The Legend Of Black Eyes 194 Hartwell Of The Underworld

"Sully!" Stalwart said without raising his head. "It's good to see you well and about. I hope you didn't drag that old sack of bones with you here."

"What's this about Theo?" Sullivan asked. His forehead had creased into a heavy frown. "The old sack of bones will soon start looking for me."

"Why don't you join me for lunch?" Stalwart asked. "I find it best to discuss matters on a full stomach."

Sullivan snorted. "You could have probed the poor soul without trashing the place," he said. "Oh, I forgot. The mighty wizard doesn't do anything without putting on a show."

"Let's not do this Sully," Theo said. He sounded tired, frustrated. "Let's just sit and eat, like two old friends, meeting after a long while."

"If you hadn't tried to kill me just a month ago," Sullivan said. "I would gladly take you up on the offer. Why ask me to come here?"

"I grow tired of this endless squabble between us," Stalwart went on, pointing for Sullivan to take a seat beside him on a soft, clean cushion. "I called you here to see if we can end it."

"End it?" Sullivan asked. "You've started it when you crossed all the lines Theo. I only tried to make you see reason."

"What can I say old friend?" Stalwart asked after taking a sip from a silver chalice. "Can you reason with madness?"

"You're not mad Theo," Sullivan retorted. "You just like the t.i.tle."

"Isn't that why you joined the Church?" he asked. "Isn't that why you worked so hard to climb the conventional ladder, to get promoted to Pontiff? Isn't it just another t.i.tle? One that you wear with great pride I must add."

"You speak as though you know me, Theo. Truth is, you look down on others because they have what you can never possess," Sullivan answered with a smirk. "You see others, content with their lives, with their positions, and you mock them. You think you're above them all because you simply crossed a line you can't come back from."

"No, old friend, that's not it." Stalwart readjusted himself on the cushion he was sitting on then pointed a fork at the pontiff. "I look down on others because they can never have what I have. I don't see why you should be happy with what you've got. I mean, you're taking orders from an imaginary G.o.d!"

"Don't you insult Him in front of me Stalwart!" Sullivan warned, his essence already seeping out of him like steam out of a hot pot.

"I'm not insulting him, silly." Theolonius snorted. "I'm insulting you. You're the dumba.s.s who, instead of working with me, went in pursuit of happiness. The spiritual journey, you called it. How did it work out for you Sully? I see you're still working for someone. Are you happy obeying orders?"

"At least I'm not taking them from you," Sullivan spat at him. His essence was getting thicker around him, its radiant golden color getting clearer.

"Alright, alright," Stalwart said then took a deep breath. "Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I didn't ask you here to fight. I really intend to put this old enmity behind us. I'm willing to prove that your G.o.d doesn't exist. That He's fantasy. That He was dreamt up by a desperate child who convinced the world a mighty giant with a beard lives above the clouds and answers wishes when called upon with good faith."

"Theo, I've seen the Lord's might with my own eyes," Sullivan said, shaking his head. "Clearly, I made a mistake by coming here."

Stalwart smiled. "Do you really believe that?" he asked. "You've seen how fast I copied your so called miracle the other day. I can beat every trick your G.o.d has in store, and even surpa.s.s them. Do you really believe what your eyes saw?"

"What are you insinuating?" Sullivan asked.

"Maybe there was something hidden in the shadows of that giant light. Maybe, your G.o.d is a tiny man who casts a bright light to hide his cowardly nature," Stalwart said. "Maybe you were tricked into believing He, actually exists."

"I know what I saw," Sullivan said, arms crossed.

 "What if I proved to you that Dhobor is a work of fantasy?" Stalwart said. "What if I could make you the leader of said Church. You'll get into His private domain and bask at his naked glory. You'll realize the treachery, and as a gift from your benevolent friend, I'll let you use His name as you wish?"

"Is this just a game to you?" the pontiff asked, infuriated. "You don't know what the name Dhobor does for commoners, innocents you wish to slaughter. We're doing great in the Church. We're saving lives, ending wars. Isn't this what you sought out to do after Talia pa.s.sed? What would she think if she saw you like this?"

"The dead don't have opinions," Stalwart dryly answered. "But we're not talking about her, are we? I'm offering you a seat at the top Sully. You can enter your G.o.d's private domain and see for yourself, that He does not exist."

"You a.s.sume too much, Theo," Sullivan said. "If I wanted leadership, I would have gotten it before Maynard was appointed Bishop."

"Correction," Stalwart said. "If you could lead, you would have taken it from the current Bishop. You're weak. You've always been weak Sully. I'm offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity here. Don't waste it on morals, on the everlasting duality between right and wrong, good and bad, dark and light.

"There's no right or wrong Sully, only action and reaction, cause and consequence. I'll take Maynard out. You take credit for taking me down. You'll soon be admitted to your G.o.d's private quarters. Then you'll see for yourself, the treachery you've been subjected to for decades."

"Let's imagine for a second," Sully said, gritting his teeth. He looked ready to attack. His essence had solidified around him, giving him a celestial appeal. " Let's imagine that I decide to work with you. I can't help but think you have a hidden motive behind all this."

"Why?" Stalwart asked. "I only want to get my friend back. I merely want you to open your eyes to what's really happening."

