Chapter 671 - The Throne of Lies

Zeke ripped the wretch in half, showering himself with gore before tossing the ends aside.  Wheeling around, he searched for other threats, but he saw nothing but a carpet of bodies.  He looked down at his hands, which were covered in blood.  Bits of flesh had gotten beneath his fingernails, and his arms bore the evidence of a thousand scratches.  He pulsed [Hand of Divinity], and they healed – albeit more slowly than they should have. 

He’d lost track of how long he’d been in the tunnels.  The fight against his first reflection felt so long ago that he scarcely remembered.  Adding to his lack of memory was the fact that he’d fought dozens of creatures just like it in the intervening time.  Perhaps as many as a hundred, though he’d stopped counting long ago. 

And that wasn’t even counting the wretches that had suddenly broken free of their icy confines.  They weren’t all that powerful.  He could kill them easily enough.  Yet, the wounds they managed to inflict were always slow to heal, and there were so damned many of them that he’d come to regard the tunnels as they true obstacles.  By comparison, the reflections dotting the way were almost a break.

But that was how Hell worked, wasn’t it? 

It wasn’t enough to put him through one horrifying situation after another.  No – that would be far too easy to overcome.  Instead, it was designed to wear him down, but by bit, until he broke – mind, body, and soul. 

Zeke refused to give in.  He wouldn’t let himself falter.  But even with his enormous willpower driving him forward, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.  He’d had no breaks.  No respite.  Not even a short rest where he wasn’t forced to endure forces hellbent on unmaking everything that made him unique. 

And he was tried.

So, so very tired. 

In that moment, all he wanted was to sink to his knees to rest.  Yet, he knew that was a mistake.  For so long, he’d relied on momentum to keep him going, and if he stopped – even for a few moments – he ran a serious risk of never rising again.  So, it was on unsteady feet that he took another step.

Then another after that.

He kept going, staggering along the tunnel for longer than he cared to admit.  He killed more wretches along the way, but he barely even needed to acknowledge them in order to rip them to pieces. 

At first, he’d tried killing each one in an inventive way.  Or utilizing the chaotic battle strategy he needed to employ against the reflections.  However, it wasn’t that long until he came to realize that he just didn’t have the energy for that.  Instead, it was all he could do to simply kill them. 

So that was what he focused on.  Never stopping.  Never allowing himself to waver.  He killed them quickly and brutally, and without even realizing what he was doing. 

Then, finally – what was probably months later – he finally found the end of his path.  The room was a giant sphere, with millions of wailing dead encased in ice along the inner surface.  From the tunnel that was Zeke’s entrance was a long, narrow bridge leading to a platform nearly two miles away.  From a distance, that disc looked small, but he expected that, in reality, it was hundreds of yards across. 

However, Zeke wasn’t terribly interested in the platform itself.  Rather, he was far more intrigued by what stood at its center. 

He had expected another monster.  A horrifying creature he would need to battle.  However, what he saw on that platform was a simple chair.  Intrigued, Zeke stepped forward onto the bridge, fully anticipating it crumbling beneath his feet.  He was ready for that eventuality, but it never manifested.

By the time he reached the halfway point, his nerves were stretched tighter than they ever had been, and he’d yet to be attacked.  Without anything else to do, he continued forward, and step by step, he drew closer to the chair.

Or throne, as he soon saw.

It was blocky, with the base frozen in the same thick, black ice that covered everything else in the Circle of Treachery.  And upon it sat a skeleton, its flesh long since turned to dust and its clothing having rotted into rags.  It sat with its head tilted back, its jaw slack as if screaming.

Then, Zeke stepped onto the platform, and finally, something happened.

Just a subtle tremor, and the skeleton crumbled to dust.  A short-lived breeze blew the remnants away, leaving nothing but an empty chair before him. 

“You must sit upon the Throne of Lies,” came a haunting voice. 

Zeke whipped around, ready to fight, but his resolve wavered when he saw the speaker.  She was a little girl.  Maybe six or seven, and cute as a button.  She carried a ragged doll in her arms, and her brown hair had been arranged into pigtails.  She wore a simple dress, not so different from what an Earth girl might wear to church on Sunday mornings.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.  Everyone.  I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter, though.  All that matters is that you sit on the throne.  Do it now, and our suffering my end,” she said.

“I don’t care,” Zeke stated.  “You’re all here because you’re supposed to be here.”

He didn’t believe that for a second, but he wanted to.  Not because he thought it was true, but rather, because it was the only way he could contextualize everything he’d been through.  If they deserved it, then killing thousands of wretches – and ignoring the plight of millions more – didn’t seem like such a sin. 

And he wouldn’t have to worry about freeing them.

By contrast, if he accepted what he already knew – that placement in Hell seemed almost arbitrary, at least in many cases – then his actions were far less defensible. 

“Do you care about completing this circle?”

“I…I do,” Zeke said.

“Then know that you will not escape until you sit on the Throne of Lies.  It is the final test before you will earn the opportunity to escape to the next realm,” she stated.  “Sit, and move on.  Do not, and remain here, trapped for all eternity.  Choose quickly, for you will not be allowed freedom for much longer.”

Despite the girl’s appearance, Zeke experienced the sudden urge to kick her across the spherical chamber.  He expected that with his strength, he could easily get her to the edge, where the wretches would take care of her.  The real issue was whether or not she was simply burst like a balloon if he kicked her hard enough to send her flying that far.

He shook his head at the absurdity of that notion.

He knew she wasn’t a child.  In fact, she wasn’t a she at all, but rather a construct of the challenge associated with the Circle of Treachery.  At best, she was a sliver of consciousness attached to the god who controlled the place.

