Crossover Page 23

  The ‘Elect,’ as the Dread Priest called them, cheered, yet didn’t stop their chanting. Their chanting was happier now, which was somehow more chilling than their earlier calm. Yet Beams understood the chanting well, because his connection to the Dread God gave him a basic understanding of the Darzen language. And they were not even chanting in the Darzen language, but rather in an ancient dialect of their language which was no longer spoken by anyone other than students of Darzen history and the Elect themselves.

  The Elect were chanting an ancient chant passed down to them by their forefathers from even before Darzen history was recorded. Their chanting spoke of the Dread God’s greatness, of their great commitment to his glory, of how happy they were to have been chosen to be his Elect. There was more—much more—but Beams feared that his mind would be shattered if he dwelt too long on the many and varied meanings of the Elect’s chanting. He only knew one thing: The Elect fully expected to see the Dread God’s resurrection, unless someone put a stop to it.

  “For countless eons, the Dread God has slept,” the Dread Priest continued. “He was slain by demons which sought to take his throne and it was those same demons who drove us and our ancestors off that world where he once reigned. For eons, we have sought his brain and his crown, desperately attempting to find them both, but it wasn’t until recently that we were able to find out where they were. Even then, we were forced, due to the machinations of one of the descendants of the demons, to put off the ritual for a little while longer, but today, we wait no longer. The Dread God will rise again and all his enemies shall tremble at the might of him and his Elect!”

  More cheering from the Elect. Beams also felt a compulsion to cheer, but he kept his mouth shut. He just wondered how long it would take the Dread Priest to notice him and Bolt. He found it odd that none of the Elect seemed to notice them, even though they were standing right there and weren’t even trying to hide. Maybe they were so overcome with religious ecstasy that they had developed an extreme form of tunnel vision.

  “As glorious as this day is, not all is at ease,” the Dread Priest continued. “Enemies from afar have come to thwart the day spoken of in the Prophecy. These enemies seek to prevent the Dread God from rising again, seek to kill everyone who had pledged loyalty to the Dread God. They are evil incarnate and, though we have thwarted their own attempts to be a stumbling block, they still seek to stop us even now.”

  Without warning, the Dread Priest pointed his staff at Beams and Bolt. “There they stand! The enemies of the Dread God, who seek nothing less than to extend the length and misery of this dark age in which our people have lived for what has seemed like an eternity. They have come not as ambassadors of their own people seeking to join us in worship of the Dread God, but as enemies who wish to ensure that the Dread God never breathes the pure air of the Third Layer ever again.”

  As one, the entirety of the Elect turned to face Beams and Bolt. Though none of the Elect were armed, Beams nonetheless felt intimidated seeing so many angry-looking Darzens turn to face them at once. Their collective glare was a force in itself, and for the first time Beams understood that the Elect were every bit as much a power in their own right, that their title wasn’t merely something given to puff up their own status, but a reflection of their true nature which was recognized by the Dread God.

  “Uh oh,” Beams muttered. He glanced at Bolt. “What do you think we should do? Fight?”

  “All of these people?” Bolt shook his head. “Nah. We need to take out the Dread Priest, as well as the Avatar and Graalix. They’re the ones who are going to complete the ritual. Going to attack now.”

  Before Beams could ask what he meant by that, Bolt launched into the air and flew straight toward the Dread Priest, the Avatar, and Graalix. The Elect all turned as one again, following Bolt’s trajectory with a mixture of awe and fear. They seemed to have forgotten all about Beams, which was fine by him, because he was pretty sure he couldn’t take all of the Elect in a fight. He just watched as Bolt zipped through the air toward the platform upon which the three leaders of the Darzens stood, moving so fast that Beams’ eyes could barely keep up.

  Both the Avatar and Graalix tensed as if they were going to jump off the platform to meet Bolt in combat, but the Dread Priest held up a hand as if telling them to stand down. The Dread Priest stepped forward, his dark red eyes following Bolt’s every movement like a cat carefully watching a bird which had landed in its territory.

