The Storm King

Chapter 596: Divine Intervention

The centaur-figure exited the white portal and hovered there in the air as the portal dissipated into countless motes of white light, which then winked out of existence. Only then did it begin to descend, and as it did, its aura grew even more intense as its body twisted and bent out shape. Its hind legs snapped and shrank as the metallic sheen of its angular body dulled and its harder corners smoothed.

Leon was forced into a kneeling position as its aura settled around his shoulders, his terror and anger growing in equal measure as the Primal God descended upon his soul realm. Its existence was not one he could challenge; for all that it had been imprisoned for the past who-knew-how-many millions of years, its power hadn’t waned nearly so far as to make it even approachable by Leon.

Once it touched down, its four hooves had turned into two feet, and its centaur-like form had morphed into something decidedly more human, and had shrunk until it was only slightly taller than Leon. It landed not too far in front of him, and its cold gaze seemed locked upon him, for its head remained fixed in his direction.

Slowly, it began to stride over toward him, each step as menacing as if it were fully armed and armored and had declared its hostile intent.

With each slow, ponderous step this thing took toward him, he summoned his power and fought off as much of his fear as he could, making more room within him for the anger that would give him the strength he’d need to resist.

The thing spoke as it approached, its voice resonant and androgenous, “I’m not your enemy, Leon… I only want the best for you…” As it took each step, its body continued to morph, the white metal of its skin vanishing completely as it came within six steps of Leon. With five steps left, its skin took on a fleshy, human look, as a green shirt of woven silkgrass appeared on its torso and a pair of brown leather pants sprang into existence to cover its lower half.

At four steps, its horns bent and curved inward, shrinking and molding over its face like a mask—a mask that very quickly took on features that were most familiar to Leon. Aquiline nose, strong jawline, dark brown hair and matching eyes…

At three steps, Nestor tried to do something, but whatever he tried to do failed immediately as the Primal God simply raised its hand and a flash of light sent Nestor’s ruby flying across Leon’s soul realm, vanishing into the vibrant multicolored trees of his mirrored Forest of Black and White.

At two steps, the Primal God’s body stopped shifting, and it had taken on a fairly lithe, but powerfully built and familiar figure—that of a man who spent his life out in the wild hunting and training.

Finally, at only a single step away from coming into reach of Leon, the Primal God’s body settled onto its chosen form, and for the second time in barely more than a week, Leon found himself staring into the face of his father, but this time worn by the being that had forced its way into his soul realm instead of a magical facsimile conjured from the depths of his mind by a sadistic religious test.

Unlike then, however, Leon’s first response wasn’t instinctive fear, revulsion, and deep, crippling sorrow, but instead his mind filled with wrath. Killing intent exploded out of his body in an unending torrent, and for just the briefest of moments, the Primal God’s aura was turned away. It was only just long enough for Leon to put a little bit of strength into his legs and arms, and operating entirely on instinct, he surged forward, forcing his left leg to take a step forward and pushing himself out of his kneeling position. His right hand curled into a fist, and in his blind wrath, Leon barely even noticed that his fingers were coated in black flame.

And it simply held out its left hand and caught his fist like it was a ball thrown by a toddler. Leon pushed back against it, but slowly, the black flame that wreathed his hand was suppressed and forced back, though not quite extinguished, and the Primal God’s aura settled back around him.

“Good,” it cooed, its androgenous voice dropping in pitch and tone until it became nearly indistinguishable from Artorias’, with only a hint of resonance to speak to its falseness. “Get angry, little lion. Call forth your power, let it crash down upon me. With your invocation of the powers denied to you, this should go so much faster.”

Pain suddenly wracked Leon’s body, while at the same time, his soul realm began to shake like it was undergoing an earthquake.

Leon tried to summon his power to defend himself, but he could barely stand against the power of this primordial being, let alone call lightning from the sky. Pain was his world, and his power was beyond his control.

He began to scream; he couldn’t help it. Whatever this being was trying to do, it involved tearing apart his soul realm at the seams. In the far distance, he was vaguely aware that the mountains surrounding his recreation of the Forest of Black and White were crumbling, cracking apart and dissolving back into the Mists of Chaos. He could feel the loss of every pebble, every grain of sand as if it were his own flesh that was melting in the light of this Primal God.

Leon mustered all the willpower he yet possessed. With all of his mental fortitude, he tried to pull away from the Primal God; it wasn’t gripping his hand all that tightly, even a weak yank ought to be enough to free himself…

With what felt like a titanic pull that could’ve moved mountains, Leon leaned back and tried to rip his hand out of the grip of his father’s imposter. The black flame died away, and Leon slid his hand free as his fist relaxed, leaving the Primal God’s hand surprisingly burned and blackened, though it didn’t seem at all in pain.

