THE NEXT DAY
Analos was the greatest city in the world, a sprawling metropolis of over a hundred thousand inhabitants. Built on a cliffside along the Etruscae River, it was the beating heart of the world, a chaotic mesh of cultures from all corners of the world, merchants from Xochimillia peddling their wares to visiting Qayu tribesmen. More than any other city in the world, it was truly alive.
It was also a city of beauty. Of course, the lower, southern portion, as well as the dockside, was little better than a slum, extending far beyond the city walls themselves like weeds. As one climbs the hill, though, the shantytown gave way to elegant architecture and spires that rose high as if to pierce the skies. The temples became increasingly grandiose, the manors ever more opulent. And then, at the highest point, on the very edge of the sheer cliff which dropped north, was the Golden Palace. To be sure, it was not so much a single palace as a ring of them. The complex was large enough to house thousands, and was ringed by its own squat walls, a city within the city. The only entrance was through the Senatorium, a great domed edifice in which the Senate sat weekly to discuss matters of state. Citizens, through toil, loyalty, and the favor of the Godmother, could eventually find themselves sitting there. But the Palace proper was not fit for mortal soles to tread. Only the Pit Guard, those whose devotion to the Godmother was unsurpassed and unquestioned, lived there with the Seer herself, defending her from harm and carrying out her will.
The senate floor was full that day, all dignitaries of important being present, as well as half a century of Pit Guards, wearing their ceremonial battle-armor next to which the largest man seems a dwarf. Large as the chamber was, it was full to the brim now, and the most powerful men and women in the world were packed as if they were peasants. This they tolerated, as the event was one that only occurred once in a lifetime; a chance to see Eyra in the flesh, for mortal eyes to gaze upon the divine.
As she entered the chamber, walking into the concentric podium at the center, all noise died, and an eery silence echoed throughout the chamber. She was garbed in a ragged robe, the kind one could find on a beggar, but for an aristocracy accustomed to the opulence in all things, especially the more religiously fervent portion, that kind of aggressive simplicity only increased their awe. The youth she displayed while moving, in complete contrast with her evident decrepitude, was striking as well: the last time she had walked into the senate floor in such a way, she had been unable to move without assistance. Now she strode forward with all the vigor of someone half her age- or rather, someone half the age she appeared to be.
Next to her walked a bone-thin, aging man whose bleached, soulless eyes made several bystanders recoil. He was the personal servant of Eyra, and, it was rumored, the latest scion of a long line which had done so for a thousand years. The pathway on which they walked was fenced off by the wall of flesh and steel that were the Pit Guards, and on top of the three concentric levels that made up the central podium, three other Pit Guards stood, awaiting her. She took her place among them, and turned to the surrounding crowd, her piercing gaze sweeping the mass of nobles.
Time was of the essence; she couldn’t afford to get bogged down dancing around the issue. Bluntness was key here.
Arching her head upwards, she went for the most dramatic flair she could, and not for the first time marvelled at- and was frightened by- the lack of pain which accompanied the movement. “The Dark Gods are returning to our world. The end of an age is upon us, this I know.”
Hm. Maybe that was
too blunt.
A reign of dumbfounded silence loomed in the hall, and she knew only their perfect discipline stopped the surrounding Pit Guards from looking back at her. She hadn’t told the rank and file about that yet, but their no doubt stupefied expressions were thankfully hidden behind their faceless helmets.
“I’ve already sent a dispatch to mobilize the legions for the trials to come,” she pressed on after a suitably dramatic pause. “They will be sorely needed, as the Demons will no doubt attempt to destroy this great city, symbol as it is of good and purity. The Legio Etruscia I have recalled, so that they might defend the citizens of the capital.” And, more importantly, because her siblings would be radiating from the Pit, which was close enough to Analos for that convenient excuse to work. “In addition, the provincial governors are to keep their legions on full alert, and crack down on demon worship and heresy wherever it is found.”
“It pains me to say that the Angels are returning to life as well, and tragically corrupted. Their brave sacrifices a thousand years ago during the great War seem to have corrupted them; now, they seek only to serve the Demons and destroy mankind. They will wear faces of benevolence, but carry black malice in their hearts. This I know to be true.”
“But we will not be defenceless in front of these horrors!” she continued, waving in the direction of the three Pit Guards on the podium with her. “Noble defenders of the Republic, show your faces.” The three did so, albeit hesitantly, confusing plain on their faces.
They are not meant to understand, she reflected.
Only to obey. There were three branches of the Pit Guards: Those who defended the Golden Palace, those who garrisoned the Pit, and secretly, those who travelled the world, bringing her will into fruition and weeding out her enemies wherever they hid.
Of this last categories, the men before her were the finest. On the left was Gamello, the shortest, with black hair and dead eyes. He was always silent, she’d been told, but brutally effective. He’d made quite a name of himself among the Guard for his impressive portfolio of assassinations and subterfuge. To the right stood Darian, a youthful cur who sought women and wine, but whose unparalleled talent with a blade made him a terror in combat. And Nadric was in the center, a palpable sense of authority giving him away as the centurion in charge of Pit Guard operations throughout the Republic. Honorable and courteous she knew him to be from past experience, but with a brutally ruthless mind, his calculations of cost and gain beyond completely devoid of emotion or empathy.
They would do.
“We have heroes such as these to defend our towns and defeat the dark ones,” Eyra said, placing her hand on Darian’s shoulder plate. He flinched, face twitching, before collapsing on the ground, unconscious. She almost buckled herself, having now lost all the vigor she was just enjoying moments previously. It’d been so long since she’d empowered heroes like this; she’d forgotten how draining it was. Nevertheless, she forced herself to move on as if nothing were wrong. To their credit, the two others remained motionless as statues, either discipline or fanaticism too great to question the turn of events.
“I give you my blessing, and that of the heavens,” she said as she grasped Nadric’s shoulder, before he too collapsed. “Swords will not maim you, not arrows find their mark. Fate will protect you as only it can.” Next was Gamello, who, sure enough, went down as well. “You will act as the champions of humanity, and push back evil wherever it appears. Your names shall be legends. This I know.”
She turned around and left, feeling like a corpse walking. The Pit Guard she left to disperse the audience, who were only now beginning to shake off the shock of what they had just witnessed. They would discuss on the practical concerns involved now, she knew, or rather pretend to focus on them while feasting or making love to their cousins. Not for the first time she wondered whether they needed to be culled; but she was far too tired for that now. As she was helped out of the hall by her servant, simple breathing seeming as difficult as climbing a mountain, she reflected on what was to come.
I’d better set the Palace guard on high alert, she thought wearily.
No doubt we'll soon have visitors aplenty. 
Nightwing95
