Tuesday, January 8, 2013

The Lower Lights: Christian, January 2013


“If you could hie to Kolob, in the Twinkling of an eye,
And then continue onward, with that same speed to fly"

"Report, Lance Corporal," came the command, short and loud. The uniforms were all black, each dressed in the most state-of-the-art equipment that money could buy. This was a detachment of marines, but not just any marines. The patch they all wore was distinctive enough that even most civilians these days would be able to identify them. The Eagle, clutching the arrows and olives, superimposed on the Masonic compass. This was a detachment from Task Force VALKYRIE, the United States’ proud answer to the threats that came from outside mankind. Since the revelation that mankind was not alone on Earth as everyone had thought, VALKYRIE had swelled enormously, their experimental technology for combating the unknown rushed into mass production. They were the answer to every threat that was beyond human. Like this one.

"There is a vehicle coming. Civilian, by the look of it. A 2012 Chevrolet Malibu, four occupants." The soldier relaxed a little, his report delivered. His weapon, like most of the other soldiers, was a modified M16 A3, with four different munition belts, each one suited to a specific threat. The sensors inside detected the species of the enemy, and automatically switched munition types faster than the soldier could. It would not allow itself to be fired on human targets, theoretically preventing "friendly" fire. Lance Corporal Jones had a very low opinion of that circuit, after watching a good friend of his killed by a pair of very human, and very unfriendly, cultists.

"They’re slowing down. They’ve seen the blockade." It would have been impossible not to, thought the sergeant. The freeway itself was blocked off entirely with large concrete cubes, and the overpass was occupied by six massive tanks. The railing had been removed, allowing three to face in each direction. The blockade was manned by about thirty foot soldiers at one time, counting those manning the sophisticated surveillance equipment. Captain Nelson made a signal, a signal to the soldiers down by the sandbags at the base of the ramp, the only way into St. Louis on the Interstate 270, at least coming from this direction. The civilian population had all been evacuated now — only the crazies and those with more balls than brains were left to "defend" their homes from what was coming. VALKYRIE knew better than to try to save the city, though. There could be no stopping what was coming to St Louis now, only running. Let God have mercy on the poor souls that stayed behind. "Go down and meet them, Lance Corporal. Tell them there isn't going to /be/ a St. Louis in another six hours."

"Right away, Sir," Jones answered, turning back for the sidewalk that led down to the onramp. He didn't get a chance to start running. All eyes fixed suddenly on the approaching vehicle, which was nearing the ramp. It swerved suddenly to one side, straight on to the concrete barricade. Shouts from below, gunfire... but the vehicle was too close to the overpass for the tanks to fire, so it was all small-arms, the quiet rap of silenced machine—guns. It was all Corporal Jones could do to swing stupidly over the edge of the bridge, watching as the car sped straight towards the concrete blocks... and vanished as though it had never been there.

To VALKYRIE‘s credit, the detachment was not caught off—guard for very long. Within a few seconds, someone shouted from below. "They're on the other side!" And sure enough, every eye focused on the car speeding away down the highway, straight into the city they had been ordered not to allow anything in or out of. Captain Nelson's radio squawked from one outstretched hand as all three of his tank operators facing towards the city asked if they should fire. The Captain had just a moment to ponder before he answered. The vehicle, however it had bypassed the blockade, would stand no chance, as the 270 climbed a three mile hill before there was another exit, and during its entire drive it would be in range of all three of his tanks. "Open fire!" He bellowed. “Armor—piercing rounds, full lead!" With that pattern, the car and its occupants would be turned to dust. With one tank firing ahead, one behind, and one dead-on to the car's predicted position, there was virtually no chance of a miss. Sure enough, the computer-coordinated firing mechanisms all initialized together, and the overpass was rocked by three simultaneous explosions. Another second, and three more explosions, all perfectly timed. It was just enough time for Captain Nelson to adjust his field glasses and get a good look. A good look at a car completely untouched, no trace of the three rounds they had fired. It was all Nelson could do to look around in complete astonishment, eyes quickly finding their way to a grassy hillside a hundred meters away, which was now alight with three burning craters. "Again!" Was his shout into the radio. Again the tanks fired, rocking backward for a moment as the force of all three explosions pushed the l6-ton tanks back on their treads. This time he watched, watched as all three rounds swerved out of the way of their target, exploding this time in the center divider, turning the concrete barricade to powder. "Cease fire!"

Captain Nelson was a very practical man. It made little sense to waste perfectly good ammunition on a target that was striking defiantly towards suicide. They might need that ammo later, when something that actually fought back was coming their way. "Let them go," Nelson ordered over the radio, silencing the shouts of his various inferiors as they directed the ongoing attempt to stop the car. "I’m going to call command and radio what just happened. Lance Corporal Jones, you have the command until I return." With that, Captain Nelson turned away from his men, climbing into the back of the armored semi truck that had been parked there for that purpose, slamming the steel door shut behind him. In all honestly, he wished them luck. Whoever those lunatics had been, they really wanted to get into St. Louis. If they wanted to get into a dying city that bad, let them.

“Do you think that you could ever, through all Eternity,
Find out the generation where Gods began to be?“

"They've stopped firing, Christian, you can let the spell down." Aries spoke from the backseat, her voice high. The necromancer had silver hair, which trailed down her back in almost childish pigtails. There was nothing childish about the outfit she wore though, ultra-light body armor made from potent matter magic. They all wore it, under the thin, free-flowing robes of the Arrow. Each had their weapons, though nothing so unified as the blockade they had just bypassed.

