RE: Monarch
Chapter 133: Pyrrhic III

There was a lot I needed to adapt to, living rough in a place like the Sanctum. Despite the existence of the trade-posts, I couldn’t risk being recognized through buying supplies. Even with a mask, my eyes were too distinctive for me to take that chance.

When deep in the sanctum, what you can and cannot eat becomes a weekly gamble that could turn daily at any given time. Shelf life is a serious concern. Dehydrating and drying food is the best way to ensure sustainability. Conditions and weather are always up to the whim of whatever grand magical apparatus controls the Sanctum itself. But nature often knows before man, so all one has to do is read the signs. The Reed Lillies, for example, recede when the weather turns cold, and expand out again when the cold front is nearly over, eager for warmth. Similarly,many forms of wildlife burrow before a hot flash.

I’d carved more meat from the Wyvern than I needed, surrounding the heart with it to prevent separation rot and packing the wrapping and the satchel itself with snow. The leather lining had begun to leak water halfway through, and the interior was soaked in moisture by the time I made it to the Runic Desert chamber.

Satisfied with the scent and quality of the meat, I cut the majority of it into thin strips and set it on a makeshift drying rack I’d fashioned for this exact purpose. I drank greedily from my canteen, basking in the warmth of the sun as it restored vitality to my frost nipped lower body. It wasn’t hard to see why the elders chose to retire to the Sanctum. It could be harsh, brutal in places, but the natural order it imposed was appealing. It held a refreshing simplicity that was missing from life in court.

Unfortunately, one of the prices for that freedom was that injuries often held a steep price. I was covered in scars from various scraps with creatures of the Sanctum, some corrupted, some presenting a particular challenge I wanted to overcome.

The wound on my thigh twinged even now. There wasn’t time to disinfect it in a timely manner, and while my later ministrations likely warded off the threat of infection, recent events hadn’t given it a chance to begin healing..

I summoned the demonic gauntlet, watching as the black metal flowed from my fingertips to my forearm, forming dark ripples as it solidified up to my shoulder. I shuddered as it crossed my chest, reaching up to my neck and down to my navel. Along with a strong level of protection, I’d learned the gauntlet also had curative properties. Concentrating hard, I tried to direct the flow to my wounded thigh. It paused at my waistline, a single strand dipping down towards my leg before my focus broke, and the armor receded.

I frowned. It would only be more difficult to form out of the Sanctum, where mana was less abundant.

My thoughts turned melancholic as I watched the metal dissipate to flesh beneath. Not for the first time, I pondered what I would do if I managed to stop Ragnarök. The demons held claim on my soul. Despite what my younger infernal friend from the previous chamber had implied about legends of infernals fighting their way out the clutches of demons, I’d managed to do some research on the topic. There were several chambers that were recreations of ancient libraries. And the precedent for regaining one’s soul from demonic clutches was practically non-existent. The demons would always collect, eventually. It was just a matter of time.

Still.

I stared up at the cloudless sky. “Say, Vogrin?”

“Yes?” Vogrin’s voice held an irritable tone that told me he’d been in the midst of deep meditation.

“At the end of all this, do you think Ozra would care if I came back here?”

Vogrin snorted. “And retired, as the infernals do?”

I ignored the derision. “I’m serious.”

“Surprising that you’d voice the idea, considering who I report to.”

“It was just a whim.” I said. “On the off-chance I actually succeed, stop Thoth, somehow stunt the corruption and hold off the end of the world? I’ll still have to lead a kingdom. Maintain whatever thin alliances we manage to cobble together. And the idea of going from that to a never-ending struggle in the lower realms…”

There was a hesitation as Vogrin considered the question. “It would be a well-earned respite. Especially considering all we stand to gain from your success. The idea is not out of scope. Soul-bound infernals do it all the time.”

“It isn’tt considered a violation of the contract?” I asked.

There was a mental shrug. “It’s not charity. Any power you acquire here will make you exponentially stronger in the demonic realm. And while it would expand your lifespan by centuries, the expansion would not be infinite. Time is not nearly as important to us as it is to you.”

