I stared at the Death God who sat quietly watching the failed attempts to reach him and the numerous blows inflicted on my body by the woman whose identity I somewhat knew yet wasn't entirely sure. The woman was one of the elemental spirits born from chaos and clothed in the blood of the fallen unlike her siblings born from light. In all there were six spirits that ruled their respective domains. This particular spirit ruled the attribute of darkness itself where necromancy and my own craft derive from. I understood why I had some resistance to the binding circle from earlier because of my alignment to darkness.
[(Spirit of Darkness: Astard.)]
"Enough of this," the spirit muttered as I stood once more, "we are wasting valuable time with this lollygagging."
Ignoring her, I charged once more, putting the screaming pain my body felt in the back of my mind. The shackles around my ankles provided enough movement to charge Khokbus but that was a given as the true length of the chains were unknown to me because each time I attempted to step on the viridian carpet, I was struck down. I had been at this for the eleventh time, worsening the condition my body was in with each attempt. The goal I had set out to achieve was close at hand yet out of reach. Desperation began to set in because the woman's words were true; valuable time was being wasted. Time that could be used in an attempt to join the battle I felt raging on and the invisible tears running down my cheek.
I stared up at the thousands of glimmering gems embedded into the ceiling and the mocking eyes of the gargoyles as their blank eyes stared back. Pain was becoming more and more unbearable to hold back behind clenched lips and furrowed eyes. The room was in constant motion that seemed not keen on stopping no matter how much I wanted it too. My mind was focused on trying to return to my physical body and the life I had left behind with the people I cared for. That was keeping me going at this moment and spurred me to continue to fight a good fight yet there is only so much one person can do. With that in mind, the sudden realization of prolonging their torment set in.
Sighing, I sat up placing my hand over my chest hoping to lessen the pain that screamed with the effort to sit up. Pain was always a blessing and a curse throughout life as it made people realize that they were still alive yet somewhat unbearable in plenty of cases like an arm being broken. I took comfort in the pain that I still felt even if I was already dead; that meant there were still traces of my soul left in my body waiting to be whole once again. Spitting blood to the side, I cradled this hope like a mother would a newborn babe and hoped it would grow into reality. I gazed at Khokbus as his words once again repeated in my ears.
[(Why would he willingly admit his plan of bringing me back to life even though he held all the cards?)]
A soothing warmth began to spread throughout my body dulling the pain to a distant memory until it died out. For a second, I thought the traces left in my body had finally expired severing my link to my body. That idea was quickly dismissed by the feeling of fingers running through my hair along with the tears I still felt. Smiling, I turned to gaze at Erebus who began healing my injuries to the best of his capabilities in exchange for my cooperation. His eyes looked into mine as his unspoken thoughts sounded. No matter what happened, he was always playing the role of a mentor even when his aid was unwanted.
"Fine," I sighed as the pain all but disappeared, "I'll put a hold on killing you until you've spoken your piece but I have a question that has driven me to this point. Why were my parents killed long ago?"
Khokbus didn't say anything as his left eye faded into darkness while his right eye stared blanklessly in my direction. "They were in His way," he finally muttered after a short silence, "I'll explain once my tale has been told and answer any and all questions before allowing you to decide my fate. Is that fair?"
Though I didn't like it, his request did sound reasonable even if the urge to kill him still burned without hesitation. I also wished to understand the meaning behind his words especially since the only deity my mother prayed to was the black bird in the lullaby she used to sing. Once again, my curiosity got the better of me as I shook my head in agreement and took Erebus' outstretched hand pulling myself up once more. Curiosity had always been a weakness of mine that usually resulted in bad things happening from stumbling upon a den of bandits to waking up a long dead phantom unknowingly. This time I prayed it would result in something good happening for once but deep down I knew it would be nothing but ruin.
I watched as Khokbus' gaze fell on the spirit once more as he whispered, "Astard, please remove his binding."
