Requiem Finale

Apexus saw the two women in his life approach with none of the happiness he would normally have. His head was hanging in shame, his eyes widened at the damage Reysha had taken. Aclysia was allowed to reach the slime and soon all three of them were cowering in the shadow of the hound Kurlesh, who snarled, then hesitated and lowered his head to sniff at Reysha’s arm like Terlash had earlier.

The slime wanted to push the creature back, but remained entirely at the mercy of Apotho and his demons. Nothing he could have done would do more than inconvenience those things that weren’t allowed to kill him.

The Warlock was currently busy directing Terlash to scratch lines into the pavement. They were in the large plaza between the fortress that walled the city off from the Stem and the many guild buildings. Most of the city had obeyed the evacuation order, the few people that remained weren’t foolish enough to approach the demonic abominations roaming their city.

Taking a break from that work, Apotho walked over to them. “Ah, Reysha, dear Reysha,” he mused, Aclysia and Apexus moving to protect the tiger girl. “Oh please, she is the only one you don’t need to protect from me. Unlike you two, she obeyed me,” with a gesture of his hand, he commanded Kurlesh to force the lovers off the tiger girl. With the remaining two arms, it made Reysha sit upright and turned the ashen-bone arm upward. The sorry remains of her shoulder joint played along.

“What are going to do with?” Apexus hated that the nervousness and anger caused his speech to fall into a deeply false sentence structure again. Laughing at this, Apotho inspected the tiger girl closely. That the slime was unable to formulate proper sentences was deeply amusing to the Warlock.

“I told you, she obeyed me,” Apotho told her. “And I reward those who please me. Kurlesh, separate her arm at the shoulder. Then feed her your blood.”

“No!” Aclysia shouted out, leaving Apexus confused. He had eaten a demon, nothing bad had come from that. “What reward is death?”

“As you command, Master,” the Deathhound ignored all of that, and ripped off the arm as one would off a chicken. Then it bit into its own arm and pressed the wound against Reysha’s mouth.

“Drink,” Apotho stated, his voice unnatural Charisma that could even convince someone of a mindless state. Although it burned in her mouth and throat, Reysha drank. “It does its job wonderfully, doesn’t it, the potion?” the Warlock rolled his neck, made an unhappy face as the stiffness persisted. “It’s a real shame I didn’t have those better ingredients. I could have made her my puppet for a good while. That chance is ruined now. The next time she uses a potion of this variety, it will do less. Certainly not enough to shackle her will reliably for a long stretch of time. Such are the costs of opportunity.”

Aclysia stopped struggling when the socket of Reysha’s arm slowly stopped bleeding. Kneeling with some trouble, his age catching up again after the troubles of the day, Apotho extended his right hand towards the wound. His fingers moved in conjuring motions and his mouth moved, nonsensical words escaping his mouth.

The blood no longer flowed. A black liquid oozed out instead, followed Apotho’s guidance. “This is something greater than miracles,” the grey-haired man stated. “It’s power grown from understanding the world. She has been afflicted with Noir, is able to absorb all kinds of physical mana that should be poisonous to humans. I am a Warlock that has mastered all schools of my Class. Manipulating the blood of a demon is easy to me. Witness my reward.”

The blood began to branch out. In meticulous and slow work, Apotho created a network of veins. Then he created bones, sinews, muscles, fat and finally skin. After half an hour of work, Reysha had received a new arm. Not some monstrous thing, at least not apparently, it looked exactly like the rest of her, down to the dark tiger stripes on her brown skin. Only a pale scar on her brown skin at the base of her shoulder, where the old limb had been ripped out, was left as evidence of what had happened.

When he got up, he stretched, and old bones cracked and creaked. The plaza was filled with people now, forced back into the city by Purlesk and Turlesh. Many had still escaped, scattered into the woods while the demons had hunted the masses. Less than half of the population of Haralry was driven back into the city. Still, a mass of thousands. Herded like sheep by the Deathhounds so overwhelmingly strong that no resistance could be met with success.

A few guards and adventurers, however, had the idea that the old man that seemed to be their summoner was a different story. Storming at Apotho when they saw an opening, they did not know that this endeavour was even more futile.

Apotho took a deep breath as he was encircled. He raised a hand to show the Deathhound’s they could stand back. The adventurers closed in. A snap of his fingers and a shockwave rippled out from the Warlock’s skin, stretching three metres out in a crimson red. It passed through the adventurers, exiting their bodies in a pale green. The magic was now saturated with lifeforce, returning to Apotho and sinking back inside him as the assailants fell dead to his feet.