A wave of peace settled over me, quelling a longstanding anxiety I’d almost forgotten was there. “Thank you.”

“I doubt the Infernals would deny such a boon, if you accomplish even a fraction of what you intend.” Vogrin’s voice was strangely encouraging.

“One can only hope.”

“For now,” Vogrin said wryly, “You should focus on defending your dinner.”

I sat up too quickly, blood rushing to my head. A sandhawk was perched next to the drying rack, pecking at the drying meat with undisguised greed. I concentrated a bead of mana into my fingertip and flicked a gust of air toward it. The sandhawk let out an undignified squawk and took flight.

“Damn birds.” I watched until it disappeared over a nearby dune, ensuring it wouldn’t make a second pass. When I glanced back towards the meat, I noticed it had left something behind. The body of a dwarf rabbit was discarded a few feet away, likely forgotten for the tastier prospect of Wyvern meat.

I checked the dried meat, replaceing it dehydrated enough to store. It was more than I could eat in a week, but I had other plans for it.

Then, I knelt over the body of the dead rabbit.

There was an internal groan. “This again?” Vogrin asked.

“Lend me your strength.” I held the amulet around my neck, feeling the cold of the stone.

“Fine. But I expect a better summary of than “not much,” when I ask what happened after I was drained into catatonia.” Vogrin grumbled.

I ignored him, focusing on the flame. The higher stages of magic demanded total belief. Any inkling of doubt could throw off the process. It didn’t matter if Veldani said it was impossible, that it had never been done in the history of the flame. I had to throw logic, pragmatism, and any realistic frame of reference out of the window. But it also required near perfect precision. I had to convince myself that the impossible was, in fact, possible, while clearly holding every detail of that impossibility in my mind.

A drop of blood fell from my nose as the headache started.

With a gentle touch of my finger, I placed tiny pinpricks of controlled demon-fire along the creature’s body. It helped to place them in a manner that outlined the skeleton. Then I drew on both my ample reserves and Vogrin’s. The tiny pinpricks of flame grew hotter until they were almost colorless as I elevated them to the third stage.

Absolution.

The fire spread out like a net, consuming the creature layer by layer. A nonstop river of information streamed into me: The thickness and texture of fur, the detailed braiding of and inner-workings of complex musculature, it’s skeletal structure, and finally the unbelievably intricate network of its mind. I held it all, my vision darkening as the headache grew worse.

Eventually, the rabbit was fully consumed.

I drew deeply on my reserves, clenching my teeth. This was always the hardest part. Slowly, the fire began to reverse course. I repaired the organ damage that had led to its death, leaving some tissue scoring as a simple matter of triage. An endless time passed as I recreated the rabbit, layer by layer, until I reached its mind. Slowly, I lost my awareness of self as I connected each neuron in a pattern as never-ending as the stars in the sky.

Eventually, it ended. I sat back, gasping for air. The idea had come to me within Veldani’s first few lessons.

The third stage of the demon-flame—Absolution—involved the dissolution and recreation of matter. It could be used at its most basic level to create a spark that could burn indefinitely, and at its most complex, to deconstruct a person from one realm and place them in another. That was why it was required to reactivate the dimensional gate.

And the idea that struck me almost immediately after seemed like a natural conclusion. If it was possible to deconstruct a person—mind, body and soul—and recreate them somewhere else, shouldn’t it also be possible to bring the dead back to life?

A disturbed grunt brought me back to the present. I glanced down. A single black eye stared back at me. The rabbit was conscious.

I held my breath.

It pushed itself up on shaky legs, looked around confused, and bounded away. It covered about five feet of distance before it collapsed, mouth open in a permanent expression of surprise.

Dammit. I let the breath out slowly. Another attempt, another failure. But still an improvement.

***

The attack came earlier than usual. Just in sight of the familiar hut when the flash of silver caught my eye. I had ample time to react, holding up the demon gauntlet and catching the weighted silver cord with two armored fingers.

I kept it spinning, casually looking around for the source. With Vogrin still out of the action, it took more effort than usual. There was a blur of motion on my left. I mentally calculated the angle and trajectory, then flung the weighted cord at an open spot of air.

