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The girl was foolish to leave the journal unattended as she had. Igni could count the times someone had been so foolish to leave such important information out in the open like she did, and they weren't many. But then again, she was a human, and the she-cat doubted that the girl knew just how important the information in the journal really was. She clearly had gotten to some of the interesting parts, judging by the bookmark in the crease, but it wasn't worth anything to a human. A godling would know exactly how useful the journal would be. Igni could only thank her lucky stars that Lidya wasn't a godling and wouldn't be anytime soon.
That was, perhaps, the only thing that kept her from trying to kill her outright.
Padding along the rooftops and putting distance between them, Igni opened a portal through the Void, intending to find a quick path to her new godling and give him the journal, but instead found herself confronted by six different familiars, all of them contracted to godlings. The brilliant golden collars around their necks signified that they were Fallen, and extremely powerful; the energy radiating off of them was enough to make her muscles cramp up with the strain of staying on her feet.
She knew their names, but she didn't know them well enough to know if she could trick them or not. Fallen generally weren't able to be easily persuaded or lied to, with some of their latent god powers left over to aid them, and she was starting to favor backtracking into the mortal world, when one of them stepped forward, large bat wings spread threateningly.
Xion was once the goddess of time and violence, before she fell. She was also the smartest of the Fallen, as well, known for her exceptional battle tactics and kill streak of six thousand beasts alone. Six thousand was meagre in thought, but when they were of Elite class and had the ability to wipe out cities and kingdoms, it wasn't so small of an accomplishment after all. Igni had only managed to kill one Elite class beast in her life, and that was only because Fenharrow had been able to help her take it down.
"Igni," Xion addressed her directly, tone dark and demanding. "When were you going to tell us that Fenharrow kept a journal?"
Out of the corner of her eye, deep within the shadows of the Void, Igni could just barely make out the form of Naicar, his insidious eyes glowing brightly in the dark. It should have been impossible for him to travel through the Void as he was--he was a god, not a familiar. How had he gained the power to do so?
"I wasn't going to," the she-cat answered cattily. "His personal belongings have no place in your hands."
Naicar had clearly been more involved in the mortal world than he let the other gods believe. She hadn't noticed him tailing her at all while she was pursuing the journal, or in the Void itself, but she assumed that his power had grown expotentially since she last encountered him a few days ago. She couldn't feel his presence, but she could see him, leading her to believe that he was using a clone rather than his true form to seek her out.
"Are you sure?" Xion raised an eyebrow. The short, stubby wings that were in the place of normal human ears fluttered threateningly. "I think we deserve to know what he was recording about the godlings outside of the archives, Igni."
Which was a crime, she knew that. But Fenharrow was dead, and the journal still existed, probably one of countless others he had hidden around the world. She could easily run back, find one of the hiding spots, and switch it out before any of them knew she had done it. The final journal was too important for her to just give away to a group of Fallen deities.
"I am certain," Igni purred. Though her tone was calm, her ears were pinned to the back of her skull, and she could no longer deny that she was in serious trouble. They couldn't kill her without alerting her godling, who would most certainly go after them once he knew, but they could definitely hurt her enough to get the journal. But she wouldn't let them. "It's just a journal, nothing more. I don't know what Naicar has told you--"
Baleen spoke up, then. The former god of empathy and arcane powers, he looked more human than the others, the only thing making him inhuman being the gigantic squid-like tentacles that made up his hair. The squirming tendrils were pinned back, thankfully, but Igni knew they could spit over fifty types of debilitating poisons should he release them on her.
"Who said Naicar told us?" Igni cringed at his voice. If it wasn't the tentacles that threw you off, it was his voice and breathing; he took long breaths that sounded like someone slurping soup at a rapid pace, and his voice was muffled by his tongue, which wasn't a tongue at all, but an appendage similair to his tentacles that had a mind of its own. "No, it was another."
