Indecision
31
JUL/21
Vashir looked around anxiously as the battle raged around him; the five of them standing tall against the seemingly endless hordes – at least for now. The fiery eyes of the giant statue of Set blazed with unnatural malevolence and it seemed to grin with delight at their plight, acting like an unholy midwife as it birthed forth hideous monstrosities and set these diabolical newborns upon them. They were creatures of forgotten legends: beings of living smoke; demons sculpted out of writhing, incorporeal darkness; undead specters whose very touch ripped free the blessings of life; and skeletal snake creatures that lashed out with bone swords, wielded with brutal lethality and speed.
Arnia and David were standing back to back in the center of the chamber, encircled by these creatures of impossibility. David, ever the elusive one, was lashing out with a ring of blades that he had fabricated with his raw psionic, all the while nimbly dodging the grasping death of the creatures that clawed frantically at him. Arnia was faring much worse. The undead monsters had fed upon her will to live, ripping gaseous chunks of her soul free of her earthly body and gorging upon her life essence, devouring her humanity like a starving man upon finding a loaf of bread. Her skin had grown ashen and gray and she was having trouble holding her sword up, but somehow still finding the strength to lash out with it as the creatures came within biting distance of the ravenous steel blade. The sword seemed to burn with celestial fury, and every time she struck one of these abominations it would scream in agony and disassemble into a wafting cloud of dust and ash. But for every creature that fell before this holy blade, two more would take its place, and it was clear to everyone that she could not stay in the fight much longer.
Ixen had turned himself into a giant hyena – a form that now seemed as natural to him as his golden scales – and was trying to distract the mobs that were harrowing Arnia and David. Blood seeped from a dozen wounds, but this hardly seemed to slow the druid down as he lashed out with dagger teeth and ripped off chunks of cold flesh from the monstrosities that dared to come within range of his gnashing jaws. Emboldened by their sheer number, two of the snake creatures at last dared to close in on him, and he found himself slowly backed into the corner of the room, snarling and growling in fear and anger as the giant creatures drew near.
It was abundantly clear to Vashir that their time was running out. He glanced up at Oni, perched precariously upon the shoulders of the giant stone tribute of a dead God, right as the young monk plunged one end of his alabaster staff directly into one of the statue’s glowing red eyes. The eye exploded in a shower of fiery sparks which rained down onto the floor. The statue let out an inaudible scream that filled the air and deafened the senses, and the eerie glow of the remaining eye doubled in intensity, painting the room in a blood red radiance. “I got it!” Oni yelled defiantly, pulling his staff free of the ocular orb. As he tried to move into position to attack the other eye, dexterous as he was, he lost his balance and slid partway down the façade of the statue, grabbing onto a stone arm to avoid being cast into the melee. Vashir performed a quick survey of the battlefield discerned that this slip was a catastrophe as they could not afford any further delay; the other eye needed to be destroyed. Arnia was at death’s door, and if she fell the rest of them would fall in short order – like dominoes tipped by an unseen hand.
Vashir pulled the metal rod out from the pouch on his hip and glared at it, uncertain as to what he should do. The steel rod hummed with powerful promise in his hands, as if begging to be used. It was a trophy of a room much like this one: a vault where undead monstrosities hounded them; a vault where they had wounded a God. But it was also a vault where three of their number died and if he hoped to avoid that fate here today as well, he knew what he must do. Vashir gritted his teeth and pressed one of the buttons on the rod and immediately he felt a surge of power flow into him, as the dark magic of the device lashed out and feasted upon any life force it could find in the room; as life was needed in order to feed its unholy charge. The rod shifted and transformed, becoming a long, elegant steel blade of an archaic design that burned with profane might. The power coursing through him was intoxicating. Dark and full of promise, it seeped into his bones and flowed through his veins like a molten river. He smiled as the darkness took root in him: settling; dominating; ruling. There would be consequences for embracing the darkness, but now was not the time to worry about such trivialities.
Vashir spoke a word of power and brilliant green eldritch flames burst forth from the tip of the blade and ran down the steel edge to the golden hilt; casting the room in an eerie emerald hue which battled the glow from the baleful eye of the statue for dominance.
One of the serpents smiled an evil grin at the sight of him standing there holding this flaming sword and immediately moved in to wipe him out of existence. The beast lashed out with its cruel sword, striking with unnatural speed and fury, but in spite of its wrath, it found nothing but air as Vashir popped out of existence before the attack could hit home.
He rematerialized on the bowl in front of the head of the giant statue; its one remaining eye gleamed with unholy malice that seemed to burn through right through him as he beheld it. He could seem himself reflecting back in the cold surface of the stone, and for the briefest of moments he paused as he stared deeply at his likeness in the crimson orb. He could feel the power and promise and hunger that the glowing stone contained, pulsating like a beating heart and sending its Will out into the world. To his surprise, in that moment Vashir found himself thinking of his brother. Valdar: the one who had somehow been subverted and changed and corrupted by the raw deific Will of this dark god; the one who had been transformed into a being of power and terror. Could Vashir too benefit from the might that this god bestowed? Would he not need it for what lay ahead? Their group had earned the ire of the Dark Goddess Herself – would it not take the power of another God have a chance at resisting Her wrath? The light emanating from the stone seemed to read his innermost thoughts and began beckoning to him; pleading; flashing with the promise of unimaginable power. The dark energies Vashir had absorbed from by activating the unholy sword in his hand seemed to fuel his desire to submit rather than resist its Siren call. Give in! Embrace it! Wield it! Become it!
He was still standing there, transfixed by the promises of the glowing red stone, when Oni cried from out from his perch on the other side of the statue as the young monk was trying to climb back up to get within striking distance of the remaining eye. “Mar’iya! Smash that eye or get the fuck out of the way so I can!” The harried cry of his friend snapped him from his reverie, and he shook the sticky cobwebs from his head; the spectral fingers that had been trying to mold his thoughts and actions suddenly broke free and he found he could think clearly once more. Had he really been thinking of subjecting himself to the power of this dead god? The very same one who had twisted and corrupted and then abandoned his brothers – their only divine purpose now was feeding the rats of Raam with their corpses. How useful were the promises of this “god” actually?
He steeled his resolve and reared back his sword arm; the emerald flames dancing upon the steel blade crackled in anticipation of their divine feast. As if sensing his intent, the light from the remaining eye flared as bright as day in protest of its fate, the crimson light carrying with it all the empty promise of a doomed god. Vashir ignored the divine plea and plunged his sword directly into the cerise stone, exploding it into a shower of fire and crystal and squandered might. The room plunged into darkness and the fire in the pit before the statue faded into darkness.
And then silence.
The group huddled together, emboldened by their near demise and subsequent victory, they decided to rest a bit before continuing on. As they gathered their strength, Oni approached Vashir and whispered, “Why did you hesitate? You knew what needed to be done” Vashir had no good answer. Because I am afraid that we are too weak for what lay ahead? Because we will need the power of gods for what awaits us? Because this creature chose my brother, but denied Their dark blessing to me? Vashir smiled reassuringly at his friend – the only person he had known for the entirety of his remembered life – and lied, “I wanted to make sure that I didn’t miss.” If Oni believed him, he gave no indication, instead reaching out and rubbing Vashir’s shoulder reassuringly. In his friend’s eyes, Vashir could see the divine light of the Dawnlord reflecting back to him. They had the power of the Light on their side; why then did Vashir always seem drawn to the Darkness?