal with it. Of that group, only four returned, with one still on death's door.
Normally only lesser demons could escape the realms of hell, but very rarely a higher-class demon could slip through. The church should have sent a full platoon, but the overconfidence of the Archbishop led to the loss of so many priests and paladins.
Still, it couldn't be helped. No one knew what kind of demon it was or what it could do. Well, almost no one. They probably wouldn't see another demon of its calibre for several years.
“There's nothing we can do about what already happened. All we can do now is pray for the well-being of Jermain.”
“In that case, we will wait with you,” Ulfred told him. “It's the least we can do.”
He put on a look of gratitude as they sat with him. They stayed there for several hours, silently watching over Jermain's weakening body. It soon came to the point where he would die within the hour. Ulfred used his holy magic to contact the priests that were on the way, yet they were still several hours out.
Ulfred sat back down, his rotund face drawn and saddened. “They won't make it in time to help him. I'm sorry. The church and the kingdom will miss him greatly.” Jermain wasn't just a high-ranking member of the clergy, he was also the third prince of Keuroin Kingdom. He was beloved by the people due to his angelic face and his saintly demeanour.
Through hard work and an unshakeable faith, he showed the other members of the clergy that he didn't attain such a high position in the church based on the rank of his nobility, but by earning it on his own merits.
“I'll miss him too.” He summoned tears to his eyes, a true mark of his aptitude for deception. He stood up and clasped Jermain's hands in his own. “Goodbye my dear friend, may you return to Freya's loving embrace.”
Ulfred and Gregory watched him say his goodbyes with real tears in their eyes. Ulfred was a high-ranking bishop, and Gregory was a renowned Knight-Captain, responsible for overseeing hundreds of paladins. They were no strangers to losing friends and allies, yet losing Jermain was incredibly tragic.
“Light, to defeat thy darkness! Holy Light!” He called upon one of his most basic spells to purify Jermain. Since the darkness had permeated his body, eradicating the cursed disease meant that Jermain was killed as well. That was precisely why it was so difficult to cure the disease.
The hands he had held had turned to ash. It was the only thing that remained of Jermain's body. Dropping to his knees, he buried his face in his arms and sobbed. Believing his feigned sadness, Ulfred and Gregory merely clasped and squeezed his shoulder before leaving him to grieve.
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Several days later he was brought before the High Priest himself. He had been waiting for this ever since they got back to the city. After obtaining his report on the events that had passed, they thoughtfully left him to himself, in order to mourn the loss of a friend.
He walked to the front of the church, where the High Priest waited for him. The pews were filled with clergymen. The most important and powerful men and women who served Freya were all located in that very room, curious to find out for what purpose they had been called.
When he reached the High Priest, he knelt in respect before standing beside him.
After smiling at him with kindly eyes, the High Priest turned and addressed the rest of the church.
“Many of you here likely suspect why I called this meeting. The battle with the demon of Vorberg City was a costly one. Many of our friends have fallen, including Jermain Ivarsted. His loss is a great tragedy. Had he had the chance, he would have grown into a great man, surpassing even me in his service to the great lady Freya. Unfortunately he was taken from us far too soon, not having the chance to grow into his power and responsibilities. Yet we mustn’t mourn, for he has gone on to paradise. Having fallen in service to his goddess he will be honoured and remembered.. Now what remains is for someone worthy to carry his mantle. There is only one person who can fill his shoes. One person who has proven his strength and devotion in his service, no matter how much is asked of him. My fellow brothers and sisters, our new Pope-Candidate, Alveron!”
The other clergymen cheered loudly, standing up from their seats to celebrate his new position. They had known of him before. He wasn't known as publicly as Jermain was, being the orphaned son of a commoner, but within the clergy he was almost as loved as Jermain was.
Standing before them all, Alveron smiled slightly. It showed that he was honoured to be chosen, but was still in mourning. After the High Priest draped the robe that signified his new position over his shoulders, Alveron bowed before them.
The High Priest put a hand on his shoulder and said, “congratulations Alveron, you deserve it.”
Yes Alveron, well done indeed. His master's voice whispered in his mind once more. Alveron was pleased with himself. After so much planning and practice, everything had gone perfectly. He had done his duty and had made his master proud. Now he just needed to wait for further instructions and to carry them out faithfully.
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He felt another drop of venom splash on his scalp. Half his face was already eaten away to the bone. Even the bone was pitted and pocked. The other side only got the splashes of acid, still having flaps of skin over patches of muscle.
While his neck and upper chest were streaked with raw patches of muscle and veins that peeked out from between the bronzed skin, his lower body was still unmarked. It was clear and unblemished, perfect in every conceivable way. It was god-like.
It was to be expected, since the body did in fact belong to a god. Though any who saw him would probably doubt this fact. Besides the fact that most of his face was missing, he was chained up in a small cave. There was barely enough space to stretch his arms out, or there would have been if the loops of chain didn't restrict his arms. The only entrance was a staircase that led up and out into the world of the gods.
It had been a long time since he thought about escaping his prison. He got used to it all about a couple hundred years in. At first he thought his mind might break because of the agony, but then he realized that there was no might about it. His mind would, and did, break. Even gods had thoughts, feelings and memories. They may be smarter and wiser than mortals, but their spirits could shatter just as easily.
He could still feel the pain of each drop of venom, but he locked it away in another part of his mind. It was something he learned to do after an endless amount of torture. It was a well-crafted punishment, as they used a live snake to deliver the venom. Every month its venom sac would run dry, and in the two days it took to refill, his body would have healed. Over and over he was broken down and built back up again.
His ears picked up the sound of footsteps. There were two of them. One was light and soft, while the other was heavy.
“Hello Freya, Odin. What a pleasant surprise this is.”
