Blood Of Gods

CHAPTER 50

Velixar lay on his side, his blood leaking away as Ashhur towered above. Scarlet drops caught fire on the god’s shimmering blade. He couldn’t begin to interpret Ashhur’s stare. Was it anger? Regret? Or detachment, the curiosity of one who’d stepped on a strange insect?

All around them, those who had been fighting for Dezrel’s soul gawked.

“You,” Velixar gasped, and despite his grievous wound he tried crawling toward his former god. If only his power had been stronger. If only he hadn’t pushed his limits, if only his human body weren’t so pathetically weak. “You won’t. . ”

The ruins of the castle shifted, followed by the boom of heavy footsteps that shook the ground. Ashhur looked away and lifted his sword. Velixar heard Ashhur sigh, and he knew Karak had finally emerged from the wreckage.

“You should not have come,” said Karak.

Ashhur’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“You knew I would,” Ashhur said. “This conflict must end.”

It was pandemonium as those who had been battling in the gods’ names fled.

Karak was just beyond Velixar’s sight, and he turned his head to look. His god wore his brilliant armor; his short, dark hair was blown back by a breeze, and he held his fiery blade in both hands. His armor was stained with soot and clay, and a grim smile played across his face, eagerness in his eyes that burned greater than his sword. This battle, Velixar realized, both had been yearning to revisit since their fight in Haven ended in a draw. Damn the followers and armies and supplies and movements. There would be no retreat this time. Their blades were drawn, their power naked. Here they would fight until one of them would forever die.

Velixar’s fingers pressed against the blood-soaked cobbles, and he begged for strength. Only the magic of the ancient beast within him kept him alive, kept his rent body together, kept the blood pumping through severed veins. The pendant that had singed his chest pulsed with energy. It was agony, and took great concentration, but he would not die. Not yet. Before he passed, he would see a victor. The damn world owed him that much.

“What happened to the paradise we were to create?” Karak asked as he braced his back leg for a lunge. “What happened to the perfection we swore would blossom? We watched worlds burn. Ours was to be different. Ours was to be better. How did our creations fail us so?”

Ashhur settled low, readying his blade, preparing for the charge.

“They never failed us,” he said. “Not as much as we failed them, as you failed them.”

Karak’s smile spread full, and it was a look Velixar hardly recognized. His god seemed. . crazed. Feverish. “You are right,” his deity said. “We gave them their free will. Knowing their imperfections. Knowing their sin. Every murder, every blasphemy, it is on our heads. It is our failure, our greatest failure, and once your body breaks before me, I will sweep across this land correcting it.”

Ashhur looked horrified.

“You would strip them of their will? Their choices? Their very souls? This conflict was your doing, not theirs.”

The fire on Karak’s blade burned all the greater.

“You still don’t understand?” he asked. “Life is chaos. Creation is stubborn and wild. There is only one way to obtain true order. Only one way to obtain true justice, yet you are too blind to see it. Emptiness, my brother. Pure, quiet, blissful emptiness. We were doomed the moment we stepped foot on this land and sought to create anything other than monuments to ourselves. Proud gods are we, but we must be prouder still. We must cast off these inferior beings, cast off our need for their love, our yearning for them to live and grow and understand things they will never truly comprehend. They will only know suffering, misery, and confusion before they succumb to their graves. You cannot cast dirt to the stars and expect it to understand the vastness, and that is all these humans are, the dust beneath our feet. Let me help you before it is too late. Before these wretched things, by their very existence, result in the death of a god.”

Velixar was in too much agony to understand it, his god’s words flowing over him like a frozen wind, their meaning horrifying yet so simple, so frighteningly believable, just like the vision of a burning, peaceful world Karak had shown him. Looking to Ashhur, he thought there was no way another perfect being could hear and not agree. What counter could Karak’s brother offer? What wisdom could he refute it with? The god stood still as a statue before the ruins of the castle as Karak waited for an answer. And when it came, it came with tears in Ashhur’s eyes.

“No,” he said, his deep voice but a whisper.

“Why?” Karak asked, not hiding his frustration and disappointment.

