THE ASKILON, THE RIVER STYX
The cavern walls amplified the rushing of the water, but the Askilon itself made no sound as it glided forward. Every voyage Salvius had been on had been accompanied by the creaking of ropes, the slap of waves against the bows and the harsh barks of sailors shouting orders, but Ra’s flagship could not have been more different. Its ethereal sails glittered as they billowed and fell in an invisible wind, and the hull seemed to ghost through the choppy water.
Most of the glowing figures had gone below, though whether they had tasks to attend to or were leaving the deck to the mortal passengers, Salvius wasn’t sure. He stood leaning on the tall gunwale of the ship’s starboard side, toying with the hilt of his sword and thinking about the task ahead, and also surreptitiously watching Nesara as she stood at the ship’s bow, gazing into the black river that stretched ahead through the caverns. Bathed in the golden light scintillating down from the masts, she looked almost as ethereal as the Askilon itself.
“You might want to practice hiding it better.” Suriyana observed, deadpan, as she joined Salvius at the gunwale.
“I’m not trying to hide anything.” the centurion countered, turning his square face away from Nesara’s back and towards the priestess. “We got on, we got off. Simple.”
In actuality it was probably the least simple situation Salvius had been in for quite some time, but with their safe return far from guaranteed it seemed pointless to worry about the repercussions yet. I didn’t take anything that wasn’t offered, and I didn’t break any orders either. The Alcamor Stones, damn them all, are still the priority.
“Though,” he added, “If and when we get out of this, I’m assuming I can count on you not to blurt out anything in front of his mightiness King Jornak. Dun Morigans are prickly about their honour, and I’m thinking he’d be especially prickly if he found out some legionary had fucked his wife.”
Suri chuckled, fell silent for a moment as she considered the implications, then settled for a somewhat more subdued smile.
“You’re one to talk about hiding anyway.” Salvius observed archly. He frowned as he leaned his elbows back against the smooth, golden wood of the rail. “Why did you look so scared when all those glowing folk appeared?”
Suriyana frowned at him. "They're dead, and they were looking at us like they knew us...or maybe like they were expecting us to join them." She shrugged. "I don't know, I didn't like it."
"Uncrease your face, I was joking." Salvius grunted. "You'd have to be Gabrielle not to be scared of where we're going."
"Speak of a demon." Suri replied, cocking her head towards the Askilon's stern as the corners of her mouth twitched upward. Salvius followed her gaze and saw Gabrielle, walking slowly up to them with his hands clasped behind him, the leather scabbards across his back creaking softly.
The Earthborn raised his head in observance and asked, “Are you contemplating another fucking, Salvius? I don’t think many other people heard to be quite honest with you…but I was trying to channel my thoughts. The constant pleasuring sounds and hammer-like thumping was gods honestly annoying.”
Suriyana immediately burst out laughing at Gabrielle's opening comment, almost identical to her own. A few weeks ago, Salvius thought, he would probably have tried to punch the Earthborn in his masked face. It was a testament to how things had changed that he found himself offering a sneering smile instead.
"Don't bitch at me just because you're not getting any, Earthborn." he chuckled as he fell in beside Gabrielle and walked with him towards the front of the vast ship. Suri tucked her thumbs into the belt of her robe and kept pace on Salvius' other side.
Gabrielle was gazing out towards the infinite way that was the River Styx. Admiration was demeaning towards his real thoughts about the trail. It was simply amazing, the aura that the place was emitting. Astonishing, to think that the ancient Earthborn Achilles was given power through this river.
“Salvius…" he said, "And woman…”
"Suriyana." Suri corrected him crossly.
Gabrielle very well knew Suriyana’s real name, but he didn’t think of her as important, considering he had spent more time with Salvius. “I’ve been starting to have… thoughts about this mission. I do believe that once we enter, things will be different from the last time I was there."
Salvius frowned as they ascended the steps towards the forecastle. "Why, what were things like last time?"
"The last time I was there..." Gabrielle paused, lost in thought. "Things were more as expected. Demons littered the area like flora through a field. The air was so thick and foul that breathing because harder every minute. Past all the demons though...it was barren, and lifeless. It was as if something had forcefully made it to have nothing there at all."
"Yep, sounds like the hells." Salvius growled in response. "Perhaps the one saving grace of the grey army attacking Ech was it leaves fewer demons down here to get in our way now..."
"What do you mean something had made it barren?" Suriyana asked cautiously.
Gabrielle bowed his head as he searched for a way to explain his thoughts.
"The last time I was here, I had an ally. It was an unlikely ally...hence the reason why I'm missing my second blade. Ever since it disappeared, the dreams and thoughts I've been having have been darker...but more real. Usually when this happens, something terrible is coming. I..." Gabrielle cut himself short, unable to make any more words.
"I don't like the sound of that." Suriyana said pointedly.
"I think there's going to be a lot we don't like the sound of down here." Salvius answered.
As the group approached Nesara, still standing alone at the bow, she dropped her hands from the railing and turned to meet them. The queen offered her companions a warm smile, before looking past them, and Salvius turned to see a new figure standing behind them on the Askilon's empty deck. It was the armoured man with the red cross on his tabard, the one who had whispered in Ra's ear at their first meeting. His armour was layered, like Namorian lorica, but made of wider plates rather than strips, and it covered him completely from head to heel. Clearly, the man did not fear falling from the rail and drowning - though, from all the stories Salvius had heard on his travels, drowning was the least of your worries if you fell into the mythical river Styx.
