Ascension: The Labors of Vinter

Mission details here

It was not easy to tell how long Levinia had spent in the hijacked portal, which hurried to some unknown doom, yet for each perceived second that passed, a dark foreboding deepened around her. This was quite unlike how she had expected this story to end: she had thought that by completing the Rectifier’s tasks, defeating the twisted gods and retrieving her long lost right arm, that her problems would have been solved, at least for the time being. The whole ordeal had made her realize that her own people, who had been behind her curse, which was the predicament that had set her on the path to healing and freedom, had also been the ones responsible for inciting the Rectifier against her... or at least, one of them. For one thing, the twisted god she had slain knew her by name, but even if she was somehow famous in many parts that she was unaware of, he possessed a similar magic as hers: Grimoire magic. The little she remembered of the Land of Origin, as she liked to refer to her home world, was that the most powerful of them used that sort of script-territory magic. And from the way the sigils on her severed arm had sprung to life and diverted the course of the space-time portal that bore her away, it was almost a hundred percent certain that they were the ones responsible. Well, she was not going down without a fight. She was no longer the downtrodden, scared, sick, weak child they had treated like refuse. Her time with Beira and in Fiore had taught her that she had some power she could rely on, and she was powerful in her own right.

”79th Miracle Grimoire: Jubilee of Faith!” Levinia intoned, as she cast the beneficial spell on herself, so as to improve her odds in battle, as it was almost doubtless that she would find herself in one, very soon. ”78th Amulet Grimoire: Jubilee of Heroes!” She needed all the advantages she could get, as she was stepping into an utter unknown, and could not be certain of how many foes she would face, or how powerful they were. It was always better to overestimate and enemy, rather than underestimate them. Unless in a fight governed by particular rules, there was hardly any disadvantage in being over-prepared. Still, she was not done. ”77th Palisade Grimoire: Aegis Skin!” Her body was wreathed in white flames, granting her a personal protective layer. Now, she would be able to hit harder, and take a little extra damage, at least for the first few moments of combat. Having thus fortified herself with her arcane abilities, she proceeded to equip herself with physical arms, with which to execute warfare. First, she requipped her Alchemy Armor, then summoned the Ring of Velocity on her finger. Next, she drew out two of her most powerful swords: Nightgleam and the Utagatana. As her body brimmed with energy, she held the Songblade in her hands, while the Nightgleam was wielded by her telekinetic powers.

The edges of the portal began to shimmer, a tell-tale sign that the journey was coming to an end. Levinia took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, trying to calm herself of the trepidation that filled her heart.

”Alright, let’s do this...”

The portal burst like a bubble, and everything was black. Not dark, but complete blackness. At first, Levinia thought she had been robbed of her sight, but then she noticed, to her surprise, that she couldn’t hear anything, feel anything. Heck, she was not even sure if she was breathing. All she knew was that she existed, and the blackness was all around. She tried flailing her arms, but she could not even sense that she was moving. Reaching out with her mind was also useless, because she couldn’t even sense her weapons, the environment, or even the magic that flowed through her body only moments before. She tried to speak, to scream, to even mutter, but she could not feel that she was opening her mouth, let alone uttering any sound. With everything having failed in such manner, she tried to think. Unfortunately, that too proved abortive, as all she was aware of was the darkness, a murk that clouded even her thoughts, making her incapable of most emotions. She was supposed to be alarmed, terrified, even, but she could not bring herself to even panic. It was like she had been separated from her body, from the rest of the universe, and her consciousness was trapped in this silent, senseless prison, from which she could not even think to escape. To plan ahead was impossible, so all she could do was wait.

Whether it was a second or a month, she could not tell, but the first sense that returned to her was her sense of feeling. Her body felt strangely cold, and she could discern a draft of wind that came every now and again. She tried to move her arms, but she realized they were restrained. And with that understanding came pain. Very likely, her mind was slowly awakening, and could now identify a stimulus that had been there before, but she had been too insensate to notice it. This pain was not like the affliction she had suffered at the hands of the twisted god, who could reach into a person’s nerve centers and draw out extreme pain. Such a pain was pervasive, but it was only perceived. No, this pain was more natural, and while it did not touch all her cells, she could feel it the most in her extremities, even in the stump that remained of her right arm. She felt exhausted, enervated, and her head throbbed like someone had played a percussive number directly on her brain. With some effort, she peeled open an eye. At first, everything was blurry, but eventually began to take shape.

She was in a stone chamber, and the ceiling was lacking, because as she strained her head to look up, she noticed that the sky, a series of blotched overcast clouds, was visible. Then she turned her head to see what was confining her movement. Her eyes came to rest on a long, thin, barbed spike, which protruded from her left hand. Her feet had been skewered in similar manner, and the spikes seemed to be hollow, because they slowly drained out blood from her body. What was left of her right arm had been similarly run through with such a tool, and she suddenly realized that she was stark naked, with only her long hair as some covering for modesty. Her prosthetic arm, along with her clothes, were nowhere to be seen. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her uncovered form, and then, naturally, she tried to break free. It seemed, however, that she had been thoroughly stripped of whatever granted her magic power, making her as frail as just about any young human woman. She closed her eyes and measured her breathing. Whoever was responsible obviously wanted to strip her of everything, even her dignity. She would not indulge them, or give them any pleasure, by panicking visibly. Bereft of her powers, she might currently be, but her mind was still intact. Her ability to reason was not born of some magical gift; it was her own personal edge. If she could analyze the situation logically, she might find a solution to all this mess.

