Hastum
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142. Rude awakening
🕑 Added 2026-01-09 22:43:00 +0000 UTCI didn’t see what was happening in the front, as moving my head would cause waves of nausea. I simply relaxed back and let the potion do its job—at least as much as it could with the state my body was in.
After a while, I heard clicking, then the deep groan of a massive mechanism in motion. I decided to risk opening my eyes and noticed that the gigantic golden gate was slowly but surely sliding to the side.
My senses were barely there, but I could feel a slight tension in my body. My instincts were warning me against whatever was there—but it wasn’t like I had any better idea. The man who almost killed me would go through that collapsed wall soon, especially if the rest of his buddies joined him.
I felt Darius lift me and carry me alongside the ragged and beaten-up procession. Once everyone was inside, the mechanism ground once again, and the gate slid into place. When passing the threshold, I noticed that it was at least the thickness of my torso, not to mention sealing enchantments so powerful that it was almost sickening to be close to them. To make it stranger, the runes were powered. It was beyond a seal, a whole detection–protection system—an active spell, needing a constant stream of mana, still clearly operational.
I knew this was strange. There was something in the way it was built that gnawed at my mind, but my thoughts moved like molasses. Each idea that came to me would also herald an increase in the headache.
I noticed that we were led into another massive room that mirrored the one we had come from. Sconces lit up the area around the gate, while the rest of the place was covered in darkness. I noticed that there also wasn’t a staircase on the other end, but a tunnel going deeper under the ground—although it could just be due to my vision going darker and darker.
“Nothing is gonna go through that gate,” I heard the man who argued with Astrid announce, pride clear in his voice. “We can wait here for a few hours and unlock the gate. I’m sure by then the rest of our forces will have dealt with the intruders.”
A conversation followed his words, mostly about dealing with the wounded, but it was a talk I didn’t catch or care for at the moment. A few hours sounded perfect for me. I should be done with my visions and in much better shape—at least body-wise.
Darius and the rest led me to a side room and let me down gently. I saw them sit around me and by the doors, making sure none of the factions would take this chance to eliminate an opposing leader. But judging by the beaten-down looks I saw all around, no one was up for any fighting. Everyone sat down to lick their wounds.
My eyelids slid down, and my last waking thought was about a shape moving in the opening of the tunnel leading deeper. I wasn't sure I really saw it before they carried me into the smaller room. It was the shape of a man wearing grey, tattered clothes. I couldn’t tell if it really was there or if it was already my dreams spilling into the space around me.
I closed my eyes, letting the visions overtake me.
It was beautiful—in a strange, otherworldly way, but beautiful nonetheless—as I watched the deity in the sky. Countless tentacles stretched through the endless void and reached through the veil. Otherworldly shapes pressed against the dark, rolling clouds as the thing tried to descend, held back by the rules of the very universe.
I could see tree-like creatures dance in the rain of white substance falling from countless pulsating nipples on the thing in the sky, like a mockery of a mother feeding her children. The things around me opened anything that could pass for a mouth and tried to catch the raindrops in the air. The childishness of the action clashed with the grotesque shapes of the spawn performing it, seeming like a mockery of all that’s innocent. And then the mother let down a tentacle lower to embrace her dancing children as the small town around burned alongside its residents.
I approached the altar in the middle, where a man was reaching out his hands to the god, while another man with a cut throat lay at his knees. I pushed him out of my spot and reached up my hands as a massive, ever-changing black appendage wrapped around me in a loving embrace and lifted me off the earth, the plane, and anything that was knowable. I saw a massive mouth, big enough to stretch through eons, open just for me. And as it closed, darkness encompassed me.
I could then feel my senses slowly come back to me, but to my surprise, I still stayed in the dark space. Then voices started singing behind me in the same way as when I made an offering in front of the altar in my storage. They were part of a chant, part of something I wanted to know, part of something I had been writing down in my dream journal, answers to the questions I desperately wanted, only for me to jerk back awake the moment the realization came to me.
The first thing I felt was a heaviness on my chest, which I soon identified as Darius’s hand. I came to my senses, locked in a struggle with the man as he was trying to hold me down.
“Sooo, what happened?” I asked awkwardly, relaxing my aching body back down.
“Not sure,” Darius said. “You started screeching something about a mother and then tried to get up. I held you just in case. Thought I might have to choke you out if you didn’t shut up.”
“Thanks,” I said absently, my thoughts still on the strange second part of the dream.
“You sure you don’t need to be choked out?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll pass this time around.”
I slowly got up after he lifted his hand from my chest. Once on my feet, I did the damage check. My body was in relatively good shape. I could walk, and maybe even run, though an overarching sense of weakness lingered.
Wounds closed, but blood loss would take longer to fix. I then lifted my hand to my neck and felt a thin scar there. This was a flesh wound—a dangerous one, but small. The real problem was my ribs and hand. I tried lifting my right arm. It moved, but the muscle contractions were painful. The same went for my ribs, where the spell bit into the bone. They were whole, but the area still ached as the bone finished healing. It would take me another day to heal all of that, assuming rest and some potions.
The real issue was my spiritual world. It was a mess—calling it sore was like calling a ripped-off hand a flesh wound. Thankfully, my soul was strong, and eldritch energy targets mostly mind and body first, so the damage wasn’t permanent. Spellcasting wasn’t advisable, but it was possible if needed—though it would be accompanied by substantial pain, I imagine.
I sighed and fished out a potion from my belt and downed it. Sighing at the damage, I turned to my friends. They seemed in better shape. Those who could had changed their clothes, though some of them seemed to be borrowed. Apparently, there was someone capable of water magic, as a few people had clearly washed themselves. It was around then that I noticed I was covered in dirty, caked blood and a tattered robe. Wincing at my favorite apparel being turned to tatters, I chased the rest out of the room and fished out some spare clothes from the pouch, thanking the previous owner for the idea of even storing them there.
Once I made myself more or less presentable and felt alive once again, I went to the main room where my friends sat in a group. I told them we would talk in a second, and before they could protest I fished out my dream journal from the pouch, eager to get the new revelations from my mind and onto the pages. It took me a good few minutes to finish before I turned back to the people, who by now looked at me with raised eyebrows.
Giving them a quick once-over, I saw they were mostly recovered, though Darius had a nasty new scar on his cheek, looking like it came from a burn, and Luna was clearly tired. William and Ophelia looked rather well, although I noticed that Ophelia was carrying one of William’s daggers—the quick replacement for her rapier, most likely in pieces somewhere in the upper corridors.
“So what—” I started, but was interrupted by Luna.
“What the fuck happened?” she asked, clearly pissed. “You flopped down those stairs, a few archers almost killed you—thank fuck I recognized your eldritch presence or you would have ended up in pieces.”
I shrugged. “Well, thought I had the guy. I didn’t.”
“Who did you fight to end up like that?” Darius asked, curiosity mixed with excitement in his voice.
“The guys with sewn faces. Strong fuckers, although I wasn’t in top condition—”
“You were after a battle—‘not top condition,’ my ass,” Luna scolded. “They could have killed you, Sam.”
“But they didn’t.”
“But they got reaaaal close,” she pressed on.
I was about to retort that ‘close’ is a big difference, but then stopped myself. The realization that she was right struck me—this was way too close for comfort. With the mutant fight, I had an idea for a retreat, but here I was, so sure my spatial magic would be a shock, I got caught in a deadly spell.
“You’re…” I stopped. The words were harder to say than I expected. When was the last time someone from this world matched me? Their casting was fast—even if I wasn’t at top condition, that would be a tough battle.
I pushed down my pride.
My father used to say, ‘You don’t fear failure, so each time you fail, it must be analyzed and any weakness corrected. But for that, you must fully acknowledge one painful thing. You failed. You don’t need to be angry about it. You don’t need to be disappointed. You don’t need to be anything except one thing—be better than in the moment when you failed.’
And I failed. I wasn’t strong enough—I wasn’t strong enough in that moment. If I didn’t lack power, I lacked the wisdom to pick the fight.
“You’re right. It was dumb of me,” I finally pushed through. “I was sure I could take them, deal some damage, and get away. I fucked up.”
I could see Luna and the rest look at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Don’t give me that look,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I didn’t take you for the humble kind,” William said with raised eyebrows. “You sure you didn’t hit your head too much on those stairs?”
“I’m not humble. I’m just not dumb enough to pretend I didn’t fail when I clearly did,” I added, even if it hurt to say—still surprised how great my pride was to give me this much ache.
I saw Ophelia nod wisely. “Or when you FAILED to inform me about the whole organization of the Sabbath, or when you FAILED to tell Q’Shar about Brazil, or when you—”
“—Yeah, I got it,” I groaned. “You should spend less time with the cats. You whine like Q’Shar.”
Ophelia just shrugged at my comment.
“So, what happened when I was out, and where are we?” I asked, finally bringing my gaze back to the room.
“When we were separated, we followed the paladins’ group,” William started explaining. “We wanted to wait for you, but their priority was getting the Pope to safety.”
