FALSE GODS

23 A Tryst with Darkness

The boat floated leisurely towards the river bank. Hypnos looked like a large upright bat, leaning against the stern with arms wrapped around himself. Repeated failure had made him bitter and distraught.

He always located potential seraph vessels through a blood spell. In his last attempt at the ritual, the duo had abducted a patrician girl from Modo. She was a healthy colleen with a robust constitution. Hypnos had been very optimistic about the results. Amidst an elaborate ritual, including blood sacrifices and a fire circle, the live vessel had exploded midway.

This time it was different.

He had had a vision of the girl and where she lived, in a vivid dream. Accepting it as a sign from his mistress, Hypnos had proceeded to use her as a vessel. But he faced abject failure yet again.

At that rate, he could never awaken the Dark Seraph, and his dreams of becoming a god would be crushed.

Hypnos was a reject from the Labors. The gods had mocked and humiliated him during the contests. It was then that he decided to pursue dark methods to attain powers.

The torch fixed on land had been extinguished in the wind. Sounds of Grave rowing the boat cut through the silence. The Horkus’ eyes glowed green in the darkness. He could see through the black night, and probably more.

Suddenly, the moonlight dwindled. Hypnos gasped and jerked his head towards the sky. The moon had entered an eclipse.

"Quick! Row faster!" he commanded Grave.

"What happened?"

Before the necromancer could answer, the river swelled across the meander. The water surface split as if a hand had parted it. Waves rushed towards the bank in a single massive breaker, crashing against the rocks. Their boat rode the swell and plowed into the embankment. The impact shattered the vessel and threw the passengers roughly on the land. Hypnos and Grave rushed to their feet to witness the marvel.

The face of the water split endlong, gaining depth until the river bed was visible, forming a straight line across the water body to the land.

A light glowed from the bottom of the rift. It was not white and radiant, but dark and ominous. It seemed to consume rather than illuminate.

“What is that?” Grave asked, mesmerized.

“Aera Cura!” Hypnos announced.

A figure walked through the rift towards the bank. Dark flames engulfed it. The river had parted to pave the path.

Rhode emerged from the basin and walked on land. But she no longer looked like her old self. She was well above nine feet tall, as high as the littoral juniper trees. Her body was naked as the day she was born. But it had matured, filling in sumptuously in all places. Eyes glowed like torrid coals. Her hair dragged on the ground behind her.

The air envelope around Rhode was so dense that it was difficult to breathe. Our two witnesses felt as if an invisible hand was trying to drive them into the ground.

Hypnos had already invoked a dark shield to protect himself. But Grave’s body was taking its full toll. His skin cracked, and his eyes bled.

The two servants fell to their knees and prostrated before their mistress.

Rhode had been looking into the skies, and then she noticed the two mendicants under her feet.

“What are you, vermin?” she thundered. Her voice seemed to be dual, a soprano and a baritone, reverberating together.

“O Dark Seraph, Mistress of the Underworld!” the necromancer shrieked under her corrosive presence. “I am Hypnos, your petty servant who undertook the ritual for your rebirth.”

“And this creature,” he added, indicating Grave, “He is my undead creation, who aided me in your service.”

“We remember you, Hypnos. The calamity of the underworld shall not make us forget.”

The ruinous aura dissipated, and Rhode shrunk to a person’s size. Yet her body retained the womanly maturity. She was taller and her spine more erect. Her flesh and bones had blossomed to perfection, crafting a most luscious and athletic body, befitting a goddess.

Hypnos rushed to her with a robe and dressed her with his eyes cast down.

They headed to the cavern’s mouth. Grave got to his feet and followed. The injuries on his person had healed to some extent.

Hypnos invoked a lounge for her from thin air, but Rhode dismissed it.

“Ela zookidio vulcanus,” she chanted.

A giant, lizard-like beast appeared behind her. It had a slender body, a blunt snout, short perpendicular limbs, and translucent skin. A fire seemed to burn where its heart was supposed to be. It was so large that it could swallow a grown man whole. Hypnos had read about the creature in books. It was a salamander.

Its luminescence pierced the darkness.

Aera Cura leaned on its haunches.

The minions prostrated before her again.

“Stand,” she commanded, her voice the same as Rhode again. “Tell us, did you get the vessels of the other seraphim for us?”

“I have not-” Hypnos began.

The salamander’s tail whipped him in the face, and he staggered back with a bloody nose.

“Tell us why we should not feed you to our pet right now!” she said sternly.

“Your Providence,” Hypnos begged. “The vessels of your siblings are unaware of their destinies but have already tapped into their seraphim divinity, making it a challenge for us humble beings.”

“Very well,” she reassured them. “You shall have powers to equal the gods. But do not fail us again.”

“Your Providence is most merciful.”

“Pledge your fealty to us and share in our corruption.” Rhode declared.

“I, HYPNOS, SON OF LUDUS, PLEDGE MY ETERNAL LOYALTY TO THE SERAPH, AERA CURA, MY MISTRESS AND MY MOTHER.”

“We accept your pledge,” Rhode said.

Dark flames engulfed Hypnos’ body, and he emerged grinning ear to ear, taller, his eyes glowing green. The necromancer’s powers had jumped high echelons in a few moments.

Rhodes' eyes traveled to Grave.

“MISTRESS OF MY MASTER, THE QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD, I, GRAVE GIVE MYSELF TO YOU. MY BREATH, DEAD AND UNDEAD, I SWEAR TO YOU, UNTIL THE DAY I AM TORN SUNDER.”

Rhode smiled, impressed by Grave’s choice of words.

“Curious creature. But such poor handiwork.”

“Lorem Gratus!” she spelled.

Grave sank to his knees again, engulfed in flames. His body seemed to twist and bubble and metamorphose. He rose again as the fumes dissipated of the same stature, but now an attractive man. Grave ran to the river and took his time admiring his reflection in the water.

The servants showered their mistress with gratitude and praises.

“We are not at full power,” Rhode said.

She looked at the cavern behind her. “We shall rest in this hollow for a year, fortifying this weak vessel and raising our dark army. You shall fetch the vessels of my siblings and feed them to us once we emerge on the next summer solstice. We need their essences to fight the false gods.”

“You may create more minions for your bidding,” she added. “The powers we have granted will suffice. But the two of you shall be my generals, equal in rank and with equal lending of my ears.”

She snapped her fingers, and dense forest erupted around the cavern. Rhode turned to leave when Grave spoke out of turn.

“Your Providence, if I may ask. If you are the Dark Seraph reborn, what happened to the girl, Rhode.”

Rhode smiled, this time with the innocence of her prior being.

“We are both rolled into one. Our essence and her soul are in accord. It was an excellent choice of vessel.”

Her servants knelt in reverence as Aera Cura entered the hollow, and the forest engulfed the cavern entrance after her.

Far off near the coast of the Gulf of Stratos, Marcus Petromax woke up with a start on his King’s bed. He was still on the ship, once in a month. But the fight with Charybdis had drawn a lot out of him. The strain had made him descend to an early slumber.

He had a terrible nightmare of the coming of a power, imposing in both malevolence and power. The God-King always slept dreamlessly. The anomaly had rattled him.

Many antagonistic forces were at work, based on the news from Elektra and his vision. The truth of it, he would prospect once he reached Mt. Radomir.

“Land!” one of the ship’s crew shouted from the deck.

The fog had parted to reveal the sun shining against the chrome soil of Theikos. In the distance, Mount Radomir’s peak rose like a threatening finger. Multitudes of mortals lined the shore, awaiting their God-King’s arrival. Part of Marcus wanted to turn around for another voyage. But his duty to the citizens of Theikos called.

In the citadel, Elektra, Beowulf, Anaximander, and Myron, at their respective places, felt the imbalance too. The minds of the titans connected for a moment.

“Let us meet,” they thought at the same time.