Jake's Story (apocalypse Cultivation) ch 34

The new day was still dark but growing brighter.  Jake slowed to a stop and sat.  The slowly rising sun was good, but he had a problem beyond just the ragged and torn condition of his body.

Where the hell is Trosist? He thought.  He’d lost track of his quarry a while ago, and his supernatural senses weren’t very helpful now, either.  Not only was the vampiric mage already slippery as an eel, senses-wise, Jake was running so low on energy that he couldn’t put any extra power into any of his abilities, either.  His senses were currently not much better than his standard six senses.

Jake’s father had always told him that if he ever felt overwhelmed by a problem, he should first stop, take a breather, and then think about the solution instead of the problem.

The woods were silent while Jake pondered.  Even the animals were quiet.  Maybe they could sense the end coming.

His claw clicked as he tapped it on a rock.  The solution, not the problem, he thought.  Leaving when he’d had his family’s murders in sight hadn’t been easy, and he didn’t want to even consider that he’d let that opportunity go for nothing.  He refused to let Trosist, the vampy mage evil champion dickhead get away.  No, no, that’s the problem.  Dammit. But maybe...okay, I’ll list the problems first so I know what to avoid.

Alright, so I need to catch Trosist. If I don’t, the entire fucking area is going to stop being Georgia soon, he thought.  Impending magical doom had been a strong hunch before, but by now he’d confirmed it.  He could glance up and use his trained mage sight to see lines of magical force tied to workings, massive, ominous arms of power all slowly extending over the entire area.  This working was very different from what he’d experienced before he’d died--the d-rift to Ahriman’s domain.  That had been like an ambush.  This was...like sneaking up on the ignorant.

He wished the bad guys had some sort of convenient magical  epicenter where he’d find Trosist, but that was a pipe dream.  This type of magic didn’t work that way.  Blood magic, dark ritual magic, didn’t have to follow the same rules as traditional, ceremonial circle magic.

Trosist had vanished and Jake was out of power.  He also desperately needed to recover from all the damage his body had sustained, but if he took the time to do that, Macon would be doomed and Jake probably would be to.  Even if Jake could somehow recover, logically, his enemy would be able to as well.  Trosist had already been stronger than him before.  If they fought a second time at full strength, Jake might not get so lucky again.

So the solution was...he needed to find Trostist.  And again, that realization didn’t help much.

He thought furiously, any clue that might help track down his enemy.  Okay, he thought, Trosist wouldn’t be going just anywhere, right?  He’d have some sort of special place where there would have been blood ceremonies, human sacrifices, dark stuff like that.  And there would be an altar to Tlaloc.

So that means it could be anywhere...but the Macon Protectors, or maybe dedicated cultists would have needed to shuttle sacrifice there, maybe blood, too.  It would be a really, really bad place magically, worse than where they were keeping the vampires in Macon, probably isolated…

Jake’s thought suddenly tapered off as his memory was jogged.  When he’d first gotten to Macon, when he’d been heading to the lake, he’d cut through the forest and seen a pickup truck driving...at night.  And he’d smelled blood at the time, too.  He’d gotten a bad premonition about the vehicle.  Even after all this time, the memory was still strong.

It couldn’t be that simple, could it? He thought.  What would be the odds?

The location of the little train he’d seen the truck on was not very far away.  Jake didn’t have anything to lose by acting on his hunch, so he endured the agony of rotating his cultivation base.  His meridians and his muscles screamed in protest, but he got up to run again.

He was tempted to try absorbing the energy of the last vampire core in his storage ring, but doing so would take time--time he couldn’t spare.

So he just pushed on.  If he wasn’t already at the gold level of Body Refinement, he might have already completely destroyed his poor meridians by now.  It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

***

Well I’ll be damned, thought Jake.  Thanks, Dad. Good advice. Thinking about the solution was what had tripped his memory, and it really did look like he’d probably found the right place.

Now that he was here, past a magical veil, he could feel the area crawling with evil magic.

He hid in the bushes about a hundred yards away from a small, old, stone building in the middle of the woods.  It looked like it’d been half ruins at some point, but had been restored recently, probably with the help of magic.  Rocks had been stacked up and fused together to patch up walls.  A new chimney jutted above the roof line.

The truck Jake had seen a few hours ago local time was parked nearby.  Now he knew why the drivers had been out at night.  They had been serving things far more dangerous and scary than any random, roaming monsters.