Leon stumbled back, falling backward onto the ground as the Primal God loomed above him, a slight smile playing across his father’s lips.

“You struggle against the inevitable,” it said in his father’s voice. “You struggle against your own good. The universe has been without its proper custodians for millions of years, but now that I am returning, the proper order can be reasserted. Prosperity and righteousness can be brought back to existence, and if you but submit, then you shall be my right hand! You shall be the instrument I will use to dispel the grandiose delusions of your people and return them to their true purpose!”

Leon groaned, pain still wracking his body as his soul realm continued to dissolve miles away. Even worse, he could feel the foundations of the entire island cracking under the strain of this being’s very presence. His soul realm was crumbling slowly right now, but he didn’t need to have all the knowledge of the Thunderbird to know that this was only going to speed up the longer this monster remained within him.

But he couldn’t stand against it conventionally. He was powerless before it as he was before Nestor during their first engagement several months ago; his power was effectively useless. He needed to find another way.

His mind raced, but nothing sprang to mind. This was a Primal God, and nothing he thought of seemed even remotely effective enough. This foe was just too far beyond him.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anything he could possibly do in time, and the God snapped its fingers as it contorted Artorias’ face into a soothing, fatherly smile. Instantly, Leon felt all of his limbs seize up as an ancient rune appeared in the air beside the God. This wasn’t the same as the rune Nestor had used to imprison him, but the effect was the same, and he fell to the ground completely immobile, his power lost to him.

As he laid there on his back, his blood boiling with wrath and fear, the Primal God sauntered over, that same smile on its stolen face beaming down at him.

“Fear not, little lion,” it whispered. “Though the process may hurt, when it’s over, you shall be the right hand of divinity!”

It then held out its hand, and Leon felt more power than he had in his entire soul realm erupt from the God’s fingers and reach out toward him. As soon as it touched him, the pain he felt was doubled, and he felt like his blood was literally boiling in addition to the metaphorical sense.

But he couldn’t scream. In fact, whatever the God had done to him made him relax as he laid on the ground as pain ripped through his nerves.

Soon enough, his entire existence became pain, and all of his other senses began to dim. For the third time in less than a day, he felt his consciousness fall away as he slipped into the merciful dark.

—

Leon’s soul realm continued to break apart, shattering and dissolving back into mist. Distant mountains broke apart as his soul realm shook, and all that Leon had built slowly vanished.

The Primal God stood above Leon’s unconscious form, the same smile plastered across the face of Artorias that the creature wore. It simply kept at it, only pausing for a moment when a speck of something dark appeared in the distance. But, as the speck grew bigger until it was identifiable as a dreadful storm cloud speeding toward Leon’s soul realm from deep within the Mists of Chaos, the Primal God’s smile turned into a deep, hateful scowl, and it stepped away from Leon as the young man’s soul realm ceased to terribly shake.

By the time the storm cloud had filled the horizon and arrived at the island floating in the mists, Leon’s soul realm had largely stabilized… only to start shaking again for a different reason.

Horrific bolts of lightning suddenly lit up the storm cloud as it spread across the sky, silver-blue in color, each one accompanied by deafening thunder. The stagnant wind within the soul realm began to whip and howl, and rain suddenly fell in great sheets that blanketed everything that Leon had built.

From within that dreadful storm came an equally dreadful screech of fury and death, and the storm was magnified by a deep, nightmarish cloud of killing intent. A moment later, a great bird came bolting out of the storm clouds, her gorgeous brown and gold feathers alight with grand arcs of silver-blue lightning, her yellow avian eyes blazing with wrath and indignation.

If Leon were awake, he would’ve recognized her as the Thunderbird, but at least three times larger than her already giant raptor form usually was.

Not even a second later, her body vanished within a titanic bolt of silver-blue lightning. The Primal God had barely enough time to raise its arms in front of its face in defense of itself before the bolt fell upon it…

… and did exactly nothing. With clear confusion, the Primal God lowered its arms, only to realize that the bolt had merely passed by it, for it wasn’t the Thunderbird’s target. Instead, she now stood just in front of Leon’s throne, standing protectively between Leon, who was now slumped across the throne still unconscious, and the unspeakably ancient deity.

“Thunderbird…” the Primal God crowed, its voice increasing in pitch back to its normal resonant, androgenous tones.

The Thunderbird, her bronze skin flashing with lightning, her pure white peplos dress billowing in the hurricane winds, her yellow avian eyes glaring down at the God like it was nothing more than an ant, snapped her fingers, and all the rain falling in Leon’s soul realm vanished. The storm clouds and terrific winds remained, but the rain immediately ceased on her whim.

“You wear the face of one of my descendants,” she sharply growled, her aura thick with tremendous killing intent, “but to my eyes, you look like Krith’is, the Flesh Ripper.”