“Because I love them. And I will die to save them.”

Ashhur leapt forward. Velixar craned his neck to watch, his dying breaths stolen away. Ashhur’s sword swung, Karak blocked, and at their connection the very ground shook from the shock wave, further toppling the castle’s ruins. The massive throng of terrified onlookers shrieked. A mindless roar rumbled from Karak’s throat as he pushed back, muscles bulging, the world beneath him breaking from the strain. At last Ashhur relented, only to swing again. Sword striking, sword blocking, each became a blur, light and fire twirling, mixing. A chunk of the wall still standing was crushed beneath the might of their struggle. Suddenly it was a display Velixar no longer felt worthy to witness, and casting his eyes to the bloodstained cobbles beneath him he crawled, dragging his lower half behind him. He cried out in pain as he lurched over the remnants of one of the onyx lions that had guarded the castle portcullis. He had to be closer. What power he had left, he wished to give to his god. No matter what, Ashhur could not win. Not after all he, Velixar, had given. . all he’d lost.

As Velixar crawled, his ears ringing from the awesome noise, he felt magic begin to grow around him. It was low at first, a tingle, but soon it seemed the very air was saturated by some ethereal presence. Velixar didn’t know what it was, but it made him afraid, and he crawled faster. His intestines threatened to burst out of him entirely with each movement, but he used the power within him to keep his flesh together, to hold on just a little bit longer. The gods were so close now, and a glance showed them deadlocked, their movements mirrored. No attack went unforeseen; no feint succeeded; every thrust was parried away.

“Karak,” Velixar groaned-another inch crawled. He was nearly deaf now from the riotous clash of the gods’ ethereal blades. Even the screaming host of humanity fell away. It seemed impossible that two weapons could make such a cacophony, but each connection between them was like the collision of worlds.

They had to see it, didn’t they? See how the air was turning a shade of green, how dark clouds swirled above them like the heart of a tornado? His terror grew. So thick with magic now, multicolored sparks shimmering in and out of existence everywhere he looked. Something, or someone, was coming.

Crawl! He flung himself forward onto the remnants of the castle courtyard, strewn with rubble, without fear of the conflict, but only the deep innate sense he felt that somehow time was running out. The battling gods were close now, mere feet away. The dust vibrated before him; he saw a foot, and then he reached out. Just as he touched Karak’s heel, he heard a sound that shook through his body. It was like a crack of thunder, only greater, so much greater, and it carried the power of a goddess.

Time halted. His heartbeat froze. No blood dripped from his body. The ground vanished, and though he felt a smooth surface beneath him, there was nothing there but a blanket of stars that seemed to stretch out to infinity. Karak took a step, breaking Velixar’s touch, and suddenly he could not move, could not speak. He could only watch. Both gods turned to face the intruder, and to Velixar’s eyes she was a stunningly impossible vision. He felt an ache in the back of his mind as he tried to give form to the light shining before him. There was a face, a feminine form, hair like light, eyes like stars, and in seeing her, Velixar realized how whole she was. This was not the same goddess he had watched descend from the heavens to find comfort in Ashhur’s bed. This was true divinity. The brother gods, compared to her, were incomplete. They were broken, lacking her power, her authority. Right then, Velixar had no doubt that in her realm, the brother gods were mere interlopers.

“This ends,” Celestia said, hovering before them. Her voice was beautiful and terrifying. “No more destruction. No more wasted life. Only the two of you, as it always should have been. Find a victor.”

Karak and Ashhur lifted swords gleaming with energy, light, and fire. If they were upset with the goddess’s intervention, they did not show it. Instead, Ashhur’s brow furrowed, and his gaze narrowed with concentration as Karak grinned wide.

“There is only one possible victor,” said Karak. “We both know who is stronger. Your heart is soft, brother, and it will lead to your downfall.”

Ashhur braced for an attack.

“Too many of my children have died by your hand,” he said. “Come see how little mercy for you is left in my heart.”

