Underland

Chapter 53: The True Enemy

Chapter 53: The True Enemy

The air froze as the shadows lengthened.

A chill spread in Valdemars blood, in his flesh, and in his bones; a cold that made it painful to even breathe. It was the cruel grasp of ice, the frigid touch of death, the final kiss before everlasting darkness.

The festering madness that had seized the Institute recoiled before the encroaching shadow. Mutant eyes froze into icy statues. A sheet of permafrost covered the ground beneath Valdemars feet. Colorful fumes turned into white mist.

The Nightwalker emerged from its broken mask in all of its eldritch glory. Valdemar had seen its reflection through his visions in the past, but to see the creature in the flesh was another story entirely. The Nightwalkers height reached over five meters and then more. A mantle of shadows swirled around a skin of black scales and whitened fur, around crooked horns and cruel arms. The white spiral on the creatures face vomited the very essence of cold.

The entity made no sound as it manifested. No cry came out of its black vertical maw. No words of magic formed on its cold lips. Valdemar didnt even hear the faint sound of ice cracking beneath its feet. The Nightwalker had killed the very concept of noise.

It offered only silence.

The Nahemoths shrieks more than compensated for its opposites muteness. The unborn Qlippoths cries rippled across reality. Cracks widened in the fabric of space, the rift oozing colorful smokes and phosphorescent spores.

The Nightwalker raised its many hands at Crtail, its opposite and nemesis. Ice frigid enough to shatter steel shot from its fingers in a deadly volley of spikes. They gored through the Qlippoths pale skin and black tentacles, each wound turned blue from the sheer cold.

But no sooner did the Nahemoth take damage than his injuries healed in a gruesome manner. Black tentacles and bloodied eyes grew whenever the ice had struck. Tumors of malignant life repaired the damage before bursting into geysers of acidic blood. Vile smoke rose wherever droplets fell on the Nightwalker.

The Whitemoons herald did not roar in anger nor make a sound, but its body language betrayed its cold rage. The shadows swirling around it expanded into a wave of darkness that threatened to swallow Crtail.

The Qlippoths blood glowed with the crimson light of the Outer Darkness in response. The red clashed with the black, the universe fracturing where they met. Ice shards and flesh tentacles struck at each other by the dozens, the hundred, the thousand.

Two heralds of opposite Strangers engaged in a dance of creation and destruction before Valdemars eyes. Otherworldly light and the grim darkness of space filled the world around the two duelists, hiding the Institute from the summoners view. It appeared as if reality itself had been reduced to a primal conflict between opposing forces.

Fire and ice. Life and death. The pale and dark.

The perfect pigments to paint a brand new world.

Hermann! Valdemar shouted as his hands bled. The dark blood coursing through his veins dropped on the cold ground but didnt freeze over. Instead, it spread to form a circle around the shattered remains of the Nightwalkers mask. Ktulu hopped in its center, ready to do its part. Im ready!

After having been briefly mesmerized by the cosmic spectacle unfolding before his eyes, the troglodyte stood at the side of his canvas. As I am!

The two sorcerers sprung their trap.

Ktulus black eyes shone with a sinister orange glow. Magic surged from the familiars tiny body as its power echoed with its summoner. Their souls resonated with Hermanns the same way a music group attuned their instruments for a spectacular symphony.

And sing they did.

The trios spell created eldritch notes as it rippled across space and time. The icy ground cracked like a broken mirror. The air screeched and the stones trembled. Red particles surged from Valdemar and Hermann.

The symbols on the Painted Worlds canvas glittered with a dozen different colors. Orange and blue, green and red, violet and yellow, green and blue, black and white, so many other shades they mixed together in a rainbow spiral, an abyss of paint.

The portrait called the Nightwalker and Crtail to it with the inescapable strength of gravity.

The two surprised heralds of the Strangers were pulled backward towards the trap. Icicle shards and black blood swirled together into the endless color spiral, unable to escape its grip.

The rituals targets resisted the best they could. Of course they did. They knew what would happen should they be sucked into the painting: the destruction of their body and the rebirth of their spirits into something else. The Nightwalkers countless arms stabbed the ground with sharp claws to anchor itself to the ground; Crtail shrieked as he tried to fly away.

It did not matter. The Silent King himself had taught Hermann the Painted Worlds ritual. It was the secret lore of a Stranger, a spell that once executed could not be countered.