Jake could smell the thick, cloying scent of blood from where he crouched.  Some of it was fresh.  He thought he could see the tips of some fingers sticking up from the bed of the truck--corpses.

Two more bodies wearing Macon Protector uniforms were lying on the ground in front of the stone building’s door, throats and wrists torn open.  And flanking the building were two fissure witches.

Jake’s blood ran cold as he examined them.  They were different looking than any he’d seen before, definitely more vampiric, but still unmistakable.  Something like these things must have been what Trosist was trying to oversee the creation of--the ritual that Jake had disrupted.

Each fissure witch was tall and gaunt, with narrow waists but wide shoulders.  Their faces were demonic and ugly, almost bat-like.  Long, hanging arms tipped with claws drooped unnaturally low, past the knee.  Their skin was leathery and patterned black and grey.  Big ears swiveled around.  Their eyes and second set of ears were human.

Jake was still debating what to do when Trosist walked out of the building.  The mage moved between the two fissure witches, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Heavenly Grim!  I know you’re out there!  Why don’t you come join us?”  The evil god’s champion smiled as he turned in a semicircle.  “I know you can hear me! Why don’t you come have a chat?  We can be civilized beings, can’t we?”

The fissure witches both jerked like they’d been pulled by an invisible string, seemingly shocked by the announcement.  They prowled to both sides of the building, their big bat ears pointing in different directions.  Energy gathered around their bodies, forming a heatwave effect.

Trosist put his hands on the fissure witches’ shoulders and said, “Peace, friends.  Just be patient.  We want to talk to our guest, not fight with him.”

The two unnatural things settled down but still looked hyper alert.  Neither of them spoke or looked directly at Trosist.  Their body language communicated fear.  They subtly shied away from the dark champion.

Jake narrowed his eyes and carefully studied his enemy.  Trosist definitely looked better than the last time Jake had seen him.  It hadn’t even been an hour, though.  What in the... he thought.  Then he glanced at the bodies on the ground and made the connection.  Fucking vampires.

The mage had obviously at least partially recovered, which was bad.  Trosist suddenly waved a hand, creating a purple orb that buzzed directly at Jake before hovering over his head.  “Oh there you are!” he crowed.  Trosist waved again, creating a magic circle that formed a sizzling bolt of violet plasma streaking for Jake’s head.

Uh oh.  Jake’s enhanced mind gave him time to think while the missile flew at him.  His tentative plan before actually seeing the shack had been to use his go-to strategy of burning stuff down, preferably with Trosist in the building.  But now he wasn’t in control of the situation, and being discovered like this was almost the worst thing that could happen.

He was tapped out, energy-wise.  Exhausted.  His muscles screamed in agony.  The moment extended--he was burning what little reserves of energy he had to stretch out the moment, but he was truly almost out of time.  He had a decision to make.  Should he run?  No, that would be pointless.  They’d catch him anyway.

Jake drew a sword from his storage ring as he flash stepped forward. He buzzed past the magic attack and swung savagely, using the last of his energy to apply Lunar Dao Polishing to his weapon.

All or nothing! he thought, baring his teeth. Then his stomach flipped as his enemy blocked with his staff. Trosist’s spear came up and the mage blocked his attack with a predatory smile.  Shit, though Jake.  His heart sunk.  He didn’t have anything left to give.

“Subdue him.  No killing.”

The next thing Jake knew, he was being pummeled by the two fissure witches.  Their claws tore his skin, and their fists rained down without mercy.

It felt like the beating lasted a lifetime before Trosist commanded, “Stop.  Tie him up.”  He chuckled and the mage’s eyes glittered at Jake on the ground.  “You coming here was a lucky stroke for me.  Thank you for your consideration!  Considering you are the one who has caused me so many problems, it’s only appropriate.”

Jake couldn’t reply.  He’d already been gagged.

The fissure witches dragged him inside and dumped him on the floor in a circle set into the floor.  They manacled his wrist, the attached chain running into the floor.  Jake was standing on a large, dark stain.  He wondered how many people had died in this spot over the last few days.

One of the fissure witches took one last swing at Jake.  He tried to block but was only half successful, and the silent monster’s big fist still caught him in the head.  Then the two fissure witches plodded over to their own circles under Trosist’s orders.

One entire side of the room was practically covered in old, dried blood.  Splatters of it were even on the ceiling.  In the center of it all was an ugly stone altar.  The air was full of arcane energy.  It practically crawled all over Jake’s body.