"Maybe he knows what's been happening." Suriyana, still frowning from Gabrielle's words, was the first to double back down the steps towards the man.
"Excuse me," she began, addressing the armoured figure, "What have things been like? Down here I mean...what's changed recently?"
The armoured man looked at Suriyana, his brow furrowing slightly beneath his open visor as he processed her words. "Tartarus grows darker as the Underworld empties. The holes between life and death have been severed."
"Severed?" Suri repeated. "The immortals." she guessed, as Salvius and the others caught up with her.
"Did it release the demons too?" Salvius asked.
"If you speak of the Greyskins," the man said, turning his contoured silver helmet towards Salvius, "Then no - Odin forged them from blood and dirt when his son was struck down."
Salvius cursed under his breath. "So where are they all?"
The man looked back over the railing and down at the torrid water. "Every battle seems to become less of a challenge; at first I thought that we had finally exhausted the Twelve, but now I just think they're hiding their forces...why though, I could not tell you."
If everything's going to plan, Salvius thought sardonically, It's a trap.
"Nothing good, I'll bet." he observed, "But if they stay hidden just a bit longer it'll work against them - we can swipe the Stones out from under their noses."
"It may not be so simple." Nesara cautioned him, pursing her lips. "Did Ra not say we would have to negotiate for the Stones' release?"
"What Ra says is sometimes shaded in grandeur and starlight." the armoured man muttered. "His idea of negotiation is a neverending battle with the Twelve."
Salvius had to give an amused grunt at that, as the warrior dipped his hand into a pocket and drew out three small orbs; each formed of something shimmering and viscous and not quite solid, rippling as his hands clasped around them. They were glowing from within - the middle of each translucent orb held what looked like a single hair, wreathed in a dancing halo of flame despite the liquid around it.
"What are those?" Suri asked, stooping to look closer at the objects. Qia'bul flitted up off her shoulder and hovered above the man's lobstered gauntlet, its own beady eye fixed on the shimmering spheres as it buzzed back and forth.
"Are those...?" Suri went on. The young Afragian's dark eyes widened, reflecting the dancing light of the orbs. "Are those Ra's hairs?"
Your negotiations wouldn't go well without some help," said the man. "Hence why I find myself out here. By the way, staying out here is suicide; you'll want to get inside before we drop."
"Drop." Salvius repeated in a deadpan voice. "That sounds fun."
The armoured man didn't answer. Taking one of Nesara's hands, he placed one of the orbs within her palm before closing her fingers with his own. Salvius noticed that the queen twitched slightly, as if the man's cold steel gauntlet was electric to the touch. It was another reminder that their hosts were beyond the confines of life and death, lingering in a constant state of limbo between both.
The knight's eyes locked with the queen's, which, to Salvius' great surprise, caused her sandy skin to flush.
"For Zenita." the man said. "I can't imagine she wouldn't give away the Stone of Lust for one of Ra's hairs, for her love for him could rend worlds."
Turning to Suriyana now, the man repeated his actions, placing the second hair within her hands before nodding towards her. "For Set's realm - you must focus on the light of this hair, else the darkness will swallow you and you will forever be marred by what you see within."
The Knight finally turned and looked directly at Gabriel's mask, as though he saw through it. Lifting his free hand, he pulled off his visored helmet and fully revealed his face. It was an outlandishly attractive face - almost as alien as a Druada in its beauty. Placing the final orb within Gabrielle's hand he narrowed his eyes.
"We learned of you and your crimes in the final waning days of Eden, Gabrielle Odinsen - that you burned down the old Lotus Empire with Demonic fire, drawn up through spouts of blood spat from your mouth, and with a sword that held a great Demon General."
The Knight placed his hand upon the shoulder of the man and bowed his head slightly.
"Yet we also heard of the greatness of The Eight, and forgave you in the final days of our homeland, before myself and Eve withdrew to the uncivilised lands and watched our homeland fall to the dark hate of Svartalfheimr and its King, Dozral the Sick. Give this to War - perhaps through Kronos' constant attempts to break him as he has his brothers, he may find solace in the watching eye of his old friend, and release yours to the Underworld where eternal rest awaits."
Stepping back from the four of them, the Knight looked over Salvius' shoulder towards the prow, where Numiera had climbed down from the ship's mast and was now watching the black waters of the Styx with playful glee.
Keeping his voice low, the Knight muttered. "Beware of the Set-born."
He drew backwards, looking towards all four of the guests so as they were all addressed. "There was a prophecy, conceived by the mages of Atlantis in the hours of her sinking - and delivered to me by my mother, Isis."
The Knight took a moment to look past the prow of the ship and up the river, gauging how much time there was until the crossing. Leaning back forwards, he continued. "A prophecy involving two children of Odin, and two children of Set, life and darkness - it escapes me now, but keep watch, and keep yourselves safe."
Salvius glanced at Numiera, and then at Gabrielle, remembering the earthborn's speech back above ground. "We've been hearing a lot of prophesies recently. With all due respect, we won't be treating her differently for something she might do."
Even as he said it, a flicker of doubt continued to burn at the back of his mind. Numiera killed Altius...and Gabrielle covered for her, even if he was watching her.