Christian let down his hands, and the subtle glow around him seemed to fade, slowly. He was in the passenger seat, heavy iron staff balanced between his legs. "That was easy," he said, though he hated saying it. Christian had never believed in fate, but saying something like that felt like tempting it. And sure enough-

"Knock on wood," Causality added from the driver's seat, looking almost peremptory. "My charms can get us only so far, Christian." Causality was Christian's favorite, an older gentleman with white hair and a short beard. He alone had declined wearing the armor, trusting that fate would protect him. Christian didn't think much on that, but he was an invaluable resource on a mission like this. It helped to have someone with you when you were on an impossible mission. Turn the odds a little more in their favor. "Where do you want us to take you, anyway?"

Christian was not the first to answer. That was Nephi, the stocky young man in the back of the car, a huge hispanic who wielded a traditional South American weapon, a wooden club covered with lengths of polished obsidian. He was by far the youngest of their group, though he was also the largest. Christian liked Nephi too, though he had a woefully inadequate sense of humor. "He already said: Forest Park, by the art museum. We were going to recover one of the pieces. For the Aspirant." Nephi never called him by his name, insisting on the title as Christian never would. But try as he might, he couldn't get Nephi to listen up. That was just the sort of person Nephi was.

And so they drove on in silence for a few minutes, through the deserted city. The highway had been totally cleared, empty now of anything that might be used for cover. This made great driving for them, and they soared along undisturbed. Not that none of them could see the chaos on either side. To the Unseen Sense of a Mage, the city felt awful, like sticking your hand in an electrical outlet. The Unseen Sense was ordinarily a blessing, providing him with warning when something supernatural was about to happen. But in this city, he could feel nothing else. The hairs on his back permanently on end. Sometimes what they saw was much more mundane; terrified faces peeking out of rundown buildings, or pausing to fire a few poorly-aimed potshots.

Then they rounded the bend, and they could see downtown. It was still several miles away, but there was the arch, and Busch Stadium in its distinctive crimson. It was not a welcome sight, not when the evening sky was filled with little figures, like thousands of flies circling densely around downtown. Christian could not see them well from this far away, but he knew they were not flies.

"God, look!" Aries shouted suddenly, rolling down one of the windows to get a better view. Christian was on the opposite side of the car, so he had to strain to look at what she was pointing at. He heard it before he saw it, regular gunfire flanked by shouts, and... song? Was that the Battle Hymn of the Republic? It was a church, a modest little brick building in one of the worst parts of the city, which meant it had bars and barbed wire as well as crosses and stained glass. Light blazed from inside, along with the sound, ghostly on the wind. The men who fought outside looked like the very worst of St. Louis's street thugs, all sagging pants and bling. But there they were, fighting to defend the house of God. And all around. them... the swarm.

The Mi-Go were not overly large creatures, not much larger than men. They were crab-like creatures, with several pairs of hanging limbs. A single set of wings each, which seemed to struggle to hold their heavy loads aloft. It seemed they were wielding weapons too, sharpened polished objects they wielded in several limbs at once, which slashed clean through anyone or anything that got in their way. This included the defending humans, several of which lay mangled and quivering. The Mi-Go had a chitinous armor, but that hadn't stopped several of them from being felled by gunfire.

“We have to help them," Nephi said from the back seat, his eyes not breaking from the scene of battle and carnage.

“A bunch of insane sleepers?" Causality's voice was not cold, but his words sure were. "No time. If we stop, we waste our good luck. If we stop, the one they serve might get here before we leave. Those people are dead in a few hours anyway. I've already seen it. They died when they didn't evacuate."

All eyes were on Christian then, as he knew they would be. He might not be driving their vehicle but this was his mission all the same. The others were friends. New friends perhaps, but friends. All had sworn on their lives to obey, though none knew the true purpose of their mission. He glanced rapidly between the two, then out the window again, turning it over in his head. Abandoning his fellow-men, even the foolish people who had stayed behind, was not in his nature. God did all things for a reason. If they had seen this... "Aries, can you do an anti-air gun? I want to see them in hell within the hour."

Nephi‘s expression made it clear he could have cheered. Causality shook his head, but didn‘t argue. The car swerved and soon they were speeding straight towards what was at the very least a war. "Easy," came Aries in her high, almost childish voice. "I would have even if you hadn't asked," she added, saying a few powerful words and jerking hard on the rest used to hold beverages between herself and Nephi. The little leather pulled out with a mechanical sound, a circuit activated. Even Christian was impressed by the magic he saw next. Matter might be the purview of Moros. Creating tools by modifying existing substance was nothing new. Doing it with such grace, so that it looked liked the changes had been there all along; that was talent. That was part of the reason that Christian had invited Aries along for this mission, the other reason being her vague "deathiness" reminded her of someone he would have vastly preferred. But this was an awakened matter, so the awakened alone had come.

As Aries pulled, the ceiling began to retract, and the trunk folded away. Metallic grinding-sounds as the seat Aries was in slid back along a track, in the perfect position to operate the triple-barreled AA gun. Aries did not even wait until Causality had slowed to a stop to start shooting. The cannon boomed, barrels rotating as the autoloader had just enough time to prepare for the shot to come. With the roof folded away, the awful sounds of shouting and gunfire, the smells of blood and oil and fire, were unrestrained, assaulting them with as much force as the monsters overhead.