Other than Trosist, the fissure witches, and Jake, there was only one other person in the building--a Macon Protector.  The Protector was middle aged, average looking, and seemed remarkably composed despite being the only human within a quarter mile and surrounded by monsters.  He wore a large gold necklace covered in mystic sigils.  His hands were caked in dried blood, maybe from a fresh corpse in the corner, but that could have been Trosist’s handiwork, too.  It looked like Trosist had actually killed most of the Macon Protectors that had been on-site--drained them dry.  This last remaining Protector must have helped.  He had to be a priest of Tlaloc.

Over the altar hung a large, misty oval, crackling with energy.

While the mage and fissure witches were distracted, Jake weighed his options.  One hand was free, so he casually removed his gag to see if any of his captors would notice.  None of them reacted.

The manacle on his wrist completely cut off all of his power, everything.  If he’d had more energy, maybe he could have resisted, but there wasn’t any more fuel in his tank.  He couldn’t even access his storage ring.

But monsters being monsters, when the fissure witches had beat him up and clamped him in the obviously magical manicle, they never even checked his pockets.

Jake had a 9mm pistol concealed in a pocket holster--a compact but potent little Sig P365.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t do much with it right now.  If he survived this situation, he vowed to keep a handful of useful things in his pockets from now despite having a spacial storage ring.

Attacking the fissure witches or Trosist with his pistol would be useless.  Jake might be able to commit suicide with it, but he was honestly not sure if he could kill himself fast enough with a pistol to make it count since he was still a gold rank Body Refinement cultivator.  Maybe a regular human would die fast enough, but he likely woudn’t. He was surrounded by enough raw dark magic to fry an egg.  If Trosist didn’t want him to die, Jake doubted he could actually escape that way, at least not without a more potent way to commit suicide.  And ultimately, suicide was not an option anyway.  Jake was really, really bad at giving up.

Maybe there was still a way to fuck up Trosist’s plan.  Actually, there was at least one thing he could do.  Jake drew his pistol, aimed at the only human in the room, and managed to rattle off six rounds.   The first shot wiped the blood-soaked Macon Protector’s smug expression off his face as the bullet punched right through his nose and out the back of his head.  Two 9mm projectiles hit center mass.  One hit the man’s shoulder.  Another hit him in the stomach.  The last round missed as a fissure witch pounced on Jake like lightning, snatching away the firearm as another big fist slammed his head into the ground.

Jake’s restrained arm was wrenched around as he was beaten again.  Trosist yelled something, raging, but Jake couldn’t understand it.  His world was pain.  Underneath it all, he endured, holding onto the spark of satisfaction that he’d definitely killed the human cultist.  There was no way a regular human could have lived after getting a bullet to the brain.  Hell, not many supernatural things could, either.

And sure enough, when Jake came to again, he saw the still, blood-covered form of the dead priest in the back corner of the building.  The fissure witches were both back where Trosist had originally told them to stand.  One of them was staring at the new Protector corpse with a hungry expression.  It looked like the freshly-killed man hadn’t been drained.

Meanwhile, Trosist knelt before the stone block and said out loud, “Great Lord Tlaloc!  I apologize for this early summoning, but without it, we would fail!  The situation has changed!  Too many sacrifices are dying too early!  Please accept this humble working early and bring your world to this unworthy place!”   Magical script, written in blood, lit up all around the room.  The scene was starting to remind Jake a little bit of the apartment where he’d first met Trosist’s puppet.

Jake’s head spun.  He hadn’t ever felt quite like this.  His...everything hurt.  He actually wished he were still a zombie at that moment, especially when the oval at the end of the room flashed and Tlaloc manifested.  It was a much stronger sending than the first time he’d seen the god and Jake felt like sandpaper was being run over his soul.  The sensation was terrible, and the pain was spiritual, so he couldn’t escape it.

The evil god growled.  “I smell blood that has not been shed in my name.”  His gaze moved to the dead priest on the floor.  “I also smell failure.  More of it.  Speak, Trosist.  Explain.”

Trosist didn’t try to sugar coat anything.  He explained what had happened in Macon over the last few hours, touching on a few things Jake hadn’t been aware of as well.  It seemed the Macon Protectors had actually been planning to summon Tlaloc’s realm in a couple more days, but because of Jake’s interference, they hadn’t been able to wait any longer.  Jake lost consciousness a few times during Trostist’s hurried explanation, but he still caught the gist of it.

