Chapter 105: Abel

Charon wasn’t surprised when the mists returned, and equally unsurprised when they vanished, revealing another scene. He was in a grassy valley, rolling hills spreading off into the distance. Tall trees occasionally sprang up from the green, bearing fresh fruit, namely one he recognized. ’Apples. I should’ve guessed. I hope the modern Acheron has a larger variety in edible vegetation than just those things.’ His thoughts were mostly an attempt to distract himself from the horrors he had witnessed, his mind unable to cope with so much tragedy so quickly. The focus of this vision was easy to spot. A man in pale robes was running up one of the hills, a trail of blood dripping from a cut in his forehead. His eyes were wide and frantic, his gaze darting behind him frequently. Charon’s eyebrows rose as he saw a familiar crown on his head. It was pale, with a single gemstone in the center and three prongs. ’The pale crown that started all of this!’ He hadn’t expected to see it, but it was good that he was wrong. It meant that things could be ending. Once the man crested the hill, he collapsed to his knees and ripped the crown from his head, throwing it ahead of himself. It bounced once before rolling down the other side, coming to a stop at the bottom. His mouth opened as he screamed. "ACHLYS!" Charon winced at his shout, both from the volume and the sadness he felt. ’She didn’t come when the others called. I’m sorry, but I don’t think she listens.’ As if to prove him wrong, a cloud of mist appeared on the horizon, spreading rapidly. It shot towards the valley, rolling over the hills with ease. Only it arrived, a pillar of pure white fog rocketed down from the heavens, a single form stepping out. A beautiful woman with skin the color of paper and long raven hair appeared. She wore a transparent dress that revealed a body with no features, only eternal paleness. An endless river of tears streamed from her swollen eyes, highlighting the dark bags hanging under them. Charon’s breath caught. ’Is that what she looks like when she isn’t part of the mist? She seems so... sad. More than Wallflower. Like she has never known a day of happiness.’ It tugged at his heartstrings to see someone like this, although he felt more than one emotion swell up. ’She is beautiful... but she is also a demi-god! Her looks don’t matter; she would never even glance at a human.’ The man who called for her didn’t seem surprised at her arrival, his bleeding head held high as he stared her down, wasting no time to berate you. "So now you come! Not when he invaded our homes, not when he slaughtered your people, not even when he spread that accursed soil into your own! Only once I am all that is left do you care!" He spat at her foot, the action earning no reaction. "Curse you, Achlys! You have failed us!" As he finished speaking, she lightly twirled her hand, a tendril of mist reaching down the hill to snatch up the crown. She brought it to her fingers and held it daintily, her frown deepening as she considered it. Once she came to a decision, she knelt down in front of the man and handed it to him, the gesture causing him to recoil in shock. Her voice came softly and empathetic, albeit somewhat detached, as if she were speaking from somewhere far away. "You have suffered greatly, Abel. This was never my intention. I have tried to stop my brother’s advance, yet I lack the strength. Forgive me, I possess not the power of my father." The man, Abel, looked down at the crown, taking it with shaky movements. His eyes welled up with tears as he began to sob, his nose running as he broke down. Achlys reached down and embraced the man, squeezing him into her embrace as his tears joined her own on the ground. ’A demi-god that will touch a human... I see why they worship her, now. She cared enough to spend time with them.’ It was only one action, yet it changed the way Charon saw her entirely. At first, she was just a figure in the mist, following and then ambushing his group. Then she revealed herself to him as related to the Warden and a powerful being. Now he knew that she was once something else entirely, a goddess for the people of the River Acheron. A darkness spread across the sky, corrupting the blue like a rot. The sun dimmed, its light unable to pierce the endless strength of approaching doom. Achlys released Abel from her hug, holding him out as she looked upwards. He followed her gaze, fear blooming in his red eyes. Her fists clenched. "Run, Abel. Run until you find the Ridge. Cross it and flee to the Fortress of Souls. My brother would not dare challenge the Animancers. They will protect you if you tell them you have my blessing." Abel paused, his grip on the crown tightening as determination grew inside him. "No, my lady. I have lived long enough. If that demon wishes to end me today, then let him. I will stand and fight alongside you, as I have done since my first breath." She didn’t argue with him as she stepped past, her hand flicking out as she summoned a glaive. It was the color of marble, the blade glowing like an opal. Abel extended his hand, a small puff of mist appearing and creating a shortsword in his hands, the design similar to his goddesses, yet less appealing. She spoke without turning to him. "I admire your dedication to me, Abel. I may not be a god like my father, yet I know that death will not be the end for you. He shall reward you eternally for this." He shook his head. "I did not do it for him, my lady." The staccato thumping of mechanical soldiers grew closer, the approaching darkness finally reaching them as the first machine crested the hill in front of them. Thousands of the creations marched in formation, over a hundred to a row. They did not outwardly react to them being in their way until they were within a hundred yards, their movement suddenly arrested. ’Alastor is here! Does she plan to fight him? I haven’t seen him fight himself yet; maybe he is weak physically, and he relies on his summons to win. If that’s the case, then they have a chance!’ Charon didn’t have a dog in this fight, but he did have his morals. Heroes always fought for the less fortunate, those pushed aside by society and ignored, even when they did everything they could to dig out of the ditches they found themselves in. Right now, it was clear which side was trying to live their lives peacefully, and which side wanted to stomp all over them. ’Alastor is a bully, killing without reason or mercy.’ He knew little about Achlys, but at least she seemed to be trying to help. The demi-god took a long step forward, her glaive held behind her as she slowly moved between the army and Abel. "Show yourself, Alastor." The way she said his name sent a ripple through the world, as if the mana vibrated with its mention. Even the soldiers seemed to recognize the authority in her tone, their unfeeling bodies shivering from the force. A tall figure wearing a brown robe staggered towards them from the top of the next hill, the machines stepping aside to let him pass. Tools hung from strings connected to his fingers, clattering as the wind blew across them. His exposed ribcage glew from the violet core within, the light clashing with a similar red one emanating from one of his eyes. One half of his face had rotating geometric patterns, their shifting forms captivating as Charon found himself staring. ’Triangles, squares, rectangles, trapezoids. What is the point of that? Is it showing his thoughts? Is he sizing us up?’ He didn’t know when he had begun to refer to them as "us", his part in this vision being non-existent. The creaking and groaning of metal accompanied the creature, as if a factory were hidden inside his cloak. The dirt and grass around him withered and died, becoming barren, onyx replicas of their former selves. As he approached, Alastor’s core seemed to become more active, the light inside flickering as it grew brighter then dimmed, this sequence repeating a dozen times in the minute it took him to come close enough for conversation. The moment he was within ten yards, it stopped, becoming a single violet light. His skeletal hand raised to point at Abel as he spoke in short, raspy tones. "You... survived from your... wounds... Impressive for a... follower of Achlys... I should have... known better..." The man grew tense at the demi-god’s words, a quick tremor running through his hands before a faint mist left Achlys and drifted over to him, calming his nerves. She raised her chin, long raven hair billowing out behind her. "Brother."