Panaka joins the two halves of the Lexicon of Paradox but instead of a catastrophic conflagration of power the lines of text begin to move, striving to merge but yet they cannot. The chaotic power of the Outer Rift exists as a denouncement of Order, a phenomenon worth the title of natural mystery. As such, Areelu has set it as the final hurdle to be overcome for those searching for her forbidden secrets behind the Worldwound.
It was something meant for Panaka, I knew with authority. Areelu Vorlesh's interest in the man was more than academic, both Asmodeus and the Targona confirmed. As such this was his trial to overcome. Fortunately, he experienced an awakening of sorts after the great trick he pulled on Nocticula. His dabbling into the arcane arts coupled with my teachings has made him into a proper if unorthodox wizard… a habit he picked up only after he joined the crusade. Legacy of the second soul conjoined to his own.
Panaka struggles to grasp the Lexicon's hidden meaning, the words begin to move faster before his eyes. The frenetic motion of the words brings to mind a wasp nest that has just been kicked. The words arrange themselves into sentences, and the phases begin to make sense, but it is a trap, a snare that will force the reader to put the lexicon down. The lexicon fights back against Panaka's efforts as if issuing a challenge. Can Panaka unravel the secret knowledge enciphered within it?
Fortunately, he isn't alone. The spirit within Rebellion resonates with him, serving as a tuner capable of harmonizing Panaka with the spiritual wavelength of the Abyss. Likes attract likes. The flames of Panaka's eyes shine bright as he leverages his virtuous spirit against the defenses of the Lexicon, overcoming experience with enthusiasm and irreverence. At last, the Lexicon begins to reveal its secrets.
From the biology of mythical creatures to the mystical properties of the blood of demon lords, whose souls have been woven together with the Outer Rift. The geomantic and arcane leg work involved into suturing together the material plane to the extraplanar realm of the Abyss. And finally, the secret behind the rift. The Wound and the key anchored to it.
The Transformation process was conceived as a means to instrumentalize the planar rifts as power sources. However, she learned that it solved the problem of the slow decaying of the 'key', the mortal used to anchor the outer plane to the material world. The power of the Transformation shields the 'key' from the poison of the Wound in the world. Unfortunately, it is only a palliative measure – there are limits to mythical power, and even temporarily exhausting said mythical power leaves the 'key' vulnerable to the poison of the Wound. No. Rather than poison or disease, it would be more precise to compare it to an abscess that will one day burst and kill Panaka when he is at his weakest for whatever reason.
The reason he has become so strong in such a short time is because it is the only way for him to survive: like a flame burning bright before being extinguished.
Well, that explains the stigmata in Panaka's chest that stubbornly refuses to heal properly. Even now it opens one again, hemorrhaging blood and dispersing his vital essence. Panaka would die from it eventually if nothing were to be done. Areelu used a Nahyndrian crystal dissolved into Panaka, coalescing its essence with his soul, triggering his Transformation. She must have done so after he fell into the crevice caused by Deskari's earthquake back in Kenabres.
"Here, please take another cookie, dear." Chadali, the Serendipitous Path, empyreal lord of the azatas, offered me with one hand while she used the other to keep me in her lap. A decision she took on her own once she took a look at me and decided I was cute enough to be her 'luck charm' and started to mishandle me like an overbearing aunt. Despite my protests, she is still someone I can't push aside, my victory over Nocticula in no way makes us equals. Plus, I am still so bloated from Lady in Shadow's soul I feel like passing out from a food coma; not a good position to be in while surrounded by lords of planes I don't trust.
The council started bickering with each other while passing the newly mended Lexicon around the round table. The sight was more reminiscent of a school project between high schoolers than a conference between the movers and shakers of the upper planes. Worlds like 'crossroad of worlds' keep being thrown around while very little was being said about the state of the Worldwound itself. Typical behavior of worthless higher powers. I wouldn't be surprised if Panaka himself saw this whole ordeal as a source of entertainment and distraction from the crusade.
Yet the man himself isn't laughing at the moment. His countenance has a pensive look, and he pins me with an inquisitive glare.
So, it is finally time.
"Zagreus, when I infiltrated Areelu's quarters she confronted me there. She told me I was her creation, her grand experiment." Panaka started.
"That must have been quite the enlightening conversation," I replied.
"Indeed. But among the many things we discussed, what tipped me off were the conditions for a soul to be eligible for transformation. The soul must have a stable connection to the Abyss for the Nahyndrian crystals to successfully trigger Transformation. Mere Tieflings and mongrels can't survive it because the 'Voice of the Abyss' within them isn't strong enough." Panaka said like it was a smoking gun of a murder mystery.
"You don't look very demonic to me though." I countered because it needed to be said.
"Areelu said that compared to the prototype procedure used to empower the demonic armies, mine was the finished product of decades of work. Pure power finely refined, like thrice distilled water, cleansed of the filth and inherent within the power of the demon lords." He paused because he still did not have every piece and wanted me to clarify things for him.
"Indeed. The current arrangement of the outer planes was something that came to be over the eons. You could say she stumbled over the purest form of extraplanar quintessence." I explain.
"Indeed. Vorlesh told me the purity of my power caused it to resonate with other sources of mythical power, like the Sword of Valor. A similar thing happened when I heard the song of Elysium in a temple of the goddess Desna and when a shard of a Pleroma eon touched my soul. My mythical power is different from the ones you grant your followers, those just make people more than they already are. And they also are malleable, able to change, to be reshaped in the form that I most wanted… but this doesn't mean the conditions for transformation had been overlooked." Panaka concluded with an accusation because it was.
"Indeed, the greatest boon a demonic patron can grant a cultist is felled apotheosis, infusing a mortal servant with demonic essence and turning him into a fully-fledged half-demon. Once Areelu was granted such a boon she inducted the Transformation experiment on herself. But you are different from her, aren't you? So, as a trickster yourself, how do you think Areelu managed the grand trick of making a scion of the Abyss into the commander of the 5
th Crusade?"
