NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter Twenty-Four: Pillar-Church
Hoplite pulled the wagon forward as silently as he could, nearly the entire party walked by themselves, forming a circle around the wagon. Everyone’s eyes, even Nolvi’s, kept their eyes peeled for any approaching Fiends. Theopalu walked ahead of Hoplite, occasionally pausing here and there before nodding to himself and picking a new road to tread down. These ancient cobbled streets were disheveled and damp, the bright sun overhead becoming occluded by a thick blanket of dark clouds. Many of the buildings were constructed of stone, the weathering over the millenia having taken their toll upon their cracked surfaces.
Many of them were already half-fallen apart, having collapsed in on themselves long ago. Hoplite briefly wondered as to why Akan-Var hadn’t been re-taken by nature, before he remembered the nature of the Death-Spiral curse. No new plant life could grow on this abandoned continent, it could only persist and suffer, like everything else. This meant that Akan-Var was only subject to weathering from the elements, greatly extending the ruined cities lifespan. At least, that was what he assumed.
Despite how abandoned this place seemed, it was hardly lifeless. The trip through Akan-Var had been an enduring trial for the squad, there was always another Fiend rushing after them as soon as it saw them, desperate to end its own suffering. Hoplite let the others take care of the strays, focusing purely on pulling the wagon and following Theopalu
It had been hours since they had set out from the gate, and the party was still very weary from the massive battle at the gates. Halm had volunteered to set forth and cripple as many of his kind as was possible as well as returning on occasion to warn Theopalu away from certain paths. Massive hordes still wandered the city after all, and with the party’s current state, they’d be overwhelmed and cursed. Hoplite himself could still fight, and indeed he had considered moving to eliminate these hordes before they could become a problem… yet doing so would leave the squad here without protection.
It was best to let Halm scout and Theopalu lead while he pulled the wagon, that way if another massive force came he’d be able to hold them off while everyone else made a retreat. The old elf had better know where he was going… The day was starting to get late, and those clouds were only looking heavier as time went on. It might be best to find shelter for the night, somewhere secure.
“How far are we from the nearest entrance?” Hoplite asked Theopalu, reigning in his irritation.
“Well… I would have to say at least five hours away, if we keep at this pace.” Theopalu replied, “It will be dark by then, perhaps we ought to find shelter. I know of a Pillar-Church nearby, we can rest there.”
“Affirmative. Take us there.” Hoplite replied curtly.
“Kids these days.” Theopalu replied, shaking his head as he veered right, “Never say ‘please’ anymore…”
Hoplite didn’t reply. If he did he wouldn’t have anything professional to say.
“Is this truly a safe place?” Twindil asked, quickening her pace beside the wagon, “A Pillar-Church is a place of pristine beauty, with stained glass and heavy wooden doors… I don’t think it would be the most secure building to take shelter in.”
“It could have collapsed already, for all we know.” Alistair said from behind them, “It's been over two-thousand years, and besides, there are plenty of other places here we can rest in. Why not just stop here?” He asked, pointing to a squat stone house, “There aren’t even windows on this one.”
“The Pillar-Church will be best.” Theopalu replied, “I’m assuming we want to bring the wagon in there with us, after all. That door on that warehouse is far too small for the wagon to fit through, the church’s door is far more accommodating. As for windows, this one has none.”
“What do you mean?” Twindil asked, “Every church I’ve been in has had several stained windows, why would this one be any different?”
“It was erected after the end of the Ninth Godling war, by survivors that lived to remember that strife. Back in the day, a place of worship was seen as a place that should be secure, rather than pretty.” He then gestured at the building surrounding them, “Look at what buildings remain intact here, solid stone, with few if any windows.”
Hoplite understood the desire to rest in a safe location, the battlefield offered very few safe places to do so. Considering these people's perspective, after enduring an age-ending Godling War, it was only logical. Looking at the buildings more closely now, he could almost see the fear of the former populace reflected in the city's architecture. They were built almost like primitive bunkers, the stones gray and dreary. It almost reminded him of his days in training… when he lived in the bunker with Commander and the other Hoplite candidates.
