Curse

shadow-violet · Jun 01, 2008, 02:22 AM // 02:22

Yay Jala isn't dead ^-^.Can't wait till Monday for the next chapter!

Unreal Cyn · Jun 03, 2008, 12:36 PM // 12:36

Glad you're still enjoying it, shadow! Sorry about yesterday - my net was down! But here is Chapter 36!

Blood to Ash

The Charr were in celebration. That was the only word for the raucous growls, howls and dancing that consumed them even now as Farrion stood watching with thinly disguised horror on his face. Torches burned throughout the stone city, illuminating the place almost as brightly as sunshine. Deep drums added to the racket, and with each stroke Farrion’s half-beating heart dug itself deeper and deeper into his chest cavity.

He turned his gaze on the large pyramid close as hand; to the mass of Charr that surrounded the flat top of the thing, worshipping a man he once thought he knew. Even now he could make out Cyn, as he sat on a wide, tall stone chair, staring out over the largest Charr army that had been assembled since the Searing.

“By all the Gods. How did this happen?” he sighed to himself, watching as his breath misted the window before him.

“Farrion.” A voice called from behind.

The Mesmer turned and found Lucretia walking towards him from the door. She was flanked by two huge, grim faced Charr who carried long, vicious blades. Every Charr had changed upon Cyn’s arrival, almost as though the sudden appearance of the living embodiment of one of their Titans ignited some flame in their collective spirits.

He had not seen Lucretia for a few hours. They had all been separated soon after Cyn’s dramatic arrival – including Heli and Vinessa – and kept in separate rooms. Farrion could only fathom a guess as to why; Redeye had told Cyn who they were, and Cyn had been thinking about what to do with them.

But that was only one assumption.

From what he could have grasped in the short time that had passed, all bets were now off. The Charr were no longer interested in Lucretia or her Master’s plans. Their Titan was here, and they were going to perform his will and his will alone. But that still leaves a huge undead army here that’s still loyal to Lucretia. It did not take an elemenatalist to reason that the situation was one big disaster waiting to happen. It was only a matter of time.

“The one called Cyn requests our presence, my dear.” She said calmly. There was well-disguised anger in her face, but her words carried no hint of it.
“Alright.” Gods, what now?

She turned and he followed her back towards the door as the Charr closed in behind them. She turned right in the corridor and the two of them carried on in silence. Farrion wanted to ask her what she knew of the situation, but he figured that this was not the place, if not the time. She kept her face forwards all the while, not even glancing in his direction. The Charr behind them were uncharacteristically silent.

Eventually they were striding along a well-worn cobblestone street that ran straight to the back of the pyramid where they had been attacked by Heli and Vinessa earlier. The place was much brighter now, with scores of Charr milling about busily. A pair of the beasts greeted them there and led the way up the wooden platform to the pyramid’s summit and Cyn’s high seat.

The worshipping Charr all stood and turned as one to Farrion and Lucretia. Their faces – like all Charr – were unreadable to the Mesmer, but strange energies swirled in the air like some arcane cauldron. Rich and violently powerful energies emanated from Cyn himself, even though the man did not seem to be actively doing anything.

The woman he had fallen through the portal with stood at his right hand, freshly dressed in a boiled leather jerkin that clung to her shapely body. Her arms were crossed and her eyes surveyed everything with a cool awareness. Farrion could not place her ethnicity, but she seemed familiar somehow. Have I seen her before?

But Cyn just sat in the seat, staring at Farrion through eerily piercing eyes and idly stroking his goatee.

“Farrion. Thought you were dead.” The former servant of Melandru said in a quiet voice that just barely carried to the Mesmer’s ears.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Farrion replied. And I mean that both ways.

“That’s very true.” Still the man’s eyes never left his, “But I look at your pallid flesh and dead eyes and know the truth. You are a dead man walking. One of the undead. A sickening abomination. But even abominations have their uses.” He smiled at this.