Mi-Go had thick armor, but it did them little good against the force of fifty-caliber rounds glowing with phosphorous tracers. As their car skidded to a halt in front of the church, the first of the Mi-Go fell from the air, screeching like a felled bird. The cloud, hideously thick with the monsters, was swiftly thinning now, many of the creatures simply thinking better of attacking. Better to wait a few hours when they would be easy helpless targets. Injured and dying monsters dropped like rain, to the cheers and shouts of the desperate people, along with Christian and Nephi and the rest. They weren't unopposed, however. Within seconds of their arrival, the slaughter had already turned. Turned, as those beings that did not flee all landed, taking refuge behind and around nearby buildings, scattering and surrounding them. Several shouted in voices like tortured hummingbirds, sounding throaty and feeble. "You will be offered to He Who Waits!" One shouted. The others agreed, answering in voices like huge insects that none assembled could understand. The message was clear, though. They were content to toy with these people no longer. Now they were all going to die.

Of all those present, only Christian understood the danger before it arrived. The high-pitched, rhythmic piping as air through the ruins of a building, but far louder and changing pitch constantly, like hideous music. Despite everything he had been through, his face went pale as he pointed in the direction of the threat, and shouted loudly, mostly for the benefit of their ghetto allies. "Get inside now.” He spoke with such confidence, such fear, that they obeyed without question, fleeing into the old stone church and slamming shut the door behind them. Not abandoning them, Christian knew. No door would stop what was coming. Indeed, the street had already began to shake, the piping getting louder and louder. There were only a few second before it would be on them. "Don't try to use physical force or conventional weapons." He warned, talking as fast as he possibly could. "It's a shoggoth. Hopefully not from this world." His companions merely looked confused then. Of course they wouldn't know what that meant! "An intruder! Huge, very dangerous. Resistant to magical alteration and physical damage. They wiped out a whole race that lived on this planet, way smarter than humans-" But that was all he could explain, because at that moment it came into view.

To see a Shoggoth for the first time was not at all unlike witnessing a subway train coming at you headlong, only there were no tracks and no tunnel. The thing was roughly spherical, with thousands of glowing globules emerging and sinking. The sphere did not roll, but dragged itself along, tentacles growing from the slime, forming for just long enough to tug at the ground or a lightpost, which would twist and buckle as the huge monster bore down on them as fast as a speeding automobile. Organs, some sensory and some worse, formed from the ooze in inhuman disunity. The sight was positively maddening. It was 13 tons, and it was accelerating towards the building.

Time slowed for Christian. He saw Causality drop the runes he used for most of his spellcasting and dive behind the church. Nephi, behind Christian, was so stunned that he did not move. Aries at the anti-aircraft gun lowered the barrel and unloaded with everything she had, firing so fast that the barrels quickly lit up orange. Christian too was stunned, unable to do anything but walk as the monstrosity advanced on their automobile and ripped it apart. It did not seem even to notice the bullets, which passed in one end and out the other spraying little spouts of cytoplasm and cells. That was the trouble with fighting a shoggoth - bullets could do nothing when there were no organs to rip apart, no tissue to damage. They could reduce the monster's mass, and eventually it might make a difference, but... not in time to save Aries. The thing barreled it right over, crushing the car and swallowing Aries, still screaming. The screams stopped as she was torn apart /inside/ the monster, swallowed and devoured by a hundred tiny mouths. The shoggoth hadn't even slowed down.

In another few seconds, Christian and Nephi both would have been dead. Nephi was helpless at the sight of his first Intruder, and Causality had fled for his life. Christian blinked, raised his hand, and shouted a single world in Atlantean. The most potent spells were often the simplest. He hadn't caused it to rot away, or used sophisticated combinations of matter and life to transform it to Aether. No, his spell only took a syllable. "UP!" He shouted, raising one arm in an imperial gesture over his shoulder.

The universe listened, and it obeyed. The shoggoth lifted immediately into the air, as its connection to the earth abruptly broke. It might have been able to latch on, to force itself back onto the ground, but it was going so fast that the tentacles it formed were ripped from its body as the mass soared just over the church, still screaming as it spiraled through the air.

That was when Causality reemerged, glaring at Christian for a moment before taking one of his runic dice, somehow back in his hands, and crumbling it to powder in his hands. At that moment, a rocket streaked into the sky from nowhere, fired from somewhere on the ground. The Shoggoth was struck dead-on, and went up like a bulbous gelatinous sun, remaining on its course as it screamed and burned away to nothing. Thus was the power of luck.

With that, the battle was over. If there were other Shoggoths nearby, they fled with the rest of the Mi-Go, fading back into the hidden crevices from which they had come. Once again the sound of cheers shook the church. The doors banged open, gun-toting guards only a few steps ahead of the preacher. The man was a huge African-American, bald and dressed in elaborate blue-and-white robes. He took their hands one at a time, muttering a definitive "God sent you to us." Then, "You must speak to my flock! I told them God would send us protectors!" He raised Christian's arm into the air, which was still warm from the force of the spell. Causality protested that they were in a hurry, but he was powerless at the preacher’s persistence, particularly with the thugs and all their guns behind his words. He embraced them each warmly, then thrust them with a gesture into the humble halls of his church. Not a mention of their lost companion, though Christian and Nephi were both trying to conceal tears.

The church practically shook with the voices of its members, shouting out "Onward Christian Soldiers" with all the enthusiasm a Southern Baptist congregation ever had. Christian was touched by the audience - all poor, many infirm, or old, or weak. Had they not left the city because of a desire to protect their property? They couldn't have much to be worth protecting. And sure enough..

