Into the Fire - an Urbis Arcana short story (Revised)
I wrote the original version of this story around this time last year. I wrote it for a short story contest rowandoll was doing for his Burnham Society series. Like Urbis Arcana, his series deals with supernatural goings-on in Chicago. But unlike my series, Burnham Society deals with more overtly supernatural stuff, with faerie lords, book shops located in Lake Michigan and supernatural shenanigans that don't lend themselves to cover-ups.
I saw the contest as a chance to step outside my comfort zone a bit and touch on gods and overt supernatural battles. But to do that, I had to figure out a lot of things I only had very vague ideas about. How do gods work in Urbis Arcana universe? What is their history? How much of it resembles the myths we know? And how do other aspects of Urbis Arcana backstory that I've only recently started hinting at fit in?
Since writing the original version, I've changed a few parts of the backstory. There are several parts that, on second thought, didn't make much sense. Plus, I wanted to expand on some aspects of the story, make some connections to the greater Ubris Arcana universe a bit more overt. So this weekend, I decided to sit down and finally do another version of it.
As always, comments, criticisms and any and all feeback are welcome. And, as before, I hope that Chicagoans reading this will appreciate a pretty obvious reference to a major historical event. Along with some of the more subtle references.
Into the Fire
(an Ubris Arcana short story)
Near West Side, Chicago
October 8, 1871
It’s been so long since I cut loose.
I missed it. The smell of blood and sweat. The feel of my blades - sharp beyond sharpness, perfectly balanced - cut into flesh and bone. The sounds primal screams of silly little mortals fighting for their silly little lives, the pitiful thing they call civilization meaningless before my power. My might. My right.
I suppose I could have killed them with my bare hands, but that would take too long, and some of them might run away.
My wounds were already healing, and I didn’t hurry them along. Let the blood flow. Let their pitiful attempts to hurt me linger.
I stepped out of the boarding house. I looked over my shoulder - nothing. Dyeus’ angels weren’t coming for me. I guess he got sick of looking for me.
Good. About damn time.
I turned into the alley. A man covered in blood tends to attract attention even in this wretched part of this cold, dirty city. I crouched in the shadow of a wooden house and waited. Once the wounds heal, I’ll clean the blood, make myself some new clothes, change my face and go down to the Levees and really indulge.
But just as my wounds closed completely, I felt the power stir. Not Dyeus’ power, vast an unfathomable. This was mortal magic. The shadows grew, and men and women stepped out.
I jumped to my feet. Eight total. Their souls blazed bright with power - some brighter, some dimmer, but respectable, for mortals.
Six of them came around me, surrounding me from all sides. I studied them carefully. A tall, massive man with thick muscles bulging through his suit, moved more swiftly than his size would suggest. A short woman moved carefully, almost delicately, her eyes studying her surroundings as much as she studied me. The man’s pants and blouse she wore gave her range, and she chose materials for toughness, not appearance.
Another woman, a girl, really, looked much more frail, and she wore a uniform that reminded me of one of those Ursuline Academy girls I so loved to ruin. But the power! Oh, I recognized that power. I encountered a woman who bore it deep in the forests in the wild land of Slavs. It felt bigger now, a weight of hundreds of mortal lifetimes. No, I won’t be underestimating this one.
Another man, wearing a suit, a top hat and a set of spectacles - one of those mortal weaklings who called themselves educated gentlemen. But his power… Yes, he prolonged his life, far past mortal lifespan. And there was something about that power that felt familiar.
Stepping behind me was a tall, thin man, his skin as black as coal. The suit he wore was just as dark. There was something about him that made me feel uneasy. A strange feeling, for a god, but I trusted my instincts.
And then, right in front of me, stepped a woman in a white man’s suit. Her skin - more mud-brown than coal-black, didn’t have the tattoos, and she had hair, but even after all those centuries, I remembered.
I liked her better when she was naked.
“Wanderer?” I studied her carefully, looking for any weapons she might be carrying. “How are you still alive? Did the Almighty God decide to spare you after all?”
“No,” she shrugged. “But it was just a death. I’ve been through that before.”
So her followers brought her back. Of course. I kept forgetting mortals could do that.
“But it’s not about me. It’s about what you… what do you call yourself these days?”
“The name I use with mortal weaklings isn’t important. I suppose you can call me Mars. Always did like the Romans. They appreciated me more than Greeks ever did.”
“Very well, Mars,” the Wanderer said. She didn’t seem to be carrying any of her old weapons, but only a fool would let his guard down around her. “You massacred an entire boarding house. For no reason. Whatever happened to finding glory in the field of battle?”
