Ahriman: The Dead Oracle Read Online Free PDF Page A

the terms under which we came to this temple, I deny you. This is a fane of oracles, daemon. You have corrupted it, you have made its seat your own, but its chains still bind you. You sit where the Oracle once sat. You have taken that throne for your own purposes, but it is not a seat of power. It is a cage’.
    The daemon’s jaw shook with anger. Folds of rotted fat trembled. It was afraid.
    For just as I saw the truth, so too did the daemon.
    The rotten bowl of the chamber shimmered back into sight. Its excrement-slicked walls pulsed in time with the great daemon’s panting breaths. It was trapped. It was a creature of power, of might, but it was blind to the greater subtlety. Those currents lay in another power’s hand.
    ‘You who sit in the seat of the Oracle, I demand truth,’ said Ahriman. ‘Name yourself.’
    ‘ Sac’nal’ui’shulsin’grek… ’
    The syllables broke from the daemon’s lips. The sound ripped through the empyrean, each a broken tooth of spite. The daemon reared up, mouth moving, its face splitting as it fought to keep the words inside. Blisters of blood formed and popped in the air. Its left fist crashed down in front of it, as its right rose above its head. It had to speak its name to us, but it intended to kill us before that name was complete. A great, rusted cleaver grew in its grasp as it lunged forwards.
    ‘ …ih’hal’hrek… ’
    Sanakht met and turned the blow, his paired swords hissing as they kissed the cleaver’s tainted iron. The daemon pulled its blade back and charged, liquid bulk rolling. Sanakht spun aside, slicing as he moved. Ribbons of yellow fat and congealed blood fell from twin wounds.
    ‘ …nh’gul’rg’shargu… ’ The bloody words poured out as the deamon’s cleaver chopped down again.
    Astraeos’s sword was a tongue of white and blue flame as it cut the beast’s arm at the wrist. The cleaver and severed hand hit the ground. Ropes of sinew lashed out from the daemon’s arm, and tried to drag the hand and weapon back onto the stump.
    ‘ …sal-hu’ne’gorn’shu’sai’sa… ’
    It reached up with its remaining hand, fat fingers ripping at its own tongue.
    Still the links of its name came from its mouth.
    Ahriman had not moved, but now he turned his head to me. ‘Bind it, brother,’ he said.
    And then – in that cold instant – I knew that I should never have agreed to serve him.
    ‘ …vel’rek’hul’scb’th’rx. ’
    The last syllable fell from the daemon’s lips, sliding into the air like a scorched snake. I looked at Ahriman for an instant that felt like eternity. My mind was ready. The divided cells of my memory and psyche, intended to hold Menkaura, stood open. I had heard each beat and splintered tone of the daemon’s name. It was mine. A net of chains lay in the fingers of my will.
    I turned to the daemon. Its lesser kin had begun to move again, slithering and scrabbling forwards, blades scraping, teeth champing. The Rubricae fired: cobalt light exploded soft skulls. The daemon inhaled, its stomach and throat bulging. It vomited. Blood, bile, and shadow gushed towards us. A dome of flame met the deluge. Black smoke and yellow steam tumbled up through the air.
    I was still hesitating, still unsure that I wanted to play the part that Ahriman had created for me in this layered deception.
    + Ctesias, now! + Ahriman’s thought voice split the warp-flooded chamber like a thunderclap.
    I spoke the daemon’s name. The syllables tore my tongue and lips. Frost bloomed across my helmet. Blood was running down my throat, filling my lungs as I forced air from them.
    I kept speaking, feeling the chain of sounds draw the daemon’s essence into my hand link by bloody link.
    The daemon crashed forwards, hammering its bulk down upon the burning dome above us. Flesh flashed to smoke.
    As each syllable left my lips I split it from my memory, and locked it within the divided walls of my mind. Others use grimoires, arcane ciphers or other ritual