Theurgy: The Citadel of Light (Book Three)

Chapter 12 The Unbroken God

   The skies fell. Like rain blood dropped upon Liberio. Greyson was informed all too late of this. Nearly the entirety of the Military Police stationed in Liberio save for those Ravens stationed on their naval vessels. The griffon riders swarmed the skies in search of suspicious entities who would be culprits perhaps hiding upon the masses of floating islands that hovered in circles around these lands. None had expected their such to yield much. In fact, that is why Achilles has chosen the largest of these islands, to be his heavenly throne as he was to observe what was below. Achilles, the unkillable god, watched from the broken ruins, his gold and silver spear laid across his lap, arms crossed and gleaming eyes drawn to this barrier that Circe has erected for his plans. Already have their forces come across the godslayer, this Ryan that appears to stir voices in the catacombs of Nekona. That did interest him, indeed. Not only that, but they may have also spotted the newest of the godlings. A powerful fire mage who was able to kill a makhai. No doubt they have found their next target indeed. But as the godslayer are inherently a meddling force as much as their victims, he could only guess that they will soon understand what Talin wants, and will do all it can to oppose them. And though he has faith in the witch's powerful magic, he will not make the mistake of underestimating the human's ability of ingenuity to circumvent her efforts. He will need to buy his forces time, those still in the barrier, to prepare for the extraction of this mysterious asset Hecate desires.

So, Achilles, this unkillable god rose from the shadow of these old monuments, as he was prepared to relegate himself as a mere distraction. All could not feel this foreign power over this land, but all felt this rumbling. All those feathers and wings flew erratically.

"I suppose the Prime Nychta can forgive this," he sighed, slamming his spear upon the ground, and despair fell upon them all. "I call upon you now, warriors of my Myrmidons. Your champion has a need for you once more. Show these mortals the might of the gods."

The ground shook, Grayson felt it, his connection to the earth trembling beneath his feet. The feeling of many feet marching in step, a steady rhythm only recognizable as the marching of many armored feet. The marching of an army. Within the sectioned area that surrounded nearly ten kilometers of Liberio Royal Academy, a deep mist grasped the roads and walkways. Even the midday sun could not pierce the hide of this sudden beast that engulfed all. Grayson knew this to be magic, but its nature alluded to him, and its source. Those of the military police found themselves suddenly stranded in small islands, vision obstructed past a few meters. Quickly they huddled, sensing the danger they were suddenly in. Even the sounds of their voices were swallowed by the sudden fog and the marching growing ever more imminent. And something else. A heavy resonating sound for moments at a time. Grayson placed his bare palm against the cobbled earth, and within moments, shot up with alarm in his eyes and voice.

"Prepare yourself," he shouted as loud as one could in this fog. "Enemies march upon us from all directions. Prepare for golems!"

"Golems?" Pierce suddenly turned. "Where did they come from? Why weren't their reports?"

"We are not dealing with any ordinary foe," Grayson took out his spellbook. "Be aware, and focus on your tasks."

"Are the students in any danger?" she asked him.

"I did not sense anything within the barrier. They surrounded us though, just . . . appeared out of thin air. I don't know what happened, but focus on your task, I'll do my best to protect you. Surely reinforcements will-"

Grayson jumped as something suddenly crashed into the earth at his side some paces away. A splatter of blood erupts afterward. With a quick examination, he knew exactly what it was. A griffon, and its rider. Both with deep fatal wounds, died well before touching the ground. The enemy seemed to be controlling the air as well, he feared. An intuition well justified, as Achilles did not let a soul, neither man nor beast, linger in the heavens with him. His golden spear lit like a bolt of yellow, green, and blue lights respectfully. For it was the domain of his grandfather, and this was his domain as well. And upon the earth, for which his godly ancestor Gaia ruled over, an army, his army, the Trojan army, rose once more per his command along with many new weapons lent to him by his mistress to do glorious battle in this virgin land. What at first glance appeared to be ghastly images imprinted on the mists soon became all too real as these ghosts took up steel against any caught in the fog of war. Mages found themselves surrounded by an army of men raised from the veil between life and death itself to serve their commander, their hero. And with thoughtless action, they proceeded to battle thousands of years delayed. Achilles golden eyes observed it all with amusement and pride. For too long has he remained shackled before by the god slayer, and misused by Talin in the past. For now, he shall have reign to do as he pleases.