Pillars of the Kingdom

Chapter Twenty

The party had taken little time to recover after witnessing Branden’s fury, allowing him ample time to cry the tears he needed to let go of. It was not much, but in some small way he’d found salvation for his slain family. Serge had hugged him tightly as the grown man’s tears flowed, and not one of the group felt it was shameful. After he’d recovered, a rather fast one proven true by a mere smile, he’d decided it was time to return to ‘work,’ entering into the opened vault.

The cavern itself was a dark place and Jacin didn’t know what to make of it at first. Sunlight filtered in through the opened door and gave a dark illumination to the ancient oil lanterns along the walls. A match was struck by Charles and held up to the first, and Jacin was surprised to see a number of the others flare up upon the first’s ignition. It appeared a network of oil-dipped tinder had spread the flames along the wall, the darkness mitigated by the new light yet not at all removed.

Massive stone pillars seemed to support the ceiling, many of them with ancient engravings upon them. Silver placards of battle hang along the walls, along with occasional copies of the poem mounted outside of the tomb. The lanterns lit up one at a time to complete the eerie picture of the underground burial chamber.

He saw mounds of treasure along the walls, gold and silver coins all over the floor. A smile came to his lips as he saw ancient weapons, even a few spears which looked suitable to him.

“This place...” Branden started in a soft voice. “So much darkness. Where the hell have we walked into?” The blue-haired nobleman was leaning against his older caretaker, and Serge was looking around with a puzzled expression on his face as he removed his helmet.

“I don’t know. This evil just laces the place, though not everything in here is perverted. Still...” Serge paused, losing track of his thoughts as he slowly put his helmet back on. His silence was unnerving.

“What’s up?” Jacin heard Charles ask in a rather startled voice, straining their ears to hear the next phrase the elder would utter.

“What is that?” Kathy asked as she pointed her rifle toward a place where the lights seemed to center.

Each lamp threw a bright light upon what almost appeared to be an mummy. The entity within was gigantic, easily three times the height of a human, and it bore large wings which, even counting the piercing light appeared to be nothing less than an ebony black. The gargantuan figure radiated enough evil to cause even Jacin to wince and look away. The gauze which wrapped around it seemed almost to bind it in place and appeared to try and cover decay, yet where the gauze had rotted the flesh had remained intact.

“Damn, this is one fucking disaster area.” Clarice muttered to herself as she stared at the figure.

“This isn’t right,” Branden whispered as he trembled. Nothing had unnerved Branden Frost in his life, yet something about this situation made the minuscule amount of inhuman blood in his veins tremble. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“No shit,” Kathy responded flatly, looking over to the leader of the group for advice.

Serge analyzed the room and looked back to the group. “What do you think the chances of sealing this place back up are, Clarice?”

“Pretty good,” she stated with a painfully soft whisper. “Then again, if there was some sort of magical binding in this place, our opening it may have–“

What it may have done didn’t seem to matter, because the entire place began to tremble. Only a small bit of black dust fell on their heads, a testament to the structural integrity of the tomb, yet the force of the quake nearly caused Jacin to fall to his knees.

“The fuck?!” Charles screamed as he grasped one of the pillars for support. To him, it seemed as if the cavern was slowly being turned upside down.

“Damned if I know!!” Alan shouted back, doing the opposite of the group and falling directly to his knees. His logic made sense - better to fall under your own control then lose your balance and bonk your head.

Instead of losing force, the ground’s fury instead grew stronger, until the sound of the rocks underneath them grinding was deafening. Not long after it reached the highest point, the quake simply disappeared.

“...Now what?” Charles said in a soft, nervous breath. The sudden vanishing of the earth-born threat was nothing compared to the amazement at what came next.

“Now is freedom,” Came a groggy-sounding voice not one of them recognized.

“Why do I get the feeling this just got really bad?” Clarice whispered.

“It did, bitch,” came the ominous reply followed quickly by laughter. The sound of thread snapping flew through the room as a strange pressure filled the tomb. “And you’re all to thank for waking me. Normally you’d be spared for this, but as you killed my Saints I’ll have to kill you. Impressive, little cold-boy, to do that. Truly you have been a good pawn.”

