So Durima once again flew down the ethereal. There were few katabans here, mostly because it was generally impossible to enter North Academy via the ethereal due to the spell that 'locked' the school's portal.
But Master had told her that he would negate that spell once he got to North Academy so that Durima and Gujak could directly enter the school's graveyard without needing to climb the Walls as they had done on their first trip there. She just hoped that Master had succeeded in doing that, because if he didn't, then she and Gujak were going to be in big trouble.
In less than a minute, Durima found it. The portal to North Academy was open for the first time in … well, she didn't know how long, seeing as it had been locked for as long as she could remember. Through the portal, she saw mist and darkness, but she didn't stop to observe more closely because her fear of being caught by her fellow katabans drove her ever forward without hesitation.
Durima launched herself and Gujak directly through the portal. As always, everything around her went dark and breathing became difficult, but only for a moment. In the next instance, she landed on the dirt of the graveyard feet first, almost tripping over her own feet before catching herself and regaining her balance. Gujak's arms and legs flopped uselessly against her body, but he still didn't stir even one inch.
It took Durima's eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and mist, as she had transitioned from the ethereal to Martir far more quickly than she normally did. Thankfully, it only took her a few seconds to adjust … but when they did, she wished they hadn't.
All around her, everywhere she looked, were gods. Not just a handful of gods, but ten, twenty, thirty, maybe even more than that. Some stood on the ground, like Nimiko, while others flew or floated in the sky above, such as the Avian Goddess. The Tusked God towered over everyone else and even Skimif himself, radiating as much power as all of the other gods combined, was present.
Not only that, but she soon noticed Master, the Ghostly God, lying unconscious on the ground near an open grave. He looked like someone had punched him out. He wasn't even stirring. He could have been dead and Durima wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
Durima hardly believed what she saw, largely due to the overwhelming, almost primal fear that was overriding her rational thinking skills. She had gotten here as fast as she could, hoping against hope that Master would protect her and Gujak from his siblings, but she had jumped straight into the middle of the largest gathering of gods she had ever seen in one place. And all of them were looking at her and Gujak, as though the two katabans' sudden appearance had taken them by surprise.
That was when Durima heard someone cry out in pain and fall to the ground. She looked toward the grave again and saw the Magical Superior lying on the ground like he had taken a walloping as well. That puzzled her for a moment before she sensed a powerful presence appear right next to her.
Looking to her right, Durima saw, with horror, a being with purplish-black skin, the same color and texture as Uron's. He had a terrifying human/snake face hybrid and he smelled like a rotting corpse, even though he appeared to be as alive as anyone else. Sheer power radiated from his form like light from the sun, a level of power equal to that of Skimif's.
At that same moment, Gujak awoke with a start. He jerked so suddenly in her arms that Durima had to drop him. He landed on his bottom at the feet of the being that Durima had never seen before, blinking rapidly as he returned to consciousness.
“What?” said Gujak, looking around at all of the gathered gods. “Where are we? Why are there so many gods here? And who are you?”
Gujak addressed that last question to the snake-skinned being who stood above him. Why Gujak apparently wasn't afraid of him, Durima didn't know. Perhaps he was still waking up or maybe he was just that dumb and naïve, as Durima had always suspected he was.
The being smiled a smile that reminded Durima of how Uron had looked whenever it was pleased. “You're just in time, Durima, Gujak. I thought for a moment that maybe you two had failed in your mission, considering your general incompetence, but when I felt the Spider Goddess's death, I knew then and there that I had won.”
Gujak blinked. “What?”
“What do you mean, the Spider Goddess's death?” said a slightly panicked voice nearby.
Durima glanced in the direction that the voice had come from. One of the school mages was standing there, perhaps one of the students. He had short brown hair, a long face, and a small nose. His robes were ripped in some places and he looked like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in years.
What's a mortal man doing here, of all places? Durima thought. Now that I think about it, what is anyone doing here? Who is this guy who looks like Uron? Why is Master unconscious? Why are there so many gods from both Pantheons present? And why is Skimif himself among them?
She never got a chance to verbalize her questions, however, because the being who looked like Uron bent down and grabbed Gujak's right arm, the one gloved with the God-killer. Durima recognized the way the being's long fingers wrapped around Gujak's upper arm from her days in the War, as he was using a technique she had once used on an enemy soldier. But it was too late for her to look away or stop him.
The sound of wood being torn apart, mixed with Gujak's screams of terror and pain, split Durima's ears and even made some of the gods flinch. The only being who didn't seem affected was the one who had ripped off Gujak's arm.
Holding Gujak's ripped-off arm over his head like it was a prize he had won in a game, the Uron lookalike grabbed the God-killer and pulled it off Gujak's hand. Much to Durima's surprise, the being succeeded in removing the gauntlet from Gujak's arm, which he then tossed aside like garbage. As for Gujak himself, he lay unconscious on the ground, perhaps having lost consciousness from the pain he had experienced when he lost his arm, although due to his wooden body, he was not bleeding.
