[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars IV. Infernus (p)

[C. Matthias]

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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx

Pars IV: Infernus

(p)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


Charles frowned, fingered the severed flesh of 
his tail one last time, before letting it fall 
behind him. The wind had completely stilled and 
the stone bridge no longer filled him with dread. 
Their steps carried them across the abyss and 
into a broad, winding ravine between low ridges 
of jagged rock. The land remained barren with no 
sign of life. He could hear in the distance more 
screaming but nothing any closer.

His gait felt awkward with half his tail missing, 
but Charles adjusted after a few minutes and felt 
his balance restored. He walked beside his 
protector, right hand wrapped about his 
Sondeshike, the left gripping his cloak, though 
he felt no more need to cover his snout. Whatever 
influence the blood dust had held over him was 
broken. It stank and revolted him but nothing more.

To his surprise, they walked unmolested for more 
minutes than he could count. The ravine widened 
and flattened until they reached another ledge 
and beheld a vast plain spread as far as his eyes 
could penetrate the crimson gloom. In the midst 
of that plain he beheld a vast circle of stone, 
fiery columns at every turn, and a monstrous 
castle capping the field whose towers seemed 
deformed as if each had been beaten into place 
with a giant hammer. The walls seemed to be giant 
arms stretched outward from the fortress to 
encompass everything in sight. Charles tried to swallow but had no spit.

His protector's voice filled him deeper than 
before, as if it were reaching to the wounds 
already healed. The abode of the master of this 
realm. The bridge and our escape lie beneath the 
center of his arena. Do not hesitate to strike 
anything that attacks you in this place. Not even for a breath.

Of course, Master Åelf.

A narrow track along the ledge guided them down 
to the plain; at points it turned too steep to 
walk and so they scrambled part of the way. 
Charles grimaced at each bump of his tail stump 
against one of the stones, but tried not to think 
of it or the ruin of his ear. One hand over stone 
at a time they climbed down until the slope 
leveled and they were able to walk again.

The plain stretched in every direction, seeming 
wholly empty but for the castle and arena. The 
screams that echoed faintly in every direction 
were now accompanied by some other sound. Charles 
grimaced as he realized it was a thousand 
monstrous voices cheering some infernal victory. 
He tried not to let his imagination ponder 
anything they might see there, but he could still 
remember the image of the black armored daedra. 
He could not stop the shudder from shaking his fur.

The trek across the plain did not take nearly as 
long as the distance suggested it would. What 
demons chose to watch from those walls appeared 
more interested in what transpired within than 
what lurked without, and Charles and Qan-af-årael 
reached them without any alarm sounding. They 
were fashioned from the same blood-imbued rock 
that festered in every direction. Charles again 
had the impression that they were beaten into the 
ground instead of built up from it.

He saw no opening, but Qan-af-årael turned to the 
right and after only thirty paces came to a cleft 
in the wall wide enough for both of them to pass 
through. Charles gripped his Sondeshike so 
tightly that his claws pricked his palm. Darkness 
closed in around them as they passed through, but 
the Åelf seemed to know the way twisting without 
striking either wall. He turned Charles and the rat obeyed.

They emerged in the midst of a long series of 
wide steps, rising behind them and descending to 
the arena floor before them. On every side 
Charles glimpsed some monstrosity. Hell hounds 
bayed where they were chained, gremlins cavorted 
and hooted in tiny, nasty voices, while larger 
creatures roared their approval in tones that 
could grind stone. For the moment, their 
attention was on the arena floor and both Åelf 
and rat went unnoticed. They walked down the steps.

Charles felt his eyes drawn to the castle yawning 
over the field. A figure garbed in black armor 
lounged upon a hideous throne of skulls, one hand 
wrapped about a basalt iron chain. The coils of 
chain dangled off the parapet and into the arena, 
ending in a spiked collar about the neck of a 
gargantuan wolf-monster, its red-stained fur so 
soaked in blood and gore that it was impossible 
to tell what color it might once originally have 
been. The beast was gnawing into the entrails of 
some other creature it had just killed, something 
that might once been man-shaped. All that could 
be recognized now was a man-like arm ending in a 
golden lion's paw. Charles averted his eyes.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and another 
wall, this one only slightly higher than the rat 
himself. Qan-af-årael hoisted himself onto the 
wall, and then helped Charles scramble over. They 
dropped a good twenty feet into the arena below. 
Charles brushed a bit of dust from his scouting 
cloak, and then resumed following the Åelf toward 
the center. They walked a good thirty paces 
before the roar of approval and malicious delight 
of the crowd gave way to bewilderment and calls for blood.