“The battlefields aren’t what they used to be,” I sneered. “These new mortal weapons can cause so much delicious destruction. I can appreciate that. But I miss the days when I could charge into the field of battle and watch my enemy die as I cut his throat. There is no challenge, no joy, no life.”
“So you challenged yourself by killing the defenseless,” there was no question, no outrage in her voice - just the statement of fact.
“They are mortals,” I shrugged. “There will always be more of them.”
“And what gives you the right to kill them, exactly?”
I had to laugh:
“What gives me the right? Oh, Wanderer… You are powerful, for a moral, and we’ve had some fun, but you need to remember your place. Otherwise, I might have to break you.”
I pulled one of my blades from the Clear. Just to make a point.
The Wanderer looked at me and smiled.
“You think the world hasn’t changed,” she said. “You think that, just because people once worshipped you, you are untouchable. But we both know that gods can die. You just need the right tools.”
The massively built man reached into the Clear and pulled out an enormous hammer.
It didn’t look like I remembered, but the power coming from it was unmistakable. Mjolnir. And the man carrying it was a god who, last I heard, called himself Thor.
The woman in the more practical clothing reached into the Clear and pulled out a short, narrow, curved blade as sharp as mine. I realized then why her footsteps seem familiar.
She looked different then I remembered - but that’s only because it’s so long since she looked like this. Inanna. The goddess of love and war. One of the oldest among us. My equal.
Behind me, the coal-skinned man sent a surge of power along this arm. The power crackled, becoming a metal-like staff with two long prongs on the tip. Terror surged through me - a terror I couldn’t control, couldn’t push away no matter how hard I tried.
A Farsider. An abomination. Devourer of spirits. Destroyer of reality. God-killer.
“What in all hells!” I couldn’t stop myself from crying out.
“The world is changing,” Wanderer said. “The time when men who called themselves gods, doing what they please, is over. It’s been over for a long time.”
“Unless you’re Dyeus!” I spat. “Arrogant old bastard. Though shall not have other gods before me… Did he send you?”
With all the power he got, all those mortals worshipping him… Maybe he had the power to tame the Farsiders. It would be just like him. Death isn’t good enough for those who defied him, oh no. He had to make a spectacle out of it.
“You haven’t heard?” Inanna asked. The warmth in her voice, the softness, was so unlike her.
“Heard what?” I asked.
“Dyeus is dead,” she said. “He’s been dead for a long time.”
There was sadness in her voice, the sadness I recognized from her stories of the old gods who fell to the Farsiders. She was telling the truth.
“Dead…”
After all those years… I ran, ran to the other side of the world, hoping his creatures wouldn’t be able to find me there. And even then, I was careful, quiet. Every time I killed - even when I was very careful - I kept looking over my shoulders, waiting for an angel to swoop down from the sky.
“How long?”
“Almost two and a half centuries now,” said Inanna.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to howl. After all this time, running, hiding, denying myself the pleasure - for what?
“How did he die?” I spat out.
“And there was a war in heaven,” the Farsider suddenly spoke, its voice beautiful and cold. “The army of men and beast fought against the dragon and his angels. But he was not strong enough, and he lost his place in heaven. And the heaven was hurled toward the earth, and the angels with it.”
Though me pathetic, Farsider induced terror, I felt a pang of regret. If only I didn’t run… A battle against the great Dyeus and his creatures… Oh, that must have been glorious.
And then, the full reality of it dawned on me.
“So that’s it? We’re free. No more hiding. No more cowering. Oh yes. All this time, I couldn’t been having so much fun.”
Inanna looked at me, her eyes stern.
“No,” she said. “Those days are over.”
“Says who?” I said. “We are gods! Now that the old bastard is gone, who is going to stop us?”
Behind me, the Farsider grinned, revealing a set of impossibly clean teeth.
“What in hells is that thing doing here, anyway?” I asked Inanna.
“When Dyeus was alive, he kept wild Farsiders at bay,” said the Wanderer. “But once he was gone, somebody had to step in. We formed an order - mortals, immortals, even a few Farsiders who like our world just the way it is.”
Inanna once told me a story about the Guardian - a Farsider that fell in love with the moral and turned against its people. I never thought there could be more.
“An army of gods and mortals, fighting against the abominations,” I said. “Now there’s an interesting battle. If you want me to join in… I would rather fight without mortals getting in the way, but it’s been so damn long since I’ve had a chance to really use my power that I don’t even care.”