  Seconds before it happened, Beams called out to Bolt to stop, to come back. But he was too late.

  The Dread Priest swung his staff like a sword. Without warning, Bolt was slammed out of the air by an unseen force and went careening off to the side uncontrollably. Bolt smashed through the wall on the other side of the room hard enough to make it sound like an explosion, causing even some of the Elect to cover their ears in order to protect their hearing.

  As if that wasn’t enough, the Dread Priest waved his hand at Bolt. The wall rapidly rebuilt around Bolt, trapping him within it. Only his head, hands, and feet were visible, with the rest of his body fused with the wall itself.

  “Witness the absolute audacity of the human who sought to stop the Dread God’s ritual,” said the Dread Priest. “See how much demonic hate flows through his bones. Luckily for us, the Book says that all enemies of the Dread God ultimately destroy themselves through their own hubris and flaws. Furthermore, it says that the Dread God delights in the sacrifice of his enemies, so we will keep this one alive a little while longer until we can sacrifice him to the Dread God. What a wonderful thing that will be: The Dread God will receive his very first sacrifice in eons and you will all be its first witnesses. The Dread God may even add this day to the Book, which would be the first addition to the holy writings since his tragic death ages ago. Halok!”

  “Halok!” the Elect chanted back, which Beams understood to be a word similar to ‘amen,’ although there was something far more sinister about that word.

  Regardless, Beams now wished he was anywhere else. He hadn’t realized just how powerful the Dread Priest was. He was also not entirely convinced that Bolt was still alive, but either way, Beams was on his own now. He half-wondered where Shade and the others were, but realized that it was unlikely any of them would get here before the ritual was completed.

  That means I really am on my own, Beams thought. Uh oh.

  Then the Dread Priest pointed again. “But all is not well. One more enemy still stands, though this one may not be as much of an enemy as he seems at first glance.”

  Once again, the Elect turned as one to look at Beams. Beams stepped back again before realizing that the entrance to the stairs behind him had somehow closed between the time he and Bolt had emerged from it and now. That meant Beams couldn’t run even if he wanted to.

  “The enemy you see today is the very same one who threatened to destroy the Dread God’s brain not too long ago,” said the Dread Priest. “Yet he is not to be killed or sacrificed, unlike the other, for the Dread God has chosen him to serve him.”

  Beams turned to run (even though there was nowhere to run to) but then found himself yanked off his feet by the same invisible force which had taken out Bolt and went hurtling backward through the air toward the Dread Priest. He stopped in the air above the Dread Priest, the Avatar, and Graalix. He struggled to break free of the Dread Priest’s telekinesis, but his body was held as rigidly as if a giant hand had snatched him up.

  “There,” said the Dread Priest, a soft smile crossing his distorted lips. “Resist not, young one. Soon, you will see the Dread God return to all of his glory and power. And once you do, you will see just how foolish you were for opposing his great and mighty will.”

  Beams wanted to snap back at the Dread Priest, but he found it impossible to move his mouth. It felt like someone had tied a thick steel trap around his jaw. He could still breathe, but he couldn’t speak or make any noises.

  “Now,” said the Dread Priest. He looked from the Avatar to Graa
lix and then back at the Elect. “Though other enemies are still making their way to this area below, the loyal forces of the Darzen Army are keeping them at bay. Even if they weren’t, the Dread God will be more than enough to deal with them. Behold!”

  The Dread Priest spread his hands and both boxes flew out of the hands of the Avatar and Graalix and floated on either side of Beams, who glanced at the boxes in a worried fashion.

  “In minutes, the Dread God will rise again!” the Dread Priest’s voice boomed throughout the chamber. “Behold, Elect! Your god’s rest is finally about to end! Glory shall return to Jinkopa and the entire Darzen Empire! Halok!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Through his superhero career, Bolt had suffered a variety of different fates. He’d been shot, smashed, punched, stabbed, brainwashed, thrown around like a rag doll, crushed, attacked mentally, and even banished to another universe by an evil alternate universe counterpart of his father. Bolt had thought he’d seen it all, or at least as much as a guy his age could be expected to see.