Karak lunged, his sword lashing out, and when Ashhur blocked, it seemed all of eternity shook from the impact. The blades pressed harder and harder against each other, until it seemed they intertwined completely, fire and light swirling together. When they pulled back, neither god appeared fazed in the slightest. Up and around went Karak’s sword, swiping wide for Ashhur’s side. He blocked again, and the shock wave was just as strong, the impact fusing the weapons together once more. Mouth hanging open, Velixar watched as they repeated the dance again and again, sometimes Ashhur taking the offensive, most times not.

This wasn’t like Haven. That wasn’t even close to the battle he’d just witnessed. For once, Velixar saw the gods not bound by flesh, but by something different, something more. The strength of their blades was no longer dependent on the strength of their muscles. Both their eyes shone white with power, and as their intensity increased, so too did their visages grow otherworldly. They were men standing on stars, swinging blades amid the heavens, beings of strength and power that made the very cosmos shudder. Force of will drove them on. Time, already an elusive thing, became meaningless, and Velixar was nothing but a spectator, his own heart not beating, his lungs never once drawing in a breath of air.

Strike. Parry. Swing. Block. On and on, a dance unending, neither able to surprise the other, neither able to bring down his brother with either power or strength. If it tired them or gave them pause, neither showed it. A thousand times their blades struck, then a thousand times more. Through it all watched the goddess, her luminous form saying nothing, only silently waiting for the end.

And then, just when it seemed they would endure forever, their battle stretching on as infinite as the field of stars they warred within, Velixar saw Karak’s blade slow. It wasn’t much, just the faintest spark of white across the tip. It was the goddess, Velixar knew. It had to be. His god would not fail. He felt seething rage in his breast as Ashhur’s sword slipped over the block, through Karak’s armor, and into his chest. It plunged in deep, and instead of shadow, shimmering crimson blood poured forth. A symbol of how weak they were when confronted with true power. Karak stood there for an endless moment, mouth open, his fiery blade vanishing into the ether.

And then he fell.

Velixar wanted to scream, to cry out, but he was helpless. There would be no denying the goddess, not then and there, her collected might gathered and furious. Whatever terror he’d known, it only magnified. Karak had lost. Ashhur was victorious.

“I’ve won,” Ashhur said as Karak knelt before him, clutching his bleeding chest. Karak glared at him but said nothing, would not admit defeat even then. Velixar waited for the horrible moment when the final blow would come, wishing he could shut his eyes, but unable to do even that.

“You have,” Celestia said, and it seemed she grew closer, more human. “But what does your victory mean?”

Ashhur seemed perplexed by the question. He looked down at his sword, stained with the blood of his brother, the blood of a god. His fist tightened. The glow of the blade brightened.

“I end it,” he said.

“There is another way,” Celestia said, and she hovered between them, a ghostly presence. “Let him suffer exile to the world you came from. I allowed your entrance, and I can deny it just the same.”

Still Karak said nothing. Velixar wished his god would object, would cry out at the injustice. Celestia had interfered-did they not all see? The whore had broken the dance, tipped it to her lover. Ashhur was not the stronger. He was not!

“Another way,” Ashhur said, gaze boring into Karak, who shuddered and held tight to the oozing wound in his chest.

“Or you can take his life,” Celestia whispered, and it seemed her voice echoed from a thousand directions. “Take his power into your own. All of Dezrel will be yours, if you desire it. Make your choice.”

Up came the sword. Velixar couldn’t imagine the debate raging within Ashhur, but he could see a glimpse of it. He could see the pain, the exhaustion, the indecision, the doubt and fondness. But then he saw it all replaced by a glimmer, a hint of something he’d seen in Darakken, and in himself. A longing for power. When did a god ever resist power?

Down came the sword.

“STOP!”

Ashhur’s sword shattered. Eternity quivered. The goddess stood between them as a flaring nova, and there was no denying the fury that overwhelmed her every word.

“You still seek blood?” she asked as both gods lifted up, helpless in her grip. “You, Ashhur, my lover. . you would seek power over mercy? You, Karak, you would have death and emptiness if it granted you order? You entered my world through my grace, my desire to save you, and you have ruined it with fire, flooded it with beasts, and spilled the blood of your own children. I will not have it, even if I must be the one to pay the cost.”

