Trapped

It was as silent as a graveyard inside the Institute tonight. Most of the crystal lights that surrounded the area were off and of the few that were still lit, glowed with a dim, yellow light. All the chairs and tables were neatly stacked away and moved to the outer edges of the Hall. Meanwhile, the elevators were out of commission for the night. Of course, a good precaution to ensure that no rule-breaking wanderers were out and about in the Institute and sneaking around. Mortius sighed and looked around to find out if there were some way to get up to the top floor without using the elevators.

“Maybe if we climb up the top tables, we can get to the first floor, then just climb our way up from there… somehow”, Mortius murmured, scanning the tall building which seemed to have no realistic way of climbing without his neck being broken.

“Or… there’s this”, Saminha replied, grabbing her glaive and moving toward the edges of the room. She looked up to the top floor of the Institute and gripped her weapon tightly, pointing it straight upwards.

“Thra’er ra’ir.”

Slowly, Saminha began to levitate upwards off the floor and toward the ninth floor. As she reached the top, she grabbed the railing with her free hand and threw her glaive over it, vaulting over the rail and looking back down at Mortius, grinning happily. He stared for a moment but then nodded and tried it. After all the things he had seen and done, levitation was the most normal thing around here. Taking his staff, he did the same motion, pointing his staff upwards and holding on tight.

“Thra’er ra’ir.”

A shockwave pulsed through Mortius’ body as he found himself propelling upwards at a much faster speed. He’d almost lost his grip on his staff on the way up, then getting fully thrown over the railing while his staff clattered on the floor of the ninth level. As he landed on the ground, he rolled over with the momentum, hitting the wall opposite. Slowly getting up into a seated position, he groaned in pain and felt his back, rubbing it to try and mitigate the aching and soreness.

“Smooth landing”, Saminha sneered.

“Not a word from you…”, Mortius growled back, picking up his staff and dusting himself off. He looked at the surrounding area and tried to remember the instructions he received from his father in the dream.

“...get out of the elevator, go left and all the way to the back…”

Mortius looked over to the other side of the square floor where the opening to the elevator was. Looking left, Mortius’ heart pounded once as he saw a door exactly where his father told him to go. It was just as he described in the dream and, with a due sense of caution in his small but quick steps, he began walking towards it. Saminha followed slightly behind, monitoring the door carefully and keeping a tight grip on her glaive for any sudden danger. The door itself didn’t particularly look significant in any way, giving no indications of something special behind it, and yet Mortius felt a devastating energy from it with every step forward. Behind this door could be the answer to numerous questions he’d had in the past or just proof that he was crazy. He didn’t really entertain the thought but with the dream and the voices, in any reality this would be the makings of a madman. For a moment, Mortius took a pause in his steps. Was he absolutely sure he wanted to open this door? 

In a second, all the vile and hateful thoughts he had for his father came pouring back in, and he thought about just leaving the door here. On one hand, his father was in there, and leaving him there to rot would be so satisfying to think of. On the other hand, he wasn't there. The dreams were just dreams and there was nothing to be gained here. Also an upside. But then, if his father was in there, Mortius could finally have many more answers. Ones that even predated everything he’d learned since joining the Institute. Why did his father leave? What happened? What could ever be so important that it took precedence over his own family and was something even to die for? His mind was a violent storm, torn between charging through the door and just walking away and going back to sleep, leaving the Scholars to deal with Enodius, if he was in there at all. He battled with himself for a good few seconds, but ultimately, the side that wanted answers more than anger came out victorious as he continued walking until he was directly in front of the door.