“What happened to you, Cyn? Did the demon Ja’al do this to you?”
“She did, alright. I’m a new man.” He leaned back and continued smiling. “With a new purpose. A purpose that I’m sure you’ll help me to achieve. It’ll just be like old times.”

A strange look passed across Cyn’s face at that moment, almost as though the man had remembered something good. But in a flash the look was gone, replaced by one of indifference.

By every God in the Mists! Does that mean that Karak and the Wraiths failed! Was Ja’al actually released! Oh shit! For a moment Farrion’s head spun, but with a great effort he managed to get a hold on himself. Gotta think straight. Have to plan. Cyn is here, now. I have to find out what he wants to do. It can’t be anything good, not with the state that he’s in. But at least his arrival had given him some more time to think. The combined armies would not be marching on Ascalon just yet.

“It depends on what you have in mind, Cyn.”

“You know, Farrion, old boy, I saw your brother recently. Karak. I was in the Thirsty Desert, which is now under the management of the Scarabs Guild. They had found him wandering in the Desert alone. He told me that his mind was being controlled by a man called Pister. Said that this Pister captured him for some ends unforeseen.”

Farrion’s heart leapt for the first time in a long while. “Karak is alive?”

“Last time I saw him. But he did not take to me too kindly. He even tried to kill me. But that is not why I wanted to speak with you.” Cyn sighed and massaged his eyes, finally breaking visual contact. “You were always the more stable of the two, the one more inclined to listen. So listen, and listen closely for I will not repeat this. This Pister seeks to usurp my power. I do not know what manner of being he is, but he is powerful in his own right. And he controls many huge undead armies throughout Tyria. He had even promised me their use given that I let him have free reign in this continent. I think that he intends to get rid of me and conduct his own agenda, which was well underway when I met him. Do you see where this is going, Farrion?”

The Mesmer thought a moment and cast Lucretia a glance. She was not looking at either him or Cyn; her gaze was focused at a dark point beyond them.

“Pister... has Karak? Are you... are you sure that he’s controlling these undead?”

“Calculate the odds of that for me, Farrion. I didn’t go to Nolani, remember.”

Gods! If Pister is controlling all these undead and he’s living at Thirsty River... oh shit! Could he be the Master that Lucretia is always talking about? By Lyssa, he has to be. He sent her desert-roses, for the love of Dwayna. Those things you just can’t buy at the market! But why would he have Karak? Why would....

“What is he planning to do with Karak?”

“I don’t know. But I doubt its anything positive, you site?” Cyn frowned and inclined his head at Lucretia. “Heard that she is the leader here. Gets her orders straight from Pister himself. That he holds her high in his confidence. That there are no secrets between them.”

“Lucretia... what does Pister want with Karak?” Farrion asked alowly.

For a moment she said nothing, and then she turned to him still with that anger in her face. “You believe this man? Over me? I brought you from the dead Farrion. I thought we were even beginning to trust one another.”

“I don’t have anything against you, Lucretia. It’s this Pister I want to know about. I would like to know why he was able to get into Karak’s head; to control him and then to capture him. I want to know why.”

Lucretia continued to look at him, her face retaining its expression but her eyes softening. “I forget that you still have attachments to this world, aye?” she began in a near-whisper, “I had hoped you would forget them. This I see is not to be.” She licked her lips and seemed to think a moment. “You would like to tell me a secret? Then I will tell you mine.”

Secrets. Gods. Farrion’s memory of his former life was now little more than blurry images and muffled sounds. Suddenly he realised that he could hardly remember anything concrete. Even Karak’s face was only coloured lines behind a pane of glass. Gods, not now. I have to remember something. Anything!

“I... I knew this girl once. She was good-looking. Smart. We... were engaged and everything. But she was infatuated with Karak. Didn’t tell me, but I could see it. The infatuation became worse and worse until one day I confronted her about it. We were vacationing at a hamlet out in the Ascalonian countryside. We had a terrible argument and she threw the engagement ring at me. Said I was paranoid. That I didn’t trust her. Couldn’t trust her. So I left. Took the carriage and left her there. Stranded. I was so angry.” Farrion sighed and looked around. Strangely enough it seemed as though everyone there was intent on him, “I heard the rumbling and then... and then the Searing happened. The hamlet was hit directly by a crystal. She died without knowing what had hit her.” He locked gazes with Lucretia yet again. “I never told anyone this. I told Karak that I hadn’t been with her in days. I lied to him. That’s my secret.”

