Epochē - Crete – Early afternoon Second Day


    When the one-sided slaughter ended, Epochē reappeared, and her ledger snapped shut; the noise drowning out the cursing women. Ignoring the prisoners pinned to the chamber’s stone wall by her Spell, she focused on the tall figure wreathed in red lightning. “Now that the interruption is over, do you agree with the plan or not?”


    Her tone was calm despite the closeness of the figure tapping the butt of a war mattock’s haft against his boot. Wiping a finger across the dripping blade, he savoured the taste, slowly licking it clean a droplet at a time while the Mantle of Doom settled across his form.


    It was only with the last of his treat consumed that he rumbled, “And if I don’t?”


    “Then you can go your way and I’ll go mine. If your activities don’t cause problems for me, I won’t crush you. If you continue to work with me, I’ll provide you help in gaining all the mantles on your list,” offered Epochē. Multiple spells already prepared and held within a contingency Spell lent her a sharp confidence that echoed in her voice. “Or are those three mantles and the other pieces of Set’s you’ve retrieved enough?”


    “Let me know when you have the pieces in place. Are you sure I can’t play with her first?” asked Raivo, gesturing to Clotho, his gaze taking in the dress that clung to her curves.


    “I’ll deal with them; their mantles are of no use to you,” replied Epochē and tossed him a memory crystal. “Happy hunting.”


    “It’s not her Mantle I’m interested in,” grumbled Raivo. His gaze ravaged Clotho again, before he licked his lips and vanished, leaving the corpse and the three Fates, to Epochē.


    “How did you find us?” Atropos asked in a growl, the Spell’s pressure increasing as she struggled, and joints popped.


    “Death himself marked you, and that scut work you gave me helped so much,” sneered Epochē.


    “Thanatos wouldn’t have betrayed us,” snarled Lachesis.


    “I’m not speaking about the puny God that you think controls Death. The Titan’s servant Eleftherios marked you; oddly, it’s already fading. This Gods’ War started just in time, a few more days and it might have taken me weeks to find you.”


    A hollow bladed dagger appeared in her grasp, the blade’s metal appearing fragile with age.


    “Even without our mantles active, that blade doesn’t frighten us,” sneered Lachesis, trying to project greater confidence than the situation warranted.


    Unbothered by her posturing, Epochē moved to the maiden Fate—Clotho—and drove the dagger up under her ribs. The single blow pierced deep, and Epochē could feel the blade twitch in time with her victim’s heartbeat. As the Deity struggled, Epochē casually pressed against her and let the book hover mid-air at waist level before unlatching the cap in the dagger’s hilt.


    The first spurt of lifeblood sprayed a golden deluge across the book’s cover, and while more continued to flow, the ledger drank in the initial rush. The stream sent splashes surging that halted, beaded up, and neatly rolled back to it. With every heartbeat, the jet’s pressure waned, yet still the Goddess screamed with pain that echoed within the Loom’s weave, and on Olympus, the Fates’ Loom creaked. The thick coppery aroma of the Olympian’s blood, cloyed as it was with Clotho’s twisted eternal maiden state, brought a smile to Epochē’s lips.


    “How?”


    When the last of the blood drained from the dagger, Clotho’s youthful appearance had become shrivelled and mummified, and a horrified Lachesis breathed the question again. Without responding, Epochē quietly, and methodically repeated the process on her as well, despite the middle-aged Fate’s screams.


    The Loom’s cables snapped as she perished, and the frame crumpled inwards.


    Atropos, the fate Mortals had titled ‘The Inflexible’ for millennia in this realm and their original, broke as Epochē moved towards her. The Deity, who appeared as an elderly woman, sobbed and shuddered as the force of the emotion gripped her. But Epochē didn’t pull back to drive the dagger home, rather simply stood beside the sobbing Atropos, and gently patted her shoulder. Only when Atropos finally raised her gaze and met Epochē’s hollow eye sockets did Epochē slowly, almost tenderly, push the dagger home.


    When the last Fate perished, all three bodies collapsed into ash and Epochē breathed in as their essence swirled towards her. The black mists roiled within her eye sockets before they turned gold to match the blood of the three Olympians. When the last vanished, a landslide on Mount Olympus cast their home—and already shattered Loom—into oblivion.


