Been a long week, but here's chapter 19! Enjoy!

Chapter 19: Unexpected Allies

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“W-what’s happening?” Lah’ra stuttered, grabbing onto Kha’na’s shirt as they walked along. She bit her lip nervously as she stared at the three figures in front of their group.

“I’m curious as well, Kha’na. I didn’t expect any trouble, but neither did I expect the survivors to be so… courteous. I guess it was a good thing we didn’t attack them right away. That could have caused us some trouble,” Draygor looked to Kha’na for an explanation. The others were clearly curious as well, as they turned their gazes to her, waiting for her to continue. The three figures – fully covered in blood red robes and hoods – they were following had offered no explanation when they appeared to their heavily armed group, and simply extended a friendly invitation – to Draygor and Kha’na. They had ignored the others, but offered no protest when they tagged along.

“Well, master, the chant we heard was a… chant of welcome. It seems that they knew we were coming. Though, I’m unsure of anything else. Perhaps the survivors simply want to pay their respects to the Chosen of Shaitan? That would certainly be the right course of action,” Kha’na explained, nodding in approval at her own theory. While it was a sensible thought to Kha’na, the others shivered slightly at the thought as they glanced at Draygor with varying expressions. The chanting had grown louder the closer they got to the ritual chamber, and even though they now knew it was a chant meant to welcome others, the eerie, monotonous chant still gave them the creeps. The soldiers gripped their weapons tighter, still not daring to let their guard down. Stefan and Lukas both remained silent, alert as well.

“… The Mouth is right, Chosen One…” One of the figures corroborated Kha’na’s theory in a reverent tone of voice, bowing his head slightly. Suddenly, the three figures halted as they arrived at a huge stone door. It stood about three meters in height, with all sorts of diagrams and symbols engraved into it. The biggest engraving though, was a majestic depiction of Shaitan wielding a dagger in all his gory glory. It seemed to stare right into the deepest, darkest depths of their minds, and some of the soldiers couldn’t help but puke, their guts churning from the imagery.

“We have arrived…” the figure who had spoken previously announced. “Chosen One, we would ask that your… guests… refrain from staining our sacred temple any further. We do not go to Her temples to spread our filth, and we would ask the same from Her… followers. It would be regrettable if we have to remove them for their disrespect,” The figure continued impassively, though Draygor imagined that the figure was surely smirking under his hood at the moment.

As the first figure finished speaking, one of his colleagues began moving toward the huge stone door. Wordlessly, the second figure pressed its finger against the stone edge of Shaitan’s dagger (Shaitan was holding the dagger close to the ground in the carving). The edge was already stained red, probably from the blood of thousands who had opened this door daily for many, many years. As soon as the stone pierced the skin of the figure’s finger and drew blood, the stone door began shuddering, opening outwards towards them slowly. The movement of the door seemed to make the depiction of Shaitan come alive, and the soldiers that had emptied their stomachs before had to glance away in order not to vomit again.

After a few moments, the rumbling ended as the door opened fully with a loud bang. With the door now out of the way, the chanting filled the air clearly.

“NOR! THAL! NALAK! COSAN! We welcome the Chosen!” It repeated. The first four words didn’t seem to make any sense to Draygor, till Kha’na spoke up, seeing his confused expression. “It’s a language that the Cult’s founder created, master, to allow us to communicate in secret,” she explained, pointing out their meaning.

The ritual chamber was as Draygor remembered it, minus the dead people and body parts. It was a huge cavern, almost as big as the entirety of the Great Temple of Mhi’ra. Dried blood – from the massacre three years ago – still caked the floor and walls, though a path had been wiped clean from the door to the altar in the centre of the cavern. There were roughly fifty people, in similar robes and hoods, gathered near the altar, facing the door in a prostrate position. “Probably too much trouble to clean the entirety of this place with that amount of manpower…” Draygor rationalised.

“Please enter, Chosen One. The others await your presence,” their guide gestured for Draygor and Kha’na to enter.

