Deeping Lore - 12. Chapter 12 - The Faceless Lord

Constantine stared at Kian with undiluted hatred. Here at last was the boy that had killed him and left his corpse to rot in the stinking mud of the Mirimar Jungle. The sweet revenge that he imagined was no comparison to the real thing. In fact, he dreamt of this moment often and hoped he’d get to squeeze the life from Kian’s slender neck and watch as the boy’s eyes darkened.

Constantine was a man reborn. He had suffered long in the fiery pit where his soul had been stretched and tortured by the ropes of evil. But the King of Hell recognized within him an opportunity to collect the soul of the last Atlantean and Constantine had promised to deliver Kian where all had failed before him.

He had been sent back from the darkness, was born again into the world of men as a wealthy Noremarian in the clan of Chezbernon. As a youth living in the shadow of the Wyrmkyn Mountains, he excelled at athletics and his ruthless nature propelled him into a strict military upbringing. Much to his liking, he was awash in murder before his body had even hit puberty. The Timeron Knights recognized within him a brilliant strategic mind, fearlessness, and skill. However, what they saw in him was entirely due to being an old soul.

He climbed swiftly through their ranks until the time for the Twilight Call arrived on the eve of his seventeenth birthday. Like all Timeron Knights, he descended into the vast arid bowl of the Great Norem Desert with only his armor to shelter his fair skin from the blistering heat of the three suns.

Constantine recalled the rite of passage with nostalgia. Everyday, he searched the skies for a blue dragon mount to call his own. All of the Norem drakes flew upside down against the heavens so that the color of their scales would blend with the natural hue of the sky. Thus they were virtually invisible until it was too late. It required almost superhuman alterness; he remained cognizant that until he had tamed it, he would be seen as its prey. Near the end of a week-long ordeal that tested the limits of his extreme survival training, Skellhaundar Romax, the alpha-dragon and prince of the blues, chose him as its rider. It was an honor rarely witnessed among the unholy order.

The Night’s Daughter knighted both Skellhaundar and himself. That was four years ago. In that time, Skellhaundar had become a Darkglory…the highest rank within the Timeron Knight order and one that earned Zylander much additional respect. It was as if the heavens marked them for greatness. With Bloodbane, Constantine knew he would become General of the armies, become a Darkglory himself, and would eventually become a legend. With its power, he could bring an end to the Valion religion, enslave the fair-haired, fair-skinned people, and destroy the ancient order of the Valion knights forever. With them gone, the dominion of the Queen of Darkness would sweep unhindered over the countries of the world. Her rule would be absolute and he would be at her side, enjoying the fruits that such positions bear.

Constantine’s ambition knew no boundaries and right now, he was fixated on placing another notch upon his belt by slaying the world’s foremost assassin who just happened to be his former pupil.

He lunged at Kian with the tip of his gleaming sword. The edge was razor sharp and anointed with the bitter poison of contempt. However, the lithe assassin dodged his expert remise, feet skirting the edge of the shattered flagstones that split the chamber into two halves. Kian possessed the balance of an exceptional acrobat and moved with a grace that defied the range of human flexibility.

Constantine’s muscles fatigued from battling Hunter and his prey showed no sign of weakening. Calling upon the discipline of Prancing Cheetah, Constantine channeled the spirit of the great cat and swung with lightning precision. His blows sliced the air with such speed that the vacuum created by his movement created an audible snap. No one before Kian had ever been able to counter his assault. But somehow, the blond assassin was able to dodge, deflect, parry, and retaliate with his own carefully orchestrated punches, kicks, and slices with the wrist blade. Every riposte he made against the youth seemed doomed for failure.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Heath whispered to Kian’s mind. “Please…let me help.”