“Oh I know this fucker...” Branden whispered almost to himself, trying to gather enough strength to even draw his weapon, yet finding himself still drained from his dispatching of their foes, “Did not just say that...”

“Stay down Branden,” Serge urged as he gently patted the boy on the back and stepped toward the large entity. “I’ve got this.”

“An old man with a good deal of power, impressive,” the creature spoke before laughing. “Then again, not one of your friends will stand before him. You’re all so...Amusing.” Things certainly looked bad for the group until another voice rang out.

“No. I’ve got this, Serge,” Clarice interrupted, the sound of two weapons being drawn simultaneously echoing through the chamber. “I suppose its only customary to ask your name, demon.”

The fallen angel looked down to the woman in her golden-colored armor and frowned slightly. “I am an Angel, woman, and above your questions. As it is your dying request, though...” He trailed off, his mouth curling into a sinister grin, “I’ll give you my name. Malach is what I am, nothing more. Now die!”

The blade seemed came from nowhere yet Clarice easily deflected the attack. Malach’s very hands had sharp edges along them, wrist-blades which made for a dangerous threat even from a passing blow. Her swords raised and she stepped forward, deflecting another attack and leaping into the air. Two flashes from her swords struck the Angel before he launched a counter-attack; a thrust. Her parry in mid-air sent her backwards and she managed to brace against one of the pillars with her feet, landing with her back against it.

Where Clarice’s swords had cut only minuscule damage had been dealt, and even this vanished into nothingness before their eyes.

“Was that your best, woman? I’m disappointed!” The Angel shouted as he created what appeared to be small black stars out of the very essence of reality and threw them at her.

Jacin looked away for but a moment, unable to face the humanity of it all, but looked up upon hearing the first sphere strike a sword. Clarice was not barely avoiding the incoming spheres; she was virtually dancing around them, parrying them effortlessly despite the blinding speed they carried. Each one created a small explosion which Jacin could easily imagine taking a large chunk out of his side.

Clarice again drew near the Angel and delivered not two but six attacks this time, finishing the series off with a powerful twin thrust aimed at its throat. Malach seemed almost to register injury and flapped his enormous wings just once, sending Clarice backwards into the pillar she’d left from thanks to a sudden gale. Once more his wounds seemed to quickly close up.

“Can’t you see there is no point to this, and you should lay down and die peacefully?” He taunted, raising his palm and pressing it forward. Nothing was visible yet Clarice screamed, her body pressed between what appeared to be an oncoming, invisible wall and the pillar behind her. She nearly lost grip of her swords and fell to her knees, gasping as she recovered.

“Fuck,” she thought to herself, “I didn’t even see that! So I’ll use this,” She licked her lips underneath her helmet and closed her eyes, the tips of her swords touching the ground. She breathed in and out slowly, standing and waiting.

“I see. Clever,” The angel responded with no amusement penetrating his voice, pressing his palm forward once more. Clarice should have moved, should have at least covered up, yet she smashed into the pillar again with another shout of dismay.

“What the hell was that?!” She screamed from frustration. She had to win, she couldn’t just give up on this battle, yet he’d apparently disabled her only technique. Just how could she hold Malach without him finishing her as she recovered?

“Clarice, get out of there! Closing your senses off won’t work, he saw through it and its over; I’ll take him!” Serge exclaimed as he moved to step forward, portending only one fate if this battle continued at this pace.

“The hell you will, old man!” Kathy shouted as she fired a full compliment of six rounds of red light at the demonic entity. Each one struck and caused him to howl in pain, yet he lashed out and pressed his palm toward the riflewoman, sending her backwards into a mound of golden coins which cushioned her impact. Good fortune or common luck, or maybe both?

“Self-silencing Arcanics should not speak!” He yelled, the implications in that statement quickly forgotten with the following words when he looked over towards Clarice. “And he’s right. Your technique is a good one and an archaic one, yet I make no sound, do not need to breathe, have no scent or taste and do not touch the floor. You’re more likely to strike your team-mates than me.”

Clarice seemed to nod her head as she stood up, yet she resumed her defensive stance and again closed her eyes. Her confidence was unmistakable. “Once more, Malach,” She whispered softly to the Angel, “Once more.”