Verona's familair. Igni never had the fortune of meeting the fabled Nisera, the great griffon familiar, and hoped she would never have the pleasure. Like Verona, she was just as cold, but had a very strong cruel streak that her master didn't. She wouldn't put it past her to have peeked in on her and Lidya's conversation, as she had, and found that the journal would cause all kinds of chaos for Igni. For griffins, chaos was essential to their boredom, or they would find other, dangerous ways to entertain themselves. She counted herself lucky that it wasn't something worse, like skinning her for entertainment. Naicar certainly had that in common with the griffin.
"I see." Igni debated her options, glancing between the three Fallen. Would she be able to take them all out? Maybe two, at the most, but never all six at once. That was a death sentence. No, she would have to flee, regain her bearings, and hope that her godling was as smart as Fenharrow had been. If all else failed, she would have to persuade him to kill the familair's godlings and force them to return to the Void, if only a temporary fix. It could work, potentially. "Well, then. We have nothing more to discuss. I must return to my godling. He calls for me."
It wasn't a lie. He was calling for her, but it was halfhearted. He was fighting and having a time of it too, struggling to dodge past a giant magic-laced scythe that had more range than he expected. That brief glimpse through his eyes made Igni pause, stare every one of the Fallen in the eyes, and rip open a portal.
"Catch her!" Xion's words were too late, however.
Igni slammed the portal shut, weaving it through with her own magic to keep them from prying it open. It would take some time for them to open it and follow, but if she erased the trail in time, it would take even longer for them to track her down. Since their godlings never summoned them unless in dire situations, due to their destructive power, they would have a lot of free time to pursue her to the farthest ends of the earth. She hadn't thought this through at all--she was putting herself and her godling in danger, and that was inexcusable.
"Igni!" He shouted at her, leaping to the side to avoid a downward swing of the scythe. His cloak and shirt were sliced to ribbons, and she could even see some gold-white blood beginning to leak from one of his wounds. "Use your magic and nullify his arcane spells!"
"Yes, master!" Igni stowed the journal away in a pocket dimension. It should be safe there, as long as the familairs didn't kill her and reduce her magic to nothingness. "Please distract it for me--ah!"
There were times where Igni cursed her small, mortal coil. It wasn't often, and they were far between, but now was one of those moments where she wished she was bigger and able to access more of her abilities. It was a hassle to dodge, sneak in for a hit, and leap back before you got hit.
It was then that she realized just exactly what her godling was fighting.
A deathling.
Despite the name, they were far from dead, and held the strongest magic power of any beasts she had ever seen recorded. It was above Elite, sitting firmly in the middle ranks of the Undisturbed--a rank for the truly dangerous beasts in the Veil--and had enough intelligence to pose a very real threat to anything that was in its path. With a pale face, bleeding holes for eyes, and a mouth sewn shut, most would understimate its visual prowess, but behind the black, bleeding pits, there were many, many eyes on the inside of its skull, and it could see everything a normal pair of eyes could see, and more.
Igni lept back just seconds before the scythe slammed into the ground in front of her. The blade was stained red with the blood of its victim, the glowing blue aura turning it a sickly purple that burnt the ground around it. Just the proximity of the beast made her want to hurl her guts up.
Her godling rushed in, then, bringing his own weapon down on the wooden pole of the scythe. The pole-axe cleaved the scythe in half, splintering the wood. The magic guttered out, like a fire under water, and the deathling let out a long, blood curdling moan that seized Igni's heart in fear. Her godling, however, seemed unfazed at it, and not even angry that Igni hadn't followed his orders; with minimal effort, before it could cast an area spell and strike them almost dead, he swung the blade down, one-armed, again.
With a sickening crunch, the blade went whump into the back of the deathling's neck, slicing through bone and flesh. Long, noodle-like worms draped from the flesh where it separated from the head, black as pitch and writhing angrily.
"Vileworms," Igni commented, surprised. It was rare to see them away from the corpses lining the Vile Mother's weeping body. "What's a deathling infected with vileworms doing this far down the continent?"
