001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS
This is taking too much time. Jainus Une Roha is showing no signs of tiring, even after all the spells we assault him with. The Land and Fire Angels flying about the chambers are a nuisance at best, to be sure, but armadas at once can be quite vexing. And after all the destruction we have been unleashing in the chambers, Alaric still cannot locate the True Leaf of Ohn!
"It was here when the moon turned last, I am telling you!" he shouted from the other end of the chamber, dodging a jet of flame from a stray Fire Angel that might have immolated his entire left arm. Two heartbeats later, the Angel was reduced to a scattering of red light motes, Alaric's bastard sword gleaming dangerously in its wake. He ran to another corner of the chamber at once -- a corner which he had passed for the seventh time at the last counting.
"Then it is here, Brother Commander," the Evolved Sage roared in affirmation, as he unleashed a fierce stream of dragon breath on Jainus point-blank, burning the surrounding Angels as well to nonexistence. "And we simply must needs look harder."
"Perhaps it would be prudent to ask Jainus here of its whereabouts?" the Templar suggested, impatience lacing her gruff voice. She had been relentlessly pommeling the seemingly impenetrable shade with her enchanted mace, careening nimbly to and fro to avoid connecting with Jainus' own attacks, but the shade simply shrugs them off as a Giant would a gnat.
"This is getting us nowhere. Brother White Elf, how are you faring?" I asked the young green-haired Priest to the left and behind me, as I threw seven force blasts at once to push back seven Angels advancing at our direction. "Taunt!" I shout to the Sage.
I did not get a response from the Priest so I spared a glance at his direction to make sure he was still alive, executing arcane passes into the air at the same time with my free hand for the next offensive spell. He was standing, thank the Blue Flames, although he looked terribly exhausted, chest heaving and sword-arm hardly steady from the effort of healing all of us and recently resurrecting our Sister Warlock. He did manage a nod, so that will do. Alaric should have chosen a more veteran Priest for our Squadron, I thought, as I released my spell, charring the seven Angels. This stripling youth looks like he'd just been initiated to Priesthood.
"Apologies, Brother Wizard," the Warlock said, panting, taking her place once again beside me. "But it felt like my own spell backfired when I aimed at Jainus. The True Leaf must indeed be here." She started casting strengthening spells on herself once more.
Alaric was now almost behind us when he heard our Sister Warlock's remark. "Hah! You see?" he exclaimed to no one in particular, punctuating his glee with a somersault. "I am sure it is here!"
"Brother Commander might be right..." our Sister Templar said, through gritted teeth. She just barely managed to swerve right out of the path of Jainus' force blast mere moments after she landed a devastating hit with her mace -- which, judging from the shock it sent to the Weave -- should have cleaved the shade in several parts. "... I have been hitting Jainus with everything I have, but he just. Won't. DIE!" she grunted, punctuating each word with a strike.
"Steady your blows, Sister Templar. The fluctuations of the Weave do indicate the presence of the True Leaf within the chamber," the Sage growled as clearly as his reptilian tongue would allow, clawed hand flaying the throat of the nearest Angel. "We need not aggravate it further."
Aggravate seems to be just about right. Every time we manage to land a blow on Jainus Une Roha, the Weave itself seems to crackle in pain. I myself had to keep from attacking Jainus lest my staff breaks from the force of the magical recoil. Still, fending off Angels will accomplish nothing. I studied Jainus from where I stood to look for a possible weakness. His shade was towering, almost reaching to the chamber's ceiling. He was supposed to have been Human when he was alive, but any resonance of his Humanity had been lost in the Weave -- most probably due to centuries spent in the spiritual plane. He has evolved to become a formidable spirit, growing not only in size, but sprouting wings as well, which means having a seat in the upper hierarchies of the undead. Still, something is amiss in the vibrations he emanates...
And then we heard it. A blood-curdling wail from what might have been the shade's mouth. Sister Templar and Brother Sage jumped back from Jainus in surprise, taking the defensive. "Squadron, to me!" Alaric shouted. We rushed to his side right away.
"My... treasures..." the shade's lamentation was like daggers in the air itself. "... keep... away!" Jainus released a force so powerful, it felt as if a pillar of steel rammed me on the chest. I managed to stay aright and I gripped my staff tightly as I conjured a magical barrier to deflect whatever energy it was hammering at me. The Angels inside the chamber were completely vaporized in yellow and red pinpoints of light, like a million dying fireflies.
"The Weave!" someone shouted. The Weave! my mind roared. It was unraveling from where Jainus was standing!
"No!" White cloak and green hair elbowed past me -- the young Priest shot his arms out in front of him, shield and sword all but forgotten at his feet, and released a torrent of golden light from his outstretched fingers.