Ostensibly, this was suicide. She had no way of knowing when it would come, yet she thought she saw...Something...On the second attack. On this third she was sure - A glow, a faint one, moved toward her as the palm extended. All she’d seen with her eyes closed was this glowing, and she had no idea what to relate it to except as some form of precognition...

Yet there it was, a wall moving toward her rapidly. She made a furious slashing motion and cut through the attack, seeing the opening on the dim outline of a large figure. Was this what was referred to as Aura-Sensing? Forward she moved, feet tapping softly on the pavement, and before she saw the fist move toward her she saw a small knotting of that same black glow. A power build up.

“Got you!” She shouted, partly as an attempt to ignore the pain in her ribs as she placed her blades firmly against Malach’s and used them to pole-vault into the sky and deliver another severe pounding; one the Angel never saw coming and took a greater amount of damage from. She leaped backwards before retaliation could come, managing to avoid most of the blood that sprayed from his open wounds.

“Wow,” Serge managed to whisper, his face still fraught with worry. “Pretty friggin good, dodging that. I know what she’s doing now, I just didn’t know she could.”

“What’s she doin’, old man?” Charles asked skeptically. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the results, it was that it was so unreal to witness such talent.

“She’s seeing his aura, visually instead of through a hazy sixth sense. Everything has it, even that big thing. I can see them too, but she’s doing it in a way that lets her react to what he is going to do, what he builds up to do...” Serge paused, throwing a slow fist forward as if making sure he was correct with his calculation. “She can see his aura gather to attack and know where it’s going, then evade it. Almost like precognition.”

“So the fight’s fixed?” Charles asked with a grin, looking back toward the raging fight. He didn’t see Serge’s look of concern remain intact.

Three fists headed toward the woman who danced around each blow almost effortlessly. Another fist came toward her, the blade along Malach’s wrist parried by a sword blow, and three more came towards her shortly thereafter. Each seemed to come a touch closer to landing, until a final one broke past her sword and made a fairly deep wound along her shoulder. Clarice leapt backwards with all her might and took a knee, looking up at the towering figure as she recovered from the jarring sensation in her flesh.

“How the hell did that happen?!” Jacin shouted, looking to the only man who might provide an answer. The old knight had seen it all, of course, so he’d have an answer, right?

“I...I need a second.” Serge said flatly, as if trying to answer the question himself.

“She could see everything he was doing before he did it, how’d that possibly go wrong?!” Charles yelled, asking the same question. It was a pretty good one, one that echoed on everyone’s mind.

“I think I know,” came the forgotten voice of Alan. He looked over toward the two still figures and shook his head. “Its because, despite knowing what he would do, she couldn’t move in time. To me, an attack from Jacin might look slow; the opposite is true here. The windup will come, will be read, but Clarice just can’t move in time, even if she knew where to block.” It sounded as if in some way Alan’s life story had just been retold. An inability to avoid what he knew was coming...He looked toward Branden and nodded once, as if thanking him.

“Then she’s done for. Fuck.” Charles muttered, raising his sword. A hand pressed against his chest to stop him.

“I got this,” Alan said with a smile. There was a number of gasps of surprise, but one who did not seem dismayed was the one most exhausted. Alan looked to Branden and raised the middle finger on that hand which had just been on the young knight, and the other nodded weakly with a grin on his lips.

“About damn time,” Frost muttered.

“Wish me luck!!” Shouted Alan as he suddenly ran forward, spear-shield surprisingly silent as he sprinted toward the large angel.

Clarice glanced upward, managing to avoid another serious blow by parrying and dodging at the same time, but she knew she was outclassed. Malach was far too fast, and the titanic Angel stared down at her with glowing red eyes looking ready to kill. At least she’d be able to know what blow would kill her before it landed and could prepare herself mentally for the pain.

Then the Angel lurched forward, groaning as the ground underneath him cracked. The sound of flesh tearing was followed by a sudden deluge of black blood and the figure of Alan covered in the ebony ichor.

“Eat that, you demonic little bastard!!” Alan shouted as he moved to slam his weapon into the back of Malach’s ankles. If he hoped to hamstring the beast, he was a little too slow as his heel whirled backwards and caught the bold man in the shoulder. The sound of impact against metal echoed through the chamber, shortly followed by the sound of Alan striking the wall.