"That explains why it didn't react immediately." The godling reached for a corked vial hooked to a chain around his waist, popping it open with his thumb. The smell of sulfur reached her sensitive nose, and she cringed when he threw it on the body. It erupted in flames, melting the corpse into dark goo. "I would have expected to be on my deathbed if this were a normal deathling."
And he probably would have been, if it were a normal deathling. Normal ones took at least three godlings and their familiars to take down, assuming they were Fallen as well. But Igni couldn't get past the fact that a vileworm infected deathling had made it this far down the continent without being spotted by another godling. Something was very wrong here. She felt like she was missing some simple piece of an elaborate puzzle.
"Why didn't it encounter another godling on the way down here?" She decided to voice her concerns, padding to the still godling's side. "There are two in the general area it should have went through, if I remember, one of them being Verona. Deathlings don't just slip past like that."
Verona had made it far since Fenharrow's death. She could sense her somewhere near the Vile Mother, but couldn't pinpoint her exact location. She was always never easy to track with magic.
"Mm." The godling sniffed, rubbing his nose with his hand. All he did was smear black blood all over his upper lip and cheek, but didn't seem to mind it, and turned his back to her. "If there's one, there's more, somewhere. Let's go."
Igni sighed quietly. Her new godling never seemed to be bothered by the things that would have bothered Fenharrow. She knew she shouldn't be comparing them, but she couldn't help it. One hundred and thirty years with the same person had made her become attatched to his memory, despite it already beginning to fade from her mind.
"Oh." He suddenly stopped in his tracks, almost allowing her to bump into his legs, and looked over his shoulder at her. He possessed the same eyes as Verona, signaling the potency of the godsblood in his veins, and she took a few steps back. "I never told you my name, did I?"
"No." Igni had never inquired about it, either.
"It's Yule, if you were curious."
She wasn't.
They continued to walk in the direction the deathling came from, silence falling between them and the world. The birds were suspiciously quiet, and there were no frogs or crickets singing their songs as the night came upon them. None, except the beginning strains of the Vile Mother's screeching cry.
As they ventured forth, Igni realized something... troubling.
He hadn't asked for her name.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs6I9eNMusQ
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Lidya rubbed the lace veil between her fingers, frowning at it, as her mother began to braid her hair. The day of Abretas was something they couldn't avoid even if they wanted to. Formal invitations had been issued, despite being hastily made in the short time frame they had been notified in, with their names and ages printed on the card. That made it a lot more difficult for their plan to actually work, if it did at all.
"Head up," her mother ordered. She lifted her chin, showing her where she wanted her to have it, and went back to braiding the crown over her head. "There. Do you want it in a ponytail or a bun?"
Ponytails irritated the skin at the back of her neck, so she settled for a bun. It would also be easier to hide her hair that way, with it pinned up and unable to escape. "Bun, please."
Her father's anxious pacing outside the door had her mother's fingers shaky. She could feel it in the accidental tugs on her hair, or the repeated rebraiding of certain strands; she couldn't deny that she was anxious too. If their plan didn't work, they were royally screwed--or Lidya was, at least. Her parents had everything to gain from her becoming a godling.
"There." Her mother wrapped the final braid up in the requested bun, securing it with an elaborate golden pin made of faux pearls and diamonds. She had left two strands loose to frame her face, warping the shape in case someone recognized her, and also supplied earrings, as well. Lidya had spent the last hour in pain when her mother forced a needle through them, holding an ice cube to the backs, sticking them through with the new earrings. The skin around them was flushed blood red and swollen, but there was nothing she could do about it. Mass was in ten minutes, and she only had five to get dressed.
Lidya examined herself in the mirror with a frown. She looked nothing like herself, not at all, which was the goal, she supposed... But she didn't like it. All of her freckles were covered with a pale powder and her eyes lined with heavy, crimson pigment that most Vile Church women wore to mass. The only thing that stuck out like a sore thumb were her eyes, which were bright against the red coloring on her lids; but no one would see them through the veil, with any luck. The one good thing she got out of it was that all of her pores seemed to be invisible to the naked eye.
