Part X: Death takes a Vacation
Chapter 3: The Temple of Shadows
Timeline AO 300
The jungle grew thicker and darker as I followed the path to the mysterious temple that Ssu-Ra Val’Khaz had described. The dense canopy of trees swallowed the light until only a few dim beams of moonlight penetrated the oppressive gloom. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and the sounds of the jungle had faded to an eerie silence. It was as if the very land knew where I was headed and recoiled from it. Each step seemed to take me deeper into the heart of darkness, where even the spirits of the fallen would hesitate to tread. And it was so exhilarating!
In addition to what I heard from Sindra and Val’Khaz, I’d also harvested the souls of a few mortals along the way, continuing to learn about my destination. Temple of Shadows had been spoken of in whispers, a place that even the boldest of mortals feared to approach. Its location, hidden deep within the jungle near the ruins of Thulsa, was known only to a few, and those who had ventured there had never returned. But I had no fear of what lay ahead. After all, I had faced far worse than the remnants of my fallen brethren who were rumored to lie in torment there.
As I approached the temple, the air grew colder, and the jungle seemed to retreat, its dense foliage giving way to a clearing that stretched out like a wound in the earth. At the center of the clearing, half-buried in the ground and covered in creeping vines, stood the Temple of Shadows. It was an ancient structure, far older than anything else in Ramos, its black stone walls slick with moisture and covered in inscriptions that had long since faded into obscurity. Immediately I knew it had not been built by human hands.
“This was the work of the Mylars.” I surmised, my mind recognizing the architectural hints of that lost race who traced their roots back to the lumenarc Pan and the first woman Lilith, and who’d later ‘retreated’ from the world by building an ice wall that divided the Flat Earth of Terra. [Later I did them one better by sealing them inside their self-made prison with the use of another talisman – the Amulet of Zyphor – but that’s a tale for another time].
Regardless of who built this Temple of Shadows, I approached it for a better look. The temple’s entrance was a yawning maw, its archway lined with the twisted forms of serpents carved from the stone, their eyes glinting with a malevolent light as they seemed to watch my every move. I could tell the snake motifs were added in more recent times for the architecture didn’t match the original work.
As I stepped inside, the darkness swallowed me whole, and immediately I felt the presence of the spirits that dwelt within. Their aura clung to the walls, their ethereal forms barely distinguishable from the shadows, whispering from another dimension that I hadn’t heard since the fall of our kind.
The air inside the temple was thick and oppressive, the kind of darkness that clung to the soul – I found it invigorating. The walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own, covered in ancient carvings that were now lost to time. The further I ventured, the more the temperature dropped, the very air crackling with malevolent energy. This was a place where the dead lingered, where their hatred and despair had soaked into the stone and festered for eons.
When I reached the central chamber of the temple, I found a vast room, its ceiling disappearing into darkness far above. In the center stood an altar, hewn from the same black stone as the temple itself. The floor around it was stained dark with the blood of countless sacrifices and I knew that this was the work of humans who late took this Temple for their own evil purposes – a far different use than its Mylars had created it for.
The old blood made the air was thick with the scent of iron and decay – it made me hungry to taste it. Yet I approached the altar cautiously, my senses on high alert, for I could feel the presence of something ancient and powerful lurking in the shadows.
And then I saw them—three figures that struggled to materialize out of the darkness, their forms wavering as if they were no more than illusions, locked in another dimension, perhaps multiple dimensions. I immediately recognized them for what they were – the spirits of fallen lumenarcs, trapped in this place since the War of the Heavens, when Michael had used the Power of A’H to imprison us beneath The Firmament. They had not survived the initial fall, their souls unable to bear the weight of the prison that had been forced upon us, yet they were now trapped in The In-Between – a tortuous existence for these once angelic beings.
Although his form shifted in and out of my reality, the first spirit took on the form of a tall monstrous shadow, its once-glorious wings now tattered and torn, hanging limply at its sides. Its eyes, hollow and filled with a dark fire, locked onto mine as it approached. I recognized it —Xariel, a lumenarc who had fought valiantly during the war, only to fall to Michael’s wrath. The other two were lesser known to me, their forms less distinct, their spirits weaker – clearly they were pawns in Lucifer’s rebellion and had met with fates deserving of their uselessness. But there was no mistaking the hatred, bitterness, and jealous that radiated from them towards me.
Xariel’s voice was a raspy whisper, cutting in and out as it’s spirit winked back and forth between the dimensions. When it did come through, it echoed in the chamber as if carried on a cold wind. “Azazel,” it hissed, “what brings you to this forsaken place?”
“I seek answers,” I replied, my voice steady despite the oppressive atmosphere. “I seek the dagger Dagaal.”
At the mention of Dagaal, Xariel’s eyes flared with a brief spark of recognition, but it quickly faded into the void. “The Dagaal,” it repeated, as if the word itself pained it. “A blade forged in the fires of betrayal by Lucifer – using your rib bone.”
All three spirits shrieked at that, their piercing shaking the stones of the chamber. When Xariel reappeared, his voice turned sly. “There is a place… A place where its memory lingers. The Cradle of Despair.” Then laughing at me he added, “There you may find what you seek…and maybe something you do not.”