Panaka looked pensive for a moment, then stood up. He drew out Rebellion and contemplated his own reflection on the flat side of the demonic sword. He cut quite the dashing figure, his vivid long shaggy red hair held in a ponytail, his reinforced jacked, a functional and stylish attire in shades of red and black. He certainly was a maverick. But if one were to see him side by side with Areelu Vorlesh the familial resemblance would be uncanny. From the hair, facial structure, and clothes, it was almost as if they were siblings.
Though considering the witch's true age, mother and child would have been a more accurate comparison.
"If mere blood ties are not enough for Transformation then what is left are ties to the soul. Yet the key must be native to the material plane. Then there are only two options left – apotheosis like Areelu went through… or Death. Aside from reincarnation, all resurrection magic is a crime against Pharasma, the goddess of death. Though this law is seldom enforced for as long as the soul inhabits the graveyard, but the situation changes once a mortal soul is judged by Pharasma. They become 'petitioners' and their essences are conjoined to the essence of their new plane of rest, standing forever beyond any form or resurrection magic." Panaka concluded.
"Indeed. Most tragedies never see the light of the campfire. As the birthplace of the kellids, Old Sarkoris were predominantly animists. Though, contrary of the old tall tales of the Hundred Gods Heresy, this doesn't make them open-minded. They held a dim view of all arcane magic and to 'preserve the sanctity of magic', they made judicious use of inquisitors and witch hunters to capture and quarantine these spellcasters in a fortress prison of Threshold 'for their own safety'."
"How do you know all this?" My protegee asked.
"Contrary to popular belief, the dead are actually quite chatty. They will talk your ears off if you let them, especially if is something that they regret. Nocticula wasn't special in said regard, even among the demonkind."
"Stop gloating and just finish that damn story!"
"Right. Eventually, the inquisitors came for Areelu. And well… they are not the kind who would let someone go just because they don't have a warrant, or if they were up against a child. They didn't tolerate resistance either. Quite the natural outcome, a moment of distraction can change the course of a life."
"Zagreus? Are you telling me that the Worldwound was because of me?" Panaka asked, incensed. Despite his philosophy that life was all about play, he wasn't a bad person. A bit self-centered and mean, but he understood limits. Unfortunately for him, there is nothing anyone can do about the past.
"Mother, right? The high-strung, carrier-oriented, and used-to-wield power are the ones you should be most wary of. Their unresolved maternal feelings often lead them to take their role halfheartedly until someone transgresses against it. Then they see their children as mere extensions of themselves, becoming devouring mothers. Areelu could not abide that the universe would dare take something that was hers. That was her ultimate act of hubris. Perhaps an act unlike the uptight and scientifically minded witch but most people only realize the worth of something after it had been lost to them."
"… why didn't you just tell me then?" Panaka finally accused me.
"And what good would that have done? I had nothing but a hunch feeling and lived experience. That is why I focused on enabling you to live a life you wouldn't regret. Or are you telling me you stand here right now as a puppet? Suture might have given you the midnight bolt but it was you who decided to use it. You were the one that ignited your own spirit, and that little prank you pulled on Nocticula was too stupid to not be yours. You have lived your life the way you wanted. Why are you surprised the same is also true for everybody else?"
"And what if I say I want out then?" He countered, expecting me to press-gang him into compliance to prove a point.
"Then I will use Serenity to separate man from demon, as you have already witnessed. That is why I made it in the first place. Both of them," I said while glancing at Rebellion. "My worthless apprentice, your origin might be hopelessly grim but this life is yours to decide," I told him, and the emotion behind my words fueled my heart flame behind my amethyst eyes like twin stars. "If your story ends as it began, it'll be because you chose it."
That disarmed Panaka. He was a bright boy and now granted the right context he put the pieces together. Over the last two years we have lived together he knew where we stood with each other. "You know… this line would have been way cooler if you weren't a fop brat getting pampered in an aunt's lap." He countered because he was an impossible child who always had to have the final word.
It was okay though. I had always been more of a man of action. That is why I leaped across the table like a pouncing tiger and started to wrestle him into a painful submission hold.
The peanut gallery went wild. Our little exchange was nothing but entertainment for them. Lords from heaven and hell amiably exchange their inconsequent opinions with each other as if our dirty laundry was some play. It was surreal like a caricature of first-world out-of-touch affluent people distracting themselves by pretending to care about impoverished regions to pass the time.
This was the gulf between mortals and immortals. Those who never knew, or had forgotten, what was like to be so easily extinguished. To be subjected to pain, suffering, indignity, and the humiliation of powerlessness, struggling in the mud while desperately praying for someone just reach their hands down and pull you up. Appeal to Higher Power. The same kind of higher power that derides and exploits mortals for their circumstances like Deskari and Asmodeus had openly done. The same higher power that was responsible for our suffering in the first place!
I myself had been put on this Wheel to suffer. Endlessly. That is why I fear Areelu Vorlesh. Because she was me. We were one and the same: rebels standing
against Heaven, defying higher imposition and its dictates. We tired of beg and decided to take. That is why I am scared of meeting her. A part of me couldn't help but understand her desire to pass on her will to the next generation. Even Shadow who had once been mortal could not stamp down a similar urge, sharing his power with me. Aroden too, devised the Trial of the Star Stone so that he could share the gift of immortality with his fellow man.
Asmodeus's words hang heavy in my mind. If Areelu and I traded our circumstances and the destinies woven to us by the Fates would I have her life and her mine?
-//-
The Higher Powers might have gotten everything they wanted but, in the end, we did not walk out of that meeting empty-handed. Context is worth its weight in ambrosia but there is no better recompense than… an actual recompense.