“No,” Kian responded. “Don’t interfere…he’s not a normal Timeron Knight. His training is superior to yours…I doubt even Dylan could beat him.” Distracted, he made a slight error that left him slightly out of place. It cost him blood as Constantine sliced through a break in his defenses and Kian felt the sting of the weapon across his ribs. Constantine, feeling a rush of victory, overstepped. Kian kicked the blade with the sole of his cleated boot and sparks showered the stones. He landed a punch in the Timeron Knight’s chest, caving in the armor around his knuckles, and lightning fast, struck Constantine across the helmet with his other fist. This dropped his assailant to the ground. Kian flickered away in the next instant because he knew that the knight was still dangerous. He saw blood dripping from behind the knight’s helmet while he balanced on one foot, popping his knees one at a time to get himself more limber.

Constantine lifted his visor up, blood dripping from his right eye and a bruise spreading across the skin. His helmet was tight where Kian had struck him. The boy’s strength defied his appearance. No one should have been able to dent corobidian armor. But this six-foot tall, statuesque young man had done just that with a single blow that had moved so quickly, he didn’t even see it coming.

“Are you afraid of me?” Constantine asked.

“I would be a fool not to be,” Kian stated. “And as you know…I’m no fool.”

Constantine saw Kian hopping up and down lightly upon his toes, fists held out defensively in front of him, staying just out of reach. To his right, Skellhaundar and Dylan fought on, the ground around them surrounded in smoky flames from braziers that had been toppled. The sweaty Crimson Guard slammed blow after blow upon the armor of the Darkglory, ducking and weaving under the razor cloak of his adversary, and somehow surviving powerful strokes that would have killed a normal man.

Obviously, Sir Avery was anything but normal. But before Constantine’s disbelieveing eyes, he saw wounds previously spurting blood heal over and the exhausted blue dragon continued to give ground while Dylan fought on, parrying with his sword and gauntlet and herding Skellhaundar toward the crevasse at his back which bubbled with the mysterious black goo. The blue dragon let loose with a volley of lightning bolts that scalded the concrete. The bright flash turned the world into stark contrasts of white and black which momentarily distracted Kian.

Constantine whirled and struck with his blade. But Kian countered with astonishing speed, fell back upon his scapula and struck Constantine in the chin with the bottom of his left foot with such force it lifted the Timeron Knight off his feet. Kian teleported and kicked again from the air before Constantine had even landed and it knocked the knight into the chasm, immersing him in the black goo.

Kian stared at Constantine from the edge, heard him scream, and oily tendrils pulled the knight under the surface. He felt his blood run cold and he backed away from the edge trembling. In the cavern of his mind, he heard Heath breathe a sigh of relief.

Kian, ever watchful, saw Ella Fravaugh and Henna on the other side of the chasm. They were backpedaling away from a presence that flowed from an opening in the wall. “You’d best hurry,” the fairy called out, floating around on butterfly wings.

On the far side of the chamber entered the Faceless Lord with shadows swarming about him, drowning out all light and driving darkness before him as if he were some forlorn shepherd tending to his flock.

“I’ll grab Luck,” came Crispin’s thoughts. “I’ll join you guys in a second.”

He heard a grunt from Ephram and saw his knight lover knock over one of the stone cobras that flanked the throne of the gorgon. Somehow during all of the fighting, Ephram had joined Crispin near the throne and together, the brothers in arms had slain the remaining cyclo-titans and a handful of the warriors that had dared to raise arms against them. Bodies piled to their knees littered the floor.

He teleported to Ephram’s side. “Did you find the book?” Kian asked him, lifting his visor. Clean sweat dripped from the end of Kian’s perfect nose.

“Not yet,” Ephram stated, the audible –click- of the tongue piercing rattling from between his white teeth. But there’s a stone door under this chair. Kian crouched on the balls of his feet, examining the carved surface with eyes trained for such detail. The click Kian’s toes made as they tapped against the stone meant he was deep in deliberation and Ephram didn’t say a word, even holding his breath so as not to disturb Kian’s train of thought.

The door was rectangular, approximately one foot high and three feet wide. As Ephram had stated, it was made of black stone decorated in the center with the face of the gorgon, mouth open and baring long fangs. The carvings of many snakes flowed out from the head in waves that decorated the surface in interlinked knots of bas-relief. There was no visible opening, hinge, or lock. He ran his fingers over the surface, pressed and prodded, but again…nothing.

