Akiri: Sands Of Darkness

by Brian D. Anderson

  He rose to his knees. The dead all around him rested in untidy piles, some more than ten feet high. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. The ground, previously rocky and black, was now virtually a vast sanguine expanse. Pools of blood lay everywhere. The carrion feeders were already upon the field taking advantage of the bounty.

  “Your Highness,” called a voice from behind.

  Akiri turned to see a lone warrior staggering toward him. His armor was shattered and his blade broken. Confused and disoriented, Akiri stood fully up and readied himself for an attack.

  “Are you hurt?” the man asked. “Can you go on?”

  He found himself suddenly recalling the new arrival’s name: Kryl. Yes...that was it. But how he knew him, he had no idea. “How…where am I?” he asked.

  Kryl furrowed his brow. “Let me tend to your wounds, Your Highness. There is still much to do.”

  Your Highness? Why did the man keep calling him that?

  “What the hell is happening?” he demanded.

  Kryl halted a few feet in front of him. “I don’t understand. Are you turning back?”

  Turning back? A memory, just at the edge of his mind, dangled tantalizingly out of reach. He was clearly on a battlefield. But judging from the carnage, the battle was already over.

  “We’re almost there,” pressed Kryl. “You can’t give up now.”

  Akiri looked up. The sky was dull and gray, even though there was not a single cloud to be seen. Images flashed through his head. Images of a great towering being clad in black armor. His eyes glowed red from beneath his horned helm, and in his hand he held an enormous axe that was easily as long as a man.

  In a rush, it all returned.

  “I am not turning back, Captain,” he said. “This ends today. How many men are left?”

  “Less than a hundred. But we prevailed, Your Highness. Just as you said we would. The demon spirits fell. Only we survive.”

  Akiri smiled. “That is good. Very good indeed.”

  “We feared you were lost. But I knew you had survived. Not even the gods can kill you.”

  The gods. A vision of the vast army of spirit demons marching across the wasted land, hell bent on ending the mortal world, sent chills racing right through him. His ears still hurt from the almighty crash of their divine weapons that had propelled towering flames over the entire field, consuming the mortals who had joined in this vile war. Never had the world seen so many dead in a single day.

  “If only that were true,” he muttered in reply to Kryl’s remark.

  “Shall I muster the men?”

  “No. Only one enemy remains. The others have retreated. Find your way back. The way home might still be open.”

  Kryl frowned. “You cannot face this alone. Let us come with you, Your Highness.”

  Akiri placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are brave. But that will not save either of us now. I am the only one with the power to fight on. If you were to come, death is all you would find.”

  “I will not abandon you, Your Highness” he insisted.

  Akiri hardened his tone. “You will do as I command. Take those few who survive and return home. Your part in this war is over. As soon will be mine.”

  Kryl locked eyes with Akiri. “Only if you swear that you will return as well. Your people still need you.”

  Akiri sighed. “I have given them all I have. Once this is over, I intend to rest.” He glanced at the weapon in his hand. It glowed with a faint silver light. Even after tasting the flesh of hundreds of victims, it hungered. “But you shouldn’t worry. I have no intention of dying.”

  Was that a lie? Perhaps, though he didn’t think so. He would like to wash the blood clean and wander the land for a time. He felt old, though in reality he was by all accounts in his prime. Well…at least not far beyond it.

  “You should go, Captain,” he said. “Every minute I delay, my foe grows stronger.”

  Kryl bowed low, tears forming in his eyes. “Songs of your triumph will greet you when you return, Your Majesty. I swear it.”

  Akiri smiled. “Do not forget to sing of those who died as well.”

  “I won’t.”

  Akiri turned and started away. He could feel Kryl’s eyes lingering on him as he walked. The man was a loyal servant and a fierce warrior. He would have liked to have had him by his side, but that would have been an undeserved death sentence. He and the others had already done enough.

