War of Mortal Gods

by Kipjo K Ewers

  A lump filled her throat as Sophia nearly choked on her question.

  “This Lord Nelron…is also Merc’s and Attea’s…father?”

  “Why yes,” he nodded.

  “That’s…one hell of a family,” Sophia said while clearing her throat.

  “They are quite impressive,” Thoth agreed. “For mortals.”

  “So, this Flow technique,” Sophia once again inquired. “Does it have any side effects?”

  “Extreme fatigue after the technique is released,” Thoth answered with curious eyes. “Especially for those who use it for the first time. It becomes tolerable the more one uses it. However, the most experienced practitioners can succumb to it, the longer they remain in the Flow.”

  “You wouldn’t know how or who could teach me this technique?”

  Thoth gazed upon her with a simple smile and head tilt as Sophia formed a stern glare not directed toward him in hostility. She folded her arms, waiting for answers.

  “There are texts and visuals on the technique,” Thoth calmly answered. “But the best way to learn is from another Cosmivorse who has mastered the technique. You do know you will soon be taken to the Dominion Council Inquiry to answer the charges of terrorism and mass murder?”

  Sophia glanced at the four fully armored Annunaki warriors who shadowed her since they were assigned to be her guards. They stood away off, casually observing her and Thoth.

  She nonchalantly turned to Thoth as if they were not even there.

  “Oh yes, I am fully aware and can’t wait to stand trial so that I can clear my name. But the second, my name is cleared …I’m going to be looking for some payback. It would be nice to even the playing field when I meet the siblings again.”

  A knowledgeable Thoth who believed he had seen and witnessed everything during almost two thousand years alive shook his head in disbelief.

  “You do understand that there are very few beings in the known universe who would seek Princess Attea, much less the Crown Prince for a confrontation?”

  Sophia looked down at her daughter, floating silently within the pod. Her eyes returned to Thoth with an ominous, sinister glare that he knew was not directed towards him.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Planet Thrace, Prince Merc’s flagship Morgorn sailed out of warp speed, drifting into his home planet’s orbit.

  “My prince, we have reached the homeworld; your royal transport is also prepared for departure.”

  “Connect me to Embaro,” Merc commanded.

  Before his communications officer could execute his instruction, the officer’s ears twitched as a high-pitched chirping sound came from his earpiece.

  “What is it?” Merc demanded to know.

  The officer quickly spun his seat around to him.

  “My prince, I am receiving a message from the royal court communications. They wish to address you personally.”

  Merc subtly shifted his jaw from left to right as he sat uncomfortably in his seat. He nodded his command.

  The communications officer turned back around, bringing up the ship’s main screen. An older Thracian woman with a dreaded sky-blue hair styled into a Mohawk, emerald scaly skin, and ice-blue eyes appeared wearing a silver and dark blue kimono-style outfit. Around her waist was a thick corset maroon-colored belt with a golden circular main plate. A creature standing on its hind legs with a bear’s body's semblance with a hawk’s head was etched into the plate encircled with Thracian markings.

  She gave him the traditional Thracian bow respecting his title before speaking.

  “Prince Merc, praise be to the elder gods for you and your crew’s safe return home.”

  “High chancellor Nuwata, thank you for your kind words. Do you bring a message from my father to me?”

  “Your father wishes for you to make an appearance at court today. He would like to converse with you on a small matter.”

  “Inform him that I shall make an appearance after I return home, remove the filth of travel and adorn proper attire …”

  “He has requested that you come directly from your ship to court just as you are dressed once you have entered Thrace’s atmosphere.”

  Her polite tone had hidden sternness that matched her visage, which grew a lump in Merc’s throat, knowing that she was an extension of his father’s authority not to be disobeyed even with his royal station.

  “It shall be fulfilled,” Merc answered with a nod.

  Her face softened with a smile from his answer.

  “We look forward to seeing you at court once again.”

  As the transmission ended, Merc fell back into his seat, sulking with an unnerved countenance while his left leg twitched violently. His mind began to race with thoughts and strategy while using the sharp tip of his thumb as a chew toy.

  “Uh, my prince.”

  Merc’s eyes slowly fell upon his second in command, Ashtor, who made an uneasy gesture to what he was doing.

  “You …you instructed me to bring attention to whenever you did that …detestable habit.”

  Merc snarled as he gently pulled his thumb from his mouth. He shot to his feet, standing tall and authoritative.

  “I head to my royal transport, Ashtor; you control the helm upon my return.”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  Merc exited his command deck, heading toward the lift that would take him to the ship’s docking bay and royal transport. He balled his fists, cracking his knuckles as his mind swirled with thoughts of the conversation his father wished to speak with him about.

  ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

  The crown prince sat in silence, drowning in his thoughts as his royal transport, the shape of a sleek golden boomerang, entered Thrace’s atmosphere.

  His eyes were disengaged until his long ears twitched as he sensed his ship nearing the capital of Senical.

  The capital was a gleaming white high-tech amalgamation of buildings similar to the Roman, Grecian, and Chinese empires. He stood up and made his way to the door during his ship’s descent, landing on an airship pad.

  As expected, the second the craft touched down, and the door slid open, waiting for him was the capital’s elite guard known as the Crimson Fang.

  A small unit of Thracian soldiers totaling fifty tasked with guarding the entire city.

  Each warrior had matching thick, gleaming blood red metallic bracers and greaves on their arms and legs etched with deep Thracian markings. All of their hair, regardless of the style, was colored maroon.

  Attached to the thick belt on their hips that had the texture of leather was a black scabbard housing a sizeable two-handed sword with a pointy curved dull red metallic cross guard and grip sphere-shaped pommel with intricate Thracian etchings carved into it.

  Males wore black leather kilts that matched their shin-high Grecian sandals and a thick black combat harness that formed an ‘X’ shape across their chest.

  The females’ outfits comprised a black single-shoulder dress with a kilt style to the skirt that also matched their shin-high Grecian sandals and thick black combat harness that formed an ‘X’ shape across their chest with the straps.

  Attached to the harness were blood-red metal epaulets fashioned in the head of an animal that looked like a sinister serpent with two thick massive upper fangs. Yellow glowing gems were set into each of its four eye sockets within the skull.

  Also attached to the harnesses and epaulets was a long flowing blood-red cape that had the look of dull, heavy leather that moved and swayed like silk.

  All fifty had eyes that glowed a bright orange-red hue revealing their unbridled power.

  All fell to one knee in unison while smacking their left breast, greeting their prince while bellowing a thunderous chant.

  “Thrace! Thrace! Thrace!”

  The Crimson Fang remained on their knees with their head bowed as Merc descended the hovering pearl white
steps. The second both his feet touched Thracian soil, they rose to stand at attention, gripping the hilt of their swords while placing their free hand behind their backs.

  Making her way to him was the Lieutenant-Commander of the Red Fang. Her scaly skin tone was similar to his own, with specks of red and pink in it. Her single shoulder dress and the battle harness was a matching blood red, while her serpent themed metallic epaulets were a bright golden color, with gleaming red gems in each of the four eyes sockets of the skulls.

  Like her unit, her dreaded full hair hung over her shoulders was dyed red, while her glowing orange eyes teetered closer to red emitted brighter than everyone under her command.

  “My prince, welcome home.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander Elzra.”

  “I am to inform you that the Queen-Mother is in the throne room, waiting to lay eyes upon you before you meet with your father.”

  A low growl rumbled from Merc’s throat as he kneaded the irritation from the bridge of his nose.

  “Is my father in the throne room as well?”

  “Nay,” she shook her head. “He is in the royal garden entertaining his great-children.”

  “I shall make my way to the throne room then.”

  “Two of my soldiers will gladly accompany you for a proper…”

  “Nay,” Merc waved off her gesture. “Your unit has far more important duties than to coddle the likes of me.”

  “As you wish, my prince,” Elzra answered with a Thracian curtsy. “Although it is no bother at all.”

  Merc walked off by himself to the main palace, a human ten-block walk from the airship pad. Along the way, soldiers and civilians cleared a path and either saluted or curtsied.

  The main palace was the size and shape of a Roman Coliseum with a dome top covering it. It was constructed from a gleaming milk-white stone that faintly beamed in the sunlight of Thrace. Part of the dome was built with the precious white glass-like stone that glimmered with spectral colors.

  Three massive glass panels, which were located over the palace's vast gardens, slid away from time to time, allowing in actual air and sunlight.

  As he approached, the large round main door of the palace rolled away, granting him entrance.

  Merc with blinders ignored the nobles that were either sprinkled or gathered here or there, all giving him a respectful greeting as he made a beeline to the throne room. Now and then, his eyes glanced at statues, paintings, ancient weapons, and armor from past warriors and nobles from his bloodline, along with other dedicated patriots of Thrace over the eons.

