Unbound

Chapter Seven Hundred And Twenty One - 721

All around them, Hierocratic soldiers fell.

Paladins and Priests alike screamed and clawed at their chests, as if something had latched onto them and was chewing its way in. Several that still wore golden Mana armor had it flicker and fade. Not gone, but visibly weakened. The rebel army pounced upon their weakness, unquestioning and brutal.

The servants of the Pathless died swiftly.

Evie stood next to Harn, mute and witnessing something she hadn’t the words to explain. She could hear a buzzing noise rip around each Paladin in sight, and it sounded like despair and a sudden agony, even before the army dispatched them.

“Huh,” Harn grunted. “Good job, kid.”

“Could’a done without him drainin’ me,” she said. “What was it he took? Essence?”

“And significance. You’ve got it to spare,” Harn said with a shrug. “I’m surprised he didn’t need more against a Grandmaster.”

“He took plenty,” she groused. Her arms felt numb, but she clenched her chains so hard that pain spiked through her palms. “More than plenty.”

The Fiend Calls For Aid.

Harn grunted.

“What’s that mean?”

He shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Vess' Spears rotated around the Oathbound Dragoons, holding them at bay while her allies flared their own Skills as a promise of violence. Over and over, battering rams of chitin formed and shoved them back, yet the Oathbound returned anew. The enemy was beaten and bloody, but they were mad hounds, driven forward by that putrescent rhythm that commanded them to die rather than relent.

"I ask again! Do you yield!" she called to the still-pinned captain.

Tears filled his eyes as he pulled at her Spears with every ounce of his Strength. "I cannot! We are bound!"

"Fight it!" her father commanded. "I am your Duke and I command you to stand down, Lowyn!"

"My Lord..." he looked to her father with true regret. "I–I cannot—EURGH!"

The Oathbound captain convulsed so hard he finally knocked loose her Spears, and she pulled them back for fear of impaling him.

He wasn’t the only one.

Every single Oathbound Dragoon fell upon the ground, clutching at their heads and chests. That putrescent rhythm rose to a sickening crescendo...before it vanished entirely.

The Oath. It's gone. Vess realized. She pressed a hand to her chest, where her core space thrummed with newfound power.

New Title!

Blessing of the Fiend (Legendary)!

From out of the hungry dark comes a gentle hand clad in armored scales. You have reached out to the Fiend and he has answered your Need. Your Skills will level 10% faster than previously, and all Skills that deal with elemental Mana will have 20% greater effect.

Felix...

Pit found the Shrine well after Felix disposed of the Hierei. He knew this for several reasons, but the most obvious were all the corpses in the hallway.

“So many…they seem burned from the inside out,” Eagin said, nudging a white-robed Priest with his massive foot. “Was this due to their Oaths sundering?”

“Maybe?” Pit tip-toed around the corpses, all of them black-eyed and half charred. “The Paladins didn’t look like this though. They just got all shaky.”

“This is something else,” Telys confirmed. “Look.”

The Eidolon pointed ahead, where an ornate door hung askew from large silver-green hinges. Pit walked closer, ears pricked forward to listen for any living enemies, but found only more corpses surrounded by bookshelves. It was a library or a study, Pit decided, which would have been a dead end on their search had one wall not been turned sideways.

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Whoa.

One of the bookshelves had been opened up, a secret mechanism that revealed a short corridor followed by a large circular chamber.

Siva’s Shrine.

The Shrine’s floor was patterned stone, not smoothly polished as the rest of the Citadel, but rough and textured. Ancient. Perhaps it had been whole once, but pieces of the floor were smashed, the high steel hammers still lying upon the ground next to the corpses of Priests of the Pathless. On the walls were thin columns holding up a row of decorated arches, each harboring a small alcove. Statuary was smashed in each of them, charred and cracked. A pool sat in the center and was filled to the brim with a liquid that looked half like water and half like tarnished silver, and that too had been befouled, except this was with a number of corpses that floated. By their garb and size, they were locals and none were Human.