For all his flaws, Panaka has no loyalty to the Round Council and he understands the ramifications of their 'crossroad of worlds' idea would have to mortals. It was no laughing matter. While he initially joined them in search of sponsors for our crusade, by now he sees them as nothing but side-show entertainment. Fortunately, they underestimated him enough to not even demand a binding vow, oath, or geas before pinning all their hopes on him.
[Soul Cauldron], an artifact from Abadar's vaunt. Odd name for a long and thick metal needle, but again the Sword of Valor was actually a banner but I digress. The important thing was that all exalted members of the council, every single one of them lords of their realms directly tied to the planes of the Outer Sphere, generously donated part of their own essence to infuse said Soul Cauldron with the essence of each of their respective planes in the (vain) hope Panaka would use it to expand the Worldwound in a crossroad of worlds, turning the mortal plane into their playground.
Panaka even managed to complete it by stealing the essence of Shamira, the Lady in Shadow's protegee, while he infiltrated Nocticula's castle. Much like Arueshalae can't change her demonic essence by redeeming herself, the fallen angel Shamira can't get rid of her heavenly essence until she ascends as a demon lord and directly bonds her soul to the Abyss.
I have a plan in mind, but it would be remiss of me to not verify it first. Fortunately, Nocticula's soul was too gargantuan for me to absorb its entirety and while some of it is being converged into mythical power or distributed to fortify my new angel subordinates, Ablon in specific, it still is too much for me to hold.
Serenity and Rebellion had been a success. As Panaka said, Areelu's Transformation works differently from mythical power native to the material plane. Its fundamental working principles are still the same though. And by storing said extraplanar mythical power in another vessel it is possible to bypass the limits of one's carnal vessel.
Twins are a bad omen in jujutsu, since they count as a single person as far as jujutsu goes. Two terminals for a single soul. Yet Conjoined twins stand as the sole exception. Conjoined twins stack the power over each other. Not only Maki and Mai, but Sukuna and Yuji, and even Olivia (me) and Reila (Logic).
Areelu probably used the clone spell to forge a new vessel for her son's soul using the remnants of his body. She then stirred a new soul to manifest in it, then retrieved the soul of her son, and used it as the core of the Nahyndrian crystal, conjoining them. When I created Rebellion I gave each of them twins a physical vessel, which is why Rebellion holds an immense amount of demonic power Panaka has not even started to tap into yet while the man himself became an 'ordinary' mortal trickster.
[Serenity], Rebellion pair, is much the same. Yet I can't access its demonic power. It was like Areelu said, for the transformation to take hold the vessel needs to hear 'the Voice of the Abyss'.
Fortunately, I have a workaround. My recent encounter with Asmodeus made me nostalgic. Like him, jujutsu sorcerers are con artists, if you are not cheating then you aren't trying hard enough. The purpose of binding vows is always to get out of it more than you invest. Deals that are only equal on the surface. Devils are the same way, they can make decrees, seals, and contracts with themselves or others have the goal of manufacturing their circumstances to their advantage.
[Serenity], [Bounty of Nature], and [Promised Death] are extensions of my own body. Not that different from how sorcerers infuse their cursed techniques in objects over their carriers. Since [Serenity] is already infused with the essence of the Abyss I have enough samples to use the [Soul Cauldron] to do something similar with the other two artifacts. High-minded thinkers of my home world often said that one should search From in Heaven and energy in Hell. I am just pushing the idea to its natural conclusion.
Using the excess from Nocticula's soul for fuel and the Soul Cauldron for direction I infuse [Promised Death] with the righteous essence of the upper plane of
Heaven. [Bounty of Nature] is infused instead with the power of the Promised Land of Wild Freedom, the
Elysium.
Now it was just a matter of accessing said power by synchronizing with three different planes, all somewhat anathema to each other. Fortunately, I have an answer – men cultivate virtue to align themselves with the Heavens. With my bipolar virtue, I am in a uniquely privileged position. Then it became a matter of manifesting such. All things in cultivation begin and end with virtue and virtue is performative excellence. It is displayed outward. For the soul is the body and the body is the soul.
By making a binding vow with myself I strengthen my bond with [Serenity] in my
moon-scorched form, [Bounty of Nature] in mine
puer aeternus form, and [Promised Death] through my normal form. All at the extent of my compatibility to something I wouldn't get to enjoy to its fullest extent anyway. A circuit going from chaotic evil to chaotic good into lawful good.
Part of me worry what kind of example I am giving to others by shamelessly pursuing power like this. But at the end of the day, Areelu isn't wrong in that regard. The only one who don't care to pursue power are those that never experienced the indignities derived from its lack. If justice is fairness, the balancing of the scales, it's only justice that instead of living on your hands and knees you use your strength to take… but even if it is justice my virtuous heart can't accept such a cruel reality.
I won't.
-//-
Things got animated after Asmodeus's descent into the material plane, especially with the notable death of a remarkable demon lord such as Nocticula. It was either an auspicious or ominous sign depending on which religious order you asked. It did not help that our conversation was very public as well. It certainly is going into the history books of the crusade.
Of course, the attention of higher powers is a curse of interesting times. Asmodeus opened the floodgates to the other gods. While the pompous Iomedae has yet to grace me with her presence, I exchanged drinks with Cayden Cailean, the final of the ascended, god of luck, mercenaries, mavericks, freedom fighters, and alcohol.
I was hounded by the sibling gods Shelyn, gods of art and beauty, and Zon-Kuthon, god of pain and darkness. Their philosophical rivalry is legendary and since I had become something of a novel fad among the gods they decided my output was relevant. As a Greek, pain and tragedy are sacred sources of all enhancements of mankind… for those who approach the discipline of suffering in a way that is affirmative to life, turning it into a spring of strength, lifting a man to the heights of a fulfilling life. In that sense, the life-affirming beauty born from
profound suffering redeems and validates life. As a tormented soul and as a worshiper of Dionysus I am certainly biased. Bidding my soul to multiply following in the footsteps of the god of tragic contrast, uniting peaks and abysses of life to cultivate a great character. Just because it works for me doesn't mean this is a universal answer. If there is an objectively correct way to cultivate virtue, it has yet to be discovered.