  But Bolt had never been fused into a stone wall before. That was a new one even for him.

  It was a hard sensation to describe. If Bolt had to use words to describe it, he would say it was like lying in a mud puddle, only the mud had hardened to the point of nigh unbreakability and he couldn’t move his limbs or get up at all. He could still breathe clearly and the rest of his body seemed to be working just fine aside from feeling like he’d been thrown around by a giant, but somehow that made it all the more disturbing. He had no idea what kind of power the Dread Priest wielded, but whatever it was, it was clearly something he had never faced before.

  The question was whether Bolt would be able to break free or not. His limbs were totally immobile, which meant he couldn’t rely on his good old fists to punch his way out. He couldn’t even kick his way out. His feet were facing out, true, but all he could do was wiggle them awkwardly, which would have been humorous if he wasn’t about to witness the resurrection of a multiverse-destroying god.

  The Dread Priest just finished giving his sermon to the Elect, who were all chanting excitedly among themselves. Their chanting annoyed Bolt, but he had bigger problems to deal with, like saving Beams and stopping the Dread Priest from resurrecting the Dread God.

  Where are Shade and the others? Bolt thought. The Dread Priest wasn’t serious about how the soldiers are keeping them out, was he?

  “Now,” said the Dread Priest, his voice as booming and authoritative as ever, “it is time that you witness the rebirth of the Dread God himself! Let us begin the ritual!”

  Without warning, the boxes containing the Rubber Ball and the Soul Crown popped open and fell to the floor with a soft clatter. Hanging in their place were two objects: The Soul Crown, which Bolt had no trouble recognizing, and a soft, organic-looking sphere which had to be the Rubber Ball, or the Dread God’s brain. Just looking at the Rubber Ball, Bolt could sense a malevolent presence emanating from it. From a distance, the presence was faint, yet there was no mistaking it for anything other than the presence of an evil force that was looking forward to its subsequent resurrection.

  Upon seeing the Rubber Ball, the chanting of the Elect grew louder than ever. A few Elect began to stamp their feet in some kind of rhythm and soon all of the Elect joined in, stamping their feet in a rhythm which made no sense to Bolt but filled his body with a sense of dread even worse than the Rubber Ball did. He wanted them to stop, to be quiet, but their chanting and stamping combined into a sound of pure horror that made Bolt wish he was dead.

  The Dread Priest waved his staff at the Dread God’s body. The Rubber Ball and Soul Crown flew over to the Dread God’s head. The Rubber Ball went in first, fitting inside the skull perfectly, and then the top of the Dread God’s closed like a cap. The Soul Crown then lowered onto the Dread God’s head and instantly began glowing a deep red color. The color itself sent all sorts of instinctive alarms ringing in Bolt’s head, but he was unable to move or escape.

  “The Dread God’s resurrection is at hand,” said the Dread Priest in a voice full of mad glee. “But there is still one step left before it can be fully completed.”

  The Elect still chanted and stamped their feet, but Bolt could tell that they were confused about what this ‘last step’ could possibly be. Bolt didn’t blame them. He thought the ritual would be complete when the Dread God’s brain was put back in his body.

  “In order to resurrect the Dread God, a sacrifice of three hundred souls is needed to power the Soul Crown,” said the Dread Priest. His eyes fell on the Elect, an evil glint in his red orbs. “Three hundred souls elected by the Dread God eons ago, whose entire lives have been prepared for this one moment. By giving your lives, your very souls, you will provide the Dread God’s body with the energy it needs in order to return to its full vitality.”

  The chanting and stamping of the Elect became a lot less enthusiastic now. It was clear to Bolt that the Elect hadn’t been told about this ahead of time or even given any hint that they would not live long enough to see their own god come back. A few even stopped chanting and stamping entirely, exchanging confused and nervous looks with one another.