I looked at him, aghast. He does not mean to heal the Weave all by himself? I had forgotten how much more sensitive the White Elves are to the different fluctuations of the Weave than us Dark Elves. While our magic invokes its nature for outward change, movement, and destruction, White Elves channel its more inward energies of healing, balance, and temperance. This violent rending of the Weave must be excruciating, especially for a young Priest.
I extended the barrier to encompass all six of us, with my Sister Warlock lending her strength. Sister Templar harrumphed and positioned her muscular heft beside the young Priest, slamming the head of her mace to the ground in front of her. "Do not be foolish, stripling. I may be Templar, but it has only been mere centuries when I was once a White Mage, too." She placed her free hand on the now-knelt Priest's shoulder and let her energies flow into him. He looked at her gratefully, his face a rictus of pain and fear. She remained stone-still.
"Then I shall do my part as well, for I have magics similar to yours," said Brother Sage, now back to his humanoid form. He transferred his zhen to his other hand, placed his free palm on the young Priest's other shoulder, and initiated the flow of golden energy.
Alaric saw it first. "There!" he pointed, eyes gleaming as a child might, finding a shooting star.
I looked at the direction his finger was pointing to, and I saw it. A tiny green flicker, fighting against greys and blacks and dark purples. The True Leaf of Ohn. "Oh," I think I said, after a while. Inside what might have been Jainus Une Roha's abdomen.
"You cannot mean to do what I think you mean to do, Alaric!" I whispered sharply as Alaric and I ran past another one of Jainus' force blasts.
"I do not mean to do what you think I mean to do, Zohariel!" he said just as quickly. "Shield!"
I cursed under my breath for letting the shield expire prematurely. A few moments of quiet concentration, and it was up again. "Stay near me!" I hissed, as he jumped to slash at Jainus once more, keeping the shade's attention to the both of us while our comrades focused on keeping the ambient Weave stable. By the Blue Flames, I pray the rest of the Celestial Castle is still normal. There were too many demons here to be made insane by the True Leaf's power.
"Please tell me there is a choice, Brother," Alaric said as he leapt back to my side. We broke into a run at once, frustration fueling my limbs. Dark Elf minds are not suited to being driven into a corner. We always had a choice. But I could not think of any other way to retrieve the True Leaf other than defeating Jainus.
All of a sudden, a cold finger snaked up my spine. I knew who it was without looking. "Roha."
"Well met, Zohariel," Alaric -- no, Roha said. The voice was still the boy-commander's, but there was an undeniable chill in between words, like the tendrils of thin ice. I darted a look at our comrades to see if they'd noticed. "They are unaware of my presence. The Weave is too unstable near the periphery of Jainus, even a simple cantrip can be perceived as a shockwave of power. No, they would rather focus on healing it."
"And they are healing it considerably fast. In a few moments, your masquerade will be forfeit."
He spat on the ground. "Then I will just have to eliminate them," he said, a little too casually for my tastes. I have little doubt he means to do it.
Jainus was on a rampage, being at a disadvantage. He was too large and towering to move quickly against two small targets. And it appears the surrounding Weave is adversely affecting him as well. The True Leaf might have bolstered his spiritual energies, but he has not enough knowledge nor sentience to use it properly. His attacks were devastating, but clumsy and poorly aimed.
"I sense Flox's hand in this," Roha muttered as he brought up Alaric's bastard sword to strike the shade once more. "Presumptuous ghost, deigning to use my name!" And then he slashed down, raw strength and power free from any magical aid weighed the length of the wide, steel blade, threatening to cut a wide swath on the fabric of reality itself. Cracked earth flew in all directions as the walls of the large chamber quaked in response to the force of impact of the heavy sword. There was a sound, a sorrowful wail, which might have been Jainus, or it might have been the Weave, but it lasted for only a few heartbeats and it was gone.
I managed to raise a wall of fire just in time to burn any errant stone in my periphery -- which I was about to extend to my comrades but I was pleased to see our Sister Warlock had done the same. The healing of the Weave is almost about complete, its threads hum with less electricity on my staff and on my fingers. I looked at the spot where Roha brought down Alaric's sword and walked over, but not without some degree of caution.
"It is finished," Roha said breathlessly. He turned around, and hovering on the palm of his left hand was the True Leaf of Ohn. At the same time, the ambient Weave healed completely, fluctuating at irregular intervals around the Leaf, but otherwise intact.
"What is the meaning of this?" My head snapped to look at the source of the voice. Sister Templar was advancing, mace in hand, anger rising. "Brother Commander! No -- ROHA!"
A breath, a spell, and I was between them. I held my staff in front of me, barring Sister Templar's path. "Stand down, Sister. The mission is yet to be completed. We must bring the Leaf to the Conclave at once," I spared a sidelong glance at Roha. "Roha will not harm us."