With a nod, Astard snapped her fingers like some noble wench summoning her slaves before her without delay. Reacting to the snap, a small click could be heard as the shackles loosened until falling free. The silver metal became enveloped by a mass of darkness until the chain and shackle were fully coated. Immediately, the bindings fell into the ground as if the tile had slowly descended and was replaced by an unoccupied tile that slipped into place without resistance like the chains were never there to begin with. For one reason or another, I was reminded of the black threads used to bind the little fox's uncle to the carriage and during the attempted takeover of the Undercroft.
"If I were you," Astard smiled, "I would brace myself for the images your about to see, Young Jackal."
Before I could ask what she had meant, an unbelievable pain erupted within my skull as if fingers prodded my mind rendering it to pieces. With each tug or movement of finger, images began to envelope my sight. Images of a world cast in darkness and bathed in the coppery scent of smoke filled blood. Looking down from the heavens, two armies collided at the last oasis that remained after years of fighting. The soil underfoot was drowned in a sea of blood as each force fought on without knowing the disaster befalling their salvation to the enjoyment of the lone figure watching from a nearby ridge. Scream filled tears tore the sky in two as the oasis crumbled away before the last surviving figure could reap its reward.
The image changed to an overview of a prosperous city full of life being raided and its denizens slain like the cattle they were as the same lone figure watched in enjoyment at such chaos and how the cobbled streets drowned in crimson. Cries of men, women, and children were drowned by the roaring laughter of the invading army that set everything ablaze in their path toward the food storage at the heart of the city. Billowing smoke wafted in the breeze as the lone figure watched diligently at the carnage being reaped and the fading line between man and monster was erased from the minds of men. Rattling chains of shackled collar rang out as captive women stripped of their clothing were paraded through the streets for the night's celebration of reprieve. None were aware of the coming misfortune attracted by the ringing dinner bell of combat and the sweet aroma of freshly spilt blood.
My vision returned to normal and the pain subsided to a bearable thud as a cold sweat drenched my body from the visions. "Long ago," Khokbus began to iterate what was seen, "the world was painted in darkness and chaos ensued as the necessities of life were a rare commodity. Families turned against one another as old allies stabbed each other in the back for scraps of food and water to the liking of the first Song of Calamity."
Pain once again swept my mind as the images took my sight away. "That wasn't always the case," Khokbus continued, "no there was a time when peace filled the land and the necessities of life were abundant just as it is today."
The image of the burning city changed to a populous domain filled with color and an aura of warmth to it as the streets ran rampant with its denizens. Like in Ironclad, shopkeeps called out their wares to passers-by hoping to make a profit and armored knights patrolled the grounds for any unsavory activity. Doors of shops continued to open with comings and goings of patrons with arms full of items. Nobles sticking their noses to the sky ignoring the hapless vagabonds that held out cups for spare gold as they roamed the streets in their gilded carriages. Children played with one another from passing a ball around to imitating the knights they so cherished without hesitation.
The image changed to that of a clear night sky that outlined a calm forest filled with wild game and tucked away springs. Boars lumbered through the low brush scavenging for food and a warm hearth to lay in free from the cold air. Bears snored in their dens awaiting the coming spring as newly mothers nurse their young awaiting for the snow to melt away. Deer fed on the green needles from trees unaware of the hidden wolves stalking closer for fresh meat to feed young cubs. Owls called from their nests watching hunters bound in warm pelts drag a fresh kill to be gutted and dressed for consumption. All was how it should be until the crucial moment where everything turned upside down.
"Songs of Calamity," the Death God's voice was carried on the chilled wind as the dark sky turned red, "are those chosen by Him to carry on his legacy. A legacy carved with the destruction of the world governed by us twelve for ostracizing His worship and casting him from Faelkala: The Realm of The Gods."
My vision changed to a figure falling from the heavens breaking apart gathered clouds that seemed eager to stop its descent. Pleading eyes stared up at the twelve figures begging to be saved from the fate that has befallen it. An outreaching hand desperately grasped the air awaiting the supportive hand which never came as recently severed wings stung from ever growing air pressure. Further and further, the figure descended from the place he once called home as his heart shattered to pieces. With closed eyes, the figure made landfall only to be swallowed by the ground continuing below the surface and into what was known as Yemus: The Abyssal Realm.
My eyes went wide as the name of the figure slowly crept its way into my thoughts. "There was once thirteen deities that governed the world," Khokbus spoke as the figure began to weep, "out of jealousy, we tossed the last to the depths of Yemus hoping to be rid of Him, but we unknowingly created the Infernal God Zyher."
The figure knelt before a crimson river which diverged throughout the barren fields of Yemus bringing the liquid up to its mouth and unaware of the scavenging dämon lurking behind columns of rock. Closer and closer the four legged bear dämon stalked, their curved beaks riddled with teeth ready to feast on new found flesh. All four fell with a flurry of sharpened stone tied to what was left of a beloved weapon now covered in blackened blood. The figure, or shall I say Zyher, began to carve flesh from bone and began to sate the hunger he dealt with for so long finally giving into the temptation of the Abyssal Realm. His body began to change as the bodies of slain dämon were piling up and a fire blazed.
Flesh gave way to chitinous bone that was hard to the touch and held together by blackened sinew. Two reddish yellow eyes burned in the dark sockets of a fanged skull as a crown of black horns wrapped around the dome like some circlet. Smooth chiton covered the arms down like the armor a knight would wear over chainmail and ended in five clawed fingers. The shoulders were jagged and yet rounded like many pauldrons worn by the feeble mortals that he once looked after. Two leathery bat wings with three rows of jagged spikes on top were wrapped around his body like some makeshift cloak.
A fauld of serrated bone wrapped around Zyher's waist and stopped just over the thighs. Chitinous grieves ran the length of the legs while three spikes pierced through the knee like some adornment. The middle spike was the longest while the two shorter spikes curved outward reminding all who paid attention to detail of backwards C's. Two long legs resembling the hind legs of a horse supported the weight of the body and ended in the talons of a bird. A sickle like dewclaw hung on the inner side of each leg.
[(Even gods are bound by the chains of hatred.)]
"With each dämon slain and consumed," my vision changed to Zyher sitting on an obsidian throne, "his body changed from the deity it once was to a form fitting of the title The Great Defiler."
My vision returned to normal just in time to see some discomfort in the Death God's eyes. Astard rushed to her lord and began casting what looked like healing magic. "My Lord," she whispered, "you should really conserve what strength you have. Drumorta can't remain stable without your will."
The living half of Khokbus smiled with an appreciative grin. He took hold of Astard's hand into his, "You know just as I that my life in one way or another will end soon. I have made peace with this and so should you, especially if this era is going to survive and Zyher stopped."
From my side, Erebus took several steps closer to his brother. His voice was filled with concern as he spoke, "They've siphoned away most of the strength you have left, haven't they?"
Khokbus didn't say anything and wasted no time to fill my head with visions once more. "With gathered strength and an army of dämon behind him, Zyher opened the veil between the worlds and unleashed chaos upon Ofinor: The Mortal Realm."
Screams filled my ears followed by chilling roars and the sounds of buildings being destroyed as the land burned. Monstrous dämon that I never saw nor read about broke the formidable lines of well trained knights with ease. Attacks were shrugged off as the beasts tore into fresh kills while flying bat dämon swooped down and gripped those that chose to run within their taloned digits only to drop them from a great height. Towering dämons walked nonchalantly through the cobbled streets squashing unlucky horses, buildings, and people underfoot. Some bent over taking time to feast upon humans gripped in their three digit hands before moving on to scavenge more prey.
"The city first to be consumed by the culling," Khokbus shifted the vision to a large cathedral at the center of the burning city, "was Freyhelm where twelve shrines were held allowing our followers to commune with us Gods."
The cathedral was surrounded by a large barrier of light and holy magic that acted as a beacon for those able to flee their homes or the streets. Twelve priests clad in different robes representing each primordial stood as the last defense for Freyhelm while the other clergy began healing any that were injured. Arrow of light pierced through any dämon foolish to near the barrier in an attempt to bring death upon the sheltered flock gathered inside according to their Master's plan. Soon a sea of dämon surrounded the last beacon of Freyhelm waiting for their time to feast. One by one the mana of each priest began to crumble from the prolonged casting and defense yet still the barrier yield but not for long.
Blue lightning boomed in the crimson sky as motion began to rise in the tide of dämon who cleared a pathway. Like some king, the newly changed Zyher made his way down the walkway led by three humanoid dämons that acted as his retainers and generals. Each stopped at the barrier and gazed upon the exhausted priests who looked about to faint. Their eyes filled with fear watching the lone dämon with the appearance of an elegant woman feast on a fallen knight, his upper half at least. That fear grew when the fiend threw what was left beyond the barrier with enough strength so the corpse would look them in the eye when stopped; causing the center priestess to vomit upon realizing it was her own brother.
With her mind broken, the young priestess screamed in a fit of rage and charged the fiend responsible for the death of the only family she had left. Spells of holy magic flew from the woman's hands only to be knocked to the side with ease and the female dämon untouched by feeble magic. This of course was to show that even the priests sworn to act as voices for the twelve deities and act as beacons of hope could not protect those within causing hysteria to be planted in weak minds. Breathless, the young priestess willingly passed through the barrier and into the opened arms of the dämon she wished to see die. Unfortunately, she was the first to die of the survivors sheltered behind a fragile barrier.
"Tell me," I whispered, watching the nightmare continue as the barrier was easily broken and those sheltered within killed, "what does all of this have to do with my family?"
Khokbus chuckled as if amused with my question, "It's simple really. Your family has been the spear driven deep into the side of Zyher for centuries since the first Culling and his greatest weapon. Your family walks the line between a Savior and a Destroyer since the appearance of the second Song of Calamity."
The vision drastically changed to three lone figures standing in the rubble of the last city untouched by the Infernal God until the end of the Divine War. Battered bodies of dämon and the twelve deities laid scattered around them as they stood with hearts filled with fear against Zyher who held the image of Erebus by the head. Intrigue filled the God's eyes at such foolish mortals willingly coming to meet their own untimely demise like pigs being fattened for slaughter and served with a slice of bread. With a flick of the wrist, Erebus was sent flying into a nearby detached wall standing all alone without the support of the adjoining brick, crumbling it to the ground. Zyher closed the gap between him and the three mortals who would be known as heroes with two mighty strides.
A fierce battle ensued starting with a blessed blade being plunged deep into the Infernal God's shoulder forcing him to take a step backwards for the first time since his descent into darkness. The three mortals were still outmatched yet continued their fight knowing that their families would be next if the fiend before them was not defeated and the fading hope of survival would finally be snuffed out. They moved and responded on the basics of instinct like a cornered animal prepared to die before giving in to the will of its potential capture. Seeing lowly mortals standing against an adversary they couldn't defeat united, the twelve primordials extended a shaking hand out to the mortals and willingly gave their strength to each one hoping to end the needless culling once and for all. With new found strength, the three mortals continued to fight and drove Zyher to a knee for the first time in years.
My vision became black as the sounds of cheers filled my ears with the image of the destroyed city resting in the horizon and one of the figures to stand against Zyher rode a white stead far from the crumbled gates. Years went by as the world began to prosper once more with the coronation of a new king and the lone figure being forgotten in the wake of the coming era on the winds of change. Unknown to the world, the forgotten hero harbored a dreadful curse placed upon it by the very fiend it helped drive back from whence it came. A curse that would not affect him entirely but the offspring he would bear and the generations to come afterwards. With that in mind, the figure became a recluse living far away from the temptations of flesh, but such temptation is often far too great.
The scene turned to a prosperous farm filled with livestock and plump vegetation ready to be sold at the market for much needed gold. An elegant fiery haired woman hung linen to dry in the wind while her son tended the fields with his father who was once a former knight now retired to live his life how he wished. Little did they know that their lives were about to change with the sounds of thundering hooves and the clatter of armor. Just like the Defiler saw, the greed of mortals was always dominant leading to the beginning of the second culling and the awakening of a new Song. As the man laid on death's door, he watched his own child slain before his blurry eyes and the proceeding violation of his dear wife who screamed unheard pleas toward the knights he once called brothers.
The scene continued to play out through the eyes of the barely conscious man who proceeded to pray for the strength to save his wife and claim vengeance on those before him, unfortunately such a prayer went unanswered. I watched as the man's wife was taken away like some trophy to be used without remorse and the farm that was so hard to keep prosperous burned to the ground. I felt the desperation within the man's mind as he tried to will himself to stand once more and save his beloved only to watch her figure disappear over the ridge. That was when the sympathetic voice spoke of the deafened ears of the twelve deities who turned their backs on the mortal realm and the desired destruction of the kingdom he once served. In my mind, the grinning figure of Zyher appeared as a bargain was struck and the coming of destruction was once again in play.
The next images were scenes of chaos brought upon by the hands of the same figure who sought vengeance upon the very world that had taken everything he held dear. Villages were raised to the ground and its denizens slaughtered without remorse just like his family was killed days before. With time, kingdoms crumbled as their armies were slain by the tides of dämon and undead set free from Yemus to once again bring chaos upon the world. Soon after, the last of the surviving mortals bend their knee to the Song of Calamity as their prayers went unanswered just like his was. For years, the dämon of Yemus ran rampant and the world fell into glorious chaos to the liking of Zyher until history repeated itself with the blade of the man's own brother hoping to free his kin from the foul curse.
I didn't say anything as the endless cycle of destruction and rebirth continued in an infinite loop without resistance. Several figures were faces that I had never seen before yet I knew their names which matched those held with the VonKnight family crypt and sealed behind a barrier only those with the same blood could freely enter. I had always wondered why such lengths were taken to keep the dead protected only for it to be tossed to the side. When an answer was finally given, I knew that it was for an entirely different reason than the made up excuse I feigned to believe. Now, I knew the real reason behind such extremes but something still didn't settle right to me.
[(If my family has played both roles, then why were there other figures acting as the Song of Calamity?)]
Besides four of my ancestors holding the title of Song of Calamity, there were three instances where my family played no role in the cycle except fighting to survive. The first was that of Tartarus who was an Infernal Lord doomed to watch his kingdom destroyed and family slain. The same went for the Ent that went on a rampage after the death of his family and their bodies used to make commodities for a livable environment. Then in most recent history, the downfall of the Zeviel Dynasty that was thought to be just an old story told around a blazing fire for the enjoyment of scholars. Each case did have similarities to my ancestors yet something was off in the way the final three were played. In each case, the Song of Calamity was cut down by a hero before any real damage could be done besides that was caused by the Hero shrouded in light that appears in each case.
[(Unless…)]
I turned to gaze at Khokbus who began laughing between raspy breaths. "I see you've figured it out," cracks began to spread throughout the wall behind him, "the true Song of Calamity in the latter cases was the people's very own Hero."
My eyes went wide at such knowledge but I still couldn't understand why my parents were killed. "They were killed," Khokbus began to answer my unspoken thought, "because they would serve as the catalyst that would ultimately drive you into his palms and act as the final Song. That plan was of course altered by the interference of those you came to consider mentors which helped you see that vengeance isn't the answer always. Am I correct?"
A half grin began to spread on the Death God's face as a nearby gargoyle crumbled to the ground beside me. "As promised," a crimson portal appeared feet behind me, "I will willing answer all questions you wish to be answered to the best of my capability, but choose wisely for there seems only to be enough time for five questions."
[(Five questions isn't nearly enough to settle my mind but I guess they'll have to do, for now. One thing is for sure, the state he and his domain is in reeks of death.)]
Sighing, I took a breath to help concentrate on the five main answers I wished to know as another gargoyle crumbled to the ground. "Very well then," I muttered, "What role do you play in Zyher's plans?"
"Like you," Khokbus spoke after a few moments of gathering his thoughts, "I am simply a pawn to be used in the grand scheme of things."
His eyes moved from each spike impaled into his body and the barbs binding him. "As you can see," he lifted his left hand up as far as he could in such a state, "I am bound to my throne until death comes for me from either your hand or by the siphoning of the last reserved strength I have to give those damned abominations godlike capabilities. I am the catalyst used in creating powerful undead that are unable to be killed by mere men."
[(That would explain the instant healing factor that bastard Ghoul had no matter how much damage it took. Even when enveloped by my shadowy flames meant to prevent such things from happening, it seemed that a new limb would instantly grow in its stead or the wounds inflicted with my misericordes that managed to burrow through the body would just close. Then there was that dragon which didn't seem to heal but took everything I had without flinching or backing down. I also found it odd that the countless undead continued to rise from nowhere to replace those that fell.)]
One of the nearby pillars began to crumble, sending dust into the air that blocked my vision of the rubble ready to flatten me. A black flame rose from my palm taking the shape of a fiery serpent intercepting the unseen danger to the surprise of Khokbus and Astard who I saw staring with blank expressions when the dust settled. Ignoring them, I held out my hand and caught the small stone that was left of the massive pillar and smiled. It seemed that the shadows I had already consumed were starting to take effect allowing me to easily channel my magic once more but still with caution. That being said, I was still weak and needed to get stronger in order to protect those that I cherished.
[(I will not be the reason they shed tears, ever again.)]
I took a seat on the rubble and continued my questions, "If you're just a pawn then why was it your followers pulling the strings from the shadows?"
"Since the new era of Gods," Khokbus whispered, "the number of our followers began to decline rapidly. With such decline, our temples were soon demolished in the wake of new buildings and those untouched by time soon became empty ruins. We were forgotten memories of the past that barely were remembered and our strength slowly began to decline to a fraction of what it once was."
His eye closed once more as he continued, "I was among the desperate primordials who barely had followers to begin with. No one wished to be known as a Death God's zealot for fear of being hunted like some deer and killed for being dämon worshipers. In my desperation, I was approached by the same dämon you saw slaughter that young priestess with a bargain I could not refuse. I was to bring a certain soul from the bowels of the Abyss in exchange for followers and the strength I once had. In all honesty, it wasn't the followers or strength that I enjoyed but being remembered. Whenever a death occured, the people mourning would provide offerings hoping to win my favor."
"You felt," I interrupted, "forgotten with the new eras."
Khokbus nodded, "Being forgotten is the one feeling that is far worse than death."
[(The only thing I feared in life wasn't death but becoming forgotten in the near future without a legacy to keep my memory alive. For generations, the VonKnight name was a symbol of faith and strength given to those without support. A name that I was cast aside from with the murder of my parents pinned against me. I became how I am to carve my own legacy dyed in crimson and the belittlement given. I can't believe that in a way Khokbus was just like me destined to be forgotten but not without a fight.)]
I looked to the cracked ceiling as several gems began to fall free and into my outstretched palm burning it at the center. The sounds of battle continued to rage on in my ears as tears and a slight pressure against my chest could still be felt. She was the legacy I had obtained since giving up my desire for destruction along with Momma Joan, the people of Siegfried, Jack and the Undercroft, and many more served a great deal for my reformation. Even now, that legacy continued to fight without rest along with past souls ensnared by the Infernal bastard. A legacy that I would not allow to be extinguished.
[(The dämon are starting to gather on the other side. Seems Vagal senses Khokbus becoming weaker by the second. In any case, I will devour them without hesitation just as I had planned from the start.)]
Putting my thoughts to the side, I stared at the small gem as it was enveloped by black flames. "Tell me," the gem was nothing but ash in my palm, "Whose soul did you bring back to life in exchange for traitorous followers?"
Astard stepped forward as Vagal and his horde came through the portal with a disgusted look on her face. "The soul chosen by the dämon," Khokbus muttered while watching Vagal lumber toward us, "was that of his beloved child born from the womb if a giantess witch that would serve as his heir."
"Ecnelis!" Vagal roared towering above me.
[(I guess Vagal is a follower of Zyher which means he's an enemy.)]
Astard stopped at the edge of the viridian carpet and stared at the dämon without fear. Anger burned in her eyes, "What's the meaning of this, Vagal? How dare you and your hoard enter our Lord's sanctum without permission?"
A low laughter boomed from the dämon's chest, "droL eurt ym si rehyZ!"
The gathered dämon began to laugh as one at the sight of Astard taking a step forward only to be stopped by Erebus. I watched as she looked to the old shadow only to find that his gaze was focused not on the dämon that made their true allegiance known, but was centered on me. Her gaze became filled with disbelief as several flying dämon had their wings torn from their body by an unseen force. Each dämon became a pile of ash before striking the ground followed by the screams of the three humanoid lion dämon known as Vagris whose bodies were cut to pieces by an unknown blade. Soon, chaos filled the room with the growing amount of ash leaving Vagal alone with a disbelievable look.
"Song of Calamity," I muttered as I stood and turned to gaze at the massive dämon, "a fitting title for a supposed pawn. Tell me Khokbus, does Zyher continue his trend of using the people's faith in a Hero to kill the pawn or does he have something else in mind?"
I watched as the Abyss Watcher struck out with his upper right arm hoping to smash my puny body like an insect only to watch it cleaved into pieces by silken black threads that were sharper than an average blade. As a response, Vagal bellowed a powerful roar that was cut short by the loss of his left leg rendered to pieces just as his arm was. Black blood poured from the two wounds as the large unbalanced body fell against several pillars shattering them from the impact. I appeared just below his maw and looked into his cyclosian eye filled with fear, an emotion that his kind hardly felt. His mouth began to move as failed attempts at speech tried to escape only to be silenced by a finger over my lips.
Without further instruction, Khokbus answered my fourth question with a hint of disbelief in his tone. "I can't say for sure," he muttered as he watched another limb trimmed to pieces, "but I know that this will be the last cycle bringing the realms together for an assault like none other in the past. I heard from my traitorous followers speaking about the rise of a new master and the rein to come."
I didn't say anything as I stared at the weeping Abyss Watcher who began to call out for his God to aid him. I had enough of his sniveling to the point his mouth was sewn shut and eye forever stitched closed. With his bindings taken care of, I appeared before the viridian carpet and made my way to stand before the throne. To my surprise, Astard didn't try to stop me even when I placed my palm out over her Lord's chest. His foresight was going to come true but in a way that even I wouldn't have imagined before hearing his tale and his answers that didn't hold any hints of deceit. Shadowy smoke began to surround my arm and began to form the spell I had planned to use against Vagal.
"If I am right," I stared at him with cold eyes, "I have one last question before deciding your fate. Am I correct?"
Though close to death, Khokbus sat up and stared back into my gaze ready to meet his end like a deity of his status should. "That would be correct," he whispered, "but one final question on my part. I'm curious to know, why is it that you fight even when you know you're beaten?"
I felt a smile begin to form across my face and the sound of my own laughter boomed in my ears. "Sorry," I whispered when my laughter calmed, "I just never expected to hear such a question escape your lips."
Sighing, "My reason is not like the heroes told in the stories who fight to protect nor is my reasoning like those of the knights sworn to fight to keep order. No my reasoning is far different nor is it a noble reason."
I stared into his eyes and spoke with conviction, "Like other outcasts tossed to the side of the world, I fight to live."