Part XV: The Coming of the Myz
Chapter 11: The Miracle of Kalypzo
Timeline: AO 323
I’d been weaving the fates with The Eye throughout Hacktor’s battles against Gwar’s minions – helping his forces win The Battle of Gor while killing Sizor, then giving them relatively safe passage to reach Oz and ensuring Heraclez would still be alive when he got there, then arranging for Hacktor’s friend Fredrik Vendal to fall at the hands of Uruk, and finally for Hacktor to overcome that challenge and destroy Gwar’s other champion. All with a purpose – all part of my plan. And now it was time to provide one more miracle…
Hacktor’s cavalry had ridden for weeks from the blood soaked fields of Gor all the way to Oz. They’d lost more than half their riders in a failed charge down the main road in a desperate attempt to break through the army of Uruk’s Myz and goblins that were besieging the gates of the Drokka kingdom. Forced to retreat, they’d lost more in their defense of the ridge before Uruk fell, and yet still more in that final scramble to reach the gates, but reach them they did.
Forcing his way into Oz’s entrance, Hacktor found his mentor Heraclez alive – the saavy general-turned-Kon-Herr bloodied, but still standing with a small force of Drokka who’d somehow managed to withstand the massive host that had been besieging them for months.
The survivors cheered their rescuers, but there was little time for further celebration, because the battle at the gates was far from over.
“Praise Rhokki, my lord.” Heraclez hugged Hacktor, but then grunted in his ear. “We lack the numbers. What now?”
Hacktor hefted The Ghast, “Pray for a miracle.” And then ran back towards the entrance to take rejoin the fight.
The smell of blood, sweat, and iron hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of burning wood and charred flesh. By now the Myz and Goblins at the gates had regrouped – the Babelonian commanders shouting out commands and reminding everyone that their side still had the superior numbers. It was clear to all that it was only a matter of time before they wore down the defenders.
“Do not falter! We fight for Oz!” Hacktor shouted to the weary Drokka behind him as the Myz advanced – their enormous swords signaling death to any who stood in their path.
Standing in the breach of the gates that Gromm Stonefist had rebuilt back in AO301 after Hacktor had first retaken Oz, the great Kon-Herr once more tried to save his people’s original homeland. He fought with a fury that bordered on madness and the Ghast became a magical mystical bringer of death to any attackers that dared to challenge him. Had Hacktor faced only goblins or a smaller force of Myz Knights, its possible the Kon-Herr may have saved the day all by himself. Unfortunately there will still tens of thousands of warriors assaulting the gates of Oz – pressing forward to overwhelm the dwarves regardless of what magical weapons they had or didn’t.
“We must hold the gates!” Hacktor tried to inspire his troops. His men, battered and bloodied, obeyed without hesitation, desperately trying to hold a defensive line beneath the gates of Oz.
At his right stood General Heraclez, the older dwarf’s once-gleaming armor now dented and covered in grime, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. But despite the fatigue that weighed heavily on his shoulders, his eyes burned with the same fierce determination that had always driven him – and Hacktor admired him for it.
All around them, a ragtag mix of Hacktor and Heraclez’ remaining men fought valiantly, their faces showing the overwhelming effort they were exerting as they tried to hold back the tide of goblins and Myz, – but the enemy was relentless, a dark wave that seemed intent on drowning the Drokka.
While the Derkka goblins tried to shy away from Hacktor’s area in order to harass his less formidable colleagues, the Myz all wanted a piece of ‘the mushroom king with the magic axe’ – for many of them had seen their champion Uruk fall at Hacktor’s hands and besides revenge, each of them knew that if they could fell this dread warrior, they’d earn ripe rewards from their god Gwar. The possibility that they might die, meant nothing to the evil knights – for I had created them with a singular purpose – to make war. Anything less than that goal was a failure in their minds – therefore all of them pushed and shoved their way to get near their prize.
If not for the confines of the cavern entrance that limited the attack against him, Hacktor may well have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the assault. As it was, he parried, dodged, and struck – again, and again, and again. And while the Kon-Herr fought with the precision of a master, but the Myz were relentless – and so were the Babelonians and Derkka going after his troops.
A problem was quickly presenting itself to the Drokka inside Oz and it was this – although Hacktor continued to fight relatively unscathed (largely from the divine powers that flowed from The Ghast into him), his warriors were already on the verge of exhaustion when the battle had begun and by now their strength was fading. Most of those dwarves were already injured, and facing ever more impossible odds, they began to fall at Hacktor’s sides faster he could count.
It seemed as if the battle would be lost.