The heavens ruptured. High above, Velixar glimpsed a world beyond his own understanding. The only thing he could perceive was its vastness. Something-a wall, a light-divided it, and with a sound akin to shattering stone, Celestia cast the gods into either side. They faded, growing farther away. Yet still the goddess spoke.

“The souls that awaited you. . take them. They are yours.”

A chasm then appeared, rising from below him from the black. Next came the murmur of thousands of voices, and then Velixar watched the people ascend from the chasm, which now stretched out into the heavens as if it had no end. They passed through stars as if the distance was but a step, and they sang and cried and danced. The souls of Afram, Velixar realized. Velixar looked to the dividing line, and the sight of it made him wish to weep. The faces were different, the bodies strange, but Velixar saw some he recognized, people Jacob Eveningstar had known; Roland Norsman, Nessa DuTaureau, Crian Crestwell, Vulfram and Soleh Mori, Harlan Howey, Oscar Wellington. Ranks of Wardens streamed past him, Judarius and Ezekai, Loen and Grendel, Bareatus and Jaquiel, and countless others. The spirits of the humans went to the gods who’d created them, and the Wardens to Ashhur, until the stars sealed, and only the twirling void met Velixar’s eyes.

He was alone with the goddess.

“Karak,” Velixar wept. “Karak, please, fight her. . fight free!”

Celestia turned to him, and he felt paralyzed with terror. Her eyes bore into him, and it seemed she saw him for the very first time. Pointing a finger toward him, she spoke.

“You were banished. You are again.”

The power of Velixar, the Beast of a Thousand Faces, ripped out of his very essence. No pain ever felt by the man once known as Jacob could compare. He screamed, he writhed, as the ancient power fled him like red curls of smoke, disappearing into the void. It was like losing a hand, only worse-like forgetting how to breathe even as his lungs burned. Yet he could do nothing, only weep, while the stars vanished.

In his chest, he felt his heart beat, just once, before his body spilled apart.

As he lay dying, the clouds above him rumbling, the world returning to his sight, he heard the goddess’s words echo across the land.

I banish you, never to walk my land again. If you would war forever, then let it rage among your creations. Let it be your curse, one they will bear until the breaking of days.

His body convulsed, his vision gone dim, and with ears gone deaf, he heard only silence. Death was coming, death for the ageless First Man. For the briefest moment, he thought perhaps it would be a welcome relief. At least he would war no more. At least he would bear no more burdens for either of the gods. As he felt himself slip away, his only regret was that, in the end, he and his chosen god had lost.

Not yet.

It was a voice he could never forget. Karak’s invisible hands were on him, his power flooding into Jacob’s every particle of being. Skin knit shut where he’d been cut in twain. The strength he’d lost from the demon was replaced by something purer, holier. His body convulsed, but he felt no pain as his sight and hearing returned. Against his chest he felt the emblem of his god burning into his flesh. The pendant glowed like a dying star. Letting out a great cry, he staggered to his feet. Karak’s voice overwhelmed him.

This is the last I have to give, my faithful prophet. The war is not yet done. Be my voice in a world that will soon know only silence. Be my Lion.

Velixar looked down to his hands as he realized what it was he’d become. His heart no longer beat. His lungs drew in no air. When he spoke, his voice was a projection of his will, deep and rumbling.

“Death,” he whispered.

Prophet, said his god.

Velixar looked about, saw the countless men and women who moments ago had been trying to kill each other, now confused and lost, blinking away their blindness from the sudden deluge of light. They didn’t know what to do, how to act. Who would rule them? Who were they to worship? And what of the war, the gods?

They’d need him, Velixar saw, now more than ever. But it could not be here, not as he was, a wretched, scarred body coated with his own blood. He had to recover. He had to grieve. To his left he ran, toward the shadows lingering between two wrecked sections of the wall that had once protected the Castle of the Lion. He leapt into those shadows. Karak’s power flooded him, and he knew the words without thinking. A doorway opened for him; he fled through, and then he was gone.