Chapter 694: The Swallowing Mouth

Argrave dismounted from the white wolf, and without a moment of reservation the creature raced on without him. He'd discussed his plans with Anneliese and the others, and though there were loud and vocal protests from all, the unstoppable advance of the Hopeful proved an undeniable fact.

That terrifying smiling face moved through the opposing armies of Shadowlanders, the clash between Law and Gerechtigkeit serving as background. The god of justice was proving a far stauncher opponent than they'd expected from him—indeed, his countless years of experience coupled with his consolidation of vast amounts of divine power were coming into full display at this pivotal moment. The calamity's frustration was tangible. Far more tangible was the hulking giant of shadow, now without any more obstacles.

Well, that was untrue. Argrave was the last obstacle.

Argrave could see and feel the Hopeful's shadow growing to consume this realm, fighting valiantly against the sun of souls high in the sky. Their licking hunger was deprivation incarnate, the very tongue of consumption. The darkness tasted his battered body for the swallowing mouth soon to come. But things had changed from their arena in the Shadowlands—this time, Argrave had the sun of his own design high in the sky. If the Hopeful tried to swallow him, the thing might well choke.

"Just when I was starting to feel a bit normal..." Argrave muttered to himself, the words half in jest and half in despair.

Once more, Argrave tapped into the state he'd devolved into to face Gerechtigkeit full-heartedly, and ran forward into the swallowing mouth.

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Anneliese had to resist the urge to flinch from the devastating power that soon erupted from behind. She had seen the depths of the power Argrave had displayed against Gerechtigkeit, but now she could feel it whipping winds through her hair and projecting its strength against her back. It was like a tailwind for their flight from this place, enabling them to press on.

"He'll be okay, Sophia," Anneliese reassured the girl squirming inches ahead on the back of the white wolf they sat upon. "So long as we do our job, he'll be okay."

"I won't make any mistakes," Sophia promised, clinging tightly to the wolf's fur. "I'm feeling better. I think... I think he's all free."

Before Sophia could express her happiness, Elenore's voice frantically cut into Anneliese's head. "Put up a ward to block sound, now!"

Anneliese processed the command and heeded it without a moment's hesitation. Her wolf stopped in place steps before coming free of the ward. Seconds later, she saw something fly overhead. Its mouth was an extremely bizarre shape, like a cone with several obstructions. When she looked back at the army, however, what she saw was utterly baffling. Thousands had died in place, and seemingly without any obvious source. Those same creatures flew around with reckless abandon.

"Those flying creatures are using... sound to kill, somehow," Elenore explained. "Lorena says that all of people's organs are vibrating so intensely they rupturewhenever those creatures scream. The distance... it's not insignificant, either. And even if it doesn't kill, it can break someone in countless other ways."

Hearing that sounded intensely frightening. The enchantments Artur had placed on his armor likely would've protected her, but those things could kill ordinary people like nothing else she'd seen. "Where are they coming from?" Anneliese questioned.

"They're spreading out from Gerechtigkeit's position. Lorena says... that her kin could fight them without significant risk. But you'd need to prepare Sophia for their arrival so they don't perish on the surface. Has she regained her vigor?"

Anneliese nodded at once. "They could get us to Blackgard without much risk. Let's do it," she commanded decisively.

"The risk is in the fact that you'll be forced to pause," Elenore said. "I'll do my best on your end, but be prepared for anything."

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Argrave was right in that he was a true obstacle to the Hopeful. But obstacles were meant to be overcome.

When he first clashed with the Hopeful, staring into that smiling face as he raged with power born of his own flesh and blood, he thought there might've been some hope. The hungering shadows were weaker here under the sun of souls, and he had abandoned a great deal of his good sense to focus on dealing massive damage. The endless consumption was beaten back, and the fight was taken to the body generating the shadows instead.

Yet... to fight against a constant tide was different than fighting a thinking enemy.

The Hopeful was no stranger to combat. He baited, feinted, retreated, advanced—he was versed in power of this magnitude, and he knew how to use it to his own ends as well as he knew how to fight against it. Argrave had instinct and the vague direction of his logical mind... but the power that he wielded was too extreme, too foreign to him, to fight the Hopeful as an equal in both strategy in power.

Argrave ceased being an opponent. He tried only to be a wall—something that needed to be broken, destroyed completely, before this enemy force could pass. He hoped only to buy time.