“Damn, Farrion. No wonder you never got involved in any of the women in our travels.” Cyn said. But in his tone there was the hint of the Cyn that Farrion remembered and suddenly before the Mesmer’s eyes flashed a realisation that was gone in an instant.

“I shall tell you mine.” Lucretia replied. “Pister had been planning to capture Ja’al for a long time. Aye, he knew of the demon’s prison, but he didn’t know how to get in there, far less free it. So he waited and explored other means. He learned to control the dead and made all sorts of pacts with the Lord of the Underworld. He even recruited those who had links to Ja’al, of whom Karak is one. That is why Pister wants him. His original plan was to reassemble the team that imprisoned Ja’al in the first place, control them and then use them to free the demon.”

“What?” Farrion gasped, “Karak helped to imprison Ja’al? How, in Lyssa’s name?”

“After the Searing many of the team-members came to Tyria for various reasons. One of them came during the Searing and was caught in its purifying flames. He was a great warrior, one of the best in the Mists. He was consumed by a crystal and when it crashed outside of Ascalon, his energies and latent memories were passed onto a simple monk.”

“Karak.” Gods. I always wondered how Karak the Monk could have suddenly become Karak the Warrior with such little training. Does this explain it?

“Yes. And only an entity from the Mists can kill an entity from the Mists. You see, Pister wants only Ja’al, but to do this he has to get rid of Cyn. He manipulated Karak while he was under the Desert, fuelling his rage, pushing him to eventually attack and kill Cyn. He would have remained dead, too, if Ja’al hadn’t been freed and seemingly resurrected him.”

Cyn leaned back and whistled. “That Pister is a genius. I wish I knew who he really was, where he came from, but that doesn’t matter now. I am to be a God, here. Hell, I’m to be a God anywhere. But I need this Pister out of the picture. And for that I’m going to need to pull some strings of my own. Lucretia here is under great duress. She makes a wrong move here and these Charr of mine will cut down her undead army in minutes.”

The former ranger got out of his seat and came face to face with Farrion.

“But you, Farrion,” he whispered in such a low tone that only the Mesmer could hear, “You, I give the offer of an alliance. Together we can destroy Pister, send these undead back where they came from and end this damn nightmare.” He smiled and extended his left hand, “Just like the old times.”

In his eyes Farrion could only see shadows, and around him Farrion could only make out twisted energies. But in his voice Farrion realised that this was the Cyn he had met one year ago in the ruins of Ascalon City; the moody ranger that had had his back through all their adventures.

Maybe it was a front.

Most likely it was an act.

But Farrion shook his hand anyway.

Unreal Cyn · Jun 21, 2008, 02:54 AM // 02:54

Here is the penultimate chapter to Obsidian! I hope you enjoy it!

Hole in the Sky

Glowing chains rattled in the night sky.

Marching feet stirred up sand for miles around.

Yet all was strangely still and calm, like a fine day at Egilos Monastery.

A long time ago Karak enjoyed the peace and quiet, but now only fire burned within.

“Ring formation!” Habib hollered as Heather’s glowing mist surrounded his massive figure. “Watch yourselves!”

Karak fell into line with barely a thought, his eyes scanning the environs with furious intensity. Dana was humming a dead tune in his mind’s ear; perhaps it was meant to soothe him, but the only thing it did was make him more anxious. Even now the warrior looked forward to the spilling of blood and the severing of limbs that was soon to come. He looked forward to it like a parched man would spring water.

Jala and Karissa stood to either side of him with the both of them looking near panic. Karissa held her scythe in a death-grip like she knew how to use it, but the demon-woman was unarmed. And if what she claimed about Cyn was true, then she was truly screwed.

