The Warhammer—Relic of Horror

THE COUNT, Sir Lucius Penderghast entered into the garden room in mild haste. Spotting Rafel, he began smiling widely. Lucius had a pudgy face and a disorienting mustache. He looked like a baby with a beard. Like a Cheshire cat, he grinned at Rafel and hurried to shake hands with the young man. Rafel stood stiffly from the sofa and took his palm.

"Thank you so much for coming." Lucius was shaking frantically as he spoke, "I must admit you are an awfully handsome and young man. You must get offers from the ladies all the time. A man of your visage and standing is tantamount to a gold dragon's egg."

Rafel narrowed his demonic amber eyes at the Count. He didn't like being compared to such a fragile thing. He pulled his hand away. Sir Lucius was right about one thing though...no, two things: Rafel did get many offers from women, and he was also sired from the flames of Hel in company of a gold dragon.

It had being a newborn. Just like him. His [Divine] level Familiar was currently in hibernation in the abyss. Rafel would summon the firebreather from the Underworld at the right time. For now, the beast must sleep and await its ascent. He hadn't even named it yet.

Rafel peered up at the totem of the House Penderghast—a graceful white pelican—sculpted into the high arch of the garden room. He inhaled the mist and sandalwood of the windy space and turned his gaze back to the Count as he said,

"Amicable words, Sir. Honorable of you to say. But one might also offer such flattery of your status. You are being meek in your authority. It is not everyday I stand in the presence of Knight of Her Majesty's Court."

Sir Lucius waved off Rafel with a short laugh.

"Please, I was knighted in my younger years. I am nothing of chivalrous now. And call me Lucius, friend. We are friends now, aren't we?"

Rafel offered no reply to this. But he did take his seat again when the Count stretched a hand. Lucius drew in a high stool, the kind you might find in a tavern, and perched on it in front of Rafel. Everything in his villa was splendid white. In order to break the man's staring, Rafel sent his eyes to the flowers robustly spilling out their Athenian vases.

The petals had the silvery color of the fallen winter but not the wilt. It was as breathing in air from the northern alps.

"So, His Grace has met my family, I presume?" Lucius stirred the conversation again.

Rafel looked to him. His expression was cordial.

"Yes, in fact I have. Your daughter, Brunhilda has your foxy eyes. A lovely family you have here, Sir."

Rafel made no mention, or even a clue of it about him meeting Lucius' wife, the Countess. Somehow, he felt bringing up the topic of Cordelia in her knighted husband's presence could spark a nuclear war. If even the Queen in all her celestial Fae glory kept her sapphic rendezvous with Cordelia secret, she must have a damned good reason.

Rafel wasn't about to find out what it was.

Still, Lucius hailed his wife and daughter into the room. A typical dominant male move, showing off the goods. And what goods the women had!

"Delia! Hilda! Get in 'ere! I want you to come say hi to the Earl. He's far more good-looking than in the gossips. Brilliant too!"

As the women shuffled in, Rafel tried not to stare at the revealing milk of the Countess' flesh in her translucent shift. He knew she'd kept on the erotic piece just for him. He tried not to notice the swaying of her hips as she padded over, the way her breasts jiggled warmly and the dance of desire in her coconut eyes.

He tried not to think of how she would look kissing her very alike but leaner daughter. In truth, Rafel did try. But it was fucking impossible when the shapely Countess leaned over her Lord husband's side to place two glasses of sparkly wine on a shelf to the side. Her sensuous eyes slid to meet his. Her generous bosom brushed his lap. And Rafel almost turned her over for a good spanking right there.

Her big butt was begging for it.

She stood like nothing was happening and perched at the arm of her husband. She dropped an arm across his back. Her Lord husband and daughter were none the wiser. Cordelia's hot eyes stroked Rafel's crotch like a masseuse on a bender.

