Chapter 63: Book 3 Chapter 20: Realm of the Gods

Joan knew it was petty, but she couldn’t help feeling annoyed when she watched the chosen being fawned over by the crowd of demons. While the celebration was supposed to be for the return of the princess, she’d forgotten how quickly these celebrations turned from ‘this good thing was done’ to ‘the chosen are here!’

It was also a stark reminder, with every look that she and Bauteut received, that she was no longer one of them. While the chosen had intended to meet up with her later in the celebration, it was quickly becoming apparent that they wouldn’t be getting the chance.

‘Are you two still okay?’ Andreas’ voice echoed in her head.

‘We’re fine,’ Joan said across the bond. ‘We can see you.’

“We can’t see them from here,” Bauteut said.

Joan gave a shrug. “We can see the crowd surrounding and fawning over them, that’s close enough,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bauteut said. “I’m surprised. I always thought, if anyone would hate the chosen, it would be demons.”

“Most do,” Joan said. “But Korgron is one of them. Not to mention all of the demonic chosen in the past came from this kingdom. Well, when it was more than just a single city. There’s likely a bunch of demons here who don’t care for them, but for every one that hates them there will be a dozen here who just want a chance to meet them.” She felt a small pang of guilt. Was this how their servants and escorts had often felt? Isolated and alone while the chosen and hero were treated as heroes? She wondered how Isla felt, the celebration had originally been intended to celebrate her return, but now it was all about her sister and betrothed. Then again, at least she was able to stand by them in the gathered crowds. “Anything you wanna do?”

“No. To be entirely honest, I don’t really feel welcome,” Bauteut said softly.

Joan couldn’t blame her. Even with the fake horns she was occasionally getting dirty looks as well. They weren’t chosen, they weren’t a part of this celebration. She wondered if this was how all of their victories would be. No matter how hard she worked, would she always be on the outside looking in?

She shook her head and took Bauteut’s hand. ‘We’re kind of tired, we’re going to head back to our rooms,’ she told the others through the bond.

‘I can come with you,’ Searle said.

‘No, enjoy yourself. You deserve it,’ Joan said, not wanting to risk him cutting his fun early. If anyone deserved a celebration, he did.

Bauteut didn’t object, following her through the crowds. “Are you okay cutting it short?” she asked.

“Yes. Why?” Joan asked.

“You were so excited earlier,” Bauteut said.

“So? I got what I wanted,” Joan said. “I had fun, really. We can talk and relax. You say I need that, right? More relaxation? And I really don’t think I’m going to find it here.”

Bauteut shook her head. “No, probably not.”

Pushing and bumping her way through the crowd, Joan managed to, gradually, make her way back to the main courtyard of the palace. While there were a few demons in the area in small clusters, for the first time since the celebration began she felt like she could breathe. No more crowds pushing in on her or near enough she had to worry they might hear her. It felt good. Relaxing. She let Bauteut’s hand go and let out a soft sigh of relief. “One step closer.”

“Huh?” Bauteut asked.

“Nothing. Just relieved,” Joan said before smiling back at her. “So, is this everything you hoped it would be?”

“Which thing?” Bauteut asked.

“Being a part of all of this. Saving the world?” Joan asked. “Having to deal with an ex-hero?”

Bauteut gave a light giggle, a hand moving over her mouth. “Well, just because you’re not the Hero anymore doesn’t mean you’re not still a hero. I don’t mind, though. Friends always look out for each other, it just so happens that my friend has a bit more trauma than average. It’s never boring, either. Not many of the students at the academy can say they charged through the front lines, rescued a demon princess, met with fae and were part of a grand demonic celebration. So I’d say its been worth it.”

Joan gave a light snicker. “Fair enough. Though, if I can be honest? I think the Hero was a terrible person.”

“Oh? Why?” Bauteut asked.

“He really should have tried to figure some of this out before he died over and over,” Joan said with a roll of her eyes. “Isn’t it bad enough I have to save the world? I also have to deal with all of his issues on top of it? So unfair.”

Bauteut gave a light chuckle, shaking her head. “Well, here’s hoping that, in that way, you’re more capable than he was.”

“I can’t have done any worse,” Joan said before taking a deep breath. The air felt so cool and nice now. She was oddly refreshed now that she was away from the crowds. Her mood was better as well. She glanced back to Bauteut. Like it or not, the girl was a part of all of this now, there was no escaping that. “Do you have any questions?”

“Questions? About what?” Bauteut asked.

“This. All of this,” Joan said. “You’re a part of it now. Everyone else has questions, so I’m sure you do too. Right?”

Bauteut was quiet for a long moment before nodding. “Well, I do have one.”