In one smooth motion, the Uron lookalike shoved the gauntlet onto his right hand. Flexing his metallic fingers, the Uron lookalike smiled triumphantly at the gods, many of whom were now looking at him like he was a dangerous wild animal. Durima took that moment to grab Gujak and drag him away from Uron, but the strange being didn't seem to notice, or if he did, didn't care enough to try to stop them.
“Uron,” said Skimif. His voice was tight. “What is that thing you are wearing?”
It took Durima a moment to realize that Skimif was addressing the Uron lookalike who had just torn Gujak's arm off.
Why does this being have the same name as Master's pet snake? Durima thought. Wait a minute … they can't possibly be the same being, can they?
The Uron lookalike whose name was apparently Uron held up the God-killer for everyone to see. “I am surprised you don't recognize it, Skimif. As the God of Martir, I assumed that you, at least, would know what this is, but I guess even you do not know all of Martir's mysteries. But I will tell you what it is: Your destruction.”
“Hold it,” said a winged goddess, who Durima recognized as the Avian Goddess. “Earlier, you mentioned the death of the Spider Goddess. Did you mean that our sister is dead?”
“Of course I did,” said Uron. “Didn't you feel her death a few minutes ago?”
“They didn't,” said Skimif, drawing all attention to him. “I sensed it before anyone else due to my status as God of Martir, but I didn't want the other gods to panic or forget about you in their quest to destroy whoever killed their sister. I've been holding back the panic this entire time and hoped I wouldn't have to let it go until you were gone.”
“So it's true,” said Nimiko, looking as broken as a mortal who had discovered the death of a favorite sibling, rather than a god. “But … how? The Treaty forbids gods killing other gods. And mortals most certainly can't do it. Even katabans are incapable of killing us. This must be a trick.”
“It's no trick,” said Uron. “If you won't believe me, then believe Skimif. After all, Skimif is supposed to be honesty incarnate, isn't he? He has no reason to lie to his own serva
nts and thus demoralize them right when victory was in your grasp.”
“That still doesn't explain how that happened,” said Nimiko. “As I said, gods cannot be killed except by other gods, but even that is prevented by the Treaty.”
“It was these two who had done it,” said Uron, gesturing at Durima and Gujak. “And it was with this that they achieved it.”
He shook the God-killer on his hand. It looked deceptively plain, so much so that Durima might have dismissed it as nothing more than a normal metal gauntlet if she had not known its true nature as a terrifying weapon that, in the wrong hands, could be used to cause untold damage to the world.
And I have a feeling that it just fell into those wrong hands everyone talks about, Durima thought as she watched Uron strike a triumphant pose.
“Many obscure legends exist about this object,” said Uron. His voice was growing mad with glee, making him look even scarier than he normally did. “Magical historians call it the Hand of Apocalypse; heathen historians have referred to it as the Liberator. Neither name is quite as fitting, however, as the God-killer.”
“God-killer?” This came from the human mage she had seen earlier, who had somehow gotten over his human fears of divinity enough to talk. “Does that mean it … it …”
The mage seemed too horrified by the implications to finish his sentence.
But Uron finished it for him, saying, “Yes, Darek Takren, the God-killer does exactly that: Kill gods.”
At that moment, an intense fear swept over all of the gods present. Some retreated deeper into the mist, looking troubled, while others vanished completely, like they had run away. Only a handful held their ground, like Skimif and the Tusked God. Even the Ghostly God seemed to have felt it, because he moaned in his unconscious state and muttered, “Not that …”
“Ridiculous,” said the Avian Goddess with a huff, although the way she had moved slightly farther away from Uron made it clear she didn't think it was quite that ridiculous. “There is nothing in Martir that can kill the gods. The Powers designed us to be at the very top of the hierarchy of the world, and even with Skimif now above us, we're still heads and shoulders above everyone else.”
“Call it what you will, but that doesn't change the fact that the God-killer exists and is even older than you gods,” said Uron. “It was created by the Powers, just like you were, and was designed specifically so that mortals could use it in the event that you gods lost your way and had to be dealt with permanently.”
“He's telling the truth,” said Skimif, his tone bitter. “When I ascended to godhood, the Powers gave me a lot of information about Martir that few know. The God-killer was among that information, but I didn't think to tell anyone or do anything about it because it was safely hidden within Bleak Rock where no one could reach it. I never thought it would be used against us.”
“Correct,” said Uron. “The Powers gave the God-killer to the Mysterious One for safekeeping when they realized that it was too dangerous to leave anywhere else. They gave him strict orders not to tell any of the other gods about it, which is partly why he has kept such a mysterious persona for so many years.”
“But if you have the God-killer, then does that mean … you can kill us?” said Nimiko.
“Indeed,” said Uron. He flexed the fingers of the God-killer. “That was the whole point of my plan. Without the God-killer, my entire plan would be far more difficult to complete than it is. If I am to destroy Martir, I must first destroy its gods, northern and southern. And the God-killer will allow me to do just that.”
Durima wanted to hide. Shame filled her when she realized that she and Gujak, far from being obedient servants of the Ghostly God, had instead helped this … this monster get one step closer to destroying Martir. There was still much about this situation that she didn't understand, but she understood that she and Gujak may have inadvertently helped destroy their world.