"Even so, watch yourselves." the knight said. "The bite of shadow can release many a trapped soul back onto the world of the living." He raised one of his eyebrows, as though he knew too much for his own good, before looking past Salvius once more and turning. "You'd do well to get inside. Hades' realm and the Toll of Stygia await."
* * * * * *
HERCINIA
Brooding grey thunderheads were piling up over the sea to the west, marshalling for an autumn storm. A fitful wind was blowing through the muggy air, carrying over the city to Julia and her Crocolyke honour guard. The wind brought a foul smell with it.
The capital of the empire’s western province lay like a man dying from multiple wounds, burned and broken and riddled with decay. The curtain wall was pale grey in the sunlight, pock-marked and still breached from the Greek invasion and Marcius’ counterattack. The scaffolds that had been set up to repair the gaping holes stood skeletal and unmanned, and several of them appeared to have been torn down. Through the gap, Julia could see building walls disfigured with graffiti and a street carpeted with rubbish and spilled debris. The city’s main gate was before them; a closed, sullen mouth. There were a dozen bodies hanging on chains and ropes above the gatehouse, swinging intermittently as clusters of birds squabbled around them. It was difficult to tell if they were humans or Hercinian cat-men – partly because of the distance, and partly because some of them had been flayed.
“Oh gods.” Julia whispered, feeling her stomach clench and worrying that she was about to be sick. She looked at Zhnegra, suddenly uncertain of their course of action, but the crocolyke leader just continued to stare towards the gate with his deep, reptilian gaze.
"Worshippers of the Flayed God, Xipe Totec." Zhnegra rumbled from within his huge, scaled chest.
Julia had never heard of that particular crocolyke god. She kept her mouth shut, afraid that the taste of the air on her tongue would tip her already queasy stomach over the edge. She couldn't stop looking at the hanging bodies - now she recognised one as a cat-man by the shape of its head, and the dripping tail hanging down between its legs.
She noticed an open hole in the corpse's chest. She had heard stories that crocolykes cut out their enemies' hearts, but had dismissed it as a dehumanising lie.
This wasn't... she thought, and stopped herself. Wasn't supposed to happen? Wasn't what I expected? She shifted uncomfortably.
As they watched, a heavy grinding sound filled the air, and the huge arched doors of the city gate began to swing open. A troop of at least 50 crocolykes marched out of the city gates, their feet pounding against the already loose soil. Each of the reptilian men held a long spear in the right hand and a net in the other, similar to certain types of gladiator that competed in the Dun Morigan fighting pits. Some of the assembled guard force were in better condition than others. The 50 crocolykes spread themselves around Julia's group, their ragged breathing filling the air. Once they had finished surrounding Zhnegra's honour guard there was an awkward silence, leaving only the sound of the birds picking at the dead to fill the space.
With the sickly sweet smell of rot still on the breeze, Zhnegra stepped forwards, prompting the makeshift guards to stab their spears forwards, threatening the leader to make no sudden movements. Zhnegra's honour guard growled, hissed and bared their claws to the spears that now pointed merely a foot away from their hides. Each of them moved to surround Julia and their War King, ready to defend them in case things went south. Zhnegra opened his mouth and began to speak in crocolyke, but it immediately became evident that the guttural, hissing tone was unrecognised by some of the guards. They responded by jabbering in pidgin Namorian towards Zhnegra, so thick with the muddied accents of Hercine and their own homelands that Julia struggled to understand the words. Some of the guards however responded to Zhnegra's words in kind, their crocolyke argot slow, yet seemingly aggressive - a fact which was told by their body language, and how close some of the spears came towards Zhnegra's scales.
The exchange lasted for several minutes, with spears jabbing to and fro and the crocolyke groups standing off against each other; the cleaner and far more muscular honour guard against the lightly-armoured and spear-wielding city guard. Julia noted that Zhnegra and his guards did not dare to draw their own weaponry.
The sweet smell of the rot continued to perfume the area through the entire ordeal, causing some of the city guard to frown and crinkle their noses slightly, though not enough to show their discomfort to less attentive eyes. The Zamibian-born crocolykes of Zhnegra's entourage did nothing - it was said that there were plants in the great jungles that gave off the same smells of decomposition.
They don't like it. Julia thought, looking at the spear-armed city crocolykes again. Maybe they didn't approve of the flayings? She desperately wanted to believe it. She had never thought crocolykes to be monsters. Hard times always drive people closer to the blunt, violent gods.
Eventually, the city guard drew backwards, opening ahead of them to create a clear path into the ruined city. Through the tunnel of spears Julia could see the shells of destroyed stone buildings, burned out and ransacked in the mass revolution. More flayed bodies seemed to hang from every building, swinging as a mess of crows and vultures picked at the decaying bodies.
Zhnegra turned to Julia. "Stay with us, they say that their Tul Vratoa Apollyon is ready to speak with us."
Julia nodded silently. Her stomach was churning with fear and appalled disillusion, and she had no intention of straying away from their bodyguards.
"Apollyon." she repeated, after swallowing to make sure that her throat was clear. "Is he anyone you know?"
"A preacher of Xipe Totec." Zhnegra frowned hard, as though he were suddenly stumped by a wall of questions. "A purple-hide - the rarest of us - and a mage."