The preacher ascended rickety stairs to a pulpit carved with an ornate gold cross. "I prophesied in the name of the Lord!" He began, his face reddening in what was no doubt the resumption of a passionate sermon. "-that God would protect us! That he would send us angels to watch over us! The Lord has heard your prayers!" A pause, punctuated by a resounding shout of "Hallelujah!" The preacher went on. "These men were sent to protect us! I prophesied that we were being lied to by the representatives of Satan, who took those too weak to obey the spirit I brought before them. Here stands the testament to God's love for us! Like Noah from the flood, God has protected us! You saw them: angels fought beside them tonight!" Another cheer, then the preacher lowered his voice a little, looking down at them as he stepped down. "Please," he said, making it, quite clear he was not merely making a request. "Speak to my flock. You came to us because God inspired you to come. Tell us."

Christian’s mind grasped around at nothing, trying in vain to put together the words that were being asked of him. But before he could, Nephi stood up. There was pain in his eyes, but an urgency too. Christian recognized it well. Nephi was obedient, and Christian had already explained how urgent the situation was. Now that the danger was passed and everything was settled, it was time for them to go. He quickly ascended the steps of the pulpit and spoke loudly, not quite a shout. His words were all deliberate. As was his way, there was no embellishment for Nephi, no symbolism or anything fancy. It was all straightforward. "God sent us to save you," he said, without a shred of doubt. He spoke so confidently that even the Preacher looked impressed. He didn't exaggerate the way the preacher did though, just looked out into the eyes of the assembled crowd with total confidence. "Because he loves each and every one of you, and he knew you would not run. He sent us to show you the way to salvation." With that, he stepped down, turning away from the crowd. Silence reigned, as Nephi had very much seemed as though he were in the middle of something. Christian could see what the others could not, though they could all see the flash as Nephi's spell took effect. Suddenly the rear wall was gone, the huge stained-glass window of various biblical scenes gone as though it had never existed.

In its place was a street, apparently at the base of some mountain. It was obviously in the United States, from the houses all orange and glowing and peaceful. The hill was steep, though not feet away was a glorious building, round and gold and beautiful in vibrant white that lit it up at night. The streets were empty other than a car or two, looking for all the world like there was no war, no old ones, and no werewolves. It was just a street, ending, it seemed, in the very House of the Lord.

"The time to leave is now!" Nephi continued, turning around. “This city will be gone by morning, but you don't have to be in it. You need to go! And so do we." The room broke into chaos, Spellbound silence at his magic shattered like glass hit by an elephant. Arguing, shouts of the preacher, promising that the angels of God would not let the city be taken... it was a din. Some did seem to be standing up though, looking out into the peaceful city at the base of the mountains. Causality gestured to get their attention, pointing to a rear exit. Nephi waited for Christian to nod, which he quickly did. It seemed the preacher's flock was separating into two distinct camps, one who viewed their advent as angels clearly warning them to leave, and the other who viewed them as demons, sent of the devil to scare them away. They did not stay to find out which had won. Causality leading the way, they vanished out the door without glancing back.

"Or see the grand beginning, where space did not extend,
or see the last creation, where gods and matter end?"

The Saint Louis metro system had been one of the fastest in the country. The trains were all electric, which meant they were easy to simply run much faster than they had been designed. Christian did all the magic for that, as of course the power grid had been down for some time. The three stood in silence in the single car they had severed from the others, Christian at the controls and the other two facing out at either of the automatic doors. The city center was the very worst, and strange shapes danced outside the train. If anything noticed them screaming down the empty tracks, nothing got in their way. Nothing but the strange reflections that danced in the windows, and sung in strange tunes when they got quiet enough to listen. The sky had gone deep purple by then, swirling and twisting and dancing and spreading over the whole city. The Mi-Go had all fled into the sky by then, and it was their strange voices that carried so horribly on the wind. But the sound of the train covered that up well enough, so that they could concentrate on their goal.

“So, we need to reach the art museum,” Christian was explaining. "The piece we're looking for is very old. Hellenistic in fact. There is a piece on loan from Greece, called an Antikythera Mechanism - the only intact, functioning example there is. It should be in the basement. I don't think it will have been looted — its power wouldn't even be recognizable to a mage unless they knew what to look for. We just need to cross our fingers that Forest Park is mostly empty."

“It isn't." Causality spoke up, looking grim. "I looked. The timeline where we rush straight in ends very badly for us: there are thousands of cultists, maybe more I could not see. Some of them have power. That is what Yog-Sothoth offers."

Nephi shivered at the sound of the name, which seemed to foul the air as Causality spoke it. "Then we will find another way. The Aspirant has not failed us yet." There was total confidence in Nephi's words, which both touched Christian and made him feel a little sad. If only he had as much trust in himself as Nephi had in him.

He spoke, but probably not what Nephi had been expecting. "Causality, what if Nephi gates us in?" He dug into a pocket, removing a brochure picturing the museum, and thrusting it back towards Nephi. It was a daunting prospect, and he knew that. To form a gate... from a moving train... to somewhere you had never visited was no easy task. That was why they hadn't teleported into the city in the first place. Nephi was good, but he was no Master. It was more than a little dangerous, particularly considering Yog-Sothoth was the Gate and the Guardian of the Gate. Even if none of his worshipers knew what they had done, he would. "Look," he spoke the word slowly, making it clear that look was more than just turning his head. "Will it work?" Prediction of the future was a difficult business, and was at the best of times just a prediction of probable futures, not a guarantee.

Causality was silent for a moment, a few horrible seconds that stretched into eternity. When he did speak, it was slowly, almost as though he did not want to admit what he had seen. He did anyway. "If I help him. I've got enough magic left to twist fate one last time. But if I do, there won't be any more lucky breaks from me tonight. Understand that, Christian. Fate can't be toyed with forever. Eventually she takes her due. I can't ask for any more boons without them turning sour."