Like a bunker, this was a place that had been built to last, made to be a sturdy shelter first and foremost. He hated these gray lifeless streets, the squat stone buildings that took him back to that place… He shook his head, turning his mind away from those dark thoughts. Akan-Var was the polar opposite of the Faewood, there was no brilliant greens or bounding wildlife, just a cold husk.
Michael cursed as a Fiend ran around the corner in an alley, charging straight for him with gnashing teeth and reaching hands. It looked like Halm had missed this one. Hoplite didn’t cease pulling the cart, seeing that only one of the mutants had appeared. There was no reason for him to stop for this. He was proven right when Michael duped the creature, walking closer before dodging out of the way of its tackle.
It crashed into the stones with a cry of agony, a sound that Hoplite had become familiar with in this dreaded place. Michael kicked it in the back of the head before it could rise, and then shattered one of its legs, wincing as he did so. The creature still wailed despite the fresh crack in its skull, and the marine opted to simply crush its head beneath his boot. It was a sickening crunch that cut the weeping short, but instead of looking relieved… Michael looked sickened. Whether it was at his own actions or the sorry state of the Fiend, Hoplite could not say.
If there were any massive hordes nearby, they apparently didn’t react to shrieks of agony. Considering that it was a constant and likely familiar noise to them at this point, it wasn’t shocking. Indeed, he could hear weeping now, some louder, some more silent, in the distance, the cries of the infected, eternally ignored by their peers.
“Hoplite?” Twindil asked suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts, “What do you think?”
He’d become lost in thought yet again, this was becoming a worse problem as time went on.
“Of what?” He replied.
“Staying at the Pillar-Church?” She asked him, cutting down a staggering Fiend as she did so.
“Affirmative, I haven’t picked up any new signals since we’ve arrived and you all need to rest.” He told her in his monotone.
“I find it interesting that you don’t want to try and reach the tunnels first, you always seem like you want to get things done in a timely manner.” She said, sheathing her blade.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean putting the squad in jeopardy. We might have to fight another horde before we reach our destination, and none of you are in any condition for that kind of battle.”
Twindil smiled, “I agree whole-heartidly, you think Lance will be awake by time we get there?” She asked, nodding her head toward the wagon, “I think that… you said her name was Ortega? Will likely be unconscious for a long while, but Lance should be fine soon.”
“Lance should be operational by morning.” He replied.
On his rear-view camera he spotted Halm, rounding a corner from a wide street and spotting them. He waved before forming an X with his broad fingers. It was unsafe to traverse down that path. Twindil gestured for the Fiend to draw closer, to which he did, jogging forth almost merrily as he went. It seemed that he was enjoying being a part of the mission, or quest, as Halm would say.
“Yes, what is it?” Halm asked in a low rumbling whisper.
“We’re going to set up camp for tonight, we’re trying to find a secure place for lodgings. We’re getting close I think, I believe it would be best if you-”
“We’re here.” Theopalu said suddenly, stopping in place before turning toward the building.
Like Theopalu had said earlier, this squat sturdy building bore seemingly no windows. Just a set of heavy looking stone doors. Hoplite would need to be the one to open it most likely, those doors had to weigh literal tons. They were twice as tall as he was and just as broad, there was no way this could be simply pushed open by anyone. Well, perhaps Halm could as well, it was hard to say. Maybe there had to be a team of people working together to open it back then? Or perhaps there was a switch somewhere within that could be flipped, though such mechanisms most likely no longer functioned, if they were even present to begin with.
The stone doorframe was vaulted toward the top, the only sign of decoration on this drab building. The bunker- Pillar-Church, was spartan in its appearance, the stone worn nearly smooth from millenia of neglect. He hated the very idea of entering it; it was like The Child within his psyche was screaming that he should not enter, that Commander would be there, waiting for him with The Chair. The Soldier however, spoke reason, reaffirming with cold logic that this would be the safest place to camp for tonight. The Child’s fear still ate away at that discipline, but it eventually relented, giving power back to The Soldier once more.
