XXIII.

Truth

Ivalié sat on the floor of Haketh. His bloody back was pressed against a cool black wall. Crimson liquid pooled beneath him, and filled the cracks of the bricks below.

He panted. His breathing was shallow.

Finally. Finally, I can put it all behind me… Etheria, welcome me…

He could smell Liara's perfume. He could feel her approach, her warm grasp on his shoulder and hand…

Liara, I'll see you soon…

"Ivalié, dying so soon?"

He looked up. Rykaedi.

Not the skin-and-flesh Rykaedi he had once known. The skeletal monstrosity Rykaedi. The God of Marrow Rykaedi. She leaned against the wall casually, like greeting a friend.

"Go away." He shut his eyes. "I want to die in peace."

"Oh? Refusing the same offer of undeath I once gave Liara?"

"Go away." he hissed.

Rykaedi smirked.

Ivalié sat there, held up by his staff. His head began to lean to the side. His mouth began to hang open…

"Rith'aka Seran." cast another voice. A spell. "What happened here?"

It was Jirtu who approached, Ivalié could suddenly tell. He looked down to his body. He was no longer fading, and no longer bleeding.

Rykaedi answered, "He apparently lost a bout against Cedric and his friends—but he lives."

His eyes darted between them. He asked, "Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, "What a silly question. I selected you, Ivalié. And I've still much use of you."

He helped himself to his feet with his staff. "You should have left me dead to read my corpse."

"Ha! There's much more you're good for than the knowledge in your head."

"Like what? Ithlo was taken."

She grinned sinisterly. "A gateway into Liara's heart?"

His staff began to glow. He glared.

Jirtu easily kicked it out of his hand, dropping Ivalié to the ground with a grunt.

Rykaedi laughed again.

Jirtu couldn't help but snicker at the embarrassing man.

Ivalié's face twitched. He averted his gaze.

"Let's not get any more ideas of heroism, boy." she said, and turned back toward the meeting chamber's open door. "Join us. Let us discuss your future…"

X

"A win!" Rithi clutched a fist out before himself. "That's what you said—that's what we got."

"We could have had an invaluable ally." Cedric slammed his fist against the kitchen table.

Rithi stood and stepped away. His entire torso was covered in bandages, some of which were stained dark brown. The same was true of Cedric, though his were hidden beneath his burnt leather.

In the corner of the room stood a white-coated Etherian with his arms crossed: Ithlo'vatis. Ivalié's Etherian.

"This is more valuable than that. Why surround ourselves with once-enemies when we can make their weapons our own?"

Ithlo grunted, "I am no weapon of man."

"And so he speaks!" Rithi made a grand gesture with his arms and approached the Etherian. "Maybe now you'll tell me what this heavy coat is for—"

Ithlo grabbed his hand as he reached out.

Cedric threw a hand out. His invisible tendril shot out and wrapped around Ithlo's wrist, dropping his hand limply.

Rithi shook himself free. "Can't attack your owner, huh?"

"They most certainly can." He rubbed his stomach, thinking of a fierce punch or two he'd once received from Serkukan. "Stop messing around, you're letting our win get to your head."

Rithi shrugged and turned away from Ithlo. "He's certainly the quiet type."

Cedric turned to the white Etherian. "I'm guessing you won't be as subservient to Serkukan as Vekzul was?"

"Serkukan?" Ithlo asked, "That was no Serkukan. You're mistaken."

Cedric cocked his head.

"That is a feeble vessel of a once-great deity. He is no longer the same Serkukan who lived in Etheria."

"Because of the Relistar?"

"Because of Algirak. Because of the Omnestatum. And because of Evra."

Cedric lowered his head. “I hope you’re planning to elaborate.

Ithlo calmly approached the table and pulled out Rithi's seat. He gently lowered himself and placed his hands folded on the table. His pale blue face showed no dismay.

“And to what end would I sacrifice this information? Threat of torture, of capture? What can you do to an Etherian which hasn’t been done to them a million times over?”

Cedric tugged at that power—he drew upon Dyosius, he pulled the leylines in a way only that platinum crystal could.

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Ithlo’s face did not lose composure. “I see. You’ve attained an ability to burn out my energy altogether. Interesting.”

“It’s not an idle threat.”

“I’m aware. Then, let me show you Serkukan’s truth.”

The walls faded black around them. Rithi turned repeatedly in confusion and worry.

Cedric stood and held a palm out to him, urging a level head.

Then the furniture fell away, too. Soon, there was nothing but darkness, and cold.

“What’s this?” Rithi finally asked.

“This is Truth. An extension of Okella’s ability Remembrance. This will allow me to show you Serkukan, at the beginning of time.”

Rithi’s eyes widened.

Cedric took a deep breath.

And then the world filled with hell—not the dark gradient of colors from the hell they’d seen through the Petalfall, but an incandescent and bright hell that shifted from white to blue and green. No more were the dark and horrible colors Kogar had opened their world to. No more was that feeling of dread just at seeing it, just at witnessing such a thing.

Instead, there was serenity. Peace.

“There.” Ithlo’vatis pointed.

Rithi and Cedric both turned away from him, toward the surreal image before them...

There she was—a beautiful and absolutely overwhelming visage of a platinum dragon. She was millions of paces tall, too large to comprehend. Like a brilliant backdrop, like a brilliant painting. She was beautiful, like Dyosius had been, and like cut, shimmering gemstones could be.

Her head was reared upward to the sky, not that it could really be called that. Her wings were splayed out horizontally, covering nigh half their vision in span.

