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Simurg	By : Cynthermes Category: A through F > The Cronnex Series Views: 1291 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Cronnex and its characters is explicitly owned by Trewin Greenaway and no profit has been made out of this fiction.

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Black.

Endless black…
Nothing but darkness surrounded him. He didn’t even know if he was asleep or awake.
Is this death?
Did he finally die but in vain?

“I wish you a valiant death.” Those parting words echoed in his mind, the moment he stepped into the purifying flame of the god, Helios’ Fire Temple.
To live a moment, suffer and die to atone for someone else’s sins: That was his fate.
A fate he willingly accepted, the moment he understood the essence of this sacrifice.
On the night of his 14^th birthday, the moon goddess, Gesryma appeared in front of him in the enchanted forest. She foretold his sad fate in a vague riddle. According to the queen goddess, his life will be engulfed in such great sorrow and suffering. And the only consolation he received was that his twin star would not experience the same thing.
The next day, his parents and elder sisters were brutally burned at the stake accused as heretics of the Ishman faith: The very religion where the goddess Gesryma is worshipped.
Their mansion was razed and also burned to the ground. He was the sole survivor among his foster family. They who sacrificed their lives to save him were not even his flesh and blood.
His heart ached recalling the memory and as if an invisible thread held them, was plucked and drifted away…
A warm feeling engulfed his heart, cradling it, examining it, and other memories spilled through uninhabited….
What was this force?
He tried to resist but couldn’t fight its albeit gentle prodding of all the emotions raging through his last moments.
His life as an apprentice of alchemy surfaced next. It was a happy memory along with his colleagues and his mentors… well one of them was good and the other was a she-wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Another memory filled with pain overwhelmed his joy of the previous. He was nearly killed in the enchanted forest where a tribe of Lycans ambushed him.
Thankfully his friend, Helias rescued him. And with a little help of his alchemic knowledge summoned the fire spirit Efreet, together they managed to survive the attack.
It was Mistress Sophaera, his mentor who sent him an errand in the forest. At first he didn’t suspect her involvement until he and Helias noticed the runes engraved on the Lycan’s fading carcass. The Lycans were familiars serving under Sophaera and they bore her signature rune.
When he finished his study of alchemy, his first mission was to exterminate the homunculi causing havoc in a small village on the mountainside. Sophaera specifically ordered that he should go with Nassazia, her daughter.
He hadn’t forgotten her deceit but another betrayal wracked through his being when Lycans attacked them once again and they were forced to take refuge at a temple devoted to Ra’asiel the god of the dark sun and ruler of chaos.
Unexpectedly, the keeper and avatar of the temple proved to be more genuine than his companions, Helias and Nassazia. The sharp stab of their betrayal still made his heart ache terribly.
That unknown force extracted the pain once more and that fragment of event faded.
Slowly the darkness was not the only thing that surrounded him… The feeling of having floated in an endless dark abyss was replaced by a feeling of fluttering in a warm wind. He felt weightless but his eyelids remained sealed and heavy like lead.
Another memory was hurled in his mind’s eye. They were his worst memories and he desperately willed to keep them from being extracted but that unknown force was determined to make him relive them again.
His true love’s gruesome and brutal death, which was the result of his foolishness in rescuing Helias flitted the longest in his thoughts. It seemed too painful to relive it again and again. He begged for it to stop when the vividness of that memory seem to eat away into his very soul.
If he could weep he would have done it endlessly for this was the ultimate torture.
Maybe this was experience of hell itself. Was he condemned to Tartarus?
Did more suffering await him after his death?
He preferred physical pain. He never thought he would willingly crave for his capture and agony at the hands of his and his twin’s arch foe than having to watch and repeat his utmost failure from saving his beloved, Adelantis
This most horrible recollection soon mercifully withered into nothing and replaced by another with lesser intensity.
The memory of his helplessness in Maerdas’ hands now played the most vividly: He was maimed, he took his sight willingly and suffered within the mother of all volcanoes, Vesuvian, chained and sealed with his arch foe Maerdas for a decade.
He was summoned back on the surface of the earth only to complete the final ritual of sacrifice.
The last pair of eyes that gazed at him was that of his successor, Dionis.
The last words that echoed in his ears belonged to his first demon lover, Teshnar’ad.
An apparition of his twin brother’s sad face flashed as he felt the sacred flame absorb and purify his mortal body then the darkness took hold of everything…
His sense of self vanished and his memories felt locked up in a vault. He could no longer reminisce them willingly. Something… the force or someone took that will from him.
Were memories robbed from the dead too?
If that was the case, he didn’t matter at all. His task in the world of the living was complete so he was now supposed to be allowed to rest in peace.
However the darkness didn’t remain with him for long. A bright yellow aura surrounded the black and he shielded his face with his arms.
“He’s stirring, my lord.” A voice, husky and laced with age reached his ears.
“Then, we are successful.” Another voice, authoritative but soothing responded.
Then it dawned to him. Their jagged and sharp tones were spoken from a foreign language he couldn’t quite grasp. The inflection and stress of their speech were very different from what he used to know but he couldn’t put a foot on the matter. It was very confusing and probably needed those stored memories he cannot freely access now.
But what surprised him was how he easily understood what was being said. He could comprehend what they were saying!
Gradually his awareness picked up two presences that hovered above him.
They must have been the ones those voices belonged to. Wait, his mind reeled in the peculiarity of his situation.
Can he have companions in death? Maybe his consciousness was playing tricks on him?
He soon felt the softness of what seemed to be a cushion he was currently lying on. The fragrance of oil and the heat of fire close by crept into his senses.
Wait again, senses? How can a dead person smell and feel? Certainly souls can hear but the other two senses somehow didn’t go well with death.
A large clawed hand grasped his wrist and his fingers stopped in mid-twitch. That hand felt like all encompassing power and warmth. It felt like fire, intense but soothing if you can hold it.
“You are not dead. Open your eyes.” That second voice he heard spoke close to his ear.
It felt hot and moist and cool at the same time! It is like a whiff of furnace smoke in a winter breeze.
His instinct told him he knew that voice somewhere and that touch… he had experienced it before! It was supernatural and powerful, not giving him time to comprehend or digest its true occurrence.
He tried to grasp the memory but they were still locked away and out of his reach.
Then at last in incredible slowness he grasped the meaning of those words.
He was not dead. He was to open his eyes.
When he did that a searing pain shot up his eyes and he reflexively covered his face with his hands again.
His hands… he moved them without pain! If he was alive he should have…
And when his eyes adjusted to the light… his eyes!
He tentatively pinched his eyelid and when it didn’t shift, he was sure it wasn’t his eye gems.