“This is different from what we expected, eh Royal Advisor? I’m sure we’ll find some answers soon,” Draygor turned to Stefan with a smirk, before grabbing Kha’na’s hand, ready to enter the ritual chamber for the second time. As soon as they had taken the first step past the entrance of the chamber, the chanting stopped abruptly. The silence that followed was deafening as Draygor and his group halted at the sudden lack of noise, though it was broken mere moments after, as they continued moving toward the altar.

It took a while for them to approach the altar due to the size of the chamber, and the cultists simply remained in silent prostration the whole time. When they arrived within speaking distance, however, the cultist in front of the rest stood up.

“We welcome you, oh Chosen One, though we are not worthy of your presence, not after our misdeeds three years ago. We have been hoping for your return, such that we may make amends,” The cultist spoke, removing his hood. He was an old man, seemingly in his seventies. His hair was white from age, and his horns were bent and misshapen, a sign that he’d seen combat in the years of his life. It seemed he had become the de facto leader after the incident, probably due to his seniority.

“Seeing that the Mouth has offered herself up in servitude to you, we would like to do the same, Chosen One. We are not many, and we were lucky to live through your mercy. Our lives belong to you, in the same way that we have devoted them to He Who Takes Lives. We await your first command, oh Chosen One!” the old cultist continued with a wide, toothy smile, not giving Draygor the opportunity to say otherwise. Draygor turned helplessly to Kha’na, who simply smiled and bowed her head low in approval.

Draygor sighed in defeat. It would be difficult to reject them, since they had the ultimate faith in him due to Shaitan’s appearance. Perhaps if Shaitan hadn’t appeared then, their meeting might have taken a different route. “They might have become violent to seek revenge, if they didn’t believe I was chosen…” he thought. Compared to such an outcome, the current situation was a better one. “I’ll accept them, then…”

Draygor took a step forward as he cleared his throat. “Ahem… my first command would be for all of you to rise. I accept your loyalty, on the condition that my word is law. Are there any objections?”

“Of course not, Chosen One,” the old cultist spoke on behalf of the others as they rose from the ground, their heads still bowed low in reverence.

“Very well. Now, I want all of you to raise your heads. Remove your hoods, so I may remember what my subordinates look like. Show me your pride! I will not have those following me bow down to anyone else. Show me that you are proud to be who you are!” Draygor’s commanding voice echoed around the chamber. The cultists removed their hoods at his command, gazing at him with awe on their faces.

“Master is indeed worthy of my service,” Kha’na thought proudly, her chin raised slightly as she took in Draygor’s words. Even some of the soldiers wavered slightly, their morale raised, and their hearts filled with pride. Perhaps they already unconsciously considered Draygor worthy of leading them.

“Now…” Draygor looked at the old cultist expectantly. “What is your name?”

“This loyal servant is called Kyran, sire,” Kyran introduced himself with a bow.

“Kyran. Prepare a room where I can speak with a few of my guests – and you – privately. There are important things we have to discuss. For the rest of you, please bring these nice soldiers here someplace to rest. They are my guests, and I will not tolerate any conflicts, even if you have a difference in spiritual opinions,” Draygor’s instructions were acknowledged with solemn nods, and the cultists began moving to accommodate the soldiers without a hint of hesitation. They didn’t like Mhi’ra’s followers, but they would do as their master asked.

“Come, Lah’ra, Royal Advisor, grandfather. Kyran here will bring us someplace we can speak without being disturbed. I suggest that you invite the soldiers above ground to join the others, Royal Advisor. We don’t want them feeling too left out, do we?” he added with an amused smile. Stefan still seemed like he couldn’t believe the situation, and Draygor felt extremely satisfied at having proven his suspicions wrong.

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A figure, clad from head to toe in dark attire, crept through the shadows. The Golden Palace was surprisingly weak in terms of security, despite being the most well-guarded building in the capitol of Elysium. The guards were incompetent, as least compared to the efficiency of the figure. The figure was undoubtedly male from its masculine stature. A single dagger was held in his hand, as dark as the night. His mission was clear – to kill the king of the Ely.