“I don’t know where you got a weapon like this, but its good boy. You’re dead!” Malach shouted angrily. For the first time, the blood dripping from Malach’s back did not cauterize itself - The dark Angel continued to bleed.

Alan looked to his spear, as if to examine what had happened. His hand immediately reached to a pouch, grasped one of the tips Fiono had made for him, and quickly pressed it into place - His old one had seemed to vanish after the blow.

The large angel released another wave of force toward the young man, and at first glance he appeared to be devastated. In reality he’d hidden, retreating behind his large weapon’s handheld wall, and emerged with a smile on his face. Almost as if he were in slow motion, he stepped forward through the cloud of dust raised by the mystical wall and then took off in a flash, slamming his weapon straight into the angel’s hand.

Malach howled with pain as a wound in his hand opened and blood erupted from it. A dazzling white light followed the initial tide of liquid, and the wound seemed to open up further. The first flow of blood had slowed but this new one gushed in a way that reminded onlookers of a river.

Then things got bad.

Malach grasped the much smaller human while he recovered from the force of the attack he’d made and squeezed, eliciting a loud shout as he lifted the man skyward.

“Dear gods...” Serge said as he released Branden to stand (or fall, at this point either one was possible and had escaped the elder’s mind) on his own and begin a charge toward the fighters.

“No, Alan!!” Clarice shouted as she moved to get to her feet, using one of her swords as a crutch. She couldn’t hold it steady and fell to the side when the blade’s point slipped.

“This can’t be real,” Jacin whispered hopelessly as the angel wound its arm up and threw Alan - his friend, Alan - to the floor. “Are we going to die?” He breathed out.

The sound of armor splitting could be heard, the sound of bones breaking following a microsecond behind. The poor man was flung toward the ground, bounced, and Malach spun around, smashing his bleeding, mangled hand into the young knight and sending him crashing against the wall of the cavern. Alan fell like a broken doll to the floor with no signs of breathing.

“Come on, Jacin! We have to get this bitch of an Angel! Now!” Shouted Charles, who ran toward Malach heedless of his own safety. One swift blow that the lieutenant never saw coming send him into a pillar and to the ground, and Charles did not seem too eager to move.

“Dammit!” Branden muttered, biting his bottom lip so tightly that it bled as he pressed his palms forward, creating a number of ice shards in front of Serge. It was a futile gesture, but it was the best he could manage.

“Boy, I’ll tell you once to stay out of this!!” The old knight shouted as he leaped into action, his sword cutting deep into the angel’s ribs to no avail. The ice shards provided cover for the old man and inflicted minor wounds, but ultimately did nothing against the beast’s rage and brute force.

“Jacin, what the...” Charles whispered, looking up at his friend who stood there while watching the chaotic horror of it all. The reason for the concern was that Jacin was doing nothing. Not fighting, not running, just...Looking. That, and shivering so much Charles could see it through his plate mail. “What...?”

The scene was unreal. Sure, it wasn’t exactly like that dream he’d had, but it was so close to the same thing...He knew what was going on, despite the battle raging around him.

“Cover me, Kathy!” Serge shouted as Kathy reloaded her weapon and fired another burst against the giant. Jacin heard Serge shout more words, yet they seemed to rebound off of his helmet.

“Come here. You help me and I help you,” came an unbidden voice no louder than a whisper. Jacin knew where the sound came from, yet no words were spoken. He knew exactly where to run, just as he had in his dream, and he knew precisely what to look for.

“Dammit kid, we need you!” Serge exclaimed as Jacin rummaged through the treasure troves for....Something. Serge had no time to ponder this further, as he was the only one faring an even battle with the Angel thusfar and he wasn’t about to risk defeat to pay attention to a sergeant, a beloved friend of his or no.

Jacin grasped the black metallic object and removed his right gauntlet. The replacement was applied and he flexed his fingertips, the black metal reflecting light while seeming to absorb it. Similarly, Jacin felt his very sense of “awake” being drawn into the piece of armor. Apparently this new gauntlet had some incredible powers.

“You get me the hell out of here and take me with you, and I’ll give you the play-by-play on how to win the battle. Sound copasetic?” The mystically channeled voice spoke into Jacin’s head.

“Yeah sure, I’m in,” the young warrior responded aloud.

