157. [COUNTERPOINT] You've Got Knell

As Loha of the Reticent Tribe wandered the unseen spaces between one life and the next, her dreams were painted over by the memories of another.

That other soul had also been a queen of sorts—bonded by marriage and fellowship to a powerful man who wielded the biggest, meanest weapon around. Yet, even in that bygone life, 'Loha' had been wracked by jealousy and tormented by ambition.

For there had been another. A third wheel. A self-titled King whose conquests were not of territory nor riches but of hearts and minds.

Gods, how her oaf of a husband fell head over heels for that charlatan—the 'king' of bold claims and outlandish ideas of how to make good on them. And how she herself nearly fell for the same ruse—how she fought tooth and nail to keep her heart full of righteous hatred and free from impossible ideals.

Yet, just when Loha had become invested—made curious to learn how this story of a sordid Path triangle might turn out—she was thrown back into physical reality.

Her Waystation was strictly reserved for private use—stashed away in a hidden alcove inside the Greenhouse. The other Krongardians may be content to mingle and cross-contaminate at the Hubstation, but not Loha. The Rakshasa Queen must above all preserve the purity and autonomy of her soul-in-transit. How else could she have survived for some 400 years and counting—even with the rejuvenating effects of the Realmtree dew? Speaking of…

As soon as she reconstituted, Loha sensed, heard, and read that something had gone terribly awry. She climbed out of the alcove in a mad rush, only to confirm the unraveling disaster by sight.

The thrashing and snarling of hungry beasts. Flashes and bursts of Zealous-green energy. And everywhere she looked, the glow of swirling Souldust, as Calmspawns made Wild again turned on each other in mass confusion.

It was chaos. It was unbecoming of a master architect's grand design. And it was clear and irrefutable evidence that Tyr Djofulsen's [Pacification] spell had run its course—perhaps this time for good.

Loha broke into a sprint, taking the spiral stairs several steps at a time. There would be time later to mourn her husband of 381 years—assuming the worst she feared had indeed come to pass. But, for there to be a 'later', she first needed to prolong the 'now'.

As Loha climbed, newly reclaimed Wildspawns came at her in droves, driven amok by the fresh scent of a Wayfarer. She dispatched them with extreme prejudice and seasoned aplomb, defaulting to her most tried-and-tested combo: [Inhale] to literally suck the wind out of the ambushers' sails before [Exhale]-casting them into the cave's bottomless depths.

She was especially annoyed to find the roof of the Greenhouse crawling with critters (and prominently missing a certain prisoner). That's my tree, she wanted to snarl right back at the thronging horde of claws, tentacles, and poison balls. Keep your filth away! Away with all of you!

[DIAPHRAGM Spell: VITAL CAPACITY]

In a single protracted breath, Loha sucked in as much air as her transmuted lungs would allow. The Wildspawns, as one, drew closer to her—the vortex's epicenter. She then expelled this maximal volume as an explosive wave of energy.

[452!]

[Vital Capacity], the largest and most powerful AOE within Loha's arsenal, produced the intended effect of clearing a whole roof-ful of critters. But it'd come at the cost of significant self-damage, thanks to the sheer heat of the air its caster had sucked in first.

Loha let out several phlegmy coughs, taking note of the taste of singed tissue—her own. As a born Narakite, she'd always had high tolerance for heat. Yet, evidently, [Avici] was too black and too hot even for her to handle.

For that was how she'd suffered her most recent death—and wasted so much time because of it.

Just hours earlier, her pleas to a deranged and arrogant son had fallen on deaf ears. As a result, the Queen had become the maiden victim of FURNACE's new spell, heralding also the coronation of a new Immortal—far sooner than Loha had planned and of the wrong soul, no less!

Clearly, things had gone from bad to worse in the time she'd lost wandering the Insterstitium. The Realm-cave, roasted by the hellfire that raged all around, had become a furnace unto itself. The Calmspawn uprising was likely the result of Tyr Djofulsen's demise—which also meant that Loha's dew-extracting engine had cranked its last shaft.

Loha wanted to scream. Unlike the rest of this Realm of freeloaders, she'd worked for everything she had. For centuries, she'd worked and built and fought and killed for every piece of her legacy. And now, it was all about to come crashing down, thanks to an unruly son, a useless husband, and an ignorant tourist.

But engines can be re-designed and rebuilt, Loha told herself, so as not to lose heart in the face of catastrophe. So long as its inventor lives. So long as I don't let myself fade away…

Yet already, after just one reconstitution, Loha felt it again. The ravages of age. The tortured protests of a body and soul stretched far beyond their natural lifespan. But she couldn't give in. Not now, not ever.

There was nothing for it. She ran toward the tree-inside-a-tree and grabbed the first receptacle she saw. She then gulped it down in its entirety—ignoring the bitter burn of raw, unprocessed dew.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

[Satiety: 160/175 -> 110/175 -> 60/175 -> 10/175]

There. That should tide me over for now…

She would've used up her whole supply if she could. But she couldn't well risk draining her [Satiety] just yet. Not until she had the Realm back under her control.

It took Loha every ounce of self-discipline to turn away from the tree and make for the staircase. She was fully healed and once more rejuvenated, and yet, she'd never before felt less fulfilled.

Do not fret, she told herself. If it's fulfillment I seek, I'll not find it in the darkened bowels of the Realmtree. No, it's out there under the pale-jade moon. A whole Realm under my fingertips, with its people ever ready and willing to serve their benevolent Queen.