He very much tried to listen in on her husband's tirade. Sir Lucius was saying,

". . .Hilda is our only child. Very, very beloved and beholden to us. I hear she schools at the Witch Academy with a ward of yours. Private institutions—so clandestine, am I right? I wanted to name her just Hilda, but her mother wanted something to go with her Valhallan descent.

Cordelia is Half-druid. She comes from a long line of Mages as old as the continent. I myself, from that of Conquerors. Our bloodlines are powerful. So it was no surprise when our daughter was born with a Rare witch core.

Hilda began to harness at age four. We just knew she was destined for the Isles of Corynthia. She makes us proud."

At that moment, Lucius looked to his daughter with a prideful gleam in his eyes and his curvy wife grinned at their offspring. Brunhilda rolled her eyes and scooted closer to Rafel on the couch. He bristled. The girl was nearly in his lap.

Brunhilda didn't seem to notice and fired away with her questions.

"Daddy didn't tell me he invited you. I would have personally baked you a cream pie. Ravenna tells me you have a sweet tooth."

"Did she now?"

Rafel prayed to his Luciferan ancestry that no one else in the room heard Brunhilda's words like he did.

"Oh yes, she did," Brunhilda replied, jumping in her seat. "She also mentioned you read a lot. I LOOOVE BOOKS! What are your favorites? Do you admire the works of Camerlengo? They are quite Goth but appealing, wouldn't you say?"

"Isn't this Camerlengo the one who painted that macabre canvas of Frostholm in its destruction?"

It was Lucius who asked, and when his daughter nodded with bright eyes, he chastised. Her chaotic delight dimmed.

"That man has a twisted mind," said Lucius. "It's like demons whisper in his ear to depict such horrors. Who the fudge makes a mural of the annihilation of an entire city?"

"Uh, Daddy! You can say 'fuck'. I'm not a child anymore." Brunhilda rolled her eyes again.

"Fine." Lucius straightened in his stool. "But shit! You shouldn't view or read any of that man's pieces, Hilda dear. He's possessed, I'd say—writing of mortals engaging in orgies with devils, sketching the sick rituals into his texts, polishing off depravity in his scrolls, making a devastating pillage into a fucking mural? Hell! I should burn all of his tomes in our Library."

Rafel was amused in watching the Count, this fat mortal man, obsess in the notion of his teen daughter breaking bad. He was too busy hacking at oaks to notice the bramble right in his face. Quite literally. Lucius turned to the side to gaze up at his wife.

"Besides, I thought Camerlengo's scripts were banned by the Papacy, darling?" His brow furrowed and wrinkles showed impossibly on his chubby face. "—the Queen must have removed the sanctions on them. Fuck. No wonder she's acting crazy all the time; beheading Generals and punching holes into people."

It was at this comment that Cordelia pulled off her hand from her husband's shoulder. Rafel noticed the anger enter her pupils. Giselle, the Queen which Lucius so despised, was his wife's bestfriend and lover. Cordelia's adoration for Giselle was infallible at this point.

Rafel uncrossed his leg and took a sip of the offered wine. When he let it slide back to the shelf, he leaned in his seat and locked eyes with the Count. He spoke in the same tone he reserved for his pet Hounds.

"We are not here to talk about the Camerlengo or the Queen, are we, Sir Lucius? Tell me, why am I really here?"

Rafel watched Lucius blink rapidly at his words. He then waved his wife and daughter out the room. Cordelia blew Rafel an air kiss behind his back, and her gray eyes held a promise of coming passion. At their exit, Lucius too downed his drink in one gulp and stood to his feet, saying to Rafel,

"Walk with me, Your Grace."

He surreptitiously led Rafel down a narrow path out the white garden. They moved together towards an abandoned rampart conjoined on the south side to the mansion. There, in the black brick building, Lucius entered into a descending stairwell. The air got mustier and the light dimmer with each step.

To Rafel, it felt like he was walking into his dungeon. He could see clearly in the darkness, but this was not the same for Lucius who held a lit, flaming torch in his right hand. The walls were robed in their gigantic shadows cast by the sconce.

