Somewhere in Akros
Nikilogos dreams.
Nikilogos led the downwards march towards Pharagax Bridge. His contingent of Oromai warriors was to repel a small group of Returned from crossing into Akroan territory. He clenched his spear and shield, feeling the pounding rhythm of fifty pairs of boots against the ground echo around him. The sun sat low in the sky, stretching the shadows of his men over the grassy hill. The great fortress of Kolophon towered behind them, overlooking the scene. He smiled with anticipation. It was not often the Oromai encountered someone foolish enough to challenge them.
The hundred or so Returned were moving at a sustained pace and would reach the massive, arched bridge before his men. Given its width and the tall railing, he felt secure fighting on it, despite the endless chasm that opened below. His warriors were accustomed to battling in closed spaces and would take advantage of their training. He pressed onwards.
By the time the uneven ground under his feet gave way to smooth rock, the undead had already reached the middle of the bridge and began their descent towards the Akroan side. An uphill battle, then, he thought to himself. Maybe that will make it a bit more interesting.
“Ready!” he shouted, banging his spear onto his shield. His men followed suit, eagerly awaiting the next command. He counted the remaining steps, adrenaline rushing. He could clearly see the grayed humanoids staggering forward now, clumsily holding their rusty weapons. He groaned. They wouldn’t be much of a fight, but it was better than nothing. He took one last step, a deep breath, and roared with all his might.
He dashed forward, his men echoing the shout. He easily parried his first enemy’s swing with his shield, then bashed it into the creature’s face. Ignoring its fall, he moved on to the next. A burly, tall Returned to his right was engaging Adonis with a large mace. Keeping his shield up, he thrust his spear into its upper leg, making it grunt with pain as it lost its balance. Adonis leaped forward and sunk his spear deep into its torso, falling onto the collapsing body.
Nikilogos refocused on his surroundings. All around, the screeches of metal against metal and the warcries of his men made it difficult to stop and think. As he sidestepped another Returned, only to have it taken down by Acantha, he examined the clash. So far his men were unharmed, taking down their opponents with ease. Instead of dwindling however, the Returned seemed to almost grow in number. He grunted, then dashed back into the midst of the fight.
Dodge. Slash. Another one down.
Block. Slash, slash again. Another one.
Pierce. Shield slam. Slash. Another.
Jump back. Sla-
“Captain!” someone shouted from the rearguard, disrupting his concentration. He disengaged to turn backward. His question vanished in thin air the moment he heard the sound of battle coming from there as well. Closed in? How? he thought.
“Defend the rear, we’re surrounded! Phalanx formation!” he yelled, turning back to face the threat. To his surprise, they were being pushed back by the horde of undead that clambered over their slain comrades. His men reorganized, forming a barricade with their shields.
“The chasm!” Adonis shouted, holding off an enemy twice his size.
Nikilogos glanced away from the bridge and his breath caught in his throat. Hundreds of Returned dotted the ravine walls on both sides, climbing up and away from the Underworld and converging onto the bridge.
“Careful!” Acantha yelled, shielding him from a dangerously close call. He refocused on the fight, ignoring the new feeling of dread. Little by little, the Oromai were forced back on both fronts. Nikilogos gritted his teeth as he blocked blow after blow and pierced flesh after flesh, his muscles aching from exertion.
A thunderous boom echoed out from somewhere below them, shaking the air. Another one sounded out, then another. Closer and closer it came until its terrifying source was in full view of the bridge, causing the battle to grind to a halt. A titanic, monstrous humanoid form was clawing its way out of the chasm alongside the many Returned which, Nikilogos now realized, were fleeing from it. The bald, pale-skinned creature slammed its enormous hand higher into the cliff, flattening a few undead. As it rose, the chains that hung loosely around its neck clanking against each other, it ate the ones unfortunate enough to be caught in its grasp.
Chaos broke out on the bridge as the undead turned away from the Akroans to flee. The monster completed its ascent, devouring a dozen more zombies.
“By the red eye of Mogis, what is that?” one of the men asked, stepping back. The giant turned to face the bridge and Nikilogos almost dropped his weapons in horror. Not only did it have a disproportionately large mouth layered with countless fangs, but its entire body was covered in mouths: on the legs, on the arms, on the hands… the eyes.