“Lifepulse Inversion,” the Warlock lectured whoever would listen with the aura of superiority. “Still as useful against weak masses as ever.” His voice was now firmer than before and a hint of red seemed to show from his hair. The dozen people he had just killed had shaved another few years off his age. “LISTEN!” he shouted.

“Lisssssten,” each Deathhound screeched loudly, repeating their master’s statement so that everyone on the plaza would hear. Although Apotho’s voice already carried further than it should, this did serve to reinforce the message.

“I don’t enjoy slaughtering you like cattle, I have much better things to do. Play along and you will meet your end quickly, don’t and…” Apotho gesture at a random woman in the crowd. All the demons but Kurlesh leapt at her. Twelve clawed arms tore the woman to shreds in the most torturous slowness that three demons could. Although that was still quite a quick death, the blood-chilling screams left no doubt that this was not how anyone wanted to go. The messy way in which they devoured her afterwards didn’t help. Turlesh carefully cracked open the chest and picked out the heart for himself, while the other two indiscriminately devoured whatever they could.

Afterwards, the people were compliant. Traumatized and unable to process things properly, they were directed to stand in certain places. For three hours, people were directed to stand here or there. They couldn’t sit, they had to wait and everyone who attempted to disobey was torn to shreds in the most gruesome manner imaginable.

The only people spared from this were children. Those under the age of 13 were put aside, gathered in the centre of the plaza along with Apotho, and the trio. Aclysia and Apexus were just watching, still not knowing what their fate would be. They did, however, realize what was going on.

Apotho was making another summoning circle. Rather than draw it into the stone, he made the sacrifices themselves form the lines with their bodies. Thousands of people, forced to shape runes and circles. When the Warlock was finally happy, he picked up Reysha’s former arm and cracked open the molten hand.

The die-like gem it had clutched fell into his palm and he held it up toward the sun. “Then let us finalize my requiem,” Apotho announced and channelled power into the gem. It absorbed power, more and more power, more than a Cardinal could have ever given, more than any one man should have had. In the first place, this gem had been a possession of Apotho that preceded his mental split. Gizmo had appropriated it for his cause, but now it would serve its original purpose again.

The gem exploded, a myriad of tiny shards scattering through the air in a thin layer. They coalesced above the heads of the sacrifices and created a second, proper layer of lines. All of them were directed towards Apotho. For a moment, it looked beautiful. The shards glittered like tiny stars in the daylight. Then they glowed with infernal power and a greed for more. The massive circle screeched and the golden light of the sun was overpowered by green as thousands of people were deprived of their lifeforce at the same time.

Apotho laughed manically as it all flowed towards him, entering his body. His spine straightened, the frail body under the robe expanded, lean muscles returned. More and more hair grew from his almost bald head, turned a bloody red, and grew until it reached his shoulders in a combed back tide. Age spots shrunk and vanished, making room to smooth, pale skin.

The rejuvenated man gripped the brown robe that Gizmo had loved for its simpleness and tore it from his body like a prison. Nothing of the loose skin and wrinkles remained, only a body at the prime of youth with defined muscles. A man of clear beauty, charisma, yet with a sinister look in his light blue eyes.

And in the distance, there was that giggle again. “Ah, my lover has returned to me,” the sultry voice gasped as the people collapsed. It was a painless death, as Apotho had promised. Deprived of all lifeforce, they crumbled and what hit the floor was nothing but dust and empty clothes. The man of Deathless Greed redirected the flow of energy into an invisible point in the air.

“Stop watching, Jolene, and show yourself,” the Warlock demanded, “You have watched long enough to see if I succeed.” His command was heeded. A hole tore open, the shape of an eye. A red, flat piece of distorted reality, with a pale, slit pupil. A pupil that reshaped itself moment by moment into the shape of a woman.

Legs swung out of the portal, pale skin parting a black dress. They gave rise to an alluring figure, wide hips, narrow waist and an ample bosom, all hidden under that black satin. Although her body was attractive beyond realistic means, her face was absolute perfection. Everything was symmetrical, everything looked perfect. Her pale skin seemed to glow from within, auburn locks framed her face and green eyes looked with a longing at everything.

