The Undying God

by Nathan Wilson

  Chapter 18

  Daylight leaped across the city as the streets reawakened. The Gaelithean patrols were strangely absent, mercifully allowing a measure of freedom to its citizens. One man in particular walked the streets, hovering at the edge of the populace. He couldn’t be more thankful for the guards’ absence. Margzor skirted the crowd as he searched for his destination.

  Anxiety twinged inside him as he considered the many witnesses that may be observing him. Part of him wondered if they knew what he would soon commit, the atrocities he had yet to unleash. He did not look into their eyes as they passed by, nor did he try to conceal himself. He walked openly in public, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. They did not even qualify as human beings in his eyes.

  He slowly looked down at his hip, trying not to appear obvious as he observed his sword. The sight of his weapon comforted him. He wondered when he would require it to defend himself. It would not be long now, only minutes before he purged the temple. His eyes settled on the white sanctum enthroned in the south.

  He noticed the aesthetic contrast between this temple and the previous ones. The colors were less bright and its design was not quite as visually stimulating. It seemed the temple was conceived with more practicality in mind and less glamor. Nonetheless, it was a spectacle of raw power, both refined and bold.

  He entered the temple with his sword clasped in hand. The cleric within his vicinity immediately sensed something wrong but it was too late. His chest exploded against steel with such speed he didn’t even receive a chance to scream. Margzor walked through the corridor as though nothing took place, let alone an execution.

  He emerged into the hall to the astonishment of several disciples. Men and women paled at the sight of the armor encasing his body. Their eyes fixed on the blade clutched in his hand.

  Blood salivated from the hungry sword.

  One woman erupted in a horrendous scream and the guards closed in fast. Margzor’s blade cut across, catching a sword. His weapon snaked around the guard’s blade and bit his wrist like an adder. Margzor’s elbow snapped into his jaw and the guard’s head collided with a nearby pillar. He spun around and raked his sword against the other guard’s blade.

  Defeating the blow, Margzor parried several more cuts and thrust ahead. The guard was agile enough to evade the strikes, but he couldn’t hold out forever. Margzor would find a flaw in his defenses. He feigned to his right and the guard fell for the ruse. A fist struck him in the head, and the sentry was defenseless against the killing blow. Margzor quickly turned his attention to the disciples.

  Concealing shadows floated across the desecrated haven, caressing the walls and pooling on the floor. He didn’t mind the darkness at all. The eerie chambers filled him with excitement. This temple assault was just another chapter in his existence.

  He soundlessly walked through halls inset with arched windows, the first kiss of dawn slipping through. The temple was so quiet he feared he was the only one there. He couldn’t let his prey escape.

  The faint echo of chanting drifted to his ears, luring him down a dim corridor. His eyes fell on a frightened man cowering on his knees, praying in vain.

  Margzor’s hand jutted out and thrust his head into a cleansing pool, turning a device of spiritual healing into a weapon. The grim irony was not lost on Margzor. His grip became a vice, holding the man still, feeling him go limp with weakness.

  A blow slammed into Margzor’s abdominals, catching him completely off guard. He staggered back as a guard swung his polearm, bashing him in the chest. The impact knocked Margzor off his feet and he collided with a stained glass window. The jeweled glass shattered in a dazzling display and cascaded over him. Sunlight streamed through the frame like an aura hanging over the mass murderer. He took a step forward and his heel split a shard of glass.

  His sword seemed a river of hot metal, and its brilliance was only intensified by the sunlight that slipped through the window. In fury, he engaged the knight. The guard countered swiftly with the halberd. Margzor struck out twice to parry the blade. He went on the offensive and tried to twist the guard’s limb, but he tactically evaded. The halberd swept across and arched toward Margzor’s head.

  He raised his sword to block and his fingers lost all sensation. Both blades locked together, trapping both men in a stalemate. Margzor retracted his blade and darted to the right. He breathed heavily and turned a vile expression on the impetuous guard.

