The Undying God

by Nathan Wilson

He would tolerate no interruption during this special occasion. He looked at Ava as though to assure her he would return—as if she desired such a thing.

  “I will be back soon.”

  After all, the next twenty minutes would be the most pleasurable of his life. He glanced at the sword at his waist and slowly departed from the room. As soon as the door slammed shut, she crumpled to the floor.

  Her tears came pouring forth.

  Ava knew he would return and ravage her with animalistic lust. As much as she despised Respa, she hated Margzor far more.

  She continued to cry futilely for help. She wondered if Margzor could even imagine how much suffering he would cause. How many lives must he devastate?

  Her sobs gradually faded as she curled up on the floor. Ava shut her eyes and tried to imagine that someone in this world valued her for who she is inside.

  * * *

  Respa gasped as the final breath was ripped out of him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his neck snapped against the ground. The rest of his body followed shortly after. Margzor stepped over the limp figures piled at his feet.

  He had disposed of twenty men who failed to eliminate him. The last man had died in a particularly cruel manner. He emerged from a guardhouse and engaged him with the arrogance of a fool. The last two minutes had been the most excruciating of his life.

  Margzor’s destination awaited him at the end of the plaza, the immaculate temple. Its architecture proclaimed its vanity, a perfection glorified by the naїve masses. He ascended the marble steps and reached forward. He entered the temple without a sound. He knew the priestesses would be expecting him; there had been far too many soldiers in the streets to coincide with his arrival. He simply walked down the prayer hall, like a mute, deaf, and blind man who lost his way.

  Clerics fled screaming at the sight of him. He did not change his pace, a calm and deadly gait advancing toward his prey. They would be far beyond his reach now. Nevertheless, no door could shield them, no matter how reinforced. He came to a dead end within a lavish chamber.

  A woman was trapped inside the room, unable to escape. She pounded her fists on the double doors and cried out for mercy. The clerics would not risk opening the doors and letting the threat near Astalla.

  She shrank against the wall, paralyzed by terror. Margzor didn’t even flinch with regret as her beautiful face contorted in agony. His blade soared across without mercy. She collapsed as a final scream was torn from her.

  Desensitized to violence, her pain elicited no reaction from him. He used to feel something when he killed a human, but this time, he felt nothing. He only stared into the empty space, virtually unaware of what he had done. Everything he would do this day would result in his damnation.

  As if he even cared anymore.

  * * *

  “There!” Arxu cried out. Praemenon reared up over the horizon, goading them forward. The night had passed in a blur as they traveled north on horseback. Hrioshango had proven his worth yet again when he mysteriously secured two horses for them at the city borders.

  Frankly, they didn’t care how he acquired them. All that mattered now was intercepting Margzor before he added more victims.

  Nishka hoped she was prepared to face the mass murderer. She didn’t have to do this, she knew. She could leave the city to cope with the aftermath of the attack and return to her father. The idea of giving up insulted her.

  Even if she failed in the end.

  With Arxu and Hrioshango by her side, she felt they stood a chance against this terror. Deep inside, she knew this could have been avoided if the city officials cooperated with each other and combined intelligence. Their failure to serve innocent people and let them die infuriated her.

  Margzor knew the risk, Nishka believed. He knew the city watch and its lords were too incompetent to deal with an organized, intelligent killer. They weren’t prepared for a man whose ideology trumped theirs. He was willing to be martyred for his moral war, for his vision of a decent society.

  Nishka would only be another obstacle in his way. She dreaded coming face to face with Margzor, but she refused to back down.

  If only she knew the personal role she had played in his war.

  “Hurry!” Arxu yelled as they entered the city streets. “We must stop him before he reaches the demigoddess of virginity!”

  Hrioshango slowed to a stop as the gravity of the situation assaulted him.

  “The goddess of virginity?!” he exclaimed with disappointment. In that moment, every fantasy of power he entertained suddenly vanished. To his surprise, he still followed Arxu and Nishka. When they arrived at the plaza, they found the street swamped with the bodies of guards.

