novelraw Chapter 167 167: A Lasting Spark
Chapter 167 167: A Lasting Spark
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123 AC, Qohor
R'hllor felt the pain in his chest disappear, though he felt no respite. He had experienced this far too many times not to expect what was to come. Nine seconds. That was how long any action he took could last at the most. He had counted them so many times that it felt akin to instinct. For most, such a small slice of time was negligible, but for R'hllor, it was an eternity.
After all, one could achieve much in nine seconds, and yet, that R'hllor's curse. For no matter what he did, it would be undone, for he was trapped in a prison of time, never-ending, forever-looping, and somehow absolute.
The Abomination, the foreigner, had a mastery over Space and Time that transcended even Death, for no matter what he tried, he would not die. He was trapped in this disgusting mortal shell, that of Moqorro, a man who had dedicated his life to him, and yet, it was that mortality that gave him hope. He had no need to perish with every cycle, but there was power in Death.
Painful it might be, Death always attempted to take him and the remnants of Moqorro's soul, and weakening the spell with every attempt. It was extremely weak, more akin to a prisoner scratching faintly at the walls of the thick cell, but the scratches did exist, did remain, and with it, hope did as well, and perhaps a measure that not everything remained static, that he was making progress, as little as might be.
Though he had to admit that this came with a grand issue, for R'hllor's nature began to shift with every death, as his and what remained of Moqorro's soul shared a suffering that brought them closer than mortal and divine should ever be.
Perhaps it was the fact that the loathsome abomination had drained his realm of power, leaving it empty, while he was trapped in this disgusting mortal shell, that allowed such a change to occur, but with every moment, he felt… lesser, not just in power, but in spirit, in mentality. His perception of time was becoming that of a lesser creature; his understanding of the world became more mundane every time the world reasserted itself.
What a fall it was, from being one of the greatest deities in the world and brought down to… this. He was the Lord of Light, the holder of the last remnant of creation, a fragment of the Maiden of Light, the mother of all gods, and yet he was trapped by mortal magicks, not even allowed the dignity of Death.
The magic would inevitably end; that was something that he knew for sure, even without his prodding, though it accelerated it. After all, nothing was truly eternal, and he would continue to chip at the magic like a bird sharpening its beak upon a mountain, inevitably bringing it down. Yet R'hllor could not help but wonder if he would lose himself to mortality and succumb to its weaknesses before that would ever come to pass.
It was likely what the Abomination had planned, which was all the more sickening.
Alas, R'hllor had lost. The Abomination had found a weakness that he had not foreseen and defeated him. He dismantled his followers, defeated his beast, and stole his power, leaving with nought with an empty authority, a meaningless one that he could not even summon the strength to command, for he had been drained of his power, leaving him with the illusion of godhood, as his realm only continued to exist, as long as his claim over the fragment of Light remained, even if it held no power.
Even calling out for external assistance would not work, for any attempts at invading dreams of the human city were lost in a sea of chaos, which he could not navigate in the few seconds before his prison of Time reset. Perhaps, if he had any true worshippers left, it could have worked, but most had massacred one another over their ambitions, much like mortals often did, forgetting that it was he who truly gifted it all to them in the first place.
R'hllor regretted how he handled the confrontation with the Abomination. He should have used the consequences of his death, of the fragment of Light becoming unclaimed, and the war that would follow, to stay his hand, but he had been so sure that he would have won this battle. Or perhaps he had not done so out of pride or fear of his claim over the Light becoming known, and other gods targeting him seeking out its power.
That did not matter anymore, for here he was, the Lord of Light, unpowered, trapped within a mortal spell, an indignity that no god or demon before him had ever suffered through.
Alas, the nine seconds had passed once more, and R'hllor felt the physical pain assault him once more, pushing the time spell to revert once more, his death scratching at the figurative walls of the enchantment that bound him, leaving another minuscule, shallow scratch at most. Yet it was progress, nonetheless. Time had lost its meaning long ago, and he only measured it by the scratches he made, each one showing progress toward finally ending his curse.
It was then that he realised something that he never thought he would see again, movement within the weave of space and time. For a moment, he felt hope that someone… anyone… would attempt to free him from his torment.
Alas, that hope died in its tracks as he saw the creature who had imprisoned him walk out of the singularity, with his mate back at him. R'hllor immediately put a sneer on his face, his voice somehow raspy due to disuse, despite being stuck in the wretched prison of time, "I never expected to see you again, Anathema. Did you come here to gloat, or perhaps to beg as you watch the inevitable devastation that you have brought to this world?"