No, Durima thought, shaking her head as she glanced at the unconscious Gujak. Not Gujak. He wanted to turn himself into the Council. I was the one who insisted that we take the God-killer to Master. This is all my fault no matter how you cut it.
The Avian Goddess landed on the ground. She had the face of an eagle, but the body of a human woman, her arms replaced by her massive black and white wings that looked strong enough to break rock.
“Am I the only one not trembling in my boots here right now?” said the Avian Goddess, looking around at her fellow gods with disgust. “He may have the God-killer, but that doesn't mean he's invincible. We're the gods of Martir. We've dealt with far worse than some upstart being from the Prior World. Or am I going to have to tear him limb from limb myself?”
She said that while staring hard at Skimif. Although Skimif was clearly the only god on the same power level as Uron, he looked like he wanted to run away, which Durima thought was a rather pathetic way for the leader of the gods to look.
“You gods have never dealt with me before,” said Uron. “But go ahead. Attack me. Show your brothers and sisters that there's nothing to be afraid of. I am getting tired of standing here talking anyway. I want action. I want my world back.”
“Very well,” said the Avian Goddess. She glanced to the left and right. “Anyone care to join me or will I have to kill him on my own?”
None of the other gods stepped forward to join. This was the strangest thing Durima had ever witnessed in her life. She had always thought of the gods as being superior to katabans in every way, including in sheer confidence, yet most of these gods, both northern and southern, were standing back like frightened little children.
“All right,” said the Avian Goddess. She turned her attention to Uron. “How do you want to die? Maybe I could peck out your eyes and watch as you bleed to death. Or maybe I will chew you up and feed you to some poor starving chicks in dire need of a good meal. Then again, I imagine you'd make a poor meal for a growing baby bird. Nothing but skin and bone, that's what you are.”
Uron kept flexing the fingers of the God-killer, which was starting to creep Durima out. “I find it surprising you intend to fight me at all. I am much closer to Skimif in power than you. Don't birds usually fly away when faced with a predator they can't defeat?”
“Only cowardly little sparrows would think to do that,” said the Avian Goddess. “I am much closer to the eagle hawk, a powerful hunter and predator in its own right. They're known to kill baba raga in battle, which I think is an appropriate comparison to make in this situation.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” said Uron. “Peck my eyes out, feed me to your chicks … do whatever you wish. I can handle it.”
“Very well,” said the Avian Goddess. She spread her wings wide, a ten foot wingspan at least. “For Martir!”
The Avian Goddess flew at Uron far faster than any normal bird could. She aimed directly for his chest, but despite how terrifying she looked, Uron held his ground. He punched his other fist into the God-killer, but that was the only movement he made as she drew closer and closer.
Uron suddenly thrust the God-killer at her. The Avian Goddess must have seen that coming because she banked upwards at the last possible second, going up and over Uron's head. She landed on the ground behind him and slapped him in the back with one of her wings.
That blow likely would have killed an ordinary mortal and seriously wounded a god, but Uron didn't even flinch. He whirled around, reaching with the God-killer for her wing, but the Avian Goddess jumped back out of his range.
“Flighty bird,” said Uron, spitting at the ground. “Did you suddenly become afraid of me? Or are you waiting for your siblings to come in and help?”
Based on the apprehensive looks of the other gods, it didn't seem likely any of them would step in and help the Avian Goddess. Not that it seemed to matter to her. She crouched low to the ground, bringing her wings close to her chest, looking like a hawk about to pounce on a mouse.
“I'm just looking for the perfect opening to attack,” said the Avian Goddess. “Y
ou act all tough, but everyone has a weak point. All I need to do is find it.”
Uron laughed. “Find it? You can't beat me, though I admit it is brave of you to try. You are nothing more than a weak little chick trying to avoid getting killed by a large feline.”
“Odd comparison to make, considering you used to be a snake for a while,” said the Avian Goddess. “And I don't know if it worked this way in your world, but here in Martir, quite a few species of bird are known to kill snakes and eat them.”
Once again, the Avian Goddess flew at Uron. Uron raised the God-killer, probably to grab her, but the Avian Goddess once again flew over him. As she did so, she sank her sharp, deadly-looking claws into his shoulders and lifted him straight off the ground. Her movement was so sudden that Uron appeared too shocked to react.
By the time the realization of what she was doing dawned on his face—which was when he was at least fifty feet in the air—it was too late for Uron to do anything about it. The Avian Goddess flipped in the air and hurled him toward the ground back at the spot where he had been standing previously.
Uron crashed into the ground hard enough to form a small crater and send dust clouds flying into the air. The impact was enough to shake the ground under Durima's feet for a brief moment, a heavy enough impact that Durima was worried that the ground itself would crack open.
Thankfully, her fears proved unfounded. As the dust settled, the Avian Goddess landed on the ground a few feet away from the crater that Uron lay in. As for Uron, he didn't get up or make even the slightest noise to indicate that he was still alive.
There's no way that blow could have killed him, Durima thought. The Avian Goddess is powerful, but not that powerful. If Uron really is on the same power level as Skimif, then that should have maybe only stunned him at best.
The Mage's Grave: Mages of Martir Book #1 Page 23
