140. Out of the frying pan

What followed was a chaotic melee. I was aware of Ophelia being relatively close to me and of the growing red, poisonous cloud all around. The rest was a mystery I didn’t dwell on as I fired low-level spells to buy myself some breathing room.

My second tongue allowed me to get control of the mana from time to time, so I could cast using ambient magic, keeping up my reserves. But the strain was there, made worse by the battle the night before.

We were moving with the crowd. I lost sight of Bakari, Myhur, and the old cat lady. But I felt the overall movement of the skirmish—we were backing away with the press.

I needed some breathing room and a way to see what was happening. I fired Cut at someone trying to swing at me and looked to the side. We were relatively close to the speaking podiums. I saw the Pope’s paladins fighting a group that appeared from behind, through the upper entrance. I then saw the smaller podium where the elven woman who had been taking down the proceedings sat.

Looking back, I saw that William was close to Luna, with Ophelia behind them, and Darius more to the front. Q’Shar was closer to me, for now protected by the cat ladies of the other Frumentarii branch.

They should hold.

I used Force Control to fling myself up to the podium. Someone was waiting for that moment, as crossbow bolts flew at me, but I easily stopped them with a Shield and blindly fired Pierce in the direction the attack came from. Before another one came at my obviously exposed position, I glanced at the battlefield from the higher vantage. Once I saw the scene, I dived back toward the ground, a spell hitting the podium after me. In the split second, I decided to land closer to Q’Shar to help the cat in the battle.

And now that I saw the whole battle, I was sure something was strange.

I saw two sides amid the chaos. The newcomers formed an arrowhead, slicing through the crowd, pushing everyone to the sides—either toward the podium or toward the audience seats. Their strategy was strange. Despite the surprise, they used suicide bombers only at odd times. They seemed more interested in creating a wall of poison in the middle toward the podium rather than killing, with the number of casualties being low despite the sudden attack.

I also saw Myhur, Q’Shar’s cat lady, and Bakari prepare to charge through and join us, but I didn’t like it—the cultists’ positioning was shifting toward us, exposing their backs. It might be possible for the other group to break through to the buses. But I didn’t have a line of sight for Silent Message, not to mention the distance and the chaotic mana between us. I needed them to run. The organs were in the middle of the auditorium, playing a cacophony of rhythms alongside a few instruments.

‘How could I tell them?’

I looked to Q’Shar. He was close to me. He was a great mind-mage and could do some fire magic, but he was no fighter. I was tired from one battle, starting this one with lower reserves.

I made my decision and did something I would never do. Approaching their group and killing a crazed man on my way, I picked up Q’Shar by his belly like a normal cat.

He looked at me in shock, but there was no time.

“Tell Myhur and the rest that the enemy formation is weaker at the back and to go for a breakthrough to the banquet hall. Now hold your breath.”

Before he could say anything, I cast Armor on him and then Force Control to make sure I got him into the right spot. Then I flung the cat over the fighting people and the poisonous fog to the other side of the formation, where Myhur and Bakari were.

Looking back to the fight on my side, I saw that Darius and the rest were still slightly away from me, clearly waiting. But last night's battle took its toll, and I could see they were struggling.

“Go up after the paladins, into the corridors,” I shouted to them.

Darius nodded after a bit of hesitation. I could see him fall to one knee and place his forehead on the hilt of his sword as he quickly prayed. People around felt an aura of violence and destruction appear. Everyone moved out of the way as the dwarf channeled the “She Who Mauls” Aspect of Sekhmet and charged forward—friendly people were pushed aside. Enemies met with a khopesh, leaving nasty, torn wounds.

He cut a path through the cultists, as Luna and William did everything they could to shield him from ranged attacks.

I let Ophelia, William, and Luna go first. I would have to kill my way through. Using the break in the fight left by the charging dwarf, I started moving after them, dodging, shielding, and exchanging lower-level attacks. Like that, slowly, I made my way to the stairs etched into the side of the raised area for the Sabbath authorities.

I wasn’t the only one. A sizable group of people from different factions, clans, and organizations was moving up the stairs.

I could see Darius finally lose the aura as weakness overtook him. Ophelia quickly jumped to help the massive dwarf, and they started moving once again, now almost at the top. Feeling slight relief, I focused on my part, shielding alongside others around me. No matter their faction or clan, we cast spells one after another to halt the ranged assault.

Once a bit higher, I peeked over the marble balustrade. I saw the group, pushed against the audience seating area—or rather against a red, poisonous cloud now covering it—charging toward the door. To my relief, I caught Q’Shar riding Bakari into the battle. I could only hope they would succeed as I ducked a poison spell that exploded into a purple ball when cut by a curved saber of a woman beside me.

We finally made our way to the upper level and then moved toward the Pope’s door. I turned around before passing the exit to look behind me, just to see the other group succeed in their charge. Even if the tunnel had collapsed, they should be able to hunker down in the banquet hall and protect the door now that no Sabbath servants were mixed in the crowd.

But what I didn’t like was that the enemies didn’t seem to care much about their escape and instead started approaching the podiums in a half-circle, only leaving part of their force to watch the banquet hall passage. I saw the cultist priest in decorated robes wave his staff, and the poison moved to create a dense wall in front of the exit.

I made my way into the corridor network behind the central podium, stepping over the mangled corpses of the assailants killed by the paladins earlier. I entered the room from which the Pope arrived at the Sabbath. It was beautifully decorated, with walls covered by holy icons and carvings. But I didn’t have time for sightseeing.

I saw only a few people here, most likely waiting for the rest, still stuck on the stairs. Everyone else either joined the Pope’s group or slipped into the corridors of the Old Vatican. Darius was out of the fight for now. Ophelia had only the ceremonial rapier we’d gotten her quickly for decoration after hers broke. Luna and William, I imagine, didn’t fare too well either.