An infernal garbed in desert robes face-planted into the sand as the cord wrapped around his neck. Choked sputtering followed as his momentum carried him over the edge of the dune, and he rolled head over heels all the way down.

I sighed, using the small spark of absolution I planted on the wire to dissolve it harmlessly. A schematic of how to rebuild it flashed through my mind.

“Bit of a dirty trick, imbuing the bola with air magic. Could have snapped someone’s neck if it landed,” I called down to him.

Saladius glowered up at me. “No student of mine would die so easily.”

“Right.” It was better to be straightforward and to the point with Elder Saladius. Otherwise, I’d all-too-easily replace myself immersed in another endless anecdote about his time before the Sanctum. “I need ice.”

Saladius stood, shaking off what had to be a bucket of sand, before he laughed at me. “Come to the desert and ask a man for ice. Pure delusion. Fuckin’ ice, he says.”

I rolled my eyes. “Relax, Saladius. I brought food to trade.” I left out the part where I would have brought it anyway, trade or no. The man was too damn proud to accept help.

His expression grew severe. “Not kobold again?”

“For the last time, I didn’t know eating kobold was taboo.” I dangled the satchel out before me. “It’s wyvern. Very dumb. Very non-sentient.”

Saladius scowled. “I’ll check what I have.”

I followed the Elder as he hobbled to his hut. He compensated with a combination of air magic and pure grit, but the extent of his injuries from the fight with Cowl saddened me. I’d found him too late. He was either too stubborn or scared to make the journey to the heart, and thus, the damage from his untreated broken bones was mostly permanent. I’d expected him to stay with Veldani, but he had departed back to the desert a week after his more life-threatening injuries and sleeping sickness was treated.

The hut itself was in a state of disarray, but never failed to imbue a sense of nostalgia. I waited patiently as Saladius rummaged through the enchanted store-box in his kitchen, my attention straying to the room we’d once stayed in.

If I let my focus ebb, I could almost see them. Jorra and Bellarex, chatting in the corner animatedly, their voices echoing off the walls.

Maya, searching hurriedly through her pack for something she misplaced, asking me if I’d seen it.

My chest hurt, and I closed my eyes.

Focusing on loneliness only ever made it worse.

“Don’t fall asleep now,” Saladius interrupted gruffly, placing a small bag before me. I looked through the drawstring of the pouch at the silver fragments. As if I was a dubious buyer, Saladius reassured me. “They’re enchanted, per usual. Should last you at least a chamber or two.”

“Of course.” I slid the lion’s share of the dried meat over to him, leaving me with enough rations for three days. He studied the amount, and his eyes narrowed.

“This is too much.”

“Not a lot of water mages in the Sanctum currently,” I lied. “Prices are up in your favor.”

Saladius harrumphed. “Too honest. It’ll get you killed one day.”

I let the irony pass.

“That’s all, then?” Saladius poked at me. “Not going to harass me about going to Veldani’s little funeral parlor this time?”

“It’s a hospice. And I’m apparently too honest, so believe me when I say that she could use your help. Especially when I’m gone.”

“Learn all you can from us, huh?” Saladius asked. There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Obviously not,” I hedged, “A few more years and I would have aged out anyway. I was never going to stay forever.”

I’d been holding to the timetable of a few more weeks for months now. But the time was fast approaching. All I needed was Veldani’s final approval that I was ready.

I packed the Wyvern’s heart with ice and stood to leave, pausing at the doorway. “When I awoke to my second element, I cursed it for how weak it seemed. A gentle breeze of air when I desperately needed something stronger. You showed me how wrong I was.”

“It was your ego,” Saladius mused. “Once that was out of the way, it was just a matter of practice.”

“On the topic of ego—”

Saladius cut me off. “I survived here for years without you, boy. Just as I’ll be here for years with you gone. Might finally get some decent sleep for that matter.” He was stubborn as all the hells put together, but somehow, I believed him.

I shut the door behind me, and unknowingly, left Saladius’s hut for the last time.