III

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Arc III Chapter 11

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Aurora was patting her doll, embracing her in a tight hug. The little villainess in her was most satisfied with her latest success. Her ploy had come to fruition. So easily, Lambert was seduced by the promise of riches. So easily, his eyes blinded by the shallow splendour of gold. Regardless of time and age, man never changed. Man remained a feeble creature through and through, awfully predictable in so many ways.

Unable to contain his rising excitement, Lambert sprinted ahead. “Iris, Michael, follow me. We will venture deeper into the ruins.”

Iris hesitated. “And what about the mission?”

“Forget about the mission! This is the opportunity of the century! This is our opportunity! We are going to be rich, Iris! Rich! Rich!!! Besides that, I am sure they will understand.”

“I hope so ...”

Lambert stormed off, leaving them behind in a daze, dumbfounded.

“Sister Iris, Uncle Lambert seems to have changed his opinion ... quite quickly”, Aurora commented.

“Quite.” Iris sighed in resignation, well used to Lambert's volatile temperament and his propensity for rashness. “It always the same with him.”

“Indeed.” Arwing giggled from behind before joined their small group together with Nelaeryn.

Iris quickly lowered her head, prepared to apologise for their leader's indiscretion. Once again. “Lady Arwing, forgive us, Lambert is ... not himself.”

“No need to apologise, Iris.” Arwing dismissed her concerns with a benevolent smile. “Gold and riches are powerful incentives that no man can resist. Human nature is renowned for your boundless greed and your lesser instincts. I would say his behaviour is only natural, only far too human, isn't it?”

“...” Iris declined to comment.

Arwing clasped her hands together. “Now, shouldn't we take a look as well, Nelaeryn? Our human companions stumbled across a fascinating find. We shouldn't forego such a precious opportunity. You don't get every day the chance to explore uncharted land.”

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The sight of looting greeted Aurora upon her return. Not that the sight surprised her. Nobody wanted to miss out on the chance of personal enrichment, especially not the adventurers among them. Being part of the more pecuniary-oriented type of human beings, Lambert and company happily scavenged the battlefield for useful loot.

Iris was already testing and calibrating her brand new staff, dropped by an unlucky predecessor. Michael was looking for a new sword. There were many of them. Lambert was inspecting his new set of mail after searching in vain for the lost gold of Valentia. Judging by his facial expression, he looked rather disappointed. He had hoped for more, but unbeknownst to him, a certain mischievous girl had already claimed the best parts. No gold for him. No gold for grumpy Uncle Lambert. Even their elven companions engaged in unscrupulous looting without the slightest hint of moral qualms. So much for human greed and lesser instincts.

Arwing acquired a short sword, light and nimble, and made of mythril. A useful addition to her inventory, and a versatile asset in the field. The perfect blade for a warrioress of noble elven race, one might suppose ...

“Ttrrrzzzzzz! TtrrrrZZZZZ!!!”

The entire room snapped to attention and all gazes turned. A loud crack shattered the serene peace of the ruins. Reality unravelled, as massive amounts of aether gathered in a violent torrent. Aether converged around a certain broken sword, as realisation dawned on Aurora and her doll, that this might be possibly her fault.

Bright light lit up the hall. A magic circle manifested in all its glory adorned with glyphs and antique letters of power, a masterwork of spellcrafting. The circle showed cracks, and they were growing rapidly at an alarming rate. The circle was fracturing before their eyes. A shock wave followed and the earth trembled.

A dark spire emerged from the circle, piercing the open the ceiling, piercing the sky, rising ever higher and higher. The pulsating pillar devoured all surrounding aether, attracting fire and dark aether from close and far.

Lambert readied his sword. His instincts sensed the incoming danger. “Iris, what ... What is this?”

“I have no idea. This thing ... It's accumulating aether like crazy. I have never seen anything like this.” The pulsating spire was growing.

“Listen, we must retreat! Immediately!” Arwing intervened, barking orders. Her face was serious. “This is a demon! This is a seal! We must have broken it!”

Lambert gripped his sword. “Can't we fight the demon?”

Arwing gritted her teeth. Ignorant human, the youth of his years woeful naivety.

“Forget it! This is not an enemy you can hope to challenge! This is a demon, possibly even an arch demon!”

Demons, the product of the most heinous magic, black magic. When the arcane arts achieved a pinnacle never seen before and never to be seen again, the mages of old created in their delusion, in their unquestioned pursuit of power, mindless beasts bred for the sole purpose of slaughter. Only too late, they realised the error of their ways.

“Arch what?” Lambert sounded confused.

“I have no time to explain the finer details of daemonology! We must retreat! Now!” Arwing gritted her teeth.

Iris seconded her opinion. “Lambert, Arwing is right!”

The dark spire was expanding in size, its hunger for power insatiable.

Arwing stressed urgency. “What are you waiting for? We must ...”

Too little. Too late. The circle ruptured, unable to contain the slumbering power. The seal shattered, and its shackles fell apart. Aether condensed, turning to bones, to tendons, to muscles, to flesh, to claws, to horns. The shape of a monstrosity emerged from the realm of shadows, of a beast tampered in the fires of war. A reptile creature, bipedal, with claws sharp as razors, curled horns, and red blood crazed pupils.

Sealed, forgotten, but not defeated, Kakos rose one again. After centuries, his mind, his body, his blood, awakened from his captivity. His lungs inhaled the fresh air before a primordial roar swept away the last vestiges of his chains. “Grwmhhhrrmmrwwwmwmwmw! Free! Free!!! FREEEEE!”

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