There was no denying what he wanted now, and whatever was behind that door, he was willing to face it head on. Taking a deep breath, Mortius gripped the rounded door handle and looked back at Saminha. She nodded to indicate her readiness and Mortius breathed again before suddenly opening the door. The room was empty and extremely cold but didn’t look unused. There were tables and chairs in a neat classroom setting along with shelves and a desk at the front of the room with a chair behind it. Mortius scanned the room carefully, his heart pounding at the thought of finding anything. Saminha was ready to leave, voicing her view that this search was pointless, whilst very badly hiding her expression of boredom. However, Mortius refused to give up this easily and ventured deeper into the room. Rolling her eyes, but deciding to give this futile quest a few more minutes, she closed the door to ensure nobody would notice as the two searched the room for any traces of another person inside. Mortius looked underneath the tables, around the teacher’s desk, in the back where there was a tiny storage cupboard full of supplies, old textbooks and more but nothing could be found. Saminha lazily scanned the room, wandering around and pushing things to the side but not really properly looking. At this point, she wished she was back at the Sacrament. The need to fight someone was gradually growing. 

After searching the room thoroughly, unable to properly find anything that signified the whereabouts of his father, Mortius sighed in a mix of frustration but also relief, staring into one of the old cupboards. Maybe all that had happened was really just weird dreams and other rational explanations. As he was about to close the cupboard, something interesting caught his eye. On the top shelf, hidden behind a bunch of old and withered papers was a small slate like those teachers would place on their desks. Mortius reached in and pulled it out carefully, being wary of knocking anything on the floor. As he blew away the thick mounds of dust and wiped it off, his heart skipped when he saw the name written on it. ‘Scholar E. Maleos’. Mortius looked over some of the books and papers more closely and saw that these were all showing guides to and descriptions of Īdelcræft. This must have been the classroom that his father taught in when he was at the Institute, but then, why would it be up here? Void Magic was supposed to be taught in the Nether Floor, or that is where it is located now. Mortius had no way of knowing if the Institute operated in the same way back then as it does now.

“Hey, Morty. Look over here”, Saminha said behind him. Ignoring the new nickname, Mortius turned around to look and saw Saminha standing still over a crumbled pile of black rags. He frowned but approached with caution, and as he got closer, he quickly realised the pile of black was moving. Mortius and Saminha readied their weapons as the pile shuffled even more and a huge black mass leapt out at them, yelling and grabbing Saminha by the neck. As the mass tackled her to the ground, it began choking her violently with two long and gangly arms. Mortius didn’t think twice as he ran over to them and smacked the man in the head with the end of his staff. The man recoiled with a small spatter of blood splashing to the floor and Mortius backed him into the corner, pointing the jewel end of his staff at the man’s face. The jewel lit up, ready to fire and the smaller jewels stopped spinning and pointed toward the man like daggers. Then, Mortius’ eyes widened. The man sitting in the corner, cowering before them both was the same man he saw in his dream. Medium length black hair, tattered and torn suit and the violet eyes. It was, without a doubt, his father. The only difference was that he was sporting quite a bit of facial scruff, not enough for a full beard but enough to be noticeable.

“Father?”, Mortius asked. The man was trembling greatly and looked up at Mortius, speaking with his eyes but unable to open his mouth. Mortius looked back into his eyes for a moment and put his staff away, grabbing one of Enodius’ arms and helping him to his feet.

“Hey, get over here and help me!”, Mortius requested but Saminha stared angrily at Enodius.

“Do you have c***s in your brain?! I’m not helping him after he choked me like that! I’ll kill him myself!” Saminha grabbed her glaive and started advancing, but Mortius stood in her way, pointing his staff at her chest.

“Just for now, can you not be a D�"mon and actually be helpful?!”

“Oh? Like I’ve been helpful sneaking out of the Pools and into the Institute all to help your sorry a*s?!” Saminha now had her glaive pointed at Mortius, searing rage in her eyes. Seeing that this was beyond reconciliation, Mortius put his staff down.

“Fine, leave. I can handle this myself.” Mortius glared into her eyes and she continued to stand there, wanting so badly to at least hit him. This man was infuriating to her, and she wanted nothing more than to stab the life out of him right here and now, but she simply couldn’t. Growling, Saminha spun around and stormed out of the room. Mortius clenched his fist, feeling more pleased she was gone than disappointed, but then his mind wandered back to the other person in the room, and he slowly looked down at his trembling father on the floor. His breaths sounded like the shudders of a frightened animal. 