The Abomination who had forced this fate upon him did not seem affected by his words at all. If he were completely honest, R'hllor would admit that he had not expected to see the creature that bound him. From all he knew of the Abomination, it should have left this world to its inevitable devastation.
The creature was a mortal at heart; a few decades, centuries, which were nought more than a blink of a god's eyes, were great periods for him, a great irony, for a creature that mastered Time to the extent that it was able to trap R'hllor, fallen as he might be. After all, there was nought that could stop what was to come either way. Gods would war over R'hllor's legacy the moment he perished.
It was only then that the Abomination spoke words that he never expected to hear in what remained of this facsimile of life that he was doomed to suffer for an eternity, "No. I am here to bargain."
"Bargain?" R'hllor scoffed, a remarkably human expression, "What else do you seek to take from me? You have stolen my power, my life's goal… You have taken everything from me, and my own death… What else would you want?"
"Your alliance would do," the creature uttered.
It was mockery then…
Oh, how far he had fallen to be subjected to something like this, before the eyes of that… thing and a mortal woman as well. Speaking of which, the abomination's mate had no signs of the curse that plagued her, and R'hllor could almost feel remnants of his own power within her, likening having been used to cleanse it, which enraged him even more than he ever thought possible.
Did they hope to parade what they had used his essence for and speak of an alliance of all things? R'hllor might be a proud god, but even he knew that he had very little to offer them aside from his life, for the abomination refused to let him die.
Still, he suppressed the urge to growl at them and composed himself, for he still remained the Lord of Light, and he still held his pride for that authority he held, even if he did not have the power or the ability to use it anymore. "Why would I possibly wish to ally myself with you after what you have done to me?"
"Vengeance," the abomination uttered, making him freeze as he prepared another retort, "It seems like our confrontation was one planned by another, who wished to see you dead and the fragment of Light unclaimed."
That… That changed things. Or did it? That did not change what happened to R'hllor, for he remained trapped in this endless prison, and the Anathema would not let him die to deny the divine war that would follow.
However, his curiosity took the better of him. After all, if he had an enemy that was able to outplay him, he who could see through chaos itself, that brought him so low, then it did surely explain his fall. It did all feel far too convenient how quickly everything had fallen, so a powerful culprit was a true possibility.
That left only one question: "Who?"
Who would be able to outsmart him, he who had shaped empires and defeated entire Pantheons without anyone noticing, he who was working to defeat the coming devastation from the chaos outside of creation that threatened to destroy everything, to encroach upon his domain?
"The Elder Dragons," his enemy answered, "They wanted to claim the Light themselves, but couldn't, not without you dying."
The Old Ones, the First Dragons, the Elder Dragons… They were creatures that predated him, that had shaped the world before R'hllor had even spawned into creation. They rarely acted or intervened, despite having the strength to do so, but changed everything with their presence alone. They had ensured that the encroaching darkness, spawning the chaos across the world, would not come to be.
R'hllor had never truly opposed them; he had never felt the need to. They left things be, and he did not wish to court the devastation that every deity feared when the ancient laws were broken. Most of the rules were forged within the world itself, and any being breaking them ended the same, with their realm shattered, their essence scattered into the chaos beyond the realms, lost and forgotten.
Such creatures, ones that predated him, ones that had been there during the Divine War before R'hllor came to be, could possibly outmanoeuvre him. In fact, the more he thought of it, the more the prospect felt plausible, especially given how grand a prize the fragment of Light truly was.
The Anathema continued speaking, as R'hllor made its peace with the scheme that had been the cause of his condition, "I am prepared to free you; to give you back a semblance of what I have taken from you, should you serve me until the coming battle, until we make the Elder Dragons pay for what they did."
This… This was a true offer that R'hllor could recognise.
After all, he had nothing truly to offer the Anathema; there were other gods whose power he could steal, just as he had stolen R'hllor's. There was one thing that he held that his enemy could use against the Elder Dragons, and that was the fragment of Light, which would require power and divinity to use.
This was a chance at regaining what he had lost, of rising from the pitiful creature that he had become. But could he truly serve the man who had been the cause for this in the first place, who had used R'hllor's divine power as an element of a spell, who even denied him even his death from him? Every instinct he had wished to lash out, to throw the Anathema's offer to his face, to take away his hope, his weapon against an enemy as might as the First Dragons, to make him fail, as R'hllor himself would fail, but he restrained himself.
After all, what did R'hllor have to lose? He could think of no worse fate than the one that he suffered through, and this brought him hope, an opportunity to escape his fate, and a freedom to act, and regain his strength once more, as was his right as the Lord of Light.
