The Undying God

by Nathan Wilson

  “Well, aren’t we active in investigation?” Nishka said coyly.

  “Information is essential to my survival.”

  “Or maybe you care about other people.”

  “I am incapable of caring for others.”

  “You’re depressing, you know that, right?” Nishka smiled, and she walked away.

  The quiet temple resembled a mausoleum in its desolate state. Guards had vacated the premises and returned to their routine patrols around Gaelithea. Only a few sentries lingered outside the temple as a precaution. Inside, the bodies had been cleared from the sanctum, but it still bore the signs of attack.

  Only one woman occupied the shattered temple. She knelt on the floor, holding colored shards of glass in her hand. She felt compelled to return to her place of worship. It felt desecrated, as though everything she loved and adored had been ripped away. The lives of her friends would never be replaced, and the memories she shared with them would stab her heart with sorrow. How anyone could take them away from her was incomprehensible.

  She wanted to beg Astalla why this had happened. She would voice all of the doubts and despair in her breast, but she feared she would receive no reply.

  “Hello?” Nishka’s voice echoed in the colossal chamber. The religious maiden looked up at the newcomer. She was comforted by the sight of Nishka, but she looked uneasy around the Nightwalker.

  “You don’t look like guards,” she said.

  “We aren’t,” Nishka assured her with a smile.

  “That is good; I’ve seen enough guards to last me a lifetime.” The woman rose from the floor. “May I ask what has brought you here?”

  “We heard about the attack on the temple... I’m concerned about this pattern.”

  “Pattern?” the cleric echoed, stunned by this revelation. Nishka had a sinking feeling she didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “You didn’t know?” The priestess stared blankly at Nishka, the harbinger of this tragic news. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to the floor.

  “No,” she replied. “I wasn’t aware that similar attacks had occurred across Eyegad. Where...?”

  “Azia-Nocti and Sepulzer.” The priestess set her hand on the altar in search of support. She breathed heavily and shut her eyes.

  “This is tragic, and it is worse than I feared. This must be a concentrated effort to eradicate our religion. Someone seeks to destroy us.” Nishka gave her a moment to recuperate from the blow. She didn’t want to overwhelm the woman with grief.

  “Astalla reached out to my friend, Arxu, and told him there is something abnormal about this killer... as if he isn’t human. Can you give us any insight?” The cleric hesitated, the memory of the murderer flooding her mind.

  “I... I don’t know what else I can tell you. I escorted several followers from the chamber when he entered. I could hear the guards fighting him as I ran. I knew they would die.”

  “How were you able to avoid him?” asked Nishka.

  “There is a secret chamber in the temple where I hid with several others.” Arxu approached the cleric and she looked up at the mysterious Nightwalker.

  “Did this man employ magick to carry out the attack?”

  “No, I didn’t sense anything supernatural about the man. But I felt something horrible emanating from him. I was disgusted and afraid...” Nishka was intrigued.

  “What was it?” she asked. The cleric picked up another piece of glass and she jerked as its sharp edges bit her fingers. The shard dropped from her fingers and pealed against the marble surface.

  “He... he killed them like they weren’t even human...”

  “What was it you felt around him?” Nishka insisted. She could tell the priestess was losing focus. She was withdrawing from reality, dangerously close to approaching an emotional breakdown. She tried not to picture the murderer; she tried not to imagine the carnage she witnessed when the guards escorted her from the temple.

  “Oh my goddess...” she whispered. “I... I could feel his hatred.” She closed her eyes. “I have heard of instances when one’s soul is so polluted with hatred... that it invites demonic elements.”

  “Demonic possession?”

  “That is my fear.” She observed the blood on her fingers again. “Hatred is a very powerful emotion. It makes the soul weak and vulnerable to external influences. It is my belief that he is possessed. I could see his aura. It was so dark and disturbing... and I could see red. It made me fear for the lives of the disciples.”

