Chapter LXXXVI : Submission

  Midday of Tertius, Second Day of Duskmoon

  Bram woke, unable to move his arms or legs. He couldn’t see through the total darkness, but he stood upright, and it felt like his body was clamped against a rigid, vertical structure. His Grigori armor was still strapped on, but beyond that, he couldn’t tell.

  He took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The odor was sickening, a cocktail of blood and rot so intense it must have come from countless slaughters. He breathed through his mouth, but it took effort not to gag.

  A door opened, and a man with a lantern entered. Bram craned his neck to see. It was Quon, still clearly under Abaddon’s spell.

  “I was hoping the Nephilim would be awake this time. You kept me waiting.”

  As he slinked into the room, his lantern exposed Mica. Like Bram, she was secured to a vertical wooden platform. The light exposed more of the room: a dank cellar, coated with the blood of innumerable victims. Flies and bugs squirmed around piles of remains that hardly resembled anything human. Nevertheless, Bram had a feeling they belonged to dozens, if not hundreds, of bodies. The city had become the plaything of demonically possessed minds.

  Quon’s body placed the lantern on a wooden crate, stained black with butchery. “I wanted you to be awake, so you could witness as I disassemble the little bird, piece by piece.”

  Bram struggled against the restraints, but they held fast.

  “Those are quite secure and have withstood the strength of many stronger humans.”

  Bram closed his eyes. There was never a better time to summon the power of anima. He tried connecting to Mica … to imagine how urgently she needed him … how dire the consequences, should he fail.

  A prick to the face broke his concentration. A knife, protruding from Quon’s knuckles, grazed his flesh ever so slightly. A small trickle of blood slid down his cheek.

  “I’ll apologize to the Master later for damaging his Nephilim, but you will not avert your gaze. I usually dismember the bodies while they sleep. But, if you refuse to watch, I’ll awaken the little bird so its screams will keep you … attentive.”

  Bram felt the weight of the world. He had never once summoned anima and in fact had no idea how to do it. All he had was Baraqiel’s assurance that the power was his, and he needed to connect to the soul to use it. He wanted to believe he could, but his doubts—the ones in the back of his mind—were deafening.

  “Quon, please ….” He begged his friend to hear him. “Wake up. Don’t do this.”

  The demon laughed through its proxy. “What a disappointment. A Nephilim more pitiful than most mortals on this planet. Behold.”

  He took his knife blade, still anchored inside his fist, and held it in front of the unconscious priestess. Slowly, he pressed it against her cheek.

  “Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

  Bram struggled, but it did no good. He could only watch in horror as the blade went through her cheek, oozing blood down her neck.

  He was angry. Livid! Yet helpless. Utterly helpless! Quon’s body smiled as he sliced the knife clean through her cheek, splitting it in two. The trickle became a pool.

  Bram wailed, furious yet saddened. His beloved ally was on the verge of bleeding to death, with brutal wounds caused by a former companion and friend. He wanted to jump from his restraints, tackle Abaddon’s husk to the ground, and pummel it unconscious.

  But he was reminded of the day he stood on the precipice at the village of Ur, when he did the same thing to Kane. Kane lied and manipulated him, and his actions led to the deaths of countless innocents. Bram was entirely justified. But now, all he felt was regret. Not that Kane didn’t own responsibility for what he did, but Bram’s retaliation solved nothing. It just wasted time, when he could have been saving those in danger.

  He still had time, now. Mica wasn’t dead, yet. He could still save her. So he reached out to anima, once again. This time with all his heart.

  And he stopped.

  He remembered what Baraqiel told him. Anima could not be summoned with the heart. Instead, he needed to connect with Mica’s goodness, experience her altruism, and understand her desire to aid and protect all people. Even the Gnostic Knight who attacked her village. He needed to comprehend her faith, her unshakable trust in Gaia, which stood strong, even when facing a terrible demon. She lived for the sake of others and always put them ahead of herself. She had to survive!

  He noted a change in Quon. A sense of realization … followed by anger. The demon knew the power of anima was at hand, and it needed to change tact. So it guided Quon’s knife across Mica’s throat. Blood gushed. And from the wound, a bright light shined forth.

  Bram averted his eyes. He didn’t understand what was happening, but somehow he knew. The light was her very soul leaving her body. Something no mortal was ever meant to see.

  He felt like he was in freefall with no bottom. He had failed to intervene in time, and now Mica was dying right in front of him. Murdered by a righteous man, guided by a creature of pure malevolence. If Quon was conscious of it, then surely he experienced an even greater agony.

  Bram couldn’t help but empathize. Though steeped in his own grief, he felt his friend’s suffering just as much. And through that connection, he witnessed another vision. It appeared like a small Koban child, with hair tied in a queue, just like Quon. The child wept silently, crouched down beside Quon’s possessed body. It was scared. Frightened. And ashamed. A wounded spirit whose suffering was painful just to watch.

  Bram felt deep, uncontrollable sadness. Tears streamed. He wished he could reach out and comfort both souls, but all he had was his voice.

  So he called out to the frightened, cowering child. “Quon … you didn’t do this. It’s not your fault. I forgive you.”

  And the power of anima sprang to life.

  Torrents of colorless manna gushed through his flesh in the form of bright beams. Liquid fire, shooting in all directions. Everything they touched, baptized in holy light. Bram was blinded, but he heard a thump. Moments later, the light vanished and things cleared. As his eyes readjusted to the dank cellar, he saw Quon on the floor, groggily coming to his senses.

  The Kenju Master blinked a few times, but it seemed his new reality dawned on him quickly. He gawked at the bloody body parts strewn across the floor, and as his eyes landed on the priestess, still secured in her restraints, his face turned deathly pale.

  “No. No, no, no, no … what have I done?”

  He scrambled to his feet and applied pressure to Mica’s neck. But it did little good. She hung limply, stained red with her own blood.

  “Quon!” Bram hoped he could finally get through to his friend. “Release me. Please.”

  The Kenju Master looked to be in shock, but he complied. He nearly tripped on his way to the back of Bram’s wooden plank. Bram heard knobs turning, and in moments he was free.

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  He stumbled over to Mica’s side. Quon tore some cloth from his Angkorian military uniform, ostensibly to use against the wound. But it seemed too late for that. Bram felt for a pulse, but there was nothing.

  He felt numb. He brushed aside a lock of her hair, exposing the horrid wound across her face. The only thing he could do was put her body in a respectable position.

  His eyes welled with tears. “Quon … please release her.”

  The Kenju Master nodded, his face nearly the same shade as Mica’s. His hands shook as he fiddled with the controls behind her wooden plank.

  When the clamps opened, Bram took her lifeless body in his arms. He sank to his knees and allowed her head to rest in his lap.

  “I’m sorry, Mica. I failed you ….”

  He wished he could say more, but he was too overcome with grief. Her death was a great loss to the world. Gaia—whether She was a goddess, planet, or something else—needed a priestess like Mica. Abaddon robbed the world of her goodness, for no reason but spite and wickedness. Bram squeezed her lifeless body and sobbed.

  Don’t cry for me, Bram.

  Her unmistakable voice entered his mind. He opened his eyes and saw that the dank cellar was gone, replaced with an endless sea of colors and waves that spun all around him. He was mesmerized, but also disoriented. It was like viewing the world through a kaleidoscope.

  He looked down at Mica’s corpse, but it was no longer that of a Gaian Priestess. It was faded and blurry, as if viewed by a lens coated with grease. But, standing beside him in far greater detail was Mica’s likeness. Though bluish and mostly transparent, it was unmistakably her.

  He faced the vision. “What is this place?”

  The faint image shook its head.

  I don’t know. It’s lonely here.

  Bram was certain the power of anima had somehow transported him to this netherworld, a realm between life and death, so he could commune with Mica’s soul. Perhaps it was the Zohar, though it appeared vastly different from what Bram experienced in the Servant’s Highway. Nevertheless, he was emboldened by the miracle.

  “The power of anima has brought me here, Mica. I’ve freed Quon from Abaddon’s curse, and he can’t hurt you anymore. So please, come back with me.”

  She lowered her head. I no longer have a place in the land of the living.

  Bram refused to accept it. “That’s not true. You’ve earned your place, and you have so much left to do. For me … and Matthias … and for the world.” He reached out. “Please, Mica. Take my hand.”

  That’s not what I meant. I was supposed to die to protect you. The spirit told me so, back at the Crevasse. You must know that I did this willingly, and I’m proud of my choice. I do not intend to cheat death. I want my sacrifice to mean something.

  “You mean more to me alive!” Bram wasn’t willing to yield or give in. “Baraqiel might have seen the future, but he doesn’t control it. The fact that I can speak to you, while your body lays in my lap, is a miracle. I’ve been given control over anima, the power to bring you back. You had faith before. All I ask is that you believe now!”

  Mica’s spirit hesitated. My faith is shaken. Gaia was supposed to welcome me when I left Her world. Instead, I ended up here … alone … where time has no meaning. My Goddess … She has forsaken me. I don’t know if I want to return at all.

  Bram didn’t know what to say. He knew nothing about the chaotic realm around him, or how life and death was supposed to work. But he knew Mica deserved better. And she needed to know it, too.

  “Mica, you might not have realized it, but your devotion wasn’t just to one goddess. It was to goodness, itself. You’ve always put others ahead of yourself. That’s a gift you earned, not one that was bestowed upon you. If you must put your faith in something … believe in those who love you. Your family in Minoa … the Gurudeva … and me. I’d do anything to give you a second chance. Don’t give up now. Allow me to change your Fate.”

  Her expression never changed. Do what you must.

  Bram put all his being into a singular idea: that Mica should have the opportunity to become the priestess she always wanted to be. Not for Gaia’s glory, but for the good of the world. One more chance … for everyone’s benefit. He held out his hand again.

  “Take it.”

  Reluctantly, Mica’s spirit reached out.

  The moment Bram took her hand, he found himself back in the dank cellar. The realm of shifting colors was gone, and Mica’s body was still in his lap. But … this time he found a pulse. Faint, but still there. He squeezed out a final tear, overjoyed at the single blessing inside such a ghastly place of despair.

  His heart jumped when the door burst open. Another bright light entered, and for a moment, he feared Abaddon’s scholars had found him. He wasn’t prepared to defend himself, crouched as he was, cradling Mica’s unconscious body, which barely held on by a thread.

  Fortunately, to his great relief, it was Matthias.

  But to his horror, he saw the old scholar covered head to toe with blood, limping weakly and he carried his staff, ready to deliver a deadly barrage of spells.

  “Matthias, it’s safe.” Bram called out quickly, worried his old friend might fire off spells without warning. “I freed Quon from Abaddon’s influence, but I need your help. Mica has been seriously wounded.”

  He looked around, but Quon was nowhere to be seen. Putting that aside, he gently took Mica’s head and adjusted her body, so he could stand.

  The old scholar crouched by his side. “Dear Gaia, what did he do t’ her? She’s lost so much blood. How’s she even alive?”

  Bram backed up to give Matthias space to work. “Can you heal her?”

  The old scholar nodded. “Ah can stabilize her, but Ah’ll need some time.”

  Bram looked at the old man, whose robes were so drenched that they left a trail of red across the floor. “What happened?”

  He huffed. “Ah was forced t’ defend myself. That’s what. Now, gimme room.”

  Bram took another step back and allowed the scholar to work. Matthias brought his own ball of light, so Bram took the lantern and searched for Quon. It didn’t take long. The Kenju Master was huddled in the corner, practically catatonic.

  Bram steeled himself. He had just faced a single one of Abaddon’s thrall—not even the demon itself—and already his mission was in shambled. Even if Mica survived, her body and soul were scarred, and her faith was shaken. Matthias was forced to kill, and Quon was traumatized and in a state of shock. Bram wondered if the mission could even be salvaged.

  “Quon … my friend. You’re going to be okay.”

  The Kenju Master shook his head vigorously. “N-n-n-no. I-i-it’ll never be okay. Y-y-y-y-you don’t know what I’ve done.”

  Bram approached and held out his hands, careful not to inflict more trauma. “You have done nothing of your own volition. The sins are not yours to bear. Only Abaddon is responsible. And I need your help to defeat this demon for good.”

  Quon’s whole body shook. “Y-y-you can’t! Y-y-you’ve never stood in the presence of an im-im-m-m-mortal being. Y-y-you have no idea of their power.”

  “Then tell me, Quon.” Bram faced his friend with all the sincerity he could muster. “You are the bravest warrior in all of Koba. None of what happened changes that. Please … together we can put an end to this.”

  Tears slid down the Kenju Master’s blood-smeared face, which he buried in both hands as he sobbed uncontrollably. “I … leave me alone. I need … to be alone.”

  Bram felt a cold sweat, and it had nothing to do with the heat or humidity. He returned to Matthias to check on progress. Mica’s eyes were still shut, but the wounds along her neck and cheek were sealed. Sadly, a large scar stretched across her face.

  “Will she live?”

  Matthias nodded slowly. He looked worn out. “Aye. Ah think so. But Ah’m sapped.”

  Bram was worried. “What do you mean?”

  “Ah mean, my manna’s run out, Bram. Don’t ask how Ah escaped. Ah don’t even want t’ think about it. Let’s just say it wasn’t easy, an’ I used up most o’ mae manna just t’ get this far. The rest Ah poured inta healin’. Ah must say, it’s one o’ mae finer jobs, but still … sloppier than Ah would’a liked.”

  Bram took a deep breath. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Matthias nodded. “Aye. Get us out o’ here. Abaddon’ll send for reinforcements, just as soon as the demon reestablishes its link. Whatever ya did, Ah think it bought us some time. But Ah don’t know for how long.”

  Bram felt sticky in his Grigori armor and swallowed past a lump in his throat.

  “I’m on it.”

  He went back to Quon, hoping he could get a few simple answers.

  “Listen, Friend. We need a way out. Anything that keeps us off the streets. A sewer … or waterway, perhaps. Where are we?”

  The Kenju Master looked up, eyes crusty with tears, breathing labored. “It, uh … used to be part of the judiciary center. Angkor used these rooms for interrogation. But … not like this. Never like this ….”

  Bram was familiar with the building. If he could get to street level without being seen, he knew a place where he could access the sewers.

  “I need you to think. If I get us to the sewers, will Abaddon pursue us there?”

  Quon shook his head. “I don’t know. How would I know?”

  Bram figured he probably wouldn’t. His connection to Abaddon was severed. And even if it wasn’t, there was no reason to think he’d know what the demon was thinking. Bram scolded himself for even asking.

  “Be ready, my friend. We’re leaving soon, and I won’t leave you behind. Understand?”

  Quon’s head sank, but he nodded.

  Bram returned to Matthias, hoping to find Mica lucid. Unfortunately, she was still unconscious. Matthias leaned back. He looked weary. Considering the room’s squalor, the blood, and the rotten masses of flesh strewn across the floor, he’d be out of his mind to stay a moment longer.

  He signaled to get the old man’s attention. “Can I lift her without opening the wounds?”

  Matthias slowly rose to his feet. Between the blood-soaked robes and layers of filth, he looked repugnant. “Aye. Do ya have an exit plan, yet?”

  Bram nodded. “Yes. Through the sewers.”

  The old scholar sighed. “Better than here, Ah suppose.”

  Bram gently lifted Mica into his arms and gave a shout out to the man cowering in the corner. “Quon, we’re ready. I’m sorry to rush you, but we must leave this place before another wave of scholars finds us.”

  The Kenju Master slowly got up and joined them. He avoided eye-contact. “I must beg you … please … forg—”

  “Don’t say it.” The old scholar cut him off. “It’s best if we all just pretend we met for the first time. I’m Matthias. Now let’s get out o’ here.”

  Quon nodded. “Fair enough. The stairwell’s down the hall, to the right.”

  With Mica in his arms, Bram led the way. He didn’t truly know if the sewers would be any safer, but he hoped his intuition would steer him well.