The Lord of Light swore to himself that he would eventually destroy the Abomination, that he would make Abomination watch as he lost everything, and pray for death, just as R'hllor had. With this, any lingering doubts disappeared, for he had little to lose and everything to gain with this, "I agree."
The Anathema nodded, unsurprised, and he looked towards his mate, who walked towards the pit of Black Stone where the fragment of Light was held. She released a smattering of golden seeds that surrounded the pit, and each one quickly began to grow despite the barren ground.
The Abomination's hand moved, and golden light began to envelop the saplings in question, influencing their growth, shaped by both man and wife, around the pit that housed R'hllor's Light, their roots burrowing into the Black Stone, making the god shiver in the process.
He did not know what they planned on doing, but the way that they played with what remained of his realm unsettled him greatly. The growing trees, which surrounded the pit of Black Stone, began to merge into a great one that was above it, which shone as brightly as the sun itself.
Finally, the spell ended with a giant tree having grown above the Black Stone that connected to the remnants of his realm, and the golden-haired woman turned to her husband and nodded to an unspoken question, but one that the Abomination certainly understood.
Speaking of which, the Lord of Space and Time walked slowly towards the gigantic golden tree, pressed his hand to its trunk, and began to sing. To R'hllor's horror, he felt the roots that burrowed into the Black Stone move clumsily, and with it, all but allowing the Anathema to take control of the remnants of the Lord of Light's realm.
He felt it within him a commandment enact itself, an order that he could not refuse, one that forced him to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, to tell him whether his alliance with the abomination was to be in good faith, that he would serve him loyally until they defeated their common enemies, or of it would end in betrayal with R'hllor seeking vengeance.
Then, he felt it, for just a moment, a spark of power, a small burst of warmth that he had not felt since he was trapped in this wretched prison. R'hllor was so caught up in it that he hadn't noticed his mortal shell moving its lips and speaking, "I shall serve. I shall serve because I must, or until my chains are broken. Then, I will have my vengeance upon you. I will make you pay a hundredfold for what I have suffered… for every moment of torment, for every fragment of my being you have stripped away."
R'hllor's lips curled into a cruel smirk at the image within his mind, "I will rip the flesh from your bones, and I will watch, oh, how I will watch, as your mate burns in agony while you are powerless to stop it. I will burn every fragment of this world that you hold a hint of fondness for, until every trace of your wretched touch is no more. And when you beg for death, I shall deny you even that mercy… as you denied it to me."
And then, as swiftly as it had come, the fire within him faltered, and with it came the realisation of the words that he had uttered, that through them, he had likely lost his only path to escape his prison.
The Abomination turned to him with a neutral look on his face, "I expected this… Daph didn't even want me to make you that offer. I felt bad for what I did to you, for I was tricked into doing it to you. I suppose that doesn't matter anymore, but for all it's worth, I'm sorry about this."
R'hllor barely had time to realise what the creature had said, as he felt his prison reset, and he was pulled away far from him. It was just enough time to watch the Abomination raise his palm, and a great crimson gem appeared, one that was similar to one used to contain his power. And it was brimming with power indeed, divine power, one that was not R'hllor's own, but felt more akin to a realm of galloping stallions atop bloodied sand.
His enemy plunged the crimson gem into the tree, whose growth increased drastically. R'hllor felt the faint control that the tree held over his realm become more elaborate as much more power than mortal magicks was used to puppeteer it.
It was sickening, like a mortal watching a mage puppeteer their corpse of a body, and the sheer heresy of the act alone was one that he could have never even imagined. And with it came a realisation that perhaps there was a fate worse than his eternal prison, for he was watching what remained of his realm, of his very being, being all but usurped while he stood powerless to stop it.
And with this came a single fundamental truth. Should this ritual end, R'hllor would be worse than a fallen god, but the puppet of an Abomination that was not born in any of the realms of existence, a creature that was born mortal and beyond the sea of chaos that surrounded the realms.
He could not allow it… He would not… Not just for his sake, but for that of every divine, and perhaps even demonic creature in existence.
R'hllor saw the Anathema plunge its hands into the golden bark of the glowing tree, and from it, retrieve a small shard of the original gem. It was then that he saw his opportunity, his only opportunity at freedom. He ran, using the small spark of power that he felt within his realm at the command, breaking through the space barrier of the prison for but a moment.
He only needed that shard of power, of foreign divinity, and should he touch it, he knew that he would be free. He only had nine seconds, and so, he ran. With every step, he approached the creature, feeling the pull of the prison that wished to bring him back, and yet he resisted out of pure defiance, out of pure horror of the fate that awaited him.
