Year 1, Month 1, Week 3, 2nd day of the week

Azrael

Azrael walked forward though the field in the oppressive daylight, not really knowing where he was going. North. Definitely north. But he didn’t really have a destination in mind. Thor’s Threshold? That might be an idea. But he was out in the wilderness. There was nothing around for miles. He reached back with his right arm and felt the sword across his back. He had looked at it for a couple hours already, and had resorted to just feeling it, musing about it; it was rather heavy, so as his arms tired, he put it on his back, where it stayed with no sheathe, strap, or anything, keeping contact with his back as if by some invisible magnet. The sword itself was strange, as it was made entirely of bones, from the hilt to the blade. His bones. The sword had been pulled from his body last night. Another strange thing was that Azrael didn’t feel any lighter or more fragile for it. Running his hand onto the blade, he felt each section until he could reach no more. The blade itself was fused-together sections of vertebrae, and Azrael was reasonably sure that the bones couldn’t literally be his. He still had all his vertebrae and the weight of the sword, he felt like, would account for his entire skeleton, or at least the lion’s share. Plus, the adhesive holding the bones together- was that tar?

The young man shook his head. The composition of his sword was the least of his worries, now. Now he had to travel to a populated city. With basically no supplies. Supposedly he was to be coming up on a town, soon, but he hadn’t seen any sign of it, yet. He patted his coinpurse; a few gold coins and a couple precious stones, plus a strange bone, perhaps a rib. Those, and the cloak he had slung over his shoulder were what he was given to make his journey. As if that wasn’t ominous enough, he now had to effectively become a serial killer. Just his luck.

Eventually, Azrael came upon a tree. It wasn’t a particularly large tree; in fact, Azrael thought that he might be able to push it over, if he tried hard enough. Still, it offered him some shade. A bit of rest wouldn’t do him any harm.

Sitting down with his back to the tree, he wondered if Eden or Sael had made it out alive. Honestly, he didn’t know if anyone had; Azrael had yet to see any refugees. Not a soul. Tilting his head back to rest against the tree, he cursed whatever gods were listening; he just wanted a quiet life, but now the silence was deafening.

He closed his eyes, and, without meaning to, he fell asleep. Behind his eyelids played a sequence of events, events that would likely stay with him forever

***

Azrael fell into the ravine that the giant wolf-creature had cleft. As he fell, his hand brushed Eden’s; they were too slow to clasp hands. Her form and the opening in the ground grew smaller and smaller as he fell. He could see her face, twisted in a frantic scream. The right side of his body went numb as he hit something in his fall. His body spun midair until he landed on his back, all the air being forced from his lungs. How far had he fallen? Should the fall have killed him? He stared up, still trying to breathe in with a diaphragm that was stubbornly refusing to work. He could see the opening above him; he had fallen a few levels. Was it seven? Eight? The opening was some 60 feet above him, and the falling debris from the initial axe strike that had created the opening had broken through the levels. It appeared that he had hit one of the upper floors on his way down.

Azrael finally caught his breath, promptly losing it again as he choked on the dust around him. The dust eventually cleared and Azrael tried to sit up. Unfortunately, Azrael couldn’t move the right side of his body. He curled the fingers on his left hand into a fist. He tried with his right. Nothing. He couldn’t bend his knee or his toes, either on the right side. Hells. Well, one half of his body would surely be enough to get him out of this place, if there is a proper set of stairs. He moved his head into more of an upright position and looked around. Grey stone with white lettering decorated the entire space. The lettering glowed, illuminating the room that he found himself in; it was empty, save for the runes. A shiver went down the left side of Azrael’s body. Magic. He could feel it in the air like a pulse. This whole place was practically humming with magic. He looked to his left and saw a staircase–but it was a staircase leading down and to the left. He looked to his right, and saw a staircase leading up and to the right. Azrael thought about it for a moment. To the right would mean getting out of this place where he had fallen. But it would also mean back into the jaws of the wolf-creatures. To the left was down, but also to something that might be able to help.

He remembered the conversation he had just a little while ago: there might be something holy underneath the city, where, conveniently, he was at. Looking at the white runes and feeling the magic in the air, Azrael felt it was a good possibility something like that existed. Holy items tended to have healing powers, and while Azrael was no physician, he knew that he could really use some healing right about now. If there was really nothing like that down there, and all these runes were just there to help keep the streets clean or something, then at least Azrael would be alive for a few extra minutes. To the left it was.

Azrael planted his left arm on the cold, smooth stone and flipped himself over, crying out as his back blossomed into a column of pain. On his belly, he used his good arm to prop himself up and his good leg to propel him forward, towards the staircase, sliding a little bit with each effort, exclaiming with each slow and purposeful movement; every time he moved, his back felt like it erupted into flames.

