Grand Opera Nationale, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 18th, 761, 2:46 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Lostboy wrote:"Beherith.... I CALL YOU OUT!" He shouts spitting blood in Cavendishs direction.
Chainmail is pulled away, muscles tense then with a smooth action Sascha plunges the sword deep into his chest. The blade sharp as a razor, whetted with the blood of so many, cuts unerringly, piercing his heart.
"No, no, no, you don't know what you're
doing!" Cavendish yelled, his voice high and tense. The mage took a step forward, towards Sascha, then hesitated. "You'll destroy everything!
STOP!"
It was too late to stop. With Sascha's death, something that had been in the making for millennia had come full circle. The shadow of a Duke of Hell had been called into this land, and now, thousands of years later, Dzemianovitch put back that which Menetnashte had called up. The light fled from the penitent knight's eyes, and his heart beat no more.
There was a moment of silence.
And then it began. The Eye of Anubis, the means by which Beherit had been imprisoned, began to shatter. First a chip of emerald fell to the ground. Then another, slightly larger chip broke away. A hairline crack worked its way up the length of the gem, the darkness inside it now stirring and pulsing like a mad thing. Larger pieces broke away as the pressure could no longer be born, and then, without warning, the Eye of Anubis exploded.
Tiny shards of emerald flew out in a spray across the Opera House, propelled with a force like a bullet. They slammed into walls and floors, leaving deep marks, and a few slashed through human flesh as well. But they were small, and hardly the most important thing clamoring for attention.
For Beherit, the Shade of Hell, was free. The rushing darkness poured out of the Eye, growing larger until it filled the stage. Beherit was
huge, twice the size of the hapless Cruor. The eye shied away from him, refused to accept that something so utterly out of place could exist. The demon was a two-dimensional entity, this you grasped, but beyond this one fact all you felt was a sense of some great, horrific shade, painful to contemplate and hideous to behold.
The Shadow of Beherit roared, or hissed, or some malificent combination of both, and in that sound you could hear ever ill thing of the world. Gluttony, for Beherit would consume this world if he but could. Sloth, for the demon would create nothing. Wrath, for he would destroy everything. Lust, for his unholy desires. Greed, for he would take everything into himself. Envy, for Beherit hungered for that which he could not have,
life. And last of all, Pride, for Beherit was master of all that he surveyed, had power over every shade and through it over every
thing. Every sin of mankind, every crime and wrong, was held in that one magnificent, monstrous whisper.
The Duke of Hell stepped forth out of the Shattered Eye, and... was trapped. Through his connection to the world, he was free, but now his connection, the fallen knight, was slain. And though Sascha's last breath still hung in the air, now Dzemianovitch traveled to a different world, and Beherit, will he or nil he, would be coming with him.
For where Sascha had died, now opened a little portal into the realms of the dead. These portals opened always, whenever life proved mortal, whenever anything died. Small things, in the heart or the soul, too small to carry through the metaphysical weight of a creature like Beherit. Usually. Some things were simply too strong to die, but Menetnashte had rewritten the rules an aeon ago, and now Sascha had turned the key to open a greater portal than before.
The knight's body
shone. Subtly at first, but then an insistent glow that came from blood and bone, flesh and armor alike, light like from a small sun. It was into this light that the Shadow of Beherit was drawn, one tendril at a time. At the first touch of shadow and light, the demon screamed, and it sounded like a chorus of all of the damned screamed with him. Maddened, gibbering, unnatural,
impossible sounds were contained in that scream.
You touched a hand to the side of your head, and found it damp. Blood flowed from your ears at that impossible sound.
Air was pulled into that portal of light, the wind picking up strongly. Buildings could be moved by this wind. From the corner of your eyes you could just make out that Beherit's own form began to flicker, ripped apart by the phantasmal wind. Slowly, inch by stubborn inch, Behrit was pulled into the portal of brilliant death that was Dzemianovitch.
Nor would he be the only one. Cavendish had recovered his wits, or at least a portion of them, and began to run... but it didn't matter. Cavendish could've ran to Vechor, and his fate would've still been sealed. The necromancer, no less than Dzemianovitch, was Beherit's master. Their fates were now entwined, and if the Shadow of Beherit's fate was death, then Ramsey would join his erstwhile servant in it.