“Oh? Go ahead,” Joan said.

“It’s kind of silly, probably. But its been on my mind for a while,” Bauteut said before averting her gaze. “I mean, just…”

“Yes?” Joan asked, trying not to chuckle too much at the girl’s nervousness.

“Well, you mentioned that, in the end, you cut off our world from the gods, right? That’s what the Hero did?” Bauteut asked.

Joan cringed before nodding. Trust Bauteut to go right for one of the more vicious topics. “Yes. It was a mistake. But only something I could do then. I don’t think even the chosen could do it.”

“I’m just kind of curious, though,” Bauteut said.

“Curious?” Joan asked.

“How? I mean, the gods aren’t just around for us to touch, are they? So how did you do that?” Bauteut asked.

Joan went still, turning to Bauteut. “What? I mean, isn’t it obvio… oh. No, I guess it wouldn’t be to you. Or most people. Huh. Maybe I should mention this to the chosen,” she said a little sheepishly. It was so obvious to her, but to the rest of the world she supposed connecting all of the pieces probably didn’t make much, if any, sense. “I’ll show you,” she said before tugging Bauteut away from the palace, instead towards the building they had teleported into when they arrived.

“What?” Bauteut asked. “Show me what?”

“The doorway to the gods,” Joan said. “The portals that bind and connect our world with that of the divine.”

 

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“It’s definitely a door,” Bauteut said.

Joan rolled her eyes. “Yes, a doorway that leads to the realm of the gods. A portal that connects our world to theirs, through which, in ages past, it is said the leaders of nations walked through to ask for divine guidance and aid against the horrors of the world.”

“It’s nice? I guess?” Bauteut said.

Joan couldn’t help feeling more annoyed the longer Bauteut looked at it. Yes, it was a big stone door. It certainly wasn’t the most impressive thing in the world, almost all of the ruins that covered it now had long since faded so it was mostly just a wall of stone with a single crack down the middle. She wished she had waited to show her after they had gone to the elf lands, the doorway there was far more impressive and well maintained.

“What does this have to do with the gods, though?” Bauteut asked. “Did you open it?”

“No,” Joan said. “We couldn’t, any of them. We don’t even know where they all are. But they’re incredibly powerful, destroying one of them sent ripples through the world.”

“Ripples?” Bauteut asked.

“Exactly. Destroying four of them severed the bond connecting our world with the gods,” Joan said. “It was a trying time for all of us.”

 

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“This isn’t a good idea,” Korgron said, her eyes locked ahead on the doorway. “If we do this, there is no going back.”

The Hero shook his head. “Do you have a better idea? Even now the sky turns red and the flames rise from the ground. Every day more of the Inferno God’s minions awaken, brought forth by his rising power. We’ve only managed to slow it down. This is the only way to end this.”

“If we do this,” Korgron said softly. “Are you even sure it will work?”

“No,” the Hero said. “But I know if we do nothing, they’ll have died for nothing. I’ll have killed them for nothing.”

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Korgron didn’t say anything, but he knew why. After all, there was no denying what happened was his fault. He had killed them. Their friends. The other chosen. If he hadn’t left them behind. If he had stood guard. If he hadn’t gone ahead. If he had been more careful. If he had planned better. If he had been better, none of them would have died. They’d given everything to save the world. The least he could do was at least make it not be in vain.

The Hero reached out a hand and placed it against the stone, feeling the rough wall once more. The runes across it coming to life, but refused to open. If only the gods would allow him in. If they would just hear their desperate plea. If they would just this once help them, maybe there would be hope. But, as always, the door didn’t open. So he lifted his sword into the air once more, only to bring it crashing down on the stone.

When the blade pierced the stone, reality shattered and distorted, the stone itself not breaking so much as existence around it beginning to shift and shape itself with each blow.

Hopefully this was it, the final gateway they would need to destroy. Then the world would be saved. Then none of this would have been in vain.

How could he have know that, in the end, it had been?

 

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“Joan?” Bauteut asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Joan said before wiping the tears forming in her eyes. “Bad memories. It was a mistake, I think. Destroying them. I think only the Hero could do it.” She walked forward and placed her hand against the cold stone and leaned against it. After a moment the runes began to glow with a golden light. “See? Much more impressive now.”

“Ye—” Bauteut said, before stopping in mid sentence.

As if it was never there, the stone suddenly disappeared and Joan stumbled forward, through the doorway. She let out a startled yelp, barely catching herself. “WHAT?!” she screamed, before looking around.

It was a trick. It had to be a trick. She looked around, but she had definitely stepped past the now open doorway. Bauteut wasn’t moving, instead just standing there.