A sound from his left caused the assassin to halt in his steps. Without hesitation, he melted into the shadows of a corner with nary a sound. A guard was approaching on his usual patrol, whistling a merry tune into the night. “It’s no fun patrolling alone in the middle of the night… I could be at the bar with some lovely ladies right now, instead of doing this,” the guard mumbled to himself. He was a mere low-ranking guard, whose sole responsibility was to patrol the grounds of the palace every night. The job didn’t pay very well, and it was extremely dull as well. After all, who would actually dare to enter the grounds of the Golden Palace without permission?

“Maybe if I was one of those Royal Guards…” the guard thought wistfully. To be one of the Royal Guard meant that one was the cream of the crop, which also meant that they often had the attention of the ladies whenever they had responsibilities in the city. “The job’s even duller than this, but it has its perks. The pay, for one…” the guard sighed.

“Wha – ”

The assassin reached out of the shadows as the guard passed his hiding spot, placing a hand onto the guard’s mouth, and wrapping his other arm around the poor guard’s neck. Without a word, he snapped the guard’s neck, ending his life.

“Worthless,” the assassin thought emotionlessly. “Only the master’s commands matter,” he murmured as he tossed the body aside where it wouldn’t be seen till morning. Grabbing the obsidian-black dagger from his waist, he stared at it for a second before stepping off into the shadows to continue his mission.

It was an easy task to make his way to the king’s chambers. It was impossible to enter from within the palace; there were at least three of the Royal Guard standing watch over the king’s chambers at any time, and he wouldn’t be able to slip past them unnoticed. Conveniently, however, the balcony to the king’s chamber was easy access for someone of his calibre. The wall leading up to it wasn’t smooth, with small, barely noticeable footholds. They were tricky to climb, but they posed no problem to the assassin. He managed to make the climb unnoticed; it was a good thing the moon was obscured, allowing him to make the climb in the safety of darkness.

As soon as he had ascended onto the balcony, the assassin silently crept into the king’s chambers, brandishing the obsidian-black knife as he searched for his target. The snores alerted him to the king’s location. The king was splayed out onto his majestic bed, fast asleep. The king was old, though he hadn’t been in rule for long, just a mere ten years. His predecessor – his elder brother – had led a peaceful life, and had only died a decade before; he had succumbed to a heart attack due to the stress of Elias’ betrayal, even though the actual incident had happened many years before. As such, the current king had inherited his position at the age of fifty two.

The assassin moved to stand beside the bed. With both hands, he raised the dagger, and plunged it deep into the king’s chest. The king opened his eyes at the sudden attack, his mouth open in a silent gasp. He raised his left hand weakly to strike at his assailant, and attempted to pull the weapon out of his chest with his right, to no avail. The assassin simply withstood the king’s weak blows, holding the dagger tightly in place. No blood flowed from the wound, peculiarly.

After a few moments, the king ceased his struggling, the warmth flowing from him as he closed his eyes to meet his maker. It was only then that the assassin dared to release his hold over the dagger, silently watching the cold corpse.

Suddenly, the king’s eyes opened, and he stared at the assassin with eyes as dark as the night, the exact shade of the obsidian-black dagger still buried in his chest.

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“You wish to help me achieve my goal? HAHAHA!” the Abyss laughed heartily. It was a laugh of amusement, though whoever heard it would feel no joy, as it would pierce into the darkest corners of their minds.

“I can certainly fulfil what you ask for. You just want me to preserve your existence when I’m finished? That, I can do. But, tell me. What can you offer in return? I have no need of your… strength, and my plan to return the universe to its rightful situation is going well,” the Abyss continued, its deep, ominous voice still steeped in amusement. It waited patiently for an answer, staring at its guest.

“… You don’t know? HAHAHA! Then there is nothing stopping me from killing you right now, am I right? Oh? Is that a threat? You say I’m not strong enough to kill you at my current strength? That… is certainly true, but I have other ways, dear friend.”

“Now, now, calm down. I was just joking, my dear colleague. That’s right, you heard me the first time. Colleague, ally, comrade, so on and so forth. That’s what we are now, right, friend? I’m glad you agree. I don’t know what you can offer me right now, but I’m not one to turn away a helping hand. Perhaps you might be useful in the future. Rest assured, I will honour our agreement,” the Abyss laughed again, its voice echoing out into the darkness of its abode.