While he struggled to stay awake, Jake wondered why Tlolc wasn’t there in the room physically, walking around like Morrigan had been.  Maybe he’d ask her if he could avoid being flayed alive or his soul destroyed by a dark god.  That would be nice.

Part of him was aware that his mind was wandering.  He tried to focus.

His consciousness came back a little stronger and he turned to see Trosist kneeling on the floor, facing the sending of Tlaloc.  “Rain Lord, please, tell me what else I can do to make this right.  Tell me how I can serve you!”  His voice was not nearly as confident as usual.

“I already have, creature.”  The ugly, toad-like god snarled, pulling back his upper lip from blocky teeth.  “Your task was simple, but you have failed more than once.  The ritual requires three creatures, blessed with my power.  A sacrifice of three.”

“Yes, but we have him!”  Trosist gestured at Jake on the floor.  Behind him, the two fissure witches eyes were wide with fear, and they strained against purple rings of energy that held them silently in standing positions.

Tlaloc shot Jake a withering glance.  “Although it pleases me that this insolent creature has been captured and bled in my honor, he cannot be prepared for the sacrifice without the high priest present.  And the high priest is dead.  You let him die.”

Jake only barely restrained himself from letting loose an exhausted, gurgled chuckle.  It didn’t take a genius to realize that drawing attention to himself now would be bad.  At least the priest was dead.  Yes.  Score, thought Jake tirely.  He was definitely feeling loopy.  His only motivation to kill the human had been to exterminate a psycho.  Jake had just gotten lucky.  Who knew being a stubborn asshole would work so well in his favor one day?  He coughed up some blood onto the already fluid-soaked floor.

He lost consciousness for a few minutes, but came back to reality as three unearthly screams shocked him awake.  The sound made his brain want to leave his skull.  What the… he thought.  Both fissure witches and Trosist were all being enveloped with purple fire, burned alive.  Lines of force ran from each monster’s heart to the altar.  Behind it, Tlaloc watched his servants be consumed with a stony expression.

Suddenly, the screams cut off even as the three figures continued to be burned alive.  A couple minutes later, nothing remained of them but a pile of ash.

The god noticed that Jake had woken up and turned.  “I am glad you are here to see this.  Now that I am more fully invested in your realm, I can see your titles clearly.  Impressive.”

He isn’t insta-killing me, Jake thought with surprise.  In the heat of the moment in the past, he’d taunted this god.  There was zero chance that Tlaloc had forgotten about that.  I need to get it together.  His tired, abused brain tried to move, to formulate thoughts and words.  “Thank you.  What would be a reasonable way to address you, given our circumstances?”

“You should call me, ‘Master,’ or ‘Great Lord.”

“Please forgive my lack of proper etiquette with this question, but what should I call you while remaining neutral?”

The god ground his teeth and flared his nostrils.  “Lord Tlaloc.”

“Very well, Lord Tlaloc.”  Jake highly doubted that being polite was going to significantly change anything, but spitting defiance right now wouldn’t give him any benefit either.  Since Jake was currently chained to the floor, in the epicenter of a major dark magic working, he needed to stow the snark.

There were worse fates than death, he knew that for a fact.  Jake really didn’t need two evil gods harboring a rage boner for him, but he was getting a sinking feeling that there wasn’t much he could do at this point to stop it.  Now was the time to think, not scream insults.

Tlaloc said, “I will make this simple.  Work for me.  Give me your soul.  Become my champion. If you do, I will let you live.  As my champion, when I bring my kingdom to this place, you will immediately earn the right to be a Hero Candidate of your world.  Refusing this honor would be the gravest insult and will result in eternal suffering.”

Oh shit, thought Jake.  Oh shit.  A direct question.  He tried to dodge it.  “May I have time to think about your generous offer, Lord Tlaloc?”

“No, and you are lucky that I am not choosing to take offense by the very fact you asked that question.  Your choice should be obvious.”

Goddamit, thought Jake.  Fuck it.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  The god was giving him no way to escape his wrath unless Jake gave up his soul and became Tlaloc’s champion...and that was not going to happen.  He wanted to point at the dying Trostist and ask what other benefits being a champion could have, like perhaps burning to death in magical fire.  Maybe after that he could call Tlaloc a frog-faced piece of shit who got his rocks off on killing children, but none of that would actually matter, and it would just be sure to make the god angrier.

