Chapter 54

Day 219:

“Head for that one! Run!” John shouted, pointing at the door to their right.

The group veered to that side, picking up speed as they moved downhill. Jashul lagged behind the sprinting duo, and John’s longer legs carried him in the lead as they ran. The gap between all three widened as they closed with the two undead bracketing that opening. On the ledges above, the patrols congregated, staying on their level but clustering abreast of the group as the trio neared the ground-level guards. When John and Dulgan got closer, and none jumped down to intercept them, John pointed at the doorway.

“Get in the door!” He ordered. “I’ll keep them busy! We can hold them from there!”

He motioned for Jashul to do the same, circle around and go into the gap. He hurled the Tooth at the closest one’s face, and jabbed the second with his spear. His spear-thrust was handily blocked, but the ax blade ‘ting-ed’ off the shield-edge and bit into the fyar gorta’s neck. Blue flames flickered, lighting up the right side of its face. Pale skin blackened, curled and began sloughing off in chunks. That foe seemed to react slowly, giving John time to catch the Tooth on its rebound. He caught, ducked under the still-whole gorta’s return thrust and jabbed again with his own spear. He was blocked a second time, but moving a giant piece of armor in front of its face prevented the undead from seeing what John did next.

He planted his ax right into its instep, just forward of the ankle. Again his weapon’s icy flames flared as the blade edge tore a massive gash in its foot. John dodged back and to the side, keeping the gimpy one between him and its flaming-faced partner. Jabs from one, then the other pole arm forced him to retreat. This let them get back on line with each other.

It also opened a path behind them for Dulgan to head for the doorway. The same inky black smoke clouded the interior, masking whatever lay beyond. The Dwimar got a second wind and sprinted the last few yards into the opening. As soon as his body was inside the building, the Dwarf vanished completely. Gone. John caught a last glimpse of him out of his peripheral vision as he dueled with the guards.

“Fuck me!” John growled, staying nimble to avoid the gortas.

Unfortunately for his two opponents, their bodies burned easily. Flaming-face had lost everything from its forehead to its jawline on one side. A giant, still-burning, ever-widening area spread across its skull. One eye was completely melted, socket dripping watery black sludge, and John could see blackened teeth through what remained of its cheek. The gimpy one lost its damaged appendage when it tried to step-lunge at him, using that foot as its base. The entire front part, toes and all came off and the strike turned into a stumble.

John stepped forward and cleaved through the shaft of its weapon with a hammer-blow from the Tooth, then retreated again with a third spear jab at its face. Its shield was out of position to block as it tried to recover, so John’s strike scored an eyeball this time. Thin black puss erupted from the orb, draining down its cheek. The blow also served to disorient it, keeping it on the ground for a few moments longer.

He dodged a poorly-aimed pole-ax swing from flaming-face as he caught sight of Jashul limping toward the opening. The Dvergyr was only a few steps shy of the portal when a figure appeared there. John’s heart leaped, thinking it was Dulgan returning, then his stomach dropped as a familiar, tattooed hulk stepped from the building.

Kertug’s tattoos now covered his arms, down to his knuckles. John’s gut told him they had to be pretty amazing for the half-orc to keep getting them as his reward. The brute stopped in place, dazedly glancing around at the melee before him.

Jashul, too skidded to a halt. The young Dwarf stared in horror at Kertug’s menacing form.

Shaking his head in resignation, John knew what he had to do. He had only a few moments before the half-orc engaged.

“Hey, fuckface!” He shouted, dancing around and waving.

He had to dodge another not-quite-accurate swipe from flaming-face while he did so, but the King’s Left Arm slowly turned his head and focused on the cavorting soldier. A thunderous expression clouded the Champion’s face, and with an inarticulate roar, Kertug charged right at John.

“Jashul! Go! Run!” John called as he backpedaled.

As the war-chyld burst between the two gortas, the Dwarf realized his route was again open. With a shambling lurch, he launched himself into the opening. John barely noticed though. Kertug’s move bulldozed the two gorta, knocking both down and trampling flaming-face’s shield arm with his bare feet. His enchanted mace looked even bigger as John ducked under a swing to run back past the lumbering giant.

Flaming-face had released its pole ax to get back up, since its other arm hung loosely at its side. John took advantage, planting his spear into its one good eye and letting go as he ran by. Then he leaned forward, scooping up the butt of its pole ax in exchange.

Kertug boomed something that John either didn’t catch, or didn’t understand as the brute spun around and chased after the smaller man. John glanced back briefly as he headed for the doorway himself. The half-orc was noticeably slower than he was, so if John could get into the Ziggurat, he figured he could affect an ambush. With that in mind, his legs churned as he poured on the speed. The pole ax blade sparked as it bounced across the rocky ground behind him.

He burst through the opening, and everything went black.

There was a brief, disorienting pause before he stumbled to a halt. The floor he now stood on was the same dark stone as the Ziggurat exterior, but the impenetrable black smoke swirled in a dome over his head that stretched to the ground all around. Behind him was more of the same. No doorway, no walls; just a floor and cloudy darkness.

In the center of the cavernous space was a huge, polished, black, rectangular gemstone. A dim light shone from its smooth surface, giving John a little help peering into the gloom. Curled around the altar-like rock was the ragged, skeletal remains of a dragon. The corpse’s enormous, horned head tilted up from where it rested atop the raised platform, with its gap-toothed jaw wide open. Large patches of its hide were missing, but the outline of each void was regular, like it had been snipped off, not torn or rotted. John could even see where talons, spikes and bones were missing from the carcass as well. He estimated over half of the body was absent.

Standing in front of the skull was a massive, muscular, robed figure with its hood thrown back. In its hand was a shoulder-high black rod, with a carved onyx skull affixed to one end. Whereas the other Vampyri John had met burned intensely behind their eyes to John’s Sight, this one radiated a light- and life-sucking darkness instead.

That gaze lifted to meet his own as a ghastly smile came over its orc face.

The voice was at once both whisper-quiet and bone-rattling loud. “Welcome, John Morgan of Earth, to your death.”

“You know who I am?” John sputtered.

The figure gestured at the remains behind him, then pointed at the Tooth clutched in John’s fist.

Its volume dropped to a less overwhelming level, “Death itself held no power over me. I abide beyond its reach. Many of the most potent of our armory’s rewards are taken from my body. My flesh and bone remain a part of me, no matter how far removed from this place. A layer of my hide gives your cuirass and boots their flexible durability, and one of my bones, and a tooth from my mouth comprise your prized weapon. I have been with you since you completed my sister’s second Challenge. I have even tasted your home world, with its curious mathematic laws of nature. It’s possible that I know more of you than my mother, the great Matriarch Ky’ur does.”

John shuddered at the thought of this being spying on him from nearly the beginning of his time here.

“Wait.” John held up a hand, pointing at the figure, then the dead dragon. “You’re the Onyx Dragon? Amayru?”

Just the figure answered, in a deep baritone. “I’m her Avatar, yes. In this place, I serve as her direct voice, since she no longer breathes. Sometimes she speaks through me, as she just did. Other times she tells me what to say. Elsewhere, outside this Temple of Death’s Veil, I am known by other names: Knight-Champion of the Shadow Lords, the Traitor of Blackwater, filthy Rebel, Usurper, Patriarch of the Devouring Hand, to name just a few.”

John involuntarily jerked at that last one.

“Yes, that same Patriarch which Cain the Blood Tyrant so hates and fears. Do not be concerned, though. Your alliance with my sworn enemy is not an issue here.”

“So,” John tried to recover, “I’m here to do the Challenge.”

“You are.” The Patriarch echoed. “All who enter must complete it to leave.”

“What is my Task?” John inquired.

“Come closer, and I will explain.” The Patriarch beckoned.

John hesitated. “Um, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to talk from here.”

“I’ll not harm you.” The Patriarch assured him. “Combat is not my function. Death comes for all beings, and cares nothing for the manner in which it arrives.”

“Yeah, well you keep saying I’m going to die.” John pointed out. “And that’s not something I’m keen to do just yet.”

A rasping rumble vibrated the room.

“And yet, all who come to this place do just that.” The Patriarch insisted. “Most remain, and a few return to the living afterward, but each one faced their death. You will not depart until you have done so, no matter how long you wait.”

“Wait,” John thought furiously, “you’re saying that you’ll kill me as my Challenge Task, then raise me from the dead?”

He was aghast at the concept.

The Patriarch shook its head. “I’ll not kill you, though you will die. And it’s not I who raise you. You’ll return of your own volition, or not. That is up to you.”

“What kind of fucked up test is this?” John blurted.

An unmistakable self-satisfied tone crept into the Patriarch’s words.

“The kind which strips away all your accouterments, illusions and personas to evaluate your true essence. There is no lucky chance, clever ploy, or special skill involved. Your will, spirit and drive are what determines your fate. Are you ready?”

John sighed, walking closer. “Give it to me.”

The Patriarch pointed at the dragon skull’s open mouth. No hide remained on the bone, and the jaw framed the top of the stone underneath.

“Your Task is simple: lie down inside the dragon’s head.” The Patriarch explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “Terms: you shall face your own death, and you shall decide if, and when to return here. Conditions: should you elect affirmatively not to return; I shall be free to dispose of your remains as I see fit. As you entered this realm with violence and destruction, your death will reflect that approach. You may not depart this chamber before completing a Task. Do you understand?”

John scowled. “I ... uh, is this the first, second or third level Task?”

The Patriarch shook its head again. “Your spirit will decide that, once you begin. Do you understand the Task, Terms and Conditions?”

John gulped down his unease.

This is going to be the worst one yet, isn’t it? He asked silently.

Guys? Are you there? He tried, when none of the spirits responded.

“This is a solitary Task.” The Patriarch told him aloud. “The spirits who inhabit your rewards are under an Edict of Silence until you depart this place.”

Well, damn.

“All right, let’s do this.” He nodded.

“You understand the Task, Terms and Conditions?” The Patriarch reiterated.

“I believe so.” John confirmed.

The Avatar motioned to the skull. “Climb inside, and lay down with your feet towards the front.”