There was nought but three seconds left when he was within arm's reach of the small gem. He was two seconds away, as he almost touched it, having likely surprised the sorcerer. R'hllor felt a victorious smile appear on his mortal shell's face, one filled with hope, only for his prison to activate unexpectedly, and for R'hllor to find himself back to where the loop began.
No, he had two seconds. Why did it activate early? Alas, he looked up to the horrific sight of the Anathema holding in his hand a ring of golden wood, with the crimson shard of power within.
And just like that, the ritual settled, and R'hllor felt the man use his newfound glowing crimson ring, and the great golden tree obeyed and puppeteered R'hllor's realm and reinforced the prison, using an infinitesimal sliver of the power of the fragment of Light.
It was then that he realised that by puppeteering R'hllor's realm like a necromancer would a corpse, the Abomination had a semblance of authority over the fragment of Light. R'hllor looked at the act of heresy in pure horror, "What have you done?"
"I wish it didn't have to come to this; I really do… But this is the only way. I'll be back… one day," the creature answered solemnly.
He did not wait for R'hllor's reply, for it would have likely been nought but many curses and insults, for the creature and its mate opened a portal and left R'hllor to his prison.
It was only a few seconds later that he realised that he had been laughing, and he found himself not being able to stop. For, while there was a great issue in the fact that any progress he had made to escape his fate was gone as it was reinforced by the fragment of Light, it was one fact that he simply could not stomach.
He was not the Lord of Light anymore, for a foreign mortal held that honour.
This was something that should have sent him reeling in horror, and yet, he continued laughing hysterically, while kneeling and staring at the wretched golden tree growing upon his Black Stone.
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The Fallen City of Qohor and the Mysteries within
By Leyton Hightower of Oldtown
I am writing to you, my darling Malora, from the depths of the Fallen City of Qohor. From the moment I read the accounts from Archmaester Marwin of this city from Highgarden, the thought would not leave my mind. I wish I could have brought you with me, but Essos is dangerous, especially at this time, and the stories were correct, for chaos reigns across Qohor, destabilising any form of magic before it could even be cast.
So far, a Rhoynar mage that I hired had already perished trying to cast an elaborate spell that almost blew up our ship, and we have elected not to cast any magic. I know not if you could defend yourself without your magic, so perhaps this was for the best, as we fought many pirates that preyed on the fact that mages become increasingly useless the more they approach Qohor.
It was only when we entered that I understood Archmaester Marwyn's words, for the city was not devastated, only abandoned, until none of its inhabitants remained. To think that just centuries ago, this city was called the City of Sorcerers and was a trading hub in Essos.
Though thankfully, I did not abandon my search as my predecessor had. Mages chose to stay on the ship, while we explored, for I have scores of knights with me. The city itself seemed to be held in an endless fog, one that was certainly strange as it turned thicker the deeper we entered the city.
It was only my experience at your own mischievous magicks, my dear Malora, that I realised what it was, for it was one of the most elaborate and largest illusions that I have ever had the privilege to experience, one that somehow held despite the chaos that dispelled most magicks in Qohor.
It took every piece of magic that I held and the combined strength of every mage I hired alongside me to peer into what lay beneath it. It was only for a moment, and yet I saw it, a tree larger than the Hightower itself, as thick as a castle, rising mightily, releasing a golden light that illuminated the world.
I know not what it is, or what it does, but I had never felt so awed or as afraid. I felt it, the tree, for it was alive and powerful, peering at my soul. I felt the strain upon it with every glimpse I took, until it turned into excruciating pain. One that felt distant, yet that warned me that I should let go. Others lost themselves to what they saw, and I saw them burn gold and die as nought more than husks.
I think that I was lucky to have survived what I had seen, lucky to have the discipline not to get lost in the golden light. I know not what manner of creature was responsible for this golden tree, but what I had seen was undoubtedly the work of something divine.
This expedition was a successful one, for we found many riches to be plundered in the depths of the city, and yet, this moment, stop any attempt at returning to these blessed yet cursed lands, for my hands shake as I write these words. The riches that we gained from this trip may alleviate some of our House's decline over the past century, especially after the scandal of the Citadel of Oldtown, but no riches are worth what I have witnessed. I am to return to the Hightower soon, and would caution all, ambition or not, mage or knight, to avoid Qohor, for this place is not for mortal eyes, not anymore.
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AN: This chapter took a bit out of me, but I'm not sure it came out like I wanted it to. This was meant to show the first part of Harry's plan, which required control over the Light. He could either do it through R'hllor, and he was tempted to do it out of guilt, but the god was not trustworthy. Harry is pretty much puppeteering R'hllor's realm using the Great Stallion's divinity, giving him a certain control over the fragment of Light, while R'hllor stayed alive. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.