Joan felt like she was going to scream. For once in the best possible way. She’d opened the doorway. According to all the legends she’d heard, the gods were connected here, she could ask for help. For guidance. ‘Chosen, quick! Come to the door of the gods! It’s open, I got it open!’ she said into the bond.

She received no response. It was still open, though. She could feel it. But the others didn’t answer. ‘Well?’

Joan looked back at Bauteut, but the girl hadn’t moved. “Well? Come on! The chosen are on their way. Don’t just stand there with your mouth open,” she said with a laugh. However, the laugh quickly died when she realized Bauteut wasn’t moving at all. “Bauteut? Are you there? Hello?”

But still the healer didn’t move in the slightest. In fact, she didn’t seem to be breathing at all, as if time had stopped for her.

Joan realized a moment later that time had stopped. Her eyes went wide and she almost ran back out the way she had come, only to stop before she crossed the threshold. If she went back, would she ever be able to come through again? How had she to begin with?

She’d tried everything as the Hero. Punching the door, kicking it, shoving, pulling, using her sword to try and pry it open. Across a thousand lifetimes, across all of the doors. Nothing. How did it just let her through this time? If she left could she come back? What had she done that was so special this time? Was this her only chance?

Joan turned down the passageway. Torches lined it and the stone, unlike the faded stone outside, was fresh and unworn. As if this passageway had only just come into existence. She couldn’t risk missing this opportunity, despite the risks. She started to walk deeper into the passage.

She regretted the decision a few minutes later when the passage opened into a massive, well lit chamber and, on her right, a monstrous spider as large as a wagon towered over her. She shrieked and tried to escape back the way she came.

There were no sounds, no scrambling, nothing lunged after her. She waited a few moments before she started to slowly make her way back to the entrance of the chamber and peer around it.

The ‘spider’ wasn’t a spider at all. At least, it had the body of a spider, but the torso of a man, like some kind of spider centaur. More importantly, it was a statue, damaged, two of its legs and one of its arms laying on the ground where they had either fallen off or broken. A plaque was positioned on a small stone tablet in front of it.

“Hello?” Joan called out, but received no answer. “Is anyone here?” She stepped out and walked towards the plaque. There were more statues in the room, some massive, some not. Each one of some great monster, all bearing a plaque in front of them.

This plaque was damaged, part of the words dented and broken, the name all but gone. However, she could barely read the small words under it. ‘Corrupter of the Weavers’ and the number three hundred and sixty seven. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t in a language she recognized, yet she could read it just fine. As if a part of her just knew. “Hello?” she called out again. “Are the gods here? Their servants? Anything?”

She swore she heard a light giggle. She looked around before quickly drawing her sword just in case, but there were no more sounds. “Hello? Who’s there? Hello?” She received no response and after a moment she wondered if she had imagined it entirely. She waited a few more minutes before she started walking once more, sheathing her sword. It was so spacious she suspected she could have fit the entirety of Kazora inside it, even the parts that were no longer in use.

She walked for what felt like days, though for all she knew it had only been a few minutes. Either way, she knew time here was distorted. It almost felt like she was back in the fae realm. Unfortunately there was no sign of the gods. “Hello? Gods? Where are you?” She’d always been told this was their realm, so where were they?

Then her eyes fell on it in the distance. The Inferno God. She froze in place for a moment, only to start moving once she realized that it was, in fact, another statue. All of the statues up to this point had born a plaque with a number in front of them. She had to know if this one did as well. Because she was beginning to suspect she knew what those numbers were.

The statue was as imposing as she imagined it could be, but the plaque was all that she focused on. While all of the plaques up until now had had numbers written in, hewn into the metal itself, past here the plaques in front of the statues didn’t bear any numbers.

And the plaque in front of the Inferno God had a single title under its name. ‘The End of the Hero’. Eight-hundred and sixty-three.

Joan reached out a hand to rub her fingertips against the metal. She wondered if her theory was correct, was it how many times she tried to save the world? Was this place a journal of all of her attempts, telling her that she had failed? Perhaps a hint of sorts to let her know that she had failed before and so she had to try something new? It couldn’t be so few tries though, could it? It felt like it had been at least a thousand. A thousand failures. A thousand deaths. Some of the plaques she had passed were listed as a few hundred, one in the double digits. But only a few had made it to four digits.

But some had. Had she given up so easily? Was she that weak a hero? “Why couldn’t I come here?”

She swore she heard another giggle.

Joan whipped around, but there wasn’t anyone there. “Hello?”

She received no answer.

“Is anyone there? Please? Show yourself. It’s me, the Hero. Or what remains of him.”