“The hell are you talking to?!” shouted Branden, irate both at his helplessness and at Jacin’s apparent loss of his sanity. It was to be expected from a low-ranked warrior, considering a good part of Branden wanted to run as well, but for him to completely lose his mind?

“Try this on for size!!” Jacin’s verbal threat was met with sincere ignorance from the Angel, who was more focused on the human who could stand his ground. Malach smiled, the older human’s ability to continue fighting starting to fade just before the young spearman shouted his pathetic threat.

Jacin, for one, knew nothing and yet everything of what he did. He feinted a spear blow, one completely ignored by the much stronger angel. Jacin then embedded the tip of his spear into the ground, focusing a power he knew he always held yet could never manipulate into the earth and forcing the impact of the spear to divert at a right angle - Sending the very floor of the tomb into the Angel’s chest.

Malach shouted, his attention suddenly finding the young man who dared to use such a powerful technique against him. He moved to face Jacin, but the nimble novice had planted the tip of his weapon into the ground and used it as a pole-vault, delivering a pair of strong kicks against the Angel’s shoulder. The creature barely seemed effected, yet every injury had to be getting under its skin.

“Die!” Malach shouted, sweeping his bladed forearm toward the small, insignificant human and ignoring another slash against his ribs from the elder mortal. Jacin felt that same power rise in him again and felt his newfound artifact guide his hand up toward the incoming attack, catching it between metal-covered fingers and giving him a good tempo to duck the large arm, coming up underneath Malach and striking him in the ribs.

The pair of attackers quickly began to take their toll. Jacin thrust his spear into the ground and caused the earth itself to rise against Malach two more times, while Serge peppered the angel with extremely powerful sword blows as Serge abandoned all pretenses of restraint.

“Now!” Serge shouted toward nobody in particular, and found himself smiling when a quickly conjured lance of ice slammed into the angel’s back. Jacin once again repeated his newfound technique, smashing stone into Malach’s battered body.

Serge, taking a fraction of a second to gather some of his strength, spun his blade around in almost a casual circle as a very whitish blue glow came from the handle of the sword. He swung downward, the light flowing down over the metal almost as if it were a cup being overturned, the old man’s power washing into the Angel’s flesh and causing what could only be defined as a large explosion.

Another six rifle rounds were squeezed off by the young rifle-woman Kathy, each one timed to ensure the Angel never had a chance of recovering to defend himself. This attack from all sides at once was of enormous, almost unparalleled power. Had any one of the party been struck with half of this barrage, they’d have been reduced to nothing.

Malach, after no less than half an hour of battle, fell to his knees and looked up at the world he had just been invited to rejoin. “You bastards...” He said with a soft laugh, “You mortals, who think you understand the way...” He coughed this time, not laughed, “the world works. You’re all dead, it is too late. The Saints have found me, they have assuredly,” he said with almost a sob, “found her. Sy...D...” The word, no; the name escaped Malach’s lips as they turned into a grin, quickly paling to grey just before Malach’s body turned from flesh to ash and dissipated along the walls of the cavern.

“Well, that’s the fuck over,” Branden muttered softly as he fell face-first to the floor, ignoring the taste of ancient dust which invaded his mouth. “Now if I can just get a year of paid vacation, I’ll be fucking great.”

The job of trash-talker had apparently been claimed by Frost, as Charles didn’t seem up to it. He simply looked at Jacin and took a deep breath. “What the hell happened?” He queried,

You grabbed something then became three times better than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I don’t know, I just did,” Jacin responded. He didn’t know how to explain the thing he’d found, so he left it alone. Charles removed his helmet and looked at his subordinate in a way that screamed skepticism, but he said nothing and nodded his head once, accepting Jacin as telling the truth.

“You know, love, it’s a very interesting situation indeed,” spoke a strange, new and yet familiar voice. If it was who it sounded like, these people were supposed to be two weeks away at the least.

“Indeed. Shame we’re late,” said the elder female in response. This pair of voices made it hard to imagine the two had been hallucinatory, yet they were very, very far out of place...

“The hell? What are you doing here?” Serge asked through gasps of air, still recovering from his body’s stress; aches and pains gained from that last attack. Serge decided it was safe to remove his headgear, affixing his shield to his back and freeing his head from the confines of the steel.

