The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

Tanisha and Joha’s requests was oddly simple from Bjorn’s perspective. Tanisha requested gold, a new wagon and horses, alchemy supplies and equipment, and a new polearm to replace the one she had lost. On the other hand, Joha wanted only one thing: for them to send a letter to his homeland for him. Joha’s request was met with silence between the two, which caused a brief deliberation between Sigrun and her Hands before the Princess could accept.  Everyone gasped at the fact that she even accepted the request at all.

Sigrun looked at Joha and Tanisha with a smile. “Once everything has been gathered for your requests, Sif, I will send someone to gather you for your inspection. Joha, when you have your letter, please hand it to the person delivering Tanisha’s request. You have my word: your letter will be safely delivered to the demon continent, but please understand that we are at war, and an expedition may take time to organize. For now, you all are guests of the Fort Palace, and your belongings will be moved here.”

“As long as it is delivered, Your Majesty, I will be eternally grateful.”

Tanisha and Bjorn were given their room and a personal maid in the Fort Palace. Even so, they all returned to the Demilune Inn with the servants to retrieve the remaining Isi survivors. The Princess allowed the Isi to burn pyres for the dead. Most of the bodies had already been burned during the cleanup of the town, so it was mainly symbolic for those left to mourn. There was one body though and a small goblin family, a rakshasa tiger demon, a cernunnos and a True Hydra all said their final goodbyes to Helina.

It had been a rough few weeks, so when Bjorn finally could let his guard down, he felt exhausted. The Fort Palace was by no exaggeration one of the most secure and safe locations on the continent. Bjorn could not help but feel a little let down that he wouldn’t be able to claw Ingrid and Loki in half for the pain and suffering they caused. To the wendigo, failing a Show of Power was akin to social suicide. She was ostracized and would likely soon be divorced from the Salstar name.

There was a shaming ritual like the shiagaunt for spouses that shamed the family, and publicly, their names would be dragged through the mud. The former Sword of the Salstars would soon lose her noble title and family name and be like any other war mage on the frontline. The likelihood they would put her somewhere she would outright die was unlikely. Ingrid was still a mighty and skilled mage.

“You finally ready for this?” Failsafe asked.

Bjorn took a deep breath to calm his nerves. It didn’t work. He knew he was about to see something that would haunt him. Ever since the Queen of a Thousand Heads called him the Sunderer of the Angelic Throng, he had a feeling—not a memory—that the name was something he deeply regretted once.

Bjorn laid his head down. “Yes, no more excuses. Let’s do it.”

He closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep almost instantly. This was the first time he willingly entered his previous self’s memories. The sensation was odd. All of who he was as Bjorn was stripped away. He was made a blank canvas, free of emotion, memory, attachment, and everything else that made him Bjorn.

Then, the emptiness that was him was filled as seventeen years of memory as Isin rushed to fill the empty vessel. His life as a villager in a small human settlement, safe from the outside monsters by the grace of the Divine People from the sky. He had learned that his father was one of those Divine people. He was Nephilim, the child of man and the Divine.

Isin had always thought the Divine People, the Angels, were their makers and saviors. They protected them and guided humanity with love and compassion. That is all his father had ever shown him since meeting him. Since the Gate that had protected them failed, monsters flooded in from the corrupted land. His father, Bazaath, killed the monsters and remade the Gate when all hope was lost. He healed those that could be saved and mourned those that could not.

However, the scene before him threatened to drive him over the edge into insanity. The Divines that were before them came with chains and death. Only a few moments ago, Angel Hasmanuel had subjugated their people, killed anyone who did not move to her exact words, and gathered all of the townspeople like sheep to the slaughter.

She looked at them as less than animals; she called them a word Isin had never heard before, slave. When the strongest of their people tried to resist her, regardless of aether or might, she killed them quickly. She was enraged as the air quivered and the world quaked under the might of her aether. Orbs spun around her as the aether condensed, and she prepared to execute everyone.

A voice spoke, so melodic and soothing it sounded like it was sung. “Oh my, oh my, looks like she was right.” 

Everyone looked up and saw more of the Divines as they descended. The Angels were human in form, tall and beautiful. Their skin, however, was metal or stone. Hasmanuel looked like molten brass, and her hair was fire. Their clothing was a strange mesh of technology and aetheric magic that Isin had learned from his father was called a biosphere suit.

The suits were skin-tight and metal in some places and flowing fabric in others, giving them a modicum of modesty. It allowed them to interact with beings of this world without their power destroying everything around them unintentionally. Even with the Angels suppressing their power, to Isin, the air around them felt thick as if each breath he was trying to breathe in honey.

The angel woman who spoke was descending from the sky with white marble skin. Beside her was a man, the color of cold steel, holding a chain. Isin followed the golden line, and his eyes widened when he saw that it was his father at the other end. He was bound and gagged, his wings broken, and his face hung low in defeat.

