B6 Chapter 29: Zogrul Interlude

(Fun fact. Patreon fucked up scheduling. Aaaaand then I fucked up scheduling as a different chap was slated to post before this. But that wouldn't work continuity wise by the time frame. Sooo here's a extra beefy chap through Zog! enjoy as the next chap comes out in an hourish. Wooooo---also happy weekend to those that can enjoy it!)

Zog let his senses fall one by one until all that remained was the inner burning inside his soul. It was a flame born atop an altar covered in ash, made of steel and bone. He willed himself forward, fearlessly flying into the fire.

It was warmth, not of heat but of comfort, familiarity. The flame stilled from his arrival and he slowly stretched his will throughout the realm. Connected, he could feel the great forge in his soul, the drums that beat and empowered the bellows, circulating the air into the embers below. 

The platform that usually took space had dropped away, allowing just the flame and him. Once more, he pulled back his vision and focused on his avatar. His mana circulated within the flame, growing the ember to something hotter. 

First was the skin. It melted to ash and joined the altar below. Next were the muscles, the organs on the outside, now exposed. Third was the blood, and nerves, exposed to the heat. It felt like the sun was searing his flesh, but the sensation dropped as did the rest. Finally, his bones remained, each one a forged instrument harder than steel. 

Except, his will was absolute. The metallic bones broke down, turning to slag before even that joined the ash that gathered. 

In the end, only the flame remained and him as he was the flame itself. Without a sound, the last bastion of his consciousness slipped away and he fell into the void.

***

Zogrul opened his eyes and found himself inside a tent. Made of bright hues of orange and red, lined with stitches of emerald, and azure sigils. 

He exhaled and leaned forward, dropping his head into a bow with his fists together. He held that position until drums faintly echoed in the distance. Each thump was a call to his soul, a steady tempo that strung his heartbeat along.

“Raise your head, Zogrul.”

The voice was rich, but it carried an undertone of rasp that felt right, familiar. The words washed over him, and he raised his chin with a smile, showcasing his tusks.

“Master,” Zogrul entoned.

Before him, Mulshagaragura sat with his legs crossed. His form was similar to that of an orucan, except his tusks were twice the size of Zogrul’s own and his skin was that of metal. A god of battle, of discipline, and challenge. His avatar was a weapon given life, a form suited to be the blade, the hammer, and the anvil.

Instead of hair, wisps of crimson fire stretched upward, carried by a gentle current that permeated the tent.

His god smiled and raised a cup.

Zogrul froze. That was not protocol. 

Mulshagaragura laughed and placed the filled bone goblet into Zogrul’s hand. “I had a feeling you would be surprised. I’m glad I got to see such a reaction. Perhaps I shall do this more often.”

I-I… What?

“M-master?” he managed to croak.

The god laughed once more and sipped at the much larger cup in his hand. The oily-black liquid hissed as it flowed into the molten hot throat of the deity. “He was right. You can call that calamity in garish-suited form many things, but he has it right when it comes to scions.”

Zogrul filtered through a flux of emotions before settling on an emotionless neutral. He nodded once, eyes forward. “I will endeavour to be what you need me to be.”

“Bah!” Mulshagaragura slammed his cup down and exhaled a cone of flames. “So stiff! Do you remember, Zogrul? Why I chose you over the others? Even when you were exiled, I kept my decision firm. Do you?”

Zogrul allowed his features to soften. It had been many years since that day. The great choosing, a competition for young orucans to showcase their wits and prowess. Orucan culture believed in martial tempering. To train oneself in combat.

He wasn’t the biggest, nor the most skilled, but he gave it his all. He never expected to draw the god’s attention when he entered the duels, nor did he expect to leave his people. 

Feelings both bittersweet and nostalgic flowed through him. He let the memories come and wash away, either adding to the mental bonfire or letting them drift off as ash. By the time he sifted through the memorieis, he found his god watching with a gentle smile.

“I do, Master,” he said.

“Good. I am still questioned to this day why I chose you, and only you. Do not forget that I did. If I were to be bogged down by what should be, then our relationship would have never been forged. But enough of that. I see from your memories your perk reacted strongly to his new change.”

Zogrul sat up straight. For a second, he didn’t know what to do with the cup in his hand, but under the burning gaze of his god, he took a sip. The liquid was unlike anything he had before. It fizzled on the way down and settled into his stomach with a frigid cold that threatened to destabilize his avatar. When he pulled back, however, the temperature reversed and became an all-encompassing heat that spread throughout his body.

He felt light-headed. Seconds ticked by, and the feeling slowly faded, but never left entirely. His god was still waiting, his expression unchanged by Zogrul’s reaction to the drink.

“It did, Master. There was a brief lull, where the perk went quiet. It was strange. The absence of its constant awareness alerted me to his awakening. When he returned from his visit with his god, the air distorted. Chaotic Resonance urged me forward, as if pointing at him with a desperation I had not felt since his miracle several months back.”