Still, nothing. Was she going insane? She had to be. Or was it this weird, timeless realm? Were those giggles the echoes of some past visit? Or maybe even a future visit? She started to walk once more. The statues past this point were strange, not formless so much as she couldn’t perceive their forms. As if they were constantly shifting and rebuilding themselves, her eyes refusing to acknowledge what she saw. The plaques in front of them were blank as well. However, she finally came to the end of the chamber and one final, golden plaque. It was easily the most damaged, the words almost illegible. Despite this, she could read it with ease. Or rather, it felt as if she had read it a hundred thousand times and was reciting it from memory.

“The promise of the gods,” Joan read aloud. “What is given cannot be stolen back. What is taken cannot be returned. Though the hour of the end draws close, we give you one last gift. Hope. Our chosen, our guide, our champion.” The last line in particular was incredibly damaged, as if someone had tried to tear the words off the wall.

Joan stared at the plaque for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, she looked up. “Is that it?” she asked. “Is that all you have to say? Is this the great ‘message of the gods’? Is that what I am? Your chosen? Your guide? Your champion?”

She received silence once more.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourselves? Our world is dying! The Star is gone! There isn’t any more hero! The world needs you!” Joan yelled. “I need you! I need help! I need guidance! I don’t need power, I don’t need strength! I need advice! I need to know I’m doing the right thing.”

Still, nothing.

“Can’t I get a hint? A sign? Something? Please! I know I made mistakes. I know I abandoned you, but I felt I had no choice! Please don’t make the world suffer for my error!” Joan yelled again, her voice echoing through the halls.

A low hissing sound filled the air, just for a moment, making her head turn away from the plaque and towards a small door in the wall. Joan wondered for a moment if it had been there before or if she had just missed it. Either way, she imagined it was the closest she was going to receive to a sign.

Joan walked to the door and pushed with all her might.

To her surprise it swung open with ease and she stumbled forward, losing her balance and toppling over. “Right, of course,” Joan said in annoyance to herself, though she swore she could almost hear something laughing at her. “Old timeless door, it would be the one thing that opens easily, wouldn’t it?” She got to her feet and dusted herself off before looking down the hallway.

Another long, narrow, empty passageway waited in front of her. “If this really is the realm of the gods, can’t you come up with anything else?” Joan asked before she started to walk forward. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s very efficient. What with the nothing but walls, floor and ceiling. But nothing but stone walls and statues is kind of bland. How about a nice tapestry? Perhaps some carpets? Really make the place warm and inviting.”

Joan reached out and rubbed a hand along the walls. To her surprise, it felt oddly warm, as if the stone was alive. “Alternatively, I guess stone isn’t so bad. Very rough, though.” She frowned and looked around at the stone while she walked through it. It didn’t look as if it was carved at all, now that she really examined it. More as if it had been slowly melted away. Nowhere near as nice and polished as the main hall had been.

She didn’t know how long she walked but, finally, another doorway could be seen off in the distance, this one made of metal. Fortunate, too, since she swore every step through the tunnel was making it get hotter and hotter. Sweat was beginning to form on her brow and she couldn’t wait to get out of this thin, narrow tunnel and into another open chamber. She pushed open the door a bit more cautiously this time, careful to not fall on her face.

The door swung open with ease, revealing a much smaller chamber, only a little larger than the room she had been granted by Korgron. The room itself was filled with ash, piles of bone, broken chunks of metal and half melted weapons. On top of that the walls and floor covered in scorch marks. Only two things in the room seemed to be undamaged.

The first were the piles of bones, though the floor around them was covered in scorch marks, they didn’t have any burns on them at all. The second was in the center of the chamber where a small, red orb floating in the air.

Joan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that just screams booby trap. You don’t actually think I’m dumb enough to touch it, do you?” she asked before stepping into the chamber. While she couldn’t deny that she wanted to go and grab the object, she’d need to make sure whatever around it was safe first. She wasn’t the Hero anymore, deadly traps wouldn’t just bounce off her. Fortunately she knew a few dozen spells to figure out what traps were on it.

Fire erupted behind her and she jumped, turning to look at the now blocked off passageway. “What?” she asked.

Once again she heard the giggle. She turned towards the red orb and the color drained from her face.

It wasn’t a booby trap.

It was the guardian.

Fire erupted from the orb, weaving itself into a small, humanoid form. No, not just any humanoid form. HER humanoid form. Joan took a small step back from the doppleganger, the flames a perfect mimic of her, all the way down to the sword at her hip. Once again she heard the soft, playful giggle.

Right before the flaming creature drew its sword and charged at her, its giggles echoing through the chamber.