When people are at the end of their rope, spitting defiance can definitely be a way to feel better about giving up.  Jake hadn’t given up yet.  He wanted to destroy his enemies, not yell at them.

“I must respectfully decline, Lord Tlaloc.”

“This is twice that you have directly defied me.”

“Yes, Lord Tlaloc.”  Jake kept his tone respectful, but didn’t try to evade the accusation.  Lying to a god was not an option.  Words had power.  If he told Tlaloc that he would serve him, he might actually be compelled to.

“So be it.  You might be assuming that there is nothing I can do, at least not until part of my domain has come to your world.  If so, you are wrong.”  The god smiled nastily, his eyes lighting up.  “That manacle on your wrist is imbued with my power, created from iron mined in my domain.”

Jake swallowed.  Uh oh, he thought.  His plan really had been for the god to ignore him, planning to deal with Jake later.  That would have given him the chance to slink away and figure out some way to stop the massive ritual magic working in progress.  Every moment the evil energy swirled around, building new pathways, growing.  It was so strong, a regular person might even be able to see some of it with the naked eye at this point.

With no warning, a searing pain radiated through Jake’s left wrist.  The manacle had grown white hot.  His flesh almost instantly began to burn.  He screamed.  Somehow, the searing heat was penetrating all the way through his body, touching his spirit.

“If you live, you will be in my kingdom and I will own you.  My power is currently attaching itself to your soul.  If you die, I will be able to find you.  Either way, I will still have you.  And now, I will give you a great gift, allowing you to perfectly view the destruction of those you failed to protect.”

Jake’s arm rose into the air.  The chain to the floor snapped.  Jake couldn’t pull away.  His restraint felt as solid as a mountain as it hovered.  He could smell his own flesh burning.

Then his manacle rose further, taking him with it.

A new level of agony invaded Jake’s mind, body, and spirit.  He desperately tried to rotate his cultivation base, but it didn’t work.  The manacle suppressed all of his power and kept flooding him with fiery pain.  All of his weight hanging from his arm actually pressed his flesh into the manacle, making the pain worse.  And something about the device prevented him from losing consciousness now, too.

He had never wanted to pass out so badly before in his life.

The manacle kept rising, kept moving.  Jake’s eyes were squeezed shut tightly while he screamed.  His gasps made his entire chest heave.  A few times he’d tried to grab onto the manacle with his other hand but the heat burned his fingers.  He couldn’t get any leverage to pull himself up.  His other hand eventually went to his arm below the manacle, trying futilely to pull his arm out.

Finally, the sensation of movement stopped, and he heard a booming voice.  Tlaloc said, “Now see your champion, small things.  See him and despair!”

Jake slowly forced his eyes open with an effort of sheer will and wasn’t even surprised by how high in the air he was, nor that the sky was completely covered in dark clouds now, blocking every bit of sunlight.  He was not shocked that an image of him was on the clouds.  Reality twisted.  He could actually watch himself while he suffered.  His mind threatened to break.

No, he thought.  Fuck this guy.  That tiny bit of rebellion kindled a spark in his heart.  He might not be a perfect man, he definitely didn’t always make the best decisions, but he was Jacob Hessian Mazzariello, dammit!  “I never give up,” he mumble-coughed.  His mom and dad taught him that lesson a long time ago.

If you aren’t born with looks, or money, or talents, you’ve got to rely on grit.  Jake had known this fact for most of his life.  So he forced himself past the pain to think of the solution, not the problem.  It was actually hard to think at all, but Jake could be stubborn as hell.  He wasn’t going to let Tlaloc win, despite the fact he was a god.  No, because he was a god.  How could any being have all that power and still require the sacrifice of children?  It offended Jake on a deep, primal level.

He glanced up at his limb, the flesh beneath the manacle.  Ugly, glowing, purple discoloration was growing from under the accursed thing, invading his arm.  Tlaloc truly was marking him.

It was energy.  Evil energy.

Jake shut his eyes tightly and grit his teeth.  Endless minutes passed while he tried to force his mind to work, and eventually it paid off.  He wanted to smile, but was afraid he might break something in his mouth or bite himself.  With deliberate care, he began to use the Four Winds of Heaven Purification technique, grinding his soul against the power raging into him from the manacle, processing it through willpower alone.  He couldn’t access his cultivation base, but that was fine.  This was an effort to stay alive, not get stronger.  Most of the power he processed vented into the air, but he was able to hang on to a tiny bit of it, making a kernel of power grow.