Yet, while neither god liked my answer, they could not deny the truth of performative excellence. The fortress city of Drezen was beautiful, a true silver city upon the hill filled with exalted souls proudful striding full of purpose. The tragedies and horrors conjured from the Abyss only served as fecund ground for its blooming. Testament of the truth that misfortune and resistance are among the favorable conditions which make possible the great growth of virtue.
"I sense great distress in your heart, my disciple! Indeed, your final battle draws near and a great array of forces arranged themselves against you. It's only wise to be fearful. But worry not! For with the direct tutelage of the Master of Masters, you shall cleave the corruption of the Outer Rift from Sarkoris once and for all! Ha ha ha." Boasted Irori, the god of enlightenment, self-perfection, knowledge, healing, and inner strength.
I would have liked to answer but having conceded the emptiness barrier to the god's control I am the subject to said gym freak of a god's vivid imagination. My experience in the prison realm works against me here. This training session has been going on for years!
The gods in Golarion seem to work on a tick-for-tack basis. Since Asmodeus acted directly now other gods who opposed him had to answer in kind. And Irori and Asmodeus have been enemies for the longest time. Their ongoing feud is born out of the Lord of Hell's penchant for corrupting or destroying the things that others have built and the habit of tempting others with easy paths to enlightenment.
Irori's mortal guise is that of a solidly built South Asian man with tanned skin and a bald head bearing a single ponytail. Though if the legends are to be believed, his true form is the very incarnation of perfection… he is also a total weirdo. A bigger chunni than Shadow ever was, he behave as if he came straight out of some cliché Chinese novel.
He is not a bad person though, only overbearing. He invaded my home calling himself my master and proceeded to talk passionately about the 'three million, four hundred and eighty thousand and twenty virtuous steps' toward perfection like a door salesman.
He is as exasperating as he is endearing. He has this gung-ho attitude about training that remind me of Goku in a way. Someone truly strong searches to overcome his limits and Irori rises from bed determined to kick the shit out of the Irori who slept in it. If anything, the only thing we don't see eye to eye with is our methodology.
Irori has a rivalry with Aroden and the Ascended, the gods who passed the trial of the Star Stone. As a former mortal who achieved apotheosis through his own effort, he disapproves of 'shortcuts'. He proselytizes 'the right way'. An orthodoxy that promised ascension by pursuing physical and mental perfection, strict diet and meditation to cleanse the ki and refine life force.
I countered that just because said method worked for him doesn't mean others would flourish following the exact same trail. There was a reason that some men rose to perilous heights on the shoulders of virtue while others languished in the lowest realms despite living as they should. Mortals exist in three parts, Irori himself stated, and each of them is king inside their soul. So how one can even cultivate virtue at the expense of his dignity? Why should mortals have to disdain one part of their souls for another?
There are as many trails up Olympus Mount as there are stars in the sky, I argued. And it was only right that each aspirant climbed had his own proper path reserved for the promise laying dormant in their soul. The fact I had an entire city bursting with uniquely excellent souls just served to drive this point home.
And in this I erred. For the hubris of daring exchange discourse with my better I reaped juste tribulation. Irori confessed he was begrudgingly impressed with my efforts, despite my less than unorthodox approach. But at the same time, as my senior in the path of self-perfection, he was worried that I was resorting to drastic measures after being demoralized by Asmodeus.
Considering he was pinning my mythical artefacts as he said so I did not have any counter. If appeal to a higher power could solve the Worldwound problem then it would have been closed a century ago. Now an army of mythical demons never seen before was about to counter-attack the 5
th crusade with force. I had half a mind to charge to the Threshold right now to end the crusade before Baphomet could build up his forces… a fool's errand.
The 5
th crusade has been raging for almost two years and the entrepreneur's demonic forces have adapted to fight against opponents on an even footing. Nowadays there are more hardened demons in the Worldwound than not. All the soft targets have been picked out. It was like Areelu said, even if individual demons are pathetic, as a horde they are a teeming calamity that is impossible to contain. Every league retaken from the Outer Rift was paid for with crusader blood.
I can't fuck this up but I didn't know if I can win this. The crusade officially escaped everybody's semblance of control. Areeelu, Baphomet, and I are just desperately reacting to unforeseen consequences and rolling with the punches as they come. A bunch of high rollers that keep on playing despite the risks through the power of sunken cost fallacy.
That is why I appreciate Irori's company. The last time I performed closed-door cultivation had been inside the Prison Realm so I dislike this method out of principle. However, I am in desperate need of a distraction. Something to distract me for long enough for me to step back and rebalance myself. Irori is an inflexible if brilliant teacher that doesn't appreciate lateral thinking so he simply ramps up the challenge of the simulation until I perform the task as he intends it. No flash technique or extravagant display of power but basic pankration and calisthenics elevated for a person with the strength of a thousand men put together. Taking one day off right now is the high of luxury but I know this will be my last chance before the crusade is over. Besides, it had been some time since he accessed my own body.
Nocticula's quintessence anchored itself to my Water Chakra, located in the sacrum, dealing with pleasure and is blocked by guilt. As the queen of succubus Nocticula was mesmerizing, not because she was a dark beauty capable of launching a thousand ships, although she was one, but because of her overwhelming sensuality. The body of a living being shapes its characters and a living organism expresses itself more clearly than words: in movement, pose, posture, and attitude in every gesture. Nocticula was a master orator in a language that transcends, maybe even predates, verbal expression.
The golden means between grace and spontaneity fueled by aggression and carnal hunger which evoke dark promises normally hidden in the recesses of the civilized mind. What made Nocticula such a fearsome and prolific murderer almost without equal. And now this talent has been imprinted in my body, the sinuous movements I acquired make my former self look clumsy.