He recoiled slightly as Mortius went to help him up, but there was no time for pleasantries or tender care as Mortius grabbed his arm and started to drag him out of the room. Enodius managed to stand up and followed obediently, but kept looking around in confusion, still whimpering and even muttering incoherently to himself. Over and over, he kept repeating the same lines, like some kind of mix of Göndradhe and another language. Mortius tried to listen a little to it, but all he could make out were words that sounded like “hate” and “light”. 

It was a long journey with a lot of waiting for patrolling scholars to leave and checking hallways for signs of life but eventually they made it out of the Institute and to the grounds where it was almost pitch black. The two traversed the grounds and approached the Void Pools. Mortius dragged Enodius into the right pool where he conducted the ritual in the first place. Going down into the depths, Mortius removed the locking sigil he’d placed on the door of the ritual room and opened it up, walking in and sitting Enodius down on a short sofa. Since the time of the ritual, Mortius had figured he could see some good use for the abandoned room in the future, secretly turning it into a small hideout space for himself. The tables were stacked neatly and the entire room dusted, along with some of the unused furniture placed strategically around the room to cover the massive burn marks all over the floor. The shelves were well cleaned along with the ornaments and supplements within them and the books used in the ritual had been placed on there as well. Mortius went over to a small bedside table and lit up a light crystal, tapping it with the tip of his staff.

He then retrieved a black cloth from one of the bookshelves and carelessly threw it over Enodius who’d adopted a curled position on the sofa and had his eyes closed, seeming to be trying to fall asleep, but still making mumbling noises and shaking violently. Sitting down at the table in the middle of the room, he stared at the almost unrecogniseable man on the sofa, sleeping silently. Mortius wasn’t all too surprised that his ritual worked, but the fact that this was what he brought back, a tired and withered husk of a man, made him only feel worse about his choices. Already the cavalcade of questions he planned to ask filled his mind, then again, would Enodius even be capable of providing those answers in this state? Seeing what he was now, he couldn’t help but wonder many things about the situation. Was Enodius even himself anymore? Or was this creature some kind of empty shell that just looked like him? Would he ever be able to talk again, or would this silent, shaky wretch of a person be all Mortius had to work with? Then thoughts about his mother came in and he put his hands in his head. How was she going to react to this when she found out? The questions were getting far too many and taking even greater leaps ahead than he was prepared for. Mortius kept watching the man on the sofa, staring deep into his face and wondering what he was going to do. For now, he needed to prioritize, and tackle the most immediate issues first, before he tried to do anything else and plan further ahead. In the meantime, he could feel himself slowly getting tired. It was still the very early morning and the little sleep he’d gotten before was becoming his enemy. His eyelids constantly dropped and opened again as he battled to stay awake but the sleep and the silence were victorious as he felt himself drifting away.

“Son? Are you there?”, a far away voice said. Mortius yawned and felt himself coming to, opening his eyes fully and seeing Enodius just a few feet away from him in a chair. Mortius jumped slightly, remembering that this wasn’t some weird dream again and his father was really here. Enodius simply smiled as he leaned back in his chair and stretched.

“Yes, I got quite a bit of sleep myself”, he chuckled. Mortius simply stared at the man suspiciously and cautiously, wondering what he was going to do next. There was an awkward silence between the two and Mortius wondered if he should go first or if Enodius would. Enodius simply looked anywhere but in Mortius’ direction, twiddling his thumbs and tapping his feet on the wood floor. Mortius then wondered what time it was and got up, reaching into his bag and pulling out an old watch he’d gotten from the store. 5:30 am. Thankfully it was still too early for him to be waking up since classes started at 8:30. Even though the creaking of the floorboards broke the silence, it still wasn’t enough to erase the awkward part. Mortius tried to decide whether or not to sit back down or remain standing, as his eyes continuously moved between Enodius and the chair.

“You have your great-grandfather’s eyes”, Enodius commented finally. Mortius frowned, feeling somewhat disappointed at this feeble attempt at a conversation starter. Though speaking of this finally gave him a prompt to ask one of his numerous questions.