He considered this reply for a moment, thinking of their eventual escape. He had been counting on Causality and Nephi’s combined magic to gate them home, thereby removing the requirement of some hasty escape. Nephi had demonstrated he could still reach outside the city. But for how much longer? Christian understood what was happening: Yog-Sothoth was pulling St. Louis out of their reality and into his own. When that happened, the monstrous god would be fully manifest, and only Archmastery could open a gateway home. Archmastery, or some amazing dumb luck. There was no time to wait; he nodded. "Do it."

To teleport was not as Christian had always imagined in the fiction he had written. In his stories, folding space through higher dimensions always involved crossing up into those higher planes, and seeing unspeakable things. But in that he had been mistaken. Pandemonium's higher laws overlapped two parts of the world directly over one another, which is exactly what happened. Just as he had opened a doorway out of a church and into Nephi's hometown he changed the wall of the train seamlessly into the basement of a museum, and they all stepped through.

If they had expected the basement to be deserted, they were sorely disappointed. What they could not see from the portal became frighteningly clear as they emerged into the gloom. Silence lasted only as long as it took the three of them to materialize before they emerged from hiding down a nearby hallway, filled with glass displays containing native—american artwork.

There was no time to think. Christian reached out with one of his simplest spells, turned far more effective with much practice. He tugged the shelves down with a crash, crushing two of the Mi-Go and barring the passage to the others. The sound of breaking glass and screaming alien rang throughout the museum. He had studied the design enough to know that closing the hallway bought them at least a few seconds. “Up the stairs, now!" He shouted, all attempt at secrecy gone. The buzzing shouts of the Mi-Go were all around them in the dark of the basement floor. They didn’t need telling twice to turn at a dead sprint through a room filled with medieval weaponry, up a sloping marble staircase into a room lit by brilliant moonlight. This room was empty of others, and for a few precious moments, they were alone with the rows and rows of identical glass cases, backed by cardboard displays describing their contents in detail. But they were not alone for long. There were shouts from outside, the outlines of many people as they stormed the building. The Mi-Go were not far behind from below.

"Nephi, that glass case there.” He pointed at the Greek display in the center of the room, the one with all the fancy alarms, all dead with the power. "Causality, the stairs. I’11 take the cultists." Christian ran forward, not looking back to see if they had obeyed. Of course they would... he could count on all of them to do their duty. Naturally, Christian had chosen for himself the most difficult assignment, the massive crowd that was even now huffing up the steps, turning glass displays into sparking confetti with the volume of their gunfire. He closed his eyes, then calmly gripped the staff, reciting from memory the words that would bring it to life. "I am a light in the Darkness,” he said, as calm as a summer’s morning. “And the Darkness comprehendeth it not.” The staff melted into white-hot fire, the burning core of the artifact revealed in blinding glory that caught the carpet on fire but could not touch its wielder. With a word, it soared from his hand, down onto the granite, burning a torrent of flame that ascended up and up and up, sealing the doorway to the gallery. Several cultists braved it... All proved to the others how real it was, emerging on the other side as screaming human torches. Christian felt no pity for them - he did not even stay to watch.

“We should be good!” Causality called, meeting Christian in the middle of the gallery. He could still hear the sound of Mi-Go coming, but their shouts were stretched, the usual insect-like calls so low-pitched and long they sounded more like the calls of whales. “It should take them hours to get up those steps now." Christian nodded approvingly, turning on the Mechanism with Nephi standing nearby, hacking at the glass with his sword. They were at his side in moments, the glass crumbling away under Nephi’s blows. The glass gone, and there it was - on display before millions of people - the very key to their salvation. The Antikathera Mechanism was a beautiful piece of Greek machinery, preserved through time by… magic, as they could plainly see. There were no spells active on the object, though. No, the object /was/ the spell. A spell made from matter. With Enlightened eyes, Christian saw the order in its dials. The movement of the stars, the planets. All predicted perfectly, even thousands of years later. Intricate, hand-carved gears. This was the Tool. The Tool that had led to the first Obrimos Awakening. And it would save all their lives.

Or so Christian thought. What happened next happened so suddenly that they were all completely frozen, powerless. The sky outside, in the window, changed almost instantly from black to deep, seething purple. They were all suddenly bombarded with frequencies that none had ever seen before, nor could they. They hadn't, because light did not do that in their universe. The sound from outside had died abruptly, the struggling on the stairs had died... only the flames made a sound. The flames, and their heartbeats. None dared to breathe. That was it. They were too late. Yog-Sothoth had taken the city, and them with it. Ripped from their universe, there was no spell on Earth that could bring them back. They were all dead.

Nephi’s body shook beside them, and he abruptly clutched at his throat. Causality took one arm and Christian took the other, but there was nothing they could do. Light burned in his chest, smoke issued from his throat... then he exploded. Bone and blood soaked everything, and the hideous smell of insides was everywhere. Only /afterwords/ did Christian feel Nephi‘s shielding spell fail, as if to show them just how effective their spells would be against this foe. As though any of them needed telling. Yog-Sothoth had materialized, and he was standing right beside them.

"There is no end to matter, there is no end to space.
There is no end to Spirit, there is no end to race."