The abomination faced the bridge, standing with one foot on either side of the ravine. The Returned scrambled to get off and away from the bridge, but the Akroans hesitated.
“I don’t know, but we shall smite it where it stands! Ready!” Nikilogos ordered, raising his spear. As his companions followed, he prayed. “Oh mighty Iroas, Lord of battle, honor, and victory, true god of Akros, bless our spears so that we may strike down this wretched creature in Your stead!” Slowly, a golden glow began to emanate from their weapons, filling the air around them with warmth.
In response, the monster’s stomach opened into a horrific maw, revealing the ember-lit darkness within. It let out an ear-shattering growl and—to the shock of the Oromai—began to devour the world around it, pulling everything in its vicinity into the gaping nothingness: the cliffs began to break as massive chunks were blown away, the bridge’s smooth rock was torn and smashed to pieces, and the Returned quickly lost their footing and flew, limbs flailing, into the horror’s stomach. The warriors stood their ground, resisting the otherworldly pull as everything else failed to, waiting for their leader’s command.
“Defenders of Akros! In the name of Lord Iroas, of King Anax and Queen Cymede… throw!” he shouted, tossing his spear with all his might. A flurry of radiant bolts flew at the monster’s head and torso, straight as an arrow. At the last moment, they changed course, veering downward and into its stomach, disappearing from existence.
“No!” a warrior shrieked. As the monster consumed everything, the Akroans began to lose their grip and slip away, kidnapped by the merciless wind. Nikilogos was petrified, incapable of looking away from the death sentence that devoured all as the bridge broke into pieces around him and his companions flew away one by one. He stepped back, but there was nowhere else to go. The bridge shattered. The men fell, only to be whisked away by the inescapable gale along with everything else. The world spun around him as he struggled to stay upright. He caught a glimpse of the monster. Huge, powerful, inescapable. The mouth eagerly awaited him. The darkness would never end.
Nikilogos woke screaming.
///
Somewhere in Meletis
Aristea dreams.
Aristea made her way through the orderly streets of Meletis, followed by two servants. As she walked uphill, she let her gaze wander, evaluating the geometrical shapes and mathematical principles intrinsic to Meletian architecture. People all around her carried on with their tranquil lives, making offerings in the many temples in the city, renewing and improving buildings with stonewise thaumaturgy, taking tradable goods to the markets, or—most importantly—deeply immersed in philosophical discussions.
Some recognized her and made way but she barely noticed them, too absorbed in her own thoughts. From far away, near the docks, a loud thud echoed through the ground. Aristea ignored it: such worldly matters were left to the Reverent Army. The citizens of Meletis lived peacefully and securely, proof that human will and intellect together could conquer and subdue the natural world.
She arrived at the building designated for that day’s discussion: a one-story, oval-shaped white and blue house with a large, circular balcony in white marble, adorned with soft brown and blue motifs. Aristea began her ascent on the stairs that circled up and around the house, her servants still in tow. As she reached the last step, another thud made her awkwardly lurch forward. She hmphed, then stepped out onto the balcony. A marble bench extended itself for most of its perimeter, leaving a few spots for columns, statues, and trees to poke through, and to allow a better view of the polis.
“Right on time,” a dark-skinned woman called from the bench, setting a book aside as she stood up. She was tall and elegantly dressed in a white toga with blue, green and purple motifs in the additional layers of cloth she wore around her waist and shoulder. Golden circlets adorned her head, letting long strands of curled black hair frame her heart-shaped face, and she displayed other golden ornaments on around her neck, wrists, and shoulder.
“Elder Perisophia,” Aristea greeted, bowing her head in acknowledgment of the philosopher’s status on the Twelve.
“Aristea”, she greeted back, with a much shorter bow. “Come, we have much to talk about.”
She nodded, then turned back towards her attendants. “Water,” she said to one of them, in anticipation of a long debate. “Wait next to the stairs,” she told the other one. Then she followed her superior to the bench.
Perisophia waited with a polite smile. She was facing towards the center of the polis and the docks, watching the sun slowly go down. Aristea sat on the other side, her back to the rest of Meletis.