  “Did his aura reveal anything else?” Arxu asked.

  “Only that he has very strong physical desires.”

  “Sexual desires?” Nishka asked.

  “Perhaps. But he did not touch anyone in a sexual manner. He only killed.”

  Nishka believed they had concluded their business in the temple. The information they had gained only added to her concern.

  “Thank you for your help,” Nishka said, turning to leave.

  “There is something else. Before the guards released me, I overhead them talking.” Nishka halted and looked at the cleric, waiting for her to continue. “They said a man in armor was wandering the slums. If you wish to continue your search for this killer, I would look there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Be careful.” Arxu remembered the carnage he observed in the temple only a day ago. He had seen the women lying dead across the bloodstained floor. Their wounds indicated needless cruelty. He looked at Nishka and abruptly turned away so she would not see the concern in his eyes.

  Hrioshango had calmed down since escaping the city guards. He encountered Nishka and Arxu just as they came within passing of the slums.

  Nishka wasn’t sure what they would find in Gaelithea’s darkest infrastructure. She almost hoped they didn’t encounter the killer. At a certain point, their whispered conversation dwindled to silence. They could only observe the surroundings with somberness.

  Nishka journeyed at a slow pace through the slums, afraid to disturb its inhabitants. The people around them hid in the alcoves between buildings, heads bowed in defeat, resigned to their misfortune.

  “That child is staring at me,” Hrioshango said. They followed his gaze across the cobbled street. Nishka spotted a young boy standing by himself, ogling the darkling. When his eyes met theirs, he shrank back in fear. On impulse, Nishka approached.

  “What is your name?” she asked softly.

  The boy lowered his eyes to the ground like an abused animal. Finally, he lifted his face to hers with an expression of abandonment.

  “Adrian,” he timidly replied. The rough streets of Gaelithea were no place for a helpless child. Nishka reasoned that he was lost or abandoned by family. His clothing was worn and dirty, and she imagined he hadn’t eaten in days. She feared he may not even have shelter.

  “What happened to you?”

  The boy quivered and said, “My mother was taken away for stealing food. We didn’t have anything to eat.” Nishka winced at the awful idea. She couldn’t blame a mother’s instinct to feed her son, even in an act born of desperation. The boy reminded Nishka of herself when she lost her mother.

  “I know what it feels like to have lost a loved one,” she said. Adrian looked solemnly into her eyes. “We can help you. Do you have other family?” The child’s apprehension waned in the kind woman’s presence.

  “They live in the city-state of Eternitas.” An idea occurred to Nishka.

  “Come with us and we’ll take you there.” She extended her hand. Adrian studied her, trying to decide if she was a friend or foe. At last, he reached out and his hand nearly clasped hers.

  Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat as three guards swooped into the alley, their hands hovering over the swords. Fear overcame the boy. Images in his head assaulted him, those of guards bursting into his house, kicking down the door in the middle of the night and seizing his mother.

  Adrian almost let out a scream. He could still hear his mother’s shrieks as she was dragged into the
streets. He bolted like an animal, tripping over barrels and pushing a merchant out of the way.

  Nishka cried out in alarm and nearly broke into a run. The boy had already disappeared down another street like a ghost. She stared helplessly into the distance as a hole welled in her chest. Arxu stood idly by, observing Nishka without compassion or concern. He bore the same expression he displayed when she revealed the loss of her mother.

  She couldn’t believe his coldness. At this point, she didn’t care whether he had emotions or not, it was completely inhuman. Nishka abruptly ran away.

  “Nishka!” Arxu called after her. He couldn’t understand why she was upset with him.

  Hrioshango spun toward Arxu and said in a scolding tone, “Women are very emotional creatures. They feel compassion, kindness, honesty, and love; very unmanly things. True men don’t feel them.”

  Arxu ignored him and fled down the street. He only hoped he found her before something horrible transpired.