  The piles of the dead seemed to stretch on forever. As he moved around them, the puddles of blood soaked through his boots, causing a sickening squish with each step he took. Human and demon alike had fallen together, their bodies mingling in a twisted testament to the devastation of the day. One single day. And now his entire life was reduced to this one day as well.

  A small ironic laugh slipped out. To think this place was once paradise! The fields of heaven were now nothing more than a barren wasteland. The veil between heaven and earth had been lifted. The old gods had returned, seeking to drive out those who had long ago banished them and usurped their power, and their monumental fury had upended the balance between the realms.

  Akiri recalled the first time he had witnessed the death of a god – it was both wondrous and horrifying. The ground had opened and molten rock spewed hundreds of feet into the air. The god’s body twisted into grotesquely unnatural positions as he thrashed and screamed in an incoherent voice that roared like a thousand lions. When it was over, the divine flesh had simply turned to gold dust, and little by little, drifted away on the wind until no trace of him remained.

  Since then, the war in heaven had spilled into the world of mortals three times, on the last occasion leaving great swaths of ruined earth in its wake. Nothing grew where the battles had taken place, and likely never would again. Most of the temples were now shattered and burned.

  “I’ve seen too much death,” Akiri muttered. “Too much blood.”

  His mind wandered to simpler times before he had seized the crown, a time before the war in heaven had begun, when he and Kyra had been free to roam and find plunder. Seeing her in his mind caused his heart to ache. Of all the casualties in this war, hers was the one he felt the most keenly.

  Movement over to his right snatched him back into the moment. The deformed and mangled body of a demon spirit was limping toward him, a spear dragging behind. Its jagged teeth were bared, and a deep growl gurgled from within its throat.

  “Turn away,” Akiri commanded, though he knew it was useless. These creatures could no longer think for themselves. They had been twisted into nothing more than pure instruments of death by their masters. This one had been badly hurt – its left arm was lopped off at the elbow, its chest and face covered in deep gashes. But even injured, Akiri knew not to underestimate it.

  A stray thought entered his mind as he faced his foe. How many of these things had he killed? Hundreds…possibly even thousands? That so many existed had initially astonished him. But nothing surprised him anymore. Not after all he had witnessed.

  The demon lifted the spear to waist height. In response, Akiri bent his knees to a low crouch. The thrust that came would have skewered any normal man before he’d even realized it was coming. But Akiri was ready. Rolling left, he gripped the shaft firmly and jerked it toward him. The demon staggered in, letting out a feral scream as the blade cleaved him from collarbone to hip. The sizzle of flesh caused by the divine steel produced a foul odor.

  Akiri backed away as three more demons appeared over to his left. These were in better shape and would present a greater challenge – albeit still a minor one. Since acquiring the sword, only a god could have any hope of killing him.

  The demons attacked with speed and precision – one high and two slashing low. Akiri ducked under the high blade and jumped forward over the low ones. With two quick strikes, he shattered the steel of one attacker and sliced the arm off a second. The third tried to adjust by sliding right and placing himself behind his wounded comrade, but this only permitted Akiri to
focus his attention on the weaponless demon. It leapt for his throat, clawed hands curled viciously. While it was still in mid-air, Akiri rammed his sword into its gullet, and then twisted his body around so that he was facing the remaining two. His steel sliced smoothly upward, exiting through the demon’s chin and then immediately coming down once again in a broad arc to slice the one-armed demon completely in half. In desperation, the final foe sent a barrage of controlled swings, but Akiri was easily able to block them. As though he had all the time in the world at his disposal, he countered with a devastating sweep that completely removed the head of his final opponent.

  He stood there for a long moment, gazing at the remains of his slain enemies. A grin of satisfaction formed at the fact that his skills had not diminished. His current weapon enabled him to cut down a foe with almost no effort at all, but he had always found that unfulfilling – even cowardly. He missed his father’s sword. But then, he missed much of the life he’d once had.