Plus, while I have not engaged in…
dual cultivation since Yuki I still can feel Nocticula's quintessence resonating with Deskari's Hunger of the Abyss. Living things hunger for many things, after all. It is a good thing I am not one liable to fool around since I feel like I can kill a mortal through the simplest of acts of passion; a mere kiss would be more than enough. Nocticula certainly lives up to her reputation as a selfish lover with a figurative and literal high body count.
Now let's just hope I have what it takes to win the war of supremacy ahead.
-//-
No plan survives contact with the enemy. Ever since I killed Deskari, Baphomet and I have been locked in a game of wits with each other as he tried to sabotage the 5
th crusade from within. It seems the goat bastard finally managed to find an angle of attack I couldn't defend against.
The Hand of the Inheritor, Iomedae's herald, got wind of Panaka's true origin
somehow and, being the self-righteous dimwitted that he is, tattled him to Queen Galgrey, who has nursed a grudge against the both of us for sidelining her in the 5
th crusade; a lioness jealously defending her territory.
Now she was on my office, in the same spot Asmodeus stood, lecturing me about how to run my crusade!
"The time has come for us to discuss something of the utmost importance. It's high time we talk about
your Commander," Galfrey accuses as if she had not been the one to give him the post when everybody thought Panaka had saved Kenabres through the grace of Iomedae. "About how well he has discharged the duties entrusted upon him. And the source of his powers." The crusader queen declares full of judgment and scrutiny.
She certainly feels confident with the bird bastard standing before her, paralleled helmet to helmet with my fully armored Ablon. She went out of her way to make a spectacle out of it. Everybody that matters in Drezen has been summoned to said meeting. This at least gave me enough time to fill in my allies beforehand.
Paralictor Regill interjected from his seat, "Queen Galfrey, must these discussions take place now, in the final juncture of our crusade? Scrutinizing our fellow crusades when we are about to seize victory would just play to our enemies' interest."
"Keep your counsel to yourself, hellknight." Galfrey rebutted. "in the one hundred years that this war has lasted, not a day has gone by when I haven't pondered about how we can win it. Serves you right to remember that!" She said harshly.
Right, she used the sun orchid elixir to extend her lifespan. Another reminder that I am probably the second youngest person standing in the room, being senior only to Panaka and his companions.
"And throwing scandalous accusations at our knight commander after his stellar performance will help in that? How exactly?" I argued.
"May I remind you that it was I that entrusted him with his title and army, not you." She replies, still sore from the time I overtook her back then. "A superior is responsible for the actions of their subordinates take in their names. That is why I can't ignore Knight Commander's secret origin as a scion of the Abyss. Span of the witch Areelu Vorlesh herself!"
"You talk as if you have been deceived." I countered. "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence." I say while drilling a hole in the golden helmet of the Hand of the Inheritor. "and I am afraid the mere words of the herald of Iomedae aren't as ironclad as they used to be since he himself believed and loudly boasted that Panaka's mythical powers came from his goddess. Why, if he who is an angel of Heaven that had the ear of the crusader goddess would speak such a thing for anyone that would hear then is it Panaka's fault if he himself believed it? As far as I am concerned, we now have the words of a demon versus the words of an angel. Unless Iomedae herself cared to descend from Heaven to testify I am afraid this conversation is over-
Just as I was about to forcibly shut down this line of inquiry in the queen's face, the bastard goddess decided to make herself present, bursting into the room like a beam of light. At this point, I threw propriety out of the window. Daeran blew up his casket laughing his as off as I slammed my head on the table and screamed through my teeth in frustration.
Queen Galfrey went from a look of indignation at my denial into jubilation and triumph at the goddess' entrance to just as quickly turned into outrage and indignation at my reaction. Ablon put a comforting hand on my shoulder to remind me to keep my composure.
"Knight Commander, Zagreus, At last, we met." The goddess says, unperturbed by the irreverence with which we who were addressed greeted her. She got more than enough ass-kissing from everybody else in the room.
"On any other occasion, I would punish you both for such disrespect. But it is not why I came here today. I suppose you are asking yourself why I am here. Gods must not interfere in the affairs of mortals-
"Not really, Zagreus has been hounded by so many gods this last week that they have become a common occurrence by now," Panaka whispered to his companions just loud enough for everybody to hear.
"But what is happening here, in the Worldwound, is no longer the concern of mortals alone." She finished, not giving Panaka the satisfaction of openly irritating a goddess. "Drezen itself is proof, having witnessed so many horrors and miracles I wonder how can still stand." Iomedae looked at the cityscape beyond my window, enraptured for a moment despite herself just to then pin Panaka down with a hardened stare. "The power that lives in you is alluring, unhinged, and can break the laws of reality itself. It is dangerous. Is this truly your path? Do you really hope to prevail over chaos with more chaos?"
I had enough of vacuous higher powers for the day. I made to stand and give the goddess a piece of my mind. But before I could do so Panaka himself put a hand on my shoulder as he stood for himself.
"I have achieved more in my crusade than all the other crusaders managed in one hundred years. I also never dissimulated the kind of person that I was to anyone. Everybody was more than happy to take their own conclusion and run with it! I have just done the same as everybody else in that regard, so I don't mind. But is a bit too late to worry about my credentials now, don't you think?" Panaka says as affably as a Cheshire cat, even as he made a point to step on every toe in the room like a lazy predator.
"I did not come to reproach you, but to warn you," Iomedae answered. "I have come here to shed the light of truth so that it can banish the shadowy deceit with its merciless radiance. My herald acted on his own noble impulse. I did not lie – but both celestial beings and mortals can be mistaken, so I did not try to dispel his misconception about you being my chosen one for I also had hoped you could be the key to the Worldwound problem, and saying otherwise would only undermine you." Iomedae explained. Basically admitting she had no problem with his powers as long as she did not know where it came from. She didn't even share her suspicions with her own herald either.
Secrets of blasted tyrants and poisoned chalices.