  * * *

  Nishka collapsed to the streets, too exhausted to continue her escape. She gulped in deep breaths. She longed to fall asleep and forget the images in her head; a man fighting to stay alive in an alley, a cleric whose spirit had been broken, and a boy robbed of his mother. So many emotions fluttered in her stomach, ranging from anger to pity. Was she the only one who cared?

  In that moment, she could feel someone’s shadow hovering above her. She peeked out from under her long, wavy hair and looked into the face of a female statue. Among all the carvings in the city, this maiden of frozen stone was gifted with a kind face.

  Nishka’s breath came out in shallow stabs as tears began to coalesce in her eyes. Seeing the boy’s situation reminded her so vividly of her mother. She wished she could have expressed how much she loved her before...

  She huddled closer to the statue and hugged her arms against the chill of night. So many evenings had been spent clinging to memories even if they inflicted more loneliness.

  Her mother had always been someone she could trust when life proved too difficult to bear. When sorrow engulfed her days, her mother would dry her tears and offer an answer. Now no one was there to help her.

  Nishka understood the child’s hurt more than anyone in the city and she still failed to aid him. Arxu didn’t even attempt to diffuse the situation. He simply watched, detached from the world.

  At the end of a lonely street, Arxu came into view. The sound of her sobs reached his ears. Nishka noticed his arrival but pity quelled her anger for him. She sympathized for the emotionless man without the ability to comprehend anything beyond practicality.

  “Why don’t you feel anything?” she voiced with pain in her eyes. Arxu tried to reply but her words stabbed through his heart. She viewed him as a stranger, someone she didn’t recognize anymore. Frozen in the streets, he wanted to be with her, yet he couldn’t bring himself to approach.

  At last, he turned away. Each step he placed between himself and Nishka seemed like an eternity as he retreated into his own world, into his emotionless mind. His form faded from view until only night embraced Nishka.

  She did not begin to cry until after he left.

  * * *

  Hrioshango wandered the Gaelithean streets alone, ensconced in the umbra of night. Straying further still without destination, he allowed the chaos of his impulses to drive him in whichever direction seemed the choicest. The darkness sufficed to conceal his presence as he drifted from one street to the next. He knew the city guards had forbidden civilians from walking the streets at night, yet their laws scarcely concerned him.

  He stopped near a building and considered the thoughts that possessed him all day. He couldn’t deny the opportunities that had been laid out before him. He had never felt this obsessed before.

  He considered Nishka and Arxu’s mission to stop the mass murderer from becoming a demigod. How would his companions react if they knew he wanted Margzor to succeed?

  He laughed at their naïveté. However, Hrioshango did not harbor any ill will toward the religion. A smile plied across his thin lips. If this man was to achieve his goal, Hrioshango would possess an extraordinary chance for greatness. He secretly wanted to slay Margzor to become a demigod. He grinned insidiously. The idea of commanding divine power excited him.

  His impulses told him to turn left and he did so without a thought. He had faith his path would deliver him to a far better place than Gaelithea.

  * * *

  Nishka rubbed her eyes to clear her vision of tears, feeling sleepy. She was ready to retreat to the inn when she noticed someone walking toward her. She was struck by surprise when Arxu stopped short of her.

  He extended his hand and she considered the pale fingers that beckoned her. She accepted and he gently lifted her to her feet. His voice merged with the silence of night.

  “Shall we leave?”

  Nishka nodded. Suddenly, she found herself hugging Arxu, for the pity in her heart and the comfort of his arms. He did not embrace her in return, but she didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment was he had returned.

  Chapter 23

  Margzor approached the forest in a trance. His nerves nearly tingled with apprehension. Repressed memories were slowly being coaxed out of a deep sleep after he left Gaelithea. He lingered upon the threshold of the forest, pondering his childhood. Peering into the obscurity evoked something unnatural within him. It evoked a feeling of vulnerability, a sense of dreadful excitement.