He reached the stairs and slowly slid down them on his belly, reaching for the next step, pulling himself down, and hooking the steps behind him with his left foot to keep traction. Each stair caused his back more pain and by the time he got to the bottom, his vision was hazy, and his teeth hurt from clenching them so hard.

At the bottom of the stairs was a simple door, but with clear writing inscribed, saying: Do not enter without earmuffs - Turn your head at the purple light. That was a strange warning to have on a door. Azrael looked at the unresponsive right side of his body. He decided that not having earmuffs might be a small issue. After all, what could be worse than the fate that surely awaited him if the wolf-things found their way down here? Azrael reached up, pulled the latch, and pushed the door open.

Pulling himself inside, he looked up, and found himself in a massive chamber that was empty, save for a stone cube in the center. He looked at the other three corners of the room. No exits. This is the end of the line. Whatever hope he had for his situation had something to do with that box. Looking around, he could see that all the walls, the floor, and the ceiling were covered in magic runes that glowed. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he heard it. A raspy male voice.

“...ther visitor! And one without earmuffs, it seems. I’ll assume then, that you’re not here to pray over my box?”

“...what?” Azrael gasped. The source of the voice was the great box in the center of the room.

“Tell me, young one, what brings you to my humble abode?”

“You–I mean–What?” Azrael sputtered.

“Oh, yes, I forgot! You need to work your way through all the questions! “Who are you? Why are you in a box? Are you an animal, vegetable, or mineral? And other greatest hits, I assume. Well, come on over here, and I’ll explain.” Azrael started dragging himself towards the box.

“Well?” Azrael panted. “Aren’t you going to answer the questions?

“I was, but… You’ve hurt yourself, haven’t you?” the voice sounded mildly concerned.

“Yeah. And I take it, you’re not a magical item of healing, are you?”

“...Not as such, no. You didn’t come all the way down here to be healed, did you? That might be a wasted trip.”

“No, I got hurt on the way down.”

“Ah, yes,” the voice mused, “the paladins will certainly do that to you if you’re not careful.”

“It wasn’t the paladins.” Azrael coughed, wincing as his back lit on fire again.

“No?”

“No, the city is under attack. There was supposed to be something powerful down here. Something that might drive the… wolf-things… away.”

“Wolf-things? I’m intrigued. Tell me about these wolf-things; I rarely get the daily paper anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Azrael said as he finally reached the box. “I’ll do all the talking you want when the city is safe. Now, can you help me, or not?”

“Sure, sure. Do you have a knife on you? I might be able to, if you can get this box open for me.” Azrael fell silent, stunned. He had made the assumption that there was something with holy power down here, being kept safe. Azrael now had the sinking feeling that there was something really unholy being kept down here, under the metaphorical lock and key of holy power to cancel out the prisoner’s own unholy power.

“Having second thoughts, are you?”

“What are you?”

“Someone who can give you what you want. I’m assuming you have friends in the city above. Don’t you want those pesky wolf-things gone? I’m the person to make that happen. Just let me out of the box.”

“I don’t have a knife.” Azrael said, trying to keep his voice level. “Or anything, really. The right side of my body isn’t really working right now, anyway.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. I have a solution for that, too. I can’t heal you, per se, but I can fix the bones in your back and give you use of your arm and leg.”

“...Isn’t that healing them?” Azrael asked, momentarily confused.

“No.” The thing in the box responded emphatically. Azrael was in a bad situation. But could he really get out of this alive, whichever way he chose? If he were to venture up, the wolf-things would kill him; he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. They would make their way down here eventually and kill him anyway, and likely let loose the thing in the box that was sounding less and less innocuous by the second. If he opened the box, the thing inside would likely kill him the second he did so. So, it appeared to Azrael to be a matter of choosing how he would die. Letting the thing out at least had a chance of saving Eden and Sael. Shit. This was a fine situation to be in.

The thing cleared its throat, or at least made the noise appropriate for the gesture, and said, “So, it seems I’ll have to sweeten the deal. While we’re discussing these things…” The outline of a scroll, made of shimmering, purple light flashed into being, along with a similar quill, both of which floated in the space in front of Azrael’s face. “...I would like something in return for ridding the city of wolves. Just letting someone out of a box is simply a kindness, wouldn’t you say? You’re also asking me to expend some power that I’ve been saving up on a task that doesn’t directly benefit me.”

“Fine. What did you have in mind?”

“I need you to be an… errand boy.”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Come, now, I’m not asking for indentured servitude. Nor will I ask for, even lifelong service. Simply an errand that you perform, once a month, for every month of your life. And I will even sweeten the deal! You can buy yourself time! You can shorten the months by performing the tasks in rapid succession, and so release yourself from the contract early! You don’t have to accompany me anywhere and you can go wherever you like. I’d say that’s more than fair!”

