Elysium's Multiverse-Chapter 321

The skresh let on a cold, bony smile - causing his jaw to literally unhinge. “Very good, my dark lady. We will leave you to your work then.”

The three necromancers bowed, and left out the door between two dozen sets of mindless skeleton warriors keeping watch. With a loud bang, the reinforced steel doors leading out of this place closed - and runes of protection burning black and neon teal began to etch themselves into the hard metal.

“Wakey wakey…” Allie whispered, touching the prisoner’s face with the tip of her fingers. “Don’t keep me waiting…”

Wrath, taking the form of a demonic lion beside her in a swirl of purple light, glared at the man’s prone form with predatory malice. “The farther along this road we travel… the less likely you will be to find the souls of your lost brothers and sisters. We are lucky this is only the beginning of cultivation, most of the F and E-grade warriors here don’t have the power or know-how to destroy or banish souls.”

The large lion hesitated when Allie glanced his way, and flexed his claws which dug rivets into the stone floor. “We should have seen him coming before he got so close. Those markings on his soul were the work of someone not of this planet, and someone far above the C-grade - meant to hide the celestial presence from my sight in this weakened form.”

“Probably one of many holy factions being imported through the guild mercenary systems?” Allie asked.

“Perhaps. Though it would be a desperate move for the invaders to side with Judith Marcina’s forces at this stage in the integration. I am more inclined to think that Elysium has lent the invaders opportunities of their own to adjust for the local populations acquiring strength.” 𝙧𝙖ＮỗᛒЁs̩

“Why would Elysium do that? It thrives on conflict, but I would think it wouldn’t be so eager to balance scales like it does. The strong survive, that is the way of things.”

Wrath snorted in dissatisfaction. “I’m sure it has its reasons. But to correct you, it isn’t just conflict that Elysium grows on. It is the product of conflict, the ascension into new heights of power and insight. Every time someone or something within Elysium perfects their dao, evolves into a new grade, gains levels or achieves enlightenment - Elysium takes a portion of that boon for itself. This fringe world is turning out to be a volatile playground filled with high profile players already, and the stakes are high. No matter who wins, Elysium will gain by the ascent of the victors - sewing more conflict and escalating how hard overcoming obstacles is will only lead to gains and set foundations for future gains. But even for Elysium, there comes a point at which the laws of balance in the integration worlds are put to a stop - and Elysium steps back from the picture to let the way of the world unfold. We are almost at that point now, where no further intervention will be taken and the scales are set.”

A deep gasp from the dead man, or what had once been a dead man, paused their conversation.

Allie’s pale eyes flitted back to the assassin who was coughing and sputtering, hyperventilating, as he regained consciousness and his life once more. His eyes were wild, and he began to focus in on Allie and Wrath in soul clone form on either side of his table. He immediately tried to shake off the bindings, but they held firm - and a sneer began to spread across the man’s face.

“Unholy abominations! You have robbed me of martyrdom!” The assassin spat onto Allie’s flowing robes in disgust. “It saddens me to see the bomb did not work! You belong in the pits of hell, beyond the abyss! Not in our world and in the light! May the heavens smite you! May the angels erase your tainted evils from the land!”

Ah.

Religious fanaticism.

They were her favorite people to kill, and had been ever since she’d butchered Prophet’s people back in Brightsville. They’d thought themselves so self-righteous, only to die at her hand like dogs.

Allie’s grin became prominent, revealing a perfect white smile, and she drew a long wicked dagger dripping with acid from a belt at her side. “I believe you have some questions to answer, but first, let’s play a little game of how long you can scream, how many times you can die, before you give us the location of your compatriots - and tell us how you infiltrated our country in the first place.”

“I WILL NEVER TALK, YOU MONSTER!” The assassin spit again. “Do your WORST!”

Allie snickered, shrugged, and drove the acid-covered blade into the man’s heart.

The man screamed, writhed, and wailed as his flesh sizzled and magic rippled through his insides. Organs burst and his very soul began to fry under the power she was pouring into him.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” His wails became a high pitched screech. “YOU BITCH! YOU WRETCHED BITCH!”