    The brown hide covering the ledger dimpled around her grip, and the state of every entity the Fates’ Loom had ever touched impressed itself into her mind. Noting those with an abundance of evil and false deeds, Epochē smiled. Humming happily, but grossly out of tune, she carefully put the now pristine ledger away.


    The first part of her fun for the day complete, Epochē set about preparing for the next stage of her plan. She’d gained the materials during the War of Four and intended to get everything she could out of them. A brazier crafted from a section of the destroyed Demon Lord ùeqr?kas’ skull, former Lord of Malice, was set down. It was only after the surrounding miasma had settled that she drew out a steaming black jug. Prying its seal open she slowly let lava from Furnace’s depths drip into the brazier until it was bubbling away just beneath the brim.


    Tucking the still smoking jug away, Epochē cracked her neck and carefully pulled on sturdy gloves sewed from Silver Dragon hide. Only when completely satisfied with their fit did she gesture, and a table crafted of human thighbones bound in dried sinew harvested from new-born children appeared. Giving the table a tender caress, she savoured the energy from the thousands of innocent Human children harvested by Hags over the centuries of its construction.


    Setting a sealed black-hide bag upon the table, she cut it carefully open with an adamantine blade, its edge dulling as she worked with an unfortunate but necessary haste. With the last layer breached, a white glow showed through the gaps, and she cautiously peeled the protective material away to reveal a glowing container larger than her head.


    Like her dagger crafted from Eleftherios’ feather, a feather sliver from the facet of War, Laodice, needed careful precautions to use without risk to oneself.


    Aggie’s PoV – Eyrarháls – Mid-afternoon Second Day


    Focusing on the scrying mirror helps me reach past the pain of seeing Artemis’ visage. The one and only time I’d seen her actual face was in the vision of her declaring me despoiled. None of the Temple statues do her justice, but it’s a beauty that holds a cruel edge. Though I’ll admit I can’t tell if I’m simply set on seeing it that way, but her expression makes her marble busts seem warm. The way she walks around monitoring the soldiers, casually stepping over even dead children, has me wondering if she sees anything in the world except her prey.


    Her coldness dredges up memories of Actaeon’s tale, provoking the thought that she’d enjoyed hunting him. Had it all been an excuse for her to torture someone? Was it to enjoy her dogs ripping a Human apart that she’d forced into a stag’s form? According to the tale, his offense was he’d seen her bathing. Had he seen her naked at all? If she was so great a huntress, how had she not heard his approach?


    Livia’s hand resting on my arm almost breaks my distracted mind from the mirror. “You don’t have to be the one to deal with her.”


    Rather than answer, I keep shifting the perspective around the ruins of the town I’d known. A vibrant place now full of the dead and dying, but if we rush, all we might do is join them. I stop when I spot a youth directing soldiers ransacking the local Jarl’s Hall.


    He hadn’t been a perfect man, but he was honourable. He’d hosted me to talk about Amdirlain’s tenets and he’d freed his holdings’ thralls with his own funds when I’d finished speaking. His wife had commissioned a carving of Amdirlain’s symbol, even asking me to bless it when I next visited. She’d set it in the family’s shrine, placing it next to Tyr’s among the higher platforms.


    “That’s another; I can see a Mantle’s aura on him,” Livia says, pointing at the lounging figure.


    “Plutus, I assume; God of Wealth and Greed,” I reply, forcing my jaw to unclench. He sneers at the Jarl’s family sword before casting it aside like trash—I’d last seen the Jarl’s fourteen-year-old trying his strength to lift its man-height length. “He looks just like his statues.”


    “It looks like him,” confirms Mithras. I glance up to get caught in his blue hawk-like gaze, and I lose my connection to the mirror.


    “Does anyone want to see anything more?” Torm asks, with the image suddenly absent from the crystal. His grim expression might be gone, but his eyes have grown flinty the more dead we’ve seen while scrying the town.


    Taking bracers from her forearms, Livia puts them on me, her hands quicker than I’ve seen anyone but Farhad move. “Móeir''s. They deflect ranged attacks. Artemis and Apollo both favour bows. I hadn’t expected you to want Artemis’ Mantle.”


    “I don’t want it, I’ll give it away; I need to make sure she’s dead,” I say, and Livia just nods. “Care to help?”


