Destined To Die

Prologue - Shadow of The Godslayer

-Prologue-

-Shadow of The Godslayer-

The vault of the Voluntas Caelestis was likely the oldest surviving structure in France, and undoubtedly the most carefully hidden. Two hundred feet long and wide, fifty high, buried deep enough to withstand any conceivable attack. There was an odd blend between blackened and worn flagstones older than any mortal man alive, and the most cutting-edge hardware in the world. Rows and rows of sleek computer banks were carefully protected by expertly crafted warding sigils and firewalls alike, checked regularly and updated almost as often with the changing times. Stored on these hard drives were the collective knowledge of their society, copies of every relevant scrap of academia, every single meticulously catalogued report from their hundreds of field agents, extensive dossiers on persons of interest on every continent.

Raynald Cadellion, Keeper of the Vault, walked through this grand library, passing by the simply dressed keepers of knowledge without batting an eye. As they noticed his urgency, the purpose in his stride, and the royal purple missive held delicately in his left hand as if it was a precious jewel, they quickly vacated the area to leave him to his solemn duty. His focus remained directly ahead, to a set of imposing doors set into the back wall of the vast vault, ten feet high and wide, the faint blue glow of intricate runes etched into solid stone harder than steel. Raynald approached the doors, the vault within the vault, a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose despite the chill in the air.

He peeled open purple envelope with great care when he came to a stop in front of the great doors, pulling out a simple strip of paper with instructions for what was to come. He took a steadying breath, calming his nerves, his excitement, before reading the words. For a long moment there was nothing, save for the soft him of the data banks behind him. Raynald closed his eyes, uttering a quiet prayer as a heavy crack snapped the silence. The doors split down a previously unnoticed seam, stretching wide and beckoning him into the darkness beyond. He walked within, paying no mind to the ensconced torches that lit periodically as he continued, casting a dim orange glow over ancient black flagstone. The hallway was twice as tall as he was, a fine layer of dust covering the floor, musty, stagnant air filling his nostrils.

The passage opened into a sizable chamber, a central brazier burning bright and casting long shadows onto the twelve tombs set upright into the walls of the space. Each was lovingly crafted from the stone walls of the chamber, bronze filigree decorating doors that now stood long ajar, the tombs themselves empty and silent. All, save for one. Raynald walked up to the only sealed tomb, in a corner against the far wall, and traced his fingers along a specific path in the fine bronze filigree with practiced ease. He'd never been in this sacred crypt, nor had anyone in five generations, but each person of his station had learned this practice from childhood, handing down the knowledge from Keeper to Keeper, for it would one day become necessary. Today, after hundreds of years, the time had come.

There was a low hiss, a rumble as the tomb's heavy lid slid open, and he averted his eyes on the figure within. The man was giant, seven and a half feet tall and clothed in a simple tunic, blonde hair reaching down just below his chin. Dense muscles rippled as the giant took a single, shallow breath. He murmured words in an archaic form of Frankish that Reynald barely understood, something about dreams and a shadow.

Without a word he traced his fingers through the air, casting a simple spell to bestow an understanding of modern language onto the awakened man. This was standard procedure during the Awakening of the Palatine. The giant man stirred from his sleep, shaking off the haze that hung over his deep blue eyes and focusing on the Keeper in front of him.

"How long have I slept, Keeper?" he asked, voice surprisingly soft, though even at a whisper it carried through the chamber.

"Four hundred and twelve years," Reynald replied, bowing his head low, "We have need of The Palatine once again, Lord Bastian."

Bastian took a step forward from his crypt, feeling life return to his limbs as Reynald quickly stepped out of his way. His eyes passed over the room, the empty crypts, lingering for a moment on the one that was positioned nearest to his. Cold, empty, dead. A deep sadness welled inside of him; the dead gave no response.

"So long," Bastian replied, rolling his shoulders, testing the rippling muscles. He was sore after the awakening, that was always the same, "What is needed?"

"The time is near," Reynald said, following behind, "The time. There have been... complications."

Bastian raised an eyebrow, turning to stare down at the man before him. "Speak plainly, Keeper."

A hard edge entered his voice, though not cruel. He had no time for semantics. Bastian was, if anything, a pragmatist.

Reynald shuddered slightly at the force of his tone, the gravity that seemed to swell in the space, before regaining his composure.

"The Shinigami's apprentice lives, my lord."

Bastian said nothing, not moving a muscle, a giant fist clenching by his side. His eyes travelled back to the crypt that rested next to his, though his mind was far away. When he remained silent, the Keeper continued.

"He killed his master, has killed many. He's a Godslayer, my lord."

"He lives," was the only reply, a deep murmur that reverberated through the chamber. Bastian remembered his dreams, the smoke, the blood, the demon.

"He does. That was two years ago, and we lost track of him." Seeing Bastian's gaze level directly on him, he quickly added. "He's resurfaced, we wanted to be certain before awakening the Palatine."

"Where is he?" Bastian asked, barely contained fury bubbling just under the surface.

"There's a dossier waiting for you outside," Reynald said, gesturing with one hand to the hallway he'd entered through, "Our resources are yours, my lord."

Bastian was silent and still for a long moment, staring down into the fire of the central brazier, jaw clenched tight as a tear dripped from the tip of his nose, lost to the dust of the floor below without a sound.

"Fetch me my armour."