James Maxey - Greatshadow

“If you’ve got a straw handy, I can tackle this,” I said to Relic.

He didn’t find it funny.

This is the old god I spoke of! he thought back. Nowowon, the god of destruction!

“He sounds fun,” I said.

Nowowon turned his liquid eyes toward me and said, in a solemn seriousness, “I lived, evil I.”

This will not be fun for anyone. Nowowon had no match for cruelty among the old gods. He delighted in tormenting the dead as well as the living.

“Party pooper,” I said.

“Party boobytrap!” said Nowowon, licking his liquid lips. “Are we not drawn onward to new era?”

Behind us, Zetetic finished filling his lungs with air, and screamed again.

For a supposed god, Nowowon didn’t impress me. Except for Zetetic freaking out, no one else showed any obvious panic. That may have been because not everyone was paying attention. Father Ver was unconscious from his face-plant and Infidel had her back to the action as her repeated leaps over the false matter kept carrying her random directions and distances. Relic was just staring at Nowowon with the same detached calmness he showed toward most events.

Menagerie in his wolverine bodies and No-Face with his swinging chain didn’t look worried as they slowly circled the old god. I wondered what they were seeing? It made sense, in a completely senseless, magical way, that a god of destruction would appear to me as walking whiskey. Self-destruction no doubt had a special place in his heart. He was appearing to me as my greatest weakness. Maybe Menagerie was currently looking at a ten-foot-tall guy made entirely of money. Whatever he was made of, he’d taken the Jagged Heart from Tower, so he wasn’t going to be a pushover.

No-Face was first to strike, leaping forward with a noise half war cry, half grunt: “HRUNN!” The iron ball sliced through the air and came down dead center of Nowowon’s face, bouncing off without so much as leaving a scratch, at least from my point of view.

Nowowon met the blow with a thrust of the Jagged Heart, moving at blinding speed. No-Face didn’t stand a chance; the harpoon impaled his rib cage, driving down into the stone beneath him until the icy blade was completely embedded, leaving only the shaft exposed. Blood bubbled around the wound, then froze, as the ball and chain slipped from his fingers. No-Face sank to his knees, pinned by the shaft, unable to fall completely. No ghost appeared; as horrific as the wound was, he wasn’t dead yet.

The wolverines let loose angry howls as they launched themselves at the god, sinking their teeth into his throat. Nowowon grabbed them, then tossed them away, shouting, “Ooze zoo!”

As the beasts spun through the air, they began to break apart into dozens, if not hundreds of animals. Instead of two wolverines hitting the ground, the floor was suddenly covered with countless pint-sized creatures, no larger than they’d been depicted on the original tattoos. There were kitten-sized lions, wolves smaller than mice, and sharks no bigger than goldfish flopping on the floor.

As bad a development as this was, it was followed by something far worse as the miniature animals launched into a feeding frenzy. The lions leapt upon the sharks, the bug-sized boars were stomped by ankle-high elephants, and worm-like anacondas wrapped themselves around tiny eagles. Blood, fur, and feathers flew in a bloody whirlwind.

“Bad animals I slam in a dab,” Nowowon laughed as he stomped over the surviving beastlets, smearing them to paste beneath his heel.

No-Face groaned as he writhed on the harpoon, sinking lower, until his trembling, outstretched fingers reached his fallen ball and chain. With a muffled groan, he flung the weapon, bouncing it off the old god’s ear.

Nowowon stopped laughing as he paced back over to No-Face. He stared down at the impaled mercenary and growled, “Lived as a dog, reviled? Deliver god as a devil!”

He placed his thick fingers beneath No-Face’s chin flap and gave a sudden yank. With a sickening slurp the tumorous mask tore away, revealing… nothing. A completely blank, unblemished mass of skin, unmarred by scars, devoid of mouth, nostrils, or even eyes, despite the fact he’d always had one showing.

“I know how the god’s power works!” I shouted at Relic, hoping that my insight might be of some help. “No-Face was afraid there was nothing under his skin flap! Menagerie was afraid that there was nothing human left in him, that he was nothing but a mass of animals!”

Relic nodded. “And Tower feared that his only legacy to the world would be a statue. Nowowon destroys men with their greatest fears.”

“I really hope your greatest fear is of something harmless, like squirrels,” I said, as Nowowon stalked toward Relic.

Relic looked around the island; the Goons certainly looked dead, even if I hadn’t seen their spirits. Zetetic was curled into a fetal ball, sucking on his fist, his face awash with tears and snot. Father Ver was unconscious, Tower was stoned, and Infidel was still leaping around like a drunken jackrabbit. Finally, Relic looked back at me. Stall him while I mentally guide Infidel back across the shifting terrain.

I felt his mental hands grab me and hold me in place as he beat a retreat for the edge of the island. I struggled to break free of his invisible grasp, and did so just as Nowowon reached me. The old god grabbed me by the throat and lifted me from my feet. He brought my face to his. I could see right through him; the whiskey fumes of his breath left me dizzy as his lips brushed my ears and whispered, “Murder for a jar of red rum?”

Though he asked it as a question, I was apparently not intended to answer. From nowhere he’d produced a glass pitcher full of what smelled like rum, but looked like blood. He pushed me to the ground, pinning my arms. He pinched my cheeks to force my lips open, and poured the alcoholic blood between my teeth.

The taste… the taste was heavenly. The booze played upon my tongue like a symphony, sweet and bitter, cool and burning, and with each precious drop I swallowed my heart beat stronger. I grew increasingly aware of the stone beneath me. I moved my legs, feeling my naked foot scrape along the cold stone, chilled as it was by the Jagged Heart embedded not twenty feet away. Goosebumps covered my skin as he freed my arms. I used both hands to grab the glass and sat up, still guzzling the precious fluid, fire burning in my veins. This bloody broth had brought me back to life!

Murder for a jar of red rum? The Black Swan had been right. I’d kill my own mother for more of this. I emptied the glass and ran my tongue around the inner rim, searching for the final molecules of goodness.

I rose, woozy, and held the glass out toward the old god.

“Thank you, sir, may I have another?”

Giggling, Nowowon pointed toward the Jagged Heart and said, “Red rum, sir, is murder.”

I nodded, and stumbled toward No-Face’s still body and the long harpoon that jutted from his chest. The sound of my feet slapping the stone was a wondrous thing. I nearly wept as my solid fingers closed around the cold shaft of the harpoon. Needles of ice ran up my bare arm, but even this sensation took my breath away. My breath! My breath! I heaved out great clouds of smoke as I strained to free the Jagged Heart from its sheath in No-Face’s massive rib cage, and the solid stone beneath.

The ground creaked as I withdrew the frozen weapon. No-Face’s body slid down the narwhale tusk slowly. I placed my foot on his neck to pull the harpoon free. There was no question he was dead now. Maybe I had missed his departing spirit in all the excitement.

Or perhaps he’d lingered on until I’d removed the harpoon and, alive once more, I could no longer see ghosts. It wasn’t a power I would miss. Of course, who knew how long Nowowon’s brew would restore me? I needed to guarantee a second glass. Who to kill? Who to kill to prolong this feeling? Zetetic, who was getting on my nerves with his rabbit-like shrieking? Father Ver, who I didn’t like much, and who was an easy target in his slumber?