Inanna’s gaze softened.
“It’s not that simple,” she said. “You killed people. You killed them just because you could.”
“They’re mortals!” I exclaimed. “You know what’s like. You’ve killed as many of them as you used.”
“I did,” she said. “But I’ve stopped. Can you stop?”
“Why in hells would I? They’re mortals. We can do whatever we want with them, and there isn’t a thing they can to stop us. I’m finally free! No - you and the Wanderer and all the rest can go fight the Farsiders. I have better things to do.”
“I told you,” the Wanderer said to Inanna. “Even if we got here earlier… He still hasn’t changed at all.”
I started to walk out of the alley.
“Nergal, wait,” said Inanna.
The sound of that name stopped me in my tracks. I haven’t been called that in a very, very long time. If anyone else called me that, I would’ve killed them where they stood.
“I lost so many people already,” said Inanna. “I don’t want to lose you, too. There’s a better way. Better than crawling in the shadows, or trying to live up to a legend. I know you don’t think so, but there is. If you keep going like this, you’ll just be a god of war, trapped by the mortal expectations, forever. Dyeus spent so long playing a role that he got lost in it, and you know what happened then.”
“Is that what you think it is?” I sneered. “I’m not you. I never cared about what the mortals thought of me. So long as they worship me, they can believe whatever they want. This is who I am. After all this time, holding back, pretending to be a mortal, I’m finally free. And this order of yours better stay out of my way.”
And that’s when Thor spoke for the first time.
“You know we can’t do that.”
Of course I did. Why else would they surround me? Why else would they keep two people in bay, just in case I break through?
“Master Songsmith, Mistress Moon - contain the area,” the Wanderer said to those who were hanging back.
The Farsider changed, its clothes shifting into a second skin, its fingers growing longer. A white mask with four eyes and mouth full of jagged teeth appeared over his face. Thor prepared to swing his hammer. Inanna pulled another sword from the clear. The girl with an ancient soul waved, summoning enough power to rip through a mountain. The fop placed his spectacles in his pocket and pulled out a gun covered with runes.
“I’m sorry, Nergal,” Inanna said.
“I’m not.”
I pulled the second blade out of the Clear and gathered my power. There was no need to hold back. At long last, I could fight at my full strength.
Maybe they would kill me. Maybe they wouldn’t. But I will fight for every second of my life. My blades would cut flesh and bone and the smell of blood would fill the air.
What more could I ask for?
---
2013-2014 © Strannik01
I saw the contest as a chance to step outside my comfort zone a bit and touch on gods and overt supernatural battles. But to do that, I had to figure out a lot of things I only had very vague ideas about. How do gods work in Urbis Arcana universe? What is their history? How much of it resembles the myths we know? And how do other aspects of Urbis Arcana backstory that I've only recently started hinting at fit in?
Since writing the original version, I've changed a few parts of the backstory. There are several parts that, on second thought, didn't make much sense. Plus, I wanted to expand on some aspects of the story, make some connections to the greater Ubris Arcana universe a bit more overt. So this weekend, I decided to sit down and finally do another version of it.
As always, comments, criticisms and any and all feeback are welcome. And, as before, I hope that Chicagoans reading this will appreciate a pretty obvious reference to a major historical event. Along with some of the more subtle references.
Into the Fire
(an Ubris Arcana short story)
Near West Side, Chicago
October 8, 1871
It’s been so long since I cut loose.
I missed it. The smell of blood and sweat. The feel of my blades - sharp beyond sharpness, perfectly balanced - cut into flesh and bone. The sounds primal screams of silly little mortals fighting for their silly little lives, the pitiful thing they call civilization meaningless before my power. My might. My right.
I suppose I could have killed them with my bare hands, but that would take too long, and some of them might run away.
My wounds were already healing, and I didn’t hurry them along. Let the blood flow. Let their pitiful attempts to hurt me linger.
I stepped out of the boarding house. I looked over my shoulder - nothing. Dyeus’ angels weren’t coming for me. I guess he got sick of looking for me.
Good. About damn time.
I turned into the alley. A man covered in blood tends to attract attention even in this wretched part of this cold, dirty city. I crouched in the shadow of a wooden house and waited. Once the wounds heal, I’ll clean the blood, make myself some new clothes, change my face and go down to the Levees and really indulge.
But just as my wounds closed completely, I felt the power stir. Not Dyeus’ power, vast an unfathomable. This was mortal magic. The shadows grew, and men and women stepped out.