“He’s a bit slow on the uptake.” That first voice commented wryly then followed by a small chuckle.
His vision adjusted a little and caught two tall figures hovering above him. He gasped.
The taller one had deep violet somewhat scaly skin with a well-built muscular body. The muscles were finely outlined and embossed with dark viridian markings or runes or sigils, he didn’t know. He had broad shoulders and hairless chest with dark mauve nipples. His arms and legs were also long and muscular but not overly so. The normalcy of his limbs was offset with four blazing blue flames around his wrists and ankles. He wore a metallic chain with ethereal properties and the pendant; he stopped dead at his staring.
The pendant was shaped like the sun with eight points and the stone within glowed fiercely with a myriad of colors surpassing that of the rainbow.
He gulped.
Only one being had that pendant…
His eyes traveled to the hair: long, wavy and dark with green and golden highlights. The face, almost human only of the same skin color, the finely chiseled strong jaw, high cheekbones, majestically aquiline nose, and glowing golden slanted eyes like huge gems pierced through his soul.
He broke the contact and his vision shifted on the other being that was shorter with brick red colored scaly skin, silver markings and donned a midnight blue robe with white hems.
He lay in a strange cushion with nothing on! He was stark naked and these two stared down at him. His cheeks colored and his hand instinctively squirmed to cover his groin.
“You may leave us Har’kel’n.” The taller one he now knew as the Lord of Chaos ordered.
The robed one bowed and left them alone.
That golden gaze was back attentively at him.
For a moment, neither spoke but both held their eyes on each other. Then the lord sat next to him on the cushion or on the bed rather and rested his large clawed hand at the center of his chest. In a split second, he thought the flames would singe his skin but it felt the opposite: soothing and flowing like a gale.
He nearly flinched and the lord chuckled in amusement. “You are not dead as I told you. Your last sacrifice and encounter with the force removed every mortal essence in you.”
His heart quivered at that touch. It beat faster and louder.
The dead didn’t have a beating heart.
He was slow on the uptake indeed or he was just too immersed in denial.
“Th-That can’t be. I’m dead. I… You…” He blathered almost insensibly and winced when those fingers pinched his nipple.
“The dead can’t feel… especially this sensitive.” The lord drawled, with a hint of a seductive tone.
His nipple hardened and the redness in his cheeks spread on his ears, neck and chest.
“I… don’t understand.” He shakily spoke still in that language he knew was very much non-human.
“No, you don’t want to understand. You have resigned yourself so much in death that when it didn’t come you are… disappointed.” That last word was spoken in human language.
“What am I to do? Why am I here in…?” He wanted to say Tartarus but he wasn’t sure. Still his lack of most reverence in addressing the lord didn’t seem to offend the latter.
Ra’asiel, the God of the dark sun and ruler of chaos spoke to him like an equal!
“We are in Aruboth, the upper level of Pandaemonium. Oh, I see that the humans were more acquainted with Tartarus, the lower level.” Ra’asiel filled in for him still with an amused grin. It showed his sparkly pearl white and very sharp teeth.
Those must be sharper than diamonds, he thought uneasily.
“An upper and lower level? Does it mean that all the souls of the dead are to reside in Tartarus?” He distracted himself from that clawed hand now stroking his chest quite… affectionately.
Ra’asiel roared, a deep and throaty sound and for a moment he thought the lord was angry until he heard its gleeful tone. The hand in his chest still stroked him though.
The lord laughed, if that was how to correctly interpret that sound. “Nonsense! Haven’t I told you that you are not dead? The dead go to the Netherworld. Those with the bearer of light go to the Elysium Fields, and the dark bearers are sent to Ais Dysmassia.”
“How… can that be? If I’m not alive then I’m…?” He sucked a breath when that large body draped over him. Both of the lord’s clawed hands were on each side of his head.
His legs were splayed away from each other but did not straddle him. “Yes, you are now an immortal. The one dream and desire of your tormentor was rightfully given to you. You are not a half-immortal like before, Niccas. No, that’s not your name anymore.” And after that proclamation, Ra’asiel stood up and held out his clawed hand.
“You have to be baptized in a new name, as a new being.”
He hesitantly took the clawed hand offered to him. He was led from the lord’s main chambers, which was an entire palace compared to several other rooms they passed by. At one of the halls at the east wing, stone steps that appeared to float in the air became visible at the end.
The stone steps glowed and had glyphs on each, surging with an aura of supernatural energy. A feeling of being burned almost registered in his senses but quickly dissipated when he walked barefoot and still nude towards the end where a pool of dark red water came into view.
They stopped at the edge of the pond-like body of water. He hesitated and nearly tripped when the lord pushed him to move forward. He looked back towards the lord and the expression in his face was solemn. He returned his attention at the blood-hued water, which was surprisingly clear and saw his reflection. He looked virtually the same: raven glossy hair touched his shoulders, pale snow-white skin, lithe slender built body, and topaz-colored human-like eyes.
The water beckoned him to bathe in it and to submerge himself. The next thing he knew was the warm water caressed his chest and he relaxed. It felt like a warm bath at the end of an exhausting day. He soon closed his eyes about to fall asleep and jerked them open again when he felt the same hands stroking his hips.
He looked up to find the lord’s golden eyes burning holes into his entire being. He stared long and hard into his questioning eyes. Then a distant sound of chanting voices (or were they singing?) filtered through his ears.
They sang in the same archaic language of the people of the egg (his memory of that kind slowly opened up to remind him and then shut again afterwards he understood) and they chorused:

Hail to thee, one who conquered death!
Hail to thee, bearer of darkness and light!
Night and day, dawn and twilight!
He who once burned in the fires of the hottest flame!
Now stood at the right of the Almighty and Omnipotent Ra’asiel!
Rejoice he is reborn!
Hail to thee true doom bringer!
The spirit of the Phoenix lives within thee!
Rejoice to thee new lord of Tartarus!
Consort of the Almighty Ra’asiel!
Hail to thee Fourth Immortal!
All hail Eternal Cind’rikh!
When the last verse was recited he felt the sacred flaming red water drip down his hair and face. He closed his eyes and the stray drops slid down his neck, chest, and down to the pool once more.
“You are now my consort, Cind’rikh, Mediator of the goddess Gesryma and myself, the Lord of Tartarus and Doom Bringer to the wicked.”
He sensed arms envelope him and lips pressing gently against his own. Cind’rikh opened his new crimson eyes and stared at the massive god twice his size while his head reached up only to Ra’asiel’s chest.
It was all happening so fast! One moment he thought himself dead and then the next minute he was here standing in front of the Opposing god being baptized under a different name. He felt overwhelmed and confused. Wasn’t he supposed to be with Gesryma, his creator?
As if sensing his thoughts, the lord mind-touched him, “Give yourself time to ponder later.”
The chanting drowned whatever succeeding thoughts he pondered and he observed that they were surrounded by hooded figures in midnight blue robes. He just remained standing side by side the god on the sacred waters until the ceremony ended. They all bowed to them afterwards and left. Meanwhile, the newly-baptized godling was about to set foot on the stone steps when the amethyst god literally swept his legs up and carried him like they were just married.
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Simurg