“Hurry,” Ephram said.

“Give me a second,” Kian declared. He thought back over the vision he’d been given by the blond boy who called him papa. “Blood will call it and lust will calm it…” he muttered.

“What does that mean?” Ephram asked.

“I think it means I have to give the gorgon my blood. Lust calms the rut, makes it so I can think, right? So it has to be my blood and no one else’s.” Kian pulled off his gauntlet and Ephram nodded, realizing what Kian wanted him to do. He drew his sword across Kian’s palm, cutting the skin. Bright red blood welled up and Kian placed his palm against the stone, directly over the mouth of the gorgon. He heard a clicking noise and the door disappeared. Behind it, lay the Tome of the Liar.

“If we didn’t already have history,” Ephram said, “I’d love you for being so clever.” The knight reached in and hoisted the heavy tome into his lap. The bulky thing was covered in gray dust which fell in clouds from it as Ephram gripped it in his strong hands. Satisfied that they now had in their possession the one thing that could point out the trail to Deeping Lore itself, Kian sought out Crispin who was a few feet away, holding the boy called Luck protectively in his arms. Around them the chamber rumbled with a rolling noise that emanated from the direction of the Faceless Lord. The huge wall of black ooze that comprised its body swallowed up wicked men who reacted too slowly to his arrival. A handful of the monsters freed from the spell of the gorgon were all that remained. They tried to exit, but the Faceless Lord cut them off, swallowing them whole with oily black tendrils that snaked out of its center.

Dylan and Skellhaundar Romax fought along the edge of the precipice and the Crimson Guard leader was clearly distracted by the coming darkness that now filled the far side of the room. He narrowly avoided having his foot lopped off by a wild swing from the Darkglory’s double-edged cibrian blade. Dylan blocked the blade on the back swing with his sword and kicked at Skellhaundar’s groin, but the Timeron Knight caught his foot and threw him backward. Dylan executed a perfect backflip and landed on the balls of his feet, spurs jingling. He turned aside the razor cape with his gauntlet and white sparks flamed upward from his knuckles because of it.

Ella Fravaugh hurled a spell at the shattered flagstones on which Skellhaundar was poised and the rocks crumbled under the magical power from the Melzhondran priest. This was the break Dylan needed. Seizing upon it with the reflexes of a trained fighter, Sir Avery kicked him again. The ground heaved, and Skellhaundar fell back into the black goo, shrieking.

Dylan instantly turned his back. He had no desire to gloat over his defeated enemy. If he started practicing those habits, he’d never get anything done because Dylan never lost to anyone. He signaled to Ella Fravaugh and Henna to make for the staircase that led back to the Chaosphere. Ephram, Heath, Crispin, and Kian ran over to him. In the background rose the shrieks of the dead and dying along with the crunching of their bones and the mashing of their flesh.

“Get out of here,” Dylan ordered. “I’ll stay behind and delay that…thing.”

“No! I’m better suited for this,” Kian objected.

“Get going, Kian. This is an order. You swore you wouldn’t ever object to my commands again.”

“D…just fucking listen for a sec. I can teleport. There’s a way all of us can get out of here but you’re going to have to let me stay behind just a little longer. For once, stop being the Alpha and just go…your men need you right now and trust me…I’ve no intention to martyr myself.”

Dylan stared at him with serious blue eyes, black eyebrows furrowed and sweaty. But, he didn’t say anything. However, it was obvious he disliked this plan.

“Trust me,” Kian pleaded. “I’ll make it back to you. There’s no way, I’m staying here.”

“I’m so taking this out on you tonight,” Dylan said rather matter-of-fact. “One way or another, you’re going to learn never to question me.”

“D…just go.”