The goddess continued. "You have learned from your tutor – the goddess says while pinning me with a stare – that you are bound to the Worldwound. You are slowly dying due to its influence and that you are yet capable of closing it. But still lack a crucial piece of information – closing the Wound won't save you from death, for this lock will destroy the key for which it is bound. The one who closes the wound will die along with it. To stitch two planes together the soul of a mortal must be woven with the essence of the Abyss. To unwoven the seam, the key must be ripped apart."
People could hear a pin drop, all eyes turned to me for confirmation or denial. That was a serious allegation, a betrayal of the highest order.
That is why everybody missed Panaka's face when he shrugged it off. "Well, that makes sense. It's pretty useless information since I am already doomed to die anyway." The maverick explained casually as if it was someone else's problem.
The room ignited in complete disorder as the peanut gallery went wild in a mix of exclamation, indignation, and worry. For his part, the responsible for said chaos was simply puzzled for once.
"Wait, what do you guys think those are?" Panaka says while pointing to the scarlet heart flame burning behind his eyes. "Didn't you explain it to them?" He asked of me in plain exasperation.
"I did, in fact, explain it to them."
"Yeah, through the most poetic and circuitous means possible. Right?" Panaka said in jest.
Before things could degenerate into an argument, I decided to take charge. "I told you all before that it was a Hero's destiny to burn. It wasn't a metaphor – Greek fire doesn't fade until everything it touches is reduced to ash. The low flame burns the longest but we can't use candles to turn night into day. No matter how hard a hero tries to stifle his Spirit, the passion that allowed his ignition in the first place will forever rule his heart. For a Hero's nature was to burn. Brilliantly, gloriously, for all the world to see, and every flame needed fuel. Heart's blood, the sacrifice of lifeline to defy greater imposition is the reason every Hero's life was an Epic and why said epic always closed in tragedy in the end."
"What he meant to say is that we are burning through our lifeforce to perform great feats that defy the laws of reality." He countered… because I have become too Greek and obtuse for my own good.
"That is true," Ablon interjected. "I witnessed young Panaka's resolve from inside the Wardstone. In order to bring about a defiant miracle that would satisfy the two warring angelic hosts keeping vigil inside the Wardstone, the knight commander set his own life ablaze with the assistance of Young Master's sword."
"Indeed, I have been dancing in the knife's edge every day of the crusade. There is no way I would have triumphed against the crazy demons of the Wound with just a little bit of mythical power. I mean, it helped. But said demons also have mythical power so it evens out. Zagreus told me that 'on the way to the peak of their potential, change is the providence of young blood' or something flowery like so. If I did not want to burn out then my only option was to flourish and prosper even as I gutter out. Selling my lunch to buy dinner kind of deal."
Regill was the first to recompose himself from said revelation. "It seems I owe you an apology, knight commander. I wondered why Zagreus kept someone so frivolous and capricious as you around. When I heard of your circumstances, I wrongly believed it was his way to keep an close eye on a violative element. Now I see that despite your panache you have taken this crusade more seriously than any of us who still could always walk away. I will make sure to smooth things over with the hellknight orders once this ordeal is over."
"Indeed," followed Iomedae. "Your courage is commendable for justice is the birthright of all yet you are trapped in this web of demonic deceit. But this doesn't change the fact a piece of the Abyss itself is in your soul. The only thing that can cleanse the soul of such a taint is the same soul. I will show you how to root out the demonic corruption. You are at the crossroad of your fate, the path ahead is difficult but you have shown you have the mettle to walk it. Reject Areelu's gift and secure your victory as the person you once were. Win as a mortal and become a legend among mortals!" The goddess pleaded, willfully ignoring she herself ascended not entirely on her own merit but through the ladder, that Aroden threw once he ascended into heaven.
Panaka just lifted a skeptical eyebrow at the goddess. "And you are going to help us win the crusade if I do that, your holiness?"
"I cannot change the flow of mortal history. The Worldwound is still their doing, although committed at the behest of the Abyss."
"Typical…" Panaka complains, insolent and incorrigible in the face of the reproachful look of a goddess and its followers. Then he turns his gaze to me. "So, Teach? What do you think of this matter?"
"What do I think? I think we are better off with the foolish herald and the impotent angelic hosts of the Wardstone than with the goddess. They might be foolish and brash and prone to leaping before they look, but this presumptuous waste of higher power before us is more useless than a corpse! You don't need her and even if you did, she wouldn't bleed alongside you."
Those were fighting words. Every single person in the room was either holding their breath or looking for escape avenues.
Iomedae had enough of my insolence, it seems. "You know not what you speak. My interference would trigger an interplanar war with the Material Plane as its battlefield, grounding all mortal life to dust!"
"Is that why Aroden sat tight on his heavenly throne the first time Deskari dared to sully Golarion with his buggy paws, darkening the shores of those under his stewardship? Or when Desna did not destroy demon lord Aolar after she transgressed her dream territory to prey on her followers? The same way she didn't bother to set our resident redeeming succubus Arueshalae straight when she did the same?" I turn my face toward the goddess, "You are right, I know nothing of your designs and godly problems! But if you don't share your burden with us or suffer and bleed with us down here then why are you here for besides for the audacity to stand proud in our moment of triumphs?
If you won't join us on the stage, then begone to the stands!"
I had crossed the line with my comment. Iomedae took offense and intended to reap retribution. I could see in the hardening of her eyes, the serrating of fists, and the tightening of her jaw. I didn't care though and couldn't bring myself to regret it either. I could feel the righteous power of heaven dormant inside [Promised Death] answering to the indignation of my virtuous heart. The raven mantle manifest and hardens with the power of the iron god and the two of us draw our blades and march toward each other. Demon lords fight all the time, why should the heavenly lords be any different? This was Justice too.
But just before we entered each other's striking range Panaka drew out Rebellion and sank it into the stone between us. The sword was a stark reminder of his dire situation, it has become more and more demonic as the crusade raged on. That was what would have happened to him if I had not interfered. Even an ordinary person can tell the sinister power held within.
