“Raaeweergh. Ish Yrgh Awwerda.” The creature’s loud screams distracted her just long enough that its blow snuck beneath her guard. She went flying back, but steadied herself in mid-air before she smashed into the wall. With a muttered word, she darted higher into the air and stared down at the thrashing creature. Curious. It almost seems like it’s trying to speak. She listened to the garbled syllables, but could make no sense of it. She wasn’t exactly fluent in the Mwryanni tongue, a language mostly lost to the pages of time, but she decided after a few moments that this wasn’t quite it. Perhaps the creature was trying to speak something else, or perhaps it had lost the ability to speak altogether and its body was simply mimicking its old patterns - it was undead after all. Still, it seems more intelligent than I expected.
Gripping the dagger tightly in her hand, Yas̆gah felt its strength flow through her, and she met the creatures warbled cries with a raucous laugh that bounced off the walls. “Fear not, fallen star - I shall lay your sufferings to rest.”
She murmured beneath her breath and the sepulcher behind the beast rose silently from the floor. “You can’t reach me up here,” she taunted and the creature roared in rage. Crouching down, its limbs snapped upwards as the dead god soared into the air, its four pale blue arms straining for her throat. Its leap was a bit more athletic than she’d expected, but it had still done what she wanted. With a wave of her hand, the giant stone sepulcher crashed into the creature’s back and drove it into the ground. She dove after it, aiming the dagger straight for the heart of the beast.
“Kra’’an hasigh ikannah.” In a flash, the dead Mwyranni leapt to its feet and spun around, backhanding her. The dagger went flying from her hand as she flew about five feet straight into a pillar which, with a shudder, collapsed from the force of the blow.
“Oof.” She landed on the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her, but a few thousand years of instinct brought her immediately to her feet, and she darted back into the air a split second before the creature charged through where she had fallen. With rising frustration, her eyes searched the darkness for the dagger.
But her attention was diverted again as a painful tingle ran down her spine. Kurkuzan. Disbelief coursed through her veins as she realized her most devoted follower had just died. How? She was tossed backward as the undead Mywranni crashed into her and the two rolled head over heels across the ground. Yas̆gah might have looked like a frail, petite woman, but with a few millennia of stat changes under her belt, her strength far exceeded what one would expect from a mage.
She lashed out with her leg, trying to kick the creature free, but it clung stubbornly onto her with a strength that matched or even exceeded her own. Pinning her arms down, the creature bent over her and opened its mouth far wider than should have been possible. The obnoxious darkness that haunted the city seemed to snake and coil its way around the creature’s limbs as if it was a living creature - perhaps it was - and she watched with some measure of curiosity as four teeth in the top and bottom of its mouth slowly lengthened. Interesting.
Surging her strength, Yas̆gah tried to dislodge the creature from her, but, finding the task impossible, resigned herself to the inevitable. Summoning her essence, she opened her mouth wide and screamed. It was as unpleasant as ever; her jaw and teeth shattered instantly from the force emanating from her mouth as she sustained it, the damage spread further up her face. She could feel the hot, sticky blood dripping from every orifice on her head, but she forced her essence on.
The dead god was tougher than her. His skin resisted the first strike - and for a brief moment, the faint fear that she might have misjudged her strength clouded her heart - but at the second scream, it backed away, releasing her arms.
For most, the pain that tore at her would have been nearly unmanageable, but Yas̆gah had suffered worse. Much worse. Ignoring the fact that half her face had been blown by her own spell, she immediately rolled to her feet and sprinted away from the Mwyranni. A glint of metal caught her eyes, and she adjusted her trajectory slightly to scoop the object up. A welcome swell of strength rushed up her arm and she knew without looking that she had reclaimed the dagger.
The thunder of heavy footsteps echoed behind her, and she picked up the pace. Running straight toward one of the few pillars that hadn’t been knocked down in their brawl, she leapt into the air a few paces she reached it. Her foot kicked out, intercepting the pillar, and she flipped up and over the oncoming Mwyranni. With a scream fueled by pain and rage, she plunged the dagger deep into its chest as she landed on its back. It failed to reach its target, and she yanked out, stabbing again and again.
The dead god’s screams were so loud she could feel her bones vibrate. Its four arms desperately flailed behind it, trying to dislodge her, but its own muscles worked against it.
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Yet, once again, it showed itself to be more intelligent than she’d expected. Giving up on grabbing her, it flung itself on its back.
