Chapter 133: New on the Board

“You are dismissed” The man said after listening to what the grey priest had to say.

“Yes, Malakor.” The priest bowed, more than once, then rushed out of the door.

Malakor who now sat on his own in a dimly lit room struck one of his rings gently, and similar to how magicians perform tricks, a bottle of red wine, and a wine glass appeared in front of him.

The bottle was unmistakable, Château Pétrus, a Pomerol that cost more than most people earned in a year.

He poured it with the practised ease of someone who had tasted wealth so long it no longer impressed him, the wine falling into the glass like liquid ruby, swirling once before settling.

He raised it to his lips and sipped slowly, savouring it the way only those born into excess could.

“See, you got it wrong. It did not go as planned.” Malakor spoke to empty air.

If the grey apostle, or the people standing guard outside were here, they would have thought of him as a fool, who could he be speaking to in an empty room.

But then

The lights flickered, the scrying mirror too.

And the air in the room began to change, the atmosphere itself began to shift as the air grew heavy.

The walls seemed to darken, as though the stone itself was bleeding shadows.

And then, slowly, something began to materialise, a presence, a thing that existed between the physical and the astral, half-solid, half-smoke.

The entity stood at the edge of Malakor’s vision, tall, twisted, its form flickering like a flame caught in a windstorm. Its body was vaguely humanoid, but wrong. If Makun saw it, he would have noticed similarities with the cult’s insignia.

Its face, gods, its face, was a nightmare given form.

Malakor did not budge, not a single time. He was used to this thing, how could he not be, when they were linked to a great extent.

“You struggle, mortal.” It spoke its voice soft, soothing, a huge change from its appearance “I was not wrong, you failed to prepare.” It contradicted.

“How so? You said it was a reasonable threat, a good sacrifice, one that could boost your constitution.” Malakor sipped on his wine one more time. “Do not tell me two second-grade apprentices, one first-grade apprentice and that grey priest at the third grade were not sufficient for one first-grade apprentice.”

“…” The entity stayed silent, not a word from it.

“It seems we underestimated that little scholar.” Malakor’s gaze snapped to the chessboard.

It sat on the table beside the scrying mirror, carved from obsidian and ivory, the pieces frozen mid-game.

Malakor played white, he always played white.

His pieces dominated the board, an army still largely intact. Both rooks stood tall like siege towers.

Both bishops cut diagonal lines across the battlefield, threatening squares the opponent could not reach.

The queen loomed three squares from the black king, ready to deliver the killing blow. Even most of his pawns remained, a full regiment facing a crippled defence.

It was a massacre frozen in time.

But as Malakor studied it, he recognised something he had missed before. The board was bizarre.

He was winning the game, overwhelmingly so. Yet the one who played black, had not resigned.

The black king sat castled on the queenside, tucked behind a wall of pawns. A solid textbook defensive position.

But everything else was wrong.

The pawns were almost untouched, six of them still standing in formation like soldiers who had never seen battle.

Meanwhile the officers had been slaughtered. Both bishops were gone, one rook had fallen and the queen, the most powerful piece on the board, was nowhere to be seen.

Black had sacrificed its generals to protect its foot soldiers.

Malakor frowned.

What is the little scholar planning?

“Remove two of my pawns from the board.” Malakor spoke to the entity, who with a flicker of its astral form directed a wave of air at the board.

Two of Malakor’s pawns were knocked from the board.

“Who should I move from the opponent?” The entity asked.

Malakor smiled, it seemed this entity had adapted to human games, not like it watched him play it every day, on his phone.

Not like they discussed this board, and this game every other day.

Malakor looked at it deeply, he knew this was detrimental, he could not get it wrong.

“Hmm! Is he a knight?” Malakor asked himself, unsure of the answer.

Something that rarely happened to him lately. “What do you think?”

The entity looked at it, making use of some strange ability, it analysed the board. “He is new on the board.”

“That makes sense.” Malakor concluded. “Take a bishop from the dead, and put it where the last pawn was.” He nodded, that was it.

With this arrangement, he would see what was coming, he would not be caught by surprise again.

“The next move is?” The entity asked Malakor, a curious expression, if it could be called that, on its grotesque face.

Malakor sat in thought, this was a chess game, yes it was, but it was an unconventional one, it was not one where you played, then waited for your opponent’s turn, no, it was a game where you played whenever you felt like it could give you an advantage.

But even then, moving too much too early could expose your game plan and lead you to a disadvantage.

The board was interesting, with the bishop back on the game, he could imagine the next moves, drawn out moves, he could catch the opponent off-guard and land a final blow to all those pawns he was protecting.

He needed those pawns, dead, out of the board, they were his road forward, but he would not attack first.

No, let the little guy fall into my trap. That was what he wanted.

“Have you decided?” The entity asked, awaiting a reply, it had come to like this little game called chess.

It was fun to watch, to guess the moves and see who would come out on top.

Malakor sipped his wine one last time. “We are securing the rooks, from inside out.”

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