"Okay, that is enough! I can't have the two of you stealing
my spotlight, can I?" Panaka says affably but then once he looks at his sword his shoulders slum with a tired sign. "You know. You keep saying corruption this, corruption that but we are talking about a living person here. People say I am unhinged and problematic but I have seen angels like Shamira ruling in the Abyss and demons like Arueshalae being embraced by the Crusaders as one of their own. I have seen angels wavering in their duties and demons being selfless. The world is far more chaotic than people like to admit, but I don't dislike it. Makes life interesting, you know?" He finishes with a lame smile and then fixes his gaze back on the blade.
"Zagreus once said to me there is nothing more real than pain, it brings things into stark clarity and it stays with you," Panaka says as he grips his chest over his heart and the Wound, his heart's flame dimming with his plummeting spirit. "The knowledge of pain is what allow us to truly sympathize with the pain of others. The remembrance of when I saw the angelic hosts inside the Wardstones made those words hang true. The Abyss is a plane of pain and fury, part of it lived inside of me, and that is what spurred me into action. It made me want to lessen the burden of those angels because when I did so it was as if my own Wound was being healed…"
"And you will have the eternal gratitude of Heaven for your deed. That is why I am here, to retribute the favor. If you keep going as you are, you will lose more than your life. Your soul will be dragged down to the Abyss!" Iomedae insisted.
"… you are probably right. And that
is unfair, but it isn't only unfair to me. It is unfair to Arueshalae who deserved better and it is unfair to Shamira who deserved worse and it is unfair to him too." Panaka said while pointing toward the demonic sword. "He is a mean bastard alright, temperamental and always causing me trouble… but instead of focusing on sharing his misery he always prefers to laugh, a temporary respite from the pain. Laughing through the pain, I found, was the best balm to the Wound tearing us both apart so I tried to laugh as often as possible. For both of our sakes. And the more that I fought inside this Wound in the World the more I noticed that it helped not only me but also everybody when confronted with the horrors of our crusade."
"This is… commendable." The crusader goddess says as diplomatically as she can manage, alas, Iomedae wasn't a goddess concerned with redemption. "But this doesn't change the fact this…
part of yourself, was rightfully condemned by Pharasma to the Outer Rift after death and it will drag you down there if you don't let go of it. It would be an injustice for you to be consigned to such an end after sacrificing so much for Golarion and its people!" She implored, as much as a goddess can do so.
"Fairness, eh? I always wondered what did he do to be condemned to the Abyss… until I visited that abandoned cabin. Ever since then, I have been having these dreams, these… recollections. Mother was stern and distant, but also brilliant and powerful. For a young boy living in the middle of nowhere the only source of excitement was magic, so one day he sneaked into her atelier and took one of her books… it was demonology of all things, because it was a topic of interest to his mother and he wanted to impress her, and because children are stupid and think themselves invincible; plus he loved summoning. Then he used some chickens of our pen as a sacrifice to summon a quasit, least of all demons and common familiar of demonologists." The peanut gallery was divided into those ignorant of arcane matter and confused for it and those aware of the incoming train wreck.
When a spellcaster seeks out a quasit to serve him as a familiar, his soul brushes against the Abyss and it reacts, carving from itself a quasit linked to that spellcaster's soul and forming a powerful bond between the two. Newly created quasits are birthed directly into the Material Plane, where they become familiars, and while bonded to their masters' wills, all quasits hate and loathe their lieges, as they can feel the pulse of their lords' souls and know that they could have been more. A quasit serves, yet it watches and waits for mistakes that might cost its master's life.
When a quasit's master dies, the quasit can attempt to hijack the master's soul travel into the Great Beyond by transporting it into the Abyss and placing its master's soul in the quasit's possession as a writhing larva rather than using the evil master's soul to create new demonic life. In this manner, a quasit can use its newly captured soul to bargain with more powerful denizens of the lower planes, and perhaps secure a vile transformative "promotion" to a more powerful form of life in the process.
"Then the men of the inquisition darkened our doorsteps just as I- he had completed said summoning. I couldn't be older than ten but they didn't care, and was cut down in an instant before casting a simple cantrip… and this is not an uncommon story; both inside and out the Worldwound. I kind of understand what my mother was trying to achieve. There is a fundamental imbalance between the mortals living in the Inner Sphere and the denizens of the Great Beyond. But Areelu Vorlesh was still a true daughter of Sarkoris, the druidic faith of our lost homeland embraced a comprehensive perspective of their existence in the multiverse. We regarded planar anomalies such as portals as inherently natural occurrences and its denizens as no different from elementals and even animals. In the eyes of a Sarkorian druid the spirits dwelling in the planes held an equal reverence to the powers held in the land itself."
Panaka finished his monologue by producing a familiar needle from a sleigh of hands. Did he pocket my Soul Cauldron? Don't tell me!?
I was not the only one to draw similar outlandish conclusions. Iomedae was about to smite Panaka where he stood, but it was Regill of all people who set himself to obstruct the goddess. "Didn't you say this was a mortal matter beyond your jurisdiction just moments ago? It would sully your reputation to go back in your words now, my goddess."
"Are you out of your mind? This will turn the world upside down, hellknight!"
"Hellknights are still at their core a worldly institution tasked with the mission of protecting the people of Golarion from chaos and evil; we take inspiration with the perfect order of Hell but we don't serve its interests. Besides, the Order of the Claw is also a Sarkorian institution created to close the Worldwound. This is indeed an extreme measure but it is not inappropriate in the face of incoming escalation, the world already is upside down. Imagine my shock when I discovered that lords from throughout the planes had been conspiring behind closed doors to expand the Worldwound into a crossroad of worlds!? The incontestable interference of the King of Hell in the scalation of conflict forced our hands. This irreconcilable conflict of interests can only be solved by prioritizing Golarion and its people at the expense of outer planes. Transgression justly answered with transgression might be the best teacher of the importance of boundaries." The hellknight reported the end conclusion of his ruthless calculation.