  “Oh Gods,” Nishka breathed. None of them dared speak the truth. They had arrived too late.

  * * *

  Margzor swept through the temple like a harbinger of death, scoping the halls for overlooked prey. With his blade, he was the incarnation of cruelty, judging men and women as unworthy to live. He already felt like a god.

  The temple itself scarcely made a sound, for everyone had either hidden or perished. There would be no mercy for those he encountered. He was determined to consummate his ideological war and eradicate this pathetic religion.

  He walked slowly through the hall.

  Someone was hiding nearby, he was certain of it. He could hear a scamper, a panicked intake of breath, the sound of feet. He smiled to himself because he knew escape was futile. As he stalked through the upper level, something flickered beyond the periphery of his vision.

  He spun to face his prey crouched in an alcove.

  There, he saw two children. Their eyes met his in stunned expressions of terror. Time itself may have stopped for Margzor, paralyzed by the sight of his victims.

  The children could be no older than five years. Their frightful eyes peered up at Margzor, their trembling forms so small compared to his. The boy turned away and hugged his younger sister. They closed their eyes, holding onto each other for dear life, afraid to die.

  Margzor focused on the demonic sword in his hand, its dancing embers enthralling his vision.

  The image of the sword burned into his retinas, evoking painful memories of his own childhood. The blade carried him away to another time and place, a time filled with torture and sadness.

  He recalled the hurt that haunted his childhood.

  If he punished the youth, he would be no better than the demon that tormented him. He tried to collect himself as he felt tears stinging his eyes. He trembled and took a faltering step back. With a final look at their faces, Margzor turned away. Over his shoulder, the young ones fled.

  Margzor walked down the hall, hardly acknowledging his own footsteps, trying to forget what had happened so many years ago.

  His face contorted in a grimace as tears began to eat away at his façade. He focused on the innocence he could never reclaim. No god could ever restore the love and joy he felt as a child.

  Margzor squeezed his eyes shut to stop the flow of tears. He screamed out in defeat, an anguished plea for help. His sword clashed to the floor as he plunged to his knees.

  He buried his face in his hands and began to cry.

  Not far away, Astall also fell to her knees, sobbing for breath. She wept for the innocents lost that day, the men and women whose faith did not protect them. Sunlight glowed through the room from beyond obscure windows. Margzor’s footsteps resonated as he entered the divine chamber of worship.

  Astalla’s tears touched the floor like rain, crystals dancing on the marble surface. Margzor simply laughed, a cold, mocking sound that cut through the silence. He circled her with his sword held slackly in hand.

  Astalla was repulsed by the energy he projected. She swallowed the bitter taste of anger and tried to draw upon as much power as she could. Margzor leered at the helpless woman. He leaned in close with a cruel smile and whispered in her ear.

  “I killed the children.”

  Astalla lunged at him and her nails
raked across his jaw.

  “Monster!” she screamed. Margzor lifted his hand to his lips, now glistening with blood. Astalla staggered to her feet, as if his words imbued her with strength.

  She would utterly annihilate him. The memory of those screams wafting up from the lower levels compelled her to destroy him. Margzor’s fingers slowly descended from his bloodstained lips as he regarded her. The same hand suddenly gripped his sword.

  He lunged forward and cut high, taking the first step in what would become a macabre dance. Astalla floated away from his attack, her feet coordinating perfectly to evade his blade.

  She could no longer sense the demonic taint on him, and the horrible truth dawned on her. Margzor was no longer the slave of a demon but a pawn of his own hate.

  He swung his sword dangerously close to her body and Astalla veered out of its path. She floundered backward on an altar. Margzor’s eyes flashed with pleasure. What sweet irony it would be to sacrifice her. She dashed across the room for cover, but no barrier could shield her from his onslaught.

  She outstretched her hand toward Margzor and he felt weakness overcome him. He nearly plunged to his knees and released his sword. His arm relaxed by his side, no longer strong enough to wield a weapon.