“So every first born in our family became a Warlock, then?” Mortius finally asked, sitting back down. Enodius took a sharp breath as Mortius spoke, as if finally hearing his son’s voice was so unexpected, he’d never thought he would hear it again. He gave a small nod and explained further, telling Mortius about his ancestor and the first Warlock, Rodhun vur Malghost. Not only was he the first of the Maleos family, but also born with the blood of the Imperium. Mortius was stunned when he heard this. A Warlock born from the blood of one of the Nine Rulers of Abarys was a huge deal in Warlock society. Them and all of their line would be known as “Highbloods” and had an established reputation among other Warlocks. Enodius explained that if Mortius ever went to Zhar'godaud, he would find archives, newspapers, and books rife with the name vur Malghost and Maleos everywhere. Outside of the Institute and the Walled Cities, the Maleos name was one of the prominent ones. This information, though brief, felt like he’d just been hit with another enormous revolution. Maybe this was the reason for the Black Ward’s interest in him and what happened at the Altar.

“So I guess we are special then”, Mortius muttered but, to his surprise, Enodius only shrugged.

“Like I said, being a “Highblood” back then was something that gave you a lot of status, but these days? Not so. The concept of Highbloods has slowly been dying out. The only people that use it now are extreme elitists and withering old Warlocks that can’t get their a*s out of the past.”. Mortius shrank a little bit into his chair and sighed.

“Okay, so how do you explain my true face then? Nobody wants to tell me what’s wrong with it. Is that a product of the Imperium?”, he asked. Enodius raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, his eyes glinting slightly as if to indicate he was looking.

“By the Gods… That is bizarre. It looks nothing like a Warlock face… it’s just… nothing! There’s nothing!”, he uttered, looking positively stunned. This was absolute madness. Mortius was learning so much and yet he’d only asked two questions. His mind was facing a dramatic overload as he now had the problem of his face to worry about.

“I wish I’d seen this before but, true faces only manifest when you show signs of ageing and becoming a Warlock, which I didn’t get to see…” Enodius trailed off, realising the touchy subject he’d accidentally and so casually tread into, prompting a glare from Mortius.

“So. Why did you leave then?”, Mortius finally asked. Enodius twitched slightly, unprepared but knowing that this question would come eventually. All he did was look at the floor, fingers interlocked and concentrating deeply. Mortius prepared himself for some big, elaborate lie but instead, Enodius looked up at Mortius and said very little.

“It’s a long story but.. It all started with the cult, Rieth’s Eyes”, he began. Mortius sat down as Enodius explained the entire journey, starting from the final day, after he’d come back from his work and sat down for what was going to be the family’s final dinner together. Enodius had been working with the cult for almost eight years by this point, and their plans to conduct the spell, Szu Vollft Rieth were going underway. However, rumblings within the cult had caused the spell to be delayed once again, as well as someone who had been working with a group called the Red Court, the grand authority in Warlock society, leaking information on the Cult to them. Enodius had left, intending only to go for a few days, but he soon found that the Court had made their move and found the location of the Cult’s base of operations. Everyone had died, and the only survivors were himself, and two others, Artemis and Batar. Enodius explained that he thought numerous times that the days of the Cult were over and he considered returning home, but Artemis was adamant on continuing, choosing to invoke other gods in a spell of Woruldcræft to use the power of the four youngest Old Gods. The spell was a failure, and Batar died while Artemis and Enodius were arrested. Then they were sentenced and Artemis also died, with Enodius following. 

His expression shifted dramatically when he spoke on that part, swallowing hard and looking distant at the remembrance of his final moments before death. Enodius told Mortius that one of the worst punishments an Ūndon can endure was called Drȳscr�"ad. The act of tearing a person asunder, separating their essence of being from their body, and encasing it in an object or another being and leaving their body to wander the earth forever. Without their essence, Ūndon are technically nigh-immortal and can live for a very long time as they are constantly trapped in a state of non-movement. As if the time of their body just stops since they cannot age, become sick, become hungry, but at the same time, they have no direction or purpose. They feel nothing, they think nothing. Everything is a distorted illusion and things like family, memories, homes, all of these things become next to nothing. The only thing that can bring a victim of Drȳscr�"ad to something resembling sense is an anchor, usually a significant person or object in their life. It was this that made Mortius think more deeply.