The thing in black armor stirred in its seat, the 
chain in its hand rasping over the stone like a 
coiling snake, and Charles felt his neck tighten 
even without the collar. The beast gorging itself 
at the other end of the chain lifted its head. 
Eyes of solid, featureless gold blazed with fury 
at the intrusion into its domain, and 
blood-soaked jaws spread in a warning growl. Fire 
licked the ground at its feet, followed by 
spindles of ice lacing the dusty sand covering 
the arena floor. None of it came near them, and 
for a moment Charles wondered if they were not 
mere warnings to keep away from its kill.

“Ah, new victims for the Beast!” shouted the 
thing in black armor. The voice thundered and 
almost cavorted in its malevolence and amusement. 
The head, limned with red at every crevice, 
turned toward Charles. “Handicap your rage here, 
little Rat, and I guarantee you a slow and torturous death.”

Charles tensed at the voice, fearful that a chain 
would sprout from his neck again, but there was 
nothing before him but the sand, the glimmers of 
ice, and the immense wolf wreathed in a wintry 
tempest. Qan-af-årael continued walking, though 
from his hands the tree blades sprouted, burning 
a bright blue instead of their usual green. 
Charles started spinning the Sondeshike, eyes transfixed on the wolf.

 From the ends of each thread of ice sprang 
another five wolves, equal in size and 
indistinguishable in appearance. The six wolves 
opened their jaws as one, and from those maws 
erupted a shower of ice that flashed across the 
arena. Qan-af-årael swung both blades and 
deflected the worst of the storm, but the 
stinging frost still burst through. Charles 
raised the spinning disk, and felt the stab of 
chill rush through him. Icicles shattered against 
his shield like hail against stone.

 From his right a large shape bounded. Charles 
turned to strike, but met only air as his staff 
passed through the image of the beast, seeming to 
shatter it into a thousand immaterial fragments. 
He tensed when he realized it was an illusion and 
spun on his feet anticipating a real attack from 
behind. But this was only a probe of skill and 
perception, and nothing but cold struck at him, 
snow and ice closing a veil around him. Charles 
spun around, trying to locate the wolf, and then 
realized with sickening suddenness that he could 
not find Qan-af-årael in the maelstrom either.

“The fire of anger will burn through the snow, 
little rat!” the mocking voice called out, 
booming across the field and over the cheers of 
the crowd. They shouted a name, a name of hard 
edges and slashing bite, but he allowed none of 
it to distract him, not even the poisoned 
suggestions. Anger clouded his thoughts and he needed them clear.

A second wolf struck him from behind, but this 
too shattered at the merest touch of his 
Sondeshike. The scattered blistering red fur 
enveloped him for a moment and he gasped at the blindness that took him.

And then he heard it. So subtle and so small, 
something that an untrained ear would never 
discern, but also something that came and went so 
quickly that only reflexes trained for a lifetime 
could understand in time. He heard the faint 
clinking of a chain. He knew that sound for it 
had almost been his chains. The wolf, the real 
wolf and not one of its illusions, had leaped into the air at his right.

Charles ducked and lifted the Sondeshike in an 
overhand swing just as the monstrous beast 
hurtled through the screen of sleet. The staff 
struck it in the shoulder, diverting its 
trajectory just far enough aside that its jaws, 
which snapped shut with the finality of a 
headsman's axe, claimed but a whisker from the 
rat's jowls instead of the entirety of his face. 
The wolf landed behind him, metal claws of one 
forepaw grinding into the stone for a pivot point 
to maintain its moment, and then hurled itself 
back in for a second bite. Charles twisted to 
bring his staff to bear, but the beast moved as 
lightning, faster even than a Sondecki locked in 
the Tanze. He would draw blood.

Through the tempest, the blue fire of the tree 
sword crashed down with a thunderclap into the 
beast's back. Charles flinched and brought his 
hands up, expecting to be battered backward by 
the bisected pieces of the wolf, but the blade 
did not pierce its bloodied fur. The beast was 
instead driven for a moment into the ground. 
Twisting in place without even a hint of pain, 
the wolf snatched the end of the blade in its 
jaws, and bit through. The light flared, 
momentarily resisting the assault with an 
ear-flattening screech, before exploding in a cerulean cascade of sparks.

The black-armored thing laughed, and his voice 
cleaved through the battle noise as clear as if 
he were standing next to them. “What's the matter 
rat? Have you forgotten how to fight? Use the 
rocks! They are yours to command; they will bend 
to your need; they will answer to your rage!”