  Suddenly, a curved blade hooked around his ankle and swept him to the floor. Margzor scrambled to his feet as the halberd fell like a death sentence. He swung his sword in an uppercut and cut across to the right. The guard masterfully defended against the attack but Margzor’s blade still sliced his fingers. A single digit fell to the floor.

  Margzor admired his ability to withstand pain, but he wondered how much more he could endure. His blade lunged, eager to find out.

  The halberd almost tore the sword from his hands. Margzor floundered back as his opponent furiously bore down. He dodged as the polearm came within an inch of his face. His next breath came out in a gasp and he clumsily recoiled. Margzor had underestimated his opponent.

  The guard thrust the poleaxe.

  Margzor twisted to his left, flinging himself out of its path. Its tip pierced his ribs, injecting shock and agony. He couldn’t believe that someone had pierced his defenses. His surprise melted away to anger.

  Margzor cried out and whipped his sword across, severing the polearm. Part of it remained embedded in his side like a metal thorn. Another sound of rage erupted from Margzor as he moved with astonishing speed and agility. The guard’s entire world was snuffed out in an instant, his heart exploding beneath steel. Margzor breathed arduously and staggered away from the corpse.

  He stumbled and dropped his sword. Through the gap in his armor, he could see the damage inflicted. Rivulets of blood crisscrossed the wounded skin, flowing like a scarlet cascade. Margzor raised his fingers to touch the steel embedded there, shaking in pain. He gritted his teeth and scooped up his sword.

  Desperation boiling in his heart, Margzor sought escape. He ran out of the temple and nearly lost his balance on the steps. He clawed against the wound in his ribs as if he could tear out the source of his pain. He suppressed a scream and reached for the straps on his breastplate to remove it. Twisting his ankle, he plummeted into the dark alley.

  His arm lunged out, barely catching himself. He breathed heavily as intense pain bristled under his skin. He did not know for how much longer he could endure remaining alive.

  Suddenly, agony washed through him and his strength failed. In a second, his face grazed against the hard surface upon which he lay. But he didn’t feel the pain because everything faded away. For all he knew, he was still falling, plunging deeper into his emotional hell.

  * * *

  Their worried expressions captivated his attention. Men and women were traveling the streets in large numbers as if they were afraid to be alone. Their lips moved rapidly, perpetuating a conversation about the killings and the bodies.

  Some of them spoke loud enough for Arxu to hear. He keenly listened to fragments about “slaughter” and “the temple.” Ten people dead… Why weren’t the city guards patrolling the temple? Now I can’t walk down that street without feeling watched. What if someone is targeting virgins for his sick, murderous pleasure?

  It sounded eerily similar to the murders described in Sepulzer and Azia-Nocti. He glanced at Nishka, oblivious to the morbid rumors making their way across the plaza. She turned to regard a group of approaching customers, bringing a spark to her eyes. Immediately, Arxu slipped away from the market.

  He moved briskly through the streets, darting into an alley before Nishka could detect his escape. The shady backstreet was host to suspicious-looking vendors shielding their faces behind veils. Cloaked figures watched as the Nightwalker treaded on their territory.

  Arxu could only imagine what illicit materials passed between their hands. He scanned the alley for any sign
of guards and picked up his pace. Suddenly, a man with a malformed face intercepted Arxu.

  “What are you doing here?” he rasped. Not bothering to reply, Arxu shoved past him and continued. He spotted several poorly clothed women mingling among the depraved men. They smiled seductively at the males, preying on their innate weakness. The women whispered into the recipients’ ears, and their delicate fingers played with the hideous contours of the men’s faces. Several others were exchanging vials containing drugs.

  Is this humanity distilled to its basest nature? Arxu wondered. What if I was like them before I died?

  “Guards!” The warning sent Arxu’s pulse skyrocketing. Almost immediately, the criminals scrambled for escape. Several hurried to gather up the coins they dropped while others collapsed to the ground and feigned diseased victims. The women scattered at the word and vanished into the tentacled shadows.

  Arxu carved his escape through the alley, the screams of criminals only propelling him forward. For a moment, he believed he would be apprehended. With a burst of speed, he sprawled out of the alley. He turned the corner and huddled behind an abandoned cart. He was about to catch his breath when the sight before him took it away.

  The presence of the Gaelithean patrol confirmed that he had indeed located the temple. His eyes lingered on the guards oblivious to his presence. They were speaking quietly to each other, occasionally peering over their shoulders at the temple. They were clearly on edge. Whatever they had seen inside rattled even the merciless guards of Gaelithea.

  Arxu sucked in a deep breath and circled the temple, using merchant wagons and booths as cover. There was no telling how the guards would overstep their boundaries if they discovered him. He was violating quarantine. That was enough to warrant an execution.

  Arxu couldn’t explain why he was doing this. Something drove him to seek answers to these grisly crimes. Perhaps it was Nishka’s dismay picking away at his curiosity. Inching closer, he eavesdropped on the guards.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s a bloodbath inside there, a slaughter. Worse, the killer is still wandering the streets. The first to arrive at the temple found only the bodies.”

  “You don’t believe the killer is hiding somewhere inside?”

  “Not likely. We located several survivors in the temple: six women, a cleric among them. They have been taken to the guardhouse for questioning.”

  “I see... What condition are they in?”

  “They were fortunate enough to survive, but most of them are babbling idiots. It may be days before they can provide us with any valuable information.”

  “By that time, the killer will have escaped. Their eyewitness accounts will be of little use to us.” Their voices faded as Arxu crept toward the back of the temple. He searched for a way inside, anything that might smuggle him past the guards. He wasn’t disappointed when he spotted a broken window. He carefully stepped over the fragments of glass scattered chaotically on the floor.

  He doubted the murderer used the window to break into the temple. A killer this calculating would enter discretely, not even allowing a chance for the terror to sink in. Without warning.

  He quietly took a step into the next room. Mutilated bodies were sprawled on the floor, bathing in pools of blood. Intrigue clouded the fear he should have felt. The killer wielded a blade accurately; he had pierced the gaps in their armor located near the neck and joints. It looked as though a deranged artist had sluiced red paint across the pillars and walls, a haphazard attempt to decorate the temple. The killer’s prowess was drawing Arxu in by the second.

  The devastation had been designed to affect as many aspects as possible: innocent lives, the public morale, the structure of the religion. Perhaps more.

  Arxu entered another room host to cleansing pools. According to what little he knew of Astalla’s faith, the waters were used for spiritual cleansing rituals as well as physical ones. Windows glistened beyond the cleansing pools, but the light shining through was so intense that he couldn’t see beyond the glass.

  Arxu stepped over a magnificent fresco splattered with blood, the images of worship stained with the lives of a dozen. Something ricocheted in the room like steel against steel. Arxu’s eyes swept the vaulted ceiling and the windows, listening intently. Something flickered in the distant corner, grasping at his attention. Gloom had settled across the pools, concealing the horrors that Arxu had yet to discover. He faintly remembered what the guards had said.

  You don’t believe the killer is hiding somewhere inside?

  Not likely.

  Arxu entertained serious doubts about their judgment. Something was acutely wrong and otherworldly about this crime scene—as if a part of the killer had been imprinted here.

  Arxu jerked to a stop as he felt something prying his mind. He spun around in his search of the source. His hand flew to his staff. Whatever was attacking him was frantically trying to sift through his mind, probing his thoughts, attempting to understand him. In that moment, Arxu felt himself lose total control of his body. His staff and dagger felt clumsy in his hands, and he feebly grasped as they fell through his clutches.

  “Your presence intrigues me. I cannot tell whether you have good intentions or not.” Arxu didn’t answer, staring down at his weapons. Her voice was honeyed and smooth, caressing his mind like soft fingers. She had to be standing behind him. He could practically hear her breathing warmly against his neck. No, he realized. It’s coming from inside my mind.