The easy-going smile the Primal God wore on Artorias’ face thinned in displeasure, while at the same time, its head twisted slightly and bent in the tiniest of bows—it accepted the name that the Thunderbird ascribed to it.

“For what reason have you invaded this place?” the Thunderbird continued, her attitude imperious, her power radiant in its obvious threat.

“For why do you ask?” the Flesh Ripper inquisitively replied as its aura rose to match the Thunderbirds, and then surpassed hers in a subtle show of strength. “Surely, you have many descendants, I’m surprised you would waste your time coming to this one…”

The Thunderbird, uncowed, responded, “This one is my personal apprentice. He will do great things, of that I’m certain. The universe will bend to his whim, and through him, my name and my line shall know greater glories than those anyone else has ever experienced.”

The Primal God gave the unconscious Leon a meaningful look. “Unless my eyes deceive, he appears to be drooling on himself.”

The Thunderbird didn’t verbally answer, but when an awesome bolt of lightning crossed the sky and shook Leon’s soul realm with its thunder, her response was clear.

“You will have to pick another descendant to carry on your legacy,” the Flesh Ripper continued, “for I’m pressing my claim upon this one. The power contained within his blood is of better use in my hands than in yours. If you want him to truly accomplish the greatest of deeds and win the highest of honors, then you’d do well to step aside.”

The Flesh Ripper’s smile turned dangerous as the features of Artorias vanished, replaced instead with the rapidly growing metallic horned centaur-like figure that was the Primal God’s truer form.

“I did not fear you when you were intact,” the horned deity growled. “I do not fear this shadow of you now.”

“If you had the power to move me, you wouldn’t have bothered with words,” the Thunderbird said with arrogant smile. “You’re crippled by time spent in your cage…”

“I’m yet more than capable enough to deal with an upstart sparrow,” the Flesh Ripper shot back as it took a couple threatening steps forward.

The Flesh Ripper paused, sensing a ‘but’. Instead, a sudden flash of power lit up the Mists of Chaos like the sun itself had wound its way through space and into Leon’s soul realm. Bright red-orange light filled the entirety of his soul realm, bathing everything within in its glory and might. The auras of both the Flesh Ripper and the Thunderbird utterly paled in comparison to its majesty, and just its presence alone sent the Mists of Chaos roiling away and scattered the Thunderbird’s storm.

“… but I didn’t come here alone,” the Thunderbird whispered triumphantly as a single burning red-orange eye was revealed, surrounded by sparkling black scales. It was miles and miles away, and yet it still completely dominated the sky, speaking to the gargantuan size of the creature that was still largely obscured by the Mists of Chaos.

The Flesh Ripper didn’t need the mist to part to know that creature’s form, though. The ancient deity had seen it with its own eyes many times in the past, and always under the worst of circumstances. This time, it was Krith’is’ turn to feel fear racing throughout its body.

The red-orange light emanating from the central eye of the Great Black Dragon grew brighter and brighter, and began to focus and narrow in scope until only the Primal God was within it. And then, a high-pitched whine began to fill the air as the Great Black Dragon’s power spiked even higher, matched only by the Flesh Ripper’s screams of pain and horror.

—

Leon found himself in a pleasant dream, surrounded by Maia, Elise, and Valeria back his villa in the Bull Kingdom’s capital. They were having fun, eating and chatting, when suddenly Leon remembered what he was supposed to be doing. All the warmth he felt disappeared, his dream came crashing down, and his eyes opened.

He was still in his soul realm, and he laid upon the marble platform that supported his throne.

For just a moment, as he laid there, his eyes staring unfocused up at the clear light-grey mist that filled the sky and everywhere else in this strange space outside of his soul realm, he felt strangely at peace.

But then everything that had happened within the past day came crashing back in, and he jerked upright with an epic groan that managed to pack his anger, frustration, pain, and confusion into just a few seconds. He glanced around and, once he realized that the Primal God was nowhere to be seen, he relaxed.

“Fuck,” he murmured as his body practically lost all strength, the memories of being beaten and thrown around and knocked unconscious despite the power he’d attained so far hit him again and again. “Fuck! Fuck!”

He kept repeating curses as his hands went to cover his face, and after a few more seconds, his cursing devolved into wild screaming. He laid there like that for a long while.

His frustrated and pained screaming eventually petered out, and he just laid on the throne platform, limp, his hands still covering his face. He slowly became aware that the Thunderbird was present in her avian form, perched on the stone arch he’d built for her, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much.

It seemed she picked up on his current mental state, for when she spoke, the magically-conjured words that came out of her golden beak were dripping with trepidation, caution, sympathy, and motherly concern.

“Leon,” she whispered. “I understand that you’ve had a bad day, but the day isn’t over. You need to get back up, and we need to have a few words.”