Charles resolved anew not to turn his flesh to 
stone for any reason as he turned the Sondeshike 
hand over hand, twisting it back and forth before 
him as he drove through the wintry veil. Swirls 
of white cascaded around him as he struck at the 
beast's momentarily unprotected head. In 
response, the golden-eyed wolf leaped upward 
thirty feet into the air from a dead crouch, 
opened jaws vomiting forth a wave of ice that 
splashed across the ground, engulfing both 
Charles and Qan-af-årael. The wolf then vanished 
back into the fog of snow, impossible to follow 
among all the swirling gusts and illusory shadows.

Charles dashed the Sondeshike against the ice 
encrusting his feet; two blows was all it took to 
free them. It took only moments, but it still took too long.

The rattle of the chain reached his ears just as 
he drove the brass ferrules into the ice the 
second time. Without other options, Charles 
shrank as fast as he could, dwindling almost to a 
full rat, and the Beast's red jaws slashed 
through where Charles been standing only a moment 
before. Charles willed himself to grow again, 
tight fist rising in an uppercut arc, only for 
the Beast to yank sharply to the side, jerking 
its iron chain hard against the back of the rat's 
knees. A shaggy shoulder slammed the rat further 
off-balance an instant later, toppling him 
complete. His eyesight filled with slavering jaws 
and bared teeth, his nose with icy, 
blood-metallic breath, and his chest was crushed by heavy paws.

And then suddenly the wolf's head was not there. 
Or rather, half of its head flew off in a spray 
of gore when a violet nimbus so dark it seemed 
black, ripped through the air and cleaved the 
monstrous wolf's head in twain. Charles slid both 
his Sondeshike and his legs between him and the 
wolf's body and heaved upward, catapulting the 
corpse into the air as Charles sprang back to his feet.

But the wolf with half a head, to the rat's 
surprise, landed on its feet. A snarl escaped its 
throat as it swung a somehow undiminished glare 
back to rat and Åelf. The blow had removed the 
top right half of its head, from the left eye 
down to the jaw. All of it grew back as if the 
flesh were a swarming mass of leprous thread 
tying itself together. But unlike the rest of 
him, this flesh and fur regrew white and the eye 
that opened was a soft but lively brown.

For a moment Charles felt a stab in his heart. 
His gaze swept across that almost friendly 
half-visage, the spiked collar at his neck, and 
the long, iron chain that bound him to the master 
of this realm. He trembled in the certainty that 
this is the sort of monster he would have become 
had he accepted the chain still offered to him. 
This beast had once been a man like him.

But that two-faced moment did not last. The great 
wolf shook its head, and the red coating the rest 
of its body seeped across to swallow the white, 
as if the blood were a living thing ever feasting 
upon the beast's hide. The brown of its eye 
flared into golden fire to match its malevolent 
twin. Its paws braced and its jaws stretched 
wide, each fang shimmering with a unearthly white 
light in the glow of the deep violet blades while 
the rest of it seemed to retreat into darkness. 
Its maw was a cavernous emptiness into which no living thing could come out.

Energy blasted at the Åewlf in bolt after 
thunderous bolt, slamming against Qan-af-årael's 
parrying purple blades like a battering ram 
against a castle wall. The warring magics clashed 
with a scream so strident that Charles clasped 
his paws over his ears, nearly defeaned. Even the 
hellish crown cringed away from the aural 
assault. Charles began to fear that even 
Qan-af-årael might not be able to withstand this, 
and he was not about to wait to find out. He 
danced back out of the way, lifted his arms, and 
flung them downward. The burst of Longfugos 
ripped up the surface of the rock and ice, 
carrying with it a sheen of white and red in its 
wake like a wedge aimed directly at the wolf's 
head but the beast split itself with illusion and 
leaped in three directions to dodge the strike. 
Its chain, glowing as if white-hot, hissed as the 
ice-filled blast struck it but otherwise showed 
no damage. The lightning bolts ceased and did not return.

“Good! Good! Use your fury, Rat! Exult in your 
hate and anger and you can defeat the Wolf!”

Charles instead sang beneath his breath the Song 
of the Sondeck. He would not hate and he would 
not be dispossessed of his Calm. And in the 
moment of clarity his denial gave him, an idea 
arrived. Everything in this place yearned for 
violence. He could strike his enemies without 
ever touching them. Why not the stones as well? 
They were ravenous for it. Could he touch them without being touched by them?

The wolf tilted back its heads and loosed a 
thunderous howl that split the sky and shook the 
stands. Charles struggled to keep his feet while 
the Åelf remained immovable. From the stands 
rushed forward all of the hell hounds that had 
been gathered in observance. Some of these came 
up short when their masters restrained them, but 
more than three dozen rushed onto the field from 
every direction, jaws slavering for blood.

Charles sucked in his breath, raised his 
Sondeshike in the air, and then struck the ground 
beneath his feet. A ring of stone erupted around 
the arena, knocking most of the hounds backward 
and even impaling some who yelped in anguish as 
their blood splattered in every direction. 
Another dozen continued to rush forward. He 
struck the earth again and half of them were 
balked. They scrambled to climb over the wall of 
jutting stone, but it bought them time.

The war wolf actually appeared surprised by this 
attack, but that surprise only seemed to delight 
him, as he licked his jaws and brought another 
swirling tempest into life: this one a mix of 
both brimstone and snow that stung, singed, and 
chilled at the same time. Golden eyes glinted with savor.

Hold him at bay a moment longer. I stand upon the bridge.

Charles felt a twinge of anger slipping in 
through his hands and up his arms. The 
black-armored figure rose from his seat and 
applauded, both hands holding chains. The first 
was the iron chain about the wolf's neck. The 
second was spectral and incomplete. Charles 
renewed the song in his heart. He would not let that second chain appear.

The wolf thrust its tornadoes of ice and fire 
loose, and they careened one off another, turning 
the air into a churn through which the rat found 
it impossible to see. He twisted the Sondeshike 
again, stepping deftly through each hole in the 
air, always keeping near the Åelf. His heart 
raced as he danced, but he held tight to that sliver of Calm he'd found.

Jaws snapped from his left but the rat heard no 
chain and he ignored it. The bite crushed down 
upon him before vanishing in a wisp of ice that 
cut his flesh and made his ruined ear twitch. The 
clink of chain then sounded from his right, and 
he flicked the Sondeshike without touching the 
ground. The stone rose up in a long set of 
spikes. The wolf appeared through the midst of 
his tornadoes, crashed into the spikes and 
shattered them with its body. Its momentum 
stalled, the wolf regathered its strength and 
leaped again with a snarl. Charles flicked his 
staff upward and a tower of stone erupted from 
the ground to knock the wolf aside.

“Brilliant! Now strike with anger unfurled and your stone will crush all!”

A glimmer of weight touched his neck and Charles 
began to sing the Song out loud. The weight 
vanished with those sweet words that soothed his 
heart. Still he could hear the chain-bearer's mocking laugh and trembled.

The snarling of the hell hounds that had crossed 
his barrier turned his ears. Charles spun on his 
paws, smacking each out of the way with gusts of 
air and force, doing his best not to move the 
rock unless he had to. Charles heard the snap of 
bones and the yelps of pain but refused to savor 
them. He struck to kill them because he must, not 
for love of their death, but for love of his family.

Even so, there were more rushing him from all 
sides than he could stop, and the beast wolf was 
still out there prowling and waiting for its 
chance to fell him low. Charles sucked in his 
breath, and then swung the Sondeshike out in a 
wide arc all around. The ground in every 
direction save for near the Åelf erupted into a 
thousand spears so narrow and sharp that over a 
dozen of the hounds were skewered immediately. 
The rest bayed and snarled at the periphery, 
clawing at the spires with no way to get through.

The chain stretched out from the black-armored 
thing's mailed hand, rushing out to meet the rat. 
He could feel the collar at his neck as a weight 
coming into being. The chain did not quite reach 
him, but another such blast from his hands would 
tie him to it forever. Charles wailed at the deception of material strength.

He felt it more than heard it. A gust of freezing 
wind whipped his cloak from behind, and Charles 
spun in time to see his stone spear barricade 
engulfed in a coalescing wave of ice. The 
blood-red wolf leaped atop the nullified obstacle 
with a triumphant snarl, and then launched 
intself at Charles with jaws and claws 
outstretched. Charles lifted his Sondeshike, 
ready to sweep out another thrust of stone, but 
into that moment came a still, small voice, like 
a whisper that even a gentle breeze would steal 
away. But through the cacophony of the cheering 
mass of demons and monsters, through the snarling 
of the attacking hounds, through the throbbing of 
Qan-af-årael's efforts, and even through the 
mocking laughter of the demon lord, this voice touched him.

In weakness power reaches perfection.

Charles did not swing his Sondeshike, staring 
down death for the moment unafraid. The paws 
smashed into his chest and the two of them 
crashed into the ground, shattering the remnants 
of ice still there. He felt the nearly-completed 
collar dig into his shoulders as momentum bore 
him into the rock. Before him, paws ready to 
eviscerate his gullet, jaws eager to feed, was 
the red dire wolf. Charles gasped for breath but 
found none, the brutish weight of the beast nearly collapsing his ribcage.

