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326 - Lesser Heterodox Cycle Pt. 3 [Cherno]
🕑 Added 2025-10-01 06:30:21 +0000 UTC“Behold, the stele upon which your cycle shall be inscribed, and let us hope that it is merely the first of many; this is your own Binding Obelisk, and from this day forth it shall be the anchor-stone of your theurgy, granted weight and solidity by the history inscribed upon it.”
The King beckoned with his fingers; both his torn-off finger and antler flew into his grasp, and he leapt from the throne alcove, halting in mid-air in front of the Binding Obelisk. He wielded the antler as a hammer, using its root for the striking face, and the stiffened finger as a chisel, speaking as he worked, the chants and drumming of uncountable eidolons still carrying through the throne chamber.
“Within this myth, you shall be rendered as the lynchpin of all things, as the protagonist of the myth that is thine life and identity, and by its binding power, the narrative of what you have done and who you are shall serve to grant your astral body the strength to host and channel the strength of countless spirits, far beyond those you contract with today. This is the Lesser Boundary of Theurgy, which so few have the mettle to surpass, and here you are, barely raising your leg to step over it. The guidestone-shard shall be your path to Zor’Aguhastra, your proof of communion, and it shall remain with you always, even through death, for that is your lot, god-eater. That snake-mouthed fool has doubtlessly already said as much. The truth is, the guidestone shards mean little; we would honor the accords even without them, for they benefit us. What truly matters is that the guidestone’s shards are never gathered again. Entombing them within Binding Obelisks is the method to this end.”
He stopped carving, craning his neck to address Krahe directly.
“I will not lie, for I am not able: Having a piece of the guidestone as part of thine obelisk grants it no greater power; it merely reinforces it a little, and eases your return to our great city. All that you see before you, all that you receive from us, is a direct result of your own efforts and of the fact you have made it clear that you are a worthy contractor for my beloved children. You have paid the price in advance.”
He had carved nothing of particular detail up until this point, only a scattered mass of lines that swirled and swam over the surface.
Looking the obelisk up and down, the King position his finger-chisel and drew back his antler-hammer.
“The Murderer of Murderers!” he called, and struck the chisel.
A woman’s silhouette, standing atop a pile of corpses, with emerald jewels for eyes and billowing hair thrice as long as the figure itself was tall, spiraling upwards from its head. Despite being fixed in place, carved into stone, Krahe was convinced that the hair was billowing and the eyes burned with light.
Another invocation and another image followed.
“The Executioner’s Assistant!” he called, and struck again, hands blurring. Krahe came to realize that it wasn’t a single strike. It was in fact an infinite number of chisel-strikes compressed into such a short span of time that she perceived it as one strike. In moments, the King of Many Colours performed the work of centuries.
The silhouette of a giant raven, half as tall as the woman, appeared at the woman’s feet, bent down and pecking at a corpse’s eye socket. The slightest shift of perspective caused it to change into a silhouette of Barzai’s humanoid form. The Daemon Core was absent, as Barzai no longer required a dedicated vessel to invoke that High Theurgy.
It was at this point that she began recognizing the corpses. Behind the chisel-strokes, within the dark stone, she glimpsed the faces of of those who were being carved. That wasn’t a silhouette, it was the CEO of Shiva Inc., Arjun Patel. And the corpse beneath him was the captain of his security forces, his cousin, Sanjay Patel. Each and every corpse, Krahe recognized as someone who had died by her hands, and in the same manner, she recognized herself upon the carving. Barzai wasn’t pecking at the hollow eye-socket of a random corpse, but that of Aldritch.
As more and more corpses joined the piles, the King of Many Colours grew increasingly more manic in his chiseling, and he cackled in joy all the way.
“Such history! Such a deep personal myth! I needn’t embellish at all!” he laughed.
Y’Alha’Zor and Zhah-Rhan-Thule soon joined, one crucified atop the corpse pile and another hovering above Krahe’s head, waiting. They had yet to carve their own place into their history through deeds, so this was their portrayal.
Another hammer-blow.
Incomprehensible giants loomed in the sky above it all.
Another.
Krahe’s figure became holographic just like Barzai, rapidly shifting between countless incarnations. Krahe at age 23 with metal arms and a cybernetic eye ripped from a defunct hunter-killer dog drone. Age 30, first fullborg conversion, eyes dead. Age 40, both arms converted to housings for the Blackhand Radiation Blasters. Age 43, a beheaded cyber-zombie, standing back-to-back with Krahe as she was immediately upon her rebirth, rampaging in two worlds at once. Krahe the Green-eyed Demon, the vision of her that only existed in the eyes of those she had killed face to face.
There was one version whose face wasn’t visible; it was Krahe as a knight, wielding a lance tall enough to reach the top of the obelisk. She stood with her back turned, pointing the lance at the giants in the skyline. In this interpretation, Krahe stood just high enough that the lance pierced one of the giants through the heart; the corpse-mountain was overgrown with flowers, and atop the artificial mountain stood the figures of all those who had aided her in her path, each standing upon another’s shoulders, with Krahe at the very top. She couldn’t tell who, exactly, it was that hefted her the rest of the way, whether it was Casus, or Barzai, Favonia, Firminus, even the Wizard, the King of Many Colours, and the Shadeless Queen were among them. That final figure upon whose shoulders knight-Krahe stood was completely inscrutable, carved out as a hollow shape with no definition.
She blinked, and that version of the carving vanished from sight.