And soon, the Hopeful's mastery was aided by sound—sound so loud that all sound ceased to be, that Argrave's brain rattled, that his eyes split and he bled from every orifice. The tide of vitality rushing in from the fight against the hunger replaced all that was lost, but it chipped away at the wall, bit by bit, wearing it down. Amidst this hellish resistance, Argrave began to hear a voice, whispering to him from the shadows.

The cycle of judgment is no wheel, said the all-consuming hunger as it crept ever nearer.

'Tis a great game of tug-a-rope, life and death on opposite sides.

Any time anyone pulls very far, you can count on another tug back to the dawn.

Argrave could feel the sensations in him draining away, one-by-one, as the hunger beat back the power of his blood. But that voice could not be heard, could not be seen, could not be felt. It merely was, pervading his mind like something beyond it all.

Whether you're born of dark or you drink of light, inside we remain much the same.

For greed or for creed, we live and die exchanging blows.

But when the dust has all settled, we're but fools and blunt tools.

Mice, subjected to tests beyond our ken for things not our kin.

Argrave attempted to renew his attacks with a vengeance, seeking out that smiling face, that swallowing mouth... and though he saw it, never could he damage it. It closed in on him, inevitable and invincible.

The mouse cannot master its labyrinth, nor appreciate its absence.

But its willful submission will grant it praise.

Argrave ceased to feel the hunger, the endless desire. Instead, he felt the thing tear into him, eating him well and whole. His body was made a part of a larger whole—an ancient being that'd existed long before the cycle of judgment, and would continue to do so even should they succeed. In becoming one with it, Argrave saw truths only it was privy to.

And then... Argrave's body died.

...

...

...

...however, Argrave's soul had long ago been detached from his body. He couldn't tell precisely when, but at some point Argrave found himself in the stars again, surrounded by trillions of souls taken from every living creature. Their combined light was blinding. The suns, merged in their eternal state of fusion, greeted him, probing him for permission like a computer algorithm.

Argrave had to admit, body death was a haunting experience. Everyone had known the theory behind the whole 'dying' thing was sound. His soul was undying—it was precisely the sort of soul liches used to achieve immortal life. They had an anchor, and from that anchor, could return from death infinitely. However... actually doing it? That wasn't something anyone, even Argrave, had been eager to test out.

The first part had worked. Argrave's consciousness had returned to his anchored soul. Now, all he needed was the next part—actually coming back to life. They had three contingencies—the first, Anneliese's connection could rebuild him. He could always faintly feel her existence thanks to the binding ritual Artur had performed, and that hadn't changed.

But even if Anneliese couldn't bring Argrave back, two more options remained. The second—Argrave could use the suns' help, somehow. Their life remained, dormant yet nevertheless incredibly powerful. And the third...it was Sophia. It was only third because Argrave hesitated to prevail upon her. At the same time, the young girl was capable of essentially anything.

Argrave waited, adrift in the stars. He admired his own creation, reflecting on his brilliance. There was a lot to reflect on, after all. A lot of time.

A lot of time...

Quite the long respawn timer, Argrave thought. He wanted to give Anneliese proper time before trying out anything with the suns, but he was also a bit ill-at-ease with the whole 'disembodied' business. Argrave did the disembodied equivalent of tapping his foot impatiently, wondering if his wife—no, his widow—had already moved on to another guy that still had all his flesh.

Then... blackness.

Moments later, hearing, then sight. Then, unfortunately, taste. Argrave tasted something bitter and salty. He thought it was blood at first, but its dryness illuminated him as to what it was. He thrashed, coming fully into himself as he hacked sand out of his mouth. He scraped sand off his tongue with his nails, looking around as he did so.

He saw a lunar dragon crashed on the beach, breathing heavily. Anneliese came to her feet, gathering herself from her disorientation. She'd shielded Sophia from the fall, holding the girl in her arms protectively. He tried to stand and go to them, only for his newborn limbs to fail him. He collapsed disgracefully back in the sand, swallowing another mouthful of sand.

Argrave was nude as a newborn on the beach in the biggest city in Vasquer. Certainly not the daring escape he'd have stories written about, but a more than sufficient one. They'd make it back to Blackgard.

And from here, their counteroffensive could begin.