Chương 133: Chapter 119 - Devastation

++When playing for time, it helps to have allies willing to die in the attempt. ++ - From the writings of Isabel Vornholt, 'The Great Lich'. 1, 891 A. E. Human multi-tasking is often said to not exist. That is because liches have never been invited to participate in the scientific studies investigating it. I split my focus as I worked, with the majority of it concentrated on the ritual before me and the rest, those few scraps of cognitive function I could spare, being directed towards the looming threat at my back.

It would do me no good to dedicate everything I had to a ritual only for it to distract me into being caught by the Gods, after all. I imagined they would find out my real identity quite fast with an extensive examination. No, better to keep my guard up and remain primed to flee if any disasters should befall me. And that was looking likely, because, much to my irritation, Sakhent was actually managing to lose against that mouth-breathing gibbon Nu'chista.

I was only able to spare brief glances at the fight, through the many holes and crevices in the crypts' ceiling that now exposed the open skies to me, but each time I looked the picture of Sakhent's battle was growing less optimistic than before. Where she did superficial damage, he would take a limb. Where she fought to survive, he fought to win. But that did not mean that all was lost, because unlike Nu'chista, Sakhent did stand to win just from buying time alone.

I continued my work and felt the Veil begin to crack. Extending my magical senses past it, being careful not to delve too deeply into the realm, I felt divine power. A candle flame among the bonfire of primordial magic, but still detectable. Zameka, buried deep in her prison and just awaiting me to draw her out and feast upon her magic.

All the preparation was complete, once I finished coaxing her through the breach she would be deposited instantly into our binding ritual and her essence would be entwined with mine. Her power would be mine. My thoughts were interrupted as I felt something else brush against them, and froze. I was so shocked that I almost lost my precipitous control over the mana and ruined everything, though I was just about able to salvage it before the ritual faltered.

Then I felt the sensation again, confirming it was not just in my head, or a fluke. I felt my own power. Not this new, petty, thin mana I had cultivated in the modern age from my second infancy, the old power stored in my old Vessel. Damaged and imperfect, but honed through so many millennia as to be near-godlike compared to my current limits. It knew I was here. As much as magic without a conscious mind controlling it could know anything. It was trying to reunite with me, as much as lone magic could try anything.

And I ignored it. The temptation was strong, but if I took the time to re-absorb my old might, I would be removing my chance to claim that of Zameka. I would be taking easy, current power over the long-term advantage needed to truly wage war against the Gods. I continued working at the ritual, even as the battle kept raging far behind me. It sounded like Sakhent was drawing closer to defeat. Keep fighting, little lich. Hold the Demigod off for just a while longer.

I was getting close to completing the ritual, perhaps a few minutes away. Every second felt like an ice age, but each one was another step towards drawing on divine power of my own. The first thing I did, I thought, would be to crush Nu'chista like a bug. The second would be to teach Aryqatan the benefits of referring to me with respectful terminology. But that was only if I was given the chance to complete this and gain the power at all. And that was still in doubt.

I felt that sour taste in my mouth that always came with having my faith in the hands of another. Like being a baby all over again.

Sakhent was backing away and doing her best to harass the Demigod more than wound him, now. Silvery blood trickled from a few minor cuts on his face or body, and she saw patches of skin taking on a metallic glint from below—his divine flesh's equivalent to bruising. She had certainly done more than zero damage. Perhaps two of her fighting at once, or five fighting in a row, may even have defeated him. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

But there was only one Sakhent, and as humiliating as it was to admit, she was inferior in power to this sole servitor of the Gods.

"Running," the Demigod snarled. His mouth was open, tongue running over exposed teeth. They looked like a predator's fangs, and they hadn't before. Was he still mutating, body optimizing itself more into a killing thing as the fight went on?

"Do you have any idea how much more intelligent I am than you?" Sakhent asked him.

"A rhetorical question, I know you don't. You haven't surrendered yet." It was pure bluster, thrown out in the desperate hope that it might give the Demigod pause. Instead it seemed to just incense him into some berserk fury and send him flying right at Sakhent. She could work with that, too. Another teleportation snatched her out of reach, and this time Sakhent drilled herself down into the crypts before teleporting again.