Was our ride to Oz all for nothing? Did Fredrik fall in vain? Hacktor wondered as he cleared an opening with The Ghast. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged as he looked at what remained of his men. The clang of steel against steel, the guttural cries of dying men, and the roars of the monstrous Myz warriors continued non-stop.
“Hacktor,” Heraclez called out, his voice strained. “The gates… if they breach the gates, Oz will fall.”
“Never.” Hacktor grunted, his grip tightening on the Ghast. “We won’t let that happen.”
But even as they spoke, the enemy pressed harder, their numbers swelling as the Babelonian commander ordered another surge. The Drokka were pushed back step by step, their defensive line faltering under the relentless assault. Hacktor could feel the despair creeping into his heart, the cold realization that they were on the verge of being overwhelmed.
A Myz warrior broke through the Drokka line at Hacktor’s right and charged at Heraclez. The Drokka general met the attack head-on, his pseudo-ghast flashing in the moonlight as he parried the Myz’s strikes. But the Myz was relentless, its brute strength and savage speed too much for the exhausted elderly general. With a bone-crunching blow, the Myz struck Heraclez down, sending him crashing to the ground, his false ghast clattering from his grasp.
“Heraclez!” Hacktor cried out, his voice thick with grief and fury. The king lunged forward, the Ghast slicing through the air with deadly precision, cleaving the killer Myz in two before it could deliver the death blow to the old general.
Protecting his mentor, Hacktor stood over Heraclez – the elderly dwarf lay on the ground, blood pooling around him, his breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. Realizing Heraclez was still alive, the Kon-Herr made a dreadful decision. “Retreat to the caves!” Hacktor shouted, his voice shaking with the weight of the decision as he dragged Heraclez’ body further into the cavern.
While his men tried desperately to pull back against the now surging enemy, the king tried to think of a way to turn the tide of battle. He was loathe to abandon the gates because he knew it would allow his attackers to gain access inside the mountain sanctuary, but at the same time his military mind theorized that perhaps it might give his dwarves an advantage to fight inside the dark caves where’d they’d have familiarity with the confusing terrain and could use their superior low-light eyesight.
Hacktor knew that pulling back meant abandoning the gates, leaving Oz vulnerable to the enemy to pour in. But there is no other choice. We can’t hold the gates any longer unless I’m willing to sacrifice everyone else. Looking around, he saw that his warriors were bloodied and exhausted, still fighting with desperation as they retreated away from the gates of Oz. Each step back must feel like a betrayal of everything we’ve fought for, Hacktor lamented.
Sensing their advantage, the enemy pressed harder, their savage war cries blending with the sounds of steel clashing against armor and the guttural groans of the dying. With every inch they lost, Hacktor could see the dread in the hearts of his men grow deeper, and the once-unbreakable resolve of his Drokka beginning to crack. We’re going to be overwhelmed. And I don’t think I can stop it.
Through gritted teeth and hoarse voices, the king heard his warriors call out in their anguish. “Kalypzo, Mother of the Earth, hear us!” one warrior cried, his voice trembling as he drove his blade into a goblin, only to be knocked to the ground by a Myz. Blood streamed down his face, but he still shouted, “Save us, as you did in the days of our fathers! Let the mountains rise against our enemies!”
After felling another myz, the King watched as another Drokka warrior, staggering under the weight of a wound to his leg, fell to one knee as he swung his pseudo-ghast in a wide arc, sending a goblin sprawling. His breath came in ragged gasps. “Rh-Rhokki!” he stammered, his voice weak. “God of stone… grant us strength!” His axe fell again, splintering against the Myz’s shield, but the attacker kept advancing. “Do not abandon your children in this dark hour!”
Their prayers, though mixed with curses, were laced with a raw desperation that echoed the terror in their hearts. Many of them no longer cared for the battle, their eyes wide with fear as they saw their comrades cut down beside them. “Kalypzo! Mother, show mercy!” one soldier wailed, slashing at the air blindly as the enemy closed in. “Let the earth swallow them! Let them sink into the depths!” His voice faltered as he was driven back, his sword flying from his hand, leaving him defenseless before a Myz blade.
“Rhokki, make us stone!” another screamed, still gripping the gates’ doors with both hands as if to plead with the very metal to protect them. His knuckles were white, his body trembling. “Let us be unbreakable as your mountains, as your heart!”
Perhaps our gods can’t hear us. Hacktor cried. Perhaps they don’t even care.
And still the enemy kept coming, relentless, pushing them further and further into Oz. It will all be over soon. The Kon-Herr continued to fight mindlessly but inside he felt powerless – his people were surrounded, outnumbered, and the gates were breached. We won’t even make it to the caves. There are just too many of them.