“You asked for it, you enthusiastic little man.” Allie flared her wings as Wrath curled up to watch. “Delight in the knowledge that your comrades will suffer the same fate, and that this altar will keep you alive for prolonged torture before needing to bring you back again. No one attacks my Lahn and gets away with it…and know that I derive great pleasure in your pain.”

Twisting the blade, she wrenched it out of his chest to the spray of blood - part of his heart meat still on the wicked blade while the man convulsed and began to foam at the mouth. Unholy runes carved into the stone underneath him burned with green and red light when the man’s blood filtered into each one.

Setting down the dagger and picking up a pair of nearby pliers, Allie didn’t ask a single question as she began to tear off fingers one by one - as the screams intensified in the secluded stone room.

It was far too early to ask questions yet. The interrogation would only come after she made her victim squeal.

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***

Floor 37, the Cathedral of the Damned, was one of the creepiest places Riven had ever been to - and the description when arriving on the floor had been literally non-existent other than the entrance message with the title of the floor. Souls were kept here by the millions, tormented for eternity in this subsection of Hell that’d been quarantined by Elysium for the trial’s purposes. They silently screamed, writhing in the perimeters where a swirling vortex of fire flickered and lurched. The burning souls inside the inferno were crazed and out of touch with reality, and didn’t respond to any attempt at communication.

They simply existed to suffer.

They only knew pain, and it was so prevalent - so all encompassing, that their minute, indistinct auras overlapped with one another to emit a pervasive ocean of ill intent. Of hunger and sorrow, of agony and horror. This place was the very embodiment of damnation itself, and it very seriously made Riven question the Unholy Foundational Pillar and its origins. It made him question what Pride’s intent was when creating the hells in the first place, because despite being a monster himself, despite killing and eating others that in many regards were innocent as of late - Riven couldn’t ever commit to torturing someone literally for all of eternity.

It was just plain wrong.

The Cathedral of the Damned was made of bronze-colored stone, placed at the very peak of a volcano on a hellscape that belched lava down the mountain slopes. There was only one guardian at the very beginning of the floor, and they’d killed the creature easily enough by having Azmoth do all the fighting - since he was immune to the flames. It’d been a giant fire elemental in the shape of a salamander, but otherwise the place was eerily silent. Even with the inferno’s vortex whirling around the mountain in a dome of hellish light, the flames were oddly muffled - and Riven’s footfalls seemed to kick up ash with every step he took towards the large building.

Spires climbed hundreds of feet in the air, while gargoyles, devils, and succubi along with other species of winged demons were carved out of the bronze stone in intricate depictions of battles and worship. A large set of double doors big enough for giants to walk through was wide open at the front, leading into a dark interior, and hundreds of corpses with skin flayed from flesh were hung by large hooked chains that impaled each one at their ends to let dangle.

“I can feel the Blood God’s presence inside.” Genua said as they stood in front of the archway, hands clasped in prayer before muttering quickly under her breath. “But there is more than just him. There are many altars here…”

“Even one designated to me.” Riven muttered, his eyes fixating on a large stone depiction of Gluttony’s maw near the back-left of the room on an elevated platform. “How truly curious.”

Inside the cathedral were dozens of altars, just as Genua has noted. They were each intricately detailed, unlabeled, and oozed individual auras that matched their chosen patron of worship. Most were gods, but there were also altars for the 7 sins - as well as a few that’d lost their auras of power and now lay in desecration; completely destroyed with their remnants laying in piles of rubble.

There was the base floor, the second floor where Gluttony’s altar was located, and then a third floor further back - all sharing an open-air space in the middle with railings on the 2nd and 3rd floors that allowed them to look down onto the first. Burning spiked lamps hung from the ceiling where tapestries of battles between the heavens and hells were depicted in great detail, thousands of candles illuminated the altars and each of the three floors; and it appeared there was already another party of three cloaked individuals located near the very end of the first floor straight ahead. They seemed to be in a state of prayer, completely ignoring Riven’s own party, and kept themselves prostrated before the altar of a large two-headed dragon.

