*****
Finally, Taguari grunted to himself as the Varadours left the room. Get out of here, you idiots!
Another wave of black mist rose from the floor, unseen by the mortals present, lunging toward their faces in spears of corrupted energy. From beneath the floor, voices howled in victorious hunger. With a flash of his sword, another thin line of Celestia cut across the room, severing the tentacles of spiritual energy, holding the assault at bay.
Creatures of the spiritual plane could not be seen by those trapped in their short, temporal existence. Even the Remnant had no idea what kind of battle his actions had caused. So intense was the assault, Taguari had to drive his sword into the floor, igniting the metals surrounding the room and holding the black energy against the floor beneath thin white ropes of light. It writhed like a wild beast bound and gagged.
"You can’t possess anyone anymore!" Taguari said triumphantly. "Haven’s power will always overcome you. Our Maker protects the mortals from your influence. We are their Haven from the Abyss at the world’s core."
The black energy threw itself into an odd cycle of spasms and relaxation, until, from within the teeming surges of chaos, laughter echoed. The historians, ignorant of the chaos surrounding them, slowly worked their way along the walls as they recorded the vault’s contents.
Despite the power holding it in place, the energy swirled around the altar, bubbling upward until a spirit-woman sat upon it. Her skin was grey and withered, her eyes red and sunken as if from a fierce disease. Strands of Celestia still held her in place, but she sat with regal poise, watching Taguari calmly.
It was that calm, calculating gaze that set Taguari’s teeth on edge. Most spirits, the few times they could escape the Abyss long enough to walk the earth, did so in fits of emotion strong enough to temporarily burst free. She was different. Her sanity was intact, and her position the consequence of centuries of planning and plotting. It was her face carved in the coffin and her remains contained therein.
"You’re new to this," she observed. "I saw all of Haven before I came here. You were not among them," Taguari held onto his sword tightly, senses alert for any efforts to break his hold and possess one of the historians before he could react.
"The power binding you doesn’t come from me," Tagauri reminded her. "It comes from the Maker himself, through Haven. You can’t break its hold."
With a sly smile the woman glanced down at her bonds and sighed. "You newly resurrected beings are always so cocky. You never understand the full meaning of the rules of engagement."
I understand well, he thought. It’s unfortunate I can’t just kill you and be done with it. She nodded toward the open doorway.
Melshek entered, eyes full of enthusiasm, trying to see the entire room at once. The historians grinned at his reaction and opened their mouths as if to warn him to stay back, then thought better of it and went back to their work. It was not long before Melshek stood next to the altar, entranced by the carved figure on the top of the coffin.
"You want to know the flaw of the power you wield?" the Abyssian asked confidently. "You cannot directly influence the decisions of those you protect."
Prince Melshek’s fingers ran along the sculpted edges of her stone body engraved on the face of the coffin, looking in awe at the bodies prostrated around her. "Witness our true power, Haven-called," she said. "Witness the fruits of a single prince’s decision."
Taguari’s sword trembled in his hands. The laughter from the mists itself amplified as more spirit bodies burst from the coffin, like a fountain from the Abyss itself. What have you done, Kaltor? he mourned. Why were my feelings of warning not enough? He watched the prison continue to vomit up spirit after spirit from the Abyss itself.
I hope you’re ready for this boy, he thought. You will be the first they come for.
Chapter 8