“How is it that you always know that it's us? It's a bit difficult to make out any features with your eyes melted off.” He felt her cool fingertips on the right side of his face, the part that still had flesh on it. A warm wave pulsed through him, healing and restoring his damaged body. “That's better. Now you almost look passable.”
“You always were concerned about my appearance. Though you should probably turn your attentions to your husband.”
“Shut your mouth trickster,” Odin hissed with anger.
“My, aren't we crabby today? What's wrong, has your wife spread her legs for someone else again?”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth that Gungnir manifested in Odin's hand and was thrown into Loki's gut. His one good eye was seething with fury and the lines in his face crinkled with rage.
“It seems I hit a nerve. The same nerve I've hit every time you came to visit. Is it still that much of a shock to you that your wife sleeps with everything that has a pulse?”
Roaring in anger, Odin lunged forward to grab his spear once more. He was held back by Freya's outstretched arm. “Odin, be a dear and step outside for me.”
Though he was still furious, he acquiesced to his wife's request. After viciously pulling his spear out of Loki's gut in one last attempt to punish him, he climbed up the stairs. Normally he was a wise god, but Loki knew how to push his buttons. Stories of his wife's infidelities always got his back up.
“You just had to bait him, didn't you?”
“Well you just make it so easy, what with you being so easy. Now why don't we get down to your real reason for coming here. You come down here every couple hundred years to get me to talk.”
“In that case, why don't we cut to the chase and have you tell me what I want to know?” She laughed throatily, her pearly white teeth showing through her ruby red lips that were curled up into a predatory smile. She ran her fingers through her golden hair and stared at him with smoky green eyes.
“Really? You're trying to seduce me into talking? I'm starting to think that the only reason you come down here is to spend time with me.”
“It was worth a shot, after all it did work at one point in our lives.”
“That was before I was forced to...relocate. And you can understand how I've grown out of bondage anyway.”
She laughed once more. “How is it that you managed to keep your sense of humour? It was the one thing that always fascinated me.”
“I'm special that way.”
“Yes you are, now why don't you tell me where your children are hiding? You want all this to end, don't you? Once they're gone, the last vestiges of your worship will cease and you can die in peace.”
Loki sighed with mock disappointment. “Freya, haven't you learned anything from our prior meetings? What makes you think that if I didn't say anything then, that I would speak now?”
“It's rather simple. Even you will one day get tired of living this half-life, and that will be the day you ask me to end this miserable life of yours.”
“Well I suppose you're right in that aspect.”
Freya's eyes widened in a very real shock. It seemed that even she didn't expect such an admission. After being stunned into silence, she spoke once more. “That's...surprising to say the least. So where are they hiding?”
Loki chuckled. “I think you misunderstand. I am tired of this yes, but that doesn't mean I'm about to give up and die. I was thinking about travelling instead. You know, see the sights and all that. I don't get out much anymore.”
A flash of irritation flashed across her eyes before she tamped it down and put on her smiling face once more. “So this was just another game to you. I suppose I'll check back in a couple centuries.”
“You can do that, but I won't be here. My time in this prison is almost up. My beloved children will see to that.”
“You mean those watered-down godlings you saved? They may be powerful, but I can watch their every move once they leave their realm. There's only that one freedman you accepted as your own who I can't watch. Do you really think that one man could save you?”
“No, no, you're right. What was I thinking? I'm really not living up to my name, am I? I mean a real trickster god would have seen your plots coming from a mile away and taken steps to lay down some contingency plans. Like say, I don't know, create a second secret race that not even his fellow gods knew about and use them to create a way to free him? And I'd probably have my other children take the artifacts they created and place them in safe locations around the world. Though they wouldn't know what the artifacts were or who made them, which meant that you wouldn't know either. To top it all off I'd probably wait for the right time, until I could find a man not of this world and use him to put the pieces of these plans together so that he could not only free me, but humiliate you in the process. But hey, there's no way I could have thought about all that.”
He looked at her with a fiendish grin on his face. For her part, Freya seemed to be quite shaken. She was trembling, and her arrogant mask had fallen away to reveal her fright. “Y-you're right, there's no way you could have thought of that.” Turning from him, she made her way up the stairs.
He called out to her as she went up, the laughter in his voice replaced by something colder and more sinister. “Believe what you like. I don't particularly mind what lies you tell yourself in order to fall asleep at night. But you should remember something, I'm the god you all foretold would bring about the end of days.” His voice grew in strength and intensity as he spoke. “Remember Freya, the day I gain my freedom is the same day that marks your end, and that day is fast-approaching. Ragnarok will will come about, and it will be by my hands! KukukuahahahahaHAHAHAHAH”
His laugh echoed up the staircase, filling Freya with dread and making her wonder if he spoke the truth. By the end of Loki's speech, she was running up the stairs to go find the other gods.
When Loki was sure that Freya was gone, he stopped with his maniacal laughter. He had unnerved Freya, likely enough to send her church after Wraith, exactly as he had planned. In order to get free, having Freya's priests go after Wraith would be paramount. Now all the pieces were in place, Alveron being the last one, and checkmate was just a few moves away.
Of course Ragnarok wasn't going to happen anytime soon. They had a long time until he put that particular plan in place, but even the mention of that word made the gods soil themselves.
Loki was in a good mood, the best he had ever been in a long time. It was second only to the time he found Wraith. For the first time in millennia, he started whistling a tune. Even the venom that fell on his head couldn't dampen his spirits.
He could almost smell his freedom, and once he had that, he could move on to his vengeance. He would show them the price of betrayal. He would return the pain and humiliation they gave him a thousandfold. His personal vendetta, and his vengeance for the other friends they killed, would leave them begging for Ragnarok instead.
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