And now he could think.

The pain was still there, but had lessened significantly.  Jake opened his eyes again, taking in his surroundings.  Down below, violet lines of magic were criss-crossing Macon like ley lines.  From his vantage point, he could see how all the glowing bits were part of an enormous magic circle.  He felt a moment of sorrow for all the people who had died, been murdered to make the thing.

Down below, near the mall, was a huge misty oval, like a bigger version of the one Jake had seen in the stone altar building.  It was like the thing Tlaloc had manifested in . The oval was getting larger as he watched, and he realized this must be the transition point, where a patch of Earth would trade places with Tlaloc’s realm.

The image on the clouds continued to show Jake’s struggling form, suspended in mid air.  Behind it, Tlaloc’s eyes burned.  Jake looked down again and could feel the god watching him from the portal manifesting on the ground, too.

Jake was really, really high up.  His situation looked hopeless on the surface, but now he could think.  And if he could think, there was still hope.

“This is really going to hurt,” he growled.  Then he harnessed the tiny kernel of power he’d built using Four Winds of Heaven Purification.  He applied Lunar Dao Polishing to the claw on his free hand, making it sharp as it could be.  Every scrap of power he’d cobbled together went into the Lunar Dao Polishing, making it as strong as possible for only one or two seconds.

He was surprised how little resistance ther was as he severed his own wrist right below the manacle.

Tlaloc’s voice hissed and growled overhead, but Jake ignored it.  Instead, he looked below at the widening portal, thinking about his options.  With the manacle off of his arm, he could use his power now...what little he had left.  His spirit felt poisoned by the energy the manacle had been dumping into him.  Luckily, he could still cycle his cultivation base.  And his connection to his artifacts reasserted itself.  The Midnight Cloak billowed behind him, arresting his fall, even slower than a parachute.

He thought desperately, trying to figure out some way to stop what was happening below.

And then the answer hit him.  My artifacts, Jake thought slowly.  He grinned nastily and instructed the Midnight Cloak to drift him directly over the misty portal below.  “Eat this,” he snarled.  He waved a hand, opening his storage ring.  Thousands of pieces of cut stone from the Challenge Portal trial dimension rained below, each weighing several hundred pounds up to a few tons each.

Less than half a minute later, the first of the rock hit the portal.  The area around the mall was pummeled by Jake’s makeshift bombs. He took satisfaction in the fact that all the refugees would either be gone from that area or dead now.  If he was killing any people, they’d all be Macon Protectors.

Tlaloc’s voice roared in the sky, and the portal swirled like a boiling lake.  More stones pummeled the ground, striking with earth-shaking force and the god’s voice grew enraged.  Jake spotted the manacle floating towards him in the air.  He drew a shotgun from his storage ring and blasted the awful thing out of the sky with 00 buckshot.

Giant, sword-cut boulders kept falling from his ring, a year’s worth of work.  Jake realized that the stones were actually slowly turning to dust as soon as he took them out of his storage, but each was large enough that they still had plenty of mass when they struck the ground.  On top of that, his mage sight caught tremors in the ether.  The stone’s composition was actually interfering directly with the magic eeding and forming the portal.

Tlaloc’s voice was frantic now, and Jake listened.  The God was shouting, “How dare you! This is prophesied.  It is promised!  How dare--”

A bright light flashed from the ground, traveling all the way to the sky.  Clouds blocking the sun were burned away.  Sunlight flooded Macon below, and the lines of magic that had been criss-crossing the city began to fade like a bad memory.

Jake stopped dropping rocks--he didn’t have much left in his storage ring, anyway.

I guess I did something good, huh?  He thought.  Better late than never.  The thought lingered before he savagely corrected himself. He’d failed his family, but he knew his mother and father would be proud of him.  That thought made his heart ache.  The fight for Macon wasn’t entirely over, but Jake wasn’t in any kind of shape to be participating anymore.  Before his eyes closed in exhaustion, he commanded his cloak to drift him somewhere isolated.

Maybe he could still avoid being eaten or killed or something even worse.  He was so weak now that he wasn’t even sure how durable his body would be anymore.

It would really suck to survive pissing off an evil god...twice...only to be eaten by a run-of-the-mill ghoul.

That would be ironic though, thought Jake.  Then everything went black.