Teleportation magic was costly, difficult to perform in rapid succession and potentially dangerous if done improperly. Fortunately, a non-living body meant that when Sakhent accidentally left one of her hands behind, it was only a mechanical concern. Her grip on Grimscythe would be weaker now, if she managed to make the mistake of being forced back into melee again.

Nu'chista smashed into the crypts and began tearing through them as he looked for her, while Sakhent took her time to weave mana into the most destructive spell she could muster. She was doing delicate work, almost as delicate as the God-binding ritual, in its own way. Infusing mana through the air in just such a style as to build power and keep it perfectly balanced. The energies at play could destroy even her physical body, shield or no, if unleashed prematurely. And they were easily traced.

Blinding heat rather than raw mana, something that was not smothered by the Depths and that caught Nu'chista's attention instantly. She saw the Demigod's head turn up to look at her from a thousand feet below, then he was on her barely a second later. Sakhent released her ball of compressed energy and teleported down to the ground below. She half-succeeded. The teleportation misfired again, with too much of Sakhent's mana tied up in her attack there simply wasn't enough to properly shift her through space.

She managed to put perhaps twenty yards between herself and the orb of power before it did its work. Hydrogen in the very atmosphere broke down into something primal and more energetic, and the world around her, for a few brief milliseconds, was the heart of a star. No magical shield could have stopped the heat entirely, but Sakhent's did its work in reducing most of the solar fire and leaving her to escape with bones that were merely blackened instead of cremated.

She began falling down towards the streets below, trailing smoke and looking back to see what damage the Demigod had suffered himself. Burns everywhere, silver blood weeping from cracked skin, hair burned almost completely clear of his scalp. Sakhent was treated to the sight of trembling agony on the Demigod, and took the chance to score him with another blast of necrotic energy that sent him slamming down hard into the stone before she finished falling herself. And then the dust cleared.

Nu'chista was on his knees already by then, then stumbling back up onto his heels. He wavered for a moment, swaying side to side and finally falling stiff and straight into a posture too steady to be held with any grievous wounds. Demigods were not just tougher than humans, but more survivable too. He must have been wearing the better part of a third of his own blood, but Nu'chista seemed barely to care.

"That was your best shot, wasn't it, little lich?" he stumbled towards her, still hurt and betraying the fact now. Sakhent did not know how long that would last though. The lowliest Demigod still healed hundreds of times faster than a common human, and Nu'chista was far beyond the lowliest of Demigods. She simply had no more power to use up in fighting him more.

"I'm just luring you into a false sense of security," she lied through her teeth. Sakhent was pleased not to need breath, blood, or, indeed, a body that was intact in anything more than the most vague and abstract sense. If any one of those had been a requirement for her continued existence, she'd already be well and truly finished. The Demigod laughed, and kept drawing closer.

"No, you're scrambling for a bluff, because you know you're finished." He paused, then began quickening.

"And I don't have time to wait." It seemed the thrill of his new power had gotten ahead of him for a moment there. Sakhent could remember that feeling, after her own first experience of lichdom she'd taken almost a full day to remember herself. Just her luck that the Demigod Nu'chista had adjusted quicker.

"You're right," came a new voice.

"So ignore it, the lich can wait. It's helpless. We need to focus on the ritual." Sakhent turned to see the second Demigod approaching, not looking at her, focusing instead on her own peer. This one was smaller, both in stature—merely 'tall for a human'—and, of course, in power. Sakhent knew that second fact intimately well, she had already beaten this one in direct combat while still shaking off the rust of millennia. It had not been a difficult fight, but it had not been over instantly either.

So it came as quite a surprise when the Demigod named Nu'chista whirled around and smacked the one called Aryqatan so hard that Sakhent saw the ground crack under their feet just from the displaced air alone. Aryqatan flew fast and far enough to disappear from sight, and Nu'chista turned back to Sakhent. By then, she had already teleported herself down into the crypts. This time she did not muster enough mana to give away her position.