David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

A bright flash came from his right, and Velixar turned toward it. He saw a cluster of soldiers collapse as small fireballs and waves of electricity washed over them. Beyond those fallen soldiers he spotted six men in heavy cloaks surrounded by a phalanx of Wardens. The spellcasters worked diligently, their hands and mouths in constant motion despite their obvious exhaustion.

Velixar grinned and twisted his fingers into runes. So powerful was the energy running through him that he didn’t need to utter a single word before two of the Wardens collapsed into shapeless, fleshy heaps, every bone in their bodies crushed. He imagined organs rupturing, and blood erupted from another Warden’s mouth with such force that it rose twenty feet into the air. Shadows leapt from his fingertips, swirling around three more Wardens, spinning them, twisting their bodies until their limbs were ripped from their torsos. Eyeballs boiled in their sockets, hearts burst, faces caved in. The six spellcasters were the last to fall, four of their stomachs splitting open and their entrails vomiting out of them. Those entrails in turn became writhing snakes, choking the life out of the remaining two.

To Velixar, his work was brutal, effortless, exhilarating .

He sensed danger approaching and pivoted on the balls of his feet to find an arrow careening toward his head. He had no time to cast a spell to bat the bolt aside, not even time enough to duck, but his confidence didn’t waver. He simply smiled as the arrow caught fire, burning to a cinder as it passed through the swell of energy surrounding him. By the time it struck his billowing cloak, the arrow was nothing but ash. He looked in the direction from which it came, and there was Ashhur, knee deep in soldiers, fighting them off with all his might. Ropes looped around his neck, and as the deity lumbered forward, hacking away with his ethereal sword, he dragged soldiers behind him.

Velixar hooked his fingers, and a shadowy conduit shot forth, five feet wide and screaming with dark energy. The conduit roared along the ground, obliterating bodies both living and not, kicking up a bloody mist as it sought out its target. It struck Ashhur in the side, enveloping the deity in pulsating tendrils. The god screamed, as did the soldiers attacking him, and then the whole of the area was overcome by a ring of darkness. Purple flames licked along the surface of the swirl like a potent cosmic storm. Velixar laughed and brought his hands together, wringing the dark energy, compressing it, crushing all that was inside. He imagined Ashhur, his heavenly form squeezed thin as a reed, the magma of his life flowing out his mouth, eyes, and ears.

“I have you.”

Only he didn’t. Just as his palms met, and the swirling shadow constricted with an audible thwump , Ashhur leapt from within the black. He soared twenty feet into the air, arms and legs splayed, golden hair trailing behind. His silver armor was dented, the plating seared black, but his flesh was still immaculate. When the deity landed on the other side of the stone barrier that rimmed the southern edge of the settlement, one knee and one foot driving into the earth along with his fist, he lifted his glowing yellow eyes to Velixar and seethed.

Not even in Haven had he seen Ashhur so full of rage. The god appeared angry enough to crush the entire world in the palm of his hand. With a wrathful deity’s attention fully on him, Velixar felt dread for the first time. Ashhur’s presence also seemed to steel both the Wardens and his children, for they fought with renewed vigor, even those mortally wounded.

Velixar lifted his hands, and the heads of forty of the corpses surrounding him tore free from their necks. With a whoosh the heads were alight with purple fire, searing away hair and flesh. The skulls left behind still burned, and when he thrust his arms forward they took flight, trailed by licking flames. They flashed through the air, heading for the throng on the other side of the bunker. It was a maneuver to frighten as much as injure, one he had seen utilized in the memory of the Beast of a Thousand Faces, when Kaurthulos’s demons laid siege to Kal’droth’s last elven stronghold.

It might have worked then, but not now. Ashhur didn’t cower; instead, the deity reached up a single hand, stopping the skulls mid-flight. He made a fist, and the fires extinguished, bits of smoking bone raining down on the blood-drenched snow. The western god then took a menacing step forward, pointing an accusatory finger Velixar’s way.

Ashhur’s voice echoed in his head, though the god’s mouth never moved. Betrayer. The force of the accusation was nearly enough to drive him to his knees.

“BROTHER!”

The sound rocked the countryside, feeling like the moment Celestia split the land to form the Rigon River.

“YOUR KINGDOM IS MINE.”

Karak’s voice was swelled with contempt. Ashhur’s eyes shifted to the smoking hole in the wall where the gate had once been, and Velixar looked that way as well. Karak came sauntering out of the hollow, his armor a black so deep it seemed to swallow all light, making the very air around him dim. He held his own ethereal sword in his hand, its blade alight with flames and swirling with shadow. The Divinity of the East took five steps and then stopped, leveling his gaze at his brother.

Ashhur stared at him, standing as still as the mountain embellishing his scorched breastplate. It seemed as if everything ceased, nearly all combatants stopping mid-swing to gawk at the stare down between the brother gods. The only sounds were the wind, the moans of the dying, and the sobs of those attempting to comfort them.

It was Ashhur who moved first. He lifted his chin, stared at the bright afternoon sky for a half an instant, and then glared back at his brother. The western deity was statuesque, the embodiment of beauty and dignity with his flowing golden hair and firm posture. Velixar hated him all the more for how much he admired him in that moment.

“Leave,” Ashhur said, his voice low and menacing. The blue glow of the sword in his hand brightened.

“No,” Karak said.

“Then I will make you.”

“As always, you lack wisdom,” said Karak. “You will not lift a hand against me.”

As Ashhur tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, seeming puzzled, a low rumbling sound reached Velixar’s ears. Karak gestured down the road behind his brother. Ashhur turned his head, and Velixar could see him visibly deflate, the god’s shoulders hunching.

The rumbling was the sound of innumerable marching feet. A multitude approached from the northwest, urged onward by soldiers on both foot and horseback. Babes cried, mothers sniffled, old men pleaded for their lives. It was one of the most pathetic scenes Velixar had ever seen.

The soldiers who’d scaled the walls at distant parts of the settlement had been given firm orders: Be brutal when confronting pockets of resistance, but do not harm the innocents or those unwilling to fight. Instead, they were to gather as many as they could, as quickly as possible, and march them to the southern gate. The five hundred soldiers pushed and prodded the people through the center of the road, where the remains of countless humans and Wardens surrounded them. Bodies were shoved aside to allow room for the bedraggled populace to stagger forward. Velixar was shocked by the numbers he saw: There had to be more than five thousand.

The captain leading the charge stopped the procession three hundred feet from where Ashhur stood, surrounded by a ragged collection of bleeding defenders. The crowd was close enough now that Velixar could see their faces, see the fear and dismay that showed in their tear-filled eyes.

“Citizens of Paradise,” said Karak, his voice elevated so that it could be heard from seemingly miles away. He proffered his hand to the still-smoking gate behind him. “These walls were built not to protect, but to enslave . Your creator would deny you your liberation! He has kept you as infants when you should have become strong. My faithful embody the strength you lack; my faithful have been given the means to flourish. Ashhur gave you all you desired, even the very weapons your defenders now hold, but I. . I allowed my people to grow on their own. The towers outside were crafted by their sweat and labor, the steel they wear and hold molded by their brothers. Accept these gifts. Accept the knowledge I offer. The time for remaining children has passed. I do not wish to destroy you. I wish for you to be FREE !”