“Yep, this one right here, I remember specifically that all nine Pillar-Gods have a shrine here…even Ankoriss.”
Twindil spat on the ground, “The one who brought about the end of the Ninth Age has a shrine in a church of the survivors? It is insulting.”
“Please reign in your anger, the shrine within was only built to make sure that Ankoriss did not grow jealous of the other Pillar-Gods. The survivors had suffered at his hands enough, they merely didn’t want to draw his ire.” Theopalu said, raising his hands to try and ease her.
The ninth Pillar-God was the God of Destruction, Ankoriss. From what he had learned, his sect and Afina’s were at constant odds with one another. It made sense, as chaos and destruction were the polar opposite of tranquility. Twindil seemed to share in this sentiment.
“And, please, leave his shrine be.” Theopalu asked, “He is one of the more… proactive Pillar-Gods, best not to make him an enemy.”
Would Ankoriss quite literally descend to confront them if his shrine was defiled? Fighting a demi-god had been difficult enough, but a full one? That might be too much for him to handle, that is, unless the God of Destruction wasn’t bulletproof. It would be best not to find out. He would need to make sure that Twindil stayed away from it just in case… Look at him, worrying over whether or not a deity would come down to smite him. Where was the logic in that? Out the window, along with his certainties…
“Let's head inside.” Hoplite said as he heard another Fiend approaching, “The longer we stay exposed, the more Fiends will find us.” He finished right as Alistair crushed its head with his warhammer.
He rolled the wagon forward, approaching the looming stone gates before coming to a halt. Hoplite ducked beneath the pull-bar, approaching the massive doors and placing both hands at the split between them. He dug his heels into the worn stone at his feet and pushed, the doors eventually swinging completely open to reveal a large empty chamber. At least, it was almost empty. There was no furniture to speak of, and the only light present was what entered through the now-open doorway. Michael would need to keep his flashlight on again, this environment would likely trigger his nyctophobia otherwise. Indeed the marine flicked it on even before entering the Pillar-Church.
Upon further inspection, he could see that the chamber wasn’t as barren as he had initially believed. At the far end of the room were two passageways, with the one on the right having a staircase. Likely that was for roof access or it led to a church officials office. The one on the left didn’t seem to go anywhere, meaning it had stairs leading down or it was an oddly-placed closet. Besides the passageways though, were the altars.
Lined up on the far wall were several statues, nine of them in all, with three being significantly larger than the rest. The three giant statues were set into the wall, behind the smaller ones which sat in their own separate niches. The other sculptures were also set into their own niches in a part of the wall that jutted forward. These must have been depictions of the Pillar-Gods, there were nine statues in total, with the three heads of the Pillars set above the rest.
Hoplite wasted no more time staring, pulling the wagon inside until it was in the center of the room. The party had formed a rear guard behind the wagon as Hoplite had done this, ensuring that no more Fiends would follow them in. All things considered, Hoplite was shocked that none were present in the building. This had been a place of worship after all, had there been no devotees fleeing to beg their gods for protection?
He supposed there still could be a couple in here, either upstairs or through the passage on the left. He could study the statues further after he cleared the building properly… first though, the doors would need to be shut again. There was a very low likelihood that the doors could be pushed open again from the outside, it would take someone as strong as himself to do so.
After he closed the door, he quickly went to work, informing the party to check the doorway on the left while he took the one leading upward. Theopalu, of course, simply laid down on the floor, curling in on himself before his awful snoring emanated throughout the Pillar-Church. Hoplite hunched down to pass through the doorway, awkwardly climbing up the stairs on all fours as he ascended.
The steps were too small to accommodate the width of his feet, so he had to opt for this… less dignified approach.
Once he reached the entrance at the top, he poked his finger out of the doorway, activating one of the micro-cameras. A third screen split his standard view, the feed showing what lay on the other side. He twirled his finger in the air, seeing none of the air-jumping Fiends. Those ones seemed more lucid than their peers, if one saw Hoplite while he was on the roof, it could leave and draw a horde to this location.
Sure, Hoplite could shoot the creature out of the air, but doing so would also draw a horde here. He had made sure Michael understood not to fire off any ballistics unless absolutely necessary for that exact reason. Once he was sure the area was relatively clear, he awkwardly fit his bulk through the open doorway, seeing a completely smooth square shaped stone roof, and not much else. It seemed this really was merely roof access, as he suspected. This opening to the church was still a problem however.
The jumpers could surely reach this place if they somehow found out about who dwelled within, there would need to be someone posted on the stairs tonight just in case. If Lance awoke soon she would be the best candidate, considering that she hardly needed to sleep. It was interesting that she was still out cold, she’d slept earlier this week already… though, after the strain she put her body through, it was no real shock that she had fallen unconscious. There was a term for pushing oneself so hard that they had no calories left, a strange one at that.
Apparently, it was called ‘boinking’. He’d heard marines talk before about it, how they had boinked so hard that they could hardly stand afterward. He’d seen several soldiers get to that point after the end of drawn out battles. Perhaps boinkings full meaning was ‘post-battle fatigue’? It was hard to say, especially since he had heard no one had ever actually use the term when on the field. Hoplite would have Michael clarify it for him later, just in case it carried a different meaning than what he expected. It was marine slang after all, it could mean anything.
He crawled back into the doorway, awkwardly scrambling down the stairs in a crab-walk before re-emerging into the main chamber. The squad seemed to have already scouted what lay beyond the second path. They all stared at him wide-eyed, their lips contorting in a strange manner as he finally made it through the cramped space. It seemed like they were fighting their own faces, trying to keep them from lifting. Was some kind of face-paralyzing disease spreading amongst them? If so, then why was Halm not affected? The curse did not immunize him to diseases.
The giant Fiend looked more… empathetic?
Suddenly, Elum burst out laughing, his face finally giving up the battle. Soon, the others too began laughing, all except Twindil and Nolvi, who simply gave wide smiles.
Michael put a fist to his lips and shook his head, trying to suppress the laughter that filled his words. “Sorry sir,” He said, eyebrows knitting together above that smiling face, “I just never thought I’d see ya like that, never in a million years.”
“I couldn’t fit.” Hoplite replied.
This opened him up for another barrage of laughter, and for some reason, Hoplite felt like diving for cover. His face grew hot with what he now knew was embarrassment, but he did not flinch. Thankful for his helmet, he simply ignored the laughs, walking toward them all silently as they finally began to regain their senses. The smiles were still there though, with the occasional laugh still escaping from Elum’s nose.
“What is through the other path?” Hoplite asked, shoving his embarrassment down.
Michael cleared his throat, trying his best to eliminate his smile. It didn’t work, but Hoplite appreciated the effort, “Just an empty room with a stone desk sir, but we found a book in there on top of it, didn’t even have dust on it.”
A book? Intact without even a speck of dust on its surface? After millenia in isolation? It made no sense, that book should have disintegrated years ago if it had really been left alone. Clearly this meant that someone had been to this church before them, and had inexplicably left it here when they left. It must have been fairly recently too, considering that there had been apparently no dust upon its surface.
“It's a tome, with a spiral upon its surface. It may have something to do with the curse, so I advised everyone to not tamper with it, just in case.” Twindil said, the smile leaving her lips, “Such things are a bad omen.”
Nolvi ever-so-slightly flinched at those words, but Hoplite wasn’t sure as to why. No one seemed to have noticed the motion except for him. The girl's eyes shifted from the floor over to the open doorway for a brief instant before returning to the floor. Did she have an interest in the tome, despite the potential danger it posed?
“Are you saying the book is magical?” Hoplite asked.
Elum nodded, clearing his throat, “More than likely, best not to interact with it at all, especially since it has that spiral on it. Bad news if you ask me.”
“Then let's dispose of it,” Hoplite said, moving past them.
