Elysium's Multiverse-Chapter 328: (10 - s today)

They’d done this to him.

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT

The gatling gun honed in on Riven’s impersonator again, giving some of the holy warriors time to back up and regain their bearings.

Meanwhile the man who had been manipulated with Silvertongue, pretending to be Riven, continued to stay still in his bindings. He grunted in pain whenever an arrow or bullet lodged itself in his mangled body, while Riven watched from the sidelines hidden amongst the trees.

A clap of thunder overhead saw a gigantic white bolt of lightning fall from the heavens, crashing into Azmoth and making the demon howl in pain until finally - the brutalisk fell dead to the ground as a smoking cinderblock of the creature he’d once been.

[Your minion Azmoth has died. He will be returned to you 24 hours after you pay the blood price for your minion. To resurrect your level 31 infant hellscape brutalisk demon, you will be required to pay Elysium directly with a sum of 31,000 Elysium coins. Simply will this transaction to happen and make sure you have the required payment to further this agenda.]

A semblance of silence overcame the clearing, with only the sounds of the wounded groaning or the smoldering corpse of the demon crackling.

Elder Bren, that old elf bastard, had sweat dripping down his face in profuse amounts. He had to calm his breathing before steadying himself and walking forward to inspect the rune formation.

“Is he still alive?” One of the holy warriors called out, a human in Earth-made body armor that SWAT teams used to wear. Only he didn’t have a gun, rather he carried a broadsword under the summer sunlight that rarely touched the continent of Umbra in Riven’s true reality anymore.

In fact, looking around from Riven’s real vantage point, the death-attuned lands looked unbelievably different from the sunny, green forests around them in this memory.

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“The demon is dead, the vampire still lives.” A husky voice called out from the woods, and the dozens of holy warriors that’d rushed forward to surround the captured target all got on one knee.

From beside a bush where the gatling gun had been hidden stepped a handsome man who was easily 7 feet tall. He had a thick, muscular build and a well trimmed brown beard. His eyes were bright blue, and the top of his head was combed back with a thick gel. He wore plain brown robes, like those you’d see monks from medieval eras wear, and he carried nothing but a glowing white book.

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“Prophet…” Elder Bren muttered before bowing in respect. “I-I didn’t realize you’d come personally.”

Prophet shot the old man a wary glance, then smirked. “Where else would we go? These monsters have driven us from our homes, just like they would do to you. I am glad you contacted us when you did, who knows what kinds of horrors they’d set upon you in time. Though we come from other worlds, I am glad we are of like minds on these unholy abominations.”

Elder Bren eagerly nodded, enthusiastically even. “The gods shun those who allow themselves to be corrupted by the dark. We would have dealt with it ourselves, but when we saw his might… we knew we couldn’t do it alone. Thankfully we were able to use him against another mutual enemy of ours, as the orcs should be spooked into leaving these lands shortly.”

Prophet raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “Oh? How’d you end up doing that?”

“Manipulating this man’s heart with a pretty face.” Elder Bren gestured to Ethel who stood staring in the background, and Prophet loudly laughed.

Approaching the spot Fake Riven was tied down and still barely breathing, Prophet came to a smug stop and glared down at the bound man. Thorny vines still wriggled around the vampire, and his eyes were beginning to dull as blood poured out on the ground from numerous arrows or harpoons. “Ah… the brother of the infamous bitch who ruined my life.”

Prophet raised up his holy book, and brought it back to smack Riven violently across the face. The clap of noise caused Ethel and many of the other elves to wince, yet none of them attempted to stop him.

The big man brought his hand back yet again, gesturing to the two elf elders. The old men both stepped forward to join Prophet at Fake Riven’s side, with Elder Preen cackling maliciously before he came to a stop.

“What an idiot. To think that you could take one of our own as a thrall? To think you could take my future WIFE as your thrall!” With a snarl, the lanky old elder brought his staff up and started viciously beating Riven across his face. The sound of beating flesh and cracking bone could be heard over and over again, with Elder Preen’s bloodshot, wide eyes glaring down amidst huffs and puffs of exertion.

WHACK-SMACK-BAM

Elder Bren eventually held up a hand, motioning for Elder Preen to stop. “That is enough. He is nearly dead, and I would have words with him before Prophet takes his head as a trophy to send back to this ‘Allie’ girl.”

Prophet grunted with folded arms. “Meh. I think I was enjoying that as Preen was.”

Elder Bren ignored the other two laughing men, and sighed when he looked upon the beaten, bloodied features of the man who’d saved their village. Bren stepped forward, lifting up Riven’s hood to reveal a fractured skull and dimming eyes. “My boy. I am sorry we had to do this.”

Fake Riven did not reply. He could not reply. He merely gave out ragged gasps for air.

Guilt crossed Bren's face, and the old man gripped his cane more forcefully. He shot a glare at the other two leaders for their unnecessary cruelty, and then to the people around them. Both elves and humans alike had mixed emotions on the matter, but the vast majority of it was obvious - they were stares of approval. They approved of Riven’s death, many of them even enjoyed the show, and Elder Bren couldn’t necessarily blame them.

The old man rubbed his temple and turned his attention back to the fake vampire. He cleared his throat, and began to say his final words to the dying man bound to the earth. “You may be wondering why your regeneration isn’t working, or why your mana isn’t coming to your beck and call.”

Fake Riven only glared.

“It is because the runes of binding we have you tied down with sap your energy, my boy.” Elder Bren tapped Fake Riven’s head, right next to the open fracture of his skull. “Again, I am sorry we had to do this. But you must understand, though you may be a good man yourself - any that you turn would likely not be. To even acquire the unholy pillar is a feat in itself that speaks to a person’s misgivings. It warps people, changes them for the worse. That aside, as a vampire you are truly a monster. Whether or not you want to believe it, whether or not you see it that way, you survive on the blood of our people.”

Bren turned around, calling out to Ethel. She, her father Farrod, and her best fried Senna all approached from the crowd to gather around the dying vampire with looks of distaste and disgust.

The old man glanced down again with a fatherly smile. “Turning Ethel into a thrall would essentially kill her, Riven. You were willing to do that, to take her free will, to create a mind slave out of her to sooth your need to feed. A hunger that is justifiably needed to be subdued, lest you go insane and kill everything around you. You and your entire species is an abomination, creation’s mistake, and thus we could not simply allow you to leave. You are dangerous, like a cancer festering inside someone’s body, and you must be surgically removed to mitigate any damage you could cause in the future. Do you understand?”

The gasps from Fake Riven had turned into incredibly shallow breaths, and his eyes barely stayed open any longer. The man was on the very brink of death, and Elder Bren shook his head before drawing out a long dagger made of silver. He handed it to Ethel, who was then urged forward by her father.

“This monster wanted to feed on you, to bed you, to make you his slave.” Farrod stated coldly, pointing towards the bound man on his knees in front of them. “Kill him. It is your right.”

“Do it.” Senna agreed with an excited nod of her head. “Just imagine the stories about you! Vampire slayer, doesn’t that sound neat! You’re literally killing one of the most feared monsters of our childhood!”

Riven, from his spot on the hill, winced at the words while staring a hundred yards away to the site of the betrayal. Those words stung more than he’d like to admit, even over a year later. He’d truly liked Ethel and Senna, and Ethel’s family. He’d thought the elves of Greenstalk Village would accept him if he helped them with the orc problem, and he’d been a fucking fool to believe it.

“Let’s get this over with, I have a carnivorous bitch to send his head to.” Prophet stated with an annoyed growl. “Come on.”

Ethel glared daggers back at the incredibly tall man, then grasped the silver blade in her hand. It looked like she was internally battling with herself, trying to figure out if what she was doing was right. But resolve was soon set in her gaze and she stepped forward, her stump arm pressing Fake Riven’s head back in line so she could see eye to eye with him.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she managed to get out her words through clenched teeth. “I will never be anyone’s slave. Especially not when it is a blood-sucking monster like you. Did you actually think that I’d want to be seduced by something so gross? The mere thought of having you feed on me or use me in whatever other perverted ways you had in that gullible brain of yours is utterly revolting. You may be wondering about all those conversations you overheard when I thought I was all alone with my family or friends? All those looks of admiration? It was just a farce to get you to do what I needed you to do for my village. Thanks, by the way, for getting rid of those greenskin bastards. I can safely say I hate them a little more than vampires, but after one of your kind killed my grandmother so long ago - it’s hard for me to compare accurately. See you in hell, creature.”

Gross? Ugh. He hadn’t remembered her saying THAT. He wasn’t GROSS, was he?

That bitch was just plain rude.

The stunning young woman contorted her features with rage, and she plunged her dagger into Fake Riven’s neck. Yanking his head up by the hair, she began to saw and cut - removing soft tissue bit by bit in a bloody mess until she finally removed his entire head.

The body fell limp to the ground, and Ethel brought the head up over her head for the entire village to see. She smiled a perfect, white smile on beautiful features that any man would grow weak in the knees for. She waved the head around to the cheers of elf and human alike, until all of a sudden - an audible gasp was heard.

“FATHER!” Senna screamed in horror, and she dropped to her knees while staring in disbelief at the head in Ethel’s hands. “REN!!!!”

Ethel dropped the head and immediately screamed in horror when she realized that the head she was holding wasn’t Riven’s at all, but rather her friend’s father. The head rolled to a stop, and its red eyes opened wide with a sad and resigned smile on its lips.

Then it began to talk, and the voice coming out of Ren’s head was Riven’s own. His spectral body watched his younger self from afar on the hill, where they’d waited in ambush with Allie’s forces silently circling like vultures. He remembered how hard it’d been to pull off this move, but he’d done it nonetheless - and it was something that haunted him even now in the looks Genua and her remaining daughter Len gave him from time to time. Though Genua’s looks were full of adoration, while Len’s were filled with poorly hidden anger and despair for what he’d done.

“I had thought better of you, Ethel. The same goes for all of you really. For the elves, anyways.” Memory-Riven’s breath shuddered one last time through a mere figment of Fay’s magic still left in Ren’s severed head, before Memory-Riven’s words grew as cold as ice. The red eyes flickered to focus on Elder Bren next. “Old man… When I asked you not to do this, I was not begging for my own life. I was begging for all of yours.”

With those last words spoken through Fay’s remnant hallucinations, Riven’s spectral form watched Memory-Riven snap his fingers - and the barrels nearby detonated in explosions of red shrapnel. It was the beginning of the end of the old Riven, and the start of something new.

Something much, much darker.

KABOOOM

Time in the copied memory-scape froze just as the bomb went off.

[Part 6, 4th Memory’s Choice:

Choose to amplify the explosion, making it large enough to kill Len, Genua, and many of the other elvish villagers that would have originally survived as well. This will provide you with soul-lattice pieces you can incorporate into each of their own souls, erasing the pain and memories of their past life and ingraining absolute loyalty to you while simultaneously providing them access to Gluttony’s future evolutions.

OR, create a rift in this memory-scape, and pull out the fabricated version of Ethel into your own reality; thus saving her life. This version of Ethel is not the real one and is a homunculus, but will act, behave, and look exactly the same. This version of Ethel will also completely believe that she is real, has the real-Ethel’s true memories up until this point, and will interact with her remaining family and with you just as Ethel would have done after this event (should the real Ethel have been saved). This second choice will repair Genua’s broken mind, and will allow her to cope with the loss she once had by returning her eldest daughter to her; or at least a figment of her eldest daughter. But it will also likely come with significant social consequences that should be obvious even at a glance.

Choose one and proceed to activate your curse and boon.]