I jumped to my feet. Eight total. Their souls blazed bright with power - some brighter, some dimmer, but respectable, for mortals.
Six of them came around me, surrounding me from all sides. I studied them carefully. A tall, massive man with thick muscles bulging through his suit, moved more swiftly than his size would suggest. A short woman moved carefully, almost delicately, her eyes studying her surroundings as much as she studied me. The man’s pants and blouse she wore gave her range, and she chose materials for toughness, not appearance.
Another woman, a girl, really, looked much more frail, and she wore a uniform that reminded me of one of those Ursuline Academy girls I so loved to ruin. But the power! Oh, I recognized that power. I encountered a woman who bore it deep in the forests in the wild land of Slavs. It felt bigger now, a weight of hundreds of mortal lifetimes. No, I won’t be underestimating this one.
Another man, wearing a suit, a top hat and a set of spectacles - one of those mortal weaklings who called themselves educated gentlemen. But his power… Yes, he prolonged his life, far past mortal lifespan. And there was something about that power that felt familiar.
Stepping behind me was a tall, thin man, his skin as black as coal. The suit he wore was just as dark. There was something about him that made me feel uneasy. A strange feeling, for a god, but I trusted my instincts.
And then, right in front of me, stepped a woman in a white man’s suit. Her skin - more mud-brown than coal-black, didn’t have the tattoos, and she had hair, but even after all those centuries, I remembered.
I liked her better when she was naked.
“Wanderer?” I studied her carefully, looking for any weapons she might be carrying. “How are you still alive? Did the Almighty God decide to spare you after all?”
“No,” she shrugged. “But it was just a death. I’ve been through that before.”
So her followers brought her back. Of course. I kept forgetting mortals could do that.
“But it’s not about me. It’s about what you… what do you call yourself these days?”
“The name I use with mortal weaklings isn’t important. I suppose you can call me Mars. Always did like the Romans. They appreciated me more than Greeks ever did.”
“Very well, Mars,” the Wanderer said. She didn’t seem to be carrying any of her old weapons, but only a fool would let his guard down around her. “You massacred an entire boarding house. For no reason. Whatever happened to finding glory in the field of battle?”
“The battlefields aren’t what they used to be,” I sneered. “These new mortal weapons can cause so much delicious destruction. I can appreciate that. But I miss the days when I could charge into the field of battle and watch my enemy die as I cut his throat. There is no challenge, no joy, no life.”
“So you challenged yourself by killing the defenseless,” there was no question, no outrage in her voice - just the statement of fact.
“They are mortals,” I shrugged. “There will always be more of them.”
“And what gives you the right to kill them, exactly?”
I had to laugh:
“What gives me the right? Oh, Wanderer… You are powerful, for a moral, and we’ve had some fun, but you need to remember your place. Otherwise, I might have to break you.”
I pulled one of my blades from the Clear. Just to make a point.
The Wanderer looked at me and smiled.
“You think the world hasn’t changed,” she said. “You think that, just because people once worshipped you, you are untouchable. But we both know that gods can die. You just need the right tools.”
The massively built man reached into the Clear and pulled out an enormous hammer.
It didn’t look like I remembered, but the power coming from it was unmistakable. Mjolnir. And the man carrying it was a god who, last I heard, called himself Thor.
The woman in the more practical clothing reached into the Clear and pulled out a short, narrow, curved blade as sharp as mine. I realized then why her footsteps seem familiar.
She looked different then I remembered - but that’s only because it’s so long since she looked like this. Inanna. The goddess of love and war. One of the oldest among us. My equal.
Behind me, the coal-skinned man sent a surge of power along this arm. The power crackled, becoming a metal-like staff with two long prongs on the tip. Terror surged through me - a terror I couldn’t control, couldn’t push away no matter how hard I tried.
A Farsider. An abomination. Devourer of spirits. Destroyer of reality. God-killer.
“What in all hells!” I couldn’t stop myself from crying out.
“The world is changing,” Wanderer said. “The time when men who called themselves gods, doing what they please, is over. It’s been over for a long time.”
“Unless you’re Dyeus!” I spat. “Arrogant old bastard. Though shall not have other gods before me… Did he send you?”
With all the power he got, all those mortals worshipping him… Maybe he had the power to tame the Farsiders. It would be just like him. Death isn’t good enough for those who defied him, oh no. He had to make a spectacle out of it.
“You haven’t heard?” Inanna asked. The warmth in her voice, the softness, was so unlike her.
“Heard what?” I asked.
“Dyeus is dead,” she said. “He’s been dead for a long time.”