Dylan nodded, sweat dripping from his chin. He took a running start and jumped the chasm, landed on the other side. The other knights followed suit. Crispin tossed Luck over to Ephram prior to his jump and Kian teleported when everyone except himself was safely across. Then, Kian teleported to engage the Faceless Lord. Behind him, the others fled up the stairs, through the doors, and into the tunnel that led back to the Chaosphere.

Kian materialized in the shadow of one of the pillars. Before him rose a thick tendril of black goo, broad at the base and narrow at the top. It was a vast, shapeless thing that almost brushed the leering skulls carved into the Byssian stone ceiling. The goo flowed out toward him with grasping tendrils and he dodged rolling in a sommersault along the ground. As he came to his feet, he sliced at the Faceless Lord with his cibrian blade which drew a smoking, burning line across the surface of the scum, but otherwise left it unscathed. The Faceless Lord smashed a tentacle down upon him as if it were a giant seeking to smite mere flies. Kian teleported onto one of the pillars, stabbed at the inky black tendrils, and teleported again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luck appear at the top of the stairs. Behind him, Crispin was chasing the boy down.

“Get him out of here…” Kian broadcast to Crispin’s mind.

“I’m trying…he didn’t want to leave without you. He squirmed out of my grasp.”

Suddenly, the Faceless Lord had him. It swallowed Kian around the waist with an inky black pseudopod and Kian felt his skin burn underneath his fantastic killsuit. He shrieked in pain and was attempting to teleport free when Luck uttered something…a word that Kian almost recognized. However, the word quickly burned itself out of his mind. All that Kian did know about the word was that he’d heard it before and that it was somehow mispronounced. Nevertheless, the Facless Lord’s entire tendril that gripped Kian turned to stone and shattered, dropping the assassin to his haunches on the flagstones.

The Faceless Lord bellowed in pain.

Kian, realizing what had happened, saw that parts of the Faceless Lord had solidified to unmoving stone and floated along the surface of the black goo like an exoskeleton. He had a moment of inspiration and stabbed at those pieces with his cibrian blade, cleaving into them. The demon prince retreated from Kian’s assault and flowed backward. Seeing that his ruse worked, Kian swallowed the immense pain he was feeling and teleported to Luck, scooped the gentle boy up in his arms, and ran up the hallway with Crispin at his side. He was trying hard to show that he wasn’t hurting as he ran, but that brief touch had severely scalded him beneath the armor across the flesh of his waist. It hurt so much; he fought back tears as he ran and hoped that the damage wasn’t severe.

“You remembered the Gorgon’s word,” Kian muttered breathlessly to Luck.

The boy just held onto the blond assassin, hugging him about the neck. “I couldn’t remember all of it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kian said. “You saved my life.”

The boy smiled when Kian said that. Up ahead, the others were waiting at the entrance. Kian set Luck down and motioned for him to exit on his own bare feet. Once Crispin was out of the way and safely outside the fortress with the others, Kian gripped Bloodbane’s handle and looked once down the hallway from whence they had just come. He saw shadows and darkness moving up the throat of the tunnel…the Faceless Lord had regrouped and was pursuing them.

Kian set his jaw, pulled Bloodbane free of the stone rings with one strong tug, and as they started in motion again, he teleported outside to stand amongst his companions. The grinding sound created by the stone rings rubbing together once again filled the air. At their backs, lay the open misty necropolis bathed in the distant light of the orbiting moon Hurlothrumbo which was making its way back across the graveyard sky from whence it had first come.

On the far side of the rotating stone rings, the Faceless Lord shrieked and hurled himself against the spinning Chaosphere but to no avail. Once again, the device was moving as intended, and sealed the Demon Prince in the impregnable prison known as the Fortress of Unbreakable Walls. No longer in danger, Kian yielded to the pain which was quickly overcoming his ability to suppress it. Dylan sensed that something was wrong; stepped up to Kian just as the assassin’s legs wobbled and gave out. He caught Kian in his arms and scooped him protectively into the fold of his chest and noted for himself the scarring across the corobidian armor that had repelled the touch of the Faceless Lord.