We don’t need any demon-magic. I can take them all. Nothing will stop me. Not tonight!

“We need to take out Pister, Habib.” Karissa said quickly.

“Don’t you think he knows that?” Heather snapped. She was going to continue when Habib cut her short.

“Quiet, Heather!” he said. “Not now!” he glanced back towards the hillock. “I’m not going to order anyone up there. We will have to rely on range if we’re to take him down.”

“I say we get the hell out of here!” Jala hissed. “Get Cyn and ––.”

“Cyn is not an option. He ain’t here.” Karak replied. “And we don’t need him. And we don’t need all this talk, either.”

With that the warrior broke formation and made for the hillock. The fire was so hot in his veins that his very flesh burned, and his vision – indeed, all of his senses – cleared to such a degree of clarity that it was painful.

“Karak!” he heard Habib holler after him.

But then Karak was rounding the cleft of rock and was in direct view of the huge dark shape amidst twisting chains on the hill. I’m coming, Farrion. Quickly he navigated the scattering of tents and boulders that littered the area and soon he was back on the rising path that at one time had led to the central tent of this camp.

A figure bounded out at him from his immediate left. In a flash Karak turned and caught it on the blade of his scimitar, watching as the figure shivered to stillness as it slid down the steel. In the gloom Karak saw that it was a man, dressed in the garb of a Scarab, but his eyes were pale like the moon, and his flesh smelled like decaying meat.

A zombie. By Balthazar, I’ve faced them before.

The thought had scarcely finished forming in his mind before another pair came at him, wielding two scimitars each. The smell of decay preceded it and its pales eye burned as it brought its weapons to bear on Karak.

Karak turned to face it and felt a surge of energy rush through his body as he took a mighty swipe at the thing. The stroke cleaved the man right across the abdomen, nearly cutting in him two. And then he was onto the other one, catching it across the neck with his blade and then finishing him with a strike to the guts.

Karak glanced back up towards the hill. Still he could see the darkly figure standing amidst the chains, staring – it seemed – directly at him. The warrior caught his breath and started back up. In moments he had cleared the path and suddenly Karak found himself amongst the chains in quickly fading light.

“Lambs always come back to the fold. And here I have two.” Whispered a voice from seemingly beside him.

Karak glanced thence and saw no one.

“Now you shall die, little lamb, adequate reward for standing against your better.”

At that moment, Karak realised that the voice was not coming from any outside source; it was coming from within his head. And at that instant the glittering eyes of hundreds of zombies burned out at him in the night; watching, waiting. Blue lightning flashed across the sky, ripping the black sky asunder as it briefly illuminated the face of dark shape before Karak.

Karak froze. The man who had called himself Pister now looked like no man. His very face was a phantasmorgia of shifting images, each one worse than the last. Horns curled about his head and a savage grin revealed rows of butcher-knife teeth. But however inhuman he looked, Karak thought he recognised the creature. After all, he had spent some time in the Fissure.

“Whatever.” Karak hissed, charging up the hill even as the zombies all around closed in about him.

He made four feet before the line of zombies crashed into him, half-nearly sweeping him off his feet. Habib crouched and slashed at the zombies closest him, opening guts and severing limbs. Out of the corner of his eye, Karak could see many more of the zombies approaching in a frenzied rush.

All of a sudden a ball of fire exploded in the midst of the undead advance. While the bodies were still flying, the ground began to shake and lave burst forth from the earth. The superheated liquid swept through the undead ranks, vaporising them almost instantaneously.

Karak glanced back and saw the Wraiths running up the hill in a secure formation. Heather was in the midst, eyes aflame and hovering over the ground in a semi-trance. Karissa and Habib were cleaving a path up the hill as quickly as they could before the undead swarm recovered.

They can handle these things; I’m going for this bastard!

“Kill him, my love, once and for all!”

Karak flung himself past the undead and up towards Pister. “Get out of my head!”

His front foot landed on a cleft of rising rock and propelled him forwards into the air. With breeze rippling his hair and sand sprinkling his face, Karak raised his scimitar behind his head. Pister turned to him and upon his face was a cruel grin.