    “Is this a thing with Amdirlain’s followers?” asks Fen, guesting to Runa. “She doesn’t want hands or a Mantle, and you don’t want Artemis’ Mantle.”


    “Artemis needs to be kept busy or dealt with. Yet I’m not the only woman she’s tossed aside or tormented, so benefiting from her demise feels wrong,” I state.


    Livia smiles brightly at Fen. “Mother says the Titan never rewards the quick routes to power. I think it fixated her followers on working hard.”


    Mithras froze at Livia''s reference to the Titan and looked at her wide-eyed, but Tyr suddenly found the table’s map fascinating. “Your mother claims to know what the Titan rewards?”


    Her smile remains in place as Livia glances at Mithras. “We have murderers to stop. Are you coming?”


    “Mirage, I’ve got two companies forming up. Thank you for messaging me. Give us to a count of a hundred and we’ll be ready on the training ground.”


    The woman’s voice draws my attention to the door just in time to catch her veiled face hurrying away.


    “You were worried about a trap, so I let Tomila know there were Grecian troops about,” states Mirage. “Oh, Tomila is a Priestess. I’d best make sure she stays safe, along with the other followers. Not that I couldn’t have used that reasoning with you, Aggie, but I’ll let you pummel a Goddess to death yourself.”


    Torm’s snort sounds out when Runa zips off, beating her out the door.


    * * *


    Tomila is true to her word, and she’s gathered two companies in a tight formation and ready to be teleported, before we even get there. The companies don’t have a single skill-set, variations in gear show what to look for if you know: all have Wizard, but combined with Scout, Fighter, Monk or Priest, some with multiple classes. Hard to tell if you don’t know them; but I’ve spoken to enough. Some still have tear-stained eyes, but everyone stands ready to go, all their normal equipment in place and extra wands poking out of carriers strapped to calves or thighs.


    Another captain stands ready with Tomila and we exchange quick introductions. The second captain is Aleena, a Slavic woman I recognise from among those rescued on the same day as me. Her ice-chip blue eyes and pale blond hair are unchanged.


    She doesn’t wear a veil even though her face bears healed marks from when a Gnarls’ claws caressed her. A spider’s web of shiny flesh, she wears them with fierce pride. Considered a champion in the Green Tide War, she even ventured into the depths of the Sahuagin’s city to slay their Queens. She’s one of the few other High Priests, and unlike me, she has levelled the Priest Class completely in Amdirlain’s service. I hadn''t ever asked her what Tier she’d earned, but she moves with Livia’s grace.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “You have two priority interior groups, plus looting soldiers spread through the town, and a rear guard at the gate. Two targets in the Temple Square, one target at the Jarl’s Hall, both with soldiers accompanying them,” Tomila states, summarising the information Liran? quickly shared. “Correct?”


    “Correct.”


    Aleena looking thoughtful and gives Liran? a polite nod, ignoring her unique aesthetic. “Hlioir has a circular hub layout, five districts made up of an inner district with four outer ones set up in quadrants. The east gate is the one they’ve broken. The Jarl’s Hall is within the inner district, along with the wealthier households; Temple Square is in the southern. Aside from the inner district, the richest district is north, so in a normal raid they’d have the most looters pillaging there. The Jarl’s family should have expanded the walls long ago, instead, they’ve packed the houses in tight. It’ll take time to clear properly with three or four layers each, plus basements, to check.”


    “Can you use Greater Teleport or do you need someone that can?” asks Tomila, when Aleena finishes up.


    “I can move a company,” Livia offers, and Torm likewise nods.


    “You’ll just need to Teleport your escort,” says Tomila. Raising her voice so her words are audible to all. “First Platoon spilt by ranks, the first rank escort details on Livia, second and third on Torm and Aggie. Second and third platoon you’ll secure the main Gate, and then seal the east side of town to ensure no strays circle in. Second company will move inside and sweeps northwards through the east district, securing every street junction and taking down any of these invading arseholes that so much as twitches. One block at a time, no rushing, loop along when you hit the wall. Any survivors, send them out over the wall, direct them to head to the east gate.”


    Even as Tomila speaks, Aleena orders observers from other companies to shake it off and get ready to assist, and I watch some hurry away.


