The Abyss Stares Back - 08
Faint footsteps echoed up the apartment building’s stairwell. The floors were still stained with the fresh trail of blood and behind the closed forth floor doorway low growls could be heard.
Sloan and Ophelia quietly ascended the stairs until they were faced with the door. In one hand Sloan held a serrated blade that she had fished out of her arsenal bag and in the other held a disc like holy icon to the god Dumah that doubled as a dagger.
“Are we going in stealthily?” asked Ophelia.
“I can’t see why.” Replied Sloan. “They know we’re coming.”
Ophelia nodded, drew a sword from her scabbard. Then, in a commanding voice, she spoke a few words of power and the blade shun with a brilliant blue light. Not as bright as the daylight she had cast earlier and the magnitude of the spell seemed very minor to Sloan, definitely a cantrip.
“How much aether do you have left?” she asked the arcanist.
Ophelia pondered the question and calculated in her head. “About sixteen units I suppose.”
To those who had the capacity to cast spells, whether through innate or learned means, the primary ingredient of magic was aether. The magical essence of all worlds. As casters became more proficient at spellcraft so did their capacity to draw upon more and more aether, with each caster having a specific limit before becoming “tapped out”, as they say.
If Ophelia still had sixteen units left after casting Daylight earlier than she was indeed more capable than most.
Sloan glanced at the blade and back at her. “You know how to use that thing?”
Ophelia returned the look with an expression of annoyance. “I may look delicate but I’m no rookie when it comes to combat.”
Sloan put up both hands. “Alright, alright. Just remember, we need at least one of them alive.”
“Why?”
“For testing purposes.”
Ophelia furrowed her brow but before she could ask any questions Sloan rushed through the door.
The fourth floor door flung open and Sloan rushed in only to be immediately greeted by a possessed thrall that had been waiting for them. In the blink of an eye the thrall swung a jagged bloodstained blade at the blackguard. But with her sharp reflexes Sloan dodged back before lunging forward again with her serrated blade, plunging it deep into the thrall’s chest. The thrall showed only a momentary expression of surprise but not pain, they never showed pain, before turning its wide open eyes back to her with a sinister grin.
“A welcome present? For me?” said Sloan, returning the grin before jabbing her holy dagger into the thrall’s temple.
The possessed man’s flesh jerked before collapsing down to the floor. As Sloan put a boot the cadaver to remove her blade from its chest another thrall, a young woman of elven descent rushed out of a nearby apartment. Her shrill screams were like nails on a chalk board. But before she reached the blackguard a bolt of fire was shot past Sloan and hitting the thrall square in the chest. And as the thralls staggered backwards Ophelia’s blade was thrown down the hall, striking the thrall in the neck before suddenly returning back to its owner. As the possessed thrall fell down, twitching, Sloan turned to look at the arcanist.
“Not bad. Where did you train exactly?”
“Can we discuss this when we are not fighting for our lives?”
Sloan shrugged and returned to the action just in time to deflect a kitchen knife that had just been thrown at her. Striking it away Sloan chuckled before throwing her bladed holy symbol of Dumah, returning the attack back. The disc-like symbol impaled the attacking thrall in the neck and blood began flowing profusely from the wound.
“Oh excuse me.” Said Sloan as she stepped over the two thralls they had killed already. Ophelia scoffed at the lack of severity from the blackguard.
Sloan casually walked up to the slowly dying thrall and then violently pulled the dagger free, killing them. The sight of it was appalling to Ophelia. She couldn’t understand how the blackguard was being so casual about killing these poor unfortunate souls who must have just been regular people not that long ago. It seemed to her the rumors they had all heard of the blackguards were true.
A shadowed figure stepped out from the Butler apartment and glanced back at them with fiery eyes. The two of them immediately hesitated at the sight of it for the figure bore none of the telltale signs of a regular thrall. No twitching, no crooked stance. Instead the figure carried themselves with remarkable composure, radiating both strength and malice. And moreover, they could see what looked like two horns protruding out from the figure’s forehead.
“Is that a thrall or a tiefling?” asked Ophelia.
Without breaking eye contact with the figure Sloan shrugged. “Good question. Hey! I don’t suppose you’re just a lost tiefling person, are you?”
The figure maintained their piercing gaze before rushing at the two of them without speaking a word.
“Guess not.” Said Sloan, changing her stance.
