by S D Simper
Something in the stone churned Flowridia’s stomach, suspicions bubbling in her gut. “Etolié, when was the baby born?”
“Weeks ago. A few days before Marielle’s coronation, if I remember right-”
Shattered glass broke her words, and with it a child’s scream. A small priestess grabbed the archbishop’s robe as she pointed frantically to the window, sobbing. Flowridia heard gasps from the crowd, and when she turned, she saw a body pressed against the broken window, face mutilated and bleeding.
Glass splintered, the windows smashing as bodies fell and crashed against them. Screams erupted from the crowd, and Flowridia felt Etolié yank her between the pews to avoid being trampled by terrified worshippers.
Then, from the ceiling, a final body fell, strung up by the neck, and Flowridia saw what fate had befallen both Sora and the unfortunate ones outside. The ears were cut, the tops sheared and rounded, head shaved, fingers stumped. The blood-stained body was nude, her face a mass of seeping holes. But carved into her stomach was the word ‘blunt-ear,’ and embedded in her torso, straight through her sternum, was Sora’s own knife.
Flowridia had heard of crimes committed to half-elves, murders with method, meant to humiliate as much as send a message: to ‘blunt’ them, to stump their limbs and face and ears.
Bile welled in Flowridia’s stomach, but not so much as the guilt in her heart. Tears pooled in her eyes. In turning this into a massacre – the other bodies surely bore the same half-elven blood – who would think to implicate the small party from Staelash?
And what connection would there be to Lady Ayla of Nox’Kartha?
People hurried to exit, ducking to avoid the blood that dripped from the mutilated body strung with a noose. Frantic priests helped to usher the mass, but silent against the wall, a figure stood perfectly still.
More statue than man, with his shining armor and his hand held out, posed with his sword stuck into the ground, the man truly did hold resemblance to the illustrations in the ancient book. Utterly innocuous among the crowd despite his daunting size, he was ignored by the panicked worshippers, and Flowridia wondered if magic was involved.
She saw him turn his head by a single degree, and from the slits in his helmet, Flowridia swore he stared directly at her.
Flowridia looked back to the archbishop with his orb, thought of Etolié with the orb hidden at her hip, and then spotted Khastra standing with her arms crossed not two rows forward, frowning at the ghastly corpses. She muttered, “Etolié, protect the archbishop. We have to secure the orb.”
“Flowers-”
She was cut off by Flowridia handing the Celestial her young wolf pup. “Whatever happens, keep him safe. I’m going to go distract him.”
“Who?”
A messy plan, but a plan nonetheless, scrambled together in her head. “Count to ten, then look by the door. If Khastra can strike first, we have a chance.” Flowridia darted away, pushing past worshippers and taking care not to set her hair aflame from the many candles.
The man who would claim to be Order watched her movements. Flowridia slid beside him, undaunted though her head barely touched his chest. She spared a glance for Etolié, watching as the Celestial slid toward her half-demon companion in the pews.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” Flowridia asked, soft enough for only he to hear. “You’re Sol Kareena’s son.”
Flowridia heard him shift, the faint sliding of metal on metal as he turned his armored head to look at her. “A damning assumption,” he said, his smooth voice reverberating within the metal helm.
“You bear the same halo,” Flowridia said, and between the slits of his helmet, human eyes met her own, the color of earth speckled with sunlight. “And you have the same eyes.”
“I am he, in a way. The child my mother birthed is still innocent. But I am granted power by his worshippers.”
“How can that be? If you’re truly the God of Order, you died ten thousand years ago. Yet, you were born in this era?”
“When true Godhood is achieved, one can exist apart from time.”
He said nothing more, looking instead to the statue bearing his face. Sol Kareena and the infant stood serene among the chaos.
Flowridia asked, “What name did your mother give you?”
“It is not a name used in worship; only by those who knew me before I achieved Godhood.” He stood silent a moment, this reborn God of Order, stoic among the storm. “My mother named me Soliel,” he finally said. “Will you tell me yours?”
Flowridia’s mind rifled through every piece of trivia she knew regarding magic and names. Would it harm her for him to know? Finding nothing, she said simply, “Flowridia.”