“Did they say which one?” I asked, smiling, to which William just chuckled.
“We followed them, and Luna left you markings to go after us. Sorry, we didn’t wait. Darius was spent, I got wounded by the snake golem and—”
I raised my hand. “I don’t think you would have been much help in the state you were in. I attacked when I shouldn’t have. That’s not your fault.”
“I—” William started, but then took a deep breath before continuing. “We followed them. I think they initially led us to an exit, but then we ran into the cultists.”
“Miracle-bringers,” I corrected.
“Thought so. Yeah, we ran into a few suicide explosions and some… well, weird-looking Roman guy. Called himself Diocletian.”
“Like the emperor?” I asked, frowning.
“Yeah.”
“Weird,” I said slowly.
“That’s saying it lightly. He spoke Latin—like the Latin in old spellbooks after the war—so I’m not sure what to think.”
“Okay, what next?” I asked, leaving the strangeness at the back of my head for now.
“His men attacked and then blew themselves up. We managed to get away without anyone dying, but there were wounded, and the corridor was filled with poison,” William said and looked to Luna.
“I got some of it into my bloodstream. It’s not lethal on short notice, but it enters through pores and lungs and will debilitate you over prolonged contact.”
“Let me guess—they blew themselves up and retreated into the poison fog,” I said, seeing where this was going.
“Yep.” Luna nodded. “I’m pretty sure they took the antidote. One or two minutes in the fog and you’ll end up paralyzed.”
“Then there was a fast conversation among the Popes.” William picked it back up. “I think they argued, and then we quickly changed directions and arrived here. They said we would wait out behind the doors for a few hours before the people outside could get the enemy out, but Astrid freaked out and then, well, you ‘arrived.’” He finished.
I nodded, looking in front of me.
“What was the point?” I finally asked. “Once the other group reorganizes, they should be able to kill the miracle bringers off. Even if they use the poison to hold ground, it’s not like they can do that forever—they lack manpower.”
“They cut us off from the exit. They can use it to escape themselves, blocking the corridors with poison to avoid chase,” Ophelia proposed.
William and the rest nodded slowly.
“Right, but why bother with the whole thing? I don’t see any purpose aside from blindly playing their hand,” I said.
“Maybe just ‘kill as many as you can’?” Ophelia suggested, but I shook my head—and quickly regretted it after a ping of pain.
“No. They had the chance, but they were more interested in pushing us into two sides… No, I think they were more interested in separating the side that went to the podiums…”
“Assassinating the Pope?” Luna proposed.
“All that for an assassination? They switched at least a few dozen Vatican servants—doubt that would be just an assassination.”
“To send a message,” Darius said, his voice firm.
“Maybe…” I said, dragging my words, but the details didn’t align.
‘What did they want? Did they know about this place where we now were? Did they kill someone we weren't aware of, or maybe they tried to get the Pope into a dead end, but failed?’ There were many options to go through.
I finally looked around and once again toward the corridor where I previously saw the dark figure—now just empty darkness.
I then took a closer look at the gate and the intricate runic array covering every inch of it, deepening my frown. I couldn’t recognize most of those. The runes were way above my pay grade, but like numbers in math—recognizable no matter how complicated an equation—I could also understand the basic structure.
And what I really didn’t like was the direction of the runes. I initially thought we were brought into a bunker of some sort, but the runes… I’m pretty sure they were facing inwards, made to safeguard the outside from whatever was here—where we were.
Comments
Hastumo
I don't think he was ever almost killed by conventional means at least I didn't try to write it like that. I mean to an extent you can always beat him with enough numbers assuming he doesn't run, but at times he was close to dying it was against strong opponents. The mutant was made up from up to fifth circle souls, although torn, the buthers golem was also around fith circle but made to be beatable, the golems in the mantion also were a circle over him and a bad matchup, I won't comment on the mirickle bringer twins in detail but they are strong, their power wasn't mentioned in detail but Sam comments that they are a threat. Overall there are very few alive people who can beat him, but there are circumstances and cretures that are a threat or outright suicide. Could you tell me which conventional threats did you mean?
Deliver roo
I'm having trouble gauging Sam's strength relative to others throughout the story. At times, he seems overwhelmingly superior with very few people having even reached the third circle. At others, he's nearly killed by fairly conventional means. Could he take out his opposition in the Sabbath like those attackers, or is the world just full of people capable of wearing down and beating a third-circle mage?
Hastumo
Thanks for reading!
Jonny Mad
tyftc