"Have your senses left you, Brother Wizard?! You are standing before Roha -- who bears the True Leaf of Ohn, no less! Move, or I will strike you down where you stand."
"Brother Wizard, you had best explain." It was Brother Sage, voice as cold as the glint of his zhen. "It is undeniable the one before us is Roha. Until you shed light on this matter, I stand with Sister Templar."
"As do I," concurred Sister Warlock, placing herself beside Brother Sage, reflecting cold wrath on her crimson-cerulean eyes.
I looked at the young Priest, waiting for his words affirming to stand by our comrades. He looked exhausted has he took up his longsword and shield. His deep azurean eyes met mine. "I saw this as if in a dream mere moments ago," his voice was weak, seemingly made of smoke, threatening to fade into the air. "The Weave spoke with me as we were healing it." He made his slow walk towards me. "Brother, you will die."
I made to lift my free hand as he approached to push him away, but he caught my wrist first. "You will die," he insisted. But there was no urgency in it, no alarm, and no comfort. It was fact, like it was written in the annals of some ancient Elven history book, and that was that. The sun is warm; the moon is silver; I will die.
His face turned towards our comrades as soon as he was satisfied I understood, "And we shall remember naught of the events here." His face returned to me -- no, past me -- to Roha. "And you, Brother Commander, Roha, will return to the Firmament, to the place of your siblings, a victor, after all of this has ended. But the light of All-Father Ohn will be no more nearer as when all the madness started during the Purge."
He let go of me and started walking towards Roha -- where his body met unyielding, unforgiving steel. He exhaled one last breath, and then he died. "What were you thinking, Alaric, bringing an Elven seer within my presence?" Roha said. He withdrew the bloodied sword from the young Priest's lifeless flesh and spat, letting the corpse fall soundlessly to the ground. The True Leaf glinted a cold and ominous green light on his hands. "If any of you would like to meet the same fate, come at me. All at the same time, if you so wish it," he challenged the others.
"ENOUGH!" A new voice boomed. All heads turned to the entrance of the chamber.
"Guild Master," Brother Sage said for all of us.
"Brother Sage, Sister Templar, Sister Warlock, to me!" he commanded. All at once, the three who were summoned were at his side. The Dekan Guild Master produced a round, amber-coloured stone from a pouch slung on his belt and crushed it while whispering an incantation. The three soldiers at his side were suddenly engulfed within pillars of muted gold, rendering them as still as statues. A concentrated confounding spell. Once done, he walked towards me and Roha.
"Brother Zohariel," he said to me, not unkindly, "You will forgive me if I let you keep the memories of this event fresh in your mind. The part you are yet to play in this farce is most important and you will need complete control of your faculties if you are to play it out well."
It was intended to give me comfort, I saw it in the Guild Master's eyes, but I felt only sickening revulsion -- the darkening of my heart from the web of secrets and deceit clinging to me. "With all due respect, Guild Master," I started, "I understand that the fate of all the free races depends on the success of this mission, but..." But I refuse to be a pawn, I wanted to say. Even if saying it out loud affirmed it even more so.
"No, Brother Zohariel," the Guild Master raised a blue-skinned hand. "The fate of all the free races depends on you, and the decision you will be faced with. Now," he turned to Roha. "Alaric, whom I have cared for, for eight years, as my son. Take control of your body -- the success of this mission has been too long delayed."
"Your words do not reach the mind of this vessel, Dekan," Roha said, eyes burning with hatred and contempt. "Nor do they matter, whatever they may be, for by being here, your death has been all but ascertained. Zohariel and Alaric are mine; your demise is inconsequential."
"Perhaps. I care not, truly. It appears Marea had not been lying when, eight years past, she said you will descend, take the True Leaf of Ohn, and kill a certain Dark Elf to thwart Flox's mad plans -- that is, the genocide of all the free races for the resurrection of All-Father Ohn." In slow, deliberate motions, the Guild Master unclasped a blackened rod from his belt, lined with red glyphs on its two ends. I sensed the Weave vibrate the very air around it as the Guild Master held the instrument in front of him. Slowly, spikes of enchanted metal grew from the opposite ends, like a dragon awakening from a long, deep slumber. The fangs of the ancient zhen -- now completely extended -- glinted evilly as it caught light. "I can never resolve whether I should regret not killing you during the assault on the Caravan of the Seven Swords, or I should regret not training your will to be strong enough for you to wrest complete control over your own body.
"It falls not on me now to do what I have failed to do, for there is one last pawn in this war of gods and monsters. Relinquish the True Leaf of Ohn, or not. It matters little." The Guild Master's eyes were a shock of pure white. Soulless, and cold. "He approaches, the executioner of us all."