Soliel said nothing, but he did look back down, his brown eyes settling once again on her.
Flowridia spared a glance for the front of the room, to the unveiled statue and for the infant cradled in the Goddess’ arms. The room had mostly cleared, aside from the faces she knew.
She realized she still felt his gaze. Flowridia looked back and saw that the man – Soliel, she reminded herself; even monsters claimed names – studied her through the slits in his helm. “Flowridia-”
That was when Khastra’s hammer caved into his chest.
Metal crunched, as did bone. The God of Order cracked the cathedral’s stone wall, the impact of the hammer sending him flying. The crystal hammer flew back, whirling through the air and into Khastra’s readied grasp. The gargantuan woman balanced her hooves atop the pews, eyes glinting at the prospect of a fight. “Tiny one, is he dead? I can hit him again.”
Flowridia, frozen from shock, managed to finally breathe. Soliel stirred, grunting as he forced his way out of the caved wall. His armor held a massive indentation, and Flowridia wondered how he breathed. Khastra hefted her crystal hammer high above her head, her entire musculature expanding, nearly doubling as she did. Veins popped, and Khastra flung the hammer forward with a shout.
This time, Soliel held out a hand, a shield of crackling lightning creating a wall between him and the hammer. Flowridia saw the unstable light bend at the hammer’s touch, Khastra’s will against the supposed-dead God’s.
The hammer clattered to the ground, the stonework cracking under the force. It flew back again, into Khastra’s grasp.
An armored hand grabbed Flowridia and held her to his ruined breastplate. “Strike me again, and-”
Soliel suddenly cried out. He dropped his sword and Flowridia both, then attempted to tear out the dagger in his neck.
Ayla Darkleaf landed lightly on the ground, fury etched in her face. Planting herself, she stood as a wall between Flowridia and Soliel. “Carry what grudges you will, but Flowra is mine.”
Soliel rose to his full height, the dagger clattering to the ground. Ayla suddenly ripped Flowridia away – in time for Khastra to bombard the fallen God, her hammer swinging in tandem with her musculature. Soliel’s sword narrowly rose to match it, the metallic clang of metal and rock piercing.
Ayla dragged Flowridia away from the skirmish, protective as she held her to her chest. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
Etolié, meanwhile, began to shine. Her form morphed, growing, glowing, until not one being, but two coexisted within her body. Flowridia recognized the outline of Eionei and the staff summoned in Etolié’s hand. Stars burst through the ruined glass windows, pelting Soliel’s helmet.
Soliel warded them away with his summoned lightning, and Flowridia heard clouds gather outside, thunder rolling. But the distraction proved effective, and Khastra managed to strike his face. The entire wall cracked as Soliel hit the stone, his helmet utterly ruined.
He tore it from his head.
Flowridia couldn’t say what she expected; perhaps a monster’s visage to match his deeds. Instead, Soliel held all the beauty of his mother and his angelic heritage, with hair as radiant a blonde as his halo and a jaw set like steel. But hatred twisted his face, subtly lined with stress and age, cracks in his apparent perfection
, the very countenance of one fallen from grace.
He was everything Flowridia had seen in the ancient portrayal, save the enmity in his once benevolent gaze.
Soliel feigned a swing, instead jabbing Khastra in the stomach with the handle of his sword. The blade struck her arm as he shoved past, managing to slide between the carefully constructed plates. Soliel rushed at inhuman speed to the archbishop.
Flowridia saw blood well from the tear in Khastra’s armor. In the split second before Soliel stole his prize, Khastra smiled, brought up her arm, and licked the drops of blood.
Flowridia saw her swell and change, this half-demon woman, transformed by her own cursed blood. She stood taller, elongated, her bulk swelling to match, armor shifting to accommodate – as though it were built for this very purpose. Monstrous fangs jutted from her lips. Her nails became claws, and her silver tattoos glowed against skin that threatened to split from her expanding, pulsating musculature.
Bringer of War, indeed. Khastra laughed, and Flowridia swore the shadows rose with it.
