The first sacrifice marked each of us as evil, in such a way that any evil creature would be able to feel our power. The next few changed us further, each in a way that drew us closer towards our chosen gods. Each of us granted a power, in our own way. Nothing that would be terribly ground-shakng in combat, perhaps, but it did mark us as different from the common stock.
As a servant of Auril, I gained the ability to heal quickly while touching ice or snow, which was nice, but not something I’d be using much, due to the fact that battles didn’t always take place in the ice and snow. Garagos granted Ebonheart gained a small bonus to his attacks when facing stronger foes. Kurtulmak blessed Fartooth with a bonus to his damage when avenging himself on someone who had hurt him. And Malcanthet? She granted the sisters a bonus to their attempts to seduce people, as if they needed it.
But that was fine. We hadn’t expected any boons when we started the sacrifices, after all. This was all about upgrading our gear, and making us better able to take on the fights ahead of us. Because if the fight against the Sentinel had taught us nothing else, it was that we were still weak, compared to the forces out here on the planes.
The sacrifices didn’t stop when we were done augmenting our equipment, of course. Other rituals were conducted, with her followers taking the highborn and stealing everything from them. Instead of fusing items together, to improve their powers, this new rite stole the experience and vitality of the victim, and added it to the one conducting the rite. The result was… impressive.
The six half-archon volunteers who went through with the ritual were changed. Their wings, once shining with a metallic golden or silver sheen, had turned black. Their eyes glowed with an inner power that wasn’t there before. Their fingernails lengthened and strengthened into claws. They appeared as though a shadowy aura hung behind them, menacingly, but it was just a side effect of their newfound power leaking through.
Their attributes soared, as they took on a portion of their victims’ strength. The six had each gained several levels, according to the Voice of the World. More than that, their prior levels had been wiped away, and replaced with the Abyssal Knight class.
“I’ve never heard of an Abyssal Knight, before.”
Siora smiled at me. “And you wouldn’t have, unless you ventured into the Abyss. They are an order of divine warriors, much like paladins, but sworn to the lords of the Abyss. They are the elite shock troops of the armies fighting against the forces of the Nine Hells in the eternal Blood War. To see a single Abyssal Knight away from the Lower Planes, not fighting on the front lines of the Blood War, is a rare thing. To have six, all in the same place? You are more likely to see gods manifest directly upon the material plane.”
I nodded, thoughtfully. “Then, it seems that our host is firm in her belief in revolution, like she was talking about before the ritual started.” Speaking low enough that only my friends could hear, I asked, “What do you think their chances are?”
The beguiler shook her head. “Unknown. Part of it really has to do with what their end goal is. If they just strike at the nobles, and keep the abyssal knights out of sight, then there is a chance that their rebellion can proceed unremarked, at least for a while. However, if they want deeper change, then, eventually, they will have to deal with the master of this realm, and facing a deity in their true form is no easy task.”
“Yes, I remember hearing that. They have some sort of aura that can suppress another’s will, right? Attempts to force them to submit?”
“Not exactly,” Vestele chimed in. “It is said that basking in the aura of a god can produce one of three responses, according to the god’s will. The first is to simply daze creatures, rendering them unable to attack, flee, or do anything but look on in wonder. The second is to frighten them, sending them scurrying away at the first sign of the deity doing anything, even something so small as glancing their way.”
I whistled softly. “That is nasty. Basically, just reducing any enemies that get too close to helpless wretches, just waiting on the deity to smite them. Hopefully, there is some defense.”
Vestele nodded. “A firm will and stiff resolve can overcome the aura, yes. Which brings up the third use of the aura: it can be used to bolster the deity’s allies, making their attacks stronger, while hindering enemies in the same way.”
“So, dealing with a god is not going to be so simple as just walking up and stabbing them in the eye. Then, if they try to take on the lord of this realm, and go for the big prize? What are their chances then?”
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Siora sighed. “Not spectacular, I’m afraid. Without something to tip the scales, then I don’t see any way to cross that gap. Although, having some big distraction drawing people’s attention away until it was too late wouldn’t hurt.”
I chuckled, and said, “Like a portal getting shut down, yes?” We shared a smirk, and then I took a deep breath. “Right, then. We might as well get to work on our next issue. We still need a way to slip into the inner part of the city, and take down the portal. Oriel said that taking on the werewolf archon would be a good way to register ourselves as mercenaries, which is the reason we went through all this trouble.”
Fartooth chittered. “Yes, we should probably get back to focusing on the main goal. With the power these rituals have given us, we should be able to make a good showing against the Blackmane Pack and their leader. We kill them, bring the archon’s head, sell some wolf pelts, and rely on you, Melinda, to talk our way through the gates. After all, you’re the best talker amongst us.”
I was about to respond when movement to the side caught my eye. Oriel had returned, and behind her, three trumpet archons, beaten, bruised, with scars that showed signs of long abuse, were dragged in, in chains. Each wore an iron collar around their necks, which positively BURNED with magic.
Oriel smiled happily as she came up to us. “You have already witnessed some of my followers, as they devoted everything that they are to the cause of ridding this plane of the ‘True Deity’ and his followers. Now, I shall do the same. Because, as I’m sure you have guessed, at some point in our revolution, will need to face the god himself. So, I, too, will undergo the transformation hinted at to me by my Thedran friend before he was captured.”
“Your friend knew many rituals, I see.”
The half-celestial drowess laughed. “Yes, well, he was Anaform the Darksworn, chief demonologist in all of Thedra. He taught me much, in our meetings. It was he, who taught me how to ward parts of the sewers, to hide them from scrying and those searching out those of wicked intent. And it was he who set up this ritual space.”
I nodded slowly. “I see. Then, what is the purpose of this ritual chamber? The rituals of sacrifice, to meld two items together, I understand, but the transformations your warriors underwent? That is no small feat of magic.”
“Yes, but that ritual is nothing, compared to what I am about to perform. Meet my grandfather, and my aunt and uncle, on my mother’s side. The three sanctimonious bastards who cast out my mother on her return from the material plane, for being ‘unclean’. So, I thought that I would visit that same ‘uncleanness’ upon them, in turn, before they help me ascend into true power.”
Siora whistled softly. “If you were to sacrifice an archon, and one that was kin to you? That would be a powerful deed on its own. Three archons, all kin to you? That is… I don’t even know where to begin talking about the kind of power you could bring down with that!”
I shook my head in amazement. “How did you manage to capture them? I mean, taking the nobles and their families, that’s one thing. But capturing archons is no easy feat. And they do not look like they’ve just recently come into your care.”
Oriel paused, and then sighed. “I was able to grab them when the portal opened, and everything was thrown into confusion. Anaforn had provided me with some poison that would put even an archon to sleep, and the enchanted bindings to keep them obediently locked away, preventing them from escaping of calling for aid.” She paused, and then said, “It was while I was bringing them back that the foray into Magika, and captured Anaforn. I only just got back to the square in time to see the blasted archons executing him.”
I bowed my head. “I’m sorry for your loss. If he was able to uncover such rituals, he would have been someone I probably would have enjoyed meeting. And he was obviously important to you.”
“Yes. He was. Anaforn was the first person who didn’t treat me like trash, like I was something unworthy of life, just because of how I was born. He was a good friend, and I will gladly burn this plane to ash, in order to avenge him.”
“I understand completely,” I smiled. “If you don’t make sure to stomp on those who wrong you, then it makes you look weak, and vulnerable, and people start thinking that they don’t need to give you any respect. So, sometimes you need to make an example of someone, and prove them wrong. Vengeance, properly served, makes for a very effective warning to the next person who might think of crossing you.”
“Exactly. Which is why this ritual, with my dear family, is so important. Once it is done, I will be able to move on to getting revenge for Anaforn, and all the others who have suffered because of these self-righteous zealots and their rules. The Abyss will take them all!”
“So, what will the ritual entail?”
Oriel smirked, as she began undressing. As she did so, the glamour that covered her fell away. Her skin, as one might expect from the daughter of an archon, was flawless, and she had a body that men would eagerly throw themselves at her feet for just a chance at holding her. She was, in a word, beautiful, though even that word did not begin to come close.
“Wow,” I gasped. “It is not every day that I see someone using glamours to appear plainer than they are!”
“Well, standing out too much invites trouble. Some of the Inquisitors like to find pretty ‘trash’ and take them to their quarters to help ‘redeem’ them. Funny how those girls don’t get seen again. But, once I go through with the ritual, I won’t need to hide any more. I’ll be able to make them all pay.”
She paused once more, and then looked at Vestele. “And, as such, I am now able to declare openly my allegiance.” She motioned to the side, where two of the abyssal knights were bringing forward a lit brazier, with four branding irons heating over the coals. “Part of the ritual requires that the three archons and I all be branded. Them upon the forehead, and myself upon my chest, just above my breasts. So that there can be no doubt about where my loyalties lie. And I can think of none better than a champion of my own goddess to do the honors.”
Vestele sucked in a quick breath, and then nodded, slowly. “As a servant of Malcanthet, Queen of the Succubi, Ruler of Shendilavri, and Goddess of all the pleasures that realm has to offer, I shall do this, and watch over your ritual. Bring forth the brand.”
The brazier was offered to her, and she pulled the first iron out of the coals, revealing it to be in the shape of Malcanthet’s sigil. Stepping forward to the first of the archons, she intoned, “I mark you now, Sacrifice, in the name of the Queen of Pleasure. May your soul serve her forever.” And then the brand touched the archon’s face, and he screamed in pain, despite the magic binding him.
She repeated the process with each of the captive archons in turn, each time using a different iron. Finally, she came to Oriel, who did not even try hiding the dampness between her thighs at the sight of her family being marked, with the final brand. “I mark you now, Sister, in the name of the Queen of Pleasure. May your works ever bring pleasure to Our Lady’s ears.” And then, it was Oriel’s turn to scream.