  The field stretched on for miles, as did the dead the battle had left in its wake. He had no idea where he was actually heading, though what awaited him when he got there was clear. Shortly, the fate of all life would be decided. The enormity should have shaken him to the core, but his heart was calm and his hands remained steady as he pressed on. No matter what happened next, at least it would be over. The notion was quite comforting. Whether it was through victory or death, he would know peace at last.

  When he finally passed the last of the dead, a fog began to rise. The air was filled with a musky odor that reminded Akiri of wild animals on the hunt.

  “Turn back, Akiri.” The voice that came to him was impossibly deep and imposing. “You cannot win.”

  “We’ll see,” he replied darkly. “Many of your kin thought themselves to be immortal. Then they met me.”

  “Indeed, you are mighty. But you know who I am. I am not like my kin.”

  “Gods are all the same to me.”

  “The weapon you have stolen has made you arrogant, mortal king. But if it is death you seek, I will gladly provide it.”

  Immediately ahead, a lone figure loomed ominously. Black armor covered both its body and head, and an enormous axe hung casually in one hand. Two points of light glittered from beneath the helm – divine eyes bearing down on him. The figure was easily a head taller than Akiri and broader in the shoulder by half as much again. Usually men of this immense size, though strong, were lumbering and slow. But Akiri knew this would not be the case here.

  “So it ends,” he said.

  The god removed his helm. Locks of silver hair spilled over his shoulders, radiating a soft glow. His face was without a single blemish or line, as if carved from a deep blue marble. His expression was grave and revealed the contained fury only a god could bear. Akiri knew full well that this was merely a chosen form. He had seen gods transform into all manner of man, woman, and beast. But this was how they opted to do battle more often than not.

  “You were well chosen,” the god said.

  “And you are a fool,” said Akiri. “Look what your war has cost.” He swept his arm over the ravaged land. “Not even heaven has survived. What do you hope to win?”

  His opponent snorted. “Heaven can be remade. You and your kind will be what is lost.”

  Akiri shook his head, at the same time laughing loudly. “And to think I feared this day. I had never tasted real fear until I thought of facing you. And now that you are here, I can see that you are no more godlike than any mortal ruler I have encountered. They all hunger for what they cannot have, and are driven mad by their own ambitions. They are unable to see past their own desires. They can never be satisfied. And in the end, they have nothing. And neither will you.”

  He could see that his words had made an impact. It was dangerous to anger a god; this one most of all. He was not likely to make a rash move or fall victim to his passion.

  “A pity you will not be here to witness the new world I create,” his opponent said, tossing his helm aside.

  With this threat barely out of his mouth, the god spread his arms wide, threw back his head, and let out an almighty roar that shook the very ground. Black clouds immediately rolled in, and streaks of lightning split the sky with fearsome crackles. In the distance, dozens of cyclones descended and began to encircle the two combatants.

  He’s making a show of it, thought Akiri. That was yet another thing he hated about the gods. But at least this one had something to boast about. Nonetheless, his display of power was hollow – a sideshow intended only to cow mortals into submission. Glamor for the ignorant.

  Not willing to show any hint of being impressed, Akiri charged in, snarling and with sword held high. The god raised his weapon to block the first volley of strikes – his much heavier axe wielded as if no more cumbersome than a dagger. But this was to be expected. Akiri’s plan was not to match strength, but skill. He had never allowed his training to lapse – even when a king. Age had not slowed him, and the sword he held gave him a power way beyond what he had previously thought possible.

  The god’s steps were precise and measured as he used the head of his axe to deflect the strikes. With each clash, sparks exploded from the celestial weapons, showering the ground around them before crackling out of existence.

  Akiri ducked right as his opponent suddenly went on the offensive, his axe striking the ground with a deep thud that dislodged large hunks of rock and dirt. Akiri thrust forward in retaliation, but his foe twisted sharply, bringing the back of his gauntleted fist hurtling toward his jaw. Instinctively, he jerked his head backwards so that the tip of the knuckles merely skimmed his chin; yet even this slight contact was enough to drive him back several paces.