Lightning struck the roof of the cathedral, stone falling from the ceiling at the impact, and Ayla tossed Flowridia over her shoulder, expertly dodging the debris. But the distraction proved perfect, and when Flowridia looked up, the archbishop lay disoriented on the floor, and the white orb shone in Soliel’s hand.
Eionei, meanwhile, began to glow not only from holy light, but from flame erupting at his feet. The orb shone luminous in his hand. Khastra rushed forward – faster now, wielding the gargantuan weapon as though it were a child’s toy – in tandem with an arc of fire from Eionei’s staff. Soliel’s shield of lightning blocked the flame, but a swift swing of Khastra’s hammer knocked the orb back out of his hand.
It flew through the air. Flowridia might have run to claim it, but Ayla’s grip on her arms remained strong. Instead, it rolled beneath a pew.
Soliel began to speak. “Lady Darkleaf, I know your legacy-” When Khastra swung, he managed to duck, but Flowridia saw it was a near hit – perhaps a killing blow. “And I know you crave freedom-”
His words were stolen with an ‘oomph’ when Khastra kicked him in the stomach.
To Flowridia’s horror, Ayla perked up, though she clung tight to Flowridia’s form.
“Perhaps a deal-” Soliel’s cry interrupted his words – Eionei struck with his staff, searing Soliel’s body in flame. Though he burned, Khastra grabbed him by the neck, her claws sinking into his flesh. She threw him against the wall, then hefted the hammer for a bone-shattering blow.
When Ayla tried to set Flowridia down, she clung to her dress. “Ayla,” Flowridia pled, “don’t listen. He’s a monster; you know this-”
“A monster, yes, but also a God.” Ayla turned, intrigue tugging at her lips. “I want Casvir’s head.”
With his back to the wall and two behemoths closing in, Soliel cried, “Aid me, and you will have it.”
Eionei rushed forward, quarterstaff in hand, blazing wings spreading wide from his form. He stood taller than them all, and when he brought the staff down, Soliel’s sword rose to defend it – leaving him vulnerable to Khastra’s strike. Flowridia watched him clatter to the ground.
Lips brushed Flowridia’s temple as her feet touched the ground. “Ayla, don’t do this, please-”
“Our future together does not have to be an idle dream, Flowra,” Ayla replied, eyes glistening. Never had Flowridia heard such hope in Ayla’s voice. “This is for you.”
“Ayla-!” But Ayla disappeared in the shadow of a pillar.
Khastra swung, her hammer glittering under the gold and white glow of Soliel’s violent form. Metal crunched as he flew at the window, through the ruined glass and landing beyond the cathedral’s bound. With a cry, Khastra burst through the shattered window to follow.
Flowridia dropped to her knees, reaching beneath the pew to grab the faintly glowing white artifact. Upon contact, she felt her senses ignite, the richness of the world increasing ten-fold. Colors sharpened. She saw energy and tendrils of light, waiting to be grasped and harnessed for her bending.
Every shadow flickered under her gaze, including the one that emerged behind Eionei’s form. The summoned Drinking God moved to follow Khastra, his nimble feet jumping through the window. As smooth as a dancer before her stage, Ayla appeared for only a moment, leaping to steal the orb from Eionei’s grasp and tossing it beyond the bounds of the window, then flickering out as quickly as the flame vanishing from his feet.
Ayla had stolen the orb and gone – all before Eionei touched the ground outside.
Flowridia, white orb in hand, elected to follow them through the front door.
Outside, onlookers screamed at the clash of monstrous figures, of the God of Order – flame now rising at his feet – of Khastra transformed to match her heritage, and of Eionei himself. Soliel’s armor, once shining and majestic, had torn and bent, damaged by Khastra’s shattering blows. Perhaps this would be it – even without an orb, Eionei made a formidable foe, and though Soliel wielded two orbs of power, what could he do against two heroes of their own realms?
A roar fragmented the clashing of metal and stone. “Look, atop the cathedral!” Flowridia heard someone shout, and from the roof leered a nightmarish creature, familiar aside from a face no longer burned: The Endless Night.
The price of Ayla’s freedom grew ever higher.