“The others are late,” she observed.
“Don’t mind them,” Perisophia shrugged. “In the meanwhile, I have a few questions for us to work on.”
“Very well.”
“How long do you think Meletis will stand?” she asked with a tilt of her head.
“Sorry?”
“Of course, within our timelines, Meletis has always been. But it is part of this world, susceptible to change and destruction. When the archon Agnomakhos first consolidated his empire, I doubt he considered the possibility of us rebelling and taking the city for ourselves. In the same way, I wonder which possibilities we are neglecting to take into consideration.”
“He may have neglected to think about it, but when one bends others to their will, there is always the possibility of them rebelling.”
Perisophia smiled. “Right you are. But who says that we aren’t perhaps doing the same?”
“Referring to what? We did not enslave entire populations.”
“We haven’t enslaved sentient species, of course, but we have carved out a place for ourselves in nature’s domain. Nature is a difficult concept to define, certainly, but characteristically it is a constant of existence, so long as living beings of sort persist.”
“I understand. Other cities have been lost to the whims of the gods in the past,” she answered, thinking about Arixmethes. “But it is precisely because of this that I am optimistic about Meletis’s fate, so long as our customs of worship do not change. We venerate all aspects of the divine.”
“Perhaps the divine are not the only things that could threaten us. Remember Iretis?”
“Yes, but-”
Another thud shook the ground, followed by a crash nearby and the sound of metallic objects falling to the floor. Aristea glanced over to see her servant had tripped and dropped the water he was bringing. He dropped down and picked the goblets up, apologizing profusely.
She ignored him and focused back on Perisophia. “King Kedarick was either a madman or a liar.”
“Or he faced a new and unknown threat.”
“True, but what is the likelihood of that?”
Perisophia smiled. “What is the likelihood that there exist dangers in this world we have yet to discover? Almost certain, I’d say.”
“W- well, yes, I just mean it was unlikely that what he described was factual. Besides, if these dangers have not come to Meletis so far there must be a reason. But even if they did… I am confident our city could hold.”
“Why so?”
“Look around, Perisophia. We have built the greatest cradle of human civilization Theros knows. We have bested monsters, foes, and nature alike. What could possibly threaten us?”
“Look around indeed…” she said absentmindedly.
Aristea blinked and glanced back at the city. She did a double-take, then stood up in horror. Throughout the city, chaos reigned supreme: plants grew impossibly large and strangled everything with their branches and vines, buildings crumbled and broke apart as huge waves battered the lower areas of the polis. The streets were now devoid of human life.
“What is happening?!” she cried out.
“That,” Perisophia said, having appeared at her side, pointing towards the Dakra isles.
Looking outward and away from the destruction, Aristea saw what she meant. A gigantic figure approached the city, shrouded in mist. As it got closer, she saw that it looked like a hunched over man, although the way it moved its limbs was erratic. The titan effortlessly dragged several massive broken chains behind him, hammering the sea with its hands and feet.
“Who… what is that?”
“I believe that is an emanation of Nature itself,” Perisophia observed. “Once bound by the gods, now free to resume its course.”
“Emanation? But the gods themselves are…”
“The gods are linked to our societies. This is something more ancient, more primal. This is not something that will pay any heed to our prayers or venerations.”
The monster was getting dangerously close to the ruined city. “We have to stop it, Perisophia!”
“Stop it? Impossible. The gods are embroiled in their dispute. We have no way to change its course or reason with it, let alone destroy it. Nature cannot be halted and it cares not for individual lives if they are in its way.”
Aristea watched in shock as the monster crashed into the lower area of Meletis, sweeping away buildings seemingly without care or notice.
“But why? Why would it do such a thing?” she cried.
“Nature is chaos, Aristea. Everything is subject to change, destruction, and regrowth, even the gods. How can we humans expect to withstand such primal force? The days in your life are finite, they always have been from the moment you were born. Same for Meletis, same for anything or anyone that physically exists. The natural world will always have the last say, and in the end each and every one of us will share the same fate… oblivion. Whether that happens now or in a hundred years, does it really make a difference?”