  His eyes dilated with delirium as she injected her divine energy into his mind. It was the strangest sensation, a feeling of hopeless surrender. His neck felt barely able to bear the weight of his mind, and his chin slipped toward his breast. He could feel his head bowing in reverence of the divine woman. Margzor fought the emotional hell that invaded his mind, convincing him to give up.

  His self-confidence withered to despair.

  Almost.

  He lunged and thrust his blade toward her chest. Astalla cried out and fell back. She couldn’t believe he had resisted her.

  Margzor glowered at the demigoddess. His blade narrowly touched her, cutting her perfect skin.

  Astalla felt sick at the sight of her blood. She feared he would kill her slowly. She hoped he wasn’t capable of something so merciless. The answer would come sooner than she thought.

  The larger of the silhouettes darted forward and brought a blade across. Razor-sharp steel passed through the other figure without a sound. Astalla took several weak steps backward, her smooth movements now jerky and awkward. The precious gold chain fell from her throat, slithering down her body to collect on the floor. Her muscles didn’t respond to her brain anymore.

  Astalla plummeted to the floor with morbid elegance. Even in death, she possessed the most startling grace.

  Margzor did not approach the beheaded body of Astalla. He spoke not a word. The air itself seemed electric and foul as if polluted by an impurity of unimaginable sin. He could feel himself transforming.

  Chapter 41

  Hrioshango came scampering behind Arxu and Nishka. The façade of the temple loomed down upon them, bidding them inside.

  Arxu leaped up the stairs leading to the entrance. He immediately lurched to a stop in the vestibule. A pair of double doors lay at the far end of the hall, gaping ajar. It looked like a portal to an underworld, wreathed with icy mist the color of ash. His eyes darted across the temple interior, scanning for signs of life.

  The temple had transformed into a universe of decadence. A dome, once lustrous with a mural of the sky, was blackened like eternal night. Even the shadows themselves seemed to slither toward Arxu’s feet in cold tendrils.

  Nishka and Hrioshango joined him as he walked briskly through the halls. Arxu peered into the alcoves to make sure their target wasn’t lurking there. Instead, he saw only melancholy statues leering back at him.

  The temple had become corrupt and unhinged as Margzor’s influence seeped into the building. Pools of cleansing had darkened to blood, roiling loudly in the basins.

  Even more disturbing, the statues seemed entwined in suggestive positions, their haunting silhouettes lurking in the dark. This once holy sanctum now resembled an oasis for the sexually damned.

  A sudden noise made Nishka spin on her heels as something latched onto her leg. Before she could scream, she looked down into the frightened eyes of a young boy and girl.

  Hrioshango and Arxu looked on with shock, not expecting to find children within the temple.

  “He didn’t kill you...?” Nishka gasped.

  “No,” the little girl whispered. She buried her face in Nishka’s shirt to hide from the darkness. “He didn’t hurt us.” The fact that Margzor didn’t kill them when he had murdered so many was beyond belief.

  She knelt down and hugged the terrified children. She couldn’t imagine what horrors they witnessed inside the temple. If only she could take them far away from this place.

  “You must leave.”

  “But we don’t have a family.” Those words drove into Nishka’s heart. She couldn’t abandon them, but she couldn’t bring them where she was going.

  “We’ll come back for them,” Arxu said.

  “Shouldn’t you leave?” the girl asked. Nishka gently took her hand.

  “We can’t. We have to stop this.” She looked apprehensively down the hall, expecting Margzor to emerge any moment. “You have to go now.”

  At last, the girl took her brother’s hand and retreated. The children’s silhouettes became less distinct in the darkness as they fled down the halls.

  “Thank you,” Nishka said, wrapping Arxu in her arms. Again, they made their course to the north. The tomb-like silence was devastating. Nishka walked past a gray altar with blood smeared across its once pure surface. The sight stole some of her courage.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on something else. If she would only look at the floor, she wouldn’t see the horror that Margzor’s siege had wrought. She accidentally walked into Arxu and opened her eyes. He had stopped.