As Julia looked past the Tul Vratoa she could see the other Crocolykes exchanging glances towards each other. Some of them were even touching their swords in a very Namorian sign to ward off evil - something likely picked up from their time spent within the Fulminata's ranks.
"An odd choice for a Tul Vratoa," Zhnegra went on, "As he is neither one of the slave people nor was he ever the strongest of his clutch; the last time I saw him he was spasming upon a stone slab, babbling of his visions from the flayed lord before fixing me with his black eyes."
A breath of wind rattled through the streets, stirring the rubbish piled there. The feasting crows flapped to keep their perches, cawing harshly. Zhnegra seemed to shiver.
"Almost as black as a greyskin's, yet the dark seemed to swirl inside them, as though it were a wrathful ocean caught within."
Julia hadn't seen the greyskins herself, but Marcius and his army had brought back harrowing stories. She felt another uncomfortable twinge in her abdomen. Blunt and violent gods. The slaves chose him.
"Black or not we need to talk to him." she said. "Get him to stop...this."
She knew she didn't sound optimistic, even as she spoke.
"What happens when two of your Tul Vratoa disagree?"
"Usually we fight, and the victor joins both warclans under his banner." Zhnegra hissed as one of the city guard's spears slapped his legs - the guard backed off slightly before remembering the hierarchy of the city, returning the hiss to the Tul Vratoa. Zhnegra let the challenge go. "But my hide isn't quite magic-proof, and I would rather not fight to join Hercine with my own clan - it would be distasteful, to say the least."
The Crocolyke leader pressed his scales lips together as he looked around at the ruins of the city. Hercules' lightning strikes were evident upon the ground and the buildings; chunks had been smashed out of them, some concealed by more hanging bodies. The air was filled with the sound of birds screeching and fighting over sweet rotting meats, and up close there was the sound of buzzing and a grotesque squelching as flies and maggots joined the birds in their feast.
"You don't have to fight." Julia said, unable to tear her eyes away. "But we have to get Appolyon to take these bodies down. This is barbaric. And it'll cause plague."
Zhnegra drew his lips back across his teeth and exhaled. "The Chainbreaker is my Tul Vratoa, so instead of fighting we will talk."
The guards turned another corner, steering Zhnegra and Julia down another street, this one less damaged yet equally deserted. The only movement was behind windows as the faces of a few Crocolykes and humans appeared. From within the buildings came sounds of hissing, wailing, and even what sounded like the clinking of beer mugs. The cat-like wailing set the hairs on the back of Julia's neck standing up, but she dared not stray from their bodyguards, as Zhnegra had warned.
Apollyon. I'm going to take him to task about this.
At the end of the street stood a large set of steps, leading up to the old Imperial palace of Hercine. It had been built by emperor Valius Combrogus so that he could retire to the Archipelago capital after his long campaigns in the great forests, and until recently it had served as governor Castus' headquarters.
"And when talking fails and there is nothing else to do," Zhnegra went on, "I will break his back - if it so pleases you - and we shall rebuild this city for Emperor Marcius."
Julia looked round at him sharply, but there was no threat in the Crocolyke's voice - nor his eyes, as he turned his head and fixed Julia with the great serpentine orbs. Instead, there was a vast plane of honour hidden behind them, painted into reality with words and violent promises.
"It might not come to that." Julia said, her face set as they ascended the steps. "If we offer them something better than Appolyon, they might join us on their own. What do your people want, besides freedom? Jobs? Homes? Wealth?"
"Apollyon is different to the rest of us." Zhnegra hissed once more as he, his honour guard and Julia approached the atrium of the largely undamaged building. Most likely it had housed Hercules and his entourage before Marcius' brief peace, and now the crocolyke ruler after it.
You don't destroy what you want to keep. Julia thought, and looked again at Zhnegra.
The Crocolyke Tul Vratoa appeared to be smiling, perhaps at the thought of the Greeks and the look on the Fulminata legion's faces when he and his guard had stormed the walls, swarming up to throw down the Greek defenders and turn the tide of the battle. Julia wondered how many of the orange Crocolyke's honour guard now remained, and how many had been slaughtered in Dun Moriga by the Greyskins and their Troll allies who - Julia had heard - stood no shorter than thirty feet.
"Apollyon wants knowledge." Zhnegra went on. I don't doubt that he could watch our entire race be reduced to slaves once more in exchange for Earthborn secrets or Godly powers."
"I'm not letting anyone be reduced to slaves." Julia said sternly. Crocolykes or cat-men.
The steps finally terminated in a columned courtyard, where the city guards began to file out in two different lines, creating a living, breathing corridor towards the grand door of the palace. They let Zhnegra and Julia pass, but as the orange crocolyke's muscular bodyguards made to follow, the guards at the end of the line crossed their spears to bar the way. There were more hisses and growled words, until Zhnegra raised his clawed hand and growled an order.
"They will permit only us to meet with their Tul Vratoa." the orange crocolyke explained in response to Julia's nervous look. "They do not want any treachery."
Julia thought she heard Zhnegra gulp, though she was sure it was not out of fear. He's swallowing spit. she thought, As if he's hungry.
"You say he can be reasoned with." she said. "So can he be trusted?"
"Trusted?" Zhnegra uttered, the tip of his serpentine tongue running over his bared teeth. "That depends on how his fever-dreams are treating him, lady Julia."