Mulshagaragura grunted. “A shame I was not able to view the event. It is unheard of for a mere mortal, let alone a tier one, to defy the Grand Weave. Drawing the help of the Caretaker as well, pah! It would have been glorious to see such a challenge!”

Zogrul contemplated lowering his head. It was, after all, his fault for his god not having access to such a sight. As his scion, Mulshagaragura could use him as a conduit to view through his eyes, to share his senses. 

Once glance at the playful smirk on the god’s face banished the notion of having shame. Instead, he took another drink and rode the conflicting feeling until it settled.  

“It has retreated now. Back to a dull awareness that grows stronger when I near him, or when his emotions are in flux. Except… there’s more. Like a scratching at my core.”

A shift. The drums in the background lowered in volume and their tempo changed to something slower. Mulshagaragura sipped at his goblet and flicked the rim. The metallic chime vibrated the air, creating a pause in the heat distortion around them. Heat blossomed in his chest, but quickly lapsed as the air went silent.

“You still want to fight him. To challenge him in a duel,  fist for fist.”

“I do,” Zogrul confirmed. “My blood boils. I yearn for combat, but I do not know if it’s wise to ask.”

Mulshagaragura created the chime again and only spoke after it faded. “You are my scion. The wild child who broke tradition. I’ve never seen you back down from a fight.”

That comment stung in a way that hit deeper than any blow.

“I apologize, Master!” 

“Pah!” Mulshagaragura spat. “Challenge is one of my core concepts, but I did not raise a fool.”

“I do not understand,” Zogrul said hesitantly.

The drums changed tempo and this time, the accompaniment of stomping followed along. It was as if they were surrounded by a troupe of dancing bodies, giving in to the music with measured wildness.

“You remember the tale of Mulgalracka and the great oricafcus?”

“I do,” Zog said slowly. It had been ages since he memorized the childhood fable about their gods’s triumphs, but he could still recite the legend as it was taught. “Mulgalracka wandered into the forest during the hours of twilight. He sang a song of earnest that swept the woods with his plea. When the world’s mana responded, he followed the growls to a nearby clearing where he met the great oricafcus. The beast turned away from the steel-strand oak and–”

“Told him to run back to his mother and drink more milk from her teats before he scared the juice out of his bladder. Yes.” Mulshagaragura interrupted. Zog colored at the words, the blasphemy, but his god pressed on after downing another gulp. “The tale continues with my brother boldly challenging the mighty bear! Of course, the bear is stronger than the child, but only just so. The whole tale is a fabrication, by the way. None of us are mortal ascended gods. We were born with our powers and were raised here in Inoria.”

“I… See.”

His god snorted. “The point being, Zogrul. Is that the tale is a simple and easy way to teach humility and temperance to children. Because in the story, my brother accepts his defeat at the bear’s prowess and leaves to come back another day. To wait for the correct time, and to train and empower oneself for the future rather than throw away it all trying and failing to surpass a task one is not ready for. Again, it’s all a little lie, but it fits my brother’s theme and endears him to our people. All besides the point!”

Zogrul finished more of the cup and looked down, finding it filled to the brim. He blinked, licking his lips as the molten core of lava in his stomach diffused upwards through his neck and limbs. 

Out of all the things he expected from this meeting, the casual dismissal of his people’s god was not one of them. 

“You are saying that I was wise not to ask. To wait for the right moment to initiate a challenge.”

“That is  one way to interpret it, I suppose.”

“Does that mean… You think  I’d lose?”

Zogrul gripped the cup and found the metal unyielding. Not a surprise, as it was something conjured by his god. His heart thumped gloriously in his chest and it was only then that he noticed the ringing from earlier had returned.

He looked up, daring to meet his god’s eyes with determination. “I believe I could beat him.”

Mulshagaragura propped his head on his palm and casually stared down. His avatar could be titanic, monstrously large if the god willed it. Instead, Mulshagaragura’s form was only twice that of Zogrul’s. It was enough to feel small, to remind those who and what spoke to them.

Burning suns took in his form and narrowed. 

“You are more skilled martially. Your body is tough, trained. You possess superior instincts for combat both naturally and through countless battles. With your fists, you could break his bones and crush his organs,” Mulshagaragura said with a seriousness that cut through the background music. “If the fight were limited only to that of physical combat, you would win.”

“But it wouldn’t be. I would refuse anything but the best from both sides. If I were to give it my all, he would have to as well.”

“Yes. You would.”

“Wha-” Zogrul shook his head. “You are saying he wouldn’t?”

In response, his god raised his free arm and snapped. Panels appeared, dozens upon dozens showing memories Zogrul had recorded. They showcased the felkin’s many powers, his familiars, skills and terrifying amounts of mana. He had seen more during the few months after the great betrayal in the capital, but even then, he knew he hadn’t seen it all.

“If you could strike fast. To take advantage of his hesitation. He wouldn’t go all out at first; his pride and his nature would allow you a swift and unexpected victory.”