But I knew them—they wouldn’t just leave without me. I gave a quick look at the door leading out of the room and immediately spotted two perfectly circular blood drops: one larger and one smaller, a line drawn between them going straight into the corridor, the smaller drop pointing to the depths of the passage. The detail was easily lost amid all the bloodstains if one didn't know what to look for.

I followed the blood arrows, walking slowly, checking the corners. The signs left by Luna were still fresh but slightly coagulated, meaning there were at most a few minutes between us. As I followed the markings, I walked deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of corridors. Slowly, the relatively modern architecture started to give way to old marble passages. The electrical lighting grew scarcer, and finally, old braziers, activated by small amounts of mana, covered the walls, still glowing from when the other group had passed through the corridor.

I followed the blood as the sounds underground grew louder. Fighting moved to the corridors, although it was rather sparse. I could also feel something was off with the movements of the Pope’s group—they were wandering, most likely searching for an exit used only in emergencies.

And then it happened. The blood was much fresher, and there were two arrows: one older and smeared, and another fresher, pointing in the opposite direction. They must have backtracked.

But it wasn’t the blood left by Luna that got my attention, but rather relatively fresh droplets of blood that peppered the floor.

They were ambushed.

And I didn’t want to meet whatever it was that ambushed them.

Thanks to their change of path, I was now closer. Deciding to catch up faster, I extended my senses as far as I could and hurried toward the sound, finally coming to a large hall.

It was something akin to an ancient conference or audience room. It was long, with balconies over the sides whose thicker stone balustrades doubled as cover. They were covered in runes, most likely for raising shielding spells if needed. The balconies were held up by columns etched with carvings of saints, now cracked and dusty—clearly not cared for in a long time.

In front of me was a slightly raised podium, two steps higher than the rest of the room, reminiscent of the place where an altar would stand in a typical church. Behind the altar space stood a massive sculpture, stretching from the left wall to the right. It depicted religious scenes, but in a different style from the Sabbath hall—simpler, with exaggerated features. It also seemed to be made from a single enormous piece of black iron, giving it a militaristic vibe. Old, cracked columns and a thin wall held up the massive structure, and the carved fish in the ironwork indicated that the piece was set here roughly in the latter part of the war, after the Shattering.

On both sides, doors leading to a room farther back were visible. I could hear many voices coming from there. They were muted, so I imagined they were still a few corridors away.

I approached the door and looked into the room behind. There, a large twisting staircase went straight down, and from it came voices. The stairs wound down in a way that made it easier for defenders below, much like the bastions in castles. I almost bolted down to join the group, but a voice from behind stopped me.

“Ah, Mr. Alhazred. How happy I am to meet you. I hurried here just for you.”

A man spoke in neutral English devoid of any accent. I turned, ready for battle, only to see two men—one with sewn eyes, the other with a sewn mouth. One speaking and the other mimicking.

I took another look at the room. The group was close. I doubted the two enemies were enough to kill everyone there, but if they exploded... Whatever they came here for, it would be better to throw a wrench in it.

I turned to the two men. I was tired and almost spent, but I still had some of my magic—enough for a quick, sudden attack and retreat.

'One spell and I would be out of here, no matter the outcome.' I thought to myself and roused my mana, feeling my heart beat quicker.

“The pleasure is mine,” I said with a fake smile and slowly started to weave the spells. “To what do I owe that pleasure?”

“An outcome of dice thrown long ago,” spoke one of them, the other keeping a relaxed, if slightly thoughtful, face.

“Quite a throw of the dice to cause a terror attack on the biggest mage council in the world.”

“Terror can be but a tool. You, of all people, would understand.”

I lightly nodded before speaking. “A tool needs a purpose.”

“Of course it does. The greater the instrument, the more glorious its destiny.” I could see the second man’s face slowly assume an expression of devotion, like that on old religious icons. “Why oppose us? Our ancestors might not have the best history together, but our cause—it is one you should understand.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. At least I had confirmation they were the miracle-bringers, though rebranded, judging by the unknown symbol on the robes.

“Can you imagine it?” he spoke, and judging by the second man’s face, twisting more and more into a mask of sickening devotion, he was getting closer to preaching rather than conversation. “A world filled with… meaning. A world where, from the first cry a child makes, they know for what reason they are here. A world where you know no doubt. A world filled with God’s love. A true love, not the hunger offered by the distant deities. To walk the earth knowing it was meant to be, to be gifted a life with… purpose. By a god that cares.”

He paused, standing still like an expressionless statue while his twin looked to the ground with absolute reverie.

The expressionless man opened his mouth once again, saying in a whisper, “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s unearned,” I broke him out of the strange state.

The second man smiled at my words.

“Funny thing to criticize from a man given his path by those god-like to him.”

“I earned my right to follow that path. It is not just a gift.”

“And yet that chance to prove yourself was given. You speak like a better man, denying others what they so desperately need—just because you believe it should be earned, after already receiving it.”

“And tell me, what of those who have no interest in your path? What about those who are already walking one, but it isn't parallel to the path you want them to take? What about them?”

“Do you think an angel weeps when it descends with an oracle that will kill the child receiving it? No! Because they know the meaning of it, they are thankful for each pebble upon the gifted path, and the moment they see it, there is no other path to choose. Your question is simply wrong in its premise.”

“And what would you know of the feelings of angels?”

The second tilted his head, an expression of slight amusement on his face. “I hoped we could see eye to eye. We are very much alike, you see.”

“Doubtful.”

“And yet true. We are both, but pawns in a game started long ago. But you are right—there is a difference… the one who gifted me my path still sits by the chessboard.”