"Don't treat me like your p.a.w.ns in the underworld Theo," Sullivan yelled. His voice reverberated across the mansion. "Our friendship ended the day you desecrated her tomb, her body."

"You're only mad because you didn't have the guts to do it Sully," Theo spat at him with a heavy frown. "Don't bring up the past now, I'm really trying to turn the page here."

"There's no turning pages Theo!" Sully went on screaming. "I see through your ingenious plan. You mean to control the Church. You just want a puppet to sit on the chair, screaming your orders. Well I'm not for sale Stalwart." Sullivan's jaw pulsated as he kept biting on his own molars.

"Why did you come alone then?" Stalwart asked then took a piece of steak he'd just cut.

Sullivan sighed. "Believe it or not, I always hope to see the friend, the good man I grew up with, come back. We could have achieved so many things together. We could have saved the world. Instead, you're trying to control it."  

"You amuse me old friend," Stalwart said. "There's no saving the world without control. It's what the Church is doing, is it not? You put rules for people to follow. You tell people to obey the word of G.o.d. What is this if it isn't control?"

"The people we preach to have the right to refuse our way," Sullivan retorted. "We only impose it on those who live in our lands."

Stalwart snorted. "Whatever… I a.s.sume you do not wish to become the Church's new Bishop then?"

"Not with your help," Sullivan retorted.

"There's nothing for us to discuss then." Stalwart got to his feet and extended his arm toward Sullivan.

The pontiff's eyes narrowed. He hesitated at first. Stalwart never took refusal lightly. Sullivan didn't feel a whim of Stalwart's energy in the air though. There was only one more source of energy, perhaps the drooling young man's. It felt chaotic, dark, a result of Stalwart's probing.

The mad wizard may have just wanted to speak after all. With no hidden plans, no intention to kill him. He met his old friend's extended hand and shook it. Stalwart met his friend's gaze with gentle warmth.

"May you find your worth in the next life," Stalwart said then nodded.

A dark streak of light shot at the pontiff from behind, piercing his back and exiting through his torso. Sullivan fell to his knees, still unaware of what had happened. Something, a cold sensation, was creeping up on him, consuming him.

"Our eyes play all sorts of tricks on us, old friend," Stalwart said as Sullivan's face hit the floor. "You came here expecting I'd be alone. The great Theolonius Stalwarts always fights alone. I cast my shiny light on you, while the tiny man behind me stalked in the shadow…"

The pontiff turned to see a shadow of a man in the corner of the dining room. As life slowly departed his body, Sullivan felt like forgetting his ambitions and goals. He felt like falling to the floor and closing his eyes, forever. Nothing mattered anymore.

Death, despite what people said, was surely a blessing. In seconds, he would no longer exist, and his struggle will finally end.

"Send my regards to your G.o.d if you meet him," Stalwart said then roared in laughter.

From behind the dying man, a shadow moved toward the light. A man with graying hair and a long cane approached. He looked like the grandfather who would take long strolls in the evening, enjoying the last moments of his life in peace. His hazel eyes met Stalwart's, and he nodded.

"Great job Mr. Hartwell," Stalwart said. "Your mortal enemy is all yours for the taking." He moved aside then, revealing the drooling Lord Flugel.

"What did you do to him?" Hartwell approached the drooling Horst then inspected his pulse.

"I needed something out of him," Stalwart said. "Don't worry, I didn't damage his soul."

Hartwell put his hands on Horst's chest then closed his eyes. A gray, almost translucent cloud enveloped his wrinkled hands. The cloud then moved and got inside Horst's body. The young looking man shook as more translucent matter left Hartwell's hands and entered his body.

He started convulsing, jumping up and down on the cold, stone floor. His skin started losing its radiance. The once young and good looking man had instantly turned into a dying one. He wheezed as he tried to breathe. His eyes looked clouded, as though years of untreated cataract had spread all over them.

 Hartwell stood. His gray hair had gained a dark color. The wrinkles on his face and hands disappeared. His back straightened and his cane fell to the ground with a loud clatter. Hartwell jumped around like an excited child.

"This is something I can get used to," Hartwell said. "I don't understand why you keep that old wrinkled face."

"I happen to like it," Stalwart replied with a light chuckle.

"You're awfully happy to see your old friend die," Hartwell said.

"I know what my grandson looks like," Stalwart said, smiling. "Besides, Sully died the day he betrayed me."

"Do you want to send some men after your grandson now?" Hartwell asked.

"No," Stalwart replied. "Let him come to us. Move the helm to a secure location. Spread the word among Konig's men. Some of them are in Hilda Fischer's pockets."

"What about Bodrick?" Hartwell asked.

"Give him that useless sailor," Stalwart replied. "Make it look like Bodrick kidnapped him. We will lead them all to a wonderful trap. We'll soon have our hands on that Aether Spring."

Hartwell nodded, bowed then made his way toward the mansion's exit.

"Any word about the witch your dear wife hired?" Stalwart asked before Hartwell left.

"I got the captain," he answered. "But she escaped. She might have joined them."

"Good," Stalwart said. "Send word to Adwerald. He knows what to do. Prepare a feast in my honor. I shall arrive to Merinsk on the day of the full moon."