Rafel's, had horns. Thankfully, the Count didn't look to the walls. Or else, he'd shit his pants. The cracks ascending on the tower were spread like webs of an ancient arachnid over time.

Lucius began speaking as they tripped down more spiral steps deeper into the earth.

His voice was invigorated and crispy. A new voice. A voice like an insane wizard.

"There are certain matters too deific for the ordinary mind, Your Grace. This is why we must leave the house behind to this bastion. But to answer your question earlier, I invited you to my villa not to trade words. . .but to offer a gift."

"What kind of a gift, and why, might I ask?" Rafel returned.

He tried to keep his voice in check but the echoing of the tower brought out his baritone the more. Lucius replied his ask instantly.

"The kind of gift that topples dynasties and wins wars. As for the why, Lord BlüdThïrste, boons don't need a reason. Your kind very well know that."

"My kind?"

"Demons!" Lucius' voice struck the stone walls coldly. "Yes, Your Grace, I know you are a demon. In fact, the only Apollyon in existence. . ."

The Count's voice took on the form of many as the reverberations from the inner cavernous rooms sounded like the warbling of a mermaid to the mortal ear. He talked like a Reaper come to quench and seal a soul. Lucius continued thus,

"I, and my compadres only learned of your presence in our mortal plane a few weeks ago, O Burning One! You have ascended from Hel. And the earth wasn't ready to grant proper welcome. We are sorry for this slight. We expected you as a Titan; in your glorious Behemoth form, clad in darkness and flames, blotting out the sun and plunging the world in your dominion.

We did not expect you as the humble Earl of Emberfall. For this, please accept this gift we have provided. I could not say these words in front of my daughter. Hilda would have gone crazy to know her father also favored the occult—like father, like daughter, eh?

Anyways, a war brews, Your Grace. You yourself have felt it when you stood in the Capitol's amphitheater and delivered the killing blow on the General. Our dear Queen has gone mad! Bloodsport, apparently is now a thing. You have felt the hate in the hearts of men, a twisting parasite, ready to froth and flare at the slightest chance.

She took from them a Revolutionary. Eldoria will not soon forget that. But before, we only had to deal with insurrection from the masses. Now that she's gone and muddied the most elegant party of the season by making a barbecue of a Nobleman, I fear the thoughts of an Usurper lurk not only in the hearts of the proletariats.

At the Winter Formal, I noticed you tried to stop her. This is surprising for a Hellion—you guys are not known for your sympathy. You possess a rare red heart. Which is why we think you would be better kept a close friend for the approaching dark times."

Rafel clicked his tongue and jumped off the final step into a straight tunnel.

"Ah, so the gift does have a reason? If it is my friendship you desire, trying to buy it is the wrong move. Besides, who are these WE you keep on speaking of?"

They had reached silver bars at the end of the corridor. This part of the tower was well tended to. The walls were not ribbed in cracks, and Rafel smelled and tasted the tang of cold metal on his lips. The area was polished in an orange glow from many hanging torches.

They stood in front of a vault.

Magical wards shimmered along the brass bars, and to the side of the locked cell of treasures, a large Wyvern was on its belly. It blinked a few times its crimson slitted eyes and wagged its forked tail when it sighted Lucius.

The Count was its master.

Lucius unlocked the latch on the vault. They stepped in and Rafel discovered exactly why the man had employed the services of a [Rank B] Hell beast to secure this place. The bastion was key to all of the House Penderghast fortune.

As Rafel looked around the chamber of glinting coins, he figured there had to be at least ten figures worth of Eldorian money. The room in itself was a Treasury. There were open troves, spilling mighty gold that clashed against the light of the torches. There was a heap of it at one end. And then the several boxes filled with more silver and even larger ancient coins topped the heap.

It looked like it had being tossed carelessly in. Costly swords and priceless heirlooms and valuable jewels of centuries lost were dispersed in the sea of gold. The loot was a lot.

