Beyond The Impossible

Dark Galaxy, 10 billion light-years from Earth

Ekron, 20.000 light-years from the galactic core

Even after years of fighting on her side, Torn is still impressed by what Noriko Null is able to accomplish in the direst of circumstances.

He just saw her weaponizing her own soul against a dozen of hardened Ekronian warriors armed with Ichor weapons: only a Demon can appreciate the precision and ferocity with which she attacked their souls.

While her opponents are immediately knocked out, Noriko herself isn’t feeling so great: she doesn’t hit the floor only because Torn is quick enough to come to her rescue.

<I’m fine.> she reassures him, but it’s the most obvious lie possible considering how pale she is.

Not to mention that her right hand has been cut off and her blood is staining the leather trench coat that Torn lent her.

<You are not. Your body is going into shock: you are in no condition to fight.> he tells her.

<I’m not any worse than you.> she replies. On Torn’s shirtless torso the signs of the brutal torture he endured are still visible.

<We must retreat. There are millions of Ekronian Demons on this planet, and I can’t protect you from the Ichor in the environment for long.>

<Retreat’s not an option, we have to rescue the others.> Noriko tells him, trying to get her back on her feet. And immediately falling back into Torn’s arms when her legs don’t comply.

<We can’t rescue anybody if we die.> he points out.

<Point taken… I’ve already died once, I’m not looking forward to trying that again.>

<Your actions usually say otherwise.> Torn comments, raising an eyebrow.

<Alright, let’s get outta here. I’m guessing creating a portal back to Earth is out of the question?>

<Yes. I am also weak: I have enough strength to summon only one Ichor portal more, but not to any destination out of this Galaxy.>

<So still under Baal’s watch. And we run the risk of these Ekronians following us… any chance you could find a place not filled with Ichor?> she asks.

Torn doesn’t answer right away, seemingly staring into the distance. Outside of the dungeon, Noriko can hear the sound of people yelling orders.

<We’re on a time crunch here, Torn!> she reminds him.

<I sense Ichor in all directions, but there is a world free from it. With so much Ichor elsewhere, it’s quite noticeable.>

<Good, let’s go there. Right now.> she insists: if the Ekronian language is as close to the Demon one as it sounds, she can understand it enough to deduce there’s a small army coming their way.

<We don’t know what conditions await us there.>

<I’m not picky! C’mon!>

They both jump straight into the hexagram portal, just in time to avoid the dozens of Ekronians rushing into the dungeon.

 

The Menagerie of Gods

Vesta thought that she knew pain. Even during all her fights, even in her time spent as a mortal, she has not suffered to this degree.

Her skeleton has been turned into an everlasting plasma fire, which wouldn’t normally be a problem for her if Baal hadn’t turned her flesh and bone as weak to flames as a human’s. She’s still enough of a goddess to continuously regenerate, but the pain is still there.

Baal watches her writhe in pain from the other side of a glass panel; she’s too distracted to pay much attention to it, but it’s surrounded by similar cubicles.

<I must say I am impressed. Your natural immunity to heat was the hardest to bypass, I didn’t expect you to be the toughest god to torture. Kronos would be proud.> he tells her, narrating as he walks back and forth in front of her.

<I think I will eventually let you compose yourself. Just enough to admire the Menagerie of Gods around you. My personal collection of eternally suffering gods.> Baal proudly describes.

Vesta ignores his voice. She ignores her own pain. All she thinks of is her fire.

<Not before a century or three, of course. You see, I was promised I would make the Slayer of Gods suffer, before she had the audacity to escape.>

A small ember forms at Vesta’s feet. Not much of a flame, but something that escapes the pain.

<I don’t know how she’s hiding from my sight, but I will get her. I will make her suffer more than any mortal has ever suffered, and I will make you and all her friends watch. Only after I have broken your spirit I will grant you a brief respite, only for the pain to return even stronger.>

Baal turns towards the glass cage, examining his prisoner. He can’t see any way she could escape.

<Anyway. I just thought you should know.> he shrugs, walking away to disappear into his own shadow. Completely ignoring the flame forming on the floor, on the other side of the glass cage: it consolidates into a woman made of fire, an imp just a couple of inches tall.

A smaller fire duplicate than what Vesta hoped to create, but still an extension of her will… and potentially her way out of this prison.

 

Elsewhere, sometime later

Noriko Null wakes up, aching all over. She doesn’t remember how she got here.

For an instant, disorientation makes her wonder if her torture was just a nightmare… but trying to rub her eyes with her right hand, she can see it’s still just a stump ending at the wrist.

Leaves from a plant she doesn’t recognize have been applied on the wound.

She has no idea where she is; all she remembers is going through the Ichor portal and hitting the ground. Most likely fainting from exhaustion.

She analyzes her surroundings, standing up from a bed made out of straw.

To her consolation she’s not naked, for once: someone put her in an extremely simple wool dress, although meant for a taller person.

The room she’s in has no windows, but some light is slipping in through the hinges of a door.

After adjusting the length of the dress to better fit her height, something harder than she expected to accomplish by using just her left hand, she leaves the room.