"Ablon!" Iomedae addresses her former subordinate, expecting the newly evolved archangel to side with her in this matter.
But to her sore disappointment, the heavenly knight only shrugged. "Nothing would bring more joy to the angels of upper planes than for mortals to attempt to reach it through their own efforts by living pious and virtuous lives. This is an avenue that bring us together in a consensual way as well… you know how we angels can be, so prone to magical thinking, that everything will solve itself out." Ablon concluded with a small hint of irony to her former boss. The closest an angel would ever get to giving someone the middle finger.
"Wait!" Arueshalae screamed toward Panaka with desperate panic; this was no surprise, the two of them were practically an item. "Please, reconsider! How could you willingly condemn yourself like this? You know what I am, you know who I used to be! We confronted my nightmares together! There is only despair and desecration at that Abyss! I finally climbed out of it… you are… to me you are my Elysium!" The redeemed confessed her tender feelings in the only way she knew how though none could ever mistake her true intentions.
Panaka paused and considered her for a moment before reciprocating her feelings with an equally tender smile, his heart flame shining like twin suns. "I know. My beautiful butterfly, haven't we talked about it? The past can't be rewritten, instead of remaining a prisoner of your own memories why don't you try to look forward from now on?
I don't need to fear my nightmares anymore. Because what makes me human will keep my heart safe." Panaka expressed his final principle as he ascended to the captain rank of the sophic realm.
Then he picked up Rebellion once more and looked at it with tenderness. "That is why I shouldn't discard my other half either. If Serenity can sever man from demon, then what about Rebellion?" Panaka palmed the Soul Cauldron and forcibly slammed it at the flat side of his blade, which absorbed in a violent magical conflagration. Then in the same breath, he twisted it in the air over his head, one hand over the cross guard and another guiding the blade through his virtuous heart.
In a single motion, he brought Rebellion down upon himself, impaling the Wound in his chest that made him the key.
The witnesses watched on as if they were expecting a murder but Panaka remained serene as he pushed his blade into his chest up to the hilt, holding its handle almost like he was embracing Rebellion to his chest. "That… that is right… it was painful, wasn't it? We have been trying to avoid acknowledging it… our heart. A reminder of the things that you have lost… and will never get back. But that is why I came… we will never be separated… it will be alright… the two of us can overcome anything... as long as we are together."
As if in response to his consoling words the sword was infused with power from within, jagged coruscating lines of abyssal fire leaking from the seams as it dissolved and discorporating. The two sides of the same coin never meant to face each other or see eye to eye, integrated. Conjoining once more as they were meant to be.
Men cultivate virtue so they can align themselves with heaven as guiding stars. Eventually, when a man reaches high enough, the heavens are bound to take notice. And though their answer is always the same, the nature of Tribulation Lightning is that of a circuit linking Heaven and Earth. The presents laid witness to a profound phenomenon; a defiant miracle etching itself into the world. The first brought about at the hands of a native Golarion at that.
Student mimics master, having witnessed how I used the Soul Cauldron, Panaka lay his own design. It was like the Measure of a Genius from Michelangelo's Sistina Chapel. An encounter between the mortal and the divine. A pure matrimony of man with a cruel angel, unmarred by congealed blood of demon lords. An act that would change the course of their world as they could feel this lesser mystery resonating with their own virtue, bringing the good news.
After all cultivators of virtue were all equally desperately reaching for the ivory heights, hoping despite hope that someone would reach their hand down and pull them up with them. This appeal to higher power was as common as it was derided by those above, who were burdened with their own troubles. But now a trickster had stolen for them a pure spark unburdened by ties to capricious and covetous higher powers. The witnessed knew that as long as they became mortals of the highest virtue and the most egregious audacity to dare tread the perilous leap of faith through the gulf that separated mortality and the divine, then they too could experience the same ascension.
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*** Panaka Pulls Down the Ladder ***
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The dice was cast. It seems that in his hast Asmodeus overstepped his boundaries for a second time. There is no way in Hell this was part of his calculations! After all, it even excelled my own. My own plan was nowhere near ambitious, set a contract that taught lords of the beyond how to empower mortal servants in exchange for the promise of non-direct interference in the Material Plane. As expected of Areelu's progeny! The god's willful disregard for the Worldwound now set a precedent that will forever change the landscape of faith. After all, of what use are the gods once mortals could become their equal through effort alone?
-//-
[AUTHOR'S ROOM]
This chapter was super long. I did not expect it but at least next chapter we will have the final battle.
Zagreus showing off Sukuna isn't the only binding vow merchant, the guy is the king of min-max! By the way, yes, Zagreus moonscorched formed is literally DMC Sin Devil Trigger; it helps a lot it is basically Dante and Vergil's balor forms. Though While Panaka's look a lot like Dante's, Zagreus has his stars dharma wheel in his chest, has five eyes, and a violet color scheme.
Panaka pulled a fast one on everybody. This is important, especially for Golarion, because Panaka is a dual class (split foundation) because of what Zagreus and Areelu did to him while in 'foundation establishment'. Now Golarion has a native semi-divine realm of its own, opening new possibilities. For example, orders of hellknight who take inspiration in the perfect structure of Hell and mimic a roman inspired cultivation style no longer need to do pacts or patronage of devils, who have their own interests, to live up to these expectations.
Regill went really off course from his canon self, but you must remember his true goal is a 'permanent solution to the problem of the Abyss'. Which is an ambition even Iomedae considers folly since the Abyss is as eternal as Heaven itself. Considering elements of hell itself were trying to expand the Ww, it would be no surprise Regill would back a retaliatory plan.
Zagreus met a lot of gods this chapter. Honestly, I wanted to develop Irori more but there was too much happening this chapter.
Anyway it will be fun seeing what the consequences of this will be.