Christian had no context to describe the being that had come into their midst. It was utterly unlike anything in the world he knew. At the same time, it was not horrible the way the Deep Ones were. It did not strain the sanity of man the way one's first sight of a Shoggoth might. Yog-Sothoth knew the way the sight of something impossible could make someone unable to talk with him. Unlike the Old Ones, the god who was the Gate and the Guardian of the Gate took the time to talk and even took special measure to cloak most of his presence, to protect the sanity of those who saw. As such, what Christian saw was not truly the Gate, only what his mind could understand. Several different diameter spheres, each glowing with a different shade. Each one was a world, filled with life and people and who knew what else, and they swam through the air, overlapping one another and glowing with their own internal light. When it spoke, the voice came from nowhere, deep and resonating, a voice that shook the glass cases that were still intact. A voice older than creation itself. "Willworker." It addressed Christian, who knew it was talking to him the same way he had known all those years ago that his sister had not died. "You fought nobly. But the battle is over. We do not go on in fighting one another. We converse now. Listen." There were no questions in the god‘s voice. They were commands, spoken with the same tone that Christian used to command the world in his spells.

Christian did, though he did not have much choice in the matter. He released his shield; there was obviously little it would do for him if Yog-Sothoth wanted him dead. It had protected him from the bits of Nephi, which fell to the ground in a sphere around him. He tried not to look, keeping focused on the Outer God. His mind spun desperately, searching for a way out of this. Anything! But there was nothing he could do but listen. He had lost. Now all that remained was to see why Yog-Sothoth had left him alive. He did not see Causality edge slightly away, towards the mechanism. Apparently, neither did the God. Or if it did, it didn’t care.

The voice was not exactly male or female, nor did it conform to any of his predispositions about how a voice ought to be. It had a reverberation to it, as though altered like much modern music. But it was English, even if not arranged quite how one might expect. The meaning was clear. "You fight well, Willworkers. Many of my followers cease in struggling after you." Then a sound like laughter. "Proved them duller. We’re together on this, Willworkers. Seeking after secrets that no others know. This is us. We are alike. Now you are mine. Your city is mine.

There was a pause then, so short it was almost imperceptible. “You serve, no more weak and feeble. Give up your mysteries, I give new. Better mysteries." As it spoke, Christian found his mind assaulted with images, great and terrible. Without knowledge of the Mind Arcana, he had no way to resist them. He saw this city, alone on a dark, bleak world of creatures no human mind could comprehend. But that didn't matter. Humanity need not be doomed! Yog-Sothoth loved humanity, after all. They were better than many of his other servants - easier to corrupt, easier to bend to his will. In the vision, Christian saw himself, exalted above all those in this city, and the many other cities Yog-Sothoth would claim as his own before the end. He was the Hirophant, one of the few who was strong willed enough to meet personally with the God and emerge intact. After all, only the God's servants were left - everyone else had evacuated. Christian could be their king, he could build humanity anew on this alien world. It didn’t matter what happened to earth! Cthulu could never come here! Either that, or Yog-Sothoth could kill him just like he had killed Nephi, and his life would he spent. Better do what good he could, right?

In the end, Christian almost said yes. But as it happened, his hand was in his pocket. It was empty now, aside from a little rock. A rock Liz had given him, taken from the Underworld. But instead of being blinded by the vision, Christian saw her. He saw the world he loved, really loved. He saw children laughing, he saw the magnificent temples and the animals and his ugly town with its dirty streets, and he shook his head. "I cannot serve you," he answered the God, making a gesture with one hand. The fire in the entrance died at once, and his staff soared through the air, returning to his outstretched hand. Not that he expected it to help him. This was a God. He just wanted to die with a weapon in his hand. He looked up, expecting to see Causality nodding in agreement, letting the Outside slaughter then both. His face was grim, contemplative. Then he nodded.

"Defeat was always inevitable. We always knew it." Causality spoke slowly, his head lowered respectfully to the God who floated between them. Whether the alien being noticed, Christian could not tell, but the old man went on anyway. "Change is better than death. I will become your servant. Fate has decided." He looked away, not meeting Christian‘s eyes. He couldn’t. The shame in his face was awful, but there was something else.

"Dammit Causality!" Christian shouted, all his discipline forgotten. "Have you forgotten who this is? See that blood on your clothes? HE did that!" He was crying now, but he didn't care. Death was only seconds away, and he knew it. Death would only he the start

Yog-Sothoth lifted slowly into the air. It had no physical features as mortal eyes could discern, but somehow they could tell he was watching them. "Demonstrate." Came the voice. "Kill the Speaker, and your race will no longer have a voice. You will use my Mysteries and he will cease. Agree."

Christian wanted to protest, wanted to argue, to say anything that would stop Causality. To pull out his handgun and shoot him. But he knew that if he tried that, he was dead. It was all he could do to hope against hope his friend would change his mind. Would remember. Or… that he had some sort of plan in this. If Causality could plan after all was lost, than he was the greater man for it. But he didn't. Christian knew what Yog-Sothoth was doing, without being told. The Supernal was a choice, and when you made it, your soul /belonged/ to the watchtower. The only way to take it away was another choice. Even the God, with all his power, could not defy it. The only way Causality could give up the Supernal was consenting to it. With a word, he would swear his soul to Yog-Sothoth forever, and never lay eyes on the watchtowers again. With a word, he would be lost. "I Agree." He met Christian's eyes then, one last flash of humanity. In those eyes, Christian read the last words of his friend. They said: "Good Luck."

The transformation that happened next was far worse than Nephi's mere death. Christian watched as the soul was ripped from Causality's body, like a hand reaching in where no hand had a right to be. Everything that was good about him, everything virtuous and lovely and bright, was extinguished in an instant. Only hatred was left in those eyes, hatred and absolute obedience. Then blood oozed from his eyes, as they stretched and segmented, becoming closer to an insect’s than a man's. His jaw ripped and flexed, bones and teeth tearing through skin and sharpening into a pair of double-jointed mandibles. Another pair of limbs ripped through his clothes, ending in razor-sharp claws that dripped with poison. His legs melted into tentacles, at least a dozen pairs that grew out and out and tore away at the rest of his clothes. Thousands of little holes like pores, or eyes, opened all along his body, oozing something green and cankerous. Where the fluid touched the ground, it melted through stone, sending up clouds of toxic gas.