The thing in the box bargained well. The age thing, though… The age thing was something that Azrael could work around. Azrael, being an elavis, had a longer lifespan than most, but he was willing to bet that the thing in the box couldn’t tell what he was.

“Okay, Mister Box, I–”

“Draeg. My name is Draeg. And yours?”

“It’s Azrael. So, Draeg, most people live to be about eighty years old, but I’m willing to up it to a full one-hundred, if you sweeten the deal even–”

“No,” Draeg chuckled, interrupting Azrael. “Oh, no, definitely not. I can see you. I can see your life expectancy laid out from birth to death, and you, my friend, should nothing kill you, will live to be two-hundred and thirty-eight years, six months, two weeks, and five days old. Giving you your life expectancy total is free, by the way.” Azrael was floored. What was this thing?

“That would be…” Azrael started counting silently.

“Two-thousand, eight-hundred and sixty-two tasks.” Draeg finished Azrael’s thought. Azrael could practically hear Draeg grinning.

“And what… pray tell… would the tasks be?” Azrael asked hesitantly.

“Murder.” Draeg said, dragging out his Rs for dramatic effect. “I need you to kill sentient beings and magically submit their fresh bodies to me through a means which I will provide to you. I’ll make it even easier on you, and give you the means to, not only complete your tasks, but become more adept at it the more you do, and, as an added bonus, the larger the sentient being is, the more months it can count towards.” The purple-light quil was practically dashing across the illusory scroll.

“No, I can’t. That’s not feasible. Even if I did say yes, I’d be run out of every town I show up in. Even if I do it in secret, people aren’t that stupid; they’ll put together my presence with the deaths.”

“Tick-tock, boy. Are you sure you want these wolves gone? You sure are taking your time hashing this out. Why, if your friends aren’t dead yet, they might be soon.”

“Fine. But you can’t kill me or my friends.”

“Deal.” The purple quill outline scribbled furiously on the scroll outline, lengthening the scroll as room became sparse. After a minute or so, the quill was done and Draeg said, “Sign, but be sure to read it, and ensure there’s no sort of phrasing there that you don’t like.”

“You’re such a nice guy.” Azrael said, sarcastically, snatching the quill out of the air with his left hand. He couldn’t wait any longer for his friends to be safe, so he signed the contract immediately.

“Good. Make sure to hold up your end of the bargain.” Draeg warned.

“You can’t kill me if I don’t, and you can’t kill my friends in retaliation.” Azrael replied, amused.

“No, but I can hire other people to do so. Paragraph fifty-seven, line three.” Draeg said evenly. Azrael knew he hadn’t made the right decision, but he wasn’t sure if there was a right decision to be made. “Here is what was promised, Azrael.”

Immediately, Azrael could feel his backbones fixing themselves, but something felt… wrong. Where his backbone fixed itself, he wasn’t in pain anymore, but he coudn’t feel anything, either, save the bones themselves. He reached back with his left hand, and couldn’t feel on his back where his hand was touching. His right limbs started to move at his command, though, but he couldn’t feel them, either–just the bones themselves. Azrael stood up and asked,

“What happened? Why can’t I feel the flesh on the right side of my body?”

“I said I couldn’t heal you. I fixed the bone, but your spinal cord is still a mess, and will cause you pain for the rest of your life. So, I’ve severed the damaged nerves, and in lieu of the nerves and other complicated bits, I’ve simply woven a bit of magic that lets you control your own bones, and even make them quite resilient.” That sounded… not the best, Azrael decided. Still, workable is workable, he supposed. “Now,” Draeg said, “let me out of this box.”

“Okay. How?”

"Extend your arm out towards the box, palm raised, and will a projectile to come forth from you. Remember, force of will; the magic given to you is now an extension of your will. Azrael did so with his right arm, and felt a ripple go through the bones in his forearm. His flesh opened up in his palm, and a short rod of bone shot out and shattered against the box, knocking a hole in it. His palm sealed itself up immediately after. The whole thing felt strange. He extended his left arm and did the same thing and found that it didn’t hurt–the process felt the same in either arm. He tried both arms at the same time, but it didn’t work, instead shooting one rod from his right arm. He tried shooting in rapid succession, but to no avail. It seemed that the fastest he could launch a rod was once every six to seven seconds or so. Maybe it needed some time to recharge.

The box was now littered with holes. Withered fingers with long, yellow fingernails poked out of the holes in the box, and where those fingers touched, the outside of the cube started wearing, as if suddenly the stone it was made from was incredibly old, or was aging at a rapid rate. A few seconds later, the fingers pulled the wall of the box inward, the box making a sound akin to a teapot being broken.

“It seems,” two glowing purple eyes appeared from the darkness in the box, “that my prison was better at keeping me in than keeping other things out.” Draeg came out of the box, hovering roughly a foot off the floor. The undead thing looked like little more than an aged corpse, dry and withered, but dressed in purple robes that didn’t quite cover his limp feet. The mouth moved and the raspy voice continued, “There’s something missing, though, something I require of all my servants: they must all have a token that they can recognize each other with.”