  As he neared the throne room entrance, a green scaly skinned Thracian male, with ice-blue eyes, dreaded yellow hair styled into a Mohawk dawning a pearl white toga snapped to attention at the sight of him. Around his waist was a thick brown belt with a silver circular main plate with the same creature on High chancellor Nuwata’s corset with different Thracian markings.

  As Merc stepped through the entrance, the young Thracian male made a throaty announcement of his arrival.

  “Introducing the Crown Prince Merc, the second born of High Region Nelron and Queen-Mother Furia, returning the court!”

  Inside the entire throne room was the same gleaming milk-white stone with dashes of gold and purple.

  Decorative wise, the throne room was bare and airy save for the twelve colorfully rich cloth tapestries revealing crucial historical times in the Thracian empire and the six massive onyx and gold-colored stone statues of former High Regions lining the throne room three to a wall.

  The stone created the six thick steps leading up to the two immense thrones sculpted from the floor and flowed several feet up to the ceiling.

  High ranking nobles and servants paid their proper respects to him, while family members depending on their distance to him, greeted him with a hand wave or head nod.

  One particular male Thracian, with orange and black scaly skin and a full head of dreaded jet-black hair, jumped in his path with a toothy grin, and his arms stretched out for an embrace. He wore a blue single shoulder toga and an oversized metallic silver and gold belt similar to what Roman gladiators wore on Earth. It possessed Thracian markings and a sculpture in the middle of a creature that had the appearance of a big cat and a hawk with its massive mouth open. Thick golden bracers adorned his forearms with Thracian etchings that glowed blue.

  The power within his eyes burned bright orange.

  “Brother, welcome home!”

  Merc smirked as he embraced his youngest brother.

  “Nordaru, you make me feel as if I have been gone for eons.”

  “One never knows when it’s their last day in this universe,” Nordaru gruffed. “One must treat their loved ones as if tis the final time, they shall see them. How was your campaign on that backwater planet? Is Attea home?”

  “She’s still off-world attending to other matters,” Merc answered while clearing his throat. “I shall …”

  “You shall delay no further and approach the throne. Nordaru, you’ve given your brother proper greeting, now stand aside.”

  The dominant female authoritative voice made Nordaru’s long elfin ears twitch as he bore a scolded visage. He mouthed the words that they would converse later while sliding out of Merc’s path, allowing him to continue to his first destination.

  Sitting lazily on a plush sky-blue cushion upon one of the two thrones was the Thracian Queen-Mother herself, Furia.

  Her skin was a deep scaly ash grey, fitting tightly on a curvy, muscular, athletic physique. Ancient battle scars marred different parts of her body, including a massive slash across her hardened face belonging to a woman in her late fifties that started from her left brow across the bridge of her nose down to her right jawbone. Her sharp white finger and toenails matched the rows of flesh tearing feline teeth within her mouth.

  Her long-dreaded green mane was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over her right shoulder, putting her deep red glowing cauldron eyes on display. Adorned in a scantily white long Grecian styled dress, the Queen-Mother idly held in her right hand a hefty gunmetal gray double-bladed war ax that had Thracian etchings and cracks throughout the blade and handle emitting a pulsating hot green supernatural glow as if it was alive.

  In her left palm, she held a naked dark blue scaly skinned humanoid male infant with tiny rows of spiky dorsal fins that ran up his spine to the top of his skull. The baby, with his eyes closed, greedily suckled on her exposed left breast.

  Merc respectfully fell to one knee, downing his head, staring at the floor, waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Mother.”

  The Queen Mother’s long elven ears twitched as she looked down at her son with narrowed eyes.

  “Rise, boy.”

  Merc obeyed his mother’s deep throaty, sensual command. He fell into a casual stance staring up at her from her throne.

  “Mother,” Merc asked with a wagging finger. “Isn’t that one of my bastards suckling on your tit?”

  “Aye, it is.” His mother grunted.

  Merc asked his next question very carefully.

  “May I ask why you are nursing the child and not his mother?”

  “His mother is a worthless, spineless, Zerakian sow.” His mother answered bluntly.

  Merc’s ears picked up teary sniveling, while his eyes moved, glancing at a light blue-skinned female Zerakian adorned in a sky green Thracian noble woman’s dