It has become a popular statement to confirm the Gods' demise, a sort of reminder for the Profane War's consequences. For example, "Die Gotter sind tot" is the most famous title of Lichtenhimmel's literature, a derogatory piece that denounces "divine complacency" and mocks their brutal end.
However, my criticism on this matter does not concern their opprobrium but rather the fallacy so tightly held by sentient life.
The Gods did not die.
More precisely, the only Deities that succumbed were those previously worshipped by humankind. While they were great in number, their massacre did absolutely not lead divinity to complete extinction.
Beings such as these are incarnations of nature; concepts sprung to life by Mana itself, and They still loom - from the abyssal depths to the shunned lands - forever dwelling and learning from human folly…
- Codex Memoria, vol. 2, ch. 18, p. 145
Light shone through the hall's cracking wall. It was already morning, yet Aeden had barely slept.
Plaguing murmurs slowly quieted in his mind as everyone else woke up, somewhat clearing up his thoughts. He didn't remember what happened during the night; images of twirling flames and erratic screams only hurt his head, and thus he didn't give it any effort.
He snuffed out the still crackling fire while rising - loudly stretching out to give the illusion of a good rest. His friends worrying about him was the last thing he wanted, and Aeden couldn't bear becoming the burden of a party assembled by himself.
No one seemed to suspect anything, though Nihil glanced curiously at him.
"Are you alright?" he asked directly.
"Of course… Why are you asking?" Aeden gave him the best smile he could manage at that moment, which wasn't exactly convincing.
"Nothing, I was just checking." the boy didn't want to pursue the matter, even if he clearly had his doubts.
"We should start moving. The next ruins are pretty far from here, and I absolutely do not want to camp in the open again -" Megissa adjusted her hair while sighing. "- those nights were stressful."
While climbing up from the crumbling structure, Aeden noticed once more the twisting stairs leading down towards what resembled a central court. The steps around it abnormally danced, sometimes steep, other times gentle with ever-widening gaps. Lurking like creeping jaws, one had to be aware of his footing to not fall into the rock-barbed cavities.
Daylight rebounded from one stone disc to the other across the upper surface of the forgotten city, drawing an ethereal shape around its plaza. It wasn't visible when they first reached that place, meaning the ringed artifacts were set up to reflect light at specific times thanks to an unknown spellcraft.
Crawling atop a giant tree for safe passage, Aeden nudged Nihil, pointing towards the strange phenomenon.
"What's that?" he inquired in a curious tone.
"Uh… I'm not familiar with this civilization-" his friend changed position, trying to decipher the glistening symbol. "- though the glyph does seem to share roots with proto-Illian…"
"Nihil…" Megissa's whisper was hardly acknowledged as the Homunculus kept muttering:
"Let's see… It says Sae…-" His expression suddenly froze, eyes widening. "- Unsaeli!" his hiss echoed dully, hair standing on end.
At that moment, dawn's soft luster turned to ashen gloom.
The glimmering image, sole sheen left in the world, slowly coalesced into a single figure in the middle of the court. Gradually darkening, it sculpted a looming entity - around three meters tall - shrouded in a somber robe the color of dead tree bark. Its head, horrifyingly humanoid, bore two rising horns, crooked like decayed branches. Ominous paleness painted its skin with the shade of death, and a single slit ran across its chin - prelude to an inhuman maw.
Despite it having no eyes, Aeden could feel an oppressive glare overwhelming him, taming his most violent urges like a domesticated pet. It raised a thin, elongated arm in otherworldly grace, beckoning them over with a skeletal finger.
Such a gesture might seem insignificant, but it held frightening power. Faster than a blink, subtler than a breath, they found themselves in front of the creature, petrified by the purest essence of dread.
The Sorcerer heard a faint voice, trying to vanquish its fear, to utter a word in this newfound lull. He couldn't fathom such a brazen attempt.
A single act of defiance would spell their doom.
The voice rang again, quivering. Whoever it was, he mentally begged them, pleaded for them to keep silent. Yet, it was his own mouth which spoke aloud:
"Fae…"
…
"AAAaaAAAAaaaaaaAAAH!" It started with Megissa.
She howled in a crazed frenzy, her fingernails digging into her skull as she repeatedly hit the ground.
"No! NO! NOOOO!" Decima followed.
Her eyes bled with a torrent of red after she gouged them out, unable to bear whatever horror was instilled in her mind.
Aeden looked for Nihil in nervous haste, finding him plunged into ominous oblivion. His stare was blank, drool freely flowing on his chin.
'I am next,' he realized, turning towards the Fae…
There were two of them, unbearably close, intently gazing at him. His eyelids fluttered from fright, and another one appeared. He jerked his head away and found a fourth one waiting, just behind.
'I'm encircled!' he panicked, wits in shambles.
Perhaps in desperation, he thought it wise to resist.
A spark of Mana ignited in his palm, but it was all he managed to do. Blood vessels sprung from under his own skin, sewing his fingers together, his arms to his sides, his legs closed. His ears forcibly curled, his nostrils fastened, his mouth shut… only his eyes remained open.
So that he could perceive, so that he could observe.
'It hurts, it hurts so much, please stop… PLEASE!'
Depraved smiles filled him with terror as they pierced his body. He could feel their cold, warped hands painfully slithering between his organs, searching, seeking something…
Agony washed over him in pulsating waves, like knives constantly stabbing him in a fixed rhythm. He couldn't bear it anymore.
Where was his power? Where was his legacy?
'Why can't I do anything?!' Fury replaced his suffering wails, for it was the only way to keep his sanity.
'Because you are weak.' The maddening whispers that previously haunted him answered.
'I am the son of the Sorceress of Slaughter!' he replied, enraged by such lies.
'Yet you are no Sorcerer. You are an anomaly, an object crafted to fulfill a desire for motherhood. You were never meant to exist, never supposed to succeed Her.'
The murmurs tortured Aeden even more than the Fae's torment.
Fiery warmth slowly veiled his consciousness, so familiar, so soothing. He heard its sweet timbre as it purred:
'Abandon yourself to my embrace, dear Aeden. Together we will dance amidst charred corpses, sing to the tone of the Ionnfyre, massacre the lesser remains of a blessed era… Accept me, and let us revel in true Slaughter.'
'Will I be strong?' Faltering under its honeyed words, he sought more promises.
'Yes, you will.'
'Will I become a Sorcerer?'
'Yes, you will.'
'Then… use me. I'll give you everything! Just… rescue my friends. Save them.'
'Yes. We. Will.'
__
Back in Numidea, the Luctans Woods trembled with an ever-reverberating roar. Originally corrupted by Mana, the vast forest shuddered before the clash of might that had just taken place inside it.
Torn, crumbling trees adorned the newly created meadow, which had hosted this particular battlefield.
Thirty-two of the 88 Ombres stood in its midst, equipped with damaged stellar armors and celestial weaponry. Regardless of their relative exhaustion, they proudly aligned themselves behind a particular figure, clad in black.
Le Roi du Crépuscule loomed over the defeated foe, his majestic robe flowing like liquid shade. His long, dark hair danced and twirled with the waves of his dress. Acting as a single body, it completely hid his expression, only revealing the sole, inhuman eye he possessed. It opened from the center of his face - a globulous, eerie condensation of pure gloom lodged between locks of shadowy mane. Yet, despite their victory, it only reflected sorrow and woeful pain.
The Sorcerer of Shadows was mourning.
"Votre Majesté, should we dispose of its corpse? I fear the worst if we were to abandon it like that." One of the Ombres asked, though he received no response.
It was a common occurrence for them, so it wasn't surprising. The Roi scarcely related to his court's aesthetic, traits and political games. He was happy enough to swim alone in his castle's darkness and thus, often let them do whatever they wanted.
Following the Profane War and their God's demise, he had accepted them and offered them a home when everyone else shunned their mere presence. That simple fact made most of them revere him, but there were always exceptions.
"Votre Majesté… What should we-..." he was interrupted by barely audible whispers.
"Diabhalach… How low they've dragged you." The Sorcerer spoke with a soft, gentle voice, contrasting wildly with his looks.
The employed tone surprised his attendants, seeing that he was lamenting a Primordial.
They were foul beings. Abominable creatures spawned during the war that committed numerous deicides. Even Sorcerers were counted amongst their victims, for they murdered so many of them that the exalted Witch herself went mad with grief.
The one before them was particularly noxious, with an army of worms and parasites crawling from under his vile, putrefying skin. They dug holes through his crumbling armor and coiled around his greatsword, not yet aware of their master's end.
"Send a missive to every one of my siblings. The Lord of Mephitism is dead." The Roi finally ordered, slightly turning towards the closest Ombre. "Make sure to safely transport the corpse beyond the Mallacht; to my mother's domain."
And just like that, he vanished into obscurity. Much to his lesser's dismay, he preferred short interactions and right-to-the-point discussions, an absolute opposite to the Ombres' savoir-faire.