DISCLAIMER
This tale in particular will feature some pretty intensely graphic violence, disturbing images, and other rather dark things. While the other stories have been extremely violent, its at least been 'fun' violence in epic battles and so forth.
Don't read it, get freaked out, and come complain to me. I warned ya.
On the plus side, its going to be a great story, and I hope you stick around for it.

END DISCLAIMER

The Tales of Decimus Ultor

In a time long ago, in a land foreign to own, war was waged. It was an engagement between men, fought honorably on the field of battle, for glory and prestige. Great kings raise armies, do battle, and then the men return to their fields.

Times have changed.

The republic is young but strong. Enemies surround her, and many young men are called to fight on battlefields far from home, for causes they do not understand. Many will never see their homes, and those who do, find that things can never be the same.

These are the tales of Gaius Decimus, called Ultor the Avenger; exiled by his people, doomed to wander the earth, leading his men across the world, forever in search of a home they could not return to, seeking revenge against the man who condemned him...

I: The Land of the Barbarians
II: Gaius Decimus Exsul
III: Invictus
IV: The Affairs of Other Men

V

The Machinations of the Serpent

The black candle burned a jade green. The flame danced to and fro, the smoke releasing an acrid, decaying stench. The illumination cast shadows across the stone altar, revealing a scene of grim macabre. Where once the altar served as the site for the Pythia’s sacrifices to the god Apollo, in the midnight hours, it took a more sinister significance.

A man lay sprawled out, his clothing stripped. His eyes were cut out, leaving bloody sockets staring lifelessly at the temple’s ceiling. His mouth was open, his tongue ripped out. His belly was sliced open, the man’s insides spilled on the altar. He still twitched, struggling to breathe. His slit throat rose and fell as the victim took pained breaths.

The Pythia screamed. She had trouble sleeping, and decided to spend some time in the presence of the god. What she found could only be described as horrific, an utter perversion of everything she stood for.

Suddenly, she heard a step behind her. The young woman spun around, and saw him wearing a dark cloak, a hood pulled over his head. “Madam priestess, you should be asleep.”

“By all that is holy… What… what have you done?”

He smiled, his eyes gleaming in the shadows with a sinister fire. “He is coming. The Nameless One stirs in the darkness, waiting to be summoned to this world. The Lord of the Northern Sky will rend this existence asunder and all shall be free in the chaos!”

“You… You are mad!” The woman turned, starting to run. It was then that the flames flickered just a bit, casting light upon a horror in the shadows. Something colossal in size, with black scaly skin… the light reflected off of blood red eyes.

The Pythia screamed and turned around. The man had drawn his jagged dagger. He caught her and ran the poniard into her heart. She fell silent in his arms, her body still twitching.

“Shush now, milady… you are free…”

* * *

Gaius Decimus pushed his horse hard. He held his javelin ready to throw. Before him rode a member of the Athenian baggage train, a guardsman. Decimus hurled the missile and felled the man with a strike in the spine.

He pulled back on the horse’s reins, and turned back towards the road. Twenty horsemen, consisting of Marcus Quintus, Sextus Valerius, and members of the Megara militia, raided the Athenian caravan, picking off its protectors, stealing useful supplies, and burning the rest.

They moved fast, coming out of the woods like ghosts, striking and plundering, then vanishing before the infantry could be mobilized, or the Macedonian Companions roused.

“Quickly, you fools! We don’t have much time!” Decimus shouted, drawing his sword and closing in on the main fighting.

Marcus Quintus tossed a burning torch onto a cart of luxury goods, setting the couches and clothing on fire. “Bah, you and your orders!”

Sextus Valerius swung his sword at the livestock, herding the animals into the forest with two other members of the raiding party, “Did you get the messenger, Decimus?”

“He’s done, but I think another got away to the south. We need to go now!” Decimus replied.

Quintus halted his horse in front of a baggage cart, and rummaged through it. He hefted up a large wine jug, “Says it’s a gift from the Captain-General of the Hellenic League! I think its become our dinner drink tonight!”

Decimus waved off the other men, and rode past Quintus, slapping him on the back, “Now, Quintus! I can hear the trumpets in the distance!”

Quintus snapped the reins, and rode off into the woods, holding the wine jug between his arms, praying to the gods that he would not drop it.

* * *

Quintus was an angry man that night. He was able to get the jug, containing the most expensive wine money could find, from the best vineyards, aged to perfection, all the way back to camp. He got it into the stables, and even got one leg off the horse.

Quintus then promptly dropped it on the dismount, shattering the clay jug, and spilling the contents on the dirt. He nearly cried. In fact, Sextus swore, he caught him crying, an event Quintus fiercely denied.

Gaius Decimus rode back into camp and headed towards the command tent. It had been two months since what was supposed to be a decisive battle against the Hellenic League, and yet here he still was. His wolf’s skin cloak flowed as he walked, the old cloak keeping him warm in the cool Greek autumn.

The Roman was now looking more like a Spartan, as his beaten up old tunic had been replaced with a crimson tunic and Spartan armor. His hair was growing longer, although that was more due to neglect than emulating the Spartan style.

Decimus threw open the entrance, and found Anaximander and his officers standing around a table with a map of the region laid out across it, “We took what we needed and destroyed the rest.”

Anaximander raised his hand to silence Decimus as one of the officers said something to him. He then looked up, “Good, good, Decimus.”

Decimus stepped up and looked over the map. Small miniatures were positioned to mark the movements of units both on the Spartan and Athenian sides. “News?”

“Corinth is contributing troops to the effort, and apparently another detachment of Macedonian Companions are ten days out, along with an unknown amount of pike men, as well as light infantry, including Thracian mercenaries. The new Athenians that arrived yesterday added two thousand more hoplites, mostly militia men and conscripts, nothing to be too worried about,” Anaximander said.

“No, nothing to be worried about at all,” Decimus replied with a smirk on his face. “At least the new ones will be hungry. We captured about two months worth of supplies.”

Anaximander nodded, “Good. With the blockade cutting off Megara from the east, the city’s food has been running low.” Anaximander waved for a messenger, “Send the captured supplies to the city, with regards from their protectors.”

The messenger nodded, and left the tent.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Anaximander?” Decimus said.

“We’ve got enough food to last for quite a while, and my request for reinforcements should be returning soon, along with at least another two thousand men and supplies for a prolonged siege.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Anaximander smiled, “It will. We’re Spartans, we protect our own.”

Flashes of Decimus’ betrayal ran through his head, “If you say so.”

“Besides, the Athenians seem content to sit in their camp and only attack what comes to them. Gods willing, we can beat their blockade when the reinforcements arrive, as I’ve also requested quite a few ships. We’ll simply go south to the shore and circle around to where we need to go,” Anaximander said. “My scouts tell me that we could reach the sea safely with only a hundred or so men for protection.”

“And if they do decide to attack en masse? If the siege of Megara begins in earnest?”

Anaximader patted Decimus upon the shoulder, “We shall pray that the reinforcements come before then.”

Suddenly, a messenger dressed like a Megara militiaman came bursting in, sweat on his face, panting heavily, “Sir… There is an emergency… You’re requested at the Council Chamber immediately…”

Anaximander nodded, and looked to Decimus, “Saddle up. You’re coming with me.”

* * *

Every time Decimus entered the Council Chamber, he got the chills.

“The Megarans once asked the oracle at Delphi how to be a prosperous city,” Anaximander said the first time Decimus was brought. “The oracle replied that they would succeed if they took counsel with the majority. The Megarans thought that the majority meant the dead… And that is why the graves of their heroes surround us.”

The tombs of ancient heroes lined the walls of the Council Chamber, brittle skeletons dressed in full battle armor, still clinging to their weapons, as if they were waiting to be summoned to the defense of their homeland.

With all the bizarre things Decimus had seen, he wasn’t so sure that they wouldn’t do just that.

“It is good to see you, Anaximander,” the old man who lead the council said in his gravely voice. He shook Anaximander’s hand weakly, and then nodded to Decimus, “And you as well, Decimus.”

“What is the emergency, Nikomachos?” Anaximander said.

“Perhaps Kreon should tell you, he is the one who alerted me.”

The two warriors turned their attention to Kreon, a commander of the Megaran Militia cavalry, and who had often joined in on the raids. He was a respectable rider, but not very skilled in the arts of war. His bravery made up for it, though, and Decimus had nothing poor to say about him.

“Sir, we have just received a message from Delphi for you,” Kreon said. He reached for a small scroll, and handed it to Anaximander.

The Spartan read the note, and his face became very stern and grim, “We need to go now, Decimus.”

* * *

Decimus barely had time to grab some of his baggage before Anaximander left camp. He pushed his Macedonian horse hard, trying to catch up with the Spartan. He rode as hard as he could, and still took a long time to overtake Anaximander.

“Why are we leaving so soon? The camp - -”

“The camp will be fine!” Anaximander snapped. “This is more important!”

“What was in that message?”

“A friend of mine is in trouble… Something bad has happened.”

That was all he would offer.

Several miles out from Megara, the two warriors caught something on the horizon. There was a blockade across the road, Hellenic League soldiers barring the pass.

Anaximander pulled up, and they halted.

“What are we going to do about that?” Decimus said.

The Spartan was silent for a moment, mulling over the various plans in his head. “We cannot stop.”

Decimus nodded, sarcastic in tone, “Yes, we cannot stop. We need to ride straight through a hundred armed men, lightly armed ourselves, dressed like Spartans and quite infamous among the enemy, and more than likely, wanted men with a rather large bounty on our heads. No, we cannot stop. We need to keep riding for some place that you won’t tell me, to do something you won’t speak of, when we have a far more important war to be fighting!”

Anaximander struck Decimus so hard that the Roman could taste blood, “Be silent, boy.”

Decimus held his jaw, putting his finger to his split lip. He did not lower his eyes from Anaximander’s gaze. The Spartan laughed gruffly, and spoke, “So you want to know what is more important than Megara?”

“Yes,” Decimus responded coldly.

“When I was a child, there was a girl who lived near to us. We were good friends while we were young, and I can remember many a happy day spent in her company.

“Then my training came, and I was a child no longer. However, my memories of her remained fond, and I even entertained the possibility of marrying her one day.

“But that was not the gods’ plan, as when I returned she was gone. Sent to Delphi to become a priestess. I was saddened, but I found love in my wife –”

“A wife?” Decimus exclaimed. “You’re married?”

“Of course I am. I have two beautiful daughters and a baby boy as well.”

Decimus shook his head, laughing a little bit, “Amazing… Anaximander the father…”

“Regardless, our friendship continued, and we vowed to write one another once a month without fail,” Anaximander said. “This month’s letter failed to come. The messenger today was informing me that Zenobia left no letter. Something has happened, and I intend to find out what.”

“So we are going to find an old friend of yours and that’s more important than a war?”

Anaximander glared at Decimus, “This is a matter involving the Pythia of Delphi! The relationship between man and the gods themselves is at stake, and you think some mere battle for territory is more important? You may have proven yourself on the field of battle, Gaius Decimus, but you still have much to learn of this world!

“Now, give me your cloak, we are crossing the border, sentinels be damned!”

* * *

Pandion poked the tip of his spear into the bales of grain. He probed the cargo of the wagon, and then grunted his satisfaction. “You may pass. Leave seventy percent of your product as toll.”

The old farmer cried out with indignation, “What? I’ll be ruined! I won’t even make back the costs of the seed!”

“Sir, the Second Hellenic League appreciates your cooperation during these trying times. The Captain-General thanks you for your dedication to the cause of uniting Greece, and bids you to continue to live your life as such a good citizen,” Pandion said dryly, the words spoken a thousand times over to a thousand different travelers and merchants.

“You bastards, I hope the Spartans run right over you,” the old man said as he spat at Pandion’s feet.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Pandion said as the farmer drove his card along the path. “Old son of a bitch,” he muttered. He turned to the soldier behind him, “Make sure he gets roughed up when he reaches the end of the check point, and take the rest of his grain. That’ll teach him respect.”

The other man laughed, “Sure thing, Pandion.” He trotted off to inform the soldiers on the other side of the check point.

Two travelers on horseback now approached. One was clothed in a ragged tunic, the other had a wolf’s skin cloak pulled over his entire body, hiding his face. This should be an interesting one, Pandion thought to himself.

“Halt. On behalf of the Second Hellenic League, I must inspect your persons and your cargo. These are dangerous times and we can’t be too safe.”

Decimus climbed off his horse, and raised his arms to be frisked. “Of course. Spies are everywhere.”

Pandion gave him a strange look, and then turned to the covered rider, “Get down from there.”

The rider under the cloak did not move.

Pandion raised his spear, “I said - -”

“I wouldn’t do that, friend,” Decimus said.

“Oh, and why shouldn’t I?”

“He’s a leper.”

Pandion dropped his spear as he recoiled from Anaximander, “Gods! I almost touched him!”

“That you did. I suggest you also go purify yourself, as I’ve just begun showing the signs of developing the disease,” Decimus said.

The Athenian soldier froze, horror slowly overcoming his expression. Without saying a word, he turned and started to run for the river.

As the two warriors rode through the checkpoint unmolested, Decimus swore he heard Anaximander chuckling.

* * *

It was cold that night.

They finally set up camp a few hours before dawn, when the light was completely gone, and it seemed as if the stars themselves vanished.

Decimus couldn’t sleep. He sat with his cloak and blanket wrapped around him, his legs pulled up to his chest. He rocked back and forth, trying to keep warm.

Winter was approaching, and that worried him. The Athenian army would certainly want to attack before the campaigning season ended, and he wanted to be back with the men.

At the same time, he knew that he must follow Anaximander to Delphi. He had been unsure at first, but as they got closer to the holy city, his instincts became stronger. The same instincts led him to Megara, and that was working out well… Somewhat.

On the eastern horizon, Decimus could see the sun starting to rise. Anaximander would wake soon, and they would continue to ride for Delphi.

Perhaps they would find their answers there.

* * *

The holy city of Delphi was a marvel of Greek architecture. Massive government buildings adorned with titanic sculptures dedicated to the gods and old heroes, tall apartment complexes, and beautiful gardens in the marketplace were enough to impress any traveler, but the temple was the true masterpiece.

“Before the dawn of man, Zeus desired to find the center of the earth. He sent two eagles to search, releasing one to the west, and the other to the east. The two birds met at Delphi, reaching the exact center of our world,” the tour guide said. “Inside the temple, the very stone marking the center of the earth, the omphalos, can be found. Here, Pythia will make her prophecy.”

The crowd nodded in approval and talked amongst themselves as the man spoke. Decimus nudged Anaximander, “I thought her name was Zenobia.”

“Pythia is her title. Apollo slew the serpent beast Python here, and cast the devil’s corpse into a crack in the earth. Smoke arose from the fissure, and when the oracle inhaled it, she entered a state where Apollo could communicate through her. Therefore, she is Pythia. All the priestesses take the traditional name,” Anaximander said.

“But you still call her Zenobia.”

“My old habits are none of your concern. You and I both shall treat her with the utmost respect, is that understood?”

“Of course.”

“In order to receive the divine consultation of the Oracle, one must first bath at the Castalian Spring,” the tour guide continued. “Then, the faithful walk along the Sacred Way, leading from the city up Mount Parnassus to the Temple of Apollo. Along the Sacred Way are offerings from worshippers, as well as great buildings filled with offered treasures from the many cities of Greece.”

“Excuse me… how would one speak to the Pythia?” Decimus asked, raising his hand to get the guide’s attention.

“In order to receive a prophecy?”

“Be silent, Decimus,” Anaximander whispered, hitting Decimus.

“No, no, I mean speak to her. Talk to her. Not when she’s in her holy state, but just normal,” Decimus said.

The man laughed, and the crowd joined him, “Oh I’m sorry, sir. Lady Pythia is completely pure, and will not have contact with anyone besides her servants and the temple priests, unless they are pilgrims in search of a prophecy.” He smiled, chuckling still, “You can’t just ‘chat’ with the holiest woman in the world.

“Now, moving on, you can see the theater, and the stadium where the Pythian Games are held –”

“You fool, do you know nothing of the world? One does not talk to the priestess,” Anaximander started.

“Then how are we going to check up on her? Or are we just here to see the sights? Hell, why are we in a tour group?”

“We are not here to be part of the tour group, Decimus. We are here to see him,” Anaximander said.

As soon as the words were spoken, a young man dressed in ceremonial robes came down the Sacred Way to the city. He smiled warmly at Anaximander, and the two exchanged a short bow, “It is good to see you, milord.”

“It is good to see you as well, Apollodorus. I am glad you received my message.”

“Of course, sir Anaximander. How is it that I may help you?”

“I wish to speak with the priestess.”

Apollodorus shook his head, a troubled look on his face, “Sir, you know that we are not allowed to do that. It is against the laws of the gods.”

“I am aware of the laws, Apollodorus, but this is an emergency.”

“I… I will see what I can do,” Apollodorus said, nodding. “I will speak with the head priest, and ask him to come to talk with you.”

“That would be greatly appreciated, my old friend.”

“Of course, Anaximander,” he said. The young man turned and hurriedly headed up the hill, back towards the Temple.

* * *

Two, nearly three, hours passed before the priest came down the Sacred Way. The man was skinny, with long, bony fingers. His face appeared sunken, his eyes set far back in his head, black eyeliner adding to the effect. His hair was the same raven color, long and braided. The priest wore a hooded robe of royal blue, with old gold trim. His skin was dark, and Decimus thought he looked more like a man of the southern lands than a Greek. Egyptian, perhaps.

“My name is Setnahkti, high priest of Delphi, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Decimus and Anaximander both bowed politely to the priest, and he shared the gesture.

“It is my understanding that you have something to discuss with the Oracle?”

“I need to see the lady Pythia,” Anaximander said.

“Ah, well you do know the procedures for attaining an audience with the Oracle --”

“I do not want a prophecy. I must speak with her. Now.” Anaximander’s voice became stern. Decimus recognized the tone, it was as if the Spartan was preparing for battle.

“I apologize, but you did not hear what I had to say. The Oracle is not at the temple right now,” Setnahkti replied.

“The Oracle is not to leave Delphi,” Anaximander said.

“Yes, sir, but this was a matter of grave importance and dire emergency. The Oracle was needed in Pella, at the request of the Captain-General of the Hellenic League. There has been a disturbance in the south and the Captain-General requested the lady’s consultation regarding the matter,” Setnakhti said.

“Ahem. The Captain-General knows the procedures for contacting the Oracle. He comes to Delphi, not the other way around,” Anaximander shot, his malice at the mention of the Captain-General only thinly veiled.

Setnahkti nodded, and smiled courteously, “Again, I apologize. I am only a humble priest, no politician. I only follow the orders of my mistress, and of my gods.”

“Of course.”

“That said, the lady is expected to return within a day or so. I shall express your wishes to her as soon as she arrives. If you two do not already have lodging, the Temple will provide you with a room at the finest inn in Delphi, normally reserved for ambassadors and great heroes,” Setnakhti said.

“We already have a room --” Anaximander started, only to be cut off.

“We’ll take it, and appreciate your hospitality, esteemed one,” Decimus interjected, bowing to the priest.

“Ah. Well,” Setnakhti clapped and a servant approached, “Take these men to the inn, and give them the utmost respect.”

“Yes, milord,” the servant responded.

“Hopefully we shall speak tomorrow, fair travelers,” Setnakhti said. He bowed, and returned up the Sacred Way.

* * *

“I don’t trust him,” Anaximander said as they ate that night. The Spartan bit into his meat, tearing it from the bone.

“Neither do I,” Decimus replied as he wiped red wine from his mouth, setting down his cup. “But why make an enemy out of him so soon? We don’t have much money to start with, and receiving free food and lodging is a nice perk.”

“We could have slept as we did last night.”

Decimus laughed, “Ha. I have slept outdoors or in tents enough in my life. It has been months since I have enjoyed a good bed. Let me have my indulgences.”

“Those indulgences are why your training was so difficult. We Spartans enjoy self denial and hardship. We thrive in it.”

“I am not saying to live softly one’s entire life, Anaximander. But sleeping indoors once every few months instead of in a camp? I don’t think that will hurt my fighting prowess.”

Anaximander smiled, “Let us hope not.”

“And,” Decimus said as he raised his cup in a toast, “Let us hope that we will not need to test either of our prowess on this travel.”

“Indeed,” Anaximander said as their goblets hit, spilling drops of wine onto the wooden table.

The two men drank deeply of their cups, and continued their meal. Several minutes went by before another word was spoken.

“Tell me about your family,” Decimus said.

“I already have.”

“No, I mean tell me about them. What are their names? How old are they? Do you ever miss them?”

“I have said all I want to say about my home life, Decimus,” Anaximander said sharply. “I am going to bed now. Good night.”

With that, the Spartan left the table, and walked upstairs to their room.

Decimus took another drink from his wine, and then tore a large piece from his loaf of bread. He remained quiet for the rest of his dinner.

* * *

The high priest of Delphi, Setnakhti, sat in his dark throne. He stroked his chin, pondering his situation. His secret chamber was deep underneath the Temple, hidden from all but he and his guests. Before him lay the dead body of Pythia, the Oracle herself, once known as Zenobia of Sparta, the wound of a jagged sacrificial knife over her heart.

Setnakhti sighed heavily, his spirit greatly troubled. The priest stood up and walked to the beautiful corpse, letting his fingers dance across her face. He looked into her glassy eyes, permanently frozen with fear. Her mouth was open, blood dripping from perfect lips.

Oh, my dear, he thought to himself, this is so unfortunate, so very unfortunate. He paced back and forth, and then went to an ancient chest, unlocking it and opening it up. He reached inside and pulled out a book marked with archaic symbols and glyphs. He opened the book, and laid it next to the Pythia.

So much planning and preparation, all interrupted by the foolish young priestess. She had to die, he reasoned, but it created many troubles for him. Questions would be asked. He could fabricate tales of Pythia traveling throughout Greece, but soon those would not be enough. Eventually he would have to do this, but with the appearance of the two travelers, his hand was forced.

Setnakhti picked up his tools and potions, and prepared himself. He drew out his dagger, and raised it above his head, starting to utter an incantation in a foul tongue older than man itself. He lowered the blade slowly, until it finally pierced the priestess’ dead, glassy eyes.

Setnakhti read from the Book of the Dead, and went about his sinister work.

* * *

The following morning it was reported that Lady Pythia’s carriage had arrived late at night. She had fallen ill on the way home, however, and would not be able to prophecy nor receive guests for several more days.

Anaximander would not accept this, much to the chagrin of high priest Setnakhti.

The priest now found himself entering the Pythia’s bedroom, informing her of Anaximander’s arrival. The young woman lit up, her eyes bright with excitement. She was confused however. “But why would he come here? Why would he come so far north? Anaximander of Sparta is no fool. He knows he would be a wanted man here.”

It was now Setnakhti’s turn to be intrigued. He raised a thin eyebrow, and decided it was time to intervene. He whispered something in that forbidden tongue, and suddenly Zenobia was frozen, her eyes staring blankly.

The process of reanimating the dead was complex, and only perfected by the highest practitioners of the necromantic arts, men who died centuries ago, and whose teachings had been lost to the ages. However, such a powerful necromancer as Setnakhti wielded certain controls over those lost souls who he resurrected from the grave.

The necromancer reconstructed the woman’s memory, and maintained full sway over her mind and spirit, ready to become his servant whenever he spoke the ancient incantations. First, he erased her murder from her memory, naturally. To replace it, he devised a trip to the city of Pella in Macedon, capital of the Hellenic League, where the Pythia prophesized to the Captain-General. The return trip was harsh, and the lady became sick, explaining her unusually pale skin.

Once these memories were in place, believed by Pythia to be the record of events that actually occurred, Setnakhti thought he was ready to receive her guests.

But her response raised his interest. And so the resurrected woman was once again put under his trance, and using his unholy magics, he probed her memories, learning about this ‘Anaximander.’

He learned of their shared childhood and friendship, their different destinies, and their continued correspondence. While the letter writing would pose a problem, it was what she said next that was most important.