She tried to reply, but the monster shook the ground once more, and the building collapsed. As she fell, her form rapidly dissolved into dust. All she could do was open her mouth into a silent shriek, before that too disappeared.
Aristea awoke screaming.
///
Somewhere in the Underworld
Ashiok drew a long, deep breath as they recovered from unleashing a barrage of nightmares on the surface world, then refocused on their surroundings.
Dim rays of light shone through the starry sky, illuminating this secluded pocket of the Underworld. A tall, black cliff dominated the view, stretching for miles in both directions. It fell onto a small patch of rock before giving way to endless sea. Ashiok had traveled alongside the natural wall in this remote area for almost an hour since they’d encountered it, feeling the divine energy it concealed grow as they got closer.
The power of Klothys had captured their curiosity, but the aura they perceived now was very different, despite still being muffled, restrained. This one was primal, wild, blind.
A shiver ran up Ashiok’s back as they felt the fabric of the Underworld shift. Spurred by the nightmares, more Therosians were beginning to fear, even anticipate, undead horrors breaking free and invading the surface world. Rifts to the land of the living were becoming more common but Erebos was too busy to properly rein in the undead. The more Returned escaped, the more people’s belief in the gods’ power to maintain order would falter, the more undead would escape… it was a fine little cycle.
They tilted their head upwards. Encased in the cliff was a massive throne carved out of the rock. It was ornately engraved with ancient patterns snaking their way up and around. On its back, a particular image was carved out: between two columns, Klothys stood tall, her head encompassed by a golden circle. Below, bound to her by the threads of her staff and trapped in another, larger ring of gold, were four humanoid figures, their faces twisted into agonized screams.
Ashiok hovered over to the illustration, noticing dead flowers rested on the seat. They delicately ran their hand across the Titans’ features. The chaotic energy was palpable now, coming from deep within the cliff. Curiosity stirred at the back of their mind, urging them to discover more. Ashiok swept it aside for the moment. The time would come when the Titans would be free to sow destruction once more. Their lips curled into a delighted smile.
Ashiok’s time on Theros had revealed many interesting things about the fabric of this world. Its ability to turn human belief into reality made it unique among the Multiverse, so it was quite fortunate that they would happen upon it during a time most suitable for their purposes. Of course, the end goal was not to release the Titans, no, they were only another step on the ladder of despair Ashiok had so fondly designed.
So long as the Therosian pantheon of gods was stable, the creation of proto-deities would never be fully successful since they’d be eliminated or incorporated by the existing gods, just as Ephara had done to Cacophony. Ascension did not interest Ashiok in the slightest, despite being amused by Xenagos’s efforts. The Titans would not only provide some excellent inspiration for their work, they’d also present a real threat to the ruling gods. Ashiok felt almost elated at the idea of working with the fear of beings of pure, concentrated magic, faith, and power. In the end, it mattered not whether the Titans or the Gods prevailed. The pantheon would surely emerge weakened, broken, and the faith of Therosians would be irreparably damaged. Only at that point would there be the possibility of creating a fully-fledged proto-deity that would challenge the divine hierarchy and extend their influence to the entire plane.
Ashiok sighed. Truly, it was a labor of love.
Except for the Titans to succeed where they had previously failed, they required some sort of advantage against the gods.
Removing the leader of the pantheon should do quite nicely, Ashiok thought gleefully. Heliod had, almost unprompted, started a losing war with the other gods—one that would severely weaken the power of his followers’ faith. The conflict was not being fought on a personal level by the gods, self-preservationists that they were, but via proxies, through followers they’d deemed “worthy” enough to entrust with fractions of their power. There was potential for the conflict to end without significant losses on any side… and that just wouldn’t do. If Heliod’s defeat were to be final, something or someone was required to push him over the edge, to challenge him in a way he couldn’t back away from.
Perhaps… someone who had already slain one of his kind. Ashiok tilted their head slightly, then backed away from the throne. Ilysia was a long distance from this peripheric location, and they had little time to lose. Elspeth was to be spurred into action. Perhaps she could use a little help, but Ashiok was confident she’d take care of the rest.
Being at the center of the stage did not suit them. Directing the play, now that was a much more fascinating role. Soon, all of Theros would feel the strings of its puppetmaster.