House Penderghast was old money.

Rafel's calculating mind totalled at least four and half billion in gold and nine hundred million more in silver.

For the real estimate of the entire vault, it could buy half the Empire.

'Why does this man concern himself about the threat of war? Looks like he could buy himself out of a Guillotine.'

Rafel mused.

[🎶 Hard Rock Hallelujah – Lordi.]

Lucius walked over to him and waved his torch over the pile of treasures. He shrugged at the loads of hard money and winked at Rafel.

"This doesn't impress you, I get it. You are a demigod after all. Few things do."

Rafel turned from the troves—that frankly looked recovered from a pirate ship. He said to Lucius, "You still haven't answered my question. Who is WE?"

"Yes! That! We are collectively a band of similar progressive minds. We occupy the bourgeois seats in the Empire, yes, but we also perform due Noblesse oblige. We are named The Enlightened Ones. And to you, Your Grace, we offer this gift. . ."

Lucius turned his torch toward a shaded area of the vault to a hanging promontory. Perching off of it was a ghastly powerful Warhammer. A [Divine] weapon. It was blessed by the Old gods themselves. Rafel could tell by merely looking at it. His [Cyclops Demon Eye] was not needed.

Shadows danced around the mighty head of the hammer and flecks of amber lightning crackled in the potent unearthly metal. It was half hammer, half axe. The wisps of elemental cloud magic was borne of fire and ice on the Warhammer.

Lucius began to introduce his gift,

". . .I present to you, Your Grace, the—"

"Hammer of Andorra, borne to the Battle of Bastards by the Wandering King, Agrippa."

Rafel finished for him.

The Count was impressed. "Yes, Your Grace. Remarkable! It is the Hammer of Andorra. A Relic of Horror. King Agrippa the Wanderer battled a thousand trolls with it. He bathed in their unseely blood in the aftermath. And it is yours."

Rafel put his hand to the [Divine] Warhammer.

And as soon as his fingers touched the cold handle, flames erupted along with yellow streaks of lightning. The weapon was merging with his mana core. Rafel felt a deep and slightly painful scratching begin in his chest.

[Ding!] His system notified.

[One Divine Warhammer added to Arcane Collection.]

[Available in Pocket Dimension.]

[COST: 2 500 000 soul coins]

Fuck! Rafel blinked at the price.

He couldn't have bought this at the [Rank S] Mage Shop. He had less than three million soul coins. The Hammer alone would bankrupt him to a [Common] Adventurer's pack.

The Warhammer successfully bonded with his demonic mana core, and Rafel swept it up mightily in the vault. The arc cast a strange crimson lightning, sparking and charging over the heavy metal head across his forearm. Rafel felt the intrinsic magic of the Hammer bullet his own mana core.

He grinned as the air in the entire chamber grew colder and dense. Even Lucius took a step back. The Warhammer had been passed down generations of his family. King Agrippa had been his ancestor.

Rafel loosed the Hammer from his fingertips and it dropped right into his pocket dimension. It seemingly vanished into thin air in Lucius' eye. Rafel couldn't care less about all the gold in the bastion now. He had two [Divine] arsenals now: The Atlantean Trident, and The Andorran Warhammer. It was sufficient in battle against a certain [Rank S] Principality, should he show up.

"Thank you," said Rafel, solemnly to Lucius.

The Count nodded.

"Our pleasure, Your Grace," Lucius spoke in the plural form again. "Now, might I interest you in breakfast? You arrived pretty early to the villa."

Rafel smiled warmly. As he offered his response, he almost hated having a torrid affair with the Count's wife. Almost.

"You know what? I'll indulge. I am hungry."

Laughing, both men exited the vault. Over a billion's worth of money was forgotten with a snap. Lucius locked the gates and petted the Wyvern's scaly head. He intrigued Rafel to a boyish guessing about what the women might have cooked up there.

Rafel wasn't thinking about food though. He was thinking about the Countess.