The Nightwalker struggled the most against its fate but succeeded the least. The fragments of its mask that it had so kindly given to Valdemar made for the perfect conduit. They gave the summoners magic a direct link to the creatures core essence. Although the entity was beyond human emotions, the expression on its eldritch visage was all too clear to Valdemar.

The disappointment born of betrayal.

Sorry, Valdemar thought, but when choosing between two evils, I would rather deny them both. Nothing personal.

Lord Och had once told his apprentice that whatever he did, someone would pay the price for his decisions. Valdemar hoped that he had chosen well.

The Nightwalker fell first into the canvas spiral. Its long arms twisted like coiling snakes carried away by a current of paint. The darkness and the cold became pigments suffused with magical power. The dreaded herald of the Whitemoon shrank as its enormous body was dragged through the canvas, its essence becoming the underpaint of a new world.

Crtail let out a screeching wail as the portraits gravity pulled it ever closer to a similar fate; it refused to go gently. The Nahemoths crimson aura increased in potency. Eyes of light opened across Valdemars vision. Fire came out of them when they blinked.

The veil separating the material plane from the Outer Darkness tore itself apart. Valdemar found himself looking up at the fiery abyss at the center of this hellish dimension, at the vortex of souls feeding Ialdabaoths hunger.

I cant Valdemar suppressed a scream as his skin peeled off from his flesh. The ritual demanded more of his blood to stabilize itself, to the point that it ruptured the summoners veins to feed. Its its too much.

Baleful red eyes appeared all over his arms; a hungry maw opened in his torso and bit through his robes. Valdemar felt his tongue licking against rows of sharp fangs. His blood turned black, his nails grew into cutting claws. His vision splintered as his two human eyes divided like his bodys cells. His bones bent into angles that didnt fit Underlands reality. A ghastly crown of horns grew out of his forehead and something threatened to burst out of his back.

Im Ialda no

Valdemar focused the best he could as dark whispers tried to worm their way into his mind. As his flesh transformed, so did his soul. The closer Crtail approached him, the less Valdemar stayed himself. His human essence, his memories, his thoughts, everything that made him who he was started fading away.

I am a mask

The Father of Alls influence threatened to overwhelm him.

This is my true appearance, Valdemar realized. The inhuman horror beneath the mans skin. The Red Prince of the Blood and avatar of Ialdabaoth. The herald of the Strangers, the abomination of the End-Times. A human chrysalis for a Stranger moth a human mask for Ialda I am Ialda

The Red Prince felt a hand on its flayed shoulder.

Its many eyes looked in an unexpected direction, to stare at a womans comforting smile.

Marianne stood at his side.

Even though she had seen its true figure, she still put her faith in ithim. She had not given up on itshisperson.

A new music echoed across the crimson light.

The comforting lullaby of a music box. A song as sad as it was peaceful. It sounded so familiar, so warm Crtails wail died in his throat, awed by the melody.

I I am human, Valdemar thought as he struggled to keep his sanity. The warmth of Mariannes touch and the lullaby together were stronger than the call of the Blood. I am a Stranger. I am both. I am me.

Crtail reacted to the song too. His tentacles relaxed. He no longer screamed. The vile light of the Outer Darkness dimmed around him. The influence of Ialdabaoth was growing weaker in both siblings.

Something in the melody soothed the Nahemoth. Perhaps it reminded him of his mother, of the human part of his bloodline.

The realization filled Valdemar with sorrow.

I wish I could do more, brother, the summoner thought. I wish I could give you the life that was taken from you. I wish I could cleanse your soul from Ialdabaoths corruption and stick it into a newborn body. I wish I could give you a normal life, that I could get to know you better. You were innocent in all of this.

Crtail had been born twisted, a tool for a mad cult. For all the destruction his existence had caused, he had never been more than an abandoned child lashing out at the world around him.

The Painted World ritual was the best way Valdemar had found to give his brother another chance and honor his mothers memory. It was the only option he had found to save Crtail from death, to give him a new chance at life while staying true to his own principles.

Your soul will become reborn as the radiant heart of a new universe, Valdemar promised the sibling he never knew. You will be the wind and the stones, the fertile soil from which flowers will grow. You will be the tree of life rather than the tree of death; you will oversee generations of people. You will become the positive force mother wanted us to be.

