A thousand miles in an arcane direction away from the center of everything, shone something like an endless light illuminating every moment to unfold over any given reality.
Something like a cloak of darkness stretched around the cosmos. The light continued to flow, but blocked, it turned back to itself.
The holes in something like a great protective Seal widened, and in long lines, something like a horde of insurmountable evils hurried forth.
From the Sanctum of Worlds, Ura watched with great interest. If she had lips, she would have licked them. Millennial planning had not been for naught.
The roads to the afterlife choked off. So many died, but with nowhere to go, the dead took to wandering their world, sleeping in coffins to dream without end. Others would take on new forms inspired by their madness and return to their world as twisted forgotten monsters who knew only to kill.
She would reward Led for this. She would die painlessly. As always, Ura smiled.
The Age of Death had begun.
* * *
Despite the strain of recent events, Andreus was allowing himself a shred of optimism. The body of the child he had possessed displayed an uncanny talent for magic. From her undersized lips issued ancient languages that framed irresponsibly complex rituals, and never had such power come to him so easily. While the reanimation of Failcannon's dead had been no trivial task, the single instance took only months of preperation, rather than the normal decade.
The act had been a suitable demonstration of magic's practicality. Glacial had come to cease his "technology is superior in ways" arguments. The two of them sat there on the rocky floor of a chamber that glowed in the fiery light of a brazier.
The sky, bereft of stars, lay incomprehensibly open like a blotted book. Weariness fell on Andreus' borrowed young bones. "I must cut this lesson short, Glacial," he said, looking to his left and right. "I need to confer with someone." He bowed his head shortly. "I trust you have work as well."
"More than enough," Glacial conceded, and left the room.
The brazier on the ground stirred, spun, and launched into the air above. An ochre flame came to life, betrothed with a lit septagram folding into itself at the top, and at the head of all the fire wormed a snake around the star. The image lasted some moments before Andreus reached out and closed his fist. The flames trembled slightly and faded from view, and in their place stood a man-shaped fly composed of what looked like mucous. A star shone in the ground around him. The enchantments would prevent the creature from lying or leaving.
Andreus was somewhat excited. He seldom had the power to properly command a demon. It would go better than the last time he tried, he hoped.
He cleared his throat. "I am Andreus, Magister of the..."
"Not now!" said the demon.
Andreus raised an eyebrow. Inexperienced though he was, this seemed abnormal.
"I haven't got time for this. Things are happening!"
"...what?"
The demon reached a hairy arm past the boundaries of the star and drew back from the resulting burn.
"Not so fast," said Andreus. "I need answers, and it seems that you have them."
The demon looked around and scowled. "Then make it quick, mortal."
"Well, what things are happening? What's going on here? Why are stars disappearing?"
"You don't know? Have you not heard the laughter in the dark? Can you not feel them even now?"
"Feel what?" Andreus stretched out his mind. He felt nothing but dwarves, though he did stay clear of the chattering thoughts of the beasts below the caverns. "The monsters underground?"
"I suppose they are beyond the ken of mortal magic. How can I describe to you the nothing that is? You exist, Sorcerer; you have substance, a form, a being. They have none of these things, nor feeling. Theirs is the complete absence of anything."
"What are they?"
"The enemy of all who are." The demon spat the word as if it were a vile poison issuing from his lips. "That includes you and I, Sorcerer. For ages and ages, the gods have held them stasis, but no longer. The Seal has been broken. They are everywhere."
"But what are they?"
The demon regarded Andreus. "What are you afraid of, mortal?"
"Answer my question, please."
"I have."
A pause. Andreus searched for the next question.
"What happened to the Gods?"
"From Hell we cannot see, but they would not have allowed this to happen by choice. Something has stayed their hand. It is most troubling."
"You sound almost sincere."
"Think not that I would pass the chance to taste the blood of gods. We remember our banishment. I mourn no pain of theirs. But the Old One: it shall torment us forever. And we will never die. With the Seal destroyed, it is a matter of time before it comes." The demon sighed. "So if it's really all the same, I'd like to get along back to Hell while I can still enjoy it."
"Not yet. The Old One?"
"The oldest. Older than oldness."
"A god?"
"Not as any you know."
Andreus stared at the embers in the brazier.
"What caused the Seal to break down in the first place?"
The demon folded its arms and wings. "This I don't know. You'd have to ask the gods themselves."
"They appear indisposed at the moment."
"Too bad." The demon squirmed. "Can I go now?"
"Not yet. I need to know how to repair the Seal, find the gods, and expel the monsters."
A few seconds went by. The demon grunted. "Start hoping for a miracle," it said.
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Topic: FailCannon: No Rest for the Wicked (or anyone else) (Succession: Battlefailed 2) (Read 938980 times)