  “I am Astalla, the patron deity of virginity.” Arxu went rigid with surprise. He could move again, but his weapons seemed miles away. A hundred questions should have poured forth, but he could only marvel at the presence of the demigoddess.

  “I sense my followers dying,” she said. “And my powers are growing weaker with every loss. You are aware of the attacks…” Arxu didn’t need to respond. She was picking through his mind, his every thought as insignificant to her as a grain of sand in the ocean.

  Arxu glanced at pictographs on the walls, displaying a female form embellished with abstract designs.

  “I communicated with the souls of the fallen and learned of the man killing them. He is traveling from one city to the next, leaving my temples infested with violence. With the aid of my powers, I divined this man’s identity and, most of all, his motives…”

  Arxu roamed around the room, staring at the ceiling as if he might glimpse the deity.

  “Something prevented me from reaching out to him the same way I am speaking to you. I tried to subdue him but my efforts were futile. I fear whatever stopped me is connected to his overwhelming hatred. The origins of his conflict are still an enigma, but this much I know: He desires my death.”

  Astalla paused, carefully weighing the impact of her next words.

  “He wants to become the demigod of virginity.”

  She coaxed Arxu’s body toward a cleansing pool and he complied, not knowing why. The waters blazed with light, and within it he saw a man clad in jet black armor killing the temple occupants. He stepped in toward his opponent’s defense and hooked his sword around his. He slashed the guard’s wrist, causing him to drop his weapon. His elbow smashed into his face and he spun away from the blow, the victim’s eyes glazed in fear.

  The callous murderer courted several more blows with a guard, subduing him in a matter of heartbeats. Arxu couldn’t bring himself to look away from the sadistic performance. The sword seemed fused to his limb, a mere extension of his body. His motions were so natural and fluid that Arxu couldn’t help but respect his prowess. His strikes weaved in and out of the guards’ defenses, his parries taunting his prey, his cruel blows ending in death.

  “His name is Margzor,” Astalla whispered. Her voice withered, silenced by the name. Arxu waited for her to speak again as the seconds dwindled. He could hear her exhale sharply. “Please help me,” she begged.

  She withdrew her voice and Arxu felt his body become limp. He lurched forward, shocked by the sudden change in his m
ind. The world around him visually deteriorated and a thousand specks swarmed across his vision.

  Sharing the mental link with Astalla sapped every drop of his strength. His vision swerved as he awkwardly rose from the floor. Sunlight filtered through the windows in a blinding pall, its vivid glare dulling his mind. Everything seemed blurred out of the corners of his eyes. He took a weak step forward and the floor swayed in response.

  He needed to sneak out of the temple past the city guards. If they located him, they would no doubt suspect him of the crime. They may even convict him of the murders for no other reason than to resolve the investigation and advance in rank. Arxu felt sick as the severity of the situation descended upon him.

  He limped across the marble floor, swerving from side to side like a drunk. Suddenly, an armed guard materialized, stepping into the hall from an intersecting passage.

  Arxu gasped and ducked against a wall. The guard approached a corpse lying in a pool of blood. He kicked the body with his iron-clad foot.

  “Fool cleric.” He paused for a moment longer, scrutinizing the blade marks on his body. He shook his head and continued on his way. Arxu silently swooped past adjoining chambers, wondering how many more guards were prowling the premises. He couldn’t let his presence be known in this place. Slowly, he crept into a bathing chamber. It must have looked beautiful in its former splendor, but now it concealed only slaughter.

  A wretched gurgle sent a chill up Arxu’s spine. He saw a guard on his knees, emptying his stomach. The guard spewed another curse as he leaned over the cleansing pool and vomited. He had never seen so much senseless bloodshed, so much… pain. He slouched against a pillar, feeling faint. Murderers and rapists deserved death, not these innocent women…

  He wiped away the cold beads of sweat from his face. This was a hate crime that poisoned society, violence without purpose. It could not be compared to the executions of criminals in Gaelithea. There was no sense in this.