The desperation in the air was palpable, the men’s voices trembling as did their best to defend themselves whilst backing away – and still they whispered prayers to Kalypzo and Rhokki, their last hope for survival.
Then it was that something extraordinary happened…
The battle inside Oz’s gate continued, until suddenly the ground beneath the feet of the combatants began to tremble – a low rumble that quickly grew into a violent, earth-shattering quake. Hacktor staggered back as the very mountain seemed to come alive. What had been a battlefield of clashing steel and blood-soaked earth transformed in an instant into a scene of raw chaos.
The king watched as the Myz coming to attack him now stood frozen, their black eyes wide with uncertainty. He saw goblins, once charging forward towards his men with savage bloodlust, now skid to a halt, their clawed feet struggling to maintain balance on the shifting ground.
“Could it be?” Hacktor’s heart pounded as the dark air inside Oz began to swirl ominously, and a low rumble echoed inside the mountains.
“Kalypzo!” One of the men called out, pointing at a shimmering, ethereal figure appearing just inside the gates of Oz above where the enemy was gathered.
Hacktor saw it too – in disbelief he recognized Kalypzo, the mother of this flat earth, her image glowing with a celestial light that cut through the gloom of the cave.
The sight filled the beleaguered dwarves with renewed hope. “Kalypzo, protect us!” they cried, their voices rising in desperation.
Hacktor recognize this as an opportunity to change the entire battle. He raised the Ghast high, its dark light mingling with Kalypzo’s glow. “Stand with me, brothers! Kalypzo fights with us! We will not let the enemy take Oz!” And the king moved forward, intent on taking back the gates!
As it turned out, Hacktor didn’t have to use the magic of the Ghast – because the mountain itself did the work for him. The ground shook violently again, as a deafening crack split the air. Above the entrance to Oz where the image of Kalypzo hovered, the rocks began to break apart.
The king saw a panic begin to ripple through the enemy ranks. A Babelonian general tried to throw his spear at the the god’s visage – yet the javelin only bounced off the rocks and came down to impale a hapless goblin. As the Babelonian laughed in defiance, the earth groaned and split beneath him – his chariot lurched forward violently, its wheels splintering as it tumbled into a yawning fissure, dragging the general into the depths!
Nearby a goblin shrieked as a crack opened beneath his feet too – a sharp, jagged line of earth tearing through the ground like a wound. The Derk stumbled backward, but his limbs were too slow, too small to escape the encroaching chasm. He clawed at the dirt, trying to scramble to safety, but the ground gave way beneath him, and with one final scream, he plummeted into the abyss, vanishing into the maw of the earth.
All around, the quake wreaked its wrath. Hacktor saw more Babelonian commanders, perched in their gilded chariots, shattered in the face of nature’s fury. One commander, his face twisted in disbelief, barked orders at his goblin infantry to reform, but his voice was lost in the roar of the quake. His chariot, decorated in the symbols of Baal, was suddenly engulfed by a cascade of falling boulders, crushing both chariot and beast into mangled ruin. He leapt free, only to stumble, falling onto the shifting earth, his body trapped as the land heaved and cracked, pulling him into its deathly embrace.
The air was still thick with terror and the screams of the dying – only this time it was coming from the Myz and goblins. Hacktor watching in amazement as his enemy’s agony only got worse when massive boulders, shaken free from the mountainside where the goddess appeared now came crashing down with thunderous force, obliterating anything in their path.
In moments, what had been an overwhelming force of goblins, Myz, and Babelonian commanders was reduced to a disorganized mass of bodies, some crushed beneath the rubble, others lost forever into the fissures of the earth. And still the ground beneath the attackers continued to churn, as the land rose in defense of Hacktor and his men – creating a chasm between the kingdom of Oz and the outside world. Thus it was that the unstoppable tide of enemies had been halted, broken by the power of the earth as the enemy forces were swept away, buried beneath untold tons of stone.
“Kalypzo,” Hacktor gasped, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and gratitude filling his voice.
The Drokka survivors watched in stunned silence, the weapons hanging useless in their hands as the earth obliterated more than 99% of their attackers, leaving only a hundred or so dazed and confused Derkka and a few myz. These were the besiegers who’d been the first to force their way inside Oz when Kalypzo’s wrath occurred – because they were so near the Drokka, they escaped the goddess’ destruction. Still trying to process what had happened to the rest of their army, they were too slow to regroup and these predators became the prey.