“Anaximander is the commander of a Spartan battalion, which is defending Megara from the attacks of the League. The League has posted a great bounty and promise of tremendous rewards for the capture of Anaximander, and even more for the Spartan’s head upon a pike,” she said, her voice monotone and devoid of emotion or inflection.

Setnakhti smiled, a conspiracy forming in his depraved mind. Perhaps he would ally the Oracle with the Hellenic League. He would gain favor with the great Captain-General, and enter his inner circle. Then, he would murder the Macedonian, and reanimate him as a servant! With the legions of the Second Hellenic League under his command, there would be no limits for Setnakhti! No, no… Setnakhti the Great, conqueror of the world! The Lord would be so pleased with him. He would prepare the way for his master, and would sit at his right hand at the end of all things.

Perhaps being forced to kill the Pythia was fate after all. Now, the world was at his fingertips. What a pleasant day this was.

* * *

Anaximander and Decimus waited in the vestibule of the temple. They ritually bathed at the start of the Sacred Way, traveled along its path, and now finally were allowed to meet with the priestess. The two were dressed in the traditional white robes of an outsider in such a holy place.

Decimus could tell Anaximander was anxious. He swore, the man was more at ease marching into a battle outnumber one hundred to one than waiting to see his old friend. The woman would clearly have some explaining to do, for based on his observations, she would never have missed her regular letter.

After an hour of nothing, the high priest Setnakhti entered, and bowed to the two men. “I present to you the Oracle of Delphi, the Lady Pythia.”

Pythia walked out of the sanctuary, descending the marble steps slowly. Her long, raven black hair shone brilliantly in the light, her dark eyes reflecting the natural light than entered through the vestibule’s windows. The priestess wore a near transparent blue top, held to her body by a gold clasp. Her pants were loose, almost in the style of a Persian. Her figure was stunning, her body full and lean. She smiled at Anaximander, and nodded towards Decimus.

Decimus had not known what to expect from the famous Oracle of Delphi, but this was not it.

Anaximander got down on one knee in front of the priestess, and Decimus followed. The woman once known as Zenobia put her hand upon Anaximander’s shoulder, “Rise, my friend. You know such formalities are not needed between us.”

The Spartan smiled, standing up and hugging her, a soft kiss upon her cheek, “It is good to see you.”

She nodded, “It has been years, Anaximander. How is Maia? And the girls, Sophia and Zenobia? They must be developing into beautiful young women now. I feel that soon young men all over Greece will learn the fearsome reputation of Anaximander of Sparta.”

Anaximander chuckled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “They are all very well. Although I will say that Maia has her hands full with Tycho. He’s just beginning to walk, and he already has his father’s speed.”

The Pythia laughed loudly, putting her hand over her mouth, “Oh my, I can only imagine what a terror he will become.” She now took Anaximander’s hand, and looked upon Decimus. “Who is your comrade, Anaximander?”

“This is Gaius Decimus, a traveler from the west, who has become sort of an apprentice to me in recent months.”

Decimus bowed politely, “Don’t let him fool you, I am clearly the master, despite what Anaximander says. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Oracle. I am honored.”

The Oracle nodded, “Any friend of Anaximander is family to me. Welcome to my home. Forget your formalities however. For the time being, let us put our duties and battles behind us, and let me be Zenobia for a day.”

Zenobia now led Anaximander up the steps, beckoning Decimus to follow. “You are dismissed, Sethakhti. I shall entertain my guests for the remainder of the day.”

The high priest swallowed nervously, and bowed, “But I must protest, mistress, I am here to serve you.”

“Then serve me by letting me enjoy the company of my friends,” Zenobia said.

“Yes, madam,” Setnakhti said as he retired from the hall.

As they left the vestibule, Zenobia cast a glance at Decimus. “It is good to meet you, wolf of Mars.”
Decimus was startled, he heard her voice, yet she did not move her lips nor open her mouth. He felt a familiar chill along his spine as he thought to himself that there was something peculiar about this priestess.

* * *

“I was stricken by a sudden illness just before reaching Pella. We set up camp about twenty miles outside of the city, and my attendants decided it would be best to return home to Delphi instead of continuing my travels,” Zenobia said. “I was going to write my letter in Pella and send it from there, but as you can imagine… that didn’t go as planned.”

“You’ve never missed one before. Never,” Anaximander said.

“And so you left Megara to come check up on me? You left your men, and the city you swore to protect… you risked your honor to come check on me?”

“You… you’re a very important woman. Important to all of Greece. One city is nothing in comparison to the Oracle.”

Zenobia laughed, “You fool.”

Anaximander became a little irritated, “We have been together since birth. You are like a sister to me. I am sorry if I am concerned about you.”

“You are such a good man,” Zenobia said, putting her hand upon his cheek lovingly, “The world is a better place for having you. But you need not worry about me. I am fine, I will always be fine.”

There were a few minutes of silence after that, and Decimus felt obligated to break it. Before he could get a word out, Anaximander spoke: “Why did you go to him?”

“The Captain-General?” She said. “The Captain-General is a complex man… Far more than you realize. He thinks he is doing what is best for all of Greece. And at times, I might agree with him. Perhaps we would be happier under one banner.”

“You do know he wants me dead,” Anaximander stated.

“I said at times I agree with him,” Zenobia nodded.

Anaximander shook his head, “Let us not talk about this anymore tonight.”

And so they did not.

They spoke of Anaximander’s family. Of his wife Maia, who ran his estate like a professional, to the point where she handled all of his business. His daughter Sophia, who makes the most beautiful sculptures in all the land, and were she not a girl, she would be famous throughout the world. His younger daughter Zenobia, named for priestess, and who hopes to follow in her namesake’s footsteps. And of course, Tycho, the boy who almost died after birth, but who was given the name meaning ‘luck,’ after he survived and will turn into as strong and healthy a man as his father.

Hours went by, drinks and meals shared.

Setnakhti listened to the conversation from within his chambers. The link he shared with the reanimated Zenobia allowed him to hear what she heard, guide what she said.

He learned much, but for some reason, part of her mind remained locked to him. Perhaps some part of her religious training gave her a discipline that normal people did not. It was something to contemplate at another time.

The conversations went on, and he learned little. Finally, the one called Decimus excused himself, saying that he needed to get to bed. He stood up, and for a moment, his sleeve went up, and Setnakhti saw a mark upon the inside of his arm.

Ultor sum.

Setnakhti recoiled in horror, falling backwards on his chair, and crying out. He trembled, and could not move for a moment. A vision of an old prophecy flashed through his mind, words written in the ancient tongue.

The wolf and the serpent. Glyphs of the wolf and the serpent, tangled in battle, fighting to the death.

The marking… the marking of the god of war. Is this westerner the wolf? Is he the great enemy spoken of in the books?

No… he couldn’t allow him to survive either way. Tonight… he would kill both of them tonight, Anaximander and the westerner.

If this man was the wolf, he had not yet realized his role in the things to come. Setnakhti would strike him down before he dare try.

***

Gaius Decimus’ sleep was not peaceful that night. He went out to the various taverns, leaving the two friends alone, and stayed out until long after midnight. When he returned to the room, Anaximander was already in bed and asleep. After drinking some more wine and a few short calisthenics before bed, he retired.

The dreams were dark. He could not see nor hear his enemy, but a heavy, foreboding dread overcame him. In his nightmares, he was alone in the abyss, yet he knew that he was not truly by himself. Something evil was lurking in the darkness, something ancient and twisted.

The darkness closed in on him, encircling him, trapping him. The breath was squeezed from his lungs, his very body collapsing as the abyss imploded.

“You are nothing to me, Ultor Martis.”

Decimus snapped to consciousness, covered in a cold sweat. He tried to sit up, but found himself restricted, bound by a cord that must be over two feet thick. The ropes were getting tighter.

Something hissed.

Decimus tried to cry out as he realized that he was caught in the coils of a giant python. The hideous beast was squeezing the life from him, a sadistic grin upon its cold, reptilian face. The serpent hissed again, its forked tongue flicking upon Decimus’ face. Its black eyes stared back at its prey, and Decimus felt as if he was looking onto the very abyss itself.

“A -- Anax -- imander --” Decimus choked out.

He heard a rustling, and then another pained gasp. He looked to his comrade’s bed, and found the Spartan caught in the clutches of another – no, the same serpent! The beast must have been over twenty feet long, at least two feet thick!
The python now moved its head towards Anaximander, arching itself so tall that it almost brushed against the ceiling of the inn.

The beast tightened its grasp, and Decimus felt as if he would be crushed like a field mouse. He gritted his teeth, when he heard a sickening pop, fearing that his bones had finally given in.

Anaximander let out a cry of agony, and threw himself from his bed onto the floor. He slipped free from the beast’s clutches, and scrambled for any weapon he could find. He picked up the wine jug, holding it in his off-hand.

As Anaximander stood poised, his makeshift weapon readied, Decimus saw Anaximander’s right arm dangling limply. The Spartan had dislocated his own shoulder in order to escape.
The python brought its head back, and then struck at Anaximander, snapping its massive, dripping fangs, trying to unleash its lethal, unholy venom.

Anaximander lunged, and swung the jug at the mutant serpent, shattering the terracotta jug. The snake recoiled, hissing in anger at the unexpected pain.

Decimus was released, and immediately went for a wooden chair. He brought up the heavy piece of furniture, and then smashed it across the back of the giant snake.

The beast turned from Anaximander, and flicked its long tongue at Decimus. The creature’s black eyes met Decimus’ again, and both were frozen for a moment.

"Decimus!” Anaximander cried.

The snake struck.

Anaximander unsheathed his long knife, and tossed the blade at Decimus. In an instant, the Roman caught the blade, and dove underneath the serpent’s attack. He drove the knife upwards, impaling the head of the beast through the bottom of its jaw, driving the long blade in to the hilt. Decimus roared, twisting the knife, opening the wound as wide as he could.

The monster thrashed around the room, crushing the furniture, wooden splinters sent flying. Anaximander ducked underneath the tail, which hit the wall with enough force to shake the entire inn.

Decimus pulled up, and cut through the serpent’s flesh, leaving the head attached only by a thin piece of skin. Black blood shot out from the decapitated beast like a geyser, splattering across the walls, leaving Gaius Decimus dripping in the blood of the serpent.

It finally fell to the ground, dead.

Its tail still twitched.

Anaximander clutched his dislocated arm, gritting his teeth in the face of the agonizing pain, “What dread assassin was that?”

Gaius Decimus fell to his knees, watching as the corpse of the gigantic python disintegrated. The black blood that dripped from his body burned horribly, and his mind raced back to another time, and another place, where he first proved himself. “That was a beast of the abyss, no creature of this world.”

With a sickening sound, Anaximander popped his arm back into position, without uttering a single cry. “We are going back to the temple.”

* * *

They took up their weapons, and stalked through the dark hours before dawn, when the moon has set and the stars have vanished. They went up the Sacred Way, and to the foot of the temple. Their daggers were drawn as they climbed in an open window, their steps silent and swift.

Ahead of them, a long thin drapery hung from the ceiling. Decimus raised his hand to halt Anaximander when he saw the silhouette of a man walking in front of the drapery. Decimus drew his dagger. The instincts of the wolf, the great hunter, took over, and immediately Decimus pounced. He came up behind the figure, put his arm around his neck, and pressed the blade of his knife against his throat. The unknown man thrashed and attempted to scream. Decimus tightened his grip.

“Apollodorus!”

Apollodorus the servant let out a muffled cry of relief as Anaximander recognized him.

“Be silent and I’ll release you,” Decimus whispered.

The young man nodded, and Decimus let him go. Apollodorus gasped for air, and clutched at his throat. “G… gods above… What are you doing here?”

“Why are you awake and wandering?” Decimus asked.

“I… I often cannot sleep and go to pray to the god in the sanctuary… But again, this is very much against the temple’s laws for you to be here…”

“An assassin came to us in the night,” Anaximander said. “We have come for the priestess, we do not believe she is safe.”

“Why do you say that? Surely the Captain-General’s bounty has enticed assassins before? Why is Pythia involved?”

“Our assassin was a twenty foot snake,” Decimus said.

“Apollo save us…” Apollodorus spoke.

“Zenobia was not herself tonight. She was distant, and I could sense desperation in her. She was trying to warn me, to tell me something, and I could not understand. I fear she is in danger, from the same enemy that came for our lives,” Anaximander said.

Apollodorus swallowed hard, and nodded, “Y… yes, of course. I’ll take you to her right away.”

The three went through the temple to the Pythia’s room, making no sound. At the entrance, Decimus and Anaximander took a post at each side of the door, and gestured for Apollodorus to wait behind them.

Decimus went in first, his knife in one hand, his sword in the other. Anaximander came in afterwards, and nearly collided with the Roman, who he found standing confused.

“She’s gone,” Decimus said.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Apollodorus said. He came into the bed chamber, and just as Decimus had observed, the room was indeed empty. “She cannot have gotten far… The only place she would go is the sanctuary, and I did not see her there.”

Decimus sheathed his knife, and slipped his sword back into his scabbard. “What do you want to do, Anaximander?”

“We find her. We tear this damn temple apart if we must.”

“But, sir, this is a holy shrine, there are places that no common man is allowed -- ” Apollodorus started.

“Take me there, or I swear I shall cut you down where you stand, old friend,” Anaximander said. “Zenobia’s life might be at stake, and every second we stand here is more danger she is in.”

Apollodorus nodded, “I understand. Come with me.”

They explored throughout the chambers of the temple, and finally came upon the prophecy room. It was a large, open space, with stone walls of the temple blending in with Mount Parnassus itself. At the center of the room, there was a massive crack in the earth, an eerie green light coming from the fissure. Across the opening hung the omphalos.

“This is one of the most holy spots on earth,” Apollodorus said. “It was here that Apollo slew the snake Python and cast its body into the abyss.”

“Apparently Delphi has a thing for monster snakes,” Decimus said.

“We are going below. There is a labyrinth of tunnels underneath the earth, ancient rooms far older than this temple, and perhaps mankind itself…”

Decimus took a deep breath. He did not particularly enjoy his last trip beneath the surface.

They descended along narrow paths for a long time. The eerie green luminescence provided them with just enough light to see, but there was a thick smoke that was starting to accumulate.

“These are the fumes that the oracle breathes in order to prophecy,” Apollodorus said. “Do not breathe too deeply, friends, for those not initiated into the rites of the priesthood cannot easily survive the state.”

They continued to go below, deep into the core of Mount Parnassus. Decimus looked down, but still could not see the bottom. They went along the path towards the ritual bath of the Pythia, where the woman prepared herself to channel the god Apollo, but she was not found there either. “This tunnel connects us to the Athenian treasury,” Apollodorus said. “In dire emergencies, it can be used as an escape route.”

Time passed.

Deep within the depths of the earth, Decimus recognized the architecture. Figures cut within the rock were familiar to him, images of men challenging monstrous beasts, with serpentine features. The writing was ancient, in a language no longer spoken by men, yet Decimus knew it. “We should not be down here,” he said.

“We must,” Anaximander said. “Do not become a coward now.”

“This… this place is very old… There are powers here greater than you or I,” Decimus whispered.

“That is true,” Apollodorus said. “This part of the temple was forged by the gods themselves… Men do not walk these paths without feeling their presence.”

“What are these images of?” Decimus asked. “I feel as if I know the battle… as if from a dream.”

Apollodorus shook his head, “For generations we have tried to decipher the language, or determine the story told by the sculptures. We have had no success.”

Decimus stopped, and his fingers traced along the ancient letters carved into the rock. “… and the gods cast the demon into the abyss… sending him back to the darkness that forged him…”

Apollodorus looked at Decimus, “But… but how can you read that?”

Decimus shook his head, and rubbed his eyes, “I… I do not know.”

“Come, we do not have time for appreciation of the arts,” Anaximander said, and led them forward.

They continued, finally reaching the end of the path. A giant entrance stood before them, two massive figures carved above the arch.

The wolf and the serpent, striking at each other.

Decimus fell to his knees, grabbing at his head. Images of the horrible abyss that haunted his nightmares flashed before his eyes. Then there was fire, a horrible fire, and Decimus himself, sword in hand, near death, taking his final breaths. He instantly opened his eyes, and cried out, “We should not be here!”