  The god pressed his advantage home with a flurry of blinding attacks, forcing Akiri into temporarily relying on evasive tactics. He looked for openings – some weakness in his foe’s technique. A skilled axeman was a deadly opponent, in some ways more so than one skilled with a sword. And this opponent was the best he had ever faced, using every inch of his giant axe as both weapon and shield. So far, he had been able to avoid any seriously damaging strikes from its blade, but three times he had been caught by a fist that threatened to render him unconscious.

  The god’s eyes glowed like twin stars as his battle rage built to a fever pitch. Akiri was given no choice but to remain largely on the defensive, able to raise only a sparse series of strikes in response. All of these were easily blocked by either the axe handle or the flat of its blade. He knew he could continue like this for some time – his endurance was enhanced by his merkesh as well as the sword – but it was not infinite. And the longer the battle went on, the more chances the god would have to exploit any mistake he might make.

  Akiri staggered back after blocking a savage blow that would have certainly cleaved him in two. The god moved in, delivering three more, each one designed to press his guard further down. Akiri thrust upward with his blade, narrowly missing his foe’s neck, and in the process briefly leaving himself wide open. It was enough for his opponent. A great thump to the chest from the axe handle forced Akiri down onto one knee.

  He gripped at his chest, sword arm dangling. Looking down on him, the god’s cruel grin stretched across his face as he raised his weapon for what would be the killing strike. But Akiri was far from finished. Ducking his head, he rolled forward. At the same time as the axe thumped into the ground behind him, he stabbed at his foe’s gullet. The god twisted sharply right, but the blade still carved deep into his side.

  Akiri was on his feet in an instant, swinging his sword with sufficient speed to open up three more wounds in his opponent’s back before the axe was raised in time to catch his fourth strike. A terrible scream of rage and pain erupted from the god. His face was now contorted into a grotesquely inhuman mask. With a savage cry of his own, Akiri continued his assault.

  He knew that he must take advantage of his momentum. The god was wounded, but far from defeated. Akiri pushed forward, ducking and weaving as his
blade searched for an opening. None came, however, and he found himself being pushed back once again. This time the godly fury was unbridled and vengeful.

  To any onlooker, the scene would have been nothing but a blinding blur of motion and light. But to Akiri, it was lingering death. The injuries he had inflicted should have slowed his opponent at least slightly. Instead, they had fueled the god’s rage and made him stronger.

  Defending for all he was worth now, Akiri stepped back and then left…a wrong move. He was barely able to raise his sword in time to fend off a savage strike from overhead. Even though this block briefly saved him from certain death, the impact was so violent that it threw him off his feet. He landed heavily, flat on his back. It was all but over. Twice he rolled, each time narrowly avoiding a crushing boot stomping his head wide open like an over-ripe pumpkin. But he was only delaying the inevitable. While he was making one last desperate scramble to regain his footing, a huge fist smashed into the back of his head, sending him crashing down, face first. He knew that the final blow was coming, and there was nothing he could now do to prevent it.

  The tip of a massive boot flipped him onto his back, then placed itself heavily onto his chest to keep him from escaping. The god was looming over him with a satisfied smile. Akiri saw at once that the wounds he had inflicted on him were already fully healed. His eyes were shining even more brightly than before, and his entire body glowed with a vivid blue aura.

  “Well fought, mortal king,” the god told him. “But the time has come to end this.”

  “Then get on with it,” he spat back. “Or will you gloat like the mortals you so despise?”

  This was enough to erase his smile. “If you are that eager for death, so be it.”

  The axe was already raised high and poised to strike. Akiri refused to shut his eyes or look away. He would meet his end as he had lived his life; with courage and honor. With a final growl from the victor, the blade swung hard down at a point that was intended to cleave his skull completely in half.