So intense was this that even Apexus felt a shiver of desire even as this woman landed gracefully in the dust of thousands. The ritual concluded; the particles of the gem streamed towards this woman. The particles formed the nails of her hands, of her feet and the sharp swing of her eyelashes. Obsidian black around the red of her sclera. Deep red lips parted in a seductive smile.

“You were always powerful, my Master,” she sighed and bowed. Every movement she made was so smooth, one could get the impression her body was made for that singular movement. Yet, she continued to defy expectations. Her bow became a kneel, her hands raised, and on her palms materialized a staff of dark grey metal. One end was sharpened, the other a sculpture of runes caging a hovering crystal of crimson red. “Your staff.”

“I am pleased that you kept watch over it for all this time,” Apotho said as he gripped it. The physical form he had rejuvenated seemed to ripple as the magic inside him reawakened as well. The dust that covered the pavement was blown as he took a sharp, triumphant breath. “I live again!”

“Empressss,” the Deathhounds carefully crawled towards Jolene, making big eyes. Suddenly they seemed just like a bunch of dogs, unsure how to behave now that the hand that fed them had returned.

“Kurlesh!” she let out a joyful squeal, stroking the head of the creature. “Terlash, Purlesk! Turlesh! You should talk more, my little one,” she was not much taller than the average woman, yet the Empress seemed to be the superior of these monstrosities. She laughed, without any menace in her voice. One by one, she scratched and patted each of the lesser demons, reducing them to the behaviour of puppies. “You’re still all so adorable,” she whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. Somehow, she didn’t get any of the blood and guts on herself, no matter how much affection she gave the Tharnatos class demons.

She laughed as they vied for her attention. It was a clear sound, the look on her face was innocent, motherly. Only the red surrounding her irises and the sharp shape of her teeth betrayed her demonic nature.

“Oh, but what do we have here?” Jolene walked over to the trio of Apexus, Aclysia and Reysha. Aside from them, it was only the group of children that still filled the plaza. Crying silently, they stared at the clothes that were scattered over the ground in the sacrificial pattern. Every step was a farmgirls hop, was a lady’s stride, was a courtesan’s call. She kneeled down in front of Apexus and smiled. It was like the breath of late summer, after the first early autumn rains had fallen.

Apexus was struck by it. It seemed warm, seemed to promise times of growth, but underneath he could faintly sense the rot of wet wood, eroded by heavy rain and intense heat. Seeing her up close like this, her beauty peeled away. Her face was gorgeous. The hand she stretched out towards Apexus was a grotesquely warped thing with pulsating veins under black skin and nails thin and long like needles.

The same perfection of her movements now closed in on Apexus’ chest. She could reach through his membrane, his bones, his mass and to his nucleus effortlessly. One simple grasp and that would be it. Somehow, he didn’t feel like struggling. Indeed, the slime found himself thinking that it would feel good if it was her.

“Stop,” Apotho commanded and Jolene stayed her hand. Suddenly, it was just long, elegant fingers that reached out to the slime. Turning around, the Empress looked at her Master with a raised eyebrow. There was a silent communication, then, cheerfully, Jolene jumped to her feet.

“Of course, my beloved, I will obey,” she said and turned to the children instead. “Look at you, my astray sheep,” Jolene chirped, walking over. “I will show you a new world of opportunities, my darlings.”

Apotho stepped in front of the trio on his own. He had put on a new robe at some point. It was black, decorated all over with little things and embroidery. Not a bit of it was simple and it was more valuable than the entirety of the Leaf could afford. One last time, he attempted to at least hurt the slime, but all efforts were met with a blocked flow of power. Gizmo was silent. Apotho wasn’t even sure if he was still there.

“This is where we part then, Apexus,” the Warlock announced, his voice deep and pleasant. “Your punishment is delayed, thanks to the splinter yet stuck in my mind.” He looked over all three of them and grinned, his teeth were perfectly aligned and white. “I will leave you with your women. Savour the time you have left, with them. One day, when I feel like remembering something as worthless as my time on this Leaf again, and I realize that I have not ended your insignificant existence, I will rip everything from you. I have the power.”

As if that needed to be proven, he gestured with his staff at the surroundings. At the children that Jolene had lulled into a happy herd that followed her, at the dust and the ghost town surrounding them. At the hounds. At the Empress herself.

“Wherever you hide, I can find you. Be aware of that. One day, I will come and end you.”

He turned and walked away from this Leaf without any more care.