“No!” Alistair shouted after him, “Who knows what’ll happen if we tamper with it, it’s best to simply leave it be.”
“It could be trapped.” Nolvi said softly, “It… disturbs me.”
“I-I agree,” Kid’ka stammered, “There’s just something wrong about that thing, go take a look and you’ll know what we’re talking about.”
“Affirmative.” Hoplite said, leaning down to move through the passage.
It seemed this really was just a sort of office after all, with a gray stone desk sitting squarely in the center of a small chamber. Upon its surface sat a massive book, bound in leather with a spiral etched upon its surface. Like everyone had said, there were no signs of decay anywhere on the tome, not even dust. He nearly flipped open the first page before he caught himself. Who knew what sort of problems should arise should he open this anomalous book?
Considering the fact that it bore a spiral, it was certainly linked with the curse in some way. Opening it might cause infection or worse. The Phalanx suit could repel basically anything, but its reactions to magic were a total unknown. Could it filter out magical curses? It was hard to say, but Hoplite wasn’t willing to test it out. Alistair was correct, the best move would be to simply ignore it. It could be a trap set here by Kazon or one of his troops, his instincts screamed that this was so.
He saw Alistair move into the room, taking up a place beside him as the two men stared down at the book, “Baomiel also told me this thing was bad news, and he’s never been wrong before.”
“Baomiel isn’t here, you dismissed him after the battle at the gate.” Hoplite stated, tilting his helmet toward him.
“He is always with me, I can hear him in my mind whenever he’s not in physical form.” He replied, tapping his temple, “All Atheyare are bound with a being from the astral plane, the bond works the same for everyone of my race.”
“Atheyare?” Hoplite asked, “I don’t have much intel about them.”
“I can regale you if you’d like…” Alistair said, his eyes shifting to the book, “But not in here, I feel like it's listening to us.”
Hoplite wished that he could disagree with that assessment. The two of them left the room, re-entering the main chamber where he saw the squad already at work setting down bedrolls and readying a cooking pot. Even with those bedrolls these uneven stones wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep on, it would be better to set them up inside the wagon. Maybe they just wanted to give Lance and Ortega space to recuperate.
“We don’t really have all that much to do now aside from setting camp, and I miss home, so if you want to hear about my people I’m more than willing to share.” Alistair said, moving toward the back of the wagon.
Hoplite followed after him, watching the man unload his own camping supplies before hauling them over toward where the others were setting up, “My people live in caravans, we trade everything under the sun, save for slaves of course.” He unrolled his bedding, setting it on the floor haphazardly before he cracked his back with a groan, “I’ve been trading since I was five years of age, stuck with my caravan for my whole life until very recently…” His face then became hard for a moment, an icy glare penetrating the floor a moment before he shook his head, “I was exiled from home, and here I am.”
“What is your people's connection with the angels?” Hoplite asked as Alistair pulled out a wooden plate and fork from his bag.
He twirled the fork in his hand a moment before answering, “Not sure. Our race has been around since the First Age, the reason has been lost to history.”
“Why don’t you ask Baomiel then? Wouldn’t he know something?”
“In terms of angels, Baomiel is a baby, he's only about two-hundred years old or so, and there aren’t any angels from the First Age left to tell the tale. I know what you’re thinking,” Alistair continued tapping the end of his fork on his temple, “But the angels can die too, just not in the conventional way. Technically the forms of the First Angels still exist within the astral plane… but they’re husks of what they once were.”
“What do you mean?” Hoplite asked, “Are you saying they’re comatose?”
“In a sense, yes.” Alistair replied, sitting down on his bedroll with a sigh, “When the Atheyare the angel is bound to dies before Severance… it causes serious trauma to their spirit.”
“I’m assuming that ‘Severance’ involves ending your pact.” He said, “Is this a lifelong commitment or is it contractual?”
“Both.” Alistair said with a small laugh, “It varies from person to person and angel to angel, but in my experience it is usually a lifelong bond.”
