Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Six

-Clockwork Syndicate Headquarters; La'Creval Clocktower, La'Esk, Thorae; May 2009-

General Salvatore patiently waited outside the door of the creator’s chamber. A man of great stature and fully armored, he stood taller than the guards around him. The crest of the Clockwork Syndicate shimmered in the light upon his breastplate. When the general was let into the chamber, he immediately dropped to a knee. “Your majesty,” Salvatore uttered, head bowed low. 

“Come closer, general,” a weak, slow voice answered. “And speak a little louder. These ears have grown dull.”

The general stood and approached as instructed, head still bowed. He stopped a few feet away from the figure hunched over a desk. Shaky, old hands were scribbling a note on a slip of paper among the many maps, parchments, and books. Among the many layers of ornate robes and furs sitting in the chair, only a head of wiry gray hairs could be seen. “Your excellency,” Salvatore said as he kneeled again, remembering to raise his voice a little. 

The gray head turned. Dull eyes and a wrinkled face stared back at the general. A thin, silver circlet crookedly sat against the creator’s bushy brow “Have you brought my tribute?” the creator asked in a frail voice. 

“Yes, your majesty.” Salvatore stood and nodded to his subordinates still by the door. Two soldiers dragged a chained man into the chamber and dropped him on the floor between the general and creator. The prisoner curled into a ball, trembling. He whispered a phrase over and over again. “She lies... she lies... she lies...”

The creator grimaced as he stared over the shaking man. “This is the best General Diagan and his scientists could conjure?” 

“This is the only one that has survived the process thus far, your grace,” General Salvatore answered. “It seems being exposed to interdimensional energy for an extended period of time can be… lethal.” 

With a creaking grunt and a great deal of effort, the creator stood up and pushed his chair aside. He reached out an old, frail hand toward the prisoner. Uttering a string of ancient words, a black vine materialized from the hand and wrapped around the broken man. The prisoner gasped and attempted to scream, but it was too late. The light drained from the man and entered the creator. The chained man crumpled to the ground, now an empty husk. The frail king, on the other hand, was revitalized. The gray in his hair reverted to its original color and the wrinkles in his skin smoothed as his age regressed. The creator stood tall, still an older man than the general, but far younger and fairer in appearance than he was moments ago. The creator took a deep breath when the process was finished and straightened his crown. “That is better,” the creator said, voice now strong and deep. “Though this one had too few years left in him.” 

“If I may speak freely, your grace…” Salvatore paused until the king nodded. “This… tradition,” he started, using the best word he could come up with. “Has become more frequent in recent years.”

“It is a temporary solution,” the creator answered, resting his hands behind his back. “Once I find the perfect vessel, I will be free of this cursed existence. I will live forever.” The creator seemed to drift for a moment before returning to the present. He turned back to his desk and looked over the maps. “Tell me, how goes the war on the Tellian front?” the creator asked. 

“It goes well, your grace,” Salvatore answered. “Generals Valentine, Malewon, and Harwind have reported much progress these last few weeks. But they warn of assassins and bounty hunters drifting between worlds.” 

The creator did not seem bothered as he shifted some papers around. “Many have come for my life,” he said casually. “None have taken it. After all, who can kill a god?” he turned to Salvatore and smiled. 

The general inclined his head. “Of course, your majesty.”

The creator picked up a map of Thorae and held it to the light as he studied it. “One day,” he said softly. “All the worlds will be under my control. I will have ultimate power and I will have everlasting life, which I will then impart to my most faithful and trusted followers.” He glanced at Salvatore. “Tell me, general… Will you be among them?” 

“Till the very end, your majesty,” Salvatore answered, head still bowed. 

The general was dismissed and the creator sat back at his desk as the soldiers dragged away the chained body. Once they left, the door closed. Alone once more. Majesty. Grace. Excellency. King. Creator. Finally, he was receiving the proper recognition owed to him. After centuries in exile, a bloody war, and betrayal on every side, things were finally going his way. He was one step closer to achieving ultimate power. Ultimasi smiled to himself. He just had to find the perfect vessel.