But he knew he couldn’t attack a child, even one that wasn’t really a child.

Perhaps that would be his downfall, but if that turned out to be the case, he felt strangely at peace with it.

For a moment, he considered his options.  There was nothing on the other side of the sphere.  No exits, at least.  And while he knew that sitting on the throne was a trap, Zeke felt certain that it was one he was meant to spring.  He’d been fighting against the structure of each circle of hell each step of the way.  Perhaps it was time he simply did things as they were meant to be done.

Besides, there was every probability that he would try it, fail, and need to overcome it via sheer strength.  It had happened more than once, and he was certain that it would happen again.

He didn’t have anything to lose because, try as he might, he didn’t see any other options.

So, without further delay, he stepped up to the throne and sat.

At first, nothing happened.  But then, everything went dark.  Zeke floated in the center of nothing, as formless as he’d been in the void.  Then, suddenly, he wasn’t alone.  He could see nothing – in fact, he had no eyes – but he could sense another presence nonetheless.

And it was vast.

Larger than he could even comprehend, and coiled all around him like a galactic snake.  Then, it spoke, and for a moment, Zeke went mad.  He lost any context for who – or what – he was.  All he knew was chaos and pain.

Then, it faded.

An eternity later, the voice came again, though this time it was marginally gentler.  It still drove him mad, and in those moments, he ceased to be himself.  Often, Zeke had considered himself on the edge of godhood.  But in that thing’s presence, he knew that he was a long way off that mark. 

If it was a god, he was still no more important than an ant. 

Finally, after three more attempts, it managed to modulate its voice to the point where it didn’t drive him mad.  When it spoke, it said, “You vex me, cambion.”

Zeke had no mouth, so he could not speak.  Still, his thoughts were given voice as he said, “You know me?”

“I know everything.”

“Who…what are you?”

“I am everything.”

“You are the creator.”

“Among other things, yes.  I created you.  I created everything,” it said.

“If you are everything, and you created everything, did you create yourself?” Zeke asked.

“I did.”

“How does that work?”

“You would not understand the answer,” the creator stated evenly. 

“Why are you speaking to me?” he asked.

“I have come to you with an offer,” it explained.  “You may stay here and continue with this paltry challenge, such as it is.  When you complete it, you will have but one challenge before you.  Overcome it, and you shall progress to the Ethereal Realm, where you will fight and grow, certainly wreaking havoc across the land.”

“That was the plan,” Zeke said.  “Not the wreaking havoc part.  That usually comes whether I like it or not.”

“Or you could come with me.”

“What?  Where?”

“The final battle,” the creator said.  “You meet the requirements.  Divine energy flows through you like blood.  When you complete this crucible, you will become more powerful than you can imagine.  That will give you what you need to join the eternal battle against the unmaking.”

“You want me to skip steps?”

“I do.”

“And I’ll be just as effective if I go now as if I do things the right way?” Zeke asked.  In his experience, skipping steps – especially in his development – meant inferior results.  But who was he to argue with the creator.

And he never doubted the creature’s identity.  Zeke wasn’t often awed by anyone’s power, but in this case, he knew he was in the presence of true divinity.  No – that wasn’t even true.  He was in the presence of the source of all things.  Divinity was just one of the many facets of its existence. 

“Can’t you just make me?” Zeke asked after the creature .

“I can.  I choose not to.  Free will is vital.  It separates us from our foe,” the creator stated.

“And the other question?”

“You know the answer.”

Zeke’s soul frowned.  “So, I skip to the end, and I’ll be weaker.”

“Initially, yes.  If you survive, you will grow.”

“Why do you want me so much?”

“You are uniquely gifted.  Very few people in the history of existence could have done what you have done here.  You will be an asset against the enemy,” the creator stated, its galaxy-sized body shifting all around Zeke’s formless consciousness.  “We need you.”

Zeke responded, “In the end, let’s say that everything works out – will I be stronger if I go through the normal process, or if I go with you?”

“The former.”

“Then that’s the choice I need to make.”

“Are you certain?  I will shower you with every opportunity.  You will want for nothing.”

Zeke didn’t hesitate.  “I’m sure.”

The reality of it was that, while power was important to Zeke, his decision was based more on the ability to reunite with his friends.  He regretted leaving them behind, even if he knew they never would have survived the journey through Hell.  But as he’d progressed through one circle after another, closing in on the end, he’d come to understand the mistakes he’d made. 

And he was desperate to mend the rifts he’d doubtless caused in the relationships he shared with those closest to him. 

He couldn’t do that if he was mired in the final battle.

“Very well,” the creator said. 

Suddenly, Zeke was once again sitting on the throne.  However, the sphere had changed.  Ice – black and sharp – stretched toward him in every direction.  It surrounded him, creeping forward with frightening slowness. 

With a surge of divine energy, he leaped this his feet, smashing through it.  He didn’t stop at the ice, instead breaking through the top of the sphere and into the cold air above.  When he landed, he saw a door waiting for him. 

He stepped through it, and everything went briefly white before his vision came into focus.

However, instead of finding the end of Hell, as he expected, there was a cavern filled with fire and the wailing of tortured souls.  At the center of that cavern stood a demon.  Red-skinned, cloven-hoofed, and with sweeping horns, it was the very picture of a devil. 

It was also more than a hundred feet tall and proportionally wide, carrying a massive sword that could have doubled as the wing of a jumbo jet. 

“Come,” the thing rumbled.  “Prove yourself, little traveler.  We will see if you are worthy to complete your journey.”