  A circular chamber awaited them at the end of the hall. Arxu had an ominous feeling that they would find Margzor inside. Ever slowly, they entered. The light felt tainted and less pure, a mockery of the divine power it once represented. It seemed confined to the space in the center of the chamber. Suddenly, Arxu came to a halt.

  An aura crashed over him that made his acquisition of emotions seem petty. The most intense fear blazed through him. The overwhelming portent of doom dropped him to his knees. Depression assaulted his mind, buckling his knees and bowing his back. He tried to lift his head, but it felt as though all the weight in the world was dragging him to the floor. He desired death.

  Nishka gaped and took a step backward as a tremor passed through her body.

  Margzor emerged from behind a pillar. His head was bowed and his lips curled in a wicked smile. His silhouette drew closer to the light.

  Arxu staggered back to his feet. He stared in awe of the approaching entity. Margzor reared his head and his green eyes burned into his.

  He did not know the Nightwalker by name, only by face. He did not know the darkling at all, but his presence would nonetheless be resolved.

  Arxu stepped forward. Margzor considered him, the man he saw with the woman of his desires. Rage and excitement gleamed in his eyes. He reveled in anticipation of his most brutal kill yet. Margzor did not offer any words.

  Instead, an ungodly sound burst from his throat. An appendage erupted from his back, a segmented limb ending in a stinger much like a scorpion. The grotesque display paralyzed Arxu. The jutting appendage slithered back into Margzor’s spine as he lunged forward.

  Margzor drew his staff high in a parry and launched a swift kick to his ribs. He immediately grappled Arxu, locking his weapon arm, seizing a handful of his hair and throwing him to the floor. His steel clad foot plunged to crush Arxu’s skull. His foot only stomped on the floor as he rolled out of harm’s way.

  Nishka discovered her bolts were useless as she repeatedly pumped the trigger. Out of sheer desperation, she pushed against a weak pillar.

  “Hrioshango, help me!” she shouted. Margzor and Arxu continued their deadly dance across the chamber, locked in a perpetual state of
battle. Everything was an instinct translated into a parry or strike, neither man afforded one second to think. They could only react like two animals on the verge of destruction.

  Arxu couldn’t plot his strategy. Every breath was devoted to staying alive for a second longer.

  Margzor didn’t even sense the large shadow falling across him. The pillar pinned his leg against the floor with a crash. He bared his teeth and screamed in feral rage, feeling his bones fracture. Arxu pressed forward and struck him once before he escaped.

  What distinctly unnerved him was the sound Margzor made. When injured, he produced a sound like a beast. The chamber still echoed with his hellish scream.

  Hrioshango waved his sword erratically and summoned the energy to modify it. The blade stretched high and flailed like a steel snake. Nishka gaped at it, her jaw hanging open. Hrioshango began to use the mental link with his sword to control its elasticity. It was perhaps the most bizarre power he exhibited yet.

  Suddenly, it arched with devastating speed and zipped toward Margzor. It weaved around Nishka’s form, slithered along the floor, and danced around the fighting form of Arxu. The tip zoomed straight for Margzor but he spun aside. Automatically, the blade snaked up from behind and curled around his throat.

  Margzor howled and grappled the sharp object constricting his airway. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes.

  He outstretched his hand toward Hrioshango, who immediately shuddered in pain. Every imaginable, horrible impulse overwhelmed him. Hrioshango cried out and collapsed. The blade recoiled from around Margzor’s throat, releasing its vicious grip.

  He gagged for breath and fragilely touched the wound there. He had tolerated suffering far worse than this.

  Nishka shot several bolts, but they rebounded harmlessly off Margzor’s armor. If I can’t hurt you, then I’ll disarm you. She aimed along the bolt.

  Margzor broke Arxu’s parry, knocking his staff out to the side. A bolt struck the flaming blade as he prepared to plunge it into his enemy’s chest. The stinging impact dislodged the sword from his grasp. Arxu rushed toward the demigod and raised his staff in an attack. Margzor agilely dodged and swung his leg in a kick that toppled Arxu. The Nightwalker tumbled and his head jolted painfully against the marble floor.