“What do the angels get from this?” He asked, “This relationship seems to only benefit you, as you can summon Baomiel whenever you wish and have him fight on your behalf.”
“Again, it varies from angel to angel. The original reason for these pacts has long been forgotten, but we’ve managed to come up with new ones. Baomiel for instance simply wants to fight on the mortal plane, no more, no less.” Alistair then sighed, “I’m lucky to have such a simple pact, others of my people have more complex and binding pacts they have to adhere to, or else they would face severe consequences.”
“Like having horrible hair and a bad attitude,” Elum remarked as he passed them by, “Like you.”
“Nuh nuh nuh ‘like you’” Alistair mocked, “Shut up.”
The Ifrit ignored the prodding and he made way toward Twindil and the others, who still busied themselves with setting camp.
“Why do you talk to each other like that?” Hoplite asked, “It is immature.”
“We’ve been like that since we were kids.” Alistair said with a shrug, “Hells, most people would still consider us kids, me and him are only nineteen.”
Michael was around that age wasn’t he? Perhaps that was why his attitude could border on unprofessional? No, there weren't excuses for bad behavior, no matter the age. Commander had taught him that much.
“Since you were children?” Hoplite asked, “He’s not Atheyare, he’s an Ifrit.”
“My caravan would make routine stops by his hometown every now and again… it was always awkward trading with those folks, but Elum was there at least.” Alistair said, looking over his shoulder to the party, “That’s how I met all of them to be honest, it wasn’t just Elum. Twindil, Nolvi, Kid’ka; all of them used to live in Umant.”
Hoplite’s brow furrowed. Lance had told him about that place, a city of humans that had been built within the Faewood, despite the efforts of the Watchers to drive them out. Their leader was a man named Creetan, a man of great magical power, and one that had been alive for hundreds of years. He knew that Twindil had been from there, but these others were as well? From what Lance had told him, it was a place that put down anyone who wasn’t purely human.
Elves got the worst of it apparently, treated as slaves and having their ears surgically clipped to humiliate them. Those of other races weren’t much better off, but a second-class citizen was still above a slave. Why then were Twindil’s ears not clipped as soon as she was born? Was it because she was half-human? It was hard to say, but asking her may bring up memories she’d rather leave forgotten.
“Whenever my father wasn’t putting me to work, I was playing with them. I wasn’t allowed to leave my caravan, but any Umanti citizens could come and go from the caravans to trade as they wished. Elum and the others would come to window-shop a lot, since they didn’t have any money, which is how we all met.”
“I was under the impression that Umant was isolationist, not letting anyone come or go.” Hoplite stated as Alistair used his fork to pull a piece of salted meat from a sack.
“They are, oh they absolutely are, but trade is the lifeblood of any good nation, and they were no exception. Our people are the only ones they’re willing to trade with, as long as we follow their conditions.” He explained, taking a bite out of the jerky, “We couldn’t bring in literature from the outside or even speak about it to the locals, if any of us did, any that heard would be executed and we’d be driven out of Umant forever.”
A dictatorship then, Creetan clearly didn’t want his people knowing that the outside world held other opportunities aside from serving him. Funny… funny that this should remind him so much of the First Arm. He stopped that train of thought before it could fully take off, distracting himself with another question.
“Why would the Watcher’s let you through to reach Umant?” He asked, “Wouldn’t they be opposed to you trading with their enemies?”
Alistair nodded, swallowing the jerky before he said, “Absolutely, but we have a special treaty with them that allows us to pass through the Faewood unmolested, so long as we follow the rules of the forest. You know, no hurting the trees, no aggressive behavior toward any elves, and no establishment of permanent dwellings. We trade with the elves too of course, and while they aren’t completely reliant on us, they still love seeing what the world outside their forest has to offer.”
“Why didn’t they forbid you from trading with Umant?” He asked, “It is illogical to allow merchants the chance to re-supply the enemy in your treaty.”
“Simple, Umant didn’t even exist when the Atheyare and Faewood signed it, though they do make sure to let us know that they don’t approve of our dealings.” Alistair replied, taking another bite. “I know what you're thinking,” He continued between chews, “Why not void the treaty or try and add on to it? Well, our pacts work differently than other peoples. This isn’t something sealed by paper or blood, it was a pact sealed between the Harkmother and our caravan leader, using the angel Titan as a sort of… notary, I suppose you’d say. If either side breaks this pact, Titan will wreak destruction on whoever betrays it.”
“Is Titan really capable of such a thing?” Hoplite asked.
Baomiel was an impressive force in combat, but completely trampling the Faewood and destroying the Atheyare, who have other angels, seemed to be an impossibility.
“Absolutely.” Alistair said after taking a swig from his canteen, “Titan is one of the Third-Born, an ancient angel from the Third Age. Angels get stronger as time marches on, so perhaps you can imagine just what Titan is capable of. You’ve seen Baomiel fight, and he’s only two-hundred.”
It was an unsettling thought indeed, Hoplite could understand now why the elves didn’t try to alter their pact with the Atheyare. Doing so may just spell their doom.
“It's something both sides have a vested interest in maintaining, neither we nor the elves want to face Titan in battle.” Alistair said, standing up and pointing to the wagon, “Looky there, your woman is awake.”
On his rear-camera he could see Lance rising groggily from the wagon bed, clutching her stomach with a pained grimace.
He turned away from Alistair to approach the wagon, “Our relationship is professional.” He stated.
“Sure.” The man said, popping his back once more.
For some reason that response irritated him, but Hoplite could not figure out the reason for it. Lance noticed his approach and smiled, though the expression was still pained as she grabbed her stomach.
“I am starving to death.” She said, “I’m going to die.”
“Unlikely, but take this,” Hoplite replied, handing her his canteen, “Hydrate yourself first before you eat, it looks like Twindil is going to cook something.”
Lance nodded gratefully, taking the canteen with both hands before unscrewing the lid. It was oversized in her tiny hands, holding at least a gallon of water within. Standard for a Hoplite sure, but in her hands it looked borderline comical. She lifted the hefty container, chugging down at least a quarter of its contents, gasping for air before handing it back. She went to wipe her mouth with the corner of her sleeve, but stopped herself, seeing that her cloak was covered in a layer of dried blood.
“I had almost thought that was a dream.” She said, looking herself over, “I’ve made quite a mess of myself.” She then ran a hand through her reddened hair, frowning before hopping down from the wagon, “Even my hair… By the Pillars it will be a while before I’ll be able to wash this all out.”
“Affirmative, the water we have must only be used for hydration, not bathing.” Hoplite replied, “But this could present a risk to your overall health, I advise wearing a different uniform and using a damp rag to clean yourself.”
“Need to use water to get it damp.” Lance remarked, trying to run fingers through her clumped and matted hair, “If only my cousin were here with us, she’d be able to clean everyone with a flick of her wrist.”
“We’ll have to make do.” Hoplite told her, “You brought a change of clothes?”
“Unlike you,” Lance replied, putting her finger right in front of his helmet, “Normal people actually have clothes, so yes.”
“It is not necessary for-” He started before Lance cut him off.
“Yes yes, you don’t need clothes and whatnot. A bunch of phooey if you ask me.” She said, “I need to eat something this instant or I will die, I’ll worry about cleaning myself later.”
“Affirmative.” He said as she walked off toward Twindil, again grabbing at her gut.
Everyone was awake now, save for Theopalu and Ortega. Ortega had a reason for being unconscious, but Theopalu as per usual was simply being lazy. He turned away from the irritating sight, looking instead to the statues that lined the far end of the chamber. All nine Pillar-Gods sat in their niches, with the top three standing taller than the rest.
The largest one on the left side of the wall had to be Zodd, the Pillar of Might. As he had heard, he was depicted as a massive orc warrior, wielding an axe that was nearly as large as he was. Two sharp tusks jutted out from a powerful jaw that looked capable of grinding rocks to dust. A protruding cave-man-like brow shadowed his deeply-set eyes, ones that seemed to almost glow with battle-hunger in the dimming light. He flicked on his flashlight to illuminate the statue further, almost expecting its bald stone head to gleam. He heard Michael give a small sigh of relief as the room was lit up. As he suspected, the eyes didn’t actually glow… the artisan who crafted it was just incredibly talented. Like many statues from the early eras of Earth, the depiction was shown as completely naked, likely to illustrate the Pillar-God's savage nature.
On the right side of the big three was the depiction of an elf man in long flowing robes. His hair reached down past his pointed ears to rest on his shoulders, and he clutched a massive book in his delicately carved hands. The statues attention seemed purely focused on the book and nothing else. This depiction must have been Draoi, the Pillar-God of Foundation. For some reason… Hoplite felt like the eyes were somehow staring directly at him. Though the eyes had been carved to look directly at the book, it still somehow appeared that Draoi could still see everything.
Then, there was the final of the big three, who stood in the center. Saihara, the Pillar-God of knowledge, was a lean figure, with two ant-like antennae sticking out from beneath her short ear-length hair. Her eyes were completely black, an oddity among the collection of statues, as if they had been made of carved obsidian. Infinity seemed to lay just behind those dark voids, Hoplite found that he could not stare at them long. Her choice of clothing was strange as well, consisting of a long-tailed trench coat with belted trousers and a simple shirt. A massive square seemed to be strapped to her back, and upon further inspection, saw that it was a massive book. Staring at Saihara’s tome for too long made his eyes ache…
Perhaps he was just tired again, the need for sleep grew with every passing minute, and with this relatively secure location, he’d need to rest. As he had that thought, the cracking of thunder sounded over the Pillar-Church, the overcast sky had finally decided to let loose. Everyone could both bathe themselves and refill their canteens depending on how intense the rainfall would be. Then again… the curse could be present in the rain as well.
Halm had become cursed because he had drank tainted water. His eyes narrowed as he thought on that. The infected had to always be living things, no matter what, nonliving matter couldn’t spread the curse, so pure water shouldn’t be able to spread it. The water that Halm drank could have had cursed parasites within, something the rain water would be clean of. He’d need to run an analysis on the rain water first, just to ensure that it was pure. He didn’t know if parasites could still be present in the rain, Ahkoolis could have some sort of creature that could be carried in vapor.
He’d have to discuss the idea with the squad before pursuing this, the risk of getting cursed was low, but it wasn’t zero. Hoplite turned away from the statues, intent to share his hypothesis. However, before he could even utter a word…
A figure materialized behind him, just in front of the statues. Hoplite turned quickly, drawing the Fortis and aiming it squarely at the figure’s head. The dark-robed figure stood as tall as Hoplite himself, his face almost completely shadowed by his hood. The only thing that Hoplite could distinguish was the two yellow wolf-like eyes. They glowed in the dark, just as much as the stranger’s silvery hands.
“Identify!” Hoplite shouted, “Eyes over here! Potential hostile!”
“Oh…” The stranger said, his voice deep and rasping, reminding Hoplite of a serpent, “They know me, quite well in fact. They are mine.”
“Shoot him!” Alistair yelled, “Kill him now!” His voice was strained, filled with immeasurable wrath.
He could see Alistair and the other’s faces on his rear camera, twisting in anger as they glared at the new figure. Time slowed as Hoplite’s co-processor kicked in, allowing him to consider his options. Every member of the squad, save for Lance, were all drawing their weapons. Michael looked a bit confused for an instant as he brought his rifle to bear, but soon recognition entered his eyes, his finger moving to the trigger before he began scowling. Theopalu no longer slept as he glared at the interloper, the old elf hadn’t shown nearly this much animosity toward anyone or anything, frustratingly going at a relaxed pace no matter the situation. This robed man, for whatever reason, had somehow managed to upset him.
The fact that Twindil and her companions were going on the offensive could only mean one thing… That, combined with the fact that Hoplite had seen this man before on Michael’s black box meant that this…
Was Kazon.