  But the Elect didn’t get a chance to leave, because the Dread Priest pointed his staff at them and shouted, “Dread God! I give you the three hundred souls you desire! Devour their souls and add their life to your own!”

  The Soul Crown exploded with red and purple lightning bolts. The lightning bolts flashed down to the gathered Elect, striking all of them. Some of the Elect tried to run, but the lightning bolts moved faster than their legs could carry them. Every Darzen who was struck by lightning became burned charred black. Their bodies fell to the floor, clunking against the stone one after another in an eerily quiet horror show, their robes disintegrating in the process. It was a scene that would be burned in Bolt’s memory forever. He didn’t like the Darzens, but even he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Elect who had spent their whole lives believing they were going to live to see the return of their god only to be sacrificed to that very same god as unceremoniously as any heretic.

  In seconds, all three hundred of the Elect lay on the floor, their suits of armor empty husks. The Soul Crown’s jewels, on the other hand, were now glowing with intense brightness, creating a light show that Bolt could not look away from. He just stared as the Soul Crown grew brighter and brighter until finally, with a loud ringing noise, the Soul Crown suddenly stopped glowing and tightened around the crown of the Dread God’s body.

  As suddenly as it began, it was over. The Soul Crown, though more colorful than before, no longer stole the souls of the Elect. The Dread God’s body still lay on the stone slab, arms folded over its stomach, as if the Dread God was just taking a nap.

  For a moment, Bolt thought it must have failed. He thought that the Dread Priest had been mistaken about bringing back the Dread God and that it would turn out that he sacrificed three hundred of his fellow worshipers for no reason.

  Then the Dread God stirred … and his eyes opened.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Beams could not help but watch in horror as the Dread God’s eyes opened. At first, the Dread God seemed to stare into space mindlessly, but then a soft blue light began glowing in the Dread God’s irises. He coughed, a harsh, rumbling sound like an earthquake, and then slowly began to sit up. His movements were slow, sluggish, even a little awkward, but just knowing the sheer power behind the Dread God’s strength gave a certain dangerous majesty to his movements all by itself.

  “Welcome, Dread God!” said the Dread Priest in a hysterically gleeful voice. He threw his hands into the air, raising his staff high above his head. “Welcome, Dread God! Your priest welcomes you back to the world of the living. Halok!”

  The Avatar and Graalix, on the other hand, viewed the Dread God with far more caution. The Avatar seemed cautiously interested in the Dread God, while Graalix was beginning to look as if he was regretting having helped the Darzens. Beams couldn’t
blame him. He felt more or less the same way, even though he had not directly aided in the Dread God’s resurrection in the way Graalix had.

  The Dread God blinked. He looked around the chamber, like a newborn baby opening its eyes for the first time, before his eyes landed on the Dread Priest.

  “Well done, good and faithful servant,” said the Dread God. His voice was even deeper and more terrifyingly majestic than the Dread Priests’. “For eons, I have lived a miserable, pathetic life, unable to do anything other than watch as the world around me moved on. For countless ages, I could only sense the world become old and forget about me. I watched the descendants of my murderers build civilizations and empires, discover the secrets of science, delve into untold spirituality, and even begin to dip a toe into the vastness of outer space, with dreams of space empires and colonies glimmering behind their eyes.”

  Then the Dread God’s voice took a harsher turn. “But now, I have returned. And with me, so has dread. Soon, my former subjects will know the fear, the existential dread, that their ancestors used to feel when they gazed upon my glory. But this time, it will never end … it shall last from now until the end of eternity, and beyond.”

  “Your will be done, my lord,” said the Dread Priest. He immediately dropped his staff and got on his hands and knees before the Dread God. “Your servant has done what you asked. I have been loyal to you, always, and my loyalty shall extend to you even beyond death.”

  “Of that, I am well, aware, my faithful servant,” said the Dread God. “Were it not for your leadership in my absence, my people would have collapsed ages ago.”