There was sadness in her voice, the sadness I recognized from her stories of the old gods who fell to the Farsiders. She was telling the truth.
“Dead…”
After all those years… I ran, ran to the other side of the world, hoping his creatures wouldn’t be able to find me there. And even then, I was careful, quiet. Every time I killed - even when I was very careful - I kept looking over my shoulders, waiting for an angel to swoop down from the sky.
“How long?”
“Almost two and a half centuries now,” said Inanna.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to howl. After all this time, running, hiding, denying myself the pleasure - for what?
“How did he die?” I spat out.
“And there was a war in heaven,” the Farsider suddenly spoke, its voice beautiful and cold. “The army of men and beast fought against the dragon and his angels. But he was not strong enough, and he lost his place in heaven. And the heaven was hurled toward the earth, and the angels with it.”
Though me pathetic, Farsider induced terror, I felt a pang of regret. If only I didn’t run… A battle against the great Dyeus and his creatures… Oh, that must have been glorious.
And then, the full reality of it dawned on me.
“So that’s it? We’re free. No more hiding. No more cowering. Oh yes. All this time, I couldn’t been having so much fun.”
Inanna looked at me, her eyes stern.
“No,” she said. “Those days are over.”
“Says who?” I said. “We are gods! Now that the old bastard is gone, who is going to stop us?”
Behind me, the Farsider grinned, revealing a set of impossibly clean teeth.
“What in hells is that thing doing here, anyway?” I asked Inanna.
“When Dyeus was alive, he kept wild Farsiders at bay,” said the Wanderer. “But once he was gone, somebody had to step in. We formed an order - mortals, immortals, even a few Farsiders who like our world just the way it is.”
Inanna once told me a story about the Guardian - a Farsider that fell in love with the moral and turned against its people. I never thought there could be more.
“An army of gods and mortals, fighting against the abominations,” I said. “Now there’s an interesting battle. If you want me to join in… I would rather fight without mortals getting in the way, but it’s been so damn long since I’ve had a chance to really use my power that I don’t even care.”
Inanna’s gaze softened.
“It’s not that simple,” she said. “You killed people. You killed them just because you could.”
“They’re mortals!” I exclaimed. “You know what’s like. You’ve killed as many of them as you used.”
“I did,” she said. “But I’ve stopped. Can you stop?”
“Why in hells would I? They’re mortals. We can do whatever we want with them, and there isn’t a thing they can to stop us. I’m finally free! No - you and the Wanderer and all the rest can go fight the Farsiders. I have better things to do.”
“I told you,” the Wanderer said to Inanna. “Even if we got here earlier… He still hasn’t changed at all.”
I started to walk out of the alley.
“Nergal, wait,” said Inanna.
The sound of that name stopped me in my tracks. I haven’t been called that in a very, very long time. If anyone else called me that, I would’ve killed them where they stood.
“I lost so many people already,” said Inanna. “I don’t want to lose you, too. There’s a better way. Better than crawling in the shadows, or trying to live up to a legend. I know you don’t think so, but there is. If you keep going like this, you’ll just be a god of war, trapped by the mortal expectations, forever. Dyeus spent so long playing a role that he got lost in it, and you know what happened then.”
“Is that what you think it is?” I sneered. “I’m not you. I never cared about what the mortals thought of me. So long as they worship me, they can believe whatever they want. This is who I am. After all this time, holding back, pretending to be a mortal, I’m finally free. And this order of yours better stay out of my way.”
And that’s when Thor spoke for the first time.
“You know we can’t do that.”
Of course I did. Why else would they surround me? Why else would they keep two people in bay, just in case I break through?
“Master Songsmith, Mistress Moon - contain the area,” the Wanderer said to those who were hanging back.
The Farsider changed, its clothes shifting into a second skin, its fingers growing longer. A white mask with four eyes and mouth full of jagged teeth appeared over his face. Thor prepared to swing his hammer. Inanna pulled another sword from the clear. The girl with an ancient soul waved, summoning enough power to rip through a mountain. The fop placed his spectacles in his pocket and pulled out a gun covered with runes.
“I’m sorry, Nergal,” Inanna said.
“I’m not.”
I pulled the second blade out of the Clear and gathered my power. There was no need to hold back. At long last, I could fight at my full strength.
Maybe they would kill me. Maybe they wouldn’t. But I will fight for every second of my life. My blades would cut flesh and bone and the smell of blood would fill the air.
What more could I ask for?
---
2013-2014 © Strannik01