The beast snarled its victory and then glanced 
down at his chest as if choosing where to take 
its first bite. From the corner of his eye 
Charles saw Qan-af-årael's violet blade descend 
toward the creature's back. All time seemed to 
still into that moment. Golden eyes, blazing in 
their fire, fixed upon his chest, and then froze. 
A blink as the countenance of the wolf changed, 
softened, filled with surprise and wonder, as if 
confronted with something from a half-remembered 
dream. The tongue lanced between fangs, shaping a 
word that could not be uttered by its throat as 
anything more than a choking whimper.

A hopeless plea lived in that shaping and in 
those golden eyes. An uproven yet absolutely 
certain conviction filled Charles in that moment. 
He knew this creature not just as a victim of the 
Lord of Rage, but as a man and a fellow Keeper.

The purple blade descended even as the wolf 
darted its head forward to strike at Charles' 
throat. Teeth crunched into the ephemeral collar 
with a shriek of rending spellcraft. Charles 
thrust his Sondeshike upward against the wolf's 
side, sprawling them both away from Qan-af-årael 
and against the rocky spears; the wolf's back 
passed a hair's breadth from the touch of his protector's blades.

Time crashed back into them both, and the wolf 
bounded up the spears and snapped its jaws in a 
fury rekindled. The only difference was the 
direction: outward. The remaining hellhounds 
balked and milled in confusion, not daring to 
risk the War Wolf's abruptly turned wrath and, 
for a moment, an unexpected stillness blanketed 
the arena. Charles ran one hand over his neck and 
savored the feel of nothing but fur there. His 
hand fell down onto his chest, and trembled at 
the stitching of the Long Scout heraldry there. A 
whisper passed his tongue, “You're Misha's friend.”

“NO!” A voice thundered with such magnitude that 
the rat lost his balance. A wave of power crashed 
into the spears, shattering them into flecks of 
sand and hurling the Beast through the far arena 
wall with a crunch of stone. “YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE!”

The black-armored man stepped over the wall into 
the arena, his form stretching nearly a hundred 
feet into the air. A blade dark and twisted, 
limned with bloody light, filled the hand that 
had once gripped a chain unforged. Hell hounds 
yipped in terror as they tried to get away. 
Several fell beneath his boots and were crushed. 
Gremlins flew down from the stands and fought 
over the ruined jelly left behind.

“The bridge is ready, Charles. You must go now.” 
Qan-af-årael's real voice felt so soft that for a 
moment Charles thought it stranger than the 
tyrannical blast from the lord of rage. His eyes 
flicked to the Åelf and marveled as he too seemed 
to swell in proportion to match that of the 
deadra. His countenance was imperious and full of 
a majesty untouchable by death. At his feet lay a 
circle of darkness that pushed apart the red 
sands of the arena like a beast shouldering aside 
the earth as it sprang forth from its burrow.

“NO! YOU ARE MINE, LITTLE RAT!” Out of the corner 
of his eye, Charles saw the sword drive 
point-first into the arena floor. The ground 
split in a thousand sections, fiery red light 
erupting in a mist of flame through each crack. 
Charles danced back from the nearest blaze, 
wincing as the searing heat reduced the fur on 
his left side to blackened curls. The flesh 
beneath screamed and burned as on the day he'd been struck by the Shrieker.

Qan-af-årael swung his violet blade through the 
flames; they wailed and fell leaving no trace of 
their presence. Charles crawled forward, barely 
able to move either left arm or leg. He kept the 
Sondeshike tucked beneath his good arm as he 
dragged himself toward the bridge. Only a few 
feet separated him from the nightmare conflagration and safety.

The Åelf stepped forward a pace, his rich blue 
eyes ageless and unquestionable in their 
authority. “He does not belong to you. But take 
that which is yours.” So saying, the Åelf reached 
down, grasped the iron chain, and lifted the 
half-buried dire wolf into the air. With a twirl, 
he cast the blood red beast toward the lord of 
rage, who was so shocked that any creature could 
defy him that he paused just long enough for the 
wolf to bounce off the black plate covering his face.

“YOU DARE! I WILL DESTROY YOU BOTH!” he roared 
and the earth heaved and dust howled in every 
direction. The crowds in the stands started to 
scatter. A brilliant plume of crimson light 
cascaded from the armored thing's body, blasting 
outward like a detonating storehouse of dragon 
dust. Charles stretched his arm as far as it 
could go, slipped his hand into the gap between 
the folds of the arena sand, and then was upended 
head over heels when the wall of tremendous 
energy struck him. Into the gap he fell and all 
through the bridge the force thrust him. For a 
single moment all became dark and silent as if 
his eyes and ears had been plucked out.

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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
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