Nate Kenyon - The Order

Cain gritted his teeth. He dared not respond. The others would surely panic, if they knew they had been discovered. The Dark One was powerful indeed, to find Cain down here, but there was a chance he did not know their true location and was only sending out his thoughts into the void, hoping to engage his enemy.

Still, Cain could not help wondering. Were they truly alike? Were their paths intertwined, forever bound, and did he have a choice in all of this? He had to believe that he did. Humans were born of angels and demons, and the battleground between Heaven and Hell lay within their own souls. The desire to act with selflessness, charity, and love was in a constant battle with greed, anger, and jealousy. Sanctuary existed within mankind itself, and as such, humans held a special power that could be harnessed for either great good or great evil.

Your sea captain is dead. The little girl is dead. The gates have already been opened. There is no use resisting any longer.

Join me in welcoming our true master to Sanctuary.

Cain’s heart raced. It could not be true. He would not believe it. He must not listen to the lies—

“We are here,” Thomas whispered. “If I am right, we are under the tower itself, or close to it.”

Cain came back to himself with a jerk. The men were standing at the foot of another ladder, its rusty rungs moist and covered with slime. Far above them, faint gray light trickled down, along with a steady rain.

He realized he had broken out in a cold sweat, and his breaths were coming fast and shallow. The demon lies. You must not listen. If Leah were dead, he would feel it; he had to believe that. Rau was toying with him, trying to bring him out where he could be slaughtered.

Yet another voice nagged at him, a darker voice. In spite of his better judgment, he had used the book of demonic magic. He had opened the door to his own soul, just as Garreth Rau had done.

Had he let something terrible in?

They were close now. The Dark One could feel them. Deckard Cain was coming, along with his pathetic little army of castoffs and misfits, those First Ones he had not seen fit to use himself.

All except for one. The easiest to possess.

The Dark One watched through another’s eyes as the men began to climb the ladder, rising up out of the depths of the tunnels one by one. Climbing right into his web. The iron rungs were slick and corroded from the ocean air. C arefully now, he thought. Don’t slip. We wouldn’t want an accident to happen, not when you’re so close.

It was sad, really, that Deckard Cain had come so far, through deserts and mountains, over so many miles, only to be lured into a trap like any other useless human. For the mortals of Sanctuary were indeed useless; they were cruel, vicious, a plague upon the world, and the coming of the Burning Hells would wash all of them away like a cleansing fire, leaving mindless husks in their wake.

The Dark One would rule over what was left, as he had been born to do.

Rau opened the ancient book, his fingers trembling. It was time.

As he began the ritual, he could feel Belial waiting like a trembling, multi-limbed god, ready to burst forth in all his glory. The Dark One sensed a power so immense it was like looking into the sun. The demon’s thought tendrils were already weaving themselves around his mind, becoming one with his own, caressing him, cradling him with promises of the riches that awaited his chosen ones, after the coming storm.

The Dark One could feel the pulse of his demon horde outside. They had made short work of the sea captain and his pathetic group of allies; there had been perhaps thirty of them fighting through the streets with makeshift weapons, the last remaining citizens of Gea Kul who had resisted the feeders’ hypnotic pull before. But they were easy prey for the huge flock that had gathered in service to their dark lord. The captain had been the last to fall, a man who might once have made a forbidding adversary, but who was now old and frail. The Dark One had watched through others’ eyes as the old man had disappeared under a wave of feeders, his last image a hand thrust up through the writhing, bloody shapes, clutching at the air as if waiting for a salvation that would never arrive.

War had come to Sanctuary, but the battle was one-sided. This was only a small taste of what was destined to happen. Soon the final spark would be lit; then, the true army would rise. A legion of undead sorcerers, commanded by me. There were cities to conquer, entire territories to overcome. The possibilities made the Dark One shiver with anticipation.

Belial’s mental tentacles squeezed his mind, bringing him sharply back to himself. The Dark One returned to the book he had been reading. He took a bag of powder from his robe and drew a symbol around the girl, who was still drugged and lying motionless in the center of the room. Even in the depths of her stupor, he could feel her breathtaking, raw power—her mother’s gift, passed down and magnified. She would be sacrificed for the end of the world, her essence the final spark to light the fuse below his feet. What better way to serve your lord and master?

The Dark One muttered the spell he had practiced so many times, his voice low and rhythmic. The activity of the creatures gathered outside grew more frenzied. He had to time this perfectly; as the energy began to build around him and he felt a wind come up within the smooth walls, he felt he had finally reached the pinnacle of his craft. The feeders screeched their love for him, swooping and darting around the tower. He was commanding the armies of the Burning Hells, bending them to his will, just as Bartuc had so many years before.

The floor had been designed with grooves to catch the girl’s lifespark and channel it; it would rush down through the center of the Black Tower and soak into the waiting space below, joining the energy of countless others.

The Dark One bent to his work.

The men climbed the slippery rungs of the ladder, one at a time. Mikulov looked at the feet of the one in front of him, Farris, who had insisted on going first. The monk’s heart, normally slow and calm even in the midst of battle, had sped up, and a cold sweat had broken out across his skin. The moment he had trained for his entire life was coming, and he was afraid that when he came face to face with the void, he would hesitate, just long enough for it to matter.

You are not ready. The voices of his masters returned to him, as if in a dream, their accusation sharp and judgmental. They sat in their chamber upon the council seats in ceremonial robes, their long, white beards and smooth heads nearly identical. You must remain here for more training, until you overcome your pride and impulsiveness. If you do not, you will make a terrible mistake.

Yet Mikulov had left, vanishing like a thief in the night, while the others slept. Now his day of reckoning was here, and he was as frightened as a small boy.

Perhaps my masters were right, after all. Perhaps I have been a fool.

Mikulov had meditated back at the First Ones’ camp and had found the gods once again. He had regained the strength and confidence that had propelled him through this long journey. Yet, as the sounds of a demonic army grew louder just above them, that strength seemed to bleed away once again, leaving him alone.

Farris had reached the top. Water dripped steadily down upon them all, wetting their clothes. The light that bled through the grate was a sickly gray. “I can’t move it,” Farris whispered down, after heaving at the iron with his shoulder. “It’s too heavy—”

Something yanked the grate up and away, nearly causing Farris to fall backward. A monstrous clawed hand reached down from above and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him through the opening and out of sight.