God of Broken Things

by Cameron Johnston

  Magic thrummed through me, hot and heavy as a drunkard’s kiss. Though I had to be subtle for as long as possible instead of charging in like a drunken bull.

  I did what I could for Layla, Eva and myself, keeping our minds shielded from his probing as we hid out of sight behind Dissever’s huge serpentine coils. He knew I was here, somewhere. If he found me too soon then all that power would fall on me like a hammer and pound me into mush.

  Dissever shifted and fidgeted like an impatient child as it waited for the enemy. The ravak as a race were, I think, not built for defence and waiting. Its hatred of its two enslaved offspring was stifling. The daemon intended to ignore everything until it obliterated them.

  The human forces advanced towards the city gate with packs of howling daemons running before them, the two mighty ravak in the lead and shambling fleshcrafted monstrosities of claw and fang on either wing.

  At a thousand paces, I opened my wooden box and removed the warded stones, sliding them into my coat pockets for easy access.

  At nine hundred paces, Eva’s magic-enhanced sight picked out a blue-robed figure in the rear.

  At eight hundred paces, a single ballista bolt launched from the city walls, the very extent of its range. The swift ravak it was aiming at was gone by the time the heavy bolt arrived, and instead it punched a small hole in the Skallgrim shield wall, two or three skewered on a length of wood as long as my leg. They didn’t slow and the hole was filled immediately.

  As the elder tyrant and his monstrous horde advanced to only five hundred paces from the wall, only a handful of ballistae loosed, the operators of the others standing motionless and dazed. Bolts punched through clusters of scaled daemons, lines of Skallgrim warriors, and thudded into the misshapen chests of Scarrabus-crafted monsters, felling some but serving only to slow others. Dozens died but the ballistae shots did not come close to hurting the elder tyrant at their rear – any that almost reached him burned to ash in mid-air. The shots slowed, then ceased as a moan of despair rippled through the city. Abrax-Masud’s power seized the defenders on the wall.

  Fuck him and the bug he rode in on! This was my home. I struck back, freeing as many as I could on the walls and filling them with defiance. Anger was easy, and it built on the same emotion in others around it. Single-minded anger could help them fortify their wills. Bows lifted again and more ballistae bolts plunged into enemy monstrosities.

  I could feel him focusing on finding me, the pressure building as we cut and raged at each other in invisible combat. If his attention was fixed on me then I wasn’t sure how long I could survive, but if I didn’t distract him the city gates would swing open at the hands of unwitting dupes – I was playing with fire.

  The horde broke into a run heading straight for the city. Bolts, arrows and incandescent stabs of lightning lashed down from the walls, followed by billowing balls of flame erupting among the charging daemons.

  Dissever ran out of patience. “Fight me, Scarrabus! I will be your end.” It surged forward to meet the two infested ravak in a flurry of crackling purple energy and clashing blades, claws and fangs ripping into each other. Their thrashings reduced a dozen nearby daemons to gobbets of steaming flesh, while others more magical in nature dissipated into mist blown away on the breeze.

  I grimly fought to keep Abrax-Masud from the magi and ballistae operators, and from ourselves. Fighting and slaughter erupted at several points atop the walls as he turned friends to enemies. Sooner or later he would manage to break a magus and then it would be carnage up there.

  I patted Eva on the shoulder plate and stepped forward to go on the attack. I lashed out and speared into the enemy tyrant’s mind, rocking both man and Scarrabus queen with the ferocity of my blow. Their defences held but they did feel it, and now they knew exactly where I was.

  “We are Setharis,” I shouted loud enough for the defenders on the wall to hear. “And we are humanity. This world is ours, Scarrabus scum, and you are ancient garbage fit only to be scraped off our boots. I piss on your queen, just as I have with your so-called god. Seriously, I actually have pissed on your god, and it seemed to enjoy it.” I had details from the visions of the ogarim, and sent Abrax-Masud that image mixed with a steaming flow of yellow.

  The answer was exactly as I had hoped. In a rage, the Scarrabus queen took control of its host body and the full force of Abrax-Masud’s mental power fell on me like a landslide, doubled in power but lacking the magus’ more dangerous finesse. I gritted my teeth and endured it, feeling like a sandstorm was scouring the flesh from my bones; I had to so the city remained free to act. I could not stand against it for long, but to scream and show weakness to the city’s defenders was to destroy the world.

  The first wave of daemons reached us, a pack of eight lithe and swift crimson-scaled canines with razor fangs. Eva leapt amongst them, her war hammer a blur of remorseless skill, crushing heads. Layla watched her back, throwing knives at any that survived Eva’s initial attack and finishing off the fallen.

  Up on the walls, the populace felt the elder tyrant’s grip on their minds dissipate, and with renewed fury they bent their bows and loosed a rain of death upon the enemy. The Skallgrim shield wall took the shots, a few at the front falling. A few long shots took down the lighter-armoured Free Towns spearmen behind.

  A huge fleshy abomination reached for Eva with four twisted arms ending in steel pincers. She spun her hammer and knocked its deformed head clean off its body. As the monster fell she vaulted it to butcher the next in line, the steel haft of her hammer bending badly from the force of her blows. She tossed it aside, raging among the enemy with her hands, a whirlwind of death crushing anything that came close. Layla wisely left her to it, and focused on slaying anything that managed to get past merely wounded rather than pulped. She lacked Eva’s extreme magical might but was quick and precise, each strike a kill. Even so, they kept coming.

  Dissever shrieked in victory as it reared above the battlefield with another ravak’s head in its jaws. It swallowed, then began cutting limbs and body parts from the next. Its savage victorious glee bolstered my own mental fortitude.

  For a moment it looked like we were winning, and the will and hope of the people of Setharis focused upon me. I had learned an unpalatable lesson about my own weaknesses from trying to enslave an army, and instead of commanding I opened myself up wide and held out an open hand saying I am here. Their minds willingly took that offered hand and flowed towards me, and with it the magic offered by hundreds of thousands of stunted Gifts. It was a lesser version of the Gift-bond I had once shared with my friend Lynas, an imperfect linking of our Gifts. From an entire city of people intent on destroying the enemy, those individually insignificant raindrops of power fell on me and joined to become a raging river.

  Sweet gods, it was glorious! THE POWER!

  I was a fucking god, a weapon of war worshiped by an entire city. It was ecstasy. And it was agony – I was no elder magus and this body did not boast a crystal god-seed to help channel so much raw power. It was burning me up from the inside out, but it felt divine.

  My skin shimmered with golden energy as I stood tall. I was on fire with the flames of their righteous fury. It was as endless as the sun. Wings of air lifted me from the ground to hang over the city, glorying in my people’s adoration and worship.

  Eva and Layla looked up, staring at my change.

  I lifted my arms wide to encompass the army intent on ravaging my home. “Die.”

  Thousands of Skallgrim warriors, Free Towns Alliance soldiers and Scarrabus-infested shaman screamed and dropped, their minds blown away like autumn leaves in a storm. Daemons and fleshcrafted monstrosities died in their hundreds, their alien animal minds uncomprehending as burning power overwhelmed and crushed their feeble thoughts.

  I was so far beyond what the Arcanum had feared I would become that I had to laugh. I recalled my old landlady calling me Setharis’ nightmare, but in this moment I embodied the entire world’s worst fears, but also their mos
t desperate hope. “I am a god!” I cried, voice thundering across the sky.

  The Scarrabus queen wearing the flesh of an elder magus was now the only threat. It did not seem overly concerned. “A small god, and half-baked at best,” it said, then pointed at Dissever busy flaying the last of the infested ravak.

  The Shroud cried out as it was rent asunder. Cold yellow skies belonging to another realm engulfed my daemonic ally and it was gone, the Shroud scabbed over. They struck at me with all they had.

  Filled with the power of a city, I contemptuously swatted it. Or I tried to. I found myself not as irresistibly strong as the magic had convinced me. For a moment the stalemate held. They pincered me – two separate incredibly powerful wills trying to burrow through my defences. Human tyrant and Scarrabus queen attacked with bewildering speed and irresistible might. I drew deeper on the magic of the populace, causing some atop the walls to collapse from the strain.

  I dropped to the earth, forced to concentrate only on keeping them out of my mind as Abrax-Masud’s robed form approached us. The city’s defenders attacked while he focused solely on me. Arrows and magic alike bounced off an invisible sphere.

  Eva and Layla charged. He waved a hand, disdainfully flinging them aside. They bounced off rocks and daemon corpses and rolled to a stop. Layla was dazed and out of the fight, mask torn, blood welling up from underneath.

  I slid a hand into my pocket and drew forth a ward, flinging it at the bastard’s face. It detonated in a ball of churning flame, but succeeded only in singeing his warded robes. His body had been changed and reinforced with magic for over a thousand years and it seemed the wards would have little effect.

  The moment he came within reach I slashed at his throat. He tried to block it with a bare hand, and hissed as the blade bit deep. Power and bloodlust sang inside me, only to be cut off as his other hand wrapped around my wrist and squeezed. Bones shattered and Dissever fell from numb fingers.

  My mental resistance faltered, and so did the belief of the entire city watching. The power flowing into me dried up as they lost faith.

  I was going to die. We were going to lose, and with us the world. Humanity would become a slave race if it survived at all. He started to crack open my mind.

  A dark hand wrapped around my throat and pulled me close. “You too will be Scarrabus.” I was all out of luck.

  I glimpsed Cillian on the battlements. She lifted a hand and the elder tyrant stumbled, choking as his bodily fluids tried to burst free of his body. He spat blood and laughed as his flesh settled once more. “Good try, girl.” With but a thought he caused Cillian to scream and claw at her eyes.

  With the last of my strength I kicked him right in the balls. His eyes bulged and that moment of distraction was all it took for Cillian to drop out of sight, unconscious but alive.

  I flailed in panic as they penetrated my mind and pushed deeper. There was only one option left, something incredibly stupid, and so very me.

  Eva staggered upright and our gazes met. She started to come for me despite knowing it would be the death of her.

  I slipped a hand into my pocket, wrapped my fingers around the remaining slivers of warded stone, and then I let the enemy in. I let them win. They burst through my shattered defences, exulting in their absolute victory.

  Then my trap descended. Walls slammed down to keep them inside this body. In their shock I had a few heartbeats to act before they broke me and escaped.

  You fool! Abrax-Masud sneered as I pulled out the wards. That will not be enough to destroy my body.

  “Not yours, no.” I’d always said heroism could get a man killed, but I never said I’d go alone.

  I smiled at Eva, stuffed the wards in my mouth, and bit down hard.

  CHAPTER 36

  I stared in horror as Walker smiled at me and then broke the wards between his teeth.

  Light.

  Burning heat.

  Roaring in my ears as the shockwave ripped me from my feet, tumbling and bouncing and screaming until I slammed into the wall of a ruined building in a tangle of bent armour and fallen beams. I rolled in the dust and rubble, screaming, frantic to put out the flames until a moment of clarity pierced the terror. I was not on fire. I was fine. Fine. I had been far enough away to escape the worst of the blast.

  It took me a few tries to get to my feet, the world and city walls spinning as I blinked away tears and tried to focus on Walker.

  A huge crater in the earth smoked where he had been locked in dreadful mental battle with the enemy, their hand around his throat. I could not see anything moving. The defenders on the walls grew silent, expectant and watchful.

  What was left alive of the daemon horde started screaming. Some began choking, vomiting up dying Scarrabus before perishing themselves. Others turned tail and fled in terror. Had… had Walker won?

  The defenders atop the walls stared in silence, bows and magic at the ready as the billowing smoke gradually cleared. Ballistae cranked round to take careful aim.

  I limped towards the crater. I had no weapons left but then I didn’t need any; I willed magic into my hands, making them hard and strong as steel. If anything but Walker moved I would punch its accursed head right back into the Clanholds.

  Metal crunched underfoot, shards of black iron. Fragments of bone and blood splattered across the churned earth. Tattered ribbons of cloth, the rich silken robes of the enemy and grey wool from Walker’s coat…

  The smoke thinned, cleared. Walker was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the enemy. A groan of relief erupted from the walls.

  I searched in vain for any sign of life, expecting at any moment to see Walker rise from the earth to spit mud and make a bad joke. Instead, in a pile of jellied flesh and blood, I found a finger bearing the darker skin of Abrax-Masud, ripped free by the explosion.

  Nausea rose as I spotted something else in the crater.

  I fell to my knees in the red baked mud, staring at the partial remnants of a man’s jaw with white bone and broken teeth. Ragged scars ran down through the stubble.

  There would be no more bad jokes.

  Edrin Walker was dead.

  CHAPTER 37

  Two months after the end of the Scarrabus war and the death of Edrin Walker right before my eyes, it was strangely unsettling to be standing alone before a newly raised Archmagus. Krandus had been a constant and reliable presence in my life, one far more understanding than my conservative and disapproving parents for whom even a sip of alcohol or flash of leg and cleavage was a scandal, and I a constant disappointment. After the mistakes made during the war he had been forced to resign his position by the magi that had only barely survived the trap the Scarrabus had set for the Arcanum army, despite being largely responsible for disposing of the monsters laying in wait for them. He did not seem entirely sad to be relieved from that responsibility, and I did not blame him in the slightest.

  The gods had finally returned and their towers flared with magic once more, though it seemed to me that they were still greatly weakened. Reconstruction of the city advanced at a pace only gods could maintain, but many streets were still choked with rubble.

  Cillian Hastorum now sat at the huge desk in front of me, haggard and sleep-deprived and partially hidden behind piles of paper and stacks of scrolls. Despite all the power and prestige, I did not envy the enormity of her new role. Administration and scrollwork had ever been my bane – I was a creature of conflict. Such dry detail bored me half to death. Or I had been that way once. Now I craved quieter moments away from people’s pity, of being one with nature.

  Underneath the steel mask my cheek ached and the softest of tunics rubbed against my shoulders like rope and grit with every movement. Phantom searing burns flitted across what was left of my skin. Nothing more to be done, the healers of the Halcyon Order had said. The pain was relentless and exhausting and I prayed for it to end. There was no more need to endure it, no great cause required to be fought.

  Cillian too bore wounds, self-inflicted scars fr
om when Abrax-Masud demanded she claw out her own eyes. It was only thanks to Walker’s intervention that she could still see. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing the stress headache to leave her. “I am sorry it has taken so long to see you in person. I have read the reports of course, but I would like to hear it for myself. How did Edrin Walker die?”

  I felt a twinge of loss. Odd, that. He was a fool… and yet if things had been different… “He died well. He died a hero.”

  A smile flickered across Cillian’s lips, quickly vanishing. “Who would have thought it of him. Of all the people in this city I think we alone suspected he could be greater than he was. A shame it cost him his life to realise it himself.”

  I cleared my throat, “We confronted the Scarrabus queen and its tyrant host. I could do nothing, it was all Walker. He spoke to us, and all Setharis rose behind him. Ah, if only you could have been by his side in that final moment, Cillian. He glowed as golden and proud as any god as he threw off the other tyrant’s yoke. Did you see that from the wall?”

  Cillian nodded, eyes dropping to study her desk as she chewed on her lower lip. “Sadly even that was not enough to survive an ancient Escharric tyrant and a Scarrabus queen.”

  “He already knew he could not possibly win, I think. The look in his eyes said it all.” I chuckled, making Cillian look up, curious. “It’s not in the formal report, but in that final moment he grinned at me. You know the one – when the sneaky bastard comes up with a dirty trick. When he knows more than you do and is so fuah, that is, smug about it.”

  Cillian snorted. “Oh yes, I know the one only too well.” “They tried to enslave him. I watched the Scarrabus queen seize him by the throat. Then, just for a moment, peace overcame him.”