“Wait. When we went to the Dark Vault, a creature flew out of the cupboard that was in your room. Was that…?”

“Most likely… What did the creature look like?”

“Well, it was small, black, and seemed to flap around crazily. Very leathery skin as well, no feathers. I think it was a…”

“Fl�"onbān, indeed.”

“Night parasites, they feed on remains of the dead”, Mortius replied.

“Very good, yes. You’ve been studying well. I also suspected how you could have possibly managed all of… this. You’ve been practicing very powerful spells, haven’t you?” Mortius nodded in response and took out the book from his bag, opening it on the ritual and prompting a sudden and surprising gasp from Enodius.

“D�"aþ æt Ciristōl… this is… remarkable. I’ve seen a few seasoned Warlocks attempt this and fail spectacularly. But for a first year student to do it successfully… I daresay I’m quite proud of you, well done, son.” Mortius swallowed hard. He’d not heard his father say that in many years, and it made him feel a few different ways, almost sending him back to a better time. One when his father was actually a father, and the man that Mortius looked up to greatly and aspired to be before he abandoned his family.

“So the others died then?” Mortius asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Yes, unfortunate. I am quite sure Artemis’ body was disposed of while his essence was sent for archival. Which brings me to the next topic of this conversation…”. Mortius knew what this was and, for some reason, he was already on board. He couldn't believe himself, ignoring the part of him that didn't like it. Enodius would want him to find the bān and bring it to the room. For what purpose, it was unknown but from the looks of Enodius, not to mention not having his weapon, he didn’t pose any great threat to Mortius. Plus, having the bān captured and caged would offer some rather pleasant leverage just in case anything went wrong.

“I want to know some more things before I get back”, Mortius began but Enodius stopped him.

“No time for that. The crystals outside are lighting soon. So you’ll need to be back in your bed before anyone notices you’re gone. I can’t tell you much about the activity of a sentient carrier, only that they sometimes frequent places the owner went often”, he explained. Mortius thought on this and made some quick notes in his head before standing up and gathering his bag. As he was about to walk out, he stopped and turned around.

“You’ll be fine here for now, right?”, he asked. Enodius gave an earnest nod, sitting back on the sofa he slept on and Mortius nodded in return.

“Uh, son, one question for you actually…” Mortius stopped immediately, turning back around a little too quickly as he wondered what might be coming.

“Your new name… what is it?” Enodius looked up, somewhat hopefully, seeming eager and even excited to hear it. It was so strange, but somehow it felt like Mortius was feeling a connection to his father again. As if he were doing something like taking his son to school for the first time, teaching him about new things, or some other fulfilling father-son landmark. It was… discomforting. It would have been nice, were it not for the seething rage that Mortius had carried for many years. There was no putting out that fire over a single conversation, but he didn’t want to leave the room without giving an answer either.

“Mortius Maleos.” There was a brief silence between the two, and Enodius’ reaction was strange. At first, a mix of disappointment and perhaps regret, but soon replaced with a small smile and an understanding nod of approval.

“For your grandfather. Wonderful choice indeed. I’m sure he will be pleased to know it.” Mortius’ breath left his body for a moment, realising that Enodius had no idea that his father, Mortius’ grandfather had died. For a moment, he considered maintaining an illusion to protect his father, but the anger he felt towards that man prevailed this time, as he delivered the news with little comfort behind it.

“He died last year…” Enodius’ smile faded, now resting on a face that showed confusion, conflict, but still some sorrow.

“I see. Thank you for telling me.” With no more words left to spare, Enodius looked back at Mortius for one more moment, before sitting back on the couch, staring at the wall opposite and getting lost in his own thoughts. Mortius chose not to linger any longer, hoping that some fresh air might quell the opposing fights going on in his head and allow him to further distract himself with the task ahead.