Jackal Among Snakes

Mial, High Priestess of the Ebon Cult, stepped away from her position beside the other four top people at the Ebon Cult and went to kneel beside her father’s palanquin. She pulled back the curtain on the side, out of view from their front-facing position, and then listened to orders relayed—orders that reached no one’s ears beside Mial, not even Orion’s or the Alchemist’s.

As they talked, Argrave looked around at the horde of purple-masked people around them. He spotted elven ears, dwarven physiques… even some of the more reclusive races persisted in their number—southron elves or the subterranean humans, for instance. The majority of them were combatants.

Elenore’s voice entered his mind, telling him, “Anneliese says that there are users of shamanic magic in the crowd. Mozzahr himself seems to have the most spirits, however.”

Argrave gave a curt reply, too on-edge to engage further. Finally, Mial looked at them, clearing her throat to indicate her intent to speak.

“The Castellan asks if you have ever wondered what occurs in the event Gerechtigkeit succeeds,” Mial said, her voice ringing out with a clear echo in this vast cavern.

Argrave narrowed his eyes. Mozzahr had spoken through another like this in the past, but that had been because he was injured. His injury was obvious in Heroes of Berendar, visible even in the silhouette behind the curtain. Argrave could see no such injury. Mozzahr had not fought Sataistador, and consequently sustained no injuries. In simple terms there was no good reason for him to speak via proxy. No reason except haughtiness.

Argrave looked at Durran and briefly questioned speaking through him just as Mozzahr did his daughter, but thought it might be tedious and abandoned the idea at once. Besides, rising to provocation would close off their options.

“Well, I imagine the cycle of judgment ends. And I came here to discuss that ending, if on a different possible manner than seeing it through to completion,” Argrave opened diplomatically.

“Gerechtigkeit is described as two things; as a man, and as a calamity. But there is truth in both,” Mial carried on as though Argrave had not even spoken. “He is an intelligent being, capable of reason. And just as Mozzahr commands the Emptiness, Gerechtigkeit commands his calamity. It is formless malignance, capable of adapting to whatever its owner needs to fill his purpose.”

“You speak from ignorance.” The Alchemist stepped forward, his footfalls heavy enough to shake the square. “There is no reason in Gerechtigkeit.”

“Then how, pray tell, did he know to corrupt Argrave’s father? How have his methods continued to adapt, and to grow, if he cannot reason?” Mial flattened out a crease on her robes as she kneeled there.

“The contention is that he cannot be reasoned with,” Anneliese smoothly interjected. “And that is indisputable.”

“Fair enough. Let us not get lost in semantics.” Mial raised her hands in surrender.

Argrave thought she was going to speak again, and so quickly interjected, “Speaking of my father and his corruption—that was the reason Georgina was trying to kidnap him, right?” He raised his finger and pointed. “Well, we started the job that you wanted. And finished it, too. And I think that’s because we’re on the same path. Namely, you’re not content to let this cycle go another cycle.”

Silence fell, and Mial consulted with her father once more. She looked back after a time.

“That is so. But Felipe died—Georgina was certain of that.”

“The corruption persists long after death,” the Alchemist cut in. “And it decays what it touches rapidly, doubly so by resistance by the host.” Hearing that last line, Orion’s helmet briefly turned before refocusing.

“We learned a fair deal from Felipe’s corpse.” Argrave held his arms out and stepped forward. “But you’ve been doing independent research. And it benefits us both to pool those efforts. That’s why I’m here today.”

As Mial turned to speak to Mozzahr once again, Argrave sorely hoped they’d take the bait. He didn’t trust Mozzahr overmuch, but he did trust the man’s capabilities. If he had learned something, getting him to disclose that information could be invaluable later down the line. But his—and the Alchemist’s, to give credit where it was due—plan extended beyond mere information gathering.

Mial nodded at her father, and then looked back. “Gerechtigkeit has spoken thrice before in history. This information was very difficult to find, and even more difficult to ensure accuracy. History is written by the victors, after all. But we are near one hundred percent certain he has said these things.”

Argrave blinked. Mozzahr had been quite busy, it seemed, if he’d discovered that information.

Mial continued, ignorant of Argrave’s surprise. “The first one is certain: upon his defeat in one cycle, his voice roared across the world, saying—"

“The pigs are fed,” Argrave interrupted, knowing the quote well. “I know it, and the general gist of the other two.”

“Precisely that,” Mial raised her hand to gesture in affirmation. “The other accounts are not quite so accurate as words heard around the world… but they speak of his claims about ‘time and other thieves.’ The third is only one word—a name, truly. Sandelabara, or by some accounts, Candelabara or Zandelabara.”

“Sandelabara is the one I know,” Argrave confirmed. “Unless you’ve found deeper meaning to these words, we have nothing more to add to that. But lore, all of that—that isn’t what I need. We have fundamental information—we have a complete analysis of Gerechtigkeit’s corrupting energy. If you have something of similar value, a mutual exchange could be made.”

Mial glanced at her father, and Argrave saw him wave his hand in affirmation before the High Priestess looked back, steeled.

“Our leader has some insight on where Gerechtigkeit comes from,” Mial said slowly.

Prove it, Argrave almost blurted out in his surprise. That sort of information, if genuine, would be an invaluable lead for the Alchemist to follow.

“What does that tell us?” Anneliese pushed calmly, keeping her head while Argrave nearly lost his.

“Many things, foremost among which is pinpointing the location of his descent,” Mial disclosed hesitantly, casting glances at her father to be sure she did not err by telling so much. “This is why heading to the surface is a non-negotiable issue—something you seem to be aware of, considering your fortifications in the key exit of this underground.”

Argrave wasn’t about to apologize for caution, but he elected to sidestep that issue altogether. “Where do you think that will be?”

“Berendar,” Mial said, and Argrave’s head whirled as he thought of whether or not he might’ve disclosed that publicly enough for these people to know. As it did, she continued, “Specifically, in a plain southwest of the so-called Magic City of Jast.”

Argrave tried not to let his surprise show. He was certain he had told perhaps three people this fact—Elenore, Anneliese, and the Alchemist. None would’ve leaked it. This information was their own—and even scarier yet, it was usable. That meant this little parley had larger stakes than Argrave had been preparing for.

“Then let’s cooperate,” Argrave posited, holding his arms out. “We both can benefit from this. Our knowledge becomes more complete.”

Mial looked at her father once more, and then fixed her owl mask tighter as she looked over with a markedly more decisive posture. “It is past time that we discuss the secular purpose behind this meeting. We brought up Gerechtigkeit not to exchange information, but to illustrate a point. Mozzahr, the Castellan of the Empty and Leader of the Ebon Cult, is Gerechtigkeit’s better in every fashion. It is the will of the universe—and even more importantly, our Castellan’s will himself—that he take the place of this arbiter, and eternally change this cycle of judgment with a new vision.”

Argrave pointed a finger, saying quickly, “That’s all well and good, but—”

“Your cooperation is not something that needs to be traded for,” Mial interrupted him loudly. “If you are reasonable, and you seek to minimize loss of life, then you will aid Mozzahr at your own free will. You and all of yours will be welcomed. They will not be harmed or face any imposition so long as they accept the Castellan of the Empty as their god, and endeavor to place him in Gerechtigkeit’s place. You will retain your structure, prestige, rank and hierarchy… but Mozzahr shall stand above you.”

Argrave glanced upwards at the teal mass of Emptiness spiraling above, but it stayed still even despite Mial’s coercion. Though things were tense, until that power came to action there was not as much risk as there could be.

As for the offer… Argrave had to admit, he had considered submitting to Mozzahr. He would learn what he could about Gerechtigkeit by working underneath him, and then subtly plot with Elenore to break the chains that bind. But even still, they’d have to permit the Ebon Cult to come to the surface, and allow them unabated influence over the surface. On top of that, when it came time to break away, it wouldn’t be with a defensive position as they had at present. It was simply far too risky.

“Well… hell. I guess I’m not smooth enough to entice everything I wanted out of you. But then, I suppose your mind was made up from the beginning. As a last-ditch effort, how about this,” Argrave proposed, pointing his finger. “Come with me, Mozzahr. Let’s go rob Erlebnis. I could use someone like you on my team. We could reappropriate that knowledge he hoards, use it for our own ends.”

Silence reigned for a time, before Mial said, “What are you—”

“No, shut up,” Argrave said brashly. “Let him answer.”

The cult all around them bristled, and some rancor broke out. Argrave paid attention only to Mozzahr, knowing his allies would protect him. That man was the real threat.

“Actually, let’s play this game your way,” Argrave shouted over them. “Accept you as a god? Who decided that? Certainly not me. But if you want to see a real one… let’s go for a walk!”

The Alchemist stepped forward and slammed his obsidian staff on the ground. The power of Rook, god of subterfuge and deception, faded, revealing the true form of the weapon the Alchemist had been crafting. It was a twelve-foot-long thick white spear, and all of its surface sung the tales of the gods who’d helped craft it. It was made of what had been torn of Ingo—it was forged from the blessing of a god. Though formless energy, it had been bound by Veid’s ironclad and icy will into something solid and tangible. From there, the other gods worked their powers into it—all save Law, as Argrave had refused his request to inform Erlebnis ahead of time.

“Mozzahr, flee!” the elder vampire before his palanquin screamed in abject terror. He had a form of Truesight, though Argrave couldn’t remember to what extent, and would be able to clearly see the divinity exuding from that spear.

Mozzahr’s Emptiness spurred to action, pulling down toward his body as he enriched himself. He did not flee—rather, he did not even stand. The Alchemist thrusted toward him, its strength and speed terrifying because of both its wielder and the power of Stout Heart Swan, goddess of hunting. Several S-rank wards—even Mozzahr’s own, enhanced by his Emptiness to a terrifying degree—appeared to block it. The spear, imbued with Almazora’s power, turned all magic it touched back into its black and incorporeal source. Its piercing thrust did not slow whatsoever.

As it neared Mozzahr’s palanquin, even despite all the tremendous boosts of power the spear possessed… the cult leader was faster. He jumped aside with tremendous speed, going from sitting cross-legged to flying through the air. Argrave saw him, then, with a less injured body than Argrave recalled. He was a tall elven man with white hair in a loose-fitting purple robe, with the teal Emptiness emerging from his right eye. In Heroes of Berendar, he had been missing much of his right shoulder, half his neck, and all of the right side of his face. His body was held together with Emptiness, and it took the place of the flesh he’d lost fighting Sataistador.

Even as Mozzahr seemed to escape, Argrave only watched passively—he knew their preparations. The tip of the spear shone, and a portal appeared before it. Working in tandem with Yinther’s powers, Raccomen, god of space, made his craftsmanship on the spear evident. The spear vanished into the portal, and appeared right behind Mozzahr. It pierced right through his back, and suspended the Castellan of the Empty in midair.

Even impaled, Mozzahr’s face was calm. He looked down and grabbed at the white blade piercing through his back, and the Emptiness bunched up around it. When the blade was completely hidden, his voice rang out, deep and loud and terrifying.

“March,” Mozzahr said simply. And so the invasion began.

As though responding to his one word, the power of the spear took effect. The last of its powers, Lira, goddess of connections, made her work known. Argrave, Anneliese, Orion, Melanie, Durran, and the Alchemist were seized by its power just alongside Mozzahr…

And taken to Erlebnis’ realm.

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