Once outside, she has to use her mutilated arm to shield her eyes from the sunlight: there are two Suns in the sky, as if she needed proof this isn’t Earth.

The place she just left isn’t big enough to be classified as a house; it’s barely a shack, and she recognizes that the bricks are made of desiccated mud.

It’s a nice location in the countryside, with fields of grass and grain that stretch as far as the eye can see. Not a place she expected to find in the realm of Baal.

Finding anyone takes a bit of wandering, but after walking for way too long for her taste… especially barefoot… she finds Torn.

Wearing his leather trench coat, unbothered by the scorching sun, carrying what must be a half a ton of hay on his shoulders.

<Null. You are awake.> he acknowledges.

<How long was I out?> she asks.

<Hard to say. The Suns haven’t set yet, but it must have been one or two Earth days.>

<And you look completely healed… dammit, Demon physiology is just unfair. Don’t tell me you’ve been spending all this time farming!?>

<Blood and Ichor are inaccessible from here. I had to keep busy, and they seemed to appreciate the help.> he replies, nodding towards the two people working the field further away.

Given the reflection of the Suns on their bronze skin, it’s easy to understand they’re not human.

<Who are they?>

<They nursed us back to health. Medicated your wounds, clothed you, even washed the blood off my duster.>

<I meant what are they doing here? It’s the only place free from Ichor on this Galaxy, they have to be important in some way.>

<I wouldn’t know. I don’t speak their language, and their souls are well protected.> Torn shrugs.

<Lemme try.> Noriko proposes, walking towards the two strangers.

There’s no doubt they are Ur, the same species of Gilgamesh. But they are definitely older: a man and a woman, looking at the very least in their 70s… or their equivalent of old age.

<Hello? Can we talk?> she tries to get their attention.

<Dumu-tur utu. Anaam munaab be?> the male asks the female.

<Nuzu. Nu sikil-la.> the old woman replies, looking at Noriko confused.

Noriko tries scratching her head, giving up halfway since she can’t use her right hand.

<Sounds a bit like Ancient Sumerian… I think. Nobody’s spoken it for millennia.>

<Not on Earth.> Torn comments.

Noriko approaches the two, cobbling together her knowledge of Sumerian and the few bits she learned from Gilgamesh.

<Salutations. My name is Noriko Null. Hospitality for my thanking, can you tongue my understanding now?> she manages to say, almost sounding like their language.

<You talk worse than a child, dear. You come from far away?> the old woman asks.

<Yes. Very far. I arrive to Earth, the name of his is Torn and he arrives to Hell. Where are we?>

<This is the Garden. We retired here.> the old man informs her, even if he has trouble following her complete butchering of his language.

<We never have visitors. How good to have youngsters around again.> the old woman tells her, giving her a warm smile and holding her hands… or her one hand and what’s left of the other.

<You poor thing, you must have suffered so much to reach the Garden.>

<How did you reach us, anyway?> the old man asks, putting down the scythe he’s been using… and given the sound it makes when it touches the ground, it must weigh as much as a car.

<A wide story. I will narrate, after I tongue your talking gooder.>

<I think she’s trying to say she will tell us once she’s learned to speak Ur better.> the old woman translates her broken attempt at communication.

<If she stays, she works the field with us. Good for you, Noriko?> the old man asks.

<Good. What name is you?> she asks.

<This stubborn old fool is Ziusudra, and I’m unfortunate enough to be his wife Nintukzi.>

Noriko’s silver eyes shine as she tries to remember that name, and both of her guests immediately react in shock by backing off.

<Glory of Enki! She’s one of them! She has the power of the Drylon!> the man shouts.

<I know your name from mythology. Ziusudra, the Sumerian name for Utnapishtim, “he who has found life”… the only survivor of the original flood myth. You’re in the Epic of Gilgamesh.> she realizes. She’s speaking English, but that name does make Utnapishtim tilt his head.

<You know Gilgamesh?> he asks.

<We are companions. Lovers. He is prisoner of Baal.> she answers in their language.

<How could that be? Gilgamesh is in Heaven.> the woman reacts.

<I killed Heaven.>

Something in the tone of her voice convinces the old man that she’s telling the truth; he gets close enough to place his hand on her shoulder.

<I have not been called Utnapishtim for a long time. But yes, I am the oldest living being in the universe born as a mortal.>

<Only because I’m ninety years younger than you.> his wife corrects him.

<It still counts.> he points out.

<I help your need to rescue my friends from Baal. This place is him from safe, you must know something that can power his stop.> Noriko pleads.

<My wife and I will gladly welcome you in the Garden, but we are not fighters. I am just a humble old man cursed with eternal life; even if death itself cannot touch me, Baal is a Primordial God: opposing him would be as foolish as trying to fight Tiamat herself.>

<I already killed Tiamat.>

<Dear, we must teach you to talk properly, you’re speaking nonsense!> the old woman says.

<No, I don’t believe she is. Come this way, Noriko of Earth… we have much to talk about.> Utnapishtim invites her.