    When I turn back to Tomila, she''s handing out carved stones and Mithras looks at them curiously. “They’re not warding stones; they’re just mundane keys. The companies will put down holding runes that anyone not carrying one of those will trigger, we’ll clear them when the fighting is done. They all know what pattern the key is currently.”


    “Any further instructions?” asks Torm, with genuine amusement.


    “Come in on the western side of the Temple Square, not that it’s a square really. When you hear the explosions, cut loose. Don’t die, have fun, and go.”


    At her go, the platoons not allocated to back us up disappear and Tomila vanishes with them.


    Torm doesn’t even mutter. Our group reappears around the corner from the square fortunately without a soldier in sight. Farhad and Liran? look far more composed than I feel but flank the ranks that have accompanied us. Wands appear in various hands though I know they’ll likely use spells first and rely on those second. We start forward and Mithras moves beside me with the rank split to either side. At first, I think he’s unaffected by all the death, but I catch his gaze moving continually across the faces of the dead stopping on every child.


    By the time we reach the Temple Square I’ve got multiple spells held within Ki Infusion ready to share with Artemis; I doubt she''ll enjoy the gifts. The square they’ve been ransacking was much like Eyrarháls’ own, though more oval. A ring of temples with a lightly shaded green space in a crowded town. It’s a place for the townsfolk to stop in the shade and talk after whatever Temple service they’ve attended. Normally, in late spring, the trees hold ripening fruit, free to all, but the only thing they hold aloft now are flames.


    Artemis and Apollo aren’t arguing when we spot them; the first explosions from the cadre’s spells have their attention directed to the east. The Temple Square is littered with bodies, and soldiers are preparing more clay pots to toss into those temples not already ablaze. Flames lick across the stone from within Tyr’s Temple, and a squad turns away from adding another clay pot to the blaze.


    Mithras’ Spell has them buckling at the knees and cracking the flagstones beneath their feet. Staggered by the pressure, Apollo’s lightly held bow falls from his hands. Torm shifts balance but he doesn’t just run in, he teleports. Suddenly beside Apollo, Torm’s kick blurs forward, driving hard into Apollo’s back and, in a spray of blood, he’s airborne towards Tyr’s defiled Temple.


    The soldiers that had been between him and the doors burst apart on impact. Burning wood from the doors seed the air with splinters that mingle with Apollo’s blood, and Torm disappears again. Almost at once, an Angelic Aura radiates outwards from the Temple’s interior. Radiating from the shattered windows and doors, it creates long tunnels through the smoke, and wherever the pure light touches flames, it snuffs them out.


    “Brother.”


    The word is still leaving Artemis’ mouth when my Teleport sets me close. With her mouth open, I can see Artemis’ perfect white teeth and lying pink tongue. The mere finger width she’s drawn her bow has it shrouded in electricity that runs along the arrow’s shaft and turns both silver with the power.


    She’s fast, but still far slower than I’d expected, and her eyes are only widening before my fist smears her straight nose across her cheek. Though she keeps a grip on the bow, the momentum of my blow turns her and the arrow flies from her light draw grip. A sliding step puts me out of her line of sight. She shimmers for a moment yet stays in place.


    Copying Torm, my kick with Ki Strike sends her into a burning tree three metres away. She’s gone one way, the bow another, and the squad’s spells blast more soldiers into so much dead meat. Farhad blurs past, the bow vanishes, and a Celestial Hoplite I hadn’t spotted until he screamed is torn apart. His still-helmed head bouncing off the ground by Artemis’ feet.


    Rolling away from the tree, she comes up covered in flames caused by whatever magics they’ve used to burn greenwood. The enchanted flames cling to leather and flesh, but she doesn’t burn; the flames merely silhouette her form. Artemis steps sideways, her knife darting about, trying to herd me into setting my back to the few living soldiers. The few arrows and javelins sent my way are more endangering her than me.


    As she tries to get me to turn again, Ki Movement hurtles me forward, adding momentum to my blow, and puts her back into the tree. Striking hard and fast, I keep her pinned to the tree, every punch and strike that land rupturing flesh with Ki and Mana alike. Countering her attempts to grapple me with elbow strikes and headbutts, I don’t allow her space to act, enduring her bites and slipping her attempts to eye-gouge. Danger Sense warns me repeatedly, letting me disarm her of the daggers appearing in her hands, and I go right back to trying to smash my fists through her. The steadily splitting trunk finally gives in and splits down the middle, having given into the combination of flames and body-cracking blows. Darting back in a hurry, I get clear before its branches entangle me.