Tendrils of pure darkness, an absence of light complete and unmarred, curled around the fleeing mage. The necromancer screamed, a primal sound of fury and despair and terror, and smote Beherit with his spells. Fire, coils of shadow, none of it had any effect at all. All splashed against Beherit's shadowy form and disappeared, lost in the darkness. Even as the light from Sascha's body nibbled away at the demon, the tendrils dragged Cavendish back, inexorably pulling the necromancer forward. Nothing that Cavendish could do would make the shadow give way. The twisting mass reacted only once, when Tomas ran forward and slammed his sword into Cavendish's chest.
It was not a mortal wound, it
should not have been a mortal would, as grievous as it looked. Yet Cavendish was dead already, and only waiting for the reality of it to catch up with him. A brilliant light burst from the wound, running across Ivorsen like white lightning, so bright it was almost unbearable to look at. The light from Sascha flared as it joined with the light from Ramsey, growing in size until it swallowed the necromancer in it's radiance.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. I had it planned...
It was going to work!" Cavendish gibbered, abandoning spells to claw at Beherit's coiled tendril with his bare hands. "Damn you Dzemianovitch. It would've worked. Damn you!
DAMN YOU ALL!"
Then Cavendish was pulled into the portal of light as well, and disappeared from sight and from life forever more. The last time you saw Cavendish, his lower body was already lost in the brilliant light, and he glared back at you, his shaded lenses askew, revealing two, cool, ice-blue eyes, now contorted in fear and hatred. He died with a curse on his lips.
Now both of Beherit's masters were slain, and two of the three ends of this bizarre triangle in the lands of death. Now Beherit's Shade could stand strong no longer. The spectral winds ripped apart its essence, drawing it into the pool of radiance that was Sascha's body. Soon Beherit was half the size he had been before, and growing smaller by the moment.
Then came a moment, that long-awaited moment, that he was gone altogether. The Eye of Anubis was fractured into a thousand emerald shards, and Beherit, the shadow at its heart, had disappeared forever. As the last wisp of darkness entered Sascha's glowing body, it flared brightly, too bright to look upon, and the winds stopped for just a moment.
Then it all exploded once more, the rush of air reversing itself, thrown backward with enough power to snap every door in the hall off its hinges, and nearly quiet the fire. Behind the Wall of Force, you were safe, but all around you, Beherit's death released yet another wave of destruction across the hapless opera house.
Then it was over. Sascha's body had ceased its glow, and the darkness of Beherit was gone.
It was all over.
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Mostly over, at any rate. The flames, momentarily quelled by the blast, now sprung up into a raging inferno. Boiling blood and shattered glass lay strewn about the Opera floor, slowly melting in the unquenchable heat. The spirits Cavendish had summoned, now freed from their imprisonment in the wall, flew screaming through the chamber before vanishing to places unknown. The smoke was beginning to pool along the ceiling, turning the oppressive atmosphere into poison. From within the fading mists, you could hear soft moans and whimpers.
"Another five minutes, and this entire building will be joining Cavendish!" Carter called down from the balcony, flinching slightly at the heat of the flames. Blood was running down the side of his face. "Can everyone make it to the stairs? We have to get out before the smoke builds up!"
The professor jumped from the balcony edge, his magical flight guiding him safely downwards as he skimmed around the flame. Carter landed gently on the stage and plunged into the thick fog. He gave a grimace of relief as the chill mist wrapped around his skin, soothing the burns on his face. It was not to last, and the fire vaporized what little moisture was left, leaving Carter kneeling next to the unfortunate Drama. "Still alive!" he called back to you. "Let's keep them that way!"
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"I think I've just become unemployed." James said quietly, rubbing his shoulder where yet another of Otto's bullets had pierced his flesh. The jackalwere watched the corridors carefully, moving his head from side to side like a hunting animal scenting too much prey all about it. "Which is a real shame, but I guess I don't need to kill any of you blokes now."
"So I think I'll just clear off then." James said, suddenly rushing towards Dieter. "See you, mate."
The Lamordian youth stood his ground, but no sooner than James had crossed a few steps, then he began to
change. It was a smooth transformation, something like Otto's but with the benefit of decades of experience. Flesh, clothing, even the crossbow merged together, becoming a small, loping form like that of a dog. The sandy-furred jackal dodged right between Dieter's legs, making good speed
away from all the danger and despair behind him. Soon, he was around a corner, and then out of sight. Out of sight, and out of mind.
]
If at any time my silly diversionary tactic gets me within frightening range of the Spiritwall, then shorten it accordingly--I don't want to risk that Will save if I can prevent it.
