The Undying God

by Nathan Wilson

  “Hrioshango! Do something!” Nishka called. If only she knew what she had just done. Margzor’s sword ricocheted off the ebony staff as he circled his prey. Suddenly, he sensed impending danger behind him, a distortion of space. With godly speed, he spun on his heel and saw a great missile careening through air.

  A crossbow bolt the size of a pillar.

  Margzor dodged and tucked into a roll. The missile resounded off a wall with a shriek. He pounced to his feet and snapped a glowering look at the meddlesome woman. It was time he disposed of her. He would simply kill the woman that would never be his.

  Margzor took aim at Nishka and charged.

  Hrioshango collapsed the distortion field and called upon the elastic blade again. It entangled around Margzor’s leg, flowing up his calf and bursting through his spine. The world began to swerve around him. Margzor was airborne, propelled above the floor as if gravity reversed. The impact thundered in the chamber when his body smashed against the floor.

  Hrioshango didn’t give him a chance to retaliate. At last, the sword recoiled. Margzor retched for breath and placed his hands on the floor, struggling to his feet. Pain flooded his senses. He could not bring himself to move without bringing about another stab of agony.

  Suddenly, the light was snuffed out and the chamber was tinged in shadow.

  Tremors jarred his muscles, devouring the last of his strength. For a second, they could see fear in Margzor’s eyes. He could feel his lungs locking up. He shuddered weakly and collapsed motionless against the floor.

  Nishka jerked as a single death spasm rippled through his corpse. Margzor’s dead eyes stared blankly into space. Arxu breathed heavily and leaned against a pillar.

  He let out a heavy sigh and glanced around the chamber. He couldn’t believe they were still alive. They had come so far and survived against annihilation. Parts of his body were sore from battle. He rubbed an injured shoulder and closed his eyes.

  He needed a moment longer to relax.

  Margzor exhibited another death spasm.

  “What the hell…” Nishka breathed. The body moved again. “Isn’t he dead…?” It shuddered against the cold floor. Arxu’s heart rate began to quicken. This could not be possible. Margzor had died.

  As if to indulge Arxu’s greatest fear, Margzor’s armor split apart, revealing the tender skin beneath. He tore apart as something monstrous bulged from inside the corpse. A greater form squirmed out of the empty husk, shedding its skin. It left behind a bloody membrane that still bore limbs with a head attached.

  A darker Margzor stood before them. He was naked, his flesh now tainted gray, and parts of his body were blackened with a malignant texture. The blackness lingered most prominently on his genitals and his right arm. From there, it spread to his neck and his left breast. Fangs protruded from under the skin on his arms like a beast bursting from within.

  Trapped under his skin.

  His scorpion tail bobbed up and down as he staggered to his feet. Arxu stared with aversion at an umbilical cord stretching from Margzor’s belly to the husk. The demigod pried the sword from the clutches of the empty shell and regarded the cord.

  The sword flashed across and severed it. Arxu realized the sharp tip of Margzor’s appendage now bore the same fiery luminance as his blade. Margzor cast the blade aside and approached. His appendage lashed out with the ferocity one would expect from an animal. Arxu parried the blade-like tip with his staff, sparks spitting from the impact.

  He leaped back just as the appendage slammed into the floor where he stood. It plunged through the marble tiles, leaving little to the imagination of what it would do to Arxu’s skull.

  Margzor spun to his right and the tail arched around to impale Arxu’s neck. He dodged the blow and tumbled against a pillar.

  Arxu couldn’t maintain his defenses against this monster forever. Margzor was determined to see the male suffer for destroying his fragile vision of love. Now, the same man wanted to take away his divinity. For every second the man escaped, he would make his suffering all the more excruciating.

  Arxu ran across the enormous chamber. He would die soon, he knew it was unavoidable. Margzor was far stronger than he had anticipated.

  He refused to perish at the hands of the murderer. He spun around and thrust his staff toward Margzor. Arxu’s face contorted in dismay. He gasped as his chest ripped apart.