“Just checking the scene, old friend,” the voice from the black robed man would state as he strode toward the old man and bowed.

“Indeed, my consort and I simply felt like stopping by and helping. All we can do now is tend to poor Alan,” the female stated. Her robes, much like her “consorts,” were black but with green lines drawn all over them.

Branden studied the two, noticing the mark that both of them bore over their hearts. The insignias were different, but only because of a small variation in rank: The black robed man wore the mark of the Head of the Arcanic’s Council of Emor, and the woman wore the Second of the Arcanic’s Council. He looked up and gasped the word, “You’re...”

“Shade and, of course,” the woman stated in a slightly amused voice, “The beautiful Cassandra Retholden.” She grinned to her life-mate, deciding to lean on his shoulder just to create a picturesque moment.

“Always prideful, love,” the robed man said with a chuckle. Cassandra always had a bit more of an ego about her, though rumor would argue that a long time ago she’d been as nervous about her talents as Jacin.

“Where were you two when this massacre went down, anyway?” Serge asked in a still-amazed tone.

“On our way,” Shade promptly stated, “We just got in. Cassandra, tend to the wounded man, please. I’ll make damn certain our ‘friend’ isn’t still around.” The Arcanic began to sit himself down before adding, as an afterthought, “Serge, stand guard. If this should be a trick, I would like to be defended physically as well as magically.”

The elder knight obeyed as the woman calmly walked over toward the pile of gems and gold which Alan lay in. She had been through many a war zone, a veteran of the Gammin wars as well as one step short of being burned alive in Presia during her youth, and she managed to almost repress the gasp at the sight of the young knight’s wounds.

Alan was alive - barely. His legs were pulverized, his breathing ragged, and his consciousness mercifully gone. He was bleeding severely and for just a moment Cassandra was filled with doubt. “Lover, give me a minute,” she said, “This is going to be tricky, but I’m fairly certain one of us can stabilize him, and Lady Starsen can take care of him,” uttered the woman as she raised her hands, blue lights starting to gather to them even in this dark chamber.

“You know Starsen?” Clarice asked with surprise in her voice. How would the two be connected, considering the greeting they’d received outside of Shamansen?

“Yes,” Cassandra replied, “We recently met the woman and hammered out a sort of treaty. We need to return to Emor as soon as we leave Alan in her care.”

Clarice was beside herself. She looked to Kathy, who also looked somewhat startled. “You can’t just leave him here!” Clarice shouted angrily, “He’s hurt bad, he needs to go home to Rhinegeld! His parents will be worried, and I’m sure he’ll want to see them.”

Cassandra sighed, a strange, loud crack booming from her palms. Alan gasped instinctively, still completely unconscious (and a damn good thing that was) as his lungs and bones were snapped back together magically, then sighed as his body relaxed. “Done. Difficult, but done. Clarice, what were you saying?”

Kathy blinked her eyes as Clarice’s anger grew to rage. “You weren’t even fucking listening?! Dammit, he needs to come home with us!!” She clenched her fists and stormed over to the Arcanic, feelings she was only vaguely aware she had before now rising to defend this battered and broken...Hero, was the only word she could think of.

“You think he can make the trip like this, Clarice Saffron?” Spoke the woman’s cold yet...Caring voice. It was the tone of a mother punishing a child for going too near a fireplace. “He can’t. He will very likely die if we try. Starsen can help him, both his heart and his form.”

Shade emerged from his trance and held his hand up for Serge to assist him. The elder knight helped the magic user to his feet, and the Man who Flew dusted himself off and smiled. “We’re clear. Malach is nowhere to be found. Anyhow, we have to leave.” Nobody managed to realize that Shade had not heard the cursed name, they simply imagined he’d learned it through his magical senses.

It was then Jacin felt the nagging in the back of his mind. The gauntlet whispering, offering commands he had to obey. “We can’t,” The young spearman stated while delivering a kick to a stone. He knew the reaction that was coming, as it was damn predictable from journeying with this group.

“Well why the hell not?!” Three voices exclaimed at the same time. It was a record - Only three were outraged? Serge, Charles and Clarice - He’d been right with his guess on the first two, but Clarice was definitely the odd one out.