"Learn, Speaker. Fight. Learn the power of my mysteries. Cease, and I will take the Light Within. You will still serve, when you learn. Now you suffer first." The last words hit hardest of all, so hard Christian nearly toppled over. "You think your Illusion of a Supernal can stand against a universe crushing down on it? See if you can even reach it. Watch how much help your magic is in the face of reality. Humanity is over. Your soul is not enough. Learn." Then the final command, not directed at him. "Divide the Speaker."

For the second time that night, time seemed to slow. Christian's eyes found his attacker, reaching out with its tentacles, each one ending in a venomous mouth. He saw the ruin of Causality's clothing, and the glint of gold within. The gold of the Mechanism, hidden in the ruins but for an odd corner. But how could he reach it, when Causality was between them? Would he even be able to use magic to defend himself? Could he reach the supernal? And how could he get to it before Yog-Sothoth noticed what he was doing? The answer came at once, as if sent from God. His mind flooded with one of the first tests he had endured as a member of the Master’s Order. His first Wizard's Duel. The spell to create the playing field was one of the simplest he knew. Magic was greatly empowered within it, and the duel was more a conflict of will than of strength. He could not overpower this monster with his body... but he might be able to defeat it with his mind. In the split-second that Christian had left, he spoke the words of a rote he had long since memorized. He squared the circle.

For one horrible instant it seemed as though nothing had happened. As though the Supernal truly was outside his grasp, and his magic utterly stolen from him. But then he felt it, the familiar burning in his chest that he always felt while doing magic. Space flickered and twisted, expanding outward even as it swallowed the several feel around them, twisting them into the mystical playing field of the Duel Arcana. Lines of text twisted across the ground, which was swept clear of all but the heaviest refuse. Christian dropped his staff, watching as the space between him and Causality grew to the fifty-foot gap that the spell created. A boundary of glowing light formed the outside of the arena, a barrier that would be impassable until one of them was defeated. Even Yog-Sothoth was outside the circle now, though whether that was by its own choice or the power of the spell, Christian would never know. The monster that had been Causality was dazed for just an instant... then it charged, baring down on him more quickly than any earthly animal.

In every Duel Arcana, participants fought with a "shield" made of one Arcana, and a "sword" made from another. These symbolic powers took physical form according to the combatant's will, for it was with will that they fought. Christian’s shield formed of his knowledge of Prime, the only magic he had that he thought might stand some chance of stopping causality. Within the circle, it looked like a heavy kite shield, worked of pure light, its outsides flickering with the ultimate potential and glory that burned in Supernal fires. His sword appeared in his other hand, a medieval short sword whose blade was alive with the crackling lightning of the Aether. Robes of light wrapped around him, casting back the purple gloom of the museum.

Causality did not fight with a shield, other than the hardened outer shell of his body. He did have a sword, though Christian doubted there had been much conscious involvement in creating it. The ground smoked and hissed as the acid ate away at it, and the shadows lengthened at every horrible stride. Darkness seemed to thicken and congeal around him, a darkness filled with swirling stars and horrible monsters. It was the darkest reaches of space, utterly devoid of life and hope that any sane mind could comprehend. It was not Supernal magic, but it was magic nonetheless.

Christian had just a second to brace himself before Causality collided with him. "Oak and iron guard me well." He thought the words to an old rhyme, bracing his shoulder against the shield. "Or else I’m dead and doomed to hell." Causality struck him nearly with the force of a semi-truck at full speed, dislocating Christian’s shoulder and flinging him against the rear barrier of the circle. His shield flared up, vibrant illumination that stubbornly declined to die even as its wielder landed, keeping his feet only by some miracle of happenstance. The pain was blinding, and he nearly dropped sword and shield both. But he didn't, holding his ground for a second blow that sent him flying again, this time towards the other end of the circle. The shield grew brighter, so bright that cracks had began to form along its surface from the strain. One more blow, and it would fall apart, and the duel would be over. Causality charged again, screaming in a voice that was utterly alien, four long black tongues lolling from his jaws, reaching out for Christian and the meat that he would soon be. Christian gritted his teeth for another charge, bracing himself against the rear of the barrier, and feeling for Causality's clothes with one of his feet. Only this time, he didn’t stand and let himself be overcome.

At the very last possible instant, Christian dropped the shield, which fell and crumbled to glowing rubble as though it had been made of glass. His sword, entirely unused so far, lengthened into a cruelly barbed pike, which he braced against the corner of the playing field and aimed squarely at the chest of his attacker. Causality’s own weight propelled him straight into it, and cruel flames pierced the armor of his body with ease. The force of the blow drove the sword straight into the ground, and Causality barbed atop it like a wild boar. Christian might have been crushed, except that he dived to one side at the last possible second, taking Causality's clothes to the ground with him. It was a painful jump, but as he slid across the floor, he held tightly to the bundle, protecting it from damage with his own body. His hands found the Tool, and before even Yog-Sothoth had realized what had happened, Christian let loose the spell.

"There is no end to glory, there is no end to love!
There is no end to being, there is no death above!"