  The scorpion barb impaled Arxu’s chest and uprooted him from the floor. A scream tore through the chamber but it was impossible to distinguish whether it was Arxu or Nishka.

  The demigod pinned him against a pillar and flung him across the chamber.

  Margzor didn’t even grin in victory. His eyes only bore into him with numb hatred. He paused in front of the Nightwalker’s body slumped against the pillar. The tail arched for the kill.

  Nishka dove in front of Arxu, throwing her arms across him. Margzor hesitated when he saw the woman whose charms snared his heart. But the notion of her shielding this unworthy male quelled his sympathy. Feelings of rejection bombarded his brain, coaxing him toward violence as his only option.

  Hrioshango swung his sword at the demigod, giving his friends the chance to escape. Margzor accepted several more blows before he vengefully kicked Hrioshango. The darkling limped away and collapsed.

  Arxu staggered to his feet with Nishka’s help. He wouldn’t take any chances with Margzor now. He mentally assessed several spells, though he feared none would prove effective.

  Margzor slowly approached and then broke into a run. His arm whipped across, the fangs on his skin extended toward Arxu. The hooks snagged his sleeve as he dodged, taunting him with the horrible sound of ripping.

  Slipping past Margzor, Arxu rammed down his staff on his tail. The demigod cried out in wrath as he twisted the sharp, metal tip, crushing the black carapace. Before Margzor could spin around, Arxu severed the appendage with a final thrust. He writhed in anguish and fell to his knees. Resorting to the blade again, Margzor whisked up his sword.

  He snapped off a blow that threatened to maim Arxu. Dizziness assaulted him and he swooned under the urge to fall down and close his eyes. He floundered back and tried to raise his staff in a parry, but Margzor’s sword grazed him.

  Margzor seemed to descend into feral frenzy when he saw the blood of his enemy. He spun sharply to the left, bringing his sword across in a swing.

  Arxu was knocked on his back from the blow. Margzor advanced like a beast stalking its prey.

  Nishka’s eyes briefly met Arxu’s. Why isn’t he getting up?! Get up, damn it! Arxu held her in his gaze and he didn’t need to speak to convey what he was feeling. Nishka recognized his fear, longing, conflict, and worst of all, his acceptance. Her heart throbbed in horror as she stumbled forward. He was going to sacrifice himself to let her escape.

  No, Arxu, please!

  Margzor planted his foot on Arxu’s neck, pinning him in place. He would tear him apart for taking her away. Nishka broke into a run, knowing she wouldn’t reach him in time.

  In those last anguished seconds, Arxu felt the blade plunge through him, through bone and muscle, a body he toned over years only to be destroyed. The instantaneous pressure in his lungs shocked him. He also felt the blade scrape against something hard, and he knew his sacrifice would not be in vain. Little did Margzor know that his own blade would initiate his demise as it struck a small orb of volcanic glass in Arxu’s pocket.

  The blade plunged through the device, combusting in tendrils of flame. The force of the explosion consumed Margzor’s lower torso and shrapnel embedded in his chest. Arxu screamed as the blade retracted.

  Margzor could feel his vitality fading and the divine power flowing outward like the blood that now adorned his body. He did not have the power to heal.

  He staggered away from Arxu. Pain barbed through his flesh and droplets of blood spattered to the floor. His scream was so monstrous that it paralyzed everyone in his presence.

  He roared and swung his sword at a marble column, s
mashing the tip off by several inches. It sounded like a high pitched explosion stifled by wind, followed by a searing flash. Nishka squinted and Hrioshango raised his arms to shield his eyes. The blade flared bright with rage, hissing like a thousand serpent tongues.

  Nishka saw an expression in Margzor’s eyes that could only portend disaster.

  Helplessness.

  Margzor reversed his grip on the sword and its tip swerved toward his breast. For a moment, he looked as though he might say something. The blade plunged through his own heart with a tortured scream.

  The most insane emotion pierced his heart.