Yas̆gah barely managed to leap clear before it smashed the ground. Her ankle crumpled beneath her weight as she landed, sending her sprawling. Cursing, she summoned enough of her essence to dart into the air seconds before the Mwyranni plowed through the spot she had fallen. Circling high above of its reach, the two regarded each other warily.
She was beginning to regret her plan to hunt the dead gods. The nizirtū had assured her there were only seven of them, plus the three that hadn’t risen, and she had felt confident of her ability to kill them. But if this one - the first she had hunted - was any indication, they were a more dangerous foe than she had reason to believe. Undead were supposed to be stupid, but these still possessed a certain animalistic intelligence that gave her pause. Still, if this was the price she had to pay for apotheosis - so be it. Her hand gripped the dagger more tightly as she summoned her essence to attack again. It was time to stop holding back.
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As the sounds grew louder, Jasper became more and more certain that he was headed in the right direction. The noise turned into words which, although he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning, sounded like a chant. Dousing the light from his hands, which was really no longer necessary thanks to the dim glow of the magma, he slowed his pace to a crawl as he searched for the source of the sound.
The street dipped down sharply one last time, and then widened out. A huge cavern, undoubtedly of natural origin rather than carved out like the city, stretched above his head. Pits of boiling magma dotted the floor, but there was clear path forward that wound through the darkness. He followed it cautiously, and the sound of chanting increased with every step until a shape emerged out of the gloom.
It was a freestanding building, the first he’d seen in the ruined city that wasn’t carved straight into the bedrock. Perched on a small rise that overlooked bubbling pits of lava, the building was a simple square, though it walls were so disproportionately taller than its overall size - just like the curious doors in the tomb - that it seemed almost surreal.
Crouching down beside the bolder, Jasper surveyed it in silence. There was no sign of life outside the walls, but light streamed out from a pair of open doors and so too did the noise.
Jasper stared at the building reluctantly, feeling like he was waiting just outside the boss’ chambers in a Dark Souls game. True, there was no swirling gate of fog to bar his entry, but he knew his task was borderline folly. What could one man do alone - especially when he’d already been forced to use Hand of Judgement. There would be no Ophan to save him this time.
Getting myself killed isn’t going to help anyone, his mind began to rationalize. Surely they wouldn’t want me to die just for them.
His back stiffened as he rejected the thoughts. Just shut up and move, he snarled at himself, and slowly his body obeyed his commands. He reached the portico of the strange building unhindered, and crouching beside the doors, peered inside.
An enormous statue presided over the room. Carved from pure alabaster, the four-limbed being was bent over, with each of its four arms gripping the ceiling as if it was holding the roof up. It gleamed white in the light of the braziers below, but large flecks of blue paint still clung to much of its skin. Beneath its protective embrace lay three more sepulchers nearly identical to the one he’d seen earlier and there - chained to their top, Jasper saw two prone bodies and even though their faces were frustratingly hidden from him, he felt certain he’d found his friends.
Unfortunately, the room was also full of cultists. Their backs were turned toward him as the cultists milled around the central sepulcher. At first, he couldn’t see what they were doing, but as he watched them shuffle to and fro, retrieving items from somewhere out of sight, he realized they were decorating it with flowers and fruit. Not exactly what I expected.
He watched in silence for a few minutes, unsure how to proceed. The number of cultists in the group wasn’t very large - he counted just 18, although he couldn’t be certain there weren’t a few more lingering out of sight - but it was enough to give him pause. If he got lucky, he might be able to beat them, but that was only if there wasn’t anyone like the Seraph amongst their group. If there was, he was screwed.
Rejecting the idea of a full-on assault, he decided what he needed was a distraction. Retreating from the door, he glanced around for ideas. The deep gloom made it impossible to see what lay hidden in the dark reaches of the cavern, but as he looked at the roof of the strange building, he found his inspiration.
A half-man, half-bird statue much like the one that stood outside the gates to Naḫas̆s̆innu, guarded the center of each wall, a silent sentinel of the dead. One of them looked in near-perfect condition, but the others had taken some damage. A large rock had fallen from the roof of the cavern, snapping one half and tearing off the arm of another, before it had come to a stop at the third. The statue had been partially lifted off its base, leaning precariously over the roof, but somehow it still clung on. Perfect. Just need something to bait them out with. But as he finished his survey of the surrounding area, he found nothing to work save for fallen rocks and sluggishly boiling magma. There was nothing much in his bag either; there were the broken potions, a bit of rope, soggy maps, brushes for Dapplegrim, some jerky and hardtack, along other odds and ends, but his bag was sadly lacking in dynamite, fuses, or grenades. Guess there’s still one way I can get their attention, he decided.