"If we can't get him to follow you," Julia pressed, trotting now to keep up with the crocolyke's long, eager strides. "Is there nothing we could offer the rest of the crocolykes to get them to follow you instead?"
She cast a furtive glance at the Hercinian crocolykes ranked up to either side of them.
"If Apollyon holds the city, he holds it out of charm, respect or fear." The last word lingered in the air as it escaped from Zhnegra's rough lips.
"Judging by all the bodies," Julia said, frowning up at him, "And the way you said that, I'm going to guess the latter."
"Seldom few Crocolykes have ever learned the intricacies of magic," Zhnegra hissed, "Let alone to the degree Apollyon has - if he holds the city with terror, perhaps we can pry it from him piece by piece."
"Fear doesn't keep people in line, not forever." Julia stated confidently. Look at the slave wars in Namor last century. Or look at Hercine a month ago...
The two now stood before a pair of great doors, each carved from Combrogian oak and banded with steel. The doors were covered with imprinted circles, which had originally held bulbs of gold gilded into the shape of roses. Dun Morigan smiths out of Vash'tot had done the work, if Julia remembered correctly. The gold roses were intended to please emperor Combrogus, who had had a great fondness for the flowers - it was said that they had been carried to Eternum all the way from Old Earth by the original settlers.
Vash'tot was now likely reduced to rubble and rot, along with Ech Zilidar, Azulfa and Lun Garath. Now it seemed that its artisans' work was lost too; most likely, someone had dug the solid gold roses out of the wood with knives and clubs - either as plunder during the revolution or to fetch enough money to escape the city. At every turn Julia saw signs of desperation, degradation and blind vengeance. Now that the shock and disillusion was wearing off, it made her furious.
"Let's do this." she said, scowling at the defaced doors.
"Yes, lets." Zhnegra muttered, with a determined edge to his voice as the two foremost guards pushed open the door, revealing the interior of the palace.
It looked as though it had once been an incredibly grand home - though with emperor Galen Claudius seldom deigning to visit Hercinia, the building had begun to fall into disrepair, and it had clearly been ransacked during the short reign of Hercules. Even so, the faded mosaics and woodwormed doors that remained were nothing compared to the horrifying renovations that the new ruler of Hercine had made. Upon the opposite wall were several flayed corpses, smelling worse than the ones outside in the confined space. They hung haphazardly upon metal poles that had been forced harshly through the gaps in the old wall, and through the chests of the flayed victims. Guttering torches bracketed along the walls threw shadows across the dripping bodies.
The palace's grand hall had taken on the aspect of a temple, with various makeshift pews ranked up either side of a long, tattered carpet of royal blue silk. Previously it had led towards a throne - not quite as grand as the one in the capital but, if Hercinian craftsmanship had any say in its design, likely composed of excessive amounts of gold and marble. Now however the throne was gone, and instead the trail of Afragian silk led towards a huge, shivering body that was chained to heavy iron rings on the stone floor.
Julia gasped as she recognised the creature - she had never seen one outside morbid paintings or apocalyptic temple mosaics, but there was no mistaking the long saurian head and the vast leathery wings, now crushed against the floor with steel links.
Dragon! What's a greater demon doing so far from the Gates? They said that Marcius had encountered one - but how many more were there?
Terrifying as it was, the dragon was a wretched, agonised creature. It was chained belly-up with large nails driven through the bones of its wings to pin them wide, and another nail had been driven through its upper and lower jaw, leaving a bloody mess upon the marble floor. Dripping red wounds showed between its dark scales - it had been partially flayed.
Standing ahead of the huge beast, in the brightest section of the dim gallery, was a single Crocolyke. He was much smaller in height and bulk than Zhnegra and his entourage, though still easily as muscular as a well-trained legionary. The Crocolyke's form was completely shrouded in a simple black robe, though Julia could see his clawed hands as he stood with arms outstretched. The scales were purple.
Apollyon.
Julia saw blood on his wrists, which she took to be the dragon's until she saw that the purple crocolyke had also peeled off strips of his own skin. From within Apollyon's shrouded hood hissed a rhythmic cant, echoing sibilantly from the walls. The unnerving hymn sounded a little like Crocolyke to Julia, but there was something else too, and judging by his narrowed eyes even Zhnegra didn't understand it.
The words echoed between the pews, which were almost all filled by a mixture of Crocolykes and Humans, with a trio of Dwarves sitting near the front. Each of them sat with their heads bowed, and they seemed to be muttering the same hymns back to their leader - though this time the language they spoke was more recognisably Crocolyke. The sibilant tongue sounded more guttural coming out of human mouths, somehow more aggressive and vicious - or perhaps it was the words they were speaking. The three dwarfs were distinctive, their rough Dun Morigan accents taking easily to the tongue.
As Zhnegra and Julia entered the room, the chanting abruptly ceased. None of the worshipers turned around, leaving only the fevered, weak screeches of the shivering flayed Dragon to fill the silence.
"Do the people of Hercine accept Xipe Totec and his dark brother as their blessed saints, and the First King as liberator of its true people?" the voice at the front sounded out, holy and grandiose in its tone.
The people within the pews stamped their feet once, as if in agreement.
"Then turn with me, and meet our guests in kind." As the figure finished his sentence, the worshipers turned, along with their leader, placing their eyes directly on the newcomers. Every one of the congregation wore a dull cloak with the hood pulled up - mostly dun and grey, though the dwarfs and some of the men wore legionary blue. The dim torchlight deepened the shadows of their faces, making them look like corpses. The ones further back were invisible beneath their hoods.