    Liran?’s mental touch warns me to shift left and I abort closing on Artemis again. Apollo comes back out of Tyr’s Temple, widening the door in a spray of stone. A moment of Liran?’s focus has the largest pieces pulp the last remaining soldiers. Their corpses are still spinning across the ground when Apollo stops tumbling.


    Artemis, bloodied and battered, still rises with a new dagger in each hand. They’re coated in something that—even surrounded by the dead, smoke, and flames—fills the air with the clear scent of rotting meat. The vileness creates a haze, making the edges hard to judge amid the smoke. Her once beautiful features are now battered, but the feral hatred in her gaze is more suitable to her nature.


    Her pained movements smooth out, but she approaches carefully, and I use the time to set a dangerous Spell within Ki Infusion. Close enough at last, she lunges at me with a speed borne of desperation, and careful of the blade, I give ground. She feints and swipes, trying to herd me again and get me to leave an opening, but when next she lunges, the blade twists upwards in her grasp. The distraction is enough to let me get in close. Dropping low, I hammer a fist into her front knee and through my knuckles I feel the joint pop and the leg give in as the bone and ligaments rupture.


    Her lunge turns into a fall that put her full weight and momentum onto my hook punch from knee level straight into her sternum. Releasing my Spell from Ki Infusion sends a blast of Chaos Lightning through her body at an angle, obliterating burning branches above us and part of Loki’s Temple front. Under the blow, I feel the bone change and rupture, pulping into her heart’s heavy muscles as her ribcage separates. The knives clatter to the ground from twitching hands. For a moment, with her face close to mine, it seems there is recognition in her gaze. But with the light fading from her eyes, she looks beyond me instead. “Broken ar…”


    The words are a dying exhalation brushing my cheek, carrying a gush of blood before I can push her corpse away. The Mantle settles across me, and it feels like clothing someone else has worn too long. Trying to chafe in some places while others hang too loose, I shudder to keep as free from it as possible. I’d wanted her dead and the world free from her.


    I didn’t want this thing.


    I recognised some elements of the hunt in the Prestige Class I’d chosen, the travelling, and providing for others, though now its food for the Soul instead of the body. Her desire for chastity chafes at me because while Amdirlain might restrain herself, she certainly doesn’t expect it from the rest of us. My desire for freedom in life and love, which Amdirlain encouraged, battles against this ill fit.


    Another crash turns me toward Torm’s fight, and I wonder how Apollo isn’t already dead. Under Torm’s battering attacks, he’s now missing fingers, and frost oozes from broken flesh where his healing retracts jutting bone shards. With Apollo standing side-on across the square, I see ribbons of blackness oozing from where Torm has ripped his left ear away. A worm-like thing, its growing length consumes the surrounding smoke.


    With its appearance, Torm lashes out again, but this time his sword is in his grasp, and Winter’s Heart plunges deep.


    Where the finely crafted frost blade should show through his back, instead fragmenting shards of planar ice and a blue Laen frame is dissolving as the Yin consumes them. The energy in the blade’s enchantments, unbinding from the materials, cause the remains to burst into steam, and Apollo is gone. An explosion of blackness blots out the sun, casting the square into darkness, as above us ink blankets the sky, only to consume itself and light return.


    A golden script shines within my mind, containing a simple and brutal epitaph: One of Tyr’s servants has slaughtered Apollo.


    Torm’s hard shudder draws my attention to catch him motioning towards Mithras. The God straightens when I assume the Mantle settles in place, but it doesn’t stop him from dropping another Spell, crushing soldiers that have been trying to enter the square.


    A second message comes shortly before a golden flame reaches far above the town’s inner wall, and I receive a third. The golden script announcing Livia has crushed Plutus didn’t come as a surprise, but Aleena’s incineration of Hecate did.


    Soldiers that had been trying to get into the square break and run, only to be cut down before they’re out of sight. Dozens go down, clutching their heads and screaming only to go silent with blood leaking from their ears. With the dead civilians, adults and children, littering the streets, it seems none of us wants prisoners.


