...
Bursts of light sprouted throughout the city like weeds, growing and twisting like trees, and then solidifying into exactly that. The onlookers now stood in a forest, with no sign of civilization in sight.
Rustling to their right soon revealed the tossing and turning of leaves, branches and dry grass accompanied by the panting of a young man desperate for breath. The young Dionysus, dressed in a dirty tunic torn apart by the elements and equipped only with a satchel and a wineskin, dashed past them, but soon tripped over his own legs, tumbling to the ground in a small clearing, barely keeping his face from the dirt with shaking, outstretched hands, sweat pooling under his eyes, and in a state of such severe exhaustion that he was on the verge of vomiting.
The old satyr nudged the observer with his staff, "This is my favorite part."
He laughed a low, malicious laugh, and crept forward through the brush, approaching the young demigod. She wondered if she should follow, but, seeing him cross the threshold of the clearing, the early-afternoon sun hit his skin in full, and she saw now that he was now the story rather than the storyteller.
His toothy smile oozed a horrid lust, like a tiger eyeing fresh, bloody meat.
"You run like a rooster, boy. I thought you seemed scrawny." He licked his lips, "The chase is supposed to be part of the fun, you know. This was far too easy."
The boy yelped with a hoarse voice and scrambled backwards. The satyr only laughed as he attempted to spring to his feet and dash away. In a flash of movement that belied his apparent age, the goat-legged monster seized the boy by his wineskin. Its string snapped with the weight, turning the boy around and dropping him to the ground. The young demigod- who had just brought Hell to one of the greatest cities of antiquity- shivered in the dirt, looking at this creature with shock and horror; paralyzed with fear.
Aisha remembered the myths she had read in her research. Satyrs, contrary to how they were often portrayed, were horrible creatures: they were murderers, rapists, bandits- embodiments of chaos, gluttony and lust- all that was natural, carnal and animalistic. The young demigod had every right to be afraid.
The gray-furred satyr popped the cap and poured the red-violet concoction down his throat, and his black and gold eyes were struck with surprise.
He grinned at the boy with red-stained teeth, "That wasn't water, boy. What was it? Tell me where to find some more, and I might be gentle."
"It- uh- it was poison! And only I know the antidote!"
His grin turned upside-down, "What sorta idiot puts poison in his waterskin? I'm not in the mood for bad jokes."
"It was a cursed potion, made by my witchcraft! You'll die if I don't release the spell!"
"Sure-"
He lunged forward. A black bolt of pure cursed energy formed in the young mage's hand, but this was snuffed out by a hoof that smashed his knuckles into the dirt with a loud crack and a yelp. His other hand rose in protest but was smacked away by the satyr's staff, which then shot into his palm and pinned his other hand to the ground.
"Oh-ho. A magician. Looks like we'll have to do something about those pesky little fingers of yours-"
The sweat on the boy's face was now more cold than anything else,
"It's wine! From the city of Thebes! ... But- the city is gone now! Burned to the ground! That drink- it's made from grapes but only I know how to make it! I'll show you how, but you've seen my magic! If you so much as lay a hand on me I'll lay curse onto curse into your drink until it melts you into a pile of fur and pus!"
The satyr seemed taken aback, but his wild movements slowed with contemplation. After a few agonizing moments, he released the hold of his staff.
His wicked grin returned, "I know of some wild vines nearby. Show me what you promised, and I'll consider keeping you alive."
Dionysus struggled to get up off the ground. His left hand had been crushed by the hoof and was now clearly bruised and broken.
Halfway off the ground, the satyr put the base of his staff to his throat, "Don't get any ideas about running. I've already proven that I'm faster. And my friends- they're even faster, and even more merciless, than I am."
Dejected and simmering with unspoken anger, Dionysus followed his new companion back from where they had emerged. Arriving next to the observer, the light fell off of the satyr, and he joined his other thrall beyond the pages of the unfolding story, greeting her with his wicked smile.
"Silenus."
He was unfazed, "What of it?"
"That's your name, isn't it? You were his mentor, his companion. You joined him in spreading his cult and his wine. That's what the stories say, anyway."
"'Mentor', yes." He stroked his beard, "I like that word. But, 'overseer' is probably more accurate."
The woods moved around them, and it was as if they were threading through the trees and branches at sonic speed, until it came to a halt in a rudimentary vineyard. Built in a clearing, a small, canvas tent was the only shelter to be found. Beyond it, in a field of weeds and flowers, a group of satyrs galloped and gallivanted around a barrel as if it were a bonfire, wine dripping from their mouths and staining their skin and fur. Sitting on a rock, Dionysus observed the monster's revelry with quiet bemusement: only the slightest upturn of the lips revealing any emotion at all.
Silenus took a seat on one of the rocks in the circle.
"Turns out, he and the satyrs were a match made in heaven- or, well, maybe not in heaven, but a match nonetheless. Although his origins were beyond what could be known, our natures were the same. We're creatures of chaos and carnality. Demons of desire and depravity. Weavers of the wild. Since we satyrs were born of virgin nature, agriculture was beyond us, and so a friendship was formed. He supplied us with as much booze as we wanted. He used his magic to help us have fun with people who wandered too deep into the woods. All he asked is that he get our... prey when we were done with them, and that he be allowed to venture into town now and again; to sell his wares and grow his following."
A violet light cast the world in shadow, and when the daylight came again, the nearby forest had been cut down and in its place were more grapevines hung from their rudimentary tresses, and among them were the thralls of Dionysus. Vapid smiles and violet eyes: maenads. Some tended to the vines, slowly and vacantly, others laid or wandered without aim. The tent had been bolstered and expanded with wood and canvas to create a small complex. On a stone table, a group of satyrs enjoyed a raucous meal: a bloody human torso with flesh and entrails scattered on the stone. One bit into an arm as if it were a leg of meat. Over the scene, Dionysus, now firmly a young adult, watched with a flat expression, holding tight to a pinecone-tipped staff: a thyrsus.
"Eventually, we had an idea. We thought, 'Hey, this guy's one of us. We should introduce him to our god.'"
"Your god?"
"Yes. The god of the satyrs. The god of the wild. The god of wayward travelers. The god of the unknown. The god... of everything."
Darkness fell around them, but it was not night that encompassed them, nor an empty abyss. Rather, a ceiling of rock was pulled like a canvas over the sky, and walls closed in all around them. It was the absence of light, the damp claustrophobia of the deep underground where even the sun is powerless to reach. She turned to face the deeper darkness, and there, alone in the shadows that seem to stretch endlessly into the unknown, was a single, large yellow eye that seemed to float high in the air, nearer the rocky ceiling than the stone floor. The pupil was thin like a snake's but horizontal, and near it the eye was more green than gold.
She had seen the eye just once before, "You."
It made sense. Had she been in her right mind, with all her memories intact, she would have likely come to the conclusion sooner. Then again, who would've guessed that she could summon two gods at once?
The ground rumbled around, stalagmites and stalactites moving like the teeth of a giant leech.
AS YOU SAY. YOUR SUMMONING WAS A SUCCESS, MAGE. YOU OUGHT BE PROUD. NOT MANY CAN SAY HE CALLED FORTH A GOD- NO MATTER HOW DEAD OR BROKEN HE MAY BE.
"Then which of you did I- did she- summon?"
A DISTINCTION WITHOUT A DIFFERENCE.
Before she could say another word, the gray-haired satyr clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder, "Hold your horses, little lady. You'd hate to spoil the ending, wouldn't ya?"
The yellow-gold light from the eye of the great god grew, beams spreading across the walls of the cave like creeping vines, revealing the silhouette of two great horns and legs like that of a goat, the figure hunched over to fit in the cave- so large it seemed doubtful that he could leave his earthen prison. Against the light was the shadow of a man, kneeling in reverence and bracing himself against his thyrsus.
"Dionysus swore himself into the service of the Great God Pan. A god of the wild, of nature. An extension of the Earth itself- the oldest of the gods in his region, and one who emerged from and lorded over the planet itself, rather than meddling with it from afar and on-high. Dionysus called him his master, serving him with offerings of wine and continuing to assist my friends and I in our various- 'pursuits'. In exchange, Pan offered him knowledge of the Earth and its ways, allowing him to commune with it, and to not only draw power from the leylines, but to make them his own. To transform any forest, any grove, any place on the planet into a source of power, into a workshop. Into an extension of himself."
Dionysus rose from his bow and walked past them. As she turned her head, they stood once again in broad daylight. In the center of a small clearing, he sat cross-legged on the grass towards the observers. Trees blew in a winter wind, and a raven flitted around the branches of a tree behind him. He appeared to be meditating in some fashion. He breathed in and out. He breathed in, and the trees swayed towards him. He breathed out, and they swayed away from him. It seemed as if he and the forest were one, single organism.
This continued for a few, peaceful moments, until a chill wind crept down the nape of his neck. A shiver ran up his spine and- for just a moment- the world was painted in black and white. The ground was barren dirt. The trees were empty of leaves, much less fruit. And behind Dionysus was a shadow in the rough approximation of a man. Red eyes shone with enough power to break through the greyscale, and the abyss that was his shape spread across the forsaken world.
Dionysus's eyes went wide, and the world returned as it was. He turned sharply, rising half to his feet, and his fearful gaze searched the empty woods, then locking onto the raven and its piercing red stare.
'You did well, my son.'
He flinched back, and readied his thyrsus as if it were a spear.
"What are you?"
'I am your father. I came to this land long ago, and sired you in the womb of Semele. The false gods of this plane altered the landscape to forbid my very existence, but you have made the land your own. Now we may speak.'
"What do you mean false? I've met some myself. They're bastards, but they're not fake. If anything, I wish they were."
'Then you will be pleased. What lesser beings call divinity is a false power. Our power comes as virtue of our birth, but theirs is nothing else but concentrated deception. Their power comes as a gift from the faith of their worshipers.'
He seemed to drop his guard, and returned to a neutral stance.
"Their power derives from praise?"
'Yes. It is, in a word, stolen. This is where you come in, my son.'
The raven flew down and landed on top of Dionysus's staff, 'This is your charge- your reason for existence. What has been stolen once can be stolen again. You will take their power and pave the way for your forefathers' invasion of this world.'
"What do you mean by invasion? You never told me what you were."
'I- we- are the true gods. We exist from beyond this plane. We lord over it by right. But these false gods have brought a false order over this planet and its people. We will trample this order. Destroy it. Chaos will reign. We will reign.'
Steely resolve fell over his face, "Replace the gods? You needn't say more. Only show me how."
He put out a finger for the crow to perch on. It skipped forward to do so, and the moment they made contact, strange symbols overtook the scene. Swirling lines, churning mana, creeping powers came and went all in a single moment, coating the world in darkness. A moment later, golden light shone from underneath their feet in the shape of a giant, runic circle. Its light cast shadows, revealing the shape of a giant, one-eyed satyr on his back and standing on his stomach was the silhouetted demigod, holding a sword above his head. Whispering words that even he himself couldn't understand, he plunged his sword into the god's chest, leaving the god to writhe with a scream that sounded like a thousand falling trees. The magic energy surged, revealing the wicked smile on the demigod's face and a new, golden light shining from within his eyes, and then faded along with all the sights and sounds around them.
Like the rising dawn, indigo light cut into the world around them, and she found herself back in the forest where she had begun.
The old satyr was still next to her.
"Alright," she prodded him, "I know that's not the end of the story. Where's the rest of it?"
He nodded sagely, "Dionysus murdered the great god Pan, and stole a large portion of his divinity. The swiftest of the gods, Hermes, intervened, but it was too late. The god was fatally wounded. The messenger god took what remained of Pan's Authority and Dionysus, even with his new power, was forced to flee the nation. He resided for a time in India, and attempted to use Pan's Authority to alter the leylines in order to steal the divinity of all the gods at once, but the guardians of that place caught on to his plans before they could come to fruition, and he returned to Greece.
"He assimilated with the world around him, allowing him to slip in unnoticed. With the god of the land dead, no one could've detected the altered leylines; moved to his dark purpose. His quest continued unabated, and soon he had the perfect weapon against the gods. The moment he activated it, all the gods of Greece would have their power and Authority stolen from them. Absorbed into Dionysus himself."
She checked this knowledge against everything she had learned thus far, and what she knew of mythology.
"And yet... that's not how things went, is it? Even though it would've completed the mission given to him; even though it was the purpose of his existence?"
"Mm, yes. He bargained with the gods of Olympus. He held them hostage. 'Make me one of you,' he said, 'or else I'll take what I want by force.' So, it was granted to him. He was given the Ichor Chalice and he took his place on Olympus, replacing the goddess Hestia as a member of the twelve major gods."
"But- but why!? He could've been the one god of Earth! All the power he ever wanted would've been his!"
"Would it?"
Silenus cast out his staff, and a series of images unfolded, as if a reel of film running through a projector. The descent of Nyatharlotep. The annihilation of Semele. A young Dionysus destroying an offering to Zeus. The bed-ridden Macris. Being pinned by a bloodthirsty satyr. A shadow exploding out of its raven disguise. A young man with winged feet and a spear descending from a storm cloud. A forest guarded by a four-armed, blue-skinned giant. Finally, Dionysus stared into a storm cloud overhead where twelve massive spheres stared down at him.
"Dionysus had never known anything but misery at the hands of the gods. He hated them. He feared them. Even if they couldn't kill him, they could kill everyone he loved. They could make his life a nightmare. If these gods were as false as the Outer Gods would have him believe, then how much more fearsome, more evil, more diabolical, more tyrannical could these 'true gods' be?" He shrugged, "In short, he had no faith in any god, be they Greek or eldritch. If these false gods were the first line of defense against an even worse fate, then he would happily join even his worst enemies."
The pieces didn't quite click for her. She paced back and forth.
"No- that can't be it. I'm familiar with the idea of keeping the devil you know, even in favor of it, but this is too much. I suppose he knew the weakness of the gods of earth, but if he hated them so badly why not take that chance? It's a leap of faith, but not an irrational one. I don't see what he has to lose exactly. It's almost as if-"
Her eyes went wide, and the satyr's smile gleamed like yellow corn in the summer sun.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
She shook her head, "You can't be serious. If you're going to lie, you should at least make it believable."
"Show me the lie."
He cast out his staff, and more images cycled through. A young Dionysus played with his siblings. He made a cup of honey overflow as he and his father watched with gleaming eyes. He excitedly handed Aristaeus a cup of wine, wishing to make his city better off. He tended to his sickly sister in her bed. Surrounded by a bonfire bacchanal, he runs to his father with excitement and pride, seeking his approval. He watches the satyrs dance with bemusement. He sits on a throne of flesh, surrounded on all sides by smiling, giggling, violet-eyed maenads.
A weak voice echoed dimly through the trees, 'What if you used your powers to make people happy?'
"Say what you will about him or his methods, but, whether you like it or not, his motivations were not wholly impure. He did much for himself, yes, but he had a heart for those around him. He truly did want to make the world a better place- in his own way, of course." Malice gleamed like black suns in his eyes, "He didn't want the world to be overturned. He didn't want it to be destroyed. What he wanted was a better life for the people of Earth. And so, he became a god himself, that he may answer their prayers. Prayers for release. For pleasure. For the ease of suffering. For rest from life's troubles; the wickedness of the gods and the world they've created. His wish was to be a better and more benevolent god than they ever were."
"I don't believe it. His heart is as black as they come."
"Perhaps. But opposites tend to resemble one another, don't they? He loves humanity, the good, the bad, and especially the ugly. He wants to see all sides of a person. He wants to see their love and their hate, their virtue and vice. He wants to expose every part of a person to light before plunging him back into the darkness. You could say that he gives liberty to his playthings just to see what they will do with it."
"What liberty!? He makes slaves wherever he goes!"
"Tsk-tsk-tsk. Your knowledge is great but your understanding is childish, my little shadow. He allows people to choose between a life in him and and life in the world as it is. You tasted this temptation yourself, no? And what did you choose, exactly? Tell me."
She turned her nose in disgust.
"You make my point for me. That's not goodwill," She gestured wildly to the forest around her, "This isn't benevolence! He views people the way a scientist does under his microscope, or how a child sees his doll! He mocks us! He plays with us! He disposes of us the second we fail to give him what he wants! How is that affection!?"
The satyr shrugged helplessly, "All I hear are distinctions without differences, my lady. The affection a child has for his doll is still a kind of love, no? Same with the scientist. It seems that, for all your arguing, you know that what I say is true."
She continued her pacing. Unable to cope with the idea of that monster having any good intentions in his black heart, she urged to turn the conversation to a different topic.
"So what happened, then? There's still a few thousand years between when he attained his godhood and the present day."
He shrugged, "Not much of note. Mind you, the one you know was summoned in a state before he became a god- or rather, in the moment he lost his mortal form. Even he doesn't know much about that time, and so neither do we, his shadows. The only hanging thread is the issue of the unused weapon, the altered leylines which would siphon the divinity of the gods."
She rubbed her face, attempting to force the exhaustion out through her pores, "It was the foundation for the ritual in Athens. The Ichor Chalice, the deviation of the Holy Grail War ritual that Aisha Alghul crafted using the unique properties of the land. I know this- he explained as much when he was summoned."
"Yes- and now you know those 'unique properties' were of his own design."
The pieces clicked in her mind, "I see. A failsafe."
"Exactly so. If anyone but him should ever attempt to make use of the ritual he created, he would be notified. Ultimately, they belong to him, and are an extension of himself."
"Does that mean... No one else can have the Ichor Chalice? Only him?"
He shook his head, "Not quite. It means that he holds the key to it. Dionysus is the only one who can open the tabernacle, yes, but he can be defeated while the gate is open. Should that happen, then the prize can be claimed by whoever is left. It also means-"
HE WAS ALWAYS THE ENEMY.
The shadowed presence, the fragment of a god, returned. She could feel him hovering behind her.
IN USING YOUR RITUAL, HE WOULD ALWAYS BE THE FIRST SERVANT SUMMONED AND THE FINAL SERVANT DEFEATED. THERE WAS NO OTHER CHOICE.
"Then.." She lowered her chin, "My fate was decided the moment I laid the summoning circle."
PRIDE AND AMBITION MAKE FOR A POWERFUL POISON. HER FATE WAS DECIDED THE MOMENT SHE DRANK FROM THAT CUP. NOW SHE IS DEAD. YOU, HOWEVER, ALTHOUGH A PHANTOM BURDENED BY THE WEIGHT OF HER MOTHER'S SINS, ARE BY NO MEANS BOUND BY THEM. YOUR FATE IS YOUR OWN.
She turned around, finally facing that large, golden eye, making out the shadows of curling horns behind it, no longer troubled by her fear of it.
"What will we do, then?"
A hand like a crooked tree branch rose to the sky, and there, in the infinite expanse of black and violet, lightning cracked and thunder rolled.
HE MAKES FOR THE TABERNACLE AS WE SPEAK. THE CHALICE WILL SOON BE EXPOSED. ONLY TWO OF HIS FOES REMAIN. HE PAYS THEM LITTLE HEED.
"Then we don't have much time."
INDEED.
At this point, Silenus was nowhere to be seen, although she was so lost in her own mind that she didn't notice his disappearance.
"But, if he plans to expose the chalice, then.." She let the train of thought roll; it strolled steadily through the forest of the mind, "First of all, he isn't the kind of person who'd leave even crumbs on his plate. If enemy Servants remain, then he's not going to end the war. He's going to set a trap. He's a Caster, a mage, after all. He'll establish a defensive domain before he does anything else. Even if they don't take the bait, he'll probably use that domain to try and alter the flow of magical energy to starve them out, or even assault them directly from the safety of his workshop. The Chalice is the core of the ritual: if used properly, it could easily be used as a weapon against the remaining Servants provided that it has enough energy. Does that all sound right to you?"
I KNOW OF ALL THINGS WHICH THE PLANET KNOWS. YOUR MAGE'S CRAFT IS NOT AMONG THEM.
She bit her tongue, "The point is this: in the coming minutes, maybe an hour, maybe two if we're lucky, Dionysus will be doing three things," She held up her fingers as she counted, "He'll be calling the Ichor Chalice and manipulating it to his own ends. Secondly, he'll be creating and managing an active defensive perimeter. Thirdly, finally, he'll be acting as the guard dog to the place where the Chalice is, personally defending it against any invaders. What's more, he'll be doing all these things simultaneously.
"As..." She swallowed her pride, "-intelligent as he is, these things will still require his full attention. His whole mind will be focused on these tasks."
YOU HAVE MADE A PLAN, THEN?
"A theory more than a plan. We, here, are inside his mind. We live inside his head, assimilated with him in part if not in whole. In fact, it wouldn't be going too far to suggest that you and I here are nothing else but aspects of HIS fractured mind, more similar to him than whoever we were before. We ought to hold as much authority over his power as he does, at least respective to our own mental fortitude."
A wicked grin broke across her face, a look of sadistic glee, a long crack which fractured her face from ear-to-ear, resembling the man she despised.
"In other words, the guards are away, and the lunatics are in charge of the asylum."
....