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Chapter 45



The Grand Inquisitor had not talked to the prisoner in the months since its trickery had been revealed. It was best to let it believe that Omand remained angry. Of course, he didn’t like being bested at the great game, especially by a demon, but he never let petty emotion distract him from his ultimate goals.

On the contrary, from every setback came new opportunities, and this had been no different. Though initially furious at the demon’s treachery, in the end the judges had granted Devedas more power than the Law had ever entrusted to one man. At this very moment Omand’s agents were busy ensuring that Devadas would be forced to wage war against the only great house with the resources sufficient to threaten Omand’s plans.

Far more importantly, in its gloating hubris the demon had inadvertently revealed something that Omand might be able to use against it. Using that new knowledge, he had immediately begun planting seeds, and today he would find out if there would be a harvest.

Sure enough, the prisoner had been expecting him. Its near-featureless head was watching him through the thick glass as he approached the tank. Even close, it was barely visible through the filthy, murky water. The thing had no expression, but today it seemed almost eager to him. Today was different, and they both knew it.

Preparing the complex magical pattern, Omand placed his palm against the glass.

“It is done. The casteless have been utterly destroyed. There are millions dead across the land.” Then Omand opened his mind just enough for it to see the images of slaughter, burning buildings, and fields strewn with bodies and soaked with blood. Those images were real. “I have received word from Inquisitors in every great house. The Great Extermination has been successful.”

Demon glee was a much different sensation from demon rage, but just as jarring.

Ramrowan death death death

“Yes. The work is done. So very much death.”

Known truth known

His ploy had worked. Omand took a deep breath, and the muggy room tasted of stagnant saltwater and mold. “Now for our agreement, once you give me what is owed, I will have you returned to the sea. As you have said, remainder upon kill. The killing is done. Now show me what remains.”

Never before had he seen the demon like this: excited, its vestigial, regrowing limbs twitching.

Remainder

Then it showed Omand the true path of the source after it had been struck from the sky. It burned its way through the clouds, plummeting toward the northwestern part of Lok, streaking across the Gujaran peninsula, to crash through the canopy of jungle, burying itself deep in the ground. Unlike when the prisoner had led him to the ancient demonic weapon that had failed to erupt during their first attack against Lok, this time Omand saw the source itself, and it was clearly not of demonic construction. From above he could see the gigantic thing lying in the crater dug by its impact, which quickly began to fill with river water that hissed into steam as it hit the scalding-hot object.

The demon sent him a message at the end, one far too complicated for the handful of human words he had taught it before. It was difficult to understand, but it was a promise, and even…a thank-you? Through the torturous screeching that threatened to burst the blood vessels in his head, the demon assured him this was the real location, and to enjoy this reward…while he could.

What did that mean?

Omand would worry about that in a moment. Pattern broken, Omand removed his hand from the glass, shaken, and had to pull down his golden mask long enough to wipe the bloody tears from his eyes. The demon remained on the other side of the glass, and its head split open, showing its tiny new teeth, almost as if it were proud of itself.

“Taraba, bring me the map of the northwest continent.” His assistant rushed to the tank, unrolling one of the many detailed maps he had brought with him to the dungeons. Omand had to work quickly while the images were still fresh. Besides the regular guards there were several other Inquisitors present as well, each of them something of an expert on Lok’s ancient archaeological sites. “And whichever one of you is the most familiar with the Gujaran jungle, come here.”

Taraba spread the map across a nearby table as a guard held up a lantern so they could see better. Omand eyed the eastern coast of the peninsula until he recognized the shape of a bay and river it had gone past, then he worked his way up the line. The terrain would have changed since the demon’s fall, but the old texts spoke of the ancients building a temple atop the site. “Here.” When he tapped the spot with his fingertip, it left a drop a blood. “I do not know this place. What is there?”

The Gujaran Inquisitor studied it for a moment. “That’s deep wilderness, Grand Inquisitor. There are many ancient ruins in that area, but nothing of importance that I know of.”

“Excellent. Fewer witnesses to trouble us.” Then Omand looked back toward the tank to find that the demon was no longer in the window. The bubbles indicated that it had just swum away. No matter.

“There are witch hunters stationed in Rangsiman. Have them obligate an expedition, warriors and workers armed with digging tools, and dispatch them to secure all the ruins in this general location immediately. Someone fetch me a better map of that specific area. I will narrow it down to a more precise location and send them word.”

Even loyal Taraba didn’t know what this was about, but he could sense his master’s excitement. “The Capitol Library has detailed survey maps. I will send for one.”

“This is a great day, Taraba. A truly great day.”

“What’s there, sir?”

“Power beyond imagination.” Then Omand twitched as he felt a strange sensation in the air. A pattern had been formed nearby, consuming so much energy that it was unmistakable even to those who were not sensitive, as every Inquisitor instinctively turned toward the tank at once.

Omand immediately ran back to the tank and peered through the glass.

Through the gloom, the demon was nothing but a shadow at the bottom, but it was doing something.

The creature was working magic.

In all the years it had been in Inquisition custody, the prisoner had never done anything like this before. Omand hadn’t even known that demons could use magic.

“Empty the tank. Do it now!”