“The Priests…is this how they planned to subvert Siva’s power?” Eagin asked. “Foul as it is, it is simple vandalism.”

Pit spotted a familiar shape at the far end. A tall slab situated perpendicular to them at the entry, covered in silver-chased carvings and wide enough to bear a number of golden objects that seemed to be made of liquid light. Those shimmered fitfully, but the longer he looked the greater their shine, until he could make out that they were swords stabbed straight through the top of the altar.

Swords made of golden light.

“Maybe those swords have something to do with it,” Pit suggested. “Or that.”

Beyond the altar was another familiar structure, an obelisk made of silver-white stone and covered in detailed carvings. He almost missed it, assuming it was another one of the golden weapons, because the obelisk was covered by faceted, golden crystal.

“Altar and obelisk,” Eagin rumbled. “Just as in Avet’s Shrine.”

“And Vellus’,” Pit agreed. “I bet those are more important than all the other stuff here. Lemme ask Felix what he wants us to do about—Oh.” Pit’s eyes went wide as he made out a splintered, circular gate that was half-hidden by the largest alcove in the back. It was built into the wall and covered in broken sculptures that rose from its surface to describe mountains, forest, and a familiar waterfall.

“What is it?” Telys asked.

“That’s the Shadowgate,” Pit said heavily. “Our way home.”

Eagin tilted his head. “You sound despondent? Why?”

Pit sat down on his butt. “It’s broken, which means Felix has to fix it…and it’s located in the one place he can’t go.”

Howls of pain filled the night, echoing across the uninhabited swamp. Inquisitors fell into the muck, their armor so red hot that it boiled the water. They clutched their chests as an ineffable force ripped through every single one of them.

For the first time in too long, Imara’s Mind cleared.

Where am I? She stood up, looking around a massive swamp that was currently on fire. She felt too big, too much...everything. She clutched her head. I remember entering…the swamp…to find our quarry. Why? Why do I—?

Peace, Chosen. You Strain Yourself.

Imara’s head snapped up. Pathless. I–I can hear you so clearly now.

Things Have Changed, Chosen.

A beam of golden light shone down from above and every Inquisitor stilled as the Pathless spoke. Imara gasped. He spoke to all of them.

The Enemy Has Struck Down Hierei Mivun Tal.

They Have Taken From Us.

From Me.

Fearful murmurs swept the army, and Imara felt only confusion. Who is Mivun Tal? The enemy is…

Fear Not My Faithful,the Pathless continued, overwriting whatever thoughts Imara tried to have. The Enemy Is Powerful and Wickedly Cunning, But My Power Will Bolster Your Resolve.

That golden beam split, becoming thousands as the clouds above broke apart and filled their camp with radiance. Each found an Inquisitor, locking onto them before they went rigid, their Bodies swept up in a torrent of near-solid power. It splashed golden across their armor and faces, snaking into their mouths and channels with a careless urgency that drove a spike of fear down Imara’s spine.

For her, the Light rose from within, a fount of potency she hadn’t felt in what seemed like Ages. The Light filled her Spirit until it shone from behind her eyes and out of her open, gasping mouth. It overwhelmed her thoughts, dousing her feelings of confusion and that phantom sensation she could not name.

She only felt Him, and his mighty power.

Rise!

Rise And Push Back The Night!

All around her, thousands of Inquisitors rose back to their feet, except now their bodies were wreathed in an ephemeral radiance that exuded from their very skin. Their white armor had turned golden, and their cloaks had become banners of liquid crimson.

Bellar emerged from his tent, eyes aglow in the dark and held out his hands, laughing. “Is this what it is like to be Chosen?”

“Almost,” she said through the haze of glory in her chest.

The beams shifted, collecting once more into a central pillar that stretched between the foul muck and the heavens. It pulsated, and she could see the featureless face of her god within its shifting rays.

What am I doing here? a voice asked.

The Pathless smiled, and the thought was driven away.

Find Them In Pax’Vrell, My Children!

Bring The Glory And Retribution Of The Light Upon Them All!

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