  Denial… denial, anger, depression, and acceptance were compounded into one instant. He could not begin to separate the emotions. Margzor sank to his knees without a sound. He trembled like a frightened animal as defeat and humiliation erupted inside.

  Happiness did not exist anymore. Maybe it never existed.

  A throbbing pain ached in his chest, much more than just the blade embedded in his heart: the bittersweet relief of death. He did not want to feel alone for another night. Never would he know love. He wanted to scream at Nishka and tell her how much he adored her.

  But at the same time, he wanted to kill her.

  The hate within him rose like a bile in his chest, a fierce malice writhing to seize his heart. If he couldn’t kill everything he hated, then his own death would suffice.

  Margzor gazed upon Nishka with piercing eyes.

  “I loved you,” he lamented. Regret stained his face. Nishka stared in shock. He was crying.

  Margzor released an ironic laugh and it continued far longer than he expected. He laughed at himself and the innocent notion of sharing his life with Nishka. Perhaps love did not exist for him. Suddenly, his laughter coagulated and a gout of blood erupted from his mouth.

  Margzor weakly reached for Nishka. He held out his hand for her, as if she could save him yet again. Something ripped at his soul, agony more visceral than the blood that pooled from his heart. So ferociously was he fighting for breath, like a newborn with apnea. He felt so fragile and naked before the woman he desired.

  Each tear that struck the floor resonated louder than the beat of his heart. It seemed to echo throughout his mind, those years of torture and grief eternalized in that moment. He could only think of her as everything ended.

  As Margzor died, he felt ecstasy. Pleasure pulsed through him, scattering his sanity in incomprehensible ways. He tried to focus on the feeling. The final throes of death were the most enchanting.

  Margzor breathed for the last time, and his eyes gently shut. One second at a time, Nishka faded before him. And his philosophy of a world where love truly existed died with him.

  One breath, one second, one last heartbeat.

  No more pain.

  Chapter 42

  Nishka raced toward the dying Arxu. She fought back the tears in her eyes when she saw the ashes and shrapnel gathered around his body, suggesting the extent of the damage he endured.

  “Arxu!” she cried. Nishka tried not to look at his chest, abused by both blade and fire. The breath oozed out of his lungs in rapid succession, fighting back as blood drained into his chest cavity. He could feel the sporadic palpitations of his heart weakening. Despite the trauma, his eyes had not lost their blue luster.

  They glowed with a hint of relief as Nishka knelt down next to him.

  “Arxu…” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.” Another wave of pressure exploded in Arxu’s lungs, denying him the opportunity to reply.

  “Nishka…” He used all of his strength to force out the words. “Don’t think of my death as a loss… I won’t be gone forever.”

  This isn’t fair. Nishka bit her lip. You followed me this far because I asked you to. How could this be the same man who kissed her last night and held her close? Now he lay dying in this dark temple, a victim of his emotions. Maybe he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself if he didn’t love Nishka and try to protect her.

  “I will be waiting for you when it’s over,” he whispered. “Both your mother and I will be waiting. I promise you.”

  Nishka took his one remaining hand and held it. Nishka’s eyes finally fell to his chest, but she did not focus on the wounds. Arxu wore a blue stone around his neck. She recognized the stone she had given him in the forest. Among all the scars, it glistened there like a sapphire tear.

  Hrioshango retrieved a vial of ointment laced with opium and hemlock.

  “I lack the energy needed to heal him, but I can ease the passing,” he said quietly. Nishka nodded, not taking her eyes off Arxu.

  “I’m sorry, Arxu.” The Nightwalker squeezed her hand in response.

  “Don’t be.” Even as he looked into her eyes, he wondered what would become of his fragmented soul. Words that Nishka once spoke echoed through his mind. Even if you die, you won’t be alone. I’ll be there until it’s over. Maybe he could accept losing his soul if the afterlife didn’t exist. At least he would have Nishka beside him for the next few seconds. Another fit of coughing accosted him, signaling that it was time for Hrioshango to show mercy.