Light, so bright it blinded him, so bright it burned away his injured shoulder and all the cuts on his body from the glass, and the bruises of his fall. So hot it burned away at his light-sensitive eyes and the weakness in his soul, leaving him in an agony Christian had not even imagined before. But it was a good hurt. Like the pain after a good workout, it was pain with purpose. Soon enough, it was past, and Christian became conscious of a hand thrust toward his body. He took it and was assisted to his feet. His clothes had changed, but he hardly noticed that. They were standing somewhere, somewhere white and expansive and positively glorious. But he hardly saw any of that in the face of his Master. He recognized the man at once, though his amazement, coupled with shame, was so great that he wanted to drop to his knees and hide his face.

The Master did not have unusual features. Olive skin, brown eyes. His hair was white, his face so warm and so compassionate that it could have melted the iciest heart. Even the maw of the void might have had pause at an expression of such love. Christian felt that his proper place was on his knees, but the man’s expression told him otherwise. Master or not, he watched Christian with the respect of an equal and the love of a father. "Christian," he said warmly, releasing the young man's hand. "I have been waiting for you."

That was it. Christian could resist the urge no longer. He began to sob, embracing the man and letting his tears run freely. The Master held him, as a parent might hold a child. Until he had finished. Then they could talk.

Christian would never know how long he had spent in the Supernal, a place he had never expected to see again. But he could not stay. If he did, the Earth would be lost, along with everyone he loved. Leaving was much harder than saying no to Yog-Sothoth, because he knew the Master would not judge him for it. He could stay, and be free from sorrow forever. Stay, and leave grief behind, and pain. In the end though, he had to leave. He was not ready to stay here, not yet. Nevermind that by leaving, he might never see the Supernal again. The promise of the Master made the difference in the end. "I chose you to be our Speaker, Christian. When you have said what I have taught you, you will find your way back. We will meet again." With that promise in mind, Christian took his staff, which was the only physically transformed part of this whole ordeal. Iron it had been, once. But it was white now, and much lighter. The biblical words remained, along with a warmth that would never, ever fade.

Staff in hand, Christian walked down a road paved with gold to one of the most horrible places in his memory. An old warehouse, the very same one where he had seen Ramira alive for the last time. When he reached the end, it became real around him, and the light of the Supernal was gone from around him. Traffic passed behind him on the street, oblivious to his ordeal. Likely oblivious to the fact that he even existed at all. The door was locked and barred ahead of him, as it had been since that fateful night. Christian reached forward, and the padlock melted away, falling to the ground with a splash of molten iron. The chains came away easy then, and he stepped inside, not caring who watched. The precipitous stairwell seemed to stretch down into hell itself, but he did not travel in the gloom of a flashlight. This time, he brought his own miniature sun, frightening away the rats and far worse things that scurried frantically to avoid the light.

At the base of the stairwell, there opened once again that massive chamber, with ceiling concealed even from the light he had brought from above. The room was empty, deadly silent, though he felt thousands of alien eyes on him, judging his intentions, as well as his power. The familiar outlines remained on the floor, the very same that had meant the end of one of his best friends. Christian searched a moment for a sharp stone, then traced the lines anew, copying the ritual with painful precision. Every line meticulously traced, the awful pall of the Outside began to settle over the circle, waiting only for the invocation. Christian did not know the spell, but he did not need it. He had brought something of Ramira's, a necklace with a d2O on the end that she had given him a few years ago. "Ramira!" He yelled, though not in English. "Come forth!"

Epilogue

"So let me get this straight. You’re magic, our friends are monsters, and the world is ending. And I've been dead for a year." Ramira's voice was weak, as weak as she looked in a hospital gown with tubes going in and out of her. A nurse was at that very minute making adjustments to her medication, which was mostly an anti-anxiety cocktail. Technically there was nothing at all /wrong/ with her; the hospital had just seemed a good first destination to Christian, after she had come back from the dead. Well that, and what Ramira had done immediately after materializing. "Oh, and me too. That stuff I did-" Considering the sheer volume of medication flooding into her, it was a wonder she was even conscious.

Christian reclined in the uncomfortable chair, nodding matter-of-factly. He was dressed in ordinary clothes now, save for the Atlantean glyph on his tee-shirt. The one-word symbol meant “Willworker". Naturally, he’d picked it up online, from an entirely mundane company that made similar self-identification products for every race he knew of, even the ones with just a few members. He suspected that print-on-demand was heavily involved in how the company could stay in business. "That's about right. Rick is a cat, Darrel's a wolf, my sister's… complicated. Lizzie’s dead, and Austin-"

"You didn't tell me Lizzie was dead!" Ramira cut him off abruptly, sitting up in her bed, anger flaring. Despite the medication, the beeping of the pulse monitor became more like a snare drum, beeping almost constantly.

"Relax!" Christian put out one hand. “She's not dead anymore. She's alive, but she was dead. Not like you, you’re really alive. She has..." He trailed off. “It's complicated."

Ramira relaxed, though her expression remained one of deep frustration. She rolled her eyes at Christian and at the panicking nurse. "That's what you said about me. And about Darrel. I think you said it about everyone. Except Austin. But I bet once I ask…" A pause, and Christian nodded again. She sighed, relaxing into the hospital bed. "Great. I dunno if I like this world, Christian. I miss the one I left behind. When I didn't have these awful visions. When nobody was anything, and we played video games in your basement."

Christian nodded in agreement. As beautiful as the Supernal had been, as spectacular as it had felt to wrap Ramira in his robe and help her up the stairs into the light of day, he would’ve traded all of it for a mundane world, a world without magic, and without demons. But this was their world. Whether any of them liked it or not, this was the world they had. It was all any of them could do to learn to live here. And keep living.

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