The guards sprang into action, two of them turning the creaking metal wheel at the base. The pipe opened and fetid water shot out, rushing toward the drains, but not fast enough. The spell was still building. Omand stepped away from the tank, took some of the black steel from his belt, visualized a pattern to direct the energy to a pinpoint of incredible force, and directed that against what had to be the thickest glass in Lok.

It shattered.

Thousands of gallons of water exploded outward, knocking Inquisitors off their feet and throwing them across the room. Omand avoided the rushing wall by rapidly switching his focus to the pattern, which enabled him to step into the dark space just outside reality. He waited for most of the force to subside, then walked back into the real world. Knee deep in rapidly moving filth, he shouted, “Harpoon the demon! Drag it forth immediately.”

The stench was so bad that Omand had to resist the urge to vomit inside his mask, but explosively draining the tank had interrupted the demon’s spell. The pattern had been broken.

The Inquisitors along the open top of the tank began hurling their harpoons into the whirlpool. Even with only vestigial, regrowing limbs, the demon was still incredibly dangerous, but the men obligated to this room were well practiced. Each time they missed or failed to penetrate the demon’s hide, they’d use the ropes to haul their harpoons back up and try again. It still took dozens of hits before one of the barbed shafts found an exposed patch of white flesh to pierce. One Inquisitor screamed as he realized the rope had wrapped around his foot. The demon spun, rolling the rope around its body, and jerked that man over the side. Immediately after the splash it tore into him. The baby teeth within its fearsome jaws were still razor sharp and the remaining water turned red.

The water level had fallen below the broken window now, so the Inquisitors who were at ground level were able to get back to their feet, except for the Gujaran who had managed to get himself slammed against a wall in such a way that the impact had broken his neck.

As more and more shafts were sunk into the thrashing demon’s flesh and the ropes pulled tight, it was slowly immobilized, and lifted from the tank. When it reached one edge, the demon keepers hooked it with specially designed pole arms and dragged it into its special harvesting enclosure. Heavy steel bars were thrown down, locking it inside.

Omand waded back to the tank and looked through the broken window. Hidden in the filth was what appeared to be a heap of demon bits, tiny chunks of bone, and milky flesh, wrapped together with strips of skin. The prisoner had built some manner of magical device out of its own discarded parts. “Do not disturb that until I have a chance to examine it.”

While Omand climbed up the water to the top of the tank, the demon renewed its thrashing, violently throwing its body against the bars. Never before had any of them seen such fury from the crippled thing.

The guards tried to stop him from walking across the upper grate to the captive. “It’s not safe, sir.”

“Do not place your hands on me,” Omand snarled, and they quickly moved aside.

The demon stopped its violent movement long enough to hiss at him through the steel bars.

“What have you done?” he demanded with the aid of black steel.

The demon sent him a message of anger and joy, of triumph, and a long wait worth it. It was a barrage of images and sensations. Omand could have the source. It meant nothing to the demons now. All that mattered was their revenge. As long as the blood of Ramrowan continued, the land was safe. With them gone, the land was doomed. The prisoner had seen that the line of Ramrowan was ended. Thus the time of man was at an end.

Revenge blood death all

Omand stumbled and had to hold onto the rail to withstand the mental onslaught. The source was real. The demons could freely offer him godhood, for to their kind what would it matter if Omand became an immortal? It would just give him more time to contemplate the total annihilation of his species. Omand could be a god, alone.

“Oh, you foolish beast. The casteless are not all gone. They’re still being slaughtered as we speak, but many remain scattered across the land.”

Known truth seen

“You saw the lie I constructed for you to see. Once I knew you could spy on the messages we sent between your bones, I had my men send endless reports of massacres that never happened, and tables counting all the imaginary dead. The process has begun, and now that the bloodletting has started can probably never be stopped, but the work is far from done. I tricked you.”

The demon hissed and slammed its head against the bars. Steel bent. Hinges cracked. And Omand prepared another pattern, the most lethal one he knew.

“That’s right. You showed me the way to the source for nothing.”

Furious, it threw itself against the gate over and over, until it burst open, and the demon spilled onto the walkway, slithering toward him, dragging half a dozen harpoons and ropes.

Omand raised the black steel clutched in his fist and willed it into the devouring pattern. The black steel disintegrated into dust, but rather than blowing away, it moved with purpose across the catwalk, and when it struck the nearly impenetrable demon, its flesh began to disintegrate. The prisoner’s skull burst, spraying milky blood across the catwalk.

Thirty years they had known each other. Yet it had filled its purpose.

“Harvest it all,” Omand ordered the stunned Inquisitors as he wiped the black steel ash from his hands.

Taking up one of the hooked polearms, he used that to carefully lift the demonic device from the now empty tank.

It must have taken a very long time for the demon to accumulate so many loose parts of itself, probably left dangling after a multitude of harvestings, to slowly construct this thing in the murky shadows of its tank where the guards would not see. Omand examined the device, and immediately recognized it for what it was, for the shape was very similar to the pattern used for long-distance communication. Just as his Inquisitors used pieces of this demon to send messages between them, the demon had made this to send a message to…he knew not where.

Omand had to find out, so he rested his hand upon the damp device and dwelled upon the familiar pattern.

It was more of the mind-splitting silent shriek that was demon tongue that had been sent into the distant ocean depths, and it was only from Omand’s long exposure that he was able to decipher the message’s meaning at all.

It is time.


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