She looked around again, slowly, this time, focusing first on her restraints. She noticed the black stone-like cuffs that had been clasped around her wrist and ankles. The stones were attached to chains, which were riveted into the stone wall and floor. She was firmly held in place. If she still possessed her physical strength, she might have broken free of her bonds, even if the barbed spikes caused her more injury, but alas, she was powerless. Those black stones looked rather familiar, and she now knew why she had no magical energy at work within her. ”Magic sealing stones, ugh! That explains why I can’t use my magic, but I keep feeling there is something else...” It had always been a topic of research for her, to understand the workings of magic, and how it flowed and empowered those referred to as “mages” from the rest of the common populace. Such power was inherent in special bloodlines, like her own, and without the magic power, such bloodlines failed entirely. There were some few and far between cases, though of creatures who could ignore such sealing stones and use their powers even in the presence of items that would otherwise hinder magic power. Unfortunately for her, she was not among such few. Turning her mind away from prospective topics that right now held only academic virtues, she focused on securing a means of escape. She peered closely at the spike which had been used to pierce through the stump of her right arm. It was closest to her head, so at least, she could study it visually. The spike resembled metal, though she was sure that it might not actually be a true metal. It was a bit translucent, as she could see a tiny rivulet of her blood flowing through it, and into a tube connected to its other end. The other three spikes had similar tubing, and Levinia could only determine that her blood was being siphoned into some structure, but for what purpose, she could not fancy a guess. Blood was powerful, and magics related to its manipulation were often scary and in some cases, forbidden outright. Whatever the nefarious reason for the draining of her blood, there was nothing she could do about it, while still held captive.

Slowly, she tugged at the chain shackling her left wrist. Then she yanked on it a little harder. It was no use. Her physical strength would not be sufficient. Through her mind flitted many options, and at a point, she even considered trying to dislocate her thumb, so that she would be able to slip her hand through the sealing stone cuff, but there was no easy way to do so. Perhaps if she strained and forced her hand, she might get it all bloody, and the blood might help lubricate the passage of her hand through the cuffs. However, she knew that it was not likely ever going to happen. The cuffs fit snugly around her wrist, and had there been some space between the sealing stone and her wrist, she could have tried to pursue that line of thought.

She glanced at the spike closest to her head again. The enervation she felt was mostly caused by the amount of blood she had lost; of that she was very sure. If she struggled really hard, she could tear free from the spike that drew blood from her amputated limb. However, the barbs were bound to cause terrible lacerations, and exacerbate her loss of blood. And even if she did so, what would she accomplish? She would still be unable to free her other three limbs.

She was suddenly aware of footfalls, and muffled voices coming closer. Her captors were approaching. Perhaps she could play possum? They would speak more freely around her, if they believed she was unconscious. So, she bowed her head, with her hair falling over most of her face. Little by little, the words they spoke became more and more audible. They were not speaking Fioran, or any other dialect spoken in Earthland, for as far as she could tell, yet their tongue was very familiar to her. She realized it was the language spoken by the denizens of the Land of Origin. She could not forget it readily, having spent more than half of her life there.

She was home.

And yet, as true as that statement would sound to some, it had a very ironic bite. The land of her birth was by far the most hostile world she had ever dwelt in, even though she had faced all sorts of discrimination, based on her looks, in times past and in different places. Left to her, anywhere was home, except this place.

The footsteps stopped outside the only entrance to her prison: a thick wooden door which was built to withstand punishment, and having all its locks on the outside. Definitely designed to keep people in, she thought sourly, as she wondered who her predecessors in this cell had been, and what fates they eventually came to. The owners of the footfalls seemed to be having a debate just beyond the door; straining her ears, she could vaguely hear what they were discussing about. Obviously, according to one, who was probably a jailer, the “Ruling Mother” had forbidden access to the prison to everyone without exception. The other voice, which was quieter, barely a whisper, muttered some words which Levinia could not identify. There was silence for a moment, then she heard a heavy lock slide. The door was being unfastened. If she had found a way to free herself, she could have hidden behind the door and sprung a surprise attack, or used some other means to overpower them and make good her escape.

With a loud creaking sound, the door of the cell swung inwards, and Levinia looked up through the locks of hair that fell over her face. She figured that with what she had just heard, there was no point in pretending like she was still unconscious. If someone was here against the orders of whoever ran this place, the likelihood that it was an ally or perhaps an avaricious enemy was high. If the person was a friend, then most likely they would try to aid her escape, and she had to be as ready as possible to play her part. If the person was an enemy who wanted to get to her and perform some nefarious deed before the others arrived, she had to be as alert as possible. If their presence was outlawed, she could readily raise an alarm and sabotage their plans. The possibility that they would let something slip that could be of assistance to her, because she was seemingly oblivious to them, was very slim. An ally would tell her quickly what she needed to hear, and a trespassing enemy would want to be as quick with whatever they planned as possible, and would thus have little time for expository monologues or revealing diatribes. Levinia’s wisest option, in her opinion, was to size up her visitor, and see how best to play her cards.

The one who opened the cell door remained outside, and it wasn’t easy to tell who or what stood in the shadows of the corridor beyond her small prison room. The other person, who stepped into the dull light of the overhead sky, was a wizened old man, dressed in a simple grey robe. He had a cowl over his head, and his beard, which was very thick, had been cropped to the level of his shoulders. From beneath his hood, she could discern milky eyes that seemed to look right through her.

“Ah... there she is. Very beautiful...” he murmured in a quiet, raspy voice.

Levinia frowned slightly. What kind of introductory statement was that? He was probably some sort of pervert, and the old ones were always the worst, or so she had heard. She was afraid, but to show fear often served as a stimulant to egg on the oppressor. So, she hid behind a blank expression, which her hair helped better to mask, and remained silent. She couldn’t think of a timely response; it would be best not to anger or inspire her captors to rash deeds, until she had worked out a plan. The man raised a hand slowly, as if in a gesture to ward off something; his other hand gripped a crooked staff which he leaned on. “Don’t take me for some depraved old man, child. I would not dream of such a thing. Perhaps it would be of a little comfort to you to know that I cannot see, so I am not gawping at you. It grieves me that you would be treated the way you are; I would have prefered a more civil welcome, but the one with the power is responsible for the rules.”

This was a strange turn of events. If the man’s words could be trusted, then he was not an enemy, at least, not one outright. Levinia couldn’t help but reply, “Then what do you mean by ‘very beautiful’, if I might ask?”

The man smiled slightly. “Why, your prospect, of course! Who you yet might be. I love to watch hexapods grow, especially those with the incubation stage and a completely different transformation at the end of it. While others see a grub, I look, and I see a butterfly.” Perhaps, if he was the garrulous sort, she might be able to wrench some information from him. Best thing to do would be to keep him talking. “So, what might I yet be?” The man frowned as he peered past her into nothing. ”Hmmm? That’s a strange question, actually, if not overtly obvious, but I shall try to answer as I can. You might be dead, essentially. It is quite obvious that you are in a strait, child, and if your fortunes do not change in a sudden stroke of luck, I think your future is very bleak...”

She stared at him. What was up with him and suddenly pretending that he did not remember what he had just said earlier? “No, no. I meant to ask what you had seen, whatever it was that made you say that whatever it was, was beautiful.” The old man faltered, obviously confused. “Did I say... when did I...?” his expression became vacant, lost in thought, as he rubbed his chin with a wrinkled finger, as though contemplating his most previous statements. At length, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, and he replied, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. If I said something was beautiful, I’m sure I would have recalled it. And why would I make such a statement, considering your present state? Wouldn’t that make you think of me as some randy old goat? I surely couldn’t say such a thing!”

Levinia almost gasped in surprise. Was he actually serious? For a moment, she thought he would suddenly crack up and say he was just kidding, and then she could label him as a little unhinged. But the man continued to consider internal cogitations and grumble about how inappropriate such a statement would be if he were to make it, and Levinia began to wonder if he did not suffer from some serious case of short term memory loss.

“What is your name, child?” the old man suddenly asked. “Huh?” She wasn’t expecting that question. “I asked for your name,” he repeated. “You must forgive me. Most people think I’m raving mad, and they barely can bring themselves to talk with me. But I’m not mad. I just see things that others don’t...” he trailed off. The man was certainly a loonie. If there were two things your average crazy person would say, that could be characterized as textbook madness, they were the refusal to admit they were crazy, and their seeing of things which others could never see. Levinia was surprised that she felt a snatch of pity for the man, for she understood what it was like to be lonely and shunned. Still, she could not help but remember that he was one of the denizens of this place, and thus was a potential ally. Despite this fact, he had been reasonably agreeable, to a degree, and perhaps if she kept speaking with him, he might prove to be of help to her, if she was kept in this pen for a long time. She might as well indulge him, but perhaps it was smart to see how willing he was to indulge some of her questions. “You first, Elder. You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine.”

The man cocked his head slightly, a surprised look on his face. “When last did I get to be asked that question?” He smiled slightly. “My name is Menekar, sage of the signs and prophet of doom.” He seemed to be the dramatic sort, she thought to herself. “‘Prophet of doom’ sounds a tad macabre don’t you think?” He shrugged. “Many mistake doom to be disaster. But it is simply fate. What will be.” Not being one to rescind on her words, she decided to oblige him. “My name is Levinia,” she answered. “I would have been pleased to meet you, were the circumstances not this... unpleasant.” “Yes, it is most unfortunate,” he said, looking somewhat downcast. “Would that I could give you aid, but alas! I am frail and ill-suited for subterfuge and rescue missions.”

“Why did you come to see me?”

“You said your name was Levinia, did you not?” the man said pensively. “And yet I doubt that was the name you were given at your birth, yes?”

“How did you know that?” If he was aware that Levinia was not the name her parents gave her, then perhaps he knew more about her than was common knowledge. She had forgotten her original name, ever since she had been cursed and enslaved at a tender age, and had been called “Worm” for about nine or ten years, up until the time she had managed to escape at the cost of her right arm. Her name had been all but forgotten by herself, and when she was found by the people who took her in, she had tried to remember it, but could only come up with similar sounding, fragmented words. Adding to the confusion was the fact that since she came from a different world, she had a different language, those people decided to call her by what they felt was closest to her attempts: Levinia.

“Are you familiar with the name ‘Vinter’?” Menekar asked, oblivious to the hanging question she had given him. “Vinter?” The name sounded very familiar, like she was supposed to know something about it, but for some reason, it eluded her. “Who is Vinter?” she asked. Menekar looked pleased, like a professor would smile when asked a question that was his direct specialty. “Well, you see, child, Vinter is...”

“That will be enough, mad man!” a voice suddenly boomed from behind them.

The temperature suddenly dropped unnaturally, so that the breaths of the two of them in the cell could be seen as misty vapor. Menekar froze stiff, but not really because of the frigid atmosphere, and his pale face became even more drained of color. He did not even bother to turn to face the new voice; he was so smitten with fear. “I... I was...” he managed to stammer, before he was roughly cast to the side. Levinia found herself staring at a strikingly handsome man, with a face and body that could be easily described as befitting a god. His well-toned muscles rippled as he moved, and he was surely aware of this charm, because he wore only a pair of form fitting black pants, and a similarly colored coat over his shoulders. Of course, his chest and arms were visible for all to see. He was very fetching, but his eyes were cruel. He spared the cowering Menekar an evil look, then turned to face Levinia. His eyes slowly traveled around her body, and a slow smile drew his lips apart, revealing perfect dentition. His eyes had a predatory light in them, and he licked his lips in anticipation as he drew closer.

“Well, well, what do we have here? I can see why I had been restrained from seeing our... guest.” Levinia said nothing, but held his gaze, and fought with every inch of her being not to shiver from the cold. The man noticed her struggle, and it pleased him. “Are we cold, my lady? Perhaps something more... sultry would be convenient, yes?” The temperatures shifted once again, and this time began to climb steadily, until it was rather hot. “More to your liking?” he taunted. “Maybe I’ll just have my fun, here and now.” He gave a foreboding chuckle, as he reached out a well-manicured hand.

“Stop your nonsense, Draven,” an imperious feminine voice ordered. The man stopped, and as his face was towards Levinia, she noticed a murderous hatred flash in his eyes, before he forced himself to smile. He held up both hands like he was not about to do anything. “Peace, Ruling Mother. I noticed the cell door was open, so I just wanted to check to see if our guest...”

“Stand aside, and be silent!”

Draven bristled, but obeyed. A tall woman stood before Levinia, looking down on her with haughty eyes. She was Junoesque in stature, but most of her face was covered by an elegant mask. Levinia noticed another person, female, standing behind the Ruling Mother and leering at Draven. The woman was much younger than the Ruling Mother, perhaps just a little older than Levinia, and wore a richly ornamented robe with long, billowing sleeves. In the next micro-second that passed, Levinia saw the looks exchanged between Draven and the mocking woman, and realized that they loathed each other. The Ruling Mother ignored them both, her eyes never leaving Levinia’s face.

“Now that she is here, are you certain she is the one?” the Ruling Mother asked Menekar, over her shoulder. The old man, who had managed to compose himself, answered with deference. “Yes, Ruling Mother. She is Vinter. Or she will be.”

The Ruling mother seemed to ponder on Menekar’s words, and for a long while, silence reigned, which no one dared to break. Levinia could see those proud, deep green eyes monitoring her from behind the mask, then at length, the woman spoke to Menekar again. “’Will be’, you say? What does that mean? That she is not yet Vinter?” The old man cleared his throat before replying, most likely using such a short moment to give his mind a little extra fraction of time to choose his words wisely. “They are not very straightforward, the workings of the Prophecies,” he said slowly. “Some consider their clarity based on the context to which they are applied, while...” “If I wanted some boring academic platitude, I would have asked for it,” the Ruling Mother cut him off. “I simply want to know what you meant by your last statement. Is she, or is she not?” If Menekar was upset for being interrupted so rudely, he did not show it. Perhaps he had been subjected to such a treatment for so long that it ceased to bother him any longer. “She is not, Ruling Mother, but...” “That means she is unimportant, then?” Draven’s voice sounded eager, hopeful. “Shush, Draven,” the Ruling Mother chided. Then, turning to the old prophet, she gestured with a hand heavily ornamented with jewelry. “Go on.”

Menekar looked at Levinia with a contemplative gaze, though such a statement would not be too accurate, seeing that he was completely sightless. He was probably seeing something that the others were probably blind to. “An egg is not the bird, but given time and the right conditions, it will be.” The Ruling Mother nodded slowly, a conclusion forming in her mind. “So, ‘given time and the right conditions’ this little worm will rise to destroy us all?” There was a way the woman mentioned the word “worm” that twisted Levinia’s insides. A tide of suppressed memories surged forth, and she remembered all those years of physical, emotional and mental abuse at the hands of those who had infected her body with a wasting ailment, and had thought of no better name to give her, than “Worm”. If she had had any doubts, she had them no longer: she was back in the hands of the same people whom she had dreaded to return to. Her worst fears were being realized, and there was nothing she could do about it. So, she would do nothing, but watch and wait, and hope a circumstance turned in her favor, like it always did with the heroes in all those lacrima vids she had watched. But if anyone was responsible for writing her story as it was being played out, was she the heroine of this story? Or was she just cannon fodder?

The younger woman in the embroidered robe stepped out from behind the Ruling Mother, and Levinia got a better look at her. What she found surprising was how much similar in color and looks the woman’s hair was to her own. Black and brown were more common hair colors, and even blonde was more common than bright orange. Still, it might be a little hasty to conclude that they were related, just because their tresses looked alike. The woman looked back at her with condescension and malice. “If that’s the case, Ruling Mother, she’s no threat to us, locked up here. I say we leave her here to rot, until she dies or something.” “On this, we agree, dear sister,” Draven approved, the vulturine grin returning to his face. The woman gave him a disgusted look and muttered something insulting, but he only laughed and rubbed his hands together. The Ruling mother did not reply, even as the others looked to her for a response. She just observed the captive in silence, and as Levinia looked back into those green eyes, she felt more and more assured that those eyes were very familiar. Then the woman broke eye contact and looked away. “Ictha, where is Wolgar?” she asked, ignoring the unanswered proposal. The orange haired woman shrugged. “You know how he loves skulking in his darkness, Ruling Mother. He does not enjoy the company of anyone. Do you want him summoned, Ruling Mother?” The Ruling Mother replied in the negative. “Leave him be. I was just curious, is all.”

“So, about her...” Draven pressed. “She shall not be your plaything,” the Ruling Mother replied curtly, without looking at him. “I cannot risk having her killed.”

“But if she is not yet who or what we are afraid of, then the sooner we dispose of her, the better.”


The voice of Menekar chimed suddenly, unsummoned and unexpected, and everyone turned to look at him with varying degrees of surprise and irritation. The Ruling Mother, however, seemed more interested than angered, though her voice carried a hint of impatience. “That line of the Prophecy again?” she asked. “Haven’t you any other?”

“Alas, no,” Menekar answered with a shake of his head. “But the frequency with which I see these things have increased exponentially,” he added. “Implying what?” Draven queried, still looking a bit annoyed.

“It means the mysterious Prophecy is nearing fulfilment, yes?”

The voice was a totally different one from all the voices Levinia had heard in this place. There was a sudden feeling of dread, but it was extremely pervasive; if one tried to focus on it, it seemed to not be there at all, yet, that feeling that something really wrong might happen danced at the edge of realization. All voices in the room were hushed as one, and everyone looked uncomfortable. The Ruling Mother retained her aloof mien, although Levinia wondered if she wasn’t a little stiffer than normal.

The voice spoke again, and a figure materialized in a dark corner of the room. “You called for Wolgar, Ruling Mother? Wolgar is here.” Come to think of it, was it that the figure had appeared in the shadows, or had been hidden in the murk all this time? It stepped forward, a man, slightly hunching his shoulders, whose skin was black, or was painted black, and white designs both akin to and corresponding with the location of his bones were painted all over his body. He wore a simple robe with a large hood; the robe was partly open revealing most of his torso. He stared at Levinia’s face with unblinking, grey eyes.

“When did you get here?” Ictha asked.

“Perhaps I have always been here, or perhaps not,” Wolgar answered, in a baritone voice, not bothering to look at her. “I came to feast my eyes on the one who has caused the Ruling Mother so much trouble.” He finally turned away from Levinia, and addressed the Ruling Mother. “I fear this whelp does not look like much.”

“As I said earlier, the caterpillar does not...” Menekar began, but Wolgar held up a thin finger, and the old man snapped his mouth shut with an audible sound.

“We were considering what to do with her,” the Ruling Mother gestured at Levinia indifferently, like she was some item on a shelf in the grocery store. “Oh? That’s easy. Leave her to me. She shall perish alone, in the darkness, with only horror as her companion.”

Ictha rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed with your nightmare shows, much like that shit is obsessed with sex.” Draven ignored the insult. “I requested for her first. If anyone shall have her, it shall be me.”

“It shall be neither,” snapped the Ruling Mother. “I made it clear that I don’t want her dead. And neither of you has a ‘gentle’ hand, obviously.” Wolgar only chuckled sinisterly as his reply. “I can be gentle, you know...” Draven offered with a smug smile. “Like you were with me?” Ictha interjected hotly. Levinia frowned slightly. Draven had refered to Ictha as “sister”, and she had not rebuffed it. That could imply that they were actually siblings. Ictha’s most recent statement heavy implied something rather profane, and Levinia refused to follow that line of thought down to its end.

“Be silent, the both of you,” the Ruling Mother ordered. Ictha and Draven obeyed. “I have pondered on the mad prophet’s words, and the pieces of the Prophecy that his addled mind can manage to recall. The mere fact that she is one of us is reason enough not to kill her outright. For if we did, she might come back, like we always do.”

Wolgar drummed on his chin thoughtfully with two fingers, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “That may be, Ruling Mother, yet she is not connected to Sarokk-Uthag. She may die like other mortals.” “You forget that she is not like other mortals. You forget that she is of my blood.”

Levinia stared at her in shock. What did she mean by that? The statement seemed straightforward enough, but the inference was almost too much for her to bear. She had hoped to remain silent and listen to all their talk, but she couldn’t help but answer. “That can’t be possible. My parents were killed before your people subjected me to all those years of...”

“Your parents were killed?” The tall woman laughed hard and long. “Is that what you believed? Well, the toxin of the Castaways does have various effects on the mind. It is possible they may have tampered with your memories. How you managed to be healed of it eludes me, but it doesn’t matter. We have you now, and there is no escape, no help for you.” She placed a hand on the mask covering her face. “Tell me if you remember this face.”

She drew the facade aside, and Levinia gasped, for she was staring at her own mother, the one who had supposedly died protecting her from the ones who eventually got her and subjected her to years of cruelty. “It can’t be...” Tears began to well up in her eyes, and try as hard as she might, she couldn’t hold them down. All those years of torment came back to her, and she now remembered her mother’s pitiless, conceited face and voice, which somehow, her ‘Curse’ had prevented her from recognizing. It was true that its effect had suppressed many memories, because as they returned, she began to put faces to her hitherto unknown oppressors.

“Awww... is the wee baby crying,” Draven mocked, laughing. Levinia did not even bother to dignify him with a look; she was much too hurt and shocked to do so, anyway. “I know you don’t have any good plans for me, but please, can I at least know why you would do such a thing to your daughter? Your own flesh and blood?”

“Spare me the emotional blackmail; I’m beyond that sort of nonsense. The price to godhood is a difficult one, and I was prepared to pay the price. You, however, have been a threat to us, ever since we happened on this power. Ever since we really became gods, the old fool started having visions of the End, as he called it. Some of us could not do what it took to grasp real power, and a civil war broke out, all on your behalf.”

Levinia looked confused. “Why would you fight a war over a baby?”

“Some of us did not approve of our approach to power. They claimed Sarokk-Uthag was a demon, slayer of worlds. But what difference is there between a god and a devil, save that one is worshipped, and the other vilified? You see, when the Prophecy began to circulate, some of our number believed that you would rise to destroy Sarokk-Uthag, and they wished to forcefully take you from us. And so, we fought a bloody war. A war that ended with the creation of the Pit.”

“The Pit?”

“Ah, yes. A wonderful invention, I must say, and a means to break the cycle of rebirth most of us enjoyed. Where do you think all the Godling Castaways came from? They were previously people, like you and I, who were not deemed worthy of godhood, and thus, became servants to Sarokk-Uthag and his Chosen.”

“I still don’t understand how I fit into all this...”

“The first time we heard the Prophecy, a name was mentioned. ‘Vinter’. Your birth name. We spent many months thinking of what to do, and convincing as many as possible to join our cause, as we knew a war was brewing. The mad fool was eventually coerced to submit to Sarokk-Uthag, but he has become useless ever since, and often prays for death. Yet, he knows it is futile to take his own life, and he fears to go to the Pit. Craven fool.”

Menekar huddled in a corner, his face hidden by his hood. “So, you went through all the trouble of making my life miserable, allover a ‘crime’ I’m yet to commit?” “The Prophecies have never been wrong. They have happened as Menekar said they would. You know, at first, we were afraid of you as a child. We thought you might demonstrate some uncanny power that would throw us into desolation. Fortunately, you were just a little worm, nothing else. You did make a good servant, though, but I’m starting to think we should have sent you to the Pit long ago. Of recent, Menekar began to remember some lines concerning the End, and we realized it came at about the time you started seeking to cure yourself.”

“But I’ve done nothing against you,” Levinia protested.

“Not quite. You killed Cruethagor, and he was my consort. So, if you must know, I do have aught against you.”

“Huh? Cruethagor? I didn’t kill any... wait! Do you mean the twisted god?”

“I’m glad to see your memory is still intact,” the Ruling Mother answered derisively.

“What did you expect me to do? He kept trying to kill me at every turn. I had to defend myself.”

“Yes. A mistake on his part. We should have lured you here sooner. You are becoming much too powerful, the kind of person that can fulfil lofty prophecies.”

“Well, if my memory serves me well, your consort, Cruethagor, was not my father.”

“No, he was not. Aberron is in the Pit. Ironic that his invention should be used on him with that much success. I should have liked to keep you here till Cruethagor revives, but it shall be long, and I do not wish for some idiot,” here, she glared at Draven, “... or any other unforeseen circumstance to liberate you, and have you running amok among us. I had reached my decision, long before we had this conversation, but I wished to see if others had any workable alternatives. Here is my verdict: I sentence you to the Pit.”

She looked over her shoulder at Ictha. “I am weary of conversation. Bring the heart of decay.”

Ictha stepped out of the dungeon, an ominous smirk on her face. Draven had a similar expression, an indication, from his perverse behavior, that what was coming next was probably going to be harrowing, or at least, something close. The Ruling Mother maintained her aloof look, with those condescending eyes, while Wolgar’s grey eyes just stared, out of his bony face, intently at Levinia, as though he expected a demon butterfly to burst out of her forehead. Menekar was the only one who looked miserable, but Levie could not see much of his face, as he kept his head bowed and would not look up.

Levinia did not have to wait long to know what they were planning. Ictha returned, and in her hands was a large bubble. Within it floated a strange, slimy pulsating object, of the same rusty red color as the blood of those strange mutated beings she and Beryl had fought before, the same color as her blood before her “curse” was lifted. No doubt it was the “heart of decay” that the Ruling Mother had requested. Levinia tried hard not to think of what they planned on doing with it; there was no point torturing her mind that way. Instead, she tried to see if there was anything she could do about her escape, but as it were, all such attempts were for naught.

Without a word, the Ruling Mother held out a hand to the side, palm facing upwards and open, obviously requesting an expected object. Draven produced a long, thin, wicked-looking dagger, which he held by the blade and placed the hilt in the Ruling Mother’s hand. She approached Levinia, idly fingering the blade with her manicured hand. ”This is the end, worm. You will bother us no longer. Here, I break this prophecy, and forge my own: you shall descend to the Pit, and only interact with us in unquestioned servitude.”

Then she plunged the dagger into Levinia’s chest.

Levinia gasped as the blade cut through her flesh, drawing a horizontal jagged line that instantly spurted blood. The Ruling Mother pulled out the knife, then plunged her hand into the hole she had made in Levinia’s chest, brutally yanking out her heart in a barbaric, yet fluid move. Levinia’s eyes widened in pain, her tortured body tried to draw in breath, but she only ended up coughing blood. Ictha stepped up quickly, thrusting the bubble towards the mortal wound. As the bubble touched Levinia, the heart of decay came to life, latching onto her skin with short, stubby tentacles and pulling itself into the hole. And the pain attained a new dimension. Through it all, she managed to observe that the Ruling Mother had handed her torn out heart over to Ictha, who cradled it in another bubble. As her left hand clenched and unclenched, Levinia felt a strong cry building up from within. Only it wasn’t born of pain, but an unexpected, uncanny rage.

The shriek tore up through her lungs and into the air, buffeting the walls of the prison before escaping to the skies above. A strange energy began filling Levinia’s muscles, and she was vaguely aware that her right arm was slowly starting to grow. ”The transformation seems faster than expected...” Wolgar commented uncertainly. With another cry, Levinia tore the chain that held her left arm clean off the wall. ”Looks like that’s our cue to leave,” Draven said with a nervous chuckle, as a series of runes appeared in a circle around him and the others. A complete right arm formed at the end of Levinia’s limb, as she grabbed the spike which protruded from her right shoulder and ripped it out. She looked at her arm. It was chalky white, with sickly looking veins throbbing beneath the skin. Already, her body was visibly undergoing signs of metamorphosis, and even if she couldn’t see it, she could feel that her insides were painfully being transformed.

”Cast her out,” the Ruling Mother ordered.

With a feral snarl, she turned on her captors, but they had vanished in a flash, leaving nothing behind. Almost immediately, the prison fell apart, its blocks and stones separating vanishing into the murk, and Levinia found herself falling into the darkness.

As she plunged, her mind was white with wrath, but there was still that stubbornly analytic part of her that would not permit her to be absorbed by the overwhelming emotion. ”Your power is your mind, Levinia. Think!”

First, she had to stop her falling. She reached out to catch herself with her telekinesis, but nothing happened. Then she remembered. It was the sealing stones. Levinia closed her right hand on the cuff around her left wrist, and applied pressure. The stone cracked, then shattered beneath the inhuman strength that surged through her being. It was a terrible trade-off: unnatural strength, but her sanity was ebbing away. She reached down and grasped the cuffs around her ankles next and squeezed. As they broke apart, she felt her magic come surging back, but it seemed to be rapidly seeping away, so that without being told, she knew that in a moment, she would be unable to use her magic again. Her first thought was to try and heal her injuries, but she suspected that the heart of decay might resist her ability to do so. Perhaps she could teleport out of this place, but would that save her from the mutation that consumed her flesh? What she needed was time to figure all this out, but that was a luxury she could not afford. Unless...

Using her Black Amulet Grimoire, Levinia summoned a strange wristwatch into her hand. It was a good thing she had not attempted to try anything larger, because she felt that she would not have been able to draw more magic power to do so. She grasped the device in her teeth, deciding to consider what to do with it later. She may have been able to perform some magic, but that still hadn’t solved the problem of her rapid descent, and she felt that the ground was really close. So, she tried her telekinesis again. She came to a jolting halt, then fell again, but suddenly hit a surface not up to five seconds after she resumed her fall. Not expecting this, she fell rather awkwardly, but suffered no serious injury. Slowly, she drew herself to her knees, as her body screamed in pain and anger, and she looked around. She was on some rocky ground, and the light was barely there, but she could make out shapes in the gloom, which approached her. Craning her neck forward, she peered ahead, then drew back swiftly as a clawed hand missed her face by inches. There were many snarls all around, as the creatures hidden in the darkness surged, and Levinia knew that she did not want to get caught by them, obviously. So, she bolted in the direction where she thought she could see light.

She could hear her pursuers as they followed close behind, snarling and wheezing. They seemed to be about twenty or so, but the darkness did not let her determine their true number. A sudden pain shot through her left shoulder, as something jumped on her and bit in. Normally, being of small stature, she would have fallen, but her strength and desperation kept her on her feet. Without looking to see what her assailant was, she viciously threw a punch at the source of her pain. There was a squelching sound, as the creature lost its grip and fell into the shadow.

The light became brighter, though it was still quite soft, and she discovered that the creatures roundabout were also in front of her, running to meet her head on. There was a rock wall close to her left, and Levinia quickly threw herself onto it, climbing with her clawed digits as she sought to avoid the creatures. Now, she could get a clearer look at them. They were the same aberrations as the godling dragon and the godling titan. They were what she was before her cure. They were what she was sure she was being transformed into. As quickly as possible, she clambered to the top of the wall, and ran along uneven ground, while the monsters followed, eager to get a piece of her, or get her in many pieces.

Eventually, she saw the source of the light. It was a strange looking rock, ahead and down below, it was very large, and she noticed that the creatures seemed to prefer to stay at the edge of its light. Well, that being the case, that was where she would be going. Running on all fours (which she found much faster than going on two feet), she eventually reached the edge of the high ground on which she had fled, and threw herself off with all her strength. About five of her pursuers jumped after her.

Levinia landed right on top of the rock, and instantly, she felt a searing pain tear through her body as she touched it. Most of the monsters landed in the shadows, but one of them was unfortunate enough to land on the stone with her. It screamed, its body hissing and bubbling, as it scrambled off the glowing stone and fled howling into the darkness. The rock was inimical to these creatures; Levinia’s body abhorred it also, but her mind was undoubtedly more alert and free of abnormal emotions. But she couldn’t stay on the rock. She slipped off it and dropped to the ground, feeling its soft light prick her skin like a million needles. Regardless, it kept the monsters at bay, and she could think more clearly. She would remain here, despite the discomfort, until she could figure something out. A strange shape caught her eye at the foot of the rock. On closer observation, it was a giant swath of cloth, no doubt the property of one who had been cast into the Pit. ”I don’t suppose anyone will be needing this now...” she thought, as she wrapped the fabric around her naked form.

Remembering that the device she had summoned earlier was still clenched in her jaws, she let it drop into her open palm and looked at it. It was her Infinite Improbability Chronometer, or the IIC, as its seller had called it. She didn’t know of its origins, and although she had tried to do some discovery of her own, she had not gotten much out of where it had come from. Still, the device had been rather useful, giving her a quiet laboratory where she could do some work, in the relative quiet of space. It would probably still function, since it was not necessarily using her magic, but perhaps she was not really to get out of this place, yet. She could feel it in her body that, despite the unease and pain the essence of the glowing rock caused her, it seemed to hamper the progression of the heart of decay’s effects in her body. Not only was the boiling anger and feral nature diminished, but she could feel the spread of corrupted tissue slow down to a crawl, almost even completely halted entirely.

She turned to look at the stone. Its radiance hurt her right eye, which she could feel had been affected by the mutation. So, she closed the eye, and looked upon it with her left. It was about twelve feet in radius, with a roughly hemispherical shape. With her left hand, she took the IIC and rapped it gently against the rock, then did so again. It would seem from its looks and constituency that this rock seemed to be actually more like some sort of ore. Perhaps some sort of metal, which could be put to good use, she reasoned, had she the equipment for it. But come to think of it, she did. Her laboratory, or workshop, more like, in the IIC station had been thoroughly equipped from all the money she had earned from missions; she hardly spent on anything else, and therein she had a foundry, where she could smelt metals to forge the weapons which she then would add to her Royal Arms Grimoire. At some point, she had wanted to have her workshop in the Vault, but had decided to leave that space as her arsenal, and the space station as her work bench. In hindsight, that was a very good move.

Perhaps she could transport the stone with her to the space station; that way, she would better resist the effects of the heart of decay as she worked on a solution to this new problem. She fastened the IIC to her wrist, and placed her right hand on the watch in order to wind it. That was when he spoke.

”It has been long since we had a visitor to the Pit. I bid you welcome.”

Levinia turned her head in the direction of the voice, and searched the gloom. For a while, the shifting shadows were indiscernible, but after a while, she thought she could make out a large, strange shape, which drew closer and closer. The voice spoke again:

”Come now, you may step away from that destroying light, and we can speak at length in the comfort of the dark. The light hurts my eyes.”

”Thanks, but no thanks,” she replied, trying to make out what it was she was speaking with. ”With the welcoming party I encountered just now, I think I’ll take my chances with this light.”

”It hurts you badly, does it not?”

”Yeah, it does. Nevertheless, it was the first thing that offered me solace here, and I think I like my newfound friend.”

There was a chortle from the figure, as the rock finally cast enough illumination on it for Levie to see better. She was looking at a large throne, made of some sort of black stone, and at its base, it had poles fastened to it. As it were, the poles were borne aloft by the creatures of the Pit, hefted on their shoulders, as though they bore their king. And bear their king they did! For seated on the black throne sat a hulking figure, swathed in tattered robes, and with a crudely carved crown resting on its brow. Perhaps it was safe to call it a male, judging from the voice and the features. Like the other godling rejects, he was hairless, but his eyes held a keen intelligence, quite unlike the feral mindlessness she had seen in the eyes of the others. The figure on the throne made a gesture, and his bearers lowered him as gingerly as they could.

”Choose your friends wisely in the Pit. Everything here bows to me.”

”Indeed?” Levinia could not help countering. ”If what you say is the truth, I wonder why you haven’t gotten rid of my glowing friend here,” she said, patting the rock with her left hand. It sent a tingling feeling through her yet-to-be-corrupted skin, but she knew that it would burn her right hand. She had felt it before.

”This one is intelligent. That is actually relieving. It has been too long since I spoke with anyone who could even hold a different opinion in a conversation.”

Levinia sat on the rocky ground and rested her back against the glowing rock, making sure that her left side was more in contact with its surface than her right side. If this one was willing to talk, perhaps she could get as much information as she could before either of them wearied of conversation and she attempted to transport herself with the rock out of this place.

”Well, I’m quite pleased that you are interested in civil discussion, and are not interested in causing me harm, without prior notice. I’ve had that reception too many times in a day.”

”Oh yes, those above,” the king said, a snarl crossing his features and vanishing just as quickly as it had come. ”I can see that you’ve been infected with a heart of decay.”

Levinia nodded. ”Much as I loathe its presence in my body, I must admit that it is eerily powerful...” The king looked pleased. ”My finest creation,” he beamed. Then, his countenance fell. ”And as it stands, my greatest bane.”

Levinia had suspected that she was speaking with someone who held a lot of power here, if not all the power in the Pit. If he was indeed responsible for this, then that meant...

”Might you be Aberron?”

The king gave a slight bow. ”King of the godling castaways, at your service,” he replied. It seemed that his tone was slightly sarcastic, but who would not be sardonic, given his condition? Levinia rose to her feet and curtsied.

”I am delighted to see you again... father.”

Aberron started. Despite his distaste of the light, Levinia could see that he was staring intently at her. ”I wish you could come closer, that I could get a closer look at you...”

”I’d have loved to oblige you, but I don’t think I trust anyone or anything enough in this place to put myself completely at their mercy, given the treatment I received here.”

The king leaned back in his chair. ”What is your name?”

”I am known as Levinia, where I live, but your friends up there called me ‘Vinter’.”

”They are not my ‘friends’,” he hissed. ”They are responsible for the suffering in the Pit, and for your condition and mine. I would say we have a common enemy.”

”Perhaps, but that doesn’t make us allies,” Levinia countered, returning to her sitting position. ”My memories have been returning to me ever since I was kidnapped here, and I don’t recall you ever being nice to me after that horrible day, when I was infected. You were just like all the others, before you vanished.”

”No... I was coerced into doing it. It was when I couldn’t stand hurting you that I fought back, but by then, your mother had figured out how to use the Pit, and she turned my creation against me.”

”I guess we’ll never know the truth about that,” Levie muttered to herself.

”What was that, child?”

Levinia pointed upwards and backwards behind her, skillfully changing the topic. She was not yet through with information gathering. ”What about this stone? Why is it in the Pit? Perhaps it’s from an external source?”

”I see that you inherited my intelligence,” Aberron said appraisingly. ”Yes, it came from without. We fought many bitter wars against other civilizations, a price to pay for your mother’s pet idol that granted her so much power. In one of these battles, someone threw a star at us. Turns out the radiation of the star was detrimental to Sarokk-Uthag, your mother’s pet idol. Interestingly, I used it to further my research on the heart of decay.”

”So, theoretically speaking, this star rock, or core, to be more accurate, can kill this ‘pet idol’?”

”Theoretically, yes. Theoretically...”

All of a sudden, a snarling beast dropped on top of her, and tried to wrestle her away from the rock. Although surprised, Levinia had been constantly expecting some form of treachery, and so she was prepared. Her superhuman strength proved too much for her assailant; perhaps it was because even prior to her current mutation, she already had a great amount of physical strength. Twisting with impressive agility, she pivoted on her heel, using the castaway’s motion against it, and thrust it hard against the star core. A sizzling sound mixed with the unearthly shriek the creature uttered, as its flesh burned away. In an instant, she was beset upon by many of the castaways, heedlessly throwing themselves at her just to drag her away from the core. That was her cue to leave.

She leaped right on top of the core. Her willpower kept her on it, for the pain her body endured was great. Still, she was not as far gone as the castaways, and thus, she could manage for as long as it took. Through gritted teeth, she said to Aberron:

”I guess I know who my true friends are.” As she fought the castaways off, helped greatly by the effect of the core on them, she wound the IIC watch forty two times. A bright light suddenly flashed around the core and Levinia, and in an instant, both were gone, leaving the smoldering remains of the unfortunate castaways in the overwhelming darkness that followed.