The monster leapt to the ground, tearing through the crowd, blood spraying as she – it – raked its claws, parting the sea of people. It disappeared in a hazed blink.
A scream – Etolié’s – and Flowridia watched in horror as the possessed Celestial was thrown into the air. With her newly attuned vision, Flowridia saw glimmering, seeping liquid well at the deep cut across Eionei’s back. Khastra followed Eionei with her glowing eyes; The Endless Night’s claw swiped a deep gash across her cheek.
Blood dripped down her face. Khastra’s fanged mouth twisted into a rapacious grin as she sneered and taunted in an unknown, guttural tongue. Shadows rose and flickered violently. The words sickened Flowridia’s stomach, and she recognized only a single, grating word – “Izthuni!” – and heard The Lurker chuckle.
When Eionei landed among the crowd, Flowridia ran toward him. She fell to her knees before the prone god, and the voice she heard was neither Etolié nor Eionei, but some mix. “You’re Etolié’s little one.”
Flowridia gave a quick nod. “Let me heal you, please.”
Eionei looked at the orb in her hand and made no move to stop her when her hands touched ruined, glowing skin. At Flowridia’s beckoning, power drained from the orb, channeled through her body and into the Eionei. He – she, for it was Etolié’s voice then – gasped, and at Flowridia’s silent command, the skin slowly reformed.
In the shadow of the cathedral, Khastra stood strong, the gash at her cheek soaking her mouth in blood as she valiantly faced the titanic figures. Soliel blasted her with sparks of lightning, his sword clattering against the stone of her hammer, but she swung in an arc, her gargantuan weapon held in perfect control as she batted his elemental blast. Lightning flew from her hammer to the sky, and when flame poured upon her, she laughed, immune to the onslaught.
The Endless Night swung its vicious claws; Khastra beat it away, shattering bones. She brought the hammer down not on Soliel, but on his sword, the great weapon splitting in two beneath her might-
But her form caught in the swing of The Endless Night’s claws, throwing her to the ground. Crying out, Khastra fell, skin torn, hammer smashing to the ground. Her hand grasped the hilt-
An elongated claw stabbed through her armor like paper. One shot; through the spine and the heart. A spurt of blood – Khastra’s hand fell limp.
Flowridia felt the blow in her own chest, and beside her Eionei cried out and attempted to rise, though his brutalized form was not fully healed. Flowridia tried to touch him again, but Soliel approached.
He held two orbs – one fire and one lightning – and his aura had become the same,
a torrent of elemental might. He stopped before the wounded god and looked instead to Flowridia. He extended a hand. “Give me your orb.”
Flowridia shook her head, stumbling backwards. Soliel stepped forward, fire steadily rising to cover his lower half, lightning crackling along the smooth curves of his armor. His face lost all semblance of majesty, becoming a nightmarish shadow instead, the illumination casting his fury in macabre colors. “I will ask you again, Flowridia – give me your orb.”
Flowridia cowered, fear and duty causing her to clutch the artifact to her chest. She sensed no violent magic inherit in this orb – merely benevolence, divinity, the capacity to heal – and realized it would do nothing to save her. At her wrist, she summoned her energy to expand the shield of maldectine, yet in her fear, it grew no larger than her wrist.
When Soliel rushed her, she screamed, bracing herself for a death of fire and lightning.
But an inhuman shriek nearly deafened her. Flowridia watched The Endless Night swipe the God of Order aside with ease, toppling him to the ground. It stood between them, its nightmarish mouth releasing a roar.
When Soliel stood, weaponless though hardly powerless, even he had to look up to face the deity – The Endless Night in title, but Izthuni, God of Shadows in physical form. Flowridia suddenly felt piercing claws – nearly as large as her body – wrench her from the ground. The touch was cold, each limb deathly thin, the ligaments and bone jutting from sickly, pale skin. The monster held her to its ribs, twisting to stand as a barrier between her and the God of Order.
Izthuni, yes, but also Ayla. The monster held her tenderly, its claws sharp but never breaking skin. It brought a second hand to hold her, to cradle her, as Flowridia held the white orb to her chest.