The Cradle of Despair? I’d never heard of it. It was a clue, albeit a cryptic one. But I had learned long ago that nothing of value came without a price. Growing tired of the game Xariel was playing I stored the information away and prepared to leave, assuming there was nothing more for me here. As I did, the second spirit winked back into my world – showing up as a smaller, hunched figure with a face twisted in perpetual agony. It clutched something in its clawed hands, something small and dark, almost indistinguishable from the shadows.
“For you,” it rasped, extending its ethereal hand. “A token… of our suffering.”
I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took the object. It was cold to the touch, a small, intricately carved stone talisman, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. I couldn’t decipher its purpose, but I could feel the power it held—dark, ancient, and full of potential.
“What is this?” I demanded, my eyes narrowing at the spirit.
“A key,” it whispered, its voice barely audible as it began to fade away. “A key to… something… yet to be revealed.”
Before I could press further, the third spirit glowed, this one barely more than a wraith, its form flickering like a dying flame. “Beware…the path you tread, Azazel,” it warned. “The shadows… alive, and they hunger… for more than… just your soul. They hunger… vengeance.”
“How quaint.” I dismissed the warning and moved towards the door.
There was nothing more to be gained from these pitiful remnants of what had once been my brethren. They were trapped, their souls forever bound to this wretched place and The In-Between. More importantly their knowledge of Dagaal was as fragmented and broken as they were. I turned away from them, slipping the talisman into the folds of my robes, and began to make my way back through the temple.
As I reached the entrance, I paused, hearing something odd – a sound I hadn’t noticed before, a low, rhythmic chanting, coming from the direction of a side chamber I had not yet explored. Curious, I followed the sound, my senses tingling with anticipation.
The chanting grew louder as I approached, and I soon found myself standing before a heavy stone door, slightly ajar. Pushing it open, I entered a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with crude altars, each one adorned with offerings of blood and bone. At the center of the room, a single figure knelt before a larger altar, its hands raised in supplication.
The figure was a woman, her body draped in a tattered robe, her long hair matted with blood. Clearly a witch, she was chanting in a low, guttural language, her voice filled with desperation and fear. Before her, on the altar, lay the lifeless body of a young man, his chest torn open, his heart still faintly pulsing with the last remnants of life.
I watched in silence as the woman completed her ritual, her hands trembling as she reached for the chalice beside her. With a swift, practiced motion, she dipped the chalice into the young man’s chest, filling it with the blood that still flowed from his dying heart. She raised the chalice to her lips, drinking deeply, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy as the adenochrome took hold.
I knew what this was—one of Sindra’s rituals, a perverse offering of life for power. The witch, no doubt a priestess of the serpent cult, had likely been performing these rituals for years, sacrificing the young and the innocent to maintain her own youth and vitality – yet based on the wrinkles that plague her face it wasn’t working.
I had nothing better to do so I watched the witch work. When she at last finished her ritual and stood, her eyes were glowing with an unnatural light. She turned to leave and that’s when our eyes met. She froze, her face contorting in terror as she realized who—or what—I was. But before she could scream or flee, I stepped forward, my hand closing around her throat.
“You serve Sindra,” I said, my voice cold and devoid of emotion.
She nodded frantically, her eyes wide with fear. “Yes, my lord,” she gasped. “I am a priestess of the serpent… Please, spare me!”
I released her, watching as she crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. “Tell me,” I commanded, “what do you know of the dagger Dagaal?”
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but there was none. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered. “But… but there is a legend… a legend Sindra taught us that speaks of the blade of bone, forged in the fires of the underworld. The Goddess said that the one who wields it will have the power to command the dead….”
“Interesting.” I nodded, confirming my suspician that Sindra knew far more about Dagaal than she had let on to me. Then, pulling the talisman from my robe, I asked, “And this? Do you recognize it?”
She flinched at the sight of it, her face paling. “The Talisman of Krysylla ,” she whispered. “It is said to be a key… a key to the Crypt of Death’s Horrors, where the most ancient evil lies in wait.”
I considered her words carefully. The Crypt of Death’s Horrors – I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. Yet, together with The Cradle of Despair, here was another mystery that I wasn’t aware of. I’d searched the flat world over and again for eons and had never heard of either of these locations. It was hard to fathom that I’d overlooked something – or that my lumenarc brothers and sisters hadn’t found them. Unless perhaps they have? I hesitated to believe.
Still thinking about the witch’s answer, I turned to leave, absorbed in my plans. Yet then I paused and looked back at the woman. “Your time is up,” I said simply, and with a flick of my wrist, her life was snuffed out, her body crumpling to the floor beside the altar – offering me a new soul to harvest.
As I exited the temple, the cold night air hit me like a physical blow, clearing the darkness from my mind. The spirits of my fallen brethren had given me much to consider, and the talisman now in my possession could very well be the key to finding the Dagaal or mayhap even the strange Cradle or Crypt?
The Darkness it seemed had not yet finished with me, and I was more than ready to embrace it.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 