Anaximander slapped him, “Damn fool! Get a hold of yourself! We are almost there! You are a Spartan, Gaius Decimus, if not by blood then by nature! We must go forward!”

Decimus slowly stood up, and looked at the horrible sculptures. The wolf’s jaws were ride, ready to attack, the serpent was coiled, about to sink its poisonous fangs into the wolf.

The tattoo on his forearm burned.

Ultor sum.

He knew that if he went ahead, it would lead to his death.

Gaius Decimus Ultor loosened his sword from its sheath, and went into the chamber.

The three men went forward, Decimus at the lead, grim determination upon his face. The dark chamber suddenly was lit by a hundred torches, and the secret of the room was illuminated.

Before them lay the bones of a giant serpent, perhaps larger than a hundred feet, more than ten feet thick.

“Python’s grave…” Apollodorus said.

It was then that another realization came upon them.

All over the chamber, dead bodies hung. Hooks stuck through their flesh, and rope held them to the ceiling. Their eyes were cut out, blood dripping from empty sockets. Their abdomens were ripped open, organs removed from the bodies. Markings were made in crimson all along the walls, glyphs from an ancient and lost language, one that Decimus could not read, but knew to dread.

And at the center of the room lay Zenobia, a serpent drawn in blood around her, coiled about the unconscious priestess.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous boom. Out from the darkness, a monster stepped, each time its reptilian foot struck the earth, sending a thud across the ground. The beast was eight feet tall, in the form of a man, but with a long, thick tail. At the end of massive hands were long, dripping claws. Yet though it walked on two legs, this was no man. Its head was that of a serpent’s, the very same monster carved into the walls of the temple.

The roar was terrible. It opened its jaws wide enough to engulf half a man’s body, poisonous venom dripping from long white fangs. The creature charged, and before they could react, it was upon them.

“Go back to the abyss, foul demon!” Apollodorus cried out.
The monster’s claw slashed out and grabbed Apollodorus by the head. It squeezed. The young priest of Delphi did not scream as his skull collapsed and shattered.

Anaximander drew out his sword, but the monster threw Apollodorus’ now decapitated body at the Spartan. It was turned into a missile with such force that Anaximander was knocked into the air, and slammed against the wall of the chamber. He dropped limply to the ground, motionless.

Decimus leapt at the beast, his weapons drawn and ready to strike. He brought his sword down in a slash, but in midair, the monster snapped its tail, and struck Decimus in the abdomen. He skidded along the ground of the temple, tearing skin.

The snake creature stalked towards him, a twisted grin upon its sinister countenance. It opened its jaws, and let out a terrifying roar directly in Decimus’ face. The last thing Gaius Decimus saw before losing consciousness was the demon hissing at him with its long, forked tongue.

* * *

In the beginning, there was the abyss.

And it was good.

The nothingness was still, and the ancient one was spawned from the darkness. The great serpent coiled within the within the void, master of all existence. Ages passed, and a voice called to the serpent.

“You are the eldest of all, ancient one. Give light so that others may exist.”

The nameless one was confused, as he believed himself to be alone. Yet he was intrigued by the possibility of others, and so he transformed himself. He became the sun, a grey, cool light that illuminated all of existence.

Earth grew from the endless black waters, and the world was formed. The ancient one showed favor upon the world, and shone his light brightly, knowing that he would forever protect it.

Time continued its journey, and slowly, the same force that called upon the ancient one gave birth to the gods. They built great cities and temples across the world, and walked the earth long before men.

As the young gods became powerful, it became apparent that the creator force was fading. It slowly drifted away from this existence, its purpose fulfilled. Yet, it informed the gods of one more creation: man, made in the image of the gods, destined to eventually inherit the world when the gods themselves were ready to retire to their heavenly realms.

This was the Age of Gold. In the west was the continent of Atlantis, in the east Lemura, and at the top of the world was Hyperborea. Men lived in harmony with the gods, and for thousands of years there was peace and prosperity for all.

It was at this time that the ancient one was betrayed.

As the creator vanished, he left behind new light for the world, a new sun that burned brightly, glistening gold in the sky. For the night, he left the moon, silver and beautiful, together with the stars casting back the darkness.

The ancient one, the original light in the abyss, was forgotten. He could no longer be seen when put against this new sun, his beauty forgotten in the shine the moon.

The creator left, and did not return.

The ancient one became angry, hurt that the ones he had cared for and protected forgot him. Men looked to the young gods as their saviors and heroes. The gods took the inheritance left for them by the creator, and reveled in this age of harmony and philosophy.

The ancient one realized that the creator had forsaken him, and his hatred grew. When the creator left, certainly the ancient one should be put in charge of all existence. He was passed over, the eldest son ignored for the younger.

The great serpent returned, abandoning his light, and coiling in the abyss once more. He made his own creations, in his own image. The serpent vowed revenge upon the creator. He would see the world burn, and from the ashes, the serpent would become creator, forging the world as he desired.

The ancient one descended onto the earth, and many men joined his cause. He taught them how to summon his serpent creatures from the abyss, how to bring life into dead matter, and how to command the will of others.

The ancient one proclaimed himself Set, the betrayed. Fire and shadow covered the earth at the beginning of the Age of Set, as the ancient one took the form of man and ruled as king. His legions of the abyss ran rampant across the soft and peaceful world.

And it was good.

There was order, the world once again protected by Set, the Lord of the Northern Sky.

The gods were rebellious however. The war began with the murder of Python, Set’s first son, birthed in the darkness outside the world. Jupiter of Atlantis came as an assassin in the night, with his sons Mars and Apollo. Jupiter and Mars restrained Python, and Apollo struck the deathblow.

All over the world, gods and men revolted, taking up arms against their great and ancient ruler.

Odin led his campaign from the northern lands of Asgard, ancient Hyperborea, his warlike sons driving the armies of Set before them without mercy. Ahura Mazda appeared in the east from Lemura, riding atop his chariot, toppling the serpent’s cities.

Jupiter’s armies were led by his son Mars, the greatest warrior of all time, and the bane of Set. The legions of Mars the Wolf marched upon Set’s throne in the south, yet could not conquer the land of pyramids.

It was the betrayal of Osiris that signaled Set’s defeat. One of Set’s generals, considered a brother by the ancient king, lowered the defenses, and joined his army with that of the Atlantean gods.

The pyramids fell, and the combined armies of gods and men, led by the Atlantean Mars, came upon Set himself. In hand to hand combat, the gods challenged Set.

First came Osiris, the betrayer, who paid for his treachery by falling to Set’s blade. Next was Odin, and the ancient one took his eye. One after another, the gods fell to Set’s power, and it looked as if the great king would be victorious.

Jupiter and Mars devised a plan. Mars would battle Set in physical combat, while Jupiter prepared to unleash his full power to cast Set back into the abyss.

So the battle continued, and the two warriors were evenly matched. Set gained the upper hand for only a moment, and was prepared to strike Mars down, vanquishing the one who had caused him so much trouble, and had nearly cost him his kingdom, when Jupiter attacked.

Thunder and lightning came from the sky, and Jupiter summoned the very power of the creator himself, unleashing the ancient might upon Set. Set was cast into the abyss, and immediately, the gods combined their powers to create a barrier around the world.

Before the shield could seal and forever banish the great serpent, Set ensured that their victory would not be complete. The ancient one lashed out with his dark power, and the very earth itself was torn asunder. Lemura shattered into a thousand islands, and Asgard, ancient Hyperborea, was engulfed in ice.

Atlantis, home of Jupiter and Mars, suffered the worst. Unholy flames covered the land, destroying all. Earthquakes tore it apart, and finally, the sea itself swallowed the greatest of all continents.

A great age of ice overcame the battered earth, and it would be thousands of years before the world could rise from the ashes of the Great War.

The gods, horrified by the destruction wrought by Great War, retired to their heavenly realms, vowing never again to unleash their devastating power.

Man was alone.

Civilizations rose and fell, and life went on. The Age of Gold and the Age of Set were forgotten, the new Age of Man unaware of what came before.

Yet there were those who still remember the great serpent, men who live in Set’s old kingdom, among the great and awesome pyramids. They remembered what Set had taught them, and passed it on.

