Reign of the devourer, p.28
Reign of the Devourer, page 28
part #4 of Marvel Untold Series
Doom looked down at the spot where Krogh had been. Her body was gone now.
On the stones of the ridge, there was not even a memory of where she had been.
Epilogue
Past ages crowd on thee, but each one remembers,
And the future is dark, and the present is spread
Like a pillow of thorns for thy slumberless head.
Percy Shelley, Prometheus Unbound, I.561–3
It was well past dawn before the worst of the dust settled over the grave of Doomhelm. The earth fell quiet then too, and Zargo knew that the war was over. That was when he pulled himself more into the world above ground. He made himself fully regard his works.
He stood on a boulder in a field of debris. The valley was transformed. There was no hint of what had been here before. Zargo turned around slowly, taking in the miles of dark rubble.
He had done this. No one else. Doom had not ordered him to bring down the mountains. He had made that choice.
It was necessary.
Or was it?
Of course it had been. What would have happened to the next village, or the one after that, if these urvullak had not been destroyed?
He found that question a comforting one.
Besides, there had been no one here to save.
Are you sure?
That question was far less comforting. It came on the heels of an assertion that was too quick, too eager to end the internal debate.
Are you sure?
The question demanded an answer. He thought carefully about what he had seen. Could there still have been living people in Doomhelm?
No, he decided. It was too quiet. Krogh had made the village hers.
You’re sure?
He hesitated. He was sure enough. This time.
This time. What about the times to come, then? Would he be so sure then? Had he truly been sure when he buried Doomhelm, or was he just trying to justify himself after the fact?
He didn’t know. He worried about the next time.
The peace of stone called to him. He wanted to retreat back underground, where the meaning of next time could be another age.
A retreat, he thought. Yes. A retreat from temptation, a retreat to contemplation, where he could properly come to terms with the truths of who he was.
It took Zargo a few days to reach his goal. He traveled east, toward Latveria’s border with Romania. He followed a trail of bereavement through the Earth, to where he was needed. He came to mountains again, and to the one that stood alone from its fellows, just west of the chain. He took the hover platform up to the peak of Mount Sivàr.
Maria von Helm had lived here, the reclusive witch of the mountain. She had come down to work with Doom, and when they had raised Hell, it had taken her. The mountain mourned her. Its peak had collapsed, burying the cave that had been her home.
Zargo took hold of the mountain gently, and with its permission he lifted its head once more and opened up the cave. Then he sat by its entrance and breathed deeply. The air was sharp and cold and pure. It had an edge of peace.
Zargo placed a hand against the mountain’s face, where it was warmed by a beam of thin October sun. “You lost your witch,” he said. “Will you accept me in her stead?”
He sent his mind deep into stone, and the mountain embraced him.
•••
Orloff and Kariana sat beside each other on the parapet again. It was cold in Doomstadt. The cloud cover was unbroken. Leaves from the trees in the courtyards skittered over the paving stones. The breeze was a leeching keen.
Orloff wasn’t cold. The touch of Kariana’s shoulder against hers warmed her.
“How do you feel?” Orloff asked her wife.
“Better,” said Kariana. “I can still feel where I tore. But a lot better. A good war helps.”
“I used to think you were kidding when you said things like that. Then I worried that you weren’t joking.”
“And now you get it.”
Orloff put her arm around Kariana. “I do. It’s not the fight, exactly. It’s getting through to the right end.”
“Yes. It’s being Latveria’s battlements.” She turned to look Orloff in the eyes. “And its hunter.”
Orloff kissed her. “I’m glad you get that too. I’m glad you understand me.”
“Always.”
They touched foreheads. “We’re lucky,” Orloff said softly.
“No,” said Kariana. “We’re destiny. The kind we choose.”
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Then, when they both knew it was time, they stood up and stretched.
“What now for you?” Orloff asked.
“Work to do. Order to restore. And you?”
Orloff put the helmet on. She looked through the crystal world. In the far distance, she saw the movement of her prey. “The hunt’s not over,” she said. Anger surged at the sight of the urvullak. So did eagerness. “Is it wrong that part of me is glad?” she asked. “Not that the urvullak are there, but that I’m still hunting?”
“The righteous hunts are never over,” said Kariana. “Yours is one of the most righteous. That’s a good thing.”
They embraced again, and then Orloff left the castle, tracking destiny.
•••
In his study, Doom stood at the window, fists clenched.
Nothing. It was all for nothing.
All the work, all the research, all the hopes. A war, and thousands dead. All for nothing.
Below, he saw Orloff take up her helmet again. The work with her, at least, had not been futile. Latveria had another champion now, one as loyal as she was skilled. She had many hunts ahead. The urvullak that had been isolated, with none of their kin to turn on when Doom broadcast the signal, had survived. They would lurk in the shadows, following their instincts. They were few, and they were no longer under a lethal will’s control, but they were still dangerous. Their hunger would never end.
Doom’s anger deepened once more. This was what he had to show for his efforts. The stain of the urvullak had returned.
Krogh and the Devourer were gone. Their taint remained. The touch of Krogh’s foul past would not leave Latveria easily. In the places where mist and shadows pooled, superstition would flourish.
To protect the people against the urvullak, for them to be properly wary, perhaps it had to.
Doom cursed Krogh. He cursed her works. You harmed Latveria. You denied me what was rightfully mine.
Power, true, unlimited power, that could not be countered, had been taken from him.
Again, he thought. It had happened again.
There was a tingle at the back of his mind, the suggestion of a memory, of a pattern, of a thing that was lost but could perhaps be learned, regained. He reached for it, desperate for its promise. Then it vanished, mocking him.
He closed his eyes hard and took a breath, pushing back against the instinct to lash out, to smash the world in frustration. When he opened his eyes again, he could think rationally once more.
Doom turned from the window. He left the study and climbed the stairs to the Chamber of the Eye. He entered the profound night of the space.
And now?
Fury smoldered, an underground fire. Its fuel never ran out. And it was his fire, deeply and forever his own. It could never be taken from him. It would show him the way forward. He would use it to burn a new trail through the shadows.
Another loss did not mean there was an end to his labors. There were other avenues of power, other darkness to claim.
Destiny is to be forged.
He began work on the next link in the chain.
About the Author
DAVID ANNANDALE is a lecturer at a Canadian university on subjects ranging from English literature to horror films and video games. He is the author of many novels in the New York Times-bestselling Horus Heresy and Warhammer 40,000 universe, and a co-host of the Hugo Award-nominated podcast Skiffy and Fanty.
davidannandale.com
twitter.com/david_annandale
Table of Contents
Cover
Reign of the Devourer, A Marvel Untold Novel
Copyright
Prologue
Part 1 One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Part 2 Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Part 3 Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
World Expanding Fiction
David Annandale, Reign of the Devourer