“Only one can kill me. Do you think you are him?”

Karak plunged the scimitar deep into Pister’s wide chest. In a moment, Pister large hand plucked Karak from there and cast him to the ground like a flea. Karak hit hard, but still the fire burned within him, still the energy fuelled his drive.

The warrior jumped to his feet, shook off the blow and looked for a weapon even as Pister pulled swords of his own from the nothingness around him.
“Karak!” Habib hollered from somewhere behind him.

Karak looked thence and saw that the Wraiths had all of their attention focused on the undead and the living chains. Only Habib stood apart, strangely calm and holding a glowing sword in addition to his own. When the old man saw that Karak had heard him, he threw the sword in his direction and turned back to engage the undead behind.

Karak caught the sword and recognised it as the one he had fought with all through that experience in hunting Ja’al. Even now he did not know where Farrion had got it, but it sank into his grip better than any axe he had ever wielded. It glowed like a pale moon; pulsing like the beat of some alien heart.
Karak turned and came face to face with the three shifting images of spirits.

One was blindfolded, the other had no mouth and the last one had no features whatsoever. Before they could raise their hands and open their mouths to utter spells, Karak was upon them like an enraged Hydra. With three terrible strokes he dispatched them and continued on towards Pister.
Suddenly another shape appeared before him and Karak halted.

It was a man, well dressed but with a worried look upon his face. With his brown hair and small eyes he looked not so dissimilar to Karak himself.

The man was Farrion.

“Karak. By Lyssa, I’m glad to see you again. What are you doing?” Farrion said, lines of worry creasing his forehead.

“Farrion?” emotion choked the word out of Karak. “Farrion, is this real?”

“I... I’m alive. But I think I’m bound to Pister.”

“What are you trying to say?” Karak said, approaching the Mesmer.

“If you kill Pister, you’ll kill me, too, Karak.”

Karak stopped an arms length away from Farrion. The younger man looked as calm and resolute as ever, but thin chains were embedded into his arms and legs, lashing him to the ground where he stood.

“How can I free you, Farrion?” Karak screamed, “How can I get you back?”

“Only Pister has the power to free me... to free all of us.”

Do not listen to him, my love. It is not your brother that speaks.

“Karak glanced around and realised that the dark shape was gone, replaced by a wide column of shadow that hovered in the air like a living thing.

“Remember that spiritualist we killed in the Battle Isles so long ago? When he died, so did all of his summoned spirits.” Farrion explained.

Karak remembered the battle. “Tell me what I have to do. Anything. I would even take your place.” Something seemed to shift in the world around him, something small; something subtle.

“Cyn is the key, Karak. He always has been. He’s the reason we’re all in this mess. With him dead we could all go back to normal. To the way things were before all this started. It’s Cyn you must kill, bro, not Pister. Cyn is the enemy.”

This man is not your brother anymore, Karak! Dana screamed his ear.

Karak raised his sword.

“Bro... what are you doing?!”

Tears streamed from Karak’s eyes, hot droplets of water that coursed down to his chest. “I’m freeing you.”

Karak plunged the sword down into Farrion’s chest. Silence fell almost immediately, and then there was a terrible shock that sent everyone in the camp to their knees. The glowing sword splintered into a dozen pieces as Karak was thrown back from Farrion. The Mesmer shook unnaturally as his limbs started to grow and shrink and twist. He looked back at Farrion, but the face that now looked out through his was one of a demon’s.

“This world shall die.”

“What... is this?” Karak whispered to himself as he lay on his back. The fire inside of him had subsided and he felt incredibly weak.

The earth heaved once again, tearing rifts in the rock and sand. The last thing Karak remembered seeing before the world went dark were clouds in the sky being suddenly ripped apart by a powerful force, clearing a giant hole that looked straight up into a sky that churned and swirled like a devil’s cauldron.

shadow-violet · Jul 05, 2008, 02:26 AM // 02:26

Where's the final chapter? >.<

Unreal Cyn · Sep 27, 2008, 01:13 AM // 01:13

It's been a long time in coming, I know, but my attention was in many other places! However, here's the final chapter in Obsidian. That's it. Another fanfic done. You can check my website for further updates plus information on the new fic that should be available in the coming months! Please enjoy!