    * * *


    The fighting continues through the streets, but trained or not, focused spells don’t give the hoplites much chance. Those that get too close to our soldiers are taken apart with fists or blades. The swirl of battle and rescue work splits our group repeatedly, before Liran? and I meet up with Tomila again. The rank with her were putting fist-sized stones through fleeing hoplites. Given the explosions they’d used prior to fighting Artemis, I hadn’t expected them to use such simple spells. Whatever my expression Tomila nods in greeting before she explains. “Mana conservation—no point using Mana on running filth that could help put things right.”


    “Thanks for the support today, Captain Tomila. How are the companies holding up?”


    “Some assorted injuries but nothing that the healers can’t handle. Main roads have runes in place. Now we’ve got scout groups starting work with Torm, Livia, and Leira to find hiding and injured civilians. So, do I address you as Goddess Slayer Aggie or still just High Traveller?”


    I’m wincing at her offered title when she waves towards the inner wall.


    “You’re not the only one. I’ve had reports that Livia and her backup took care of that little fucker Plutus. During the fight the group’s spell barrier caught a fire blast from Hecate, and Aleena counter spelled a second blast into her face. The fight only lasted a few more exchanges before she went down under a pillar of Celestial Fire. Surprised she didn’t flee.”


    “Know that she indeed tried, but I was aware of the fight from Aleena’s mind and anchored her dimensionally. Know it’s fortunate that Aleena was present since Livia’s mind has become increasingly slippery with all her practice,” Liran? states. The brief tic at the corner of her mouth might have been a smile, and she fixes me with a knowing look.


    “Where did Livia get off to?” I ask, not having seen her since we teleported from Eyrarháls.


    Tilting her head towards the setting sun Tomila sighs. “She’s working with groups in the west district, two other priestesses with her, along with some monks. Hopefully, they find plenty of folks still in a state they can help; I don’t know about you, but streets of dead are nearly all we’ve found. I pray there are folks in hiding, though unless Hlioir’s got massive basements, it’s unlikely to be enough to re-establish the place.”


    “I might go with a team and help. So many dead, I can bring back some, but this…”


    “We can only help who we can help,” Tomila intones, and I recognise the words from Amdirlain.


    “Know that while many have indeed died, there are many minds below ground and, I believe in hiding places, though their thoughts make little sense. Know that I can help determine which buildings have living within, but the town is awash with their thoughts,” offered Liran?.


    “And with the companies spread out, it’s impossible to co-ordinate this many?” asked Tomila.


    Liran? nods glumly and I look at her suspiciously for the exaggerated motion. “Know you are correct; your primitive minds make such impossible.”


    * * *


    Each building I mark off is another someone else doesn’t have to handle, as hours feel like they’ve stretched out endlessly. Surviving locals come out of hiding as the day turns into night, helping us sort out the dead, and the wounded. Working through one building after another, brings occasionally, burst of excitement that shifts the tedium of the horror. The smell of burnt flesh hits me as I push open yet another apartment door and take in the scene before me.


    The living space is a mess of destroyed furniture, but those are just replaceable things, her body is another matter. Lying face down over the kitchen table, as if discarded like a broken rag doll, the Grecians had provided the woman with no respect, even in death. She looks as if someone has shoved a giant scoop into her back. The blow, severing her spinal column just below her shoulders, runs in a straight line, hooking out her heart, lungs, and pieces of fragmented ribs up through her back. The massive wound is so precise it’s left her neck barely connected to her shoulders, hanging by undamaged muscles.


    The sign of lightning damage makes me wonder how many weapons like Artemis’ bow they possess. Still, for her, it only took one; charred flesh reveals burst capillaries, and the stubble of hair burnt away. Yet there is no blood in the room despite shredded clothing and burnt flesh awash with it. It looks so fresh and wet, but there is only silence here now, and I can only wish we’d gotten here sooner. If I’d been faster clearing buildings, or picked a different route, could I have stopped this horrible murder?


    Danger Sense quiet, I still cross the room carefully. Finally stepping close, I reach down to ensure her eyes are closed, planning to straighten her body next and I realise they’re blue crystals, now empty of life.


    “Torm, Livia’s dead!”


    I’ve barely sent my Message when a metallic smell fills the air, and my world goes red in a blinding flash.