But as Loha finally climbed her way onto her favorite balcony, she was met—not by a verdant, fertile land—but by inferno.

Nothing but a sea of black-green flames. The whole Apical Bough—and indeed nearly the entirety of Krongard—was up in unchecked hellfire. The fire crackled and roared, but even louder than the flames were the unending screams of living souls trapped as [Avici]'s kindling.

Loha fell to her knees, as if Poise-broken. Was it too late? Was there no talking down her idiot son and restoring order to her once beautiful garden?

"I say, Rakshasa, must you always be so dreadfully glum every time I come to visit?"

Loha didn't even have the strength to be startled. She looked up slowly and stared with dull eyes at a white-and-gold angel astride their equally well-armored dog.

"But my, what a mess." Sublimity tutted, expression unreadable behind a silk-woven veil. "I leave you with a potent Shriving agent, look away for one second, and what do we have? A whole Realm on fire, and its culprit sitting pretty on his newly Immortal throne. How long did that other one last? Four centuries? I wonder if the son has it in him to replicate his father's longevity. My word, can you imagine four more centuries of this?"

The Deva rocked slightly in their saddle, faceless yet clearly amused. Loha rediscovered her strength, thanks to a flash of anger.

"Why?" she demanded, jumping to her feet and bounding onto the edge of the balcony. She pointed a trembling finger at what she thought was Sublimity's face—fully aware yet uncaring of her outsized insolence toward a Herald.

"I did what I was supposed to, didn't I?" she went on, voice growing shriller by the word. "I used your [Lotus] and Shrived my husband of his Immortality—slowly as to smooth the transition as much as possible. Why didn't his status transfer over to me, his wife and faithful partner of 381 years? If anyone deserved to be the next Immortal, it should've been me, so why? Was this… was this your doing? Was it always your intention to set me up to fail, so Pretjord may be thrown into turmoil? You and your stupid—"

Snap!

[189!]

[19!], [19!], [19!], …

The Deva had stirred once more in their saddle, only to give the SCOURGE in their hand a casual flick. Its five barbed lashes all went flying at once, inflicting a one-time whip damage before binding Loha by her arms and waist. Next, its rusted barbs dug in and drew out a DoT.

"Careful how you speak to me, Rakshasa." The tone of Sublimity's voice was mild and unchanged, yet its cold menace was unmistakable. "I do consider myself a patient god, but even a god's patience can and will run thin. As to your accusations, I ask you this. How was I to know your intentions with [the Effervescent Lotus], or to predict just how awry the best-laid schemes of mice and souls might go? This is your own undoing, little queen. Do not lay it on my innocent pauldrons."

To her eternal shame, Loha sobbed. Not just once but twice, and loud enough for both she and Sublimity to have heard it over the flames and screams. She couldn't recall the last time she'd felt so alone, so helpless, and so old.

[19!], [19!], [19!], …

"What am I to do?" she pleaded in a cracking voice, barely above a whisper. "Surely, Herald, you must yet have words of wisdom to share. Pretjord is my Realm, built from the roots up by my toil and vision. I can't… I can't let it all burn down. Not while I still draw breath."

"Sounds to me as though there's an easy solution," the Herald offered, with not a hint of irony. "Simply cease your breathing. Then you may move onto your next existence in peace, none the wiser as to your downfall in this one."

To this, Loha stopped her sniveling at once and merely stared. A hard glare—steel reforged by unbendable will.

Stop breathing? You must not know me at all, Herald. Where do you think my Path has been leading me—now and always? How do you think I'd transmuted my own DIAPHRAGM into my Infernal Instrument?

Then a pair of white-and-gold pauldrons visibly sagged. The Deva's emotions were becoming easier to read by second.

"The way I see it," Sublimity now gave their serious answer, "you have a choice to make, little queen. It's clear that you can no longer go it alone. You need an ally—a powerful soul with whom to cast your lot."

It pained her to admit it, but Loha couldn't disagree. Oh, how the mighty had fallen—or was it that the meek had risen? In any case, she did need a powerful ally, and the choice seemed obvious. And yet…

"Now, power is an interesting thing," Sublimity continued, savoring their every self-indulgent word, "and not as simple to define as it would appear at first glance. Do you trust Pathsight and the numbers under its governance—attributes and parameters? Do you turn instead to your own eyes and what they incontrovertibly see? On both counts, all signs point to one obvious choice."

Raging hellfire. Screaming thralls. KL-70 along with perhaps the most versatile and domineering kit ever conceived in these lowly parts of Mount Meru. And that was before his Immortalization. Indeed, the choice did seem obvious. And yet…

"But there's a third kind of power, isn't there?" A third wheel. A third entity. "It's the kind of power that's all but impossible to see and feel, let alone to define. But it's there. We all know it. We've all come under its spell at one time or another and to varying degrees. And it's the wielders of this other, intangible form of power that are hardest to pin down. Do I take my chances? Do I dare defy them, knowing they might come back at me with a vengeance and in the most outlandish manner imaginable?"

By then, SCOURGE had slackened its bite, leaving Loha free to move. But she remained stock-still, glaring back at the impenetrable veil that passed for a Deva's face.

"It's your one last chance at redemption, little queen," Sublimity said. "I suggest you choose wisely."

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