And those wings drooled blood which ended at her waist, cut off by where the floor evidently would have began, if there could have been one.

“This is the bleeding. This is the price Evra paid to birth our world, specifically to birth man. The timeline of man begins with a boy named Kasian.”

“Kasian?” Cedric turned back to him, “Then The Twelve has really been around since… since the dawn of time?”

Ithlo nodded. “When she created life, she created another subset of life as a consequence. In creating man, she created war. This created blood, created violence and rage.”

“That’s man’s contribution to the world?” asked Rithi.

“It is. Mortal rage is perpetual, built intrinsically to our systems.”

“I don’t believe that.” argued Cedric. “Your timeline must be mistaken—”

“My knowledge knows no flaw. Even this far back.” And then he continued, “From the concept of blood and war was born Serkukan.”

The blood had begun pooling at Evra’s waist by that point.

And from that pooling burst an unfamiliar being.

He was covered in red slime, covered in blood-soaked drool and mucus. He grabbed it tight in his clawed gauntlets, and violently tore a hole through to reveal himself. Then he let out a violent, daemonic roar.

“That’s Serkukan?”

He wasn’t crystalline.

His body was crimson red. His flesh was red. That pulsating, thick flesh which writhed as it formed into bulbous and massive muscles. Wings tore through the black rags that did little to cover the visage of the massive demon. Demon had been the right word, all along. Chains dragged around his ankles as he began to walk out of the puddle. His wrists and waist were covered in spiked black metal. His head bore great horns like antlers. Horns that had intricate complexity, and could be used to gore.

Ithlo nodded again. “He was born from the blood, to collect the blood. In doing so, he could prolong Evra’s life. He could prevent her from bleeding herself dry. But Algirak was another story—”

There was a thought that touched all of them—not a voice in their heads, but a thought. A thought from her.

It said, I’m scared.

And the sky darkened in response. Serkukan’s form changed; his black clothes had been stripped away into a dark robe beside him. His whole crimson form was laid bare.

But the robes that were Algirak tore away into a horrible mass of mismatched flesh and parts, oozing like black tar, with narrow, glowing eyes that eagerly shifted from left to right. His wings matched the goring complexity of Serkukan's horns. His sides bore spikes as long as his sharpened fingers. His teeth and mouth drooled and oozed pus.

"Damn the history of it all, and damn Algirak." Cedric pointed at Serkukan. "I need that."

Ithlo's face finally showed a hint of anger. "You cannot have that."

"That power is more than enough to kill Kogar."

"That power is enough to crush Caloria. You would rend Evra's world in twine to kill a man?"

Cedric shifted his lips. "How close can I get?"

"If you would let me finish—"

"We don't have the time or energy for an entire lesson. Kogar becomes more unhinged by the day—he needs to be stopped."

Ithlo'vatis returned to his disinterested expression. "What is your fascination with him? You know much of the Etherian truth. You still see value in your life? I've known many a man go to insane in the face of this."

"The men that I've known in my life were insane far before they started following your cult. I have my mission; I'll see it through."

"So be it. Liara has schemed a great many devices that are capable of such things. You may fight through Haketh yourself to grasp them."

"Devices? As simple as taking Grivonym from Freiya..."

"Not as simple. They're incomplete. You'd need to build them first, based on her schematic."

"And there's no chance of us fighting through Haketh." Cedric scoffed. "What else?"

"Jirtu yet devises such implements. You may attempt to coerce him to follow such a schematic."

"Jirtu." Cedric scratched the back of his head. "The name is so familiar. More familiar than just having heard it in passing from Faunia, but I just can't remember..."

"You fought him a few times on your journey to Harth. He nearly died in the end..." Ithlo waved his hand toward the scenery and all began to collapse.

Soon, the blackness began to fill with a new image: the streets of Harth, the desert town at the southern peak of Kylinstrom. The beige roads were overrun with sand, and the tan-skinned inhabitants all along the street's shops wore all sorts of multicolored fabrics and covers to protect themselves from the heat.

"This is the last time Jirtu escaped, and the closest bout with him thus far. Moments before you faced Rykaedi, and met The Twelve within her palace."

"Before I died, you mean."

Ithlo nodded.

They saw Cedric run past. Slightly younger, with much neater hair than he currently had. His beard was only but slightly overgrown stubble.

Only after he passed them did they see another figure rip through the scene: a black-robed and black-winged man.

"Jirtu!" Cedric gasped. He remembered the chase. He remembered watching Jirtu catch the caine disease and his flesh distort and bubble and melt. "But where's Serkukan...?"

"Rykaedi captured him. He's locked within her palace, now."

Jirtu rammed his whole figure into Cedric and blasted them both through one of the sandstone buildings. The air filled with dust.

From the smoke emerged a red figure, fighting Jirtu back.

"Ozzod." Ithlo'vatis declared.

"Another red Etherian." Rithi murmured.

"We're getting off track, aren't we?" asked Cedric. "Unless you're planning to show us how to coerce him."

"You asked. I revealed."

Then Cedric's face went dark. "What about Hemah?"

But their conversation was interrupted by a woman's sudden shrill scream. The world fell away around them until they were back in the kitchen, where Rithi stumbled against a chair in his momentary confusion.

"It's Marisol." Cedric turned to Rithi.

Rithi nodded. "I'll check." he said, and made for the stairs through the western doorway.

Cedric watched him ascend. He gave a deep sigh in remembering her mental state when they had arrived to the Hall.

Then he shut his eyes. Kogar. I won't allow this to continue. I'll make you regret everything.

"Cedric." Ithlo'vatis tipped his helmet. "Shall we continue?"