“For Kalypzo!” One of the Drokka warriors cried out as he raised his pseudo-ghast and sliced through a witless goblin.
At that more of Hacktor’s men rallied, their spirits renewed by the miraculous intervention, as they sought to obliterate any of the enemy that remained alive. The goblins and Myz who now found themselves trapped between the fury of the earth at the gates and the relentless Drokka warriors inside the cave – to their doom.
That final battle lasted but a short time – within less than a candlemark it was over – the Derkka and Myz wiped out to a man. When the last goblin fell, the Drokka began to cheer, their voices rising in a triumphant chorus that echoed through the mountains. Some of then even began to sing:
“Kalypzo, you heard our plea,
Mother guarded for all to see,
In battle fierce, we prayed to thee,
You granted us strength, and victory.”
They had survived. Oz had been saved.
But the victory was bittersweet. The battlefield was strewn with the bodies of the fallen, both friend and foe. The Drokka soldiers began to regroup, tending to their wounded and gathering the bodies of the fallen. The men worked with a quiet efficiency, their movements heavy with the weight of what they had just endured.
For his part Hacktor looked upon the scene with a heavy heart, as he walked back towards the body of Heraclez. Looking down at his mentor, the king could see that Heraclez’ breathing was even more ragged and the blood around him continued to flow. The old dwarf’s visage was haggard and his hair and beard were caked with blood. He struggled to open his eyes, “H-ack-tor?”
“Hush.” Hacktor knelt beside him, “It’s over, my friend. We are victorious.”
The general struggled to smile. “Pr-oud…of….y-ou…s-s-on.” And then breathed his last.
“Noooooo!” The king’s heart was torn as he lowered his head to his friend’s chest in anguish. After a time Hacktor looked towards the gates, where Kalypzo’s image had appeared. “Is this victory? But at what cost? And what now?”
Hacktor and his Drokka would go to their graves believing they saw Kalypzo’s image above the entrance to Oz and her wrath descending upon their enemies. And this is the official story that would be recorded in The Kroniklz too – a miracle, they said—a sign that the gods had intervened.
Of course, I knew better. It wasn’t the real Kalypzo – it was just another one of my little tricks. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking – why would I go to all the effort to create the myz and continue to be the god Baal for the Derkka, only to abandon them to their enemies? Such thinking is simply too short sighted and I don’t expect your pea brain to understand the plans of a god.
The fact is that I wasn’t yet done with my pawn Hacktor. I could always make more myz and goblins – and I soon would. But there was only one Hacktor I wasn’t ready for him to die—not yet.
However…if we’re being totally honest here, I’ll admit that while I was pretending to be Kalypzo, I felt something…more.
You’ll recall that Kalypzo is simply the Drokka’s name for Mother Earth which is in reality the lumenarc Gaia that Lucifer and I trapped inside the primordial flat earth to bring it to life so many ages ago. Gaia has since gone on to exceed my expectations for the planet and she’s continued to exist inside the prison of the flat earth ever since – she is without question the life force that animates this world.
In spite of the Drokka’s worship of her, she was never one to answer their prayers in the past or even meddle in mortal conflicts directly. As a result I had no qualms about impersonating her to suit my designs. So yes, I am the one who brought that illusion of Kalypzo to life. It was I who summoned her spectral form, weaving the mountain’s energies to create the image that rallied the Drokka in their darkest hour. I’d like to believe it a masterstroke of deception, a subtle nudge that kept Hacktor alive and fighting for the grand purpose I crafted for him.
And yet, even as I reveled in the success of my ploy, a flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Did I truly orchestrate all of this? The landslide that destroyed Oz’s attackers —the raw power of it—was far beyond what I had anticipated. It’s was if the earth itself responded to my illusion, acting with a will of its own than just my magic. Could it be that Gaia’s essence still retained some autonomy, still resisted the chains that Lucifer and I placed upon her?
The thought was unsettling. If Gaia—or Kalypzo, as these fools called her—still had some influence left, I must find a way to either harness it or snuff it out. The balance of power is delicate, and I won’t let something so trivial disrupt my plans.
“No worries.” I relaxed back into my bed and tossed The Eye away – my fateweaving done for today. “In the end, it matters little whether Gaia intervened or if it was truly all my doing. Hacktor lives, and with him, my plans for Terra remain intact. I can continue to pull the strings from behind the scenes. I am nothing if not a patient player. Every move, every counter, is leading this earth toward the destiny I have crafted. Kalypzo, Gaia, whatever name they give her, is just another piece on my board. And like all the others, she will serve my will, whether she knows it or not.”
The Apocrypha of Azazel 