  How clearly he remembered the first time he entered the realm of wilderness, an unforgiving place for a child. Never could he have imagined spending his lonely childhood in a forest. He always had a visceral sense that something was wrong with him as a boy, but he had no way of knowing it would blossom into something so dangerous.

  Childhood was a blur, a thousand obscure memories strung together only by... anger. Anger that seemed to originate from nowhere in particular, a source inside him he couldn’t identify. Perhaps he knew what triggered this hatred, but his mind repressed the truth. That animosity inevitably grew like a tumorous disease entering the final stages.

  During his youth, he experienced strange feelings in his body, and a voice foreign to him was ever present in his head. He wanted to tell someone, but the voice latched onto his mind and whispered, I am a friend.

  He felt pleasantly calm listening to the voice. Please keep me a secret, it begged. Margzor concealed his friend from others. His mind was engaged in a two-party conversation as he wandered the village. He grew to trust the voice within him, sharing his feelings with this foreign presence.

  It did not judge him; it listened to what he had to say. Margzor couldn’t help but feel more secure when the voice agreed with him.

  Days passed before it gained full control of Margzor’s confidence. Without warning, the demon possessed his will. Suddenly, his legs were carrying him faster into the forest, blood streaming down his limbs, thorns stinging his skin like angry wasps. Mud sluiced over his bare feet, swallowing his body as if to claim him for the forest.

  As every shred of his humanity was stripped away by yet another fall, he left behind the child he once was. Isolated from society, he learned to quickly adapt to the wilderness or suffer. He was a human with the mannerisms of an animal, scavenging from the kills of beasts and scampering into hiding when something wild passed through. Survival was his highest priority. Gradually, his timid nature would fade as he fought to stay alive.

  The demon equated weakness with failure, and it soon devised ways to develop what he lacked in strength, endurance, and speed. The demon achieved high pain tolerance in its host by subjecting Margzor to intense exertion and physical suffering. He derived endurance from the pain and a new level of strength.

  Margzor shook away the memories of childhood. He entered a dark grove in the forest, wanderlust compelling him forward. He could not forget the agony he suffered all those years.

  He spied something gleaming in the shadows across the glen. An immense web bejeweled with dew.
He walked upon the grass, nearing the mystical pattern that glowed like a crystal labyrinth. It was amazing how something so beautiful served a deadly purpose. Beauty and fatality complemented each other so naturally. He could imagine the prey that entered this web writhing for escape. Trapped.

  His trembling fingers touched the web.

  Suddenly, he remembered the very hour of day when he first felt horror.

  He could hear the keen melody of fresh water as he waded between the trees, the gentle leaves brushing against his naked skin. Margzor emerged from the forest and breathed in rejuvenating air. He had attempted several times to capture fish within the river but his agility was not adequate. He vowed the fish would not escape him today. How inviting the waters looked in his eyes, as clear as ice in the coldest winter.

  He approached the river and bent down to take a drink. Its cool taste was exhilarating and he drank deeply. He almost envied the fish that spent their lives in these magnificent waters, drifting at leisure with the current. Such a peaceful existence, never having to worry about making friends, feeling alone, or finding food. Their scales shimmered below like an ever moving trail of colored leaves. They would never suspect him. Margzor watched a small fish swim innocently to the shore, poking its head under rocks, playing hide-and-seek. Margzor’s hands posed to seize his naïve prey.

  Suddenly, a warning assaulted his brain and he lurched forward. His head crashed below the surface of the water with a splash that resembled flying shards of glass. Margzor’s mind screamed to rise, but his body would not obey. The demon refused to let him emerge from his prison. It possessed his will, forcing him deeper underwater. He slipped from the shore, submerging in a frenzy of thrashing limbs.

  His legs fought as though tangled in a web. He twisted on his side and swerved toward the surface of distorted sky. He could see the dark forms of the fish lancing through the water, darting past him. In his panic stricken mind, they looked like dark souls falling into a cold, oceanic hell.