Death is the Road to Awe

Rain was falling.

It drenched everything in it; large droplets of frigid water that chilled down to the bone. There seemed no end to it, as the entire sky was covered with thick grey-black clouds. Only the suggestion of light crept down from the heavens, but it was enough for his keen eyes to see by.

Two armies stood out in the city, held in check by nothing more than a thin thread of order. Something very much like the condition of his mind. Even now it seemed as though two Cyns fought for control within his very soul.

“It seems strange to me that you would betray him.” He said, turning away from the window. “Isn’t he your lord and master?”

“I have my reasons.” Yasmin replied.

“Indeed you do.”

It had not taken Cyn long to realise that even though the body he was now looking at was that of one of the adventurers Jala had captured, the actual person inside was completely different. It was offsetting, to say the least, but also rather intriguing. Just imagine the power it would take to replace the soul of one person with the soul of another. It was something he thought would be impossible.

But as in many things, he had been wrong.

“So, do you really think that destroying Pister will be as easy as you say?” Cyn asked again.

The woman looked back at him through narrowed eyes. “Yes. It is virtually inevitable.”

“Good. At this stage I cannot afford any kind of failure.” Cyn began. He was about to continue when the faintest of all noises whispered into his ears.
He stopped and looked about. The window outside showed no difference in the depressing weather, but deep down inside Cyn could feel that something was newly amiss.

“Did you hear that?” he asked Yasmin.

The woman seemed less confident now. The narrow look was gone in her eyes, replaced by one of distant surprise. “Yes. He has come.”

Cyn did not need to ask who. Quickly he turned back to the window and cast his gaze to the sky. There, amidst the grey clouds of the dark sky was a growing hole that looked straight up into an empty plane. Lights swirled madly in that space, and suddenly Cyn became aware of a strange and horrible power in the environs. He has come indeed.

“I shall go and meet him. It would seem as though we have many things to discuss.”

Cyn left the room and met Redeye outside. The Charr’s face was one grim mask of dark hair, but his eyes burned with the fire that had given him his name.

“Report, Redeye.” Cyn said.

“The armies have been moved outside of the city, as you ordered. All is empty. Only you, Farrion, Lucretia and that other woman remain here with me and my guard.”

“Good.” Cyn rested a hand on the Charr’s shoulder. “Then all is well. You can take your leave also, my friend. Powers may be released here that might prove disastrous.”

Redeye’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing for a little while. “I trust you know what you’re doing, my lord.” And with that he was turning and fading away down the corridor.

Cyn was alone in the corridor. Just as it should be. As I came into this world so shall I leave it.

Walking, he stepped out of the empty barracks and into the frigid breeze of the courtyard. As the wind hit his face he suddenly felt like his old self again; free, eager to live and explore. He felt human again. Mortal.

It could have been his separation from Jala or his reunion with Farrion, but whatever it was, Cyn was glad for it. For the first time in many weeks he finally had a serious purpose that did not conflict with his inner self. Here again was an enemy that he could face. Here, behind the back of all the gods.

“Come on, Pister, whatever you are. You want me, I’m yours to face.” Cyn muttered to the hole in the sky. “I’m yours to face.”

“So you are.” Hissed a voice from behind him.

Cyn turned quickly and saw Lucretia standing behind him, her lips curled into a rabid grin. There was a strange light in her eyes, a deep sense of dread that burned its way across to Cyn’s face. He could not guess how she had gotten there out of nowhere; how she could have changed so.

“All my servants are bound to me, you fool. I move between them like the wind. Can you not understand the power I wield? You desire to be a God, yet you cannot think of the simplest things!” It was not the voice of Lucretia that came from those lips; the voice was thinner, drier and more laden with hate.