The air softened as Hasmanuel stopped gathering power, and a smile crawled across her face. She lifted into the air without moving her six wings and met the other Angels in the sky.

Isin turned to the crowd and saw that everyone was frozen in terror. He was, too, but he needed to find his mother. He needed to make sure she was alright. He looked back up at the Angels as they discussed something amongst themselves. He turned away and pushed through the crowd.

People barely reacted as he shoved them out of the way. They were all shell-shocked to the point of being nearly catatonic. So many truths about their way of life were shattered right before them. If Isin had not met his father, he would also be afraid.

I have to find Ma, where is she?

He continued to look but could not find her anywhere. He could hear his heart beating as he continued to push and shove his way through the crowd. Then he got a splitting headache, and his nose began to bleed. He looked around and saw everyone in pain, grabbing their heads.

The world darkened despite the sun directly above them in the nightmarish red sky. Cracks in space tore open the sky with the sound of thunder. The Angel that first appeared with Hasmanuel stepped out of what seemed to be a hole in space. He walked across the sky as if there were solid ground beneath his feet. It hurt to look at him for too long as the aether was drawn to him and crystallized in three interlocking halos. He was nearly twice the size of even the tallest of the other Angels.

“Grand General!” the Angels all said in perfect unison.

The massive Angel sat, and beneath him, the world shifted, and a golden throne appeared. The odd thing was Isin couldn’t remember if it was already there or if it materialized.

“Bazaath.” The Grand General’s voice hit everyone like thunder from the heavens. His voice came from every direction all at once. “You are accused of treason against the Throng. You have created and conspired with the Slave Race and attempted to hide your crimes from the Ivory Lord. What do you say in your defense?”

“I have not conspired against the Chorus or the Ivory Lord,” Bazaath said, his voice low compared to the first but still loud as it was projected through the aether. “Everything I have done, I have done for the Chorus.”

“Lies, these slaves have no control chip, no inhibitors, and have even used aether against me,” Hasmanuel screamed in outrage. “He has betrayed us, Grand General. He has attempted to make himself an Ivory Lord.”

“Silence, Hasmanuel. I will not repeat this,” the Grand General said with a wave of his hand. “Bazaath, you have served loyally for an eternity. Explain yourself.”

“What Hasmanuel said is true. These slaves do not have inhibitors; they can move and act independently. I made them that way so they would develop in ways the others cannot. The Chorus is falling, and the Sundering will soon befall us. This world does not have long before we can no longer sustain ourselves, and mortality will claim us. If we do not act in ways we have not, we will be all that is left of our kind.”

“You speak blasphemy against the Ivory Lord!” Hasmanuel screamed in outrage. “He will not let the Chorus fall, you traitor!”

Her orbs converged and gathered together as if they were getting ready to fire at him. Before she could, she was suddenly cut in half at the torso by the Grand General. Her body didn’t fall; instead, it floated in the air as tendrils of crystallized aether connected the severed body parts. The two halves of the woman slowly reconnected as she bowed her head and closed her mouth with a grimace of discontent, not pain.

“How will these free slaves help our race?” the Grand General asked.

“They can do things we cannot,” Bazaath said. “They can go to places that are corrupted without fear of mortality.”

The Grand General watched him for a long time; an orb flew down to the crowd. It scanned everyone with a green light. Then it stopped over someone, and the orb’s tendrils of power exploded out. They wrapped around someone who screamed, and Isin immediately turned his head, recognizing the voice. His mother, Eliska, was lifted into the air and dropped into the now-smoldering crater in front of the mob.

“This one has your aetheric protections. You care for it,” the Grand General said as the chains around Bazaath disintegrated. “Prove to us your loyalty.”

Bazaath fell to the ground and hit with a hard impact that sent dust into the air. Isin was pushing through the mob that had not moved an inch to help the shocked woman. He pleaded to himself to move faster as Bazaath stood up. The fallen Angel’s broken wings hung limply from his back.

Bazaath looked up to the Grand General and the other Angels. It was Hasmanuel who summoned a glowing sword and threw it down. It struck the ground beside his foot, and he did not flinch. He looked at the blade, then down at his wife. He grabbed the hilt and raised the sword. The Angel was tall, over ten feet, and therefore towered over the woman as she seemingly accepted her fate and knelt. She said something; Isin saw her lips move, but the air didn’t carry her words as the sword came down.

“No! Mother!” Isin screamed.

Bjorn shot awake, his head looking around the dark room when he finally woke. He settled his nerves as he lowered his head back to the comforter.

“You okay, buddy?” Failsafe asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I am fine,” Bjorn’s heart raced in his chest. “Let’s just… uh… no more tonight, okay?”

“Sure, I understand,” Failsafe responded. “Good night, Bjorn.”