Riven could have heard a pin drop, and his boots caused a faint echo for every step he took after passing through the archway and into the interior. His staff also clicked along the floor, kicking up layers of fine ashen dust that’d doubtless settled in from the volcanic scenery outside.

He did a once over again, making sure there weren’t any others hiding in the crevices and cracks around the cathedral’s interior with pulses of mana sense, and turned around to look at the others with a shrug. “I’m not entirely sure what to do here… any guesses? I'm assuming we just approach the altars, yeah?”

Athela exchanged a glance with Fay and both shook their heads. Kara remained a silent observer, and as usual was rather submissive to the whims of whatever the others chose to do.

“I can’t think of a reason not to approach the altars.” Retesh replied, walking in the direction of an altar to The Scythe - depicted by a skeletal cloaked statue with, of course, a scythe in its hands. “Though I believe someone wishes to speak to you, Riven.”

Retesh pointed a bony finger at the trio ahead before moving on to The Scythe’s statue. The three cloaked figures had risen from their positions at the two-headed dragon shrine, their shadows cast by burning candles as they stood to their full height of seven or eight feet apiece. Now that they’d turned around, it was apparent that each of them were male dragonkin, wearing little more than basic cloth - but their bodies were covered in protective red and white scales. Yellow eyes bore down on Riven’s company with curious interest, and the shortest of them had begun approaching them in slow, measured steps.

Azmoth grunted while maintaining his smaller 8-foot form, lifted his stone maul over one shoulder, and trudged forward to meet the approaching newcomer with wings spread. They came to a stop in the middle, only ten paces away from one another, before the dragonkin’s yellow reptilian eyes snapped onto Riven’s position to single him out.

“I would have words… warlock.” The dragonkin said while folding its arms behind its back, and puffing out its bare scaled chest. Flames briefly puffed out of its nose when it gave a snort at a growl Azmoth produced. “Please ask your minion to stand aside so that I am not forced to talk through him.”

Riven’s lips quirked up with amusement, and he gestured for Azmoth to step to the side. “Sure, but stay where you are. What is it you want?”

Azmoth stomped to the left, but kept a close eye on the dragonkin as flames surged around his body in preparation of an attack.

The cocked his head sideways at seeing Riven’s gluttonous armor, and nodded twice to himself as if debating something. His reptilian lips curled back to display draconic teeth in a smile that could have been taken as threatening, if Riven hadn’t already had exposure to the dragonkin race while on the first and second floors of the descent. “First and foremost, I am a representative of Hatchmire, 137th Son of Overlord Felwing of the First Draconic Fist, Conqueror of Universe 9. If you wish for proof of our claim, we can provide it. My name is also irrelevant, but if you wish - you may call me Zalzar.”

Zalzar gave a low bow. “It is an honor to meet another reincarnation of Original Sin. Should I refer to you as Gluttony? The last one we met had us call them by the name of the sin they’d reincarnated.”

That… That caught Riven’s interest. How had Zalzar known who he was? And what was this talk about another sin’s reincarnation? Riven shifted uneasily, red eyes boring into the two people still standing far in the back of the cathedral’s first floor at their chosen altar. “Your backing must be rather impressive… to conquer an entire universe. My name is Riven, you may call me as such. Which of the other sins has come through this place? I was unaware any of them were here.”

Zalzar gave a polite smile, and shook his head. “I am unable to say, they wanted their presence to remain anonymous. When dealing with the greater powers of our multiverse, it is prudent to keep the secrets of others lest you wish to make enemies - and the same privilege will be given to you once we part ways. But I must ask, have you come to broker diplomacy with us as well?”

Mentally, Athela prodded him with a message. “The First Draconic Fist is known to me, Riven. They’re incredibly dangerous, a powerful draconic faction that committed genocide against all other races that they don’t use for sporting events or food, and they worship a dragon god of some sort. Likely the two-headed altar in the back is a representation, and if I had to guess - one of the two figures in the back is the scion Hatchmire. They also look down on all other races as inferior, but otherwise I don’t know much more. The fact that I know about them at all though, that is a testament to how strong they likely are. Fay’s family may know more as they’re information brokers, but unfortunately we cannot contact them here.”

Riven’s eyebrows raised. Addressing Zalzar’s question, he shook his head no. “You must forgive me Zalzar, but I am very new to the multiverse. I had no idea you were even here. I was born on an integrating planet less than 30 years ago, and have never heard of The First Draconic Fist. I am probably what you could describe as… uneducated.”

Zalzar’s expression of surprise was matched by loud chuckling in the back, where the other two dragonkin were baring their teeth in amusement. “You don’t say? Thirty years is but the blink of an eye. That is rather surprising, considering who you are and the fact that you’re a pureblooded vampire. Not many of your species exist on the frontiers. But if you haven’t come for diplomacy’s sake, have you come to convene with the gods?”

“Other than trying to find a way down so I can finish my soul lattice properly? Other than that I'm not sure what I’m doing here. I’m going in blind, I’m just here in this cathedral to explore.”

Zalzar didn’t seem to know what to make of that, and turned around with a confused look that he shot back at the two who were obviously higher rank than him. Unspoken words were exchanged in a series of hand signs, and Zalzar cleared his throat with another polite smile. “You’re quite a curious one. Well then, my master, Hatchmire of the First Draconic Fist, is wanting to eat a meal in your honor and hopes to discuss more of your origins. He is rather curious about your situation and extends a hand of friendship, as equals. Would you like to accept or decline his invitation?”

The word ‘equals’ was emphasized here, Riven was quick to take note of it. For someone else in Riven's position, this may be taken as a slight. Or as an offense. But for Riven? He didn't give two shits about powerplays like that.

“Ooooh! Does he have golden dragonspire wine!?” Fay asked, hopping up and down on the sideline while grabbing onto Riven’s arm.

Zalzar’s face scrunched up, and his claws clicked against his scaled chest while holding them at heart level. “How do you know about golden dragonspire wine? I do believe they have better than that… but-”

“Then we accept!” Fay enthusiastically exclaimed, and began dragging Riven along with a wide smile. “Ooooooh you’re going to enjoy this one Riven! I can’t wait to show you how good that stuff is, and if they have better then it’s going to be a real show!!!”

Riven didn’t know Fay was a wine connoisseur. Still… he hesitated. He then shot Athela another query through their mind link after a skeptical glance around him. “Something feels off. Athela, find anything?”

“No assassins or traps to my knowledge.” She shot back with a mental shrug, still invisible to his eyes. Though he could tell where she generally was through the minion link. “I’ll keep an eye out. The First Draconic Fist is likely far more powerful than even the Blood Moon Requiem, and refusing their invitation would be considered rude. Even for you, I would tread carefully and try not to insult anyone. The sin churches are not as powerful as they once were.”

As if reading Riven’s mind, Zalzar raised a clawed hand and turned with a swish of a long tail out the back of his robe. “I assure you, Riven, that there are no assassins or attempts of subterfuge here. We do not need such underhanded things, we are above them. Our honor as warriors would not permit it.”

Riven mentally acknowledged Athela, hesitantly nodded to Zalzar, and glanced Retesh’s way. “Anything out of the ordinary over there?”

Retesh the lich was kneeling in front of The Scythe’s altar, in a hunched position with his staff over his legs. “Nothing sinister. These are exactly what they appear to be, conduits to the gods you wish to pray to. Whether or not they respond is up to them.”

Frowning, but seeing no obvious reason to decline, Riven gave in to Zalzar’s request. “Very well Zalzar, I accept. Please lead the way. It appears my succubus partner here has swayed me.”

The dragonkin seemed quite happy with his response by the way their smiles grew wider. Laughing in good humor, Zalzar motioned for them to follow. “Very good. We have much to discuss, though most of it is trivial - it is always good to set relationships early in the path of cultivation. You never know when someone you meet in the F-grade will turn into a powerful ally in millenia to come.”