In a moment Cyn had his dagger in his hand. “The only thing I’m thinking of is killing you.”

“Fool! Can’t you understand? You cannot kill me! If you destroy this body – this vessel – you cannot harm me. I am power, Cyn, pure energy.”

“I know.”

With a flash, a purple haze enveloped Lucretia’s body, paralyzing her. From the darkness over by the barracks Farrion uttered his Mesmer spells with the grace and fluidity that Cyn remembered from the old days. Good old Farrion and his plans. He stepped forwards and grasped Lucretia’s forehead with an exposed hand and stared deeply into her eyes.

“I’m yours to face, Pister.” He hissed as his eyes went black. “Dren energii.”

The power from the Mesmer spell rocked his body to its core, filling him with a burning power that seared the very veins beneath his flesh. He gritted his teeth against the pain, the sudden high. Lucretia’s screaming filled his ears and she trashed and bit but could not move her limbs.

The ground beneath their feet split asunder, and steam curled up around their bodies like the arms of Grenth himself.

“You fool! You cannot handle me!” Lucretia screamed as the corners of her lips ripped away in a terrible scream.

“I – don’t – intend – to.” Cyn whispered as the last of the energy plunged into him.

Lucretia fell from his grasp like a doll, hitting the ground with a dull thud that not even Cyn heard.

He stepped back from the body, marvelling for a moment just how powerful he felt. In that moment every person on the planet was like an ant to him, every nation only a curiosity. I am meant to be a God. A GOD! He would face them all and throw them down, claiming a mighty celestial throne all of his own!

No.

He blinked, and suddenly he was standing before a rushing river, its water frothing against the banks. On the opposite shore stood a woman, her arm extended and her eyes intent on him. Light climbed through the long, narrow windows of the hall; thin, misty beams of cold light that faded in and out with the passage of clouds. Tall colonnades hugged the walls on either side, and through their midst there ran the quick river in which he stood. Strange plants grew here: crawling mosses, thorny, slimy bushes and drooping roses, bobbing in the still air. In some parts, where the stream rushed over large stones, one could see the reflection of the roof far off; a roof that was at times lost in a thick mist that hung in the air.

Cyn did not know where the hell he was.

And in the next instant, he did.

“Just cross the river, Cyn.” The woman begged, even as the flesh peeled from her face, revealing a horrible visage.

Behind him was a dark door, closed, but begging to be opened.

Cyn stepped into the river and suddenly realised that the current was much stronger and the water much deeper than he had anticipated. The first step sent the water rushing up to his neck.

“Keep coming, Cyn. That’s right. You’re almost there.”

Cyn took another step and stopped in the middle of the river. Pulling out his dagger, he grasped the hilt with both hands and turned the blade towards his chest.

“I’m not the one you want. I’m done with this nightmare.”

The woman smiled and suddenly Cyn recognised that dead face. He had seen it on many statues at the depths of the world. Pale Grenth, holding out his arm for Cyn to grasp. The God said nothing, but kept the arm outstretched.

~ * ~

Farrion saw Cyn plunge the dagger into his heart.

For a moment it seemed as though the entire world shook; that the very heavens shook. But in a flash there was silence, and only the soft thud of Cyn’s body falling to the ground. The Mesmer made to move but Yasmin’s hand kept him in his place.

Looking up at her face he saw that she was staring intently at Cyn’s body. Farrion turned his gaze thence and to his horror he saw the body of his friend collapse into fine dust. The stiff southern wind caught the dust and flung it far and wide about the night, dispersing Cyn about the world he had fallen to on that dark day in Ascalon. In the sky above lightning silvered the innards of the clouds, as they once more filled in the hole in the heavens.

“In that one moment, I think he had truly become like one of the gods.” Yasmin whispered, in a quiet voice that Farrion recognised.

He turned to her again and saw not the face of a strange woman, but the round, soft features of Tsuki. She smiled at him and he returned the gesture.

“Yes,” he said after all the dust was gone and thunder rolled in the sky. “In that one moment.”

The end.