SDIV El Juego Chapter 26 Part 1

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cemetary Plain
Zone III

Viker studied the Tower from distance and shuddered in remembrance. It was an exact copy of that on Diadem, where he had saved Marius, been reborn and pledged his undying friendship to Walters. He wondered whether deep beneath the Tower remained a waiting power source. There had been no sign of the winged guardian or her followers left to protect the Tower’s treasure on Diadem. He giggled insanely to himself; it had not worked there either.

What allegiance he had once owed or sworn to Walters and his kind were long gone. If there were any need for reminders, his reaction to Johns and Alana would surely underline them. There was something different about the spire though,  its top was open with petals of metal stretched wide. Anger flared briefly at the profanation of others to such a sacred place and then he laughed once more. After all, he meant to dismantle it stone by stone and rob that which was hopefully still inside.

Another stared long and hard at the Tower. Deep within his mind hung a small voice which called out the need to protect the structure. A pressure built within Cornelius’ fevered brain, pushing its way to the fore with love and urgency.

“…and then there will come to pass the birth of a mighty hero, steel-thewed and pure of heart, he will hearken to the call of the righteous. Tall, clean-limbed, of the greatest line of Taartun heroes, will he be. When the Egg, the Hero and the Blade are united, will our foes tremble.

Shattered earth and broken bones will litter the Tower. The Beast will be called forth at last, to do battle with the Taartun Hero and the …….”

Cornelius’ Vision blurred and Ngulu screamed in pain as a pureness of thought overtook his Master. Clari returned, pushing all apathy aside and severing the link between man and demon. It was wrong, unhealthy and unworthy of a true Taartun.

Thrashing in an uncontrolled dive they struck the ground, man and demon enmeshed in different  types of pain. Ngulu the Broken wrenched free of his chains, turning to snarl at the small man before him. Now he saw the thing for what it was; puny body, strange hair and burnt visage. This was not its Master. Ngulu felt the tug, the promise from the thing by the Tower but he refused to fall under its spell either. He was free now and would remain so. First things first, he would feed on this pitiful thing which had tricked him into believing it worthy.

Clawed hands reached forward and then recoiled in pain. Ngulu hissed and tried again. Cornelius now stood fully upright, staring into the demon’s face.

“Bad choice, baby,” he muttered, pulling Dunch and Bingle free from his belt, their wicked blades now glinting with bright red flame.

“For a while there we were a little lost, but not anymore.” Butt grinned his feral grin, something that was lost on the demon.

“I fear you not,” rumbled Ngulu, “you are small and weak without your little pet.”

The demon’s true nature showed and he hunched his shoulders ready to strike at the impudent creature before him.

“Us, lost?” replied Cornelius. “I think not.”

The dragon tattoo on his face began to writhe, growing to cover his shoulders and back.  A resounding crack! was heard from the Tower and the main spiral broke in two, just below where the Ori had placed their missiles, littering the earth below.

Ngulu snatched a glance towards the Tower then leapt to the air with two beats of his mighty wings.

“You have not heard the last of this,” he screamed as he arrowed towards the battle in the hills nearby, “I will be back…”

“Do bring some friends next time,” shouted Butt, “it just won’t be the same party without them.”

His smile faded as he turned to face the Tower, the stink of Viker’s presence pervading the atmosphere.

“Well Luv,” he crooned to himself as he began his march, “it seems the Old Hag was right after all.”

No-one answered him. How could she, Clari was dead. To Cornelius though, that did not really matter, she was the Egg, he once more the Hero and he held not one, but two Blades in his own hands.

“Cornelius,” a voice wailed and he looked back to see a strange figure rise from the grass. The checked cloth was faded, the trousers torn and face bloodied, but perhaps he, Cornelius Butt, was not the Taartun Hero after all.

“I couldn’t leave,” gasped the man as he staggered to a halt by his friend.

“Kam, thank’s for coming,” said Cornelius, “I always needed someone along to make me look good.”

The smile on his face took the sting out of his words, and together they turned and walked towards the Tower.