David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“No!” shouted Velixar, turning just in time to see Kayne leap at Ashhur. The deity ducked out of the way and slashed upward with his sword. Kayne’s momentum carried him directly into the blade, slicing him from nose to rear. The two halves of the flaming lion soared through the air, and when they landed, both halves exploded into chunks of smoking, molten rock.

The lion’s mate let out a rumbling howl of despair and charged as well. Ashhur plunged his fist into the lioness’s snout, driving her maw into the ground. Then he sidestepped and brought his glowing blade down on her neck, splitting through the solid stone and roiling molten rock. The gaps in Lilah’s stony flesh ceased to glow, smoke rising instead. Ashhur grabbed the beast’s severed head by the ear and lifted it. He turned to Velixar, showing the head to him before tossing it aside.

From all around the god came a chorus of gasps, cheers, and prayers.

With the Judges gone, the power that forged them had nowhere to go but back to its originator. It slammed into Velixar, the combined energies churning, boiling over. He fell to his knees as Ashhur stormed toward him. His shadowy, protective sphere dissolved. Smoke billowed from Velixar’s throat when he tried to speak. He tried to form runes with his fingers, but his flesh bulged and rippled. He screamed in pain as the pendant on his chest burned through his ribcage.

“It. . cannot. . be,” he gasped.

“Indeed it can.”

Ashhur snatched him up by the front of his cloak, lifting him into the air. Velixar felt no fear of the god; he was too fearful of what was happing inside him to worry about much else. He felt his flesh expand, his blood boil, his bones begin to shatter under the massive weight of all that he’d swallowed.

The deity lugged him off the slate walk while awestruck onlookers gaped. Velixar couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, couldn’t defend himself; it was like he was filled with a raging star that pressed against his limits, ready to explode. He felt impossibly stiff. Almost gently, Ashhur set Velixar’s two feet on the ground and stood before him, glowing sword in hand, shaking his head. Velixar glanced above the deity. He was now facing the Castle of the Lion, its three towers rising above the wall and into the afternoon sky like stone fingers.

“This. . should never. . have happened,” he murmured, looking up at Ashhur. “The soul. . is limitless. . so said. . the demon. . ”

Ashhur shook his head. “The mortal body is not.” He almost sounded compassionate. “Never listen to a demon. They lie.”

The god stepped backward and swung his radiant sword. The blade cut through the man’s shoulder, sliced down through his ribcage, and stopped upon hitting his spine. A rush of white-hot pain surged through him. All of the energy Velixar had absorbed came rushing out of him in a giant shaft of translucent fire. People screamed and fled. Ribbons of heat curled around the entirety of Velixar’s being. The beam of energy slammed into the wall around the castle, instantly disintegrating the bodies that hung there. The wall then detonated, crumbing, the heavy stones toppling one after another. The beam continued on its way, growing ever larger as it punched through the bottom of the three towers. The sound of crunching rock filled the air as the towers wavered, falling against one another, losing form as they collapsed, stone by stone, brick by brick, with a sound like an avalanche. The beam continued on, pulverizing the opposite side of the wall.

And then it was over. Velixar fell, his innards spilling over the cobbles, adding to the gore. The castle and its wall kept crumbling while Ashhur stood over him, a look of triumph on his godly face.

I am sorry, my Lord, Velixar thought, reeling with the pain of a mortal wound. I have failed you once more. .

Nothing had ever filled Aully with as much dread. Not being thrown in the dungeon, not watching the butchering of Noni and Aaromar, not those long days she sat fearing for her mother’s life, not even being forced to sit there helpless as Kindren had his fingers sliced off, one by one. No, the thing that lunged out of the forest before them, toppling trees as it roared, was terror incarnate.

Aully grasped hold of her mother and Kindren and wailed. Her entire body was quivering. She thought of her old friends, now gone after the massive creature tore through the city in the trees, devouring all it came across. Aully had escaped that fate, but now she and those who fled were trapped between the rampaging demon in front of them and the sheer cliff that plummeted into an ocean inlet behind. The choice between becoming a monster’s snack and plunging to her death was not a choice at all. Not even having with them Ceredon, the Quellan prince who had sacrificed so much to save them back in Dezerea, gave her a glimmer of hope.

“Keep steady!” Ceredon shouted, running along the line of survivors. The horde was huge, over two thousand as far as Aully could guess. Most of them were her fellow Stonewood Dezren, but interspersed among them were a number of the eastern deity’s human soldiers, their armor polished black. Although the humans seemed anxious, as if looking for a fight, the elves stared ahead with wide eyes, gawking at the beast rumbling toward them as their feet shuffled backward, edging closer and closer to the rim of the cliff. Few of them were warriors, and those that were had long before pledged their allegiance to Carskel. Aully spotted her bastard brother among their numbers, standing alongside Ethir Ayers, both of their expressions blank with shock, and for a waning moment hatred bubbled up within her, overtaking her fear. She scowled and shoved away from her mother and Kindren’s embrace, heat growing on her fingertips as she mouthed the words to a spell.

A hand grabbed hers. It was Ceredon. “Save it,” the handsome prince told her. “We will need it.”

The spell dispersed.

Ceredon kissed her on the cheek and dashed away, heading back toward the small cluster of human soldiers. When they spoke this time, it was hurried, hands waving, voices raised and frantic. Finally a woman, the most beautiful human Aully had ever seen, grabbed a man with a forked yellow beard by the collar, growled at him, and shoved him away. She handed Ceredon one of the shortswords that hung from her belt. A funny-looking man with a thick red beard and wearing a bright green, bloodstained robe, laughed. The odd man smacked Ceredon on the shoulder and hurriedly called out to the throng of humans in the common tongue.

The demon lurched into action, barreling across the stony ground like a charging bull. The thing was huge and bulbous, at least forty feet long, with a lashing spiked tail. Its rear legs ended in hooves that tore up the ground with each lumbering stride, sending bits of gravel and dirt into the air. The front legs each ended in five long, wickedly sharp claws. Its head was like that of a reptilian horse, with a triangular, slotted nose above a wide mouth filled with huge teeth that dripped with the blood of her people. A pair of giant tusks curled around from the hinge in its jaw, each coming to a point on either side of that slotted nose, and as it ran, it dipped its head, those tusks gouging into the earth. Its eyes were like a raging red inferno. Its forked serpent’s tongue licked the air. It was a nightmare made flesh.

Every remaining human soldier who had a horse mounted up. The beautiful woman swung up onto her charger, drew her sword, and sounded the charge. Hooves pounded the gravel-strewn ground as the humans fanned out. Those who had no horses ran behind, clustered together. There had to be four hundred of them.

“Do not just sit there!” screamed Ceredon. The prince stormed toward Davishon Hinsbrew, who stood gawking just outside of Carskel and his party, and slapped him across the cheek. Davishon staggered back, eyeing the Quellan with fright. “You have a bow-use it,” Ceredon growled at him before dashing away.