Not death, but reincarnation.

Crtail closed his eyes as his anger finally died out. The unborn child of Ialdabaoth fell into the painting to begin a new life; not as a monster imprisoned at the bottom of a well, but into what Ialdabaoth should have been.

A living world that nurtured rather than dominated.

Crtails essence turned into a red overpaint over the Nightwalkers pigments. The two incarnations of opposing forces merged together to form a perfect balance. Malignant lifes growth was checked by the all-consuming destructive power of death.

Shapes and angles appeared on Hermanns canvas like order rising from the chaos: the branches of a great white tree taking root in a black soil; gentle waves of blue water on an orange shore; a bright yellow sun soaring high in a pale violet sky; green grass and red flowers dancing to the tune of invisible wind. The pigments moved as if they were alive, filling out every spot on the canvas.

The light of the Nahemoth and the darkness of the Nightwalker both dissipated. Their magic had found a new abode in a landscape work of peerless beauty: the door to an artificial universe.

The Painted World was complete.

They

They had won.

Marianne could hardly believe it herself. The Nahemoth and the Nightwalker were gone. Their flesh and souls had become the mortar of a magical artifact brimming with power; a painting of unearthly beauty.

The crimson light of the Outer Darkness slowly dissipated like smoke. The shape of the Institutes broken buildings and shattered walls slowly came back into sight.

And Valdemar

Her companion was no longer the man she had grown so fond of. He had transformed into a humanoid creature of pulsating flesh and eyes, a crowned husk depleted of his blood. He laid at Mariannes feet on his knees, hands on the ground.

Valdemar? Marianne immediately knelt at his side and cast a healing spell on him. She felt her magical power flowing into him like a droplet in an underground river. Valdemar, are you alright?

Im fine His breath was loud and heavy, but the voice belonged to Valdemars. The outside had changed, but he remained human within. Im fine

Thank the Light, she thought. Valdemars familiar was in a sorry state too, but unharmed. Ktulu held its tiny head as if suffering from a headache. They are well and sound Im so glad.

You have wasted too much blood, my apprentice. The shape of Lord Och appeared next to Hermann and the Painted World when the crimson light faded out. You will need a few minutes to recover and pull your human guise back on.

Marianne glared with disapproval at the Dark Lord. Somehow his reappearance didnt surprise her. His human face is no guise, Lord Och, but his true self.

Of course, of course, the lich replied without meaning it. Much like the old bones beneath the human illusion are an elaborate mummery.

To Mariannes surprise, the Dark Lord carried a familiar music box. That belongs to Valdemar, Marianne noted. Was that the source of the lullaby?

Have you forgotten your report from when you visited the dream Vernburg, Young Marianne? Crtail is a sweet child. He likes the music box very much.

Marianne remembered these words all too well. That was what his nurse said.

It made my mother cry Valdemar rasped. It it probably reminded her of Crtail

Lord Och chuckled as he delicately set the music box aside. I have lived long enough to know music can lull even the most unruly child to sleep. I had the intuition it would prove useful.

Valdemar oriented his head in his teachers direction. Was that Why did you miss the battle? To pick the box up?

My my, whats with the accusing tone, my apprentice? Did you expect foul play from me?

Valdemar smiled. In his current state, his lips pursed to reveal a ghastly grin of sharp fangs. Marianne found the sight disturbing, but it was worth a thousand words.

The fighting didnt end with the Painted Worlds creation, however. Aleksander Verneys swarm form was collapsing as the creatures making up its body scattered and Qlippoths fought the six other Dark Lords. The maddening, reality-altering images of the Nahemoths demiplane might have slowly receded from the Institutes grounds, but Ialdabaoths eyes still covered the Domains stone ceiling.

The Qlippoths are still here, Marianne observed. Has something gone wrong?

Lord Och dismissed her concerns. The remaining Qlippoths will occupy my colleagues for a short time, but without the Nahemoth to bind them together, the Outer Darkness and our reality will diverge. No new intruders will appear to bother us. They have lost.

Marianne prayed he was right.

In stark contrast with everyone else, Hermann hadnt paid any attention to the world beyond the Institute. The troglodyte only had eyes for the Painted World. His hand trailed against its surface, his claws sending ripples through the pigments.

Marianne wasnt certain if troglodytes could cry, but Hermann looked like he was about to.

Its Hermann shook his head with the trepidation of a dreamer who had finally fulfilled his lifelong goal. Its beautiful so beautiful

Indeed. Lord Och observed the Painted World with a hint of genuine respect. You have created a world, children. This is a feat worthy of the gods.

More than than a world, Valdemar rasped. An afterlife.

Pictomancy portraits can capture souls, Lord Och, Hermann explained. This Painted World will become my peoples home but we could create another using similar principles. A landscape of Heaven a resting abode for the dead.

I doubt we shall have another Nahemoth and Nightwalker to sacrifice, Lord Och replied with skepticism. It was a once in an eon opportunity.

Perhaps, Hermann conceded, but he remained optimistic. But we can learn from this world. The concept works we could create another with with souls. With time, work, and research we can achieve anything.

Lord Och listened to Hermanns words with a look Marianne struggled to identify. The lichs skull lacked any facial features, but his posture betrayed his inner thoughts. Confusion? Hesitation?

Regret, Marianne realized.

The feeling lasted no more than a moment. The Dark Lords usual coldness had taken over once again.

For some reason, Marianne sensed a chill running down her spine. A gut feeling of incoming dread took her over as she observed the Dark Lord. The weakened Ktulu hissed at the lich, its tentacles wriggling in anger.

Fear, Marianne realized. Like a dog barking at danger.

You have served me well, Hermann. Lord Och almost sounded proud. You are a credit to the troglodytes. Its truly a shame that a genius like you died so early.

The troglodyte frowned. What do you mean, Lord

Mariannes eyes widened in horror and she immediately jumped into action. Hermann, get down

The Dark Lord raised a finger and struck Hermann dead.

A fiery ray erupted from the lichs index finger and burnt a hole in the troglodytes chest. The heart, the lungs, and everything inside the ribcage was instantly vaporized. Hermanns eyes widened in shock and incomprehension as he fell to his back. He tried to blurt out a word, but no air came out of his mouth. Lord Och watched the scene unfold with a cold, remorseless gaze.

Mariannes rapier struck the lich before Hermanns corpse hit the ground. Murderer!

Her blade cut through his left eye socket and came out of the back of his skull.

What The weakened Valdemar tried to rise to his feet, only to stumble on his chest. His voice died in his throat as he saw the smoke coming out of Hermanns corpse. W-Why?

Because I guessed right, Marianne thought. Because he wanted the Painted World from the start!

Im afraid youre only half-right, my dear child. Even though Mariannes soulbound weapon was stuck in Lord Ochs skull, it had done nothing to inconvenience him. If anything, he sounded vaguely amused by her defiance. It is not the painting that interests me, but what it contains.

The Nahemoth. Maybe the Nightwalker too.

He was after the Nahemoth all along. Somehow the Dark Lord intended to use the Painted World to reach his Light. Marianne knew it in her gut.

Lord Och raised a finger at her, but Marianne didnt let him blast her like Hermann. She thrust her rapier a hundred times in short succession, her weapon so fast that a normal humans eyes wouldnt have been able to follow it.

Marianne would have thought twice at striking a Dark Lord less than a year ago. Not today. Not after what she had seen.

Her blade cut through Lord Ochs fingers, his hands, his arms. She shattered his skull and ribcage to pieces. When she was done, a pile of broken bones fell to the ground before her feet.

Run Valdemar rasped as he struggled to stand up. You can

Not without you! Marianne replied as she took a step back. She didnt know how long it would take for a lich like Lord Och to manifest a new body. Each second counted. We need to go to Lord Phaleg. He will

My good-for-nothing former apprentice, truly? You would shame me so?

The lichs bones floated back into place and dashed all of Mariannes hopes.

It took the Dark Lord no longer than the blink of an eye to stand before her once more. Her rapiers cuts vanished as the bones merged back into a pristine state.

Your efforts are wasted, Young Marianne, Lord Och declared, a sinister blue light shining in his skulls eye sockets. A terrible pressure fell on Mariannes shoulders, and she suddenly realized how vast the power gap between them truly was. You are talented, I will give you that much. With a few more decades under your belt, you might have been a threat. But alas

He raised his hand, and Marianne felt the soulstone necklace around her neck burning against her skin. She tried to strike, to charge, to fight, but her body refused to move. Her chest felt cold, so very cold, and she heard Valdemar scream her name.

You died before your time.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers.