The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 99: The Church of the Stars (11)

Mastemo took the news about as well as expected.

“Cubirah and Barbas, both slain?” His hands tightly gripped his chair’s armrests, the noise echoing in his office. “Beatrice and Silence, gone?”

Simon nodded grimly. He had used his teleportation gem to return back to the Lighthouse with both the sealed crystal and his fellow Templars’ remains. The box holding Exodeos’ miasma crystal sat on the High Confessor’s office like a grim trophy.

“They fought valiantly and slew the demon,” Simon said. “Ser Barbas and Ser Cubirah landed the fatal blow, but… I’m sorry, Your Excellency, their wounds were too great. You have seen their bodies. I couldn’t do anything, even with prayers.”

Mastemo looked down at the box in disbelief. He hadn’t questioned Simon’s story that he had been mostly watching the fight from the sidelines due to his low level besides asking for a few details, but that was mostly because the idea of Beatrice’s entire squad having been wiped out shocked him to his core.

“I feared the mission might end with a casualty or two, but for my most elite Templars to be wiped out by a single demon… and it being weakened on top of that…” The High Confessor held his mask with his hand. “This Exodeos would have likely contended with the likes of Prince Louis or Her Grace Euphemia at full power.”

Did you underestimate the creature, Your Excellency? Simon thought before fishing for information. “With all due respect, Your Excellency… what was that thing?”

Mastemo clasped his hands. “Have you heard of the tale ‘The Heroes and the Zodiac Fiends’?”

Simon nodded sharply. So the Church did know about them. “It’s a story about the twenty-two Noble Heroes fighting demons and turning them into constellations.”

“I fear it is no story, my boy, but history,” Mastemo replied. “The truth is that the elves were not originally inspired to create the Noble Classes to bless the mortal tribes, as they would like us to think, but to fight a group of malevolent archdemons who had intruded upon our world eight hundred years ago.”

Simon feigned shock. “You’re saying we fought a monster from the Age of Heroes?!”

“Yes, which was unfortunate. I had hoped to transfer that monster into a more secure cell before it could escape.” Which implied he knew the Zodiac Fiend was close to freeing himself on his own. “I suppose it was the will of the Light that I sent you to confront this creature on the day it chose to escape its seal, to prevent it from laying waste to Bujan.”

Simon kept his mouth shut. He knew from experience in his past reigns that Exodeos only tried to escape because they attempted to move its crystal. The Zodiac Fiend would have likely been content to wait a year or so for the black comet to empower him otherwise.

Ironically enough, his father’s approach of just isolating Mount Perun had kept the region safer than Mastemo’s more hands-on approach. Simon wondered if Balzam Magnos had learned that lesson from a previous reign of his own.

“Cubirah and Barbas perished as martyrs for our cause, and I fear Silence may be gone forever if killing the demon didn’t cause it to spit him out, but Beatrice could still be saved,” Mastemo said. “Banisher is a Tier IX miasma spell that banishes the target to another dimension without killing them. I will contact Princess Norbelle with haste. The Summoner can call upon creatures from other planes, so she might be capable of recovering Beatrice with her Noble Class. Since you regularly visit the forbidden archives, I please ask you to look into the matter as well.”

“I will do what I can, Your Excellency.” Simon hesitated about making a sensitive inquiry and decided to push on. “May I ask something, Your Excellency?”

Mastemo nodded curtly. “What is on your mind, Simon?”

“How was the light megalith created?”

“All megaliths are massive pieces of manalith that absorbed elemental energies and the people’s faith over centuries, usually after a long-dead manatree underwent fossilization,” Mastemo explained. “The light megalith differs in that it channels the element closest to our god. Although the prophet Pharis received visions of the Light that revealed its true nature and purpose, the megalith was already considered a sacred object in what would become the Kingdom of Lore long before her birth.”

“So there was no miasma involved in their creation?”

“Of course not. Where did that sordid and absurd notion come from?” Mastemo glanced at the sealed box. “Ah, I understand. You think this demonic crystal and the megaliths could be related. Yes, there is a possibility that some vile megalith of the Dark exists somewhere and that these Zodiac Fiends were spawned from it.”

Except that Dark megalith would be in the depths of space and the size of a comet rather than a house. This wasn’t what bothered Simon, however, but he had no way of delving deeper without blowing his cover.

Why were light megalith prayers linked to his Miasmic Archmage

Perk of all things? Did it carry a speck of darkness inside itself? Come to think of it, could Simon pray to Abraxas and cast dark-aligned prayers? Did those spells even exist?

So many new questions and so few answers…

“I grant you time to rest and recover, but I will need you again on the night of the New Moon,” Mastemo informed him. “I ask you to meet me at the observatory then.”

Simon’s head perked up with interest. “The observatory?”

“Indeed. Thanks to this crystal, we can finally uncover the truth that the Dark cravenly seeks to hide from us.” Mastemo put a hand on the sealed box. “We will gaze upon the black comet you have seen in your dreams.”

Something that Simon couldn’t wait for. Mastemo soon dismissed him, and he moved towards the door pondering how to organize his free time.

“Simon.”

Simon froze, his head peeking over his shoulder at the High Confessor.

“Do you swear to the Light, on your honor as a Templar, that things happened exactly as you said?” Mastemo steepled his fingers. “That you did not forget nor hide anything?”

That was a loaded question. Simon could tell that the High Confessor was invoking the Templar oath’s clause compelling them to obey their superior’s every order. He was openly doubting Simon’s words.

“I swear it, Your Excellency,” Simon lied.

A dozen reigns spent infiltrating various factions let him say those words without showing any sign of deceit. His Treacherous Title shielded him from the consequences of breaking his oath, and no bolt of divine retribution struck him.

Mastemo studied him for a moment, then wordlessly nodded. Simon hoped the absence of divine retribution had assuaged his new mentor’s doubts for now.

Simon opened the door and walked away, feeling the High Confessor’s gaze on his back long after he crossed the threshold.

Eole was overjoyed to see Simon again, as were his retainers. The Church of the Light kept the disappearance of the other Templars lost in Bujan under wraps for now, so everyone thought he had simply returned from an exercise with other knights abroad without issue.

For his part, Simon had feared he would return to find that the Cobweb had abducted his friend. Simon was pleasantly surprised to find that Mastemo had held up his end of the bargain and put Eole under his Templars’ protection, though not for the reasons he thought…

“You want to help His Excellency?” Simon asked, slightly taken aback.

“Yes, I have agreed to assist the Church of the Light in refining its elixir and removing its side effects,” Eole confirmed, albeit with clear hesitation. “I do not agree that being a shifter is necessarily wrong, but should it be proved that they could fall under demonic influence… then they should have a choice on the matter.” Simon scowled, which she picked on. “I only agreed on the condition that taking the completed elixir would be voluntary. Lord Mastemo swore it on his megalith under witness.”

Simon couldn’t help but notice that the promise didn’t extend to the unfinished elixir, which had driven most of Telluria insane in a previous reign. “Would shifters truly take this offer?”

“I doubt many will,” Eole confessed. “Shifter tribes have existed for centuries. Being a lion or a centaur is more than a physical change; it is their life. And beyond their cultural heritage, shifters enjoy benefits humans do not. Would you agree to stop flying, if you could?”

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“No.”

“The same goes for me.” She smiled at him. “I am not proud of what my people did

, if Lord Mastemo is right… but I am still proud of being a kish.” “I see.” Simon returned her grin. “I will hold His Excellency to his oath then.”

And if he lied, then Simon would know it soon enough.

Otherwise, the few days that preceded the new moon were both serene and frustrating in many ways. On one hand, Simon was free to peruse the forbidden archives as he wished, or to spend his evenings with Eole and his retainers; on the other hand, Shabram’s loss was a crippling blow that reminded Simon just how precious she and her spy network had become over the reigns. Her demise had blinded him to so many moving parts across the empire. All the news he received came from whatever newspaper arrived at the Lighthouse—which were all censored of anything important—what Belzemine could learn when she wasn’t working on the Stone Muse’s seal, or hearsay. He wouldn’t learn of the civil war’s opening volley until Louis’ airships showed up on the horizon.

Shabram had at least managed to send him some information about the Cleric Class before her demise, including intel on its known Perks. Besides their ability to mark an area as a holy ground and enjoy a few benefits, a Cleric always counted as a priest with strong faith when praying to any deity, which all but guaranteed that their spells would be granted. Mastemo only paid homage to the Light out of belief, but he could have eidolons fulfill his wishes easily enough.

Otherwise, the Cleric possessed an instinctual understanding of all religion-related matters and the most potent healing ability of all Classes, which allowed them to transform their mana into lifeforce to cure the wounds and ills of others.

All in all, Simon had mostly lost interest in the Cleric Crestone. Its complete mastery over the prayer field of spellcasting and superior healing abilities were interesting, but probably not enough to spend a Devour Crestone Perk on. The Overlord already had access to its other powers, probably by design.

Mardok had to draw from all the Noble Classes to create the Overlord, Simon thought as he browsed From the Deepest Pits of Hell, a grimoire about as disturbing as it was enlightening. It took the best bits of all of them and twisted them with miasma.

His investigation into the Abyss had both progressed and reached a dead end. To their credit, the Church of the Light had compiled an enormous amount of documentation on the plane of existence, particularly the border area between the material plane and the Abyss’ depths. This area, called by different people as the Beyond, the Outer Darkness, or more commonly Hell, was the demesne of demons eager to manifest and prey on mortals. Priests spent centuries methodically investigating most types of demons, their weaknesses, and their methods of influence to better counter them.

This taught him a few important tidbits. First of all, unlike eidolons, demons weren’t unique creatures empowered by faith; they were instead masses of miasma that adopted solid shapes in the Hell border by modeling themselves after the sins, fears, and nightmares of the mortals they preyed on. Souls and emotions were a delicacy to them, and the material plane a playground, but they required neither to exist.

This meant that, unlike eidolons, most demons weren’t unique creatures; there were many succubi because countless demons chose to focus and prey on lust. Some did accumulate enough power and influence that they would transform into powerful, individualized entities mortals called archfiends, but they didn’t require worship to exist.

To put it simply, demons were little more than glorified soul parasites.

Unfortunately, the Church had shown no interest in the lower depths of the Abyss beyond this threshold. And why would they? The denizens of those areas didn’t interact with the material world and crossing into those depths was considered suicide. Studies of the lower areas, where the laws of physics broke down, had been neglected.

At least he confirmed that the Banisher spell sent the target to a rift between the planes rather than the Abyss itself, and whose denizens had often been called by Summoners or their Vassal Classes in the past. Mastemo had been overjoyed when Simon brought him this information. The High Confessor did appear to care for his Templars, or at least the best of them.

Either way, it was becoming clearer and clearer that Simon needed to consult an expert diabolist if he wanted to make any progress on the Darkblood front, or understand the connection between the reigns and the Abyss. Consulting Justine Eligos without causing her to run away remained his best lead so far.

However… Meredith had also informed him that the Queendom of Cocagne, as befitting a country under the Mage’s control, had collected an enormous library of spells. Considering Norbelle’s ability to receive visions remained a threat Simon could not ignore, going there could let him kill two birds with one stone.

“Are you certain?” Simon mentally questioned Belzemine as he moved to the elevator leading up to the observatory.

“I am sure, Your Majesty. I can reinforce the seal enough that it will resist for a time, but the damage is too extensive. I would need to unravel the seal and release the fiend to create a new, sturdier one… and I am not certain it would resist the influx of miasma from this Abraxas comet.”

“So permanent containment is not an option?” Simon had feared as much. At least this told him that releasing the Zodiac Fiends and then resealing them before the comet arrived might weaken them. “Then I want you to return to the capital for your next mission. There is a boy I want you to protect in my stead, Aegio. I will give you the necessary information once you leave Magvolia.”

“I will be on my way immediately, Your Majesty.”

Good. Simon was convinced that Shabram had taken measures to protect her child should anything happen to her, but it wouldn’t hurt to receive an elven archmage’s help on top of it.

The elevator opened into a partially opened, domed room located right above the water megalith’s hall and just as splendid as it was. Paved with marble and crowned with a gilded roof, it welcomed multiple astronomy tools such as planispheres, celestial spheres, and boards showcasing various constellations.

However, the true wonder of the room was its golden telescope.

Simon had never seen any other like this one. Built on a pivotal platform linked to massive gears, its colossal length could have rivaled a frigate’s mast, and its multicolored lens was wider than most doors. A throne was integrated into the structure to allow astrologers to sit and record their observations as they watched the night sky through the eyepiece. The Scales’ Zodiac Crystal had been embedded in a compartment near the star diagonal.

“Right on time, Simon,” Mastemo welcomed him alongside Izulon and a cadre of Templars. “We were almost ready to begin.”

“Begin what, Your Excellency?” Simon’s gaze lingered on the Scales crystal. “Does it… does it power the telescope?”

“It will improve its ability to see through darkness,” Mastemo corrected him. “The object we seek to observe will not become visible in our sky before next year, but my astronomers believe it is already lurking at the edge of our solar system.”

Simon struggled to contain his excitement. Would he finally be able to observe Abraxas more closely? “How could they know that?”

“Circumstantial information indicates that some ancient comet sightings could refer to the same interstellar object visiting our sky every four hundred years or so… an object which I suspect is the black comet of your dreams,” Mastemo explained. “Its appearance is almost always a portent of some calamity or another.”

“The elven archives we gathered from the Lighthouse’s first occupants mention a comet sighting when the rift to the Abyss first opened, over a thousand years ago,” Izulon said. “Previous High Confessors built this observatory to observe similarly ominous celestial phenomena.”

“It will fall on us to pursue our forefathers’ work and assess the truth of the matter,” Mastemo declared as he sat on the telescope throne. “On other fronts, Simon, I have both good and bad news. While Princess Norbelle believes she can summon Beatrice back from the void, I have just learned Lady Shabram has been murdered.”

Simon’s jaw clenched, though not out of surprise. “The Spymistress? Murdered?”

Mastemo nodded sharply. “She was found in her study with her body drained like a husk and with a set of smoking Overlord brands on her corpse. It may be that the new Overlord, this ‘Casval Ashmodai’, used and then discarded her.”

Simon kept his mouth shut, biting his tongue and swallowing his guilt.

“Her Grace managed to recover the Dancer Crestone, but I fear this is the first act in what will become a dreadful civil war. We will need to act swiftly if the Church is to survive.” Mastemo studied Simon for a moment. “I understand your reluctance when it comes to sending Eole to Telluria, but I might need to send the two of you there regardless of the risks. Securing the beastmen tribes’ neutrality and ensuring they do not join with the War Party would minimize future bloodshed.”

“I will do as Your Excellency asks, but I warn against this course of action,” Simon warned him. “At least so long as the warlord Vouivre remains unaccounted for.”

“She and Louis will hopefully kill each other, if the Light is merciful.” Mastemo looked into the telescope’s star diagonal. “Proceed with the alignment.”

The gears beneath the telescope whirred and the platform pivoted, allowing the machine to gaze into the darkness between the distant stars. The moon was gone, leaving only islands of faint light adrift in an endless void.

“Ah, I think I see it… what a dreadful rock this–” Mastemo froze, his tone wavering. “What is… what is this witchery?”

Izulon frowned. “What do you see, Your Excellency?”

“No… this… this cannot be…” Mastemo’s hand feverishly gripped the telescope’s handle. “Mardok… from the start…”

A chill traveled down Simon’s spine as he sensed that same feeling of familiarity coming from Mastemo, sharper and clearer; something both comforting and wrong in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“This is madness… pure madness…” The High Confessor looked away from the telescope and nearly stumbled once he rose from his throne, his hand touching his mirror-mask. Whatever he had seen had shaken him to his core. “This… we were all wrong… under our noses from the start…”

“Your Holiness?” one of his Templars asked out of concern.

“I… I am well.” It was a lie, obviously. Mastemo held his head with both hands and seemed to struggle against a terrible headache. His voice grew sharper all of a sudden. “Quiet… I need a moment…” The High Confessor stared up at the night sky. “There has to be another explanation… it cannot be…”

Unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, nor the sinking feeling in his stomach, Simon sat on the throne before anyone could stop him. He gathered his breath, then looked into the star diagonal.

He gazed at Abraxas, the destroyer of worlds.

The telescope’s vision was so clear, so sharp, that Simon could see it in every tiny detail, in all of its dark beauty and comforting coldness, this smooth orb of solid darkness blacker than the night it soared through. A tail of thick purple miasma followed in its wake to seed the cosmos with nightmares and corrupt life, while thin markings shone on its surface with the crimson fires of Hell itself.

Part of Simon wanted to pull away, to avert his eyes from the awful truth Mastemo had glimpsed earlier, but he couldn’t. The comet called to him like a parent to a child, or a forgotten home embracing back the lost owners… or a kingdom called to its rightful ruler. His gaze was drawn to the miles of arcane markings carved on the celestial body’s surface, a script as complex as it was familiar, woven into a shape that resembled a face from a certain angle: a baleful, armored visage glaring at a universe whose inhabitants would forever live in fear of it, and where its tyrannical will would bend time itself to its whims.

The black comet Abraxas was a Crestone.

His Crestone.