Azrael was horrified. He let loose a lich. Why hadn’t the paladins destroyed it? Why did they only contain it?

Before he could have any further thoughts on the subject, Draeg zipped forward through the air faster than Azrael could blink. The undead nightmare wrapped one hand around Azrael’s neck and reached with the other hand behind the elavis’ head, tapping him at the nape of his neck. Azrael felt all the bones in his body shifting, grinding and groaning as something exited the skin of Azrael’s neck, painlessly. When he was done, Draeg hovered before Azrael with what looked like bones aligned in the shape of a longsword.

“There you are,” the lich rattled, “your badge of office, as my first minion of this age.” though, minion isn’t quite the right word as you have relative freedom. Ah, well, it’ll come to me. Well, shall we ascend? I have wolves to kill, and I assume you don’t want to stay here forever.” Draeg thought for a second. “It’s not very fun.”

Azrael turned to start walking towards the stairs and he was stopped.

“No, no, we’re not taking the stairs; we’re going straight up.” And with that, he raised a hand and a sixty-foot section of ceiling simply disappeared. Azrael came closer, stood under the hole, peered up, and found he could see the night sky. He found himself being levitated up through the hole and up through the layers under the city, passing the street and rising up into the sky above the city. He looked around. The moonlight illuminated a few clouds not twenty feet above his head. It was just Azrael and his new boss in the sky. It seemed flying wasn’t one of the wolf-things’ abilities, thank the gods; the savage creatures pointed up and either shot arrows at them or threw random projectiles, all of which fell shorter and shorter as employer and employee rose through the air.

Looking down, Azrael could see how completely and totally covered the city was with the wolf-creatures, who were still ransacking everything around them. A flash of light behind him, down in the city caught his attention, and Azrael turned around in midair to see the giant wolf-thing fighting what looked like… a dragon…? It was shaped like what he thought a dragon might be–four legs, two wings, and a long tail, but… it also looked like a bird. There were clearly feathers, but it looked like it had… a beak? The two enormous beings were trading blows and causing shockwaves with every strike. Occasionally the smaller wolf-things would congregate around the dragon to gang up on him, but the dragon would scorch the ground around it with… it didn’t look like fire or ice. It was bright like sunlight.

“What a strange creature.” Draeg mused. “I sense divine power radiating from it, but it doesn’t fight like a god. It’s not utilizing all of its power, and I think it doesn’t realize that. How curious. What’s more curious is Garm’s presence, though. What could have drawn him here?”

“My master has.” came a voice from beside them. Azreal turned quickly, surprised. Standing before them in midair was a red-haired woman wrapped in golden robes.

“Ah, Orlaith, I see you’re up and about. But, ah, pardon me, but when last we spoke on the subject, didn’t you vehemently state that you would never serve anyone? That was really the point of your alliance with Fext and myself, was it not? That we would all be partners in dominion, and that we would have no masters?”

“Things have changed, Draeg. It’s a new age and there’s a new player on the field.” Orlaith replied solemnly. Azrael wondered how Draeg and Orlaith knew each other. She looked… young. Ish. Maybe twenty-eight? Thirty? And Draeg, well, Draeg looked like he had been dead at least that long. “But judging by your comment you know that this wasn’t a decision I have taken lightly. But it is one that is giving me everything I have ever asked for. He even sent Garm to help facilitate your release.”

“Very well, if your master is offering something, I can at least hear him out.”

“Good!” she crooned. “Then, after that, we both can go pick up Fext in a similar fashion. First things first, though.” She held up a blue jewel. “Do you want to do the honors?”

“Excuse me,” Azrael interrupted, “But what, exactly, is going on? My friends are still down there, Draeg.” Orlaith turned and looked at Azrael for the first time, with a surprisingly cold stare.

“Who is this, Draeg?”

“Oh, yes, this is Minion Number One. Minion Number One, Orlaith; Orlaith, Minion Number One. And, unfortunately, he’s right, his friends are down there, so it must be you who does the honors.”

And without another word, Orlaith pinched the jewel, causing bright cracks to appear in it and immediately dropped it. Azrael’s eyes followed the jewel all the way to the ground, where it exploded in a flash of white.

***

Azrael woke up with a start. Squinting, he looked up towards the sun. He can’t have been asleep for very long. Maybe an hour. He stood up and gathered his things. A cloak, his sword, a human thighbone, some coins, precious stones, and a copy of his contract. He went over in his mind what he had been told. The cloak for traveling, the coins for the purchase of sustenance, precious stones for more abstract bartering, the bone for focusing his magic, whatever that meant, and a copy of his contract to remind him of his obligations.

The young man sighed and started walking forwards. There was nothing to do but see how this all played out.