Generations have worked to weaken the barrier, and seek a return to the Age of Set, where order reigns supreme, and the great serpent will once again rule over the world.

The gods’ victory was only temporary… and outside… outside in the abyss… in the darkness, Set bides his time.

-

“And so is the lost knowledge of the world that only few know,” Setnakhti said.

Decimus eyed the priest with contempt, and looked to his companions. Anaximander was bound like Decimus, his hands above his head, dangling in the air, still unconscious. Zenobia was to his right, in the same fashion.

“It is only fitting that the new war will begin in the same spot as the old,” Setnakhti said. He stood at the center of the circle of blood, drawn in the form of a serpent. “I hope that the Ancient One appreciates my sense of irony.”

Decimus remained silent.

Setnakhti now approached him, looking at the tattoo upon Decimus’ forearm. “So, a new wolf to battle the serpent… It seems Mars cannot be bothered this time, eh?

“No matter. There is nothing that he can do to stop me now. The barrier is breaking, and soon Set will enter this world and reign once more.”

Setnakhti eyed the Roman once more, “Still, I expected more from the great avenger of Atlantis.”

-

Time stood still as Decimus hung. His muscles burned, his joints stretched and aching. The blood that came from his cuts had long dried. His bones felt brittle and weak. Whatever monster Setnakhti kept as a pet had nearly killed him.

The sinister priest sat in the center of the blood circle, chanting prayers in the ancient tongue. Smoke from an incense burner clouded around him, and every so often, Setnakhti would take a deep inhalation, drawing in the hypnotic fog.

Zenobia woke up. To her credit, she did not scream. “By Apollo… what treachery is this?”

“Looks like you need a better screening process for the priests,” Decimus muttered sarcastically.

“Show me respect, Ultor,” she said.

“How do you know of that? Why did you call me the wolf of Mars?”

“Perhaps you doubt my validity as Oracle, but I assure you, Ultor, that there are things far beyond this world that many could never hope to understand.”

He lowered his head, “I was hoping it was a hallucination…”

“I do not know your entire history, but I have seen you in my dreams… The great wolf… When I laid my eyes upon you, I saw the spirit within you… I saw the mark of the god on your arm. You are indeed the one I was expecting.”

Decimus shook his head, “I should be on a battlefield right now, fighting mortal men… Not being attacked by monster and demons… By the gods, we’re in the tomb of a mythical beast! Does this not seem absurd?”

“You are on a battlefield, Gaius Decimus,” Zenobia said. “Far more important than Megara, or any place you have been before. You will play an important role in the things that are to come.”

“If I’m so important to the cosmos, then how am I getting out of this and even reaching the ‘things to come’?”

“I do not see the future, wolf of Mars. I see only glimpses of what may be. For all I know, this may be the spot where we are all to die.”

“Like hell,” came the groggy voice of Anaximander of Sparta. “We’re going to get ourselves down, and then we’re going to kill that son of a bitch. Understood?”

“It is good to see your spirit is unbroken,” Zenobia said.

“You don’t kill a Spartan with some giant snake monster,” Anaximander said.

“Plans?”

“Always,” Anaximander quickly replied.

“Then I’m terribly sorry you went to such trouble.” Setnakhti had finished his meditations, and approached the bound trio.

“I will cut off your head,” Anaximander said definitively.

Setnakhti laughed, putting his hand to his mouth, “Indeed.” He walked closer, and put his hand upon Zenobia, letting his finger dance across his slim stomach. “Did you know that the lady has already felt my powers?”

They were silent, Zenobia trying to squirm away from the foul touch.

The priest’s voice became soft, distant, “I killed her already. I killed her, brought her back to life, and now control her will…”

“You lie!” Anaximander screamed, his roar deafening, and causing Setnakhti to stagger back.

“Do I?” He waved his hand at the priestess, and suddenly the two began to talk in unison. “Do I lie now, Anaximander? Will you believe it when I have sent my assassins to your home outside Sparta? Will you accept it when I have your wife set on fire? Your daughters raped and their throats cut? Will you trust me when your baby son is skinned?”

Zenobia grinned sadistically, and licked her lips, staring at her old friend, her body controlled by the evil priest. Setnakhti gestured once more, and Zenobia went limp, then returning to her normal state.

“Do you see my power? Tremble and be afraid, fool, for I have mastered death itself.”

Zenobia trembled, “But… but how… I… I feel, I think… I am not dead…”

“She can’t be…” Anaximander said quietly, lowering his head in resignation.

“You will join her soon, Spartan, and then be reborn as my servant,” Setnakhti said. He now turned to Decimus, and his grin became broad, “But you… Oh you. You will be sacrificed to the Ancient One… The avenger killed before he could even join the battle.

“You may have defeated my pet, wolf, but you have not faced the serpent. You shall be torn limb from limb, your flesh made a meal for the creatures of the abyss…

“And I… I will become the greatest of Set’s chosen ones. When the new Age begins, I shall stand at his right hand.”

“You won’t survive the night,” Anaximander said. His voice was not one of anger nor determination anymore, but of a certain sadness. “I swear I shall kill you.”

Setnakhti bowed politely, and left their presence, retiring to the same area from which the giant snake monster came. “The war has begun, and Set takes the first victory.”

The three were left alone in the horrific chamber as Setnakhti left to attend to some evil purpose.

Zenobia sobbed, cold, cruel tears streaming down her face.

They did not say anything to each other for awhile.

“I… I’m sorry,” Decimus muttered.

There was more silence following that, and then finally, Anaximander began to stir. “We have no time to waste mourning what has already happened. We need to get free otherwise that necromancer will feed us to some monster.”

“And how do you plan to free us?” Zenobia said through her tears.

“Decimus, there’s a knife in my belt, reach for it,” Anaximander said, starting to rock his body back and forth as it dangled in the air.

“Working on it,” he replied, reaching out with his legs, and catching Anaximander. He moved his legs back and forth, starting to slide out the small blade from what it was hidden. “I’m dropping it in a second… Ready… catch!”

The knife fell as Decimus knocked it loose, and immediately, Anaximander caught it with his feet. With a muffled groan, Anaximander pulled up with his arms, and brought the knife up to the ropes, slicing through the thick bonds. “Remind me not to willingly dislocate my shoulder again…”

In a moment, Anaximander was loose, and fell hard onto the stone floor. He got up to his feet, grimacing, and went to work cutting the other two free.

“We need to get to the surface, now!” Anaximander said, pushing Zenobia back towards the entrance. “Decimus, get the weapons!” He pointed to a corner, where the men’s swords lay.

Decimus ran for the blades, when a great roar filled the subterranean chamber. He took up his weapon, and ran as fast as he could behind Anaximander and the Oracle.

The beast thundered behind them, his terrible steps shaking the very earth. “Go! It’s coming!” Decimus shouted to the two ahead.

As Decimus started his ascent of the stairs, the snake monster emerged from the tomb of Python, snapping its massive jaws, venom dripping from its fangs. Its cold, red eyes met Decimus’, and there was recognition between the two.

The beast struck.

Decimus ran.

The snake struck the stone wall, dazing itself. It fell from the staircase, and into the fissure, swallowed by the green smoke.

Decimus did not look back, and kept running, his chest pounding, lungs gasping to draw in the stale, ancient air of the old staircase underneath the temple.

The sculptures of the war between Set and the gods flashed passed him as he got closer to the surface, his eye catching and understanding certain words of the language of the ancients. War. Destruction. Death.

The end of all things.

It roared again. Decimus looked into the abyss, and saw the monster climbing out, its claws digging into the rock. It snapped its jaws, and launched itself into the air, catching onto the stone of the staircase again.

It was climbing, and it was climbing fast.

The creature’s nails scratched against the stone, the sound piercing Decimus’ ears. He kept running, stumbling as a step came loose. It lashed at him, slicing his calf. Blood streamed out as Decimus scrambled back to his feet, stabbing back with his sword.

The snake monster hissed as the blade neared it, and then launched itself off that side of the staircase onto the other.

Decimus could see the light of the surface now, just ahead of him, a flicker of hope off in the distance. He was so close now. His lungs burned, desperately wanting to give up on him.

“Decimus, hurry you fool!” Anaximander screamed, looking down the fissure at him. He and Zenobia had already reached the surface.

Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain in his leg, Decimus pushed on, drawing forth strength and speed from reserves previously unknown.

“That’s right!” A horrid, wretched hiss came from the mouth of the monster of the abyss, “Run from me, wolf! Run from me, for I shall hunt you down, and spill your blood to usher in the new Age of Set!”

Decimus came to the surface, and looked up to see Anaximander’s outstretched hand. The Spartan called to him, “Reach, boy!”

Decimus leapt, and caught Anaximander’s arm. Anaximander pulled him up and out of the cursed fissure, “Come now, let’s go!”

They got up, and the three ran for the entrance to the prophecy chamber. The room shook as the beast continued to chase them. “I will devour your souls!” It shrieked.

“Shut the door!” Zenobia said. She joined the other two men in pushing shut the heavy stone door to chamber. The door slowly ground against the floor, so close to sealing away the monster.

The serpent’s massive claw lashed out through the opening, giant talons slashing for any flesh. The bladelike claws ripped through Anaximander’s chest, spilling his blood.

“Push, damn it!” The Spartan cried, taking the other sword from Decimus, and driving the poniard through the monster’s palm. It roared and recoiled, allowing them to seal the door and put a foot of solid rock between them and the monster.

There was a moment of silence before the shockwave. Again and again, the demon charged the door, almost knocking it from its hinges.

“It’s coming through!” Decimus said. He tensed his grip around the handle of his sword.

“Get out of her, Zenobia,” Anaximander said, a serenity and peace in his voice.

“No, you damned Spartan!” She said in response. “You think I am going to leave you here? I am the high priestess of Apollo.” She shook her head, and then let out a battle roar worthy of any warrior. “Gods be damned, I am a woman of Sparta! I will not let you stand alone!”

Anaximander walked up to her, and looked in her eyes. He nodded slowly. “Fine.” His backhand snapped across her face like lightning. “You wish to be treated like a woman of Sparta? Then listen to the orders of your superior. Run.

“You are the high priestess of Delphi, you are the Pythia. You are far more important than any man in all of Greece. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back.”

Zenobia looked back at the man she considered her brother, and nodded slowly, “Goodbye then.”

Anaximander smiled, and put his hand upon her face, showing a gentleness that Decimus did not think possible from the Spartan, “Goodbye, my Zenobia.”

Another shockwave. One more and it would be through the door.

Anaximander turned around, and took his sword in both hands, gripping the hilt tight. “Now run, fool!”

The door exploded into dust and chunks of heavy stone. From the shadows stepped the foul creature of Set, bloodlust in its eyes, and in its black heart. It bellowed an unholy roar, the entire temple trembling.

“Run and don’t look back!” Anaximander screamed, the Spartan raising his sword above his head.

Gaius Decimus readied his sword. As the demon charged them, Decimus grinned, “May our last stand be so great that they sing of our glory for ages!”

“May it be so glorious that the gods themselves honor us!” Anaximander continued.

“May we die as true men,” Decimus said, the creature only a few feet away now, its talons raised, its fangs dripping.

The two warriors spoke in unison, raising the battle cry, “May we die as Spartans, warriors until the end!”

They struck first. Anaximander leapt forward, stabbing with his blade. Decimus came at an angle, slashing for the monster’s head. The demon ducked underneath the high slash, and sidestepped the stab, showing a terrifying agility for one so large. It swiped its tail at Anaximander, and sent him flying backwards as it connected with his ribs.

As soon as Decimus finished the arc of his swing, he spun the sword backwards, and stabbed at the snake. It cried out as the weapon grazed him, the monster not able to dodge in time.

The beast rolled forward, then sprung backwards at Decimus, turning in mid air, talons extended and jaw wide, fangs dripping with venom.

The sudden assault caught Decimus off guard. He barely had time to get his hands up to protect himself as the monster dug its talons into his chest, piercing his flesh. He held its jaws open, pushing the monster’s head back, but its unholy strength was too great, and Decimus’ arms started to buckle.

The long, forked tongue hissed just inches away from Decimus’ face, the poison of the fangs dripping onto his skin, burning where it landed.

Decimus’ arms gave way.

Just as the monster was about to close its jaws around Decimus’ head, ripping it from his body, it screamed out in agony. Bloody and battered, his flesh torn by the monster’s claws, Anaximander stood over the creature of the abyss, his sword driven up to the hilt in its back.

He twisted the blade.

The monster shrieked and both Anaximander and Decimus had to cover their ears to protect themselves from the terrible, pained sound.

The serpent pushed off its powerful legs, and knocked Anaximander back onto the cold stone ground of the temple. Its tail lashed out and swept Decimus off his feet, then turned its anguish and rage upon Anaximander.

The Spartan got to his feet just as the demon attacked him, its claws stabbing into his torso, and then ripping through his flesh. It snapped at his neck, fangs trying to tear out his throat, but Anaximander’s vicious and unrelenting spirit would not surrender. He head butted the snake creature, and as it recoiled, stunned and dazed, Anaximander pulled out the knife in his belt, and stabbed the demon in the stomach.

It threw Anaximander to the ground, his bloody body sliding across the temple floor, a crimson trail left behind. The monster stumbled forward, trying to escape, and staggered back into the prophecy chamber.

The servant of Set wavered back and forth, and collapsed onto the ground with a loud thud.

Gaius Decimus got to his feet, and followed after the monster into the chamber. Instead of the body of a giant snake creature, he found the naked body of Setnakhti, lying on his stomach, bleeding from a terrible wound in his back and the knife in his gut. Anaximander’s crimson stained sword lay next to him on the stone floor.

He was still alive.

Decimus clutched at the wounds on his body, staggering to the twisted priest. He reached down and picked up Anaximander’s sword.

“M… mercy, avenger of Mars… Help me…” Croaked the wounded Setnakhti.

“Mercy? You dare ask me for mercy? I will put you down like the beast you are!” Decimus roared.

“No… no! Wait! You need me! You cannot kill me!” Setnakhti pleaded.

“Why would I need a demon’s servant like you?”

“The… the priestess…” he whispered, his voice fading.

“What?”

“I am strong in the dark arts… but those I raise from the dead cannot survive without me… Let me die and the priestess dies with me,” he said.

Decimus’ blade, pressed against Setnakhti’s neck, ready to take his head, was stayed. “You bastard…”

“Ha,” the priest laughed, “You see… You need me… You know that the power of Set is greater than that of your gods… Where are they when you need them? They have abandoned you… and yet Set is here… allowing me to raise the dead, and protect those around you…”

Decimus brought back his bloody sword.

“Do it, Decimus Ultor… Kill him.” It was a quiet, but strong voice. That of Zenobia, Pythia of Delphi. She stood at the entrance to the prophecy chamber, a figure of grim determination.

Decimus shook his head, his fingers still tight around the hilt of the sword, “I… I can’t… I cannot let you die.”

Her voice wavered a little, anguish and pain just barely creeping into her unwavering speech. “But… I am already dead, Decimus. My life is already ended… I only live now by the twisted powers of Set… That is no life… That is a hell worse than Hades.”

Decimus raised his sword.

“No, don’t listen to her, you fool!” Setnakhti pleaded. “Imagine your powers combined with mine! You would be a great king of men, kneeling only to the Lord of the Northern Sky! You would have the power of life and death at your hands!”

He did not lower his blade.

“Think - - think of your friends! Think of the Spartan, Anaximander! You would destroy him if you took his beloved Zenobia away once more! Are you so cruel that you would pain your friend, your mentor, your comrade so terribly?!”

Gaius Decimus dropped his weapon, the steel clanging on the stone as it fell. He lowered his head, “I… I cannot.”

There was a rush of air, a blade slashed down. A sword fell across Setnakhti’s neck, and the priest of Set’s head was cut from his body.

Anaximander of Sparta held the sword that took the life of Setnakhti.

There was a quiet sound as Zenobia fell behind them.

Anaximander fell to his knees, dropping the blade. He trembled and lowered his head. Tears started to flow from his ears, and the mighty warrior cried. “I… I am sorry, my Zenobia… I am sorry…”

Gaius Decimus went to his friend and held him as he wept.

[This message has been edited by Vasta (edited 08-23-2005 @ 10:12 PM).]