The figure, upon emerging into the light, was revealed to be an older human man. Heavy set with a big belly and thick muscles. His hair was long and greasy and his face bore a patchy beard stained with blood. And as he bore down upon them they could see how the bony horns had recently pushed through the skin on his forehead, leaving streaks of blood streaming down his face.
As his burley hands swung out, Sloan stepped back and slashed her serrated blade at the man’s forearms, immediately noticing that the strike had minimal effect on him. He was resistant to her attacks. But before she could react, the man rushed forward and slammed his fist into the side of her head, pummeling her into the wall.
Sloan collapsed to the floor just as Ophelia pulled out a small diamond from her pouch. Tracing a sigil with the component in the air she uttered a word of power and conjured a bolt of raw magical energy. For a split second the bolt shifted from one element to another before settling on acid. She then thrust her hand forward, sending the bolt careening into the man’s chest and left shoulder and wasting no time she launched her blade at him before he could react. The cut she inflicted sadly did little more than Sloan had been able to inflict. But the acid seemed to eat away at his flesh without resistance.
He then turned his gaze to the arcanist, his eyes glowing angrily in the dark, showing no inclination of pain as his flesh sizzled and burned. Then he rushed forward and locked both hands around her neck, crushing her windpipe and suffocating her.
Ophelia felt the wallpapered brick wall suddenly impact the back of her head and she was vaguely aware the man had pinned her against it. But without her voice she had effectively been robbed of most of her spells and so her only retaliation was simple. She gripped her glowing blade and plunged it into the man’s gut but to little effect. It was as if his flesh was actively repelling the blade.
He sneered and opened his split lips to speak and as he spoke in the abyssal tongue of the demons she could feel his words reverberate through her very being. It was the verbal equivalent of hot tar on frail skin.
Behind him Sloan rose to her feet and ran her palm across the non serrate edge of her sword and in an instant the sword suddenly glowed bright with a holy aura. The man turned to shielded his eyes with one hand, but soon found it cleaved off at the elbow. In his shock he released Ophelia who dropped to her knees. And as Sloan dodged a swing from the man’s clenched fist, she held up the diamond again and cast another bolt of acid onto him.
As it ate away at his back Sloan dashed forward and sunk her sword deep into his chest and pulled it up, breaking his ribs in the process.
The man gasped for a moment, holding on to her to maintain balance, before grinning at Sloan and laughing.
“You kill like us.”
He then crumbled to the floor, dead.
Ophelia pushed herself up to her feet, clutching her diamond in case she needed to cast another spell. The two of them slowly catching their breath, glanced around the hallway. It seemed no more thralls were willing to rush out to greet them.
“You okay?” asked Sloan.
Ophelia nodded.
“How much aether you got left?”
“About ten units.”
Sloan nodded approvingly. “Good. Very economical.”
She then knelt down to inspect the man.
“Please tell me that wasn’t just some tiefling man.”
Sloan shook her head. “Tieflings are often changed by demonic influence but not exclusively. Horns don’t always mean a demon fucked with them.”
“Horns typically mean planar influence, right?”
Sloan looked up at her. “You’re well learned. Yeah. Horns can mean influence from a number of planes of existence. But in this instance…” she went quiet as she studied the horns more closely. “Yeah, this is definitely a rapid change. A sign of influence from a greater demon.”
“What does that mean?” asked Ophelia. “Did we get the source?”
Sloan looked around, her brow wrinkled with doubt. “Not certain. We need to inspect the rest of this floor. There has to be more to this.”
The blackguard and the arcanist stalked room to room, discovering scene after scene of bloody tragedy. There were pockets of thralls still hiding about, jumping out to attack them when they thought they had the upper hand. But both women were readily alert and managed to dispatch the remaining thralls with relative ease. It quickly became clear that those who could not be swayed by the infernal influence had been tortured and killed and judging by the horrid state of the bodies they found the victims suffered unimaginable horrors.
Ophelia occasionally had to take a few moments to collect herself, which Sloan understood. This wasn’t something that people should ever get used to seeing. But of course, Sloan herself seemed mostly unphased by these dreadful sights. And Ophelia noticed.
After doing a thorough search they eventually found themselves returning to apartment 415, stepping over the cold cadaver of Ailene Butler’s mother. Or what remained of her. Within the apartment they found much of the same horrors they found elsewhere on the fourth floor, though with fewer bodies.
The walls were filled with jagged writing, etched into the wall in abyssal runes. The language of demonkind, though not the infernal tongue that spawned them. The scrawl seemed to spiral throughout the apartment, repeating chants that Sloan had seen before.
“Abyssal hymns.” She said as her eyes scanned over the runes.
“Hymns? I thought demons were just mindless killing machines.”
Sloan nodded. “They are. Or at least the weaker ones are. But the more power they gain the greater their intellect becomes. The more…complex they become.”
“But hymns mean they have culture…religion…that’s not possible.”
The blackguard turned to answer but before she could a noise shattered the eerie stillness of the apartment.
Turning on their heels, weapons drawn, the two women found the withered body of a middle-aged man of elven descent. His frame was so thin and his face so gaunt that he looked more a corpse than a man. But in his eyes they saw the same manic bloodlust they had seen in the other possessed thralls. And his eyes were locked onto them and yet he did not rise to attack them, remaining instead slumped up against the wall.
Ophelia raised her hand and began muttering a couple of words, creating a bluish astral glow at her fingertips. She was about to unleash an offensive arcane blast towards their foe, when Sloan stepped in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Ophelia hissed, getting ready to recast the spell.
“Look at him.” Sloan said with the utmost calm in her voice.
Ophelia looked past the darkly clad woman and saw how the withered man tried to get up but collapsed back down with each attempt. His muscles had atrophied too much to carry his minuscule weight.
“He can’t fight back.”
“Oh so now you want to exercise restraint?” asked Ophelia, failing to mask the annoyance in her voice.
Sloan shrugged. “No need for restraint when the suspect doesn’t try to kill you with every fiber of their being.” She then looked at the man feebly trying to pick himself up again and failing. “Successfully that is.”
She then stepped forward and knelt down before the man, but at a safe distance. He sneered at her with manic glee.
“You’re…too…late…” he whispered, barely able to speak.
“Seems so.” Sloan nodded. “What was your purpose here?”
The man grinned, showing his broken teeth. Silence was his answer.
“Whom do you serve?”
He attempted to sit up but feebly slumped back up against the wall.
“That’s alright, you don’t need to say anything.”
Sloan picked up her keyring and held it up between herself and the thrall. Flicking from one holy icon to another, observing the thrall’s lack of reaction to each one. Until she pulled up a small metal trinket with the symbol of an waning moon.
The thrall screeched as loud as it could, which was no more than a mere whisper, as it tried to shield itself from the symbol. Had it the strength it would have clawed itself as far away from the symbol as it could. But alas, it was powerless to do so.
“No need for confessions. You’ve already told me everything I needed.” Said Sloan as she casually got up and the plunged her blade into the thrall’s chest.
“God’s preserve us.” Said Ophelia, recoiling with disgust.
“The gods have.” Said Sloan. “Or at least one of them. This is the holy symbol of Eclypsia. Goddess of darkness and the underworld.”
“I’m not familiar with her.”
“Makes sense. She’s a Valghastian god, of the umbral pantheon.”
Ophelia regarded the expired thrall before them. “What does that mean?”
“It means this thrall is in the service of a demonic godling who hates Eclypsia. My guess is that the one pulling the strings is a godling named Layanna, a very dangerous foe indeed.”
Ophelia considered the notion for a moment. “Godlings are the…highest form of demon, right?”
Sloan nodded. “The last step to real godhood.”
The arcanist furrowed her brow. “Then that means she’s highly intelligent and incredibly complex. No mere killing machine.”
The blackguard grinned. “Like I said. A very dangerous foe indeed.”
With the entirety of the fourth floor scoured, it was time to leave. But something still felt off.
Sloan regarded the bedroom of the Butler parents, finding only more carnage inside. But when she inspected the room of Ailene Butler she was surprised to find what looked like black mold on the walls over her bed. Creating a strange arc.
“What’s that?” asked Ophelia.
As they stepped closer they soon saw that the black mold was not mold but some sort of growth and it was gently pulsating. And at the center of it, embedded in the wall was another bone charm, etched with more abyssal runes.
“It’s a seed.” Said Sloan as she reached out and pulled the charm out of the wall.
“For what?”
Sloan watched as the growth slowly withered and died without the charm, revealing bloody offerings that had been placed into the wall to ‘help’ the growth.
“A gate. Given time…this would have opened up a portal to Pentaghast.”
“So is that charm the source of it? Did it start with it?”
Sloan regarded the charm in her hand doubtfully. “No…I don’t think so. We’re still missing something.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because Layanna has never hatched a plan this simple before. This is only a piece of the puzzle. A part of something much bigger.”
