As the thick, unnatural fog began to settle, drifting into the crevices of the mountain, Arike was slowly revealed. Her walk was pristine, a magnificent glide through the carnage that made the mud and blood beneath her feet seem to vanish. She didn't look like an Acolyte anymore; she looked like a force of nature.
The remaining giant Vongers, monstrosities that had just nearly decimated the crews, froze. Arike didn't strike them with a blade. She simply breathed.
With every step, she reached out her hand, and the shimmering purple-green light of her aura flared. Like a vacuum for life itself, she began to collect the souls of every standing giant. It was effortless. The giants didn't even have the chance to roar. Their massive, muscled frames began to shrivel and deflate devastatingly, their skin turning to grey parchment as their life force was siphoned into the ether surrounding her.
The surviving Acolytes, The Nuns, The Looters, The Monks, and the Watchmen, stood in a paralyzed trance. This wasn't a fight; it was an execution. They were witnessing a divinity that was simply not in their league.
The silence was broken by a very familiar, very annoyed voice.
"Arike!" Jog-Jog barked, leaning on his blood-stained gauntlets. "You total, absolute hypocrite! You were just back there, weren't you? Watching us get turned into scrambled eggs before you decided to come out and do your pristine walk? My ribs are singing a funeral song over here!"
Markas chimed in, pointing a trembling finger at her. "Totally unfair! You could have gotten here twenty Vongers ago! And seriously... why is your hair floating? Is that a power? Can I learn the floating-hair thing? It's very distracting while I'm trying not to die!"
The crew had never seen Arike like this. If she was Orion's daughter, they expected power, but this was monstrous. In less than a minute, a hundred giants were reduced to lifeless, shriveled husks.
Solon stood apart, his ancient eyes narrowed. He had lived for centuries in the pits of Old Hell before finding his twin soul, Kai. He recognized the vibration of the air, the scent of the power.
"Oya," Solon spoke, the name carrying a weight that silenced the wind.
"O-what?" Lena blurted out, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"Oya," Solon repeated, his voice like grinding stone. "The Queen of the Storm. The one who wears the lightning as a garment and dances upon the graves of the forgotten. She is the mother of nine, the one who splits the trees with a bronze sword."
He looked at the crew, who were staring at him like he was speaking gibberish.
"Oya-Ajere! The one who can cause a storm in a cup of water. The wind that blows and the world trembles. She is the guardian of the gate between the living and the dead."
Arike walked toward them. She didn't respond to the humor or the questions. Instead, she began to sing. It was a low, resonant dirge, a Yoruba healing chant that vibrated through the atoms of the survivors.
"Èmí òfere, ayé d'irun...
Ìwòsàn fún ara, ìtura fún ọkàn..."
As the melody drifted over them, a cooling sensation washed away their fatigue. Broken ribs knitted back together; gapping wounds on Ashy and Skye closed into faint scars. The Nuns felt their cursed energy stabilize, the Watchmen felt their combat-fog clear, and the Monks bowed their heads in reverence as they know what and Oya is . It was a total restoration of the soul.
"Rest up and gather your courage," Arike said, her voice now soothing but sharp as a razor. "Because we won't survive the one in the cave."
"We won't?" Markas squeaked.
Boss, the leader of the Looters, had reached his limit of being ignored. He walked up to her, his face a mask of aggressive worry. He reached out and grabbed Arike by the wrist, trying to force her to look at him.
"What did you just say?" Boss growled. "Who's inside the cave? I didn't sign up to fight gods!"
Instantly, the atmosphere dropped forty degrees. Arike didn't move her arm, but she looked Boss directly in the eyes. Her gaze made his very soul shiver; it was like looking into a hurricane. His body screamed in phantom pain, every nerve ending firing a warning.
"Get your hands off me," she said. It was calm, but it sounded like the cracking of a mountain.
Boss let go instantly, his hand trembling as he stepped back. He asked again, this time with genuine concern. "What... what is inside that cave?"
Solon stepped forward, his sword glowing with a dark, hungry light. "A demon. Lálú."
"Y'all need to start finding a way to make me understand these names!" Maya yelled, throwing her hands up.
"The King of Deceit," Hind whispered, her face pale. "My mother told me of him. Èṣù-Lálú. Merciless, unforgiving, and the architect of confusion. Even the other Orishas hesitate to cross his path, for he can make a man kill his own shadow thinking it's an enemy."
Arike turned her gaze toward the dark maw of the cave entrance. "He knows we're coming. He knows our weaknesses. He is the reason the Syndicate sent you lot here not to win, but to be the sacrifice that keeps him fed."
Jog-Jog spat on the ground. "Is this what the Syndicate really wants? We clean up the mess they couldn't handle?"
Skye tightened her rope, a feral grin on her face. "And we're going with you, right? I've never killed a god before."
"Not a god, a demon. Let's kill a demon!" Ashy yelled, his hysterical laugh returning, though it was laced with a new, sharper edge of fear.
"I'm not sure I signed up for this!" Markas wailed
They turned as one toward the cave, where the shadows seemed to reach out like fingers....
*****************************
While the mountain prepared for a divine slaughter, miles away, the dust was still settling around the ruined cathedral.
Dante stood amidst the rubble, his fingers digging into his chest where the hole remained, a cauterized wound that should have killed any mortal. His Arcanatech heart sputtered, sparks flying from his back.
"Anthrea..." he hissed, the name tasting like poison.
He looked at the spot where Black had been. The boy was gone, taken by the whirlwind. The ambush had failed, and for the first time in a decade, Dante felt a sensation he had long ago murdered within himself.
He felt vulnerable.
"Black!" he roared into the empty plaza, the sound echoed by the crumbling stone.
But Black was far away, suspended in a void of purple wind...