Chapter 690: Rotten Womb of Diablerie
Argrave began to piece together his foe’s plans all at once only after he saw the fruit of his labor. Jaray hadn’t been betting on being able to rely on the Shadowlanders or any deities of the world. From the beginning, he hadn’t even intended to live their encounter if Argrave had indeed brought Sophia. He’d predicted his own death—and presumably, part of his deal with Gerechtigkeit was being resurrected by the power of Sophia’s creation. He went to his grave with total confidence he would soon crawl out of it, reborn… and even if Argrave proved otherwise, the god of politics wouldn’t exactly be around to despair at that fact.
Argrave had to admit that Jaray’s gambit had worked.
“Is this it?” Anneliese asked Argrave as all others around stared in frightful awe. “Is it happening?”
“Yes,” Argrave answered her, his words strangely calm as he set Sophia down on the ground. “It’s happening. Gerechtigkeit is here.”
The sky had an ever-widening black gash across its surface. It transcended everything, taking precedence before any other form of existence. Even if one were on the opposite side of the planet, they’d be able to see this wound as clear as day. It bypassed walls, floors, and any state of being to imprint itself on every living being’s sight. Even the blind could see it. The other senses were not spared this omnipresence.
Argrave could smell rot creeping into his nose, like they’d breached into a well of bloated corpses. He could barely hear guttural howls growing louder by the second, threatening to drown out the sound of the wind. He could faintly taste a tangy salt in his mouth, like he’d bitten his tongue and now tasted his own blood. And above all, there was a dreadful presence. It was like the feeling moments before a blow landed, or the instances before hitting the ground after jumping from a high place.
Argrave felt dread encapsulated. Just as his lungs drew in air, or his heart beat… instinctually, Argrave’s entire being feared what emerged from that wound.
Gerechtigkeit—of yet in embryonic form—poured down like black mud from the wound in the sky. Yellow eyes, glistening like beads of oil, danced on the surface of this ugly liquid. They scouted millions of victims for their coming onslaught. Each eye was a mind unto itself, though each with the purpose of serving Gerechtigkeit. They were both his servants and himself all at once. Before he fully manifested on this plane, those eyes would be his army. They were formless golems made of spite and destruction. Argrave had never before seen them so numerous, nor so large, at the very beginning of things. That black liquid would, in time, coalesce into the cosmic horror that was Gerechtigkeit… but even like this, its power couldn’t be underestimated.
“He’s here before his time,” Raven said, stepping ahead of Argrave. His flesh wavered in between his human form and that of the Alchemist. Even his ancient mind seemed stunned, wavering with indecision. “We’re unprepared.”