"Zhnegra of the Red Rivers." The purple skinned Crocolyke called out, pushing back his hood. "It is a pleasure to see you once more."
His face was a nightmare - half flayed and revealing a mess of raw flesh next to his harsh purple scales. Julia found it incredible that he was still living, much less able to speak. But speaking he was - and even smiling, in an almost friendly manner. His eyes were swirling black; concealing everything beneath like a fog, just as Zhnegra had said.
"Apollyon." the orange-scaled leader muttered, grimacing at the messy cathedral that his fellow Crocolyke had created. The smell of death was appalling.
"What did they do?" Julia asked, giving Apollyon an equally challenging look as she pointed at the nearest body staked to the wall.
"He was a murderous cannibal." Apollyon smiled, showing off his teeth - they were white, too white against his purple scales and his raw, red flesh. His grasp of Namorian was impressive, his voice lacking all of the rumbling accent that Zhnegra's held. "Of children - a lack of food can drive the serfs to horrific acts."
Serfs, Julia thought, glancing sideways at Zhnegra. Was that what Apollyon had decreed for the Hercinians who hadn't been able to flee the city? She couldn't help but notice that there were no cat-men among the congregation.
"The body next to that one was a degenerate we found raping and pillaging with seven others. All of them have been put to better use in glorifying our lord."
The other figures bowed their heads further and muttered, "The True Lord." They shuffled awkwardly around in their seats, facing back towards Apollyon.
Julia was taken aback, but only for a moment. She did not like the sound of there being a lack of food. Was Apollyon starving his serfs, or was Hercine just as hungry as Emor?
Serfs. she thought again, and this time the word made her angry whether Apollyon was telling the truth about what they had done or not.
"Serfs." she said, spitting the word aloud. "So the first thing you do after freeing your people is enslave someone else? Xipe Totec must be proud."
She scowled around at the subdued congregation, now all with their backs to her once more as they gazed up at Apollyon.
"I have to ask, why in the twelve hells would your serfs be desperate enough to be eating children when you've got the richest islands in Eternum just a couple of miles off the coast?"
"Hercine is rich for its trade - of flesh and otherwise." Apollyon's voice echoed across the hall, now holding an undercurrent of irritation that was almost too vague to pick out from the regality of his voice. "Without people to work the fields and tend the orchards, the food of Hercine doesn't get picked - people don't eat without a workforce, and without slaves there aren't enough people to fill that workforce."
"You're telling me that your people would rather starve than work the fields?" Julia countered derisively. "If you need more workers then Namor has them."
There were indeed hundreds of people who had been driven off their own land by the immortals or the bandits, not to mention all of the dispossessed Combrogi whose ruined forest infrastructure would not be fit to support them all again for some time yet. A few desperate people had been selling themselves into slavery with the remaining farm owners - who to Julia's disgust seemed all too happy to exploit the new source of free labour - but here was an alternative that Julia was sure they would be glad to take. When it benefitted both Namor and Hercine, it was so obvious that she was annoyed no one else seemed to have thought of it.
"Paid labourers, of course." she added, looking at Apollyon's gruesome face and trying not to wince in disgust. "Not slaves, or serfs or whatever you call them. You of all people should know what slavery means. I wonder if that was your god's will or just your own."
"I am sure that my Lord is smiling upon me wherever I am, for I have paid the toll of flesh - would you do the same for your heretical worship of Mars?" Apollyon questioned, tilting his head slightly, a provoking glint in his eye.
Heretical? Julia thought angrily, stopping her hand before it went self-consciously to the Juno pendant hanging round her neck beneath her cloak. Since when was any god the one true lord?
"The empire tolerates all faiths." she replied stubbornly. "And all we want right now is peace. We can help each other rebuild. But first you're going to have to stop hanging up flayed bodies left right and centre - and you're going to have to send that thing back to Tartarus."
She gestured towards the wretched, half-skinned dragon. The whole show struck her not only as distasteful but dangerous - the stronger demons couldn't be truly killed, and they had very long memories.
"What would you rather?" she challenged the silent congregation. How could they stand the reek in here? "A future where everyone can feel safe, or carry on starving and skinning until your serfs rise up just like you did?"
None of the worshippers responded; every one of them stayed facing Apollyon with their hooded heads bowed.
"Do you know the story of my Flayed Lord, Julia?" Apollyon countered.
Julia stopped short, her words dying in her throat. I never told him my name.
The Crocolyke preacher smiled as he looked at the Namorian woman. Apollyon turned to look towards the dragon before drawing a wicked looking knife from a scabbard beneath his robes. He approached the shackled demon and ran the blade underneath an exposed tendon. The dragon shrieked, though its screams were muffled by the nail through its lower jaw. Demon or not, Julia cringed. The volume of the scream increased as the purple Crocolyke forced his scaled hand underneath the flexible cartilage he had cut free, pulling it forwards and out of the creature's wing.
"The last child of Svartelfheimr..." he murmured, and those in the pews murmured with him, heads bowed.