  Looking unsure of himself, he applied the ointment to Arxu’s forehead. Arxu could feel the pain diminishing. He sighed as the room seemed to fill with white light. He could feel Nishka’s grip on him becoming even tighter, refusing to let him go. Numbness washed away the feeling in his limbs, one nerve at a time.

  He gasped as an otherworldly feeling scorched his insides. Nishka regarded him with wonder as she, too, felt the change around her.

  Arxu trembled as a rush of power surged through him. It filled his veins, soaring through his soul, and he felt as though he was being pulled between two worlds. He almost feared the last of his soul was being eradicated, calling him somewhere far away. Dazzling light consumed his vision until he could no longer see Nishka or Hrioshango. Reality began to dawn upon the Nightwalker. He was becoming the vessel of divinity for mortally wounding Margzor.

  A brilliant flash seared through the chamber, blinding Nishka to the chaos. When she could see again, her eyes were riveted on Arxu’s body. Blue, flowing runes adorned his arms and legs, radiating with moonlight. His chest bore no sign of harm, cleansed of wounds.

  Nishka was overwhelmed by the power emanating from her companion. She reached out for something to lean on, feeling diminutive compared to his divinity. Despite the ecstasy of being a demigod, deep inside, Arxu did not crave this. He did not desire followers or fame.

  Nishka seemed to understand this, as though Arxu’s thoughts spilled over his consciousness and pervaded hers.

  “Nishka, I do not want this,” he said. She awaited his words with great anticipation. “All I want is to be with you.”

  Their minds seemed to become one at that point, and images of pleasure and love cascaded over Nishka. She could almost feel herself floating. Her feet were drifting above the floor, and Arxu was also rising. It was as much a revocation of his divinity as it was a declaration of his devotion to Nishka.

  Arxu reached for her hand and as soon as their fingers clasped, they dissipated. Their souls coalesced, birthing ecstasy more sensational than any kiss or caress.

  Hrioshango watched in awe as their ethereal forms floated high and vanished. He remained behind in the defiled temple.

  He would never see Nishka and Arxu again.

  Their souls seemed entwined, and Nishka experienced ecstasy beyond any mortal sensation. Her eyes fluttered open. The space around them seemed to fill with light and give way to a sprawling oasis. Gilded horizons that stretched on for eternity. Oceanic clouds rippled beneath them, and she smiled as she felt Arxu’s lips press against hers.

  Outside the temple, guards formed a human wall around the structure, barring any citizen from coming too close. Men and women gathered around, fearful for loved ones inside. Others simply wanted to watch chaos unfold.

  The lord of the city authorized the military to storm the temple and seize anyone inside. They had received explicit orders
to kill the man responsible for the massacre in the streets. For all the rhetoric of a fair justice system and court by a jury, there would be no trial this day. Only execution.

  The general paced in front of a contingent of armed soldiers. They would succeed where the guards failed. He had already formed a strategy for invading the temple. He would galvanize a frontal assault to draw the killer’s focus while more covert soldiers infiltrated from the east wing.

  His hand rested on the pommel of his sword as his heartbeat began to race, betraying his trepidation. He had seen what happened to the guards who challenged the murderer. How could one man end so many lives, cutting down the finest warriors?

  The general sighed and shut his eyes, picturing his three-year-old son at home. He hoped this morning would not be the last time he hugged him good-bye. Finished with his reflections, he slid his sword out of its sheath.

  “I don’t care if you find the killer unarmed!” he roared. “This man must answer for the blood he has shed in the city square! The lord has decreed that we do not take him into custody!” The soldiers answered his call with a chorus of vengeance and the crowd echoed their excitement. “Show no mercy to this criminal!” A mass of armored men wielding polearms and blades ascended the steps. The plaza itself seemed to tremble under their march.

  The temple doors burst open and Hrioshango boldly swaggered out of the temple. He lurched to a halt when he saw the soldiers and hundreds of people amassed below.

  The war veterans awkwardly stopped, but they did not lower their weapons. Their faces encompassed everything from shock to awe at the spectacle of this darkling. Hrioshango basked in the tension for a while longer, unsure if they would attack.