Heat filled Zogrul’s veins. He started to clench his fists, but a spike of torrential cold doused the anger to a flickering ember. 

“I would never.”

“No. You would not. To do so would be against your nature,” Mulshagaragura said. “To win through a coward’s victory would be beneath you during such a duel. You would rather be crushed head-on and utterly defeated than to win. It fills my heart with pride. Pride that I can confidently say would be your downfall.”

Zogrul froze. “Master?”

The panels playing the different scenes started to rotate. Each one hovered closer for him to view until it finished and was replaced by another. Next, more scenes appeared, showing memories that were not his own. 

These are… Cyrus’s? No, not just his. There is more, like that from a god’s view.

“I traded for these. To satisfy my curiosity, I agreed to a few deals. Do not worry about them, I think they were worth it. Here, you can see even when he was but a lowly tier zero, he faced off against odds that should have been impossible. He defeated a pseudo-demiling. Survived a world siphon. He took essences from not one, but two gods while doing things that should be beyond any logic. He’s reckless, brave, and damned fascinating! He embodies challenge and combat at every turn! Spitting in the face of fate and weathering its waves while managing to find his way back to the surface even when it threatens to drown him!”

Zogrul found his excitement growing. The longing to battle that anomaly only increased. However, inside the corners of his emotions, he felt a strange hesitation. He felt worried.

Cyrus drew his god’s attention. He excited him by performing actions powerful enough to signal his domain even from afar without being close to the god himself. Had Zogrul done the same?

Ice enveloped his veins, and he lurched forward. He stared at his empty hand and found his god holding the cup with a satisfied grin, stretching the metal skin of his avatar. 

Zogrul lowered his head. “Would you make him a scion as well?”

His god’s jaw dropped open and the cup fell from his hands. It splashed an unending stream of liquid onto the carpet, but was ignored by the wide eyes of Mulshagaragura.

“By the Weave, no!” 

Huh?

Mulshagaragura raised an accusatory finger and poked a hole in the tent’s fabric as he slammed it downward. “I value my limbs and my life! You think I’m ready to start a war? I enjoy a challenge, but not one such as that! Think of the tale! Instead of a bear, it would be like challenging the mountain as it raised its earthen limb to crush me! Child, do not thrust such a horrid nightmare upon me again!”

“I-I’m, sorry, Master. I just thought…”

“Lord Eraztis is the fox’s longest friend, and even he is still recovering from the damage for daring to mark his scion. The Weave forbid, I am very much satisfied having you as my discipline.”

Zogrul slowly lowered his head. “Thank you. Master.”

The god snapped and all was silent. The cup disappeared and the giant orucan crossed his arms. “My point is that you are viewing the challenge wrong. Yes, he would defeat you. Not through something direct, and not by something you expected. In terms of outlasting him, you fall short, for he is like a regnitor lizard. You would exhaust your mana before you exhausted his. With his familiars, he can directly counter you, and not to mention the constant flux of new avenues of his other skills. Runework is dangerous; enchanting can turn the tide of a civilization. His runes? Beyond me.”

Beyond a god? Truly?

“You said I am misinterpreting the tale. Looking at it from the wrong perspective. Tell me, Master. What am I missing?”

“You are looking at the wrong challenge.” His god’s voice rose in volume and the drums banged like thunder. “You should fight him. Train him, train yourself. He and the new child he’s strung along are both sources to learn from. But that is not why I helped guide you to him. I told you several months ago that a great challenge and opportunity had appeared. It’s not to fight the felkin. It is the felkin. Cyrus brings the Weave’s attention. He draws upon fate in a way that would have some gods descend for breaking their truths.”

The drums continued to rise, and Zogrul could feel the vibrations through the ground. His body reacted, spikes of ice flowing underneath his skin that flowed toward the center of his chest. 

Something was wrong. This was too unusual; it went beyond affecting just his avatar. He dropped forward, his body lurching as the pressure started to build.

The ground is shaking!

He looked up, but his god was standing and looking to the sky. What felt like eternity passed until he coughed.

Ding!

Mulshagaragura looked down and exposed his teeth in a wide grin. “So he wasn’t wrong about his theory. That damn fate-bent Reborn. Hah! Zogrul, Cyrus, is the challenge! Do not let your vision be so small. Stick by his side, and you will reach heights you could never imagine! All you need to do is survive!”

“Master. What is–”

“MULSHAG! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

“BROTHER! YOU MET WITH THE DEVOU–”

Two titanic voices shook the realm and threatened to crush Zolgrul’s mind.

Mulshagaragura picked him up like a delicate babe and held him before a spinning portal made of flames and steel.

“Sorry, my boy. It’s time you left. I have to deal with my siblings. Family affair, you understand! Remember what I said, and temper yourself! Now, my apologies, but begone!”

The last thing Zog saw was the tent being torn to pieces by tidal waves of emerald and cerulean mana. His consciousness slipped as he fell into the void, finding a curious prismatic dot in the corner of his vision.