A breath of wind blew through the room. Julia turned her head, but the door remained shut where it had been closed by the city guard. Apollyon, still gripping the Dragon's tendon within his left hand, turned back towards his audience as the gust buffeted those within the room. His swirling black eyes fixed themselves once more on his 'guests' as the breeze hit him - its loud gust blowing the Crocolyke's robe to the side, revealing a belt of savage looking tools.
"It would be an insult to my lord, if I were to take his prizes from the walls."
The breeze flowed once more, and this time Zhnegra turned over his shoulder, sure that he had heard a voice mutter the word insult behind him. The space to his back was empty - save for the doors to the outside world.
Julia looked at the orange crocolyke, and then reached beneath her cloak to close her hand around her necklace pendant. The small icon of Juno felt cold to her touch. Something was wrong here - something much worse than she had thought.
"No god I know of asks for torture as part of their offerings." she said, her voice sounding thin to her own ears. No - but demons do.
She stepped hesitantly towards the rearmost pews and approached one of the motionless congregation, a man in a faded blue cloak. Feeling her heart begin to hammer against her ribs, she grabbed his shoulder to make him face her. As she spun the figure around, his head dropped back, revealing a slit throat and a skinned face, black with rot. The bodies upon the walls were making the least of the stench that filled the palace. The dead man's eyes were wide though, staring into the recesses of Julia's conscience. The Namorian girl jumped back, shrieking in horror.
"Eyes are the windows to the soul." Apollyon hissed, his sonorous voice echoing between the walls of the hall. The dead man facing Julia rose to his feet, the others on the pews rising with him. Reaching up, they cast back their hoods. Some had flayed hands, others flayed faces - some were missing ears or scalps, but all of them were staring at Julia with dead grey eyes. As Julia scrambled back behind Zhnegra, the orange Crocolyke drew his blade from his hip, rumbling with stress. Another ghostly breeze blew through the room, robbing some of the torches of their flames and deepening the shadows around the faces of the dead men and crocolykes, making them look even more inhuman.
As Zhnegra edged backwards, Julia wheeled and pushed against the heavy wood and steel doors, but they would not budge. She tried again, throwing her shoulder into the wood, and getting only a jolt of pain down her back for her efforts. She pounded her small fists against the doors but the thick wood seemed to swallow the sound, and if Zhnegra's guards outside couldn't hear the scrape and screech of the dead men slamming the pews out of their way, they definitely wouldn't be able to hear her screams.
"Have you come to join us in congregation?" Apollyon shouted over the din of his followers, the dragon's tendon still within his scaled grasp. "Have you come for absolution?" As he spoke a shadow drew itself from the growing darkness behind him, no figure attached to it - just a single shadow, a form of black.
"Stay behind me, lady Julia." Zhnegra hissed levelly, and raised his curved falchion as the first of the dead men came shambling towards them through the widening gap between the pews, lurching like puppets on strings.
The first one stumbled towards Zhnegra, reaching for him with skinless hands that were hooked like claws. The Tul Vratoa let out a roar that drowned out the now-howling wind as he swung his blade down, cutting the head, shoulder and right arm from the dead man and sending his body spasming to the ground. A backhand blow from his free hand sent a faceless dwarf reeling away, the blackened flesh of its cheeks shredded to the bone by his claws. Zhnegra raised his falchion again and brought it down on the skull of a dead-eyed crocolyke, cracking its head nearly in two. The orange crocolyke hissed as the blade stuck fast in its bulkier target, and fought to push back the three others swarming up behind it. A dead man in a legionary's cloak staggered aside, regained his footing, and then lunged past Zhnegra at Julia.
The young Namorian yelped in fear and bolted to the side, slapping away the grasping hands that snatched at her. The faceless dwarf barred her path, lurching back onto its knees. Shreds of flesh hung from its cracked skull, its bone structure distorted by the raking impact of Zhnegra's claws. Running only on the singing instincts of adrenaline, Julia shoulder-charged the faceless dwarf before it could find its feet. The corpse tumbled aside and she ran past it, only to be jerked backwards as its grasping hands found the hem of her cloak. Gagging at the pressure on her neck, she ripped out the silver pin her husband had bought her and let the garment fall.
She bolted round the edge of the hall, scrambling over a pew and overturning it behind her. There was a wet thud as one of the dead men stumbled over it, then a crash as a crocolyke with a flayed snout and jaw simply swatted the bench out of the way. It struck the wall and cracked, shearing off a broad splinter of wood and knocking one of the guttering torches off the wall. It hit the floor and went out in a spray of sparks.
The torches.
Julia whirled and snatched at the nearest bracket on the wall, pulling the dying torch from its sconce. The oil-soaked wood was almost burned out, but the charred end was still red hot. She turned just in time to meet the shambling crocolyke and swung the torch at it to ward it off. The walking corpse didn't even flinch, even when the torch cracked off its outstretched arm, showering red embers that burned holes in its roughspun cloak. It closed a hand around the torch, ash and burned scales crumbling between its fingers as it crushed the burning end.
Julia swore in gutter Namorian and scrambled back, but she had nowhere to run. To her left, Zhnegra was shouting her name as he desperately tried to fight his way towards her, but a dozen flayed corpses stood between them. To her right was the unyielding stone wall; behind her the relentless crocolyke, lurching forward with a terrible emptiness behind its rotted, slit-pupil eyes. Ahead of her was the chained dragon, still twitching on the floor.