"Pretty, but... not you," her mother sighed, sharing the same sentiment. "I did a good job, then, didn't I, Lids?"
"Yes." She gave her a watery smile in the mirror, picking up the golden bangles on the vanity and sliding them on her wrists. They had the Vile Church's symbol on them, as well, and tinkled when she moved her arms. "Can you help me put my necklace on?"
"Certainly." Her mother picked up the box from where she had set it, opening it up with an even more mournful sigh. "Watch your hair, dear."
Lidya picked up the two loose strands, allowing her mother to reach around her and link the collar around her throat. It was gold, like the bangles, and had the same symbol etched into the metal. None of it was genuine gold, but painted gold, and she could see the wear on the etchings where it had turned silver. It was a collar in every sense, supposed to symbolize her 'devotion' to the Vile Church, but she only felt like she was the punchline of a joke she didn't understand.
"I'll let you get dressed, then." Her mother went to the closet, pulling out the most dreaded part of the entire plan--her Vile Church gown. She could see the poofiness even through the giant cloth bag pulled over it. "Make sure not to forget the cravat, either."
Once the door was shut, she went to the dress, tugging the cloth off of it. It was just as white as the day she had gotten it, and hadn't been touched since then, either. She might have liked it, once, if it wasn't so poofy and stuffy. The overall design was ballgown-like, like something the nobles would wear, with giant folds of fabric, tulle, and organza; to get through the door with this thing on, she would have to be careful and meticulous in her planning. It was longsleeved, which she liked, but when it got to the high, poofing collar, that was where she drew the line at liking it.
It almost suffocated her when it was in league with that damned cravat, the lapels extending far past her head and jutting out almost like a lace comb. Her veil couldn't hide that at all; she would have to tuck it inside it. The cravat wasn't a normal cravat, either; it was very, very long, stopping somewhere beneath her ribs, and had to be secured with a ruby pin at the neck. It would be a hassle to wear for six hours in the day, but she had no choice but to do it.
Beginning the enormous task of putting the dress on, Lidya untied the stays and put one foot in the gown, then the other. The lining in the gown was rough and scratchy, and she had to soothe her irritation before it began, hoisting it up to her hips. It was awfully heavy, and she was winded just trying to pull the sleeves over her shoulders.
"Good gods," she huffed, pulling the front secure and tying it down with the ribbons in the stays. "If this goes well, I'm burning it to cinders."
After buttoning up the obnoxiously high collar, she fixed the cravat to her throat, pinning it with the required ruby pin, adjusting the folds over her chest. If there was one thing she wanted to hide in the hideous thing, it would be her chest; there was too much poofiness going on in the chest area that she didn't like one bit.
When she was done, she pulled the veil over her head, sticking the pins into the back of her bun to hold it in place. By now, she was sweating like a pig, her feet unsteady and slippery on the wood. The heat was even worse outside, humid from the blood storm, and she dreaded the shoes. The shoes.
That was going to be a problem.
She poked her head out of the door, glancing at her mother. Her father stopped his pacing for only second to look at her, then went back to wearing holes in the rug. "I can't put my boots on in this thing. Help, please?"
The "boots" in question were just as obnoxious as her dress. They looked like something out of a horror story--as tall as her thighs, with an actual heel, and no support to speak of for her feet, they had over fify laces that she couldn't tie by herself or even reach with the organza/tulle monstrosity she had just put on.
Her mother snickered as she pulled a stocking over her knee. Lidya had managed to find a way to lift up her dress, holding two giant armfuls of fabric and leaning awkwardly against the vanity so she could support the weight of herself and the dress.
"Glad you're finding this funny," she mumbled, and her mother cracked up all over again.
None of them would be laughing once the ceremony began.
She was sure of it.
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