A desperate, insane idea took hold of her. She ran forward towards the crippled monster, seeing one pain-maddened eye focus on her with hate as she skidded to her knees beside its head. The demon shrieked through its impaled jaws, and a glow of fire flashed between its teeth. Chains clanked as the dragon tried to move its one functional wing.
Julia wrapped her hands around the metal spike that had pierced the dragon's jaws. It was scalding hot to the touch, but she pulled upwards with all the strength her skinny frame would allow. Driven deep into a crevice between the paving stones, the spike didn't budge. Julia let go as the burning on her hands became unbearable, and staggered back with a curse. Looking up she saw that the dead crocolyke was on her, along with two other flayed corpses. With a last desperate surge of adrenaline, she seized the burning stake and pulled again.
The spike shifted; perhaps only a few millimetres, but it moved.
In the end it was the dragon itself that did the rest, jerking its head suddenly upwards and finally ripping the spike out of the ground. Julia was picked up by the beast's snout and thrown across the floor, hitting the blood-slick stone hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs. As she lay there on her back, panting and defenceless, a bright glare seared her vision. A bright shadow splashed across the ceiling, of the dragon twisting its head and opening its jaws wide, the lower one still impaled by the spike as it bathed the back of the hall in red flame.
Zhnegra dove forwards, dragging his sword through the soft, pliant flesh of another rotting corpse to clear the way towards Julia as she remained prone upon the floor. Apollyon stood almost out of sight now, receding into the shadows. The Crocolyke War-King grimaced slightly as the dragon screeched, pausing only to rip the pin from its left wing with its teeth before bursting more hot flames over the nearest walking corpses. Their bones shattered and burst under the heat, and their broken bodies slipped to the floor dripping rancid fat and the charred ashes of hair.
"Pain!" The scream filled Zhnegra's head of Zhnegra as the Dragon swung its free wing out at a flayed Crocolyke, the thick talon that tipped its pinion pulling the undead Lizardman's ribcage from its body.
"Pain!" the Demon repeated itself as it ripped out the third pin, twisted free of the chains and flopped with a crash across the floor, dragging its crippled wing begins it. Gradually it made its way towards the door, ignoring Zhnegra and the dead who continued to surround him, seemingly intent only on escape from Apollyon's horrendous chapel.
Zhnegra heard the purple-skin snarl in rage, and as if in answer the skinless bodies on the walls began to spasm angrily. The dead upon the walls writhed, pinned in place by the stakes that were intended as a gross decoration for the Flayed God. The shadows that had approached from the darkness now shrank away once more, avoiding the Dragon as it finally crashed its way through the last of the dead in its way, its bloody snout facing the thick oak doors.
There was silence for a moment as the beast drew back its neck, but then the air was filled with the sound of lapping fire and the roars of a dragon as a burning jet from its jaws reduced one of the doors into a mess of liquid metal and char. The smoke caused Zhnegra's eyes to tear up as he dragged his sword through another one of the ravenous dead, thick black liquid oozing out of the stump where a head had once sat. The dragon roared once more as daylight spilled into the palace, and dragged itself out of the space it had created.
The city guards that were not already reeling away were smashed aside as the dragon slithered out through the door. Some threw down their spears and ran; others tried to pursue the wounded demon as it lurched away down the palace steps. While the Hercinian crocolykes hissed and barked frantic orders, every one of Zhnegra's honour guard dropped onto all fours and came bounding straight towards the palace door. As they began to push inside, they were finally able to hear the sound of their leader's roars as his falchion swung expertly - an artist in the skill of the blade.
Julia was still only just managing to sit up as a bisected corpse flopped to the ground next to her, and a huge orange claw thrust downwards as Zhnegra offered her a hand up.
"Where's Apollyon?" the girl coughed, shaking with adrenaline as she was hauled back to her feet. Around her Zhnegra's bodyguard rallied to their leader, claws spread wide and jaws roaring open in challenge. A handful of the flayed dead still stood, some now horribly burned to accompany their skinless faces. Charred black flesh cracked as they continued to move forwards, unfazed by the crocolykes' verbal challenges. They answered with a chant of their own, the same corrupted Crocolyke mantra that had filled the palace as Zhnegra and Julia entered. The bodies on the walls writhed, chanting with them through bloodied mouths.
Zhnegra rumbled as he looked around the Chapel, lips parting slightly to show his sharp teeth. "Apollyon is gone," he answered Julia, "Where to I can't be sure." The Tul Vratoa paused. "Are you alright?"
Julia was staring almost blankly at the oncoming dead; three crocolykes, three humans - one in legionary blue, though the lower half of his face was gone.
"He could have been one of them..." she whispered, her black hair straggling down her sweat-streaked face. "Quintus could have been one of them and we'd never have known..."
"We will find your hatch-mate." Zhnegra rumbled. "And then I will address the city and tell them what happened here. Few of them will want to follow Apollyon now, I think."
"Oh gods, what have I done?" Julia gasped, looking at Zhnegra with saucer-like eyes. "I just let a dragon loose on the city!"
"It was trying to run, not fight." Zhnegra hissed softly. "But we will deal with it, if we have too. First, we need to deal with this."
The six dead were almost upon them. Zhnegra raised his falchion and turned to his honour guard.
"Free these wretches from that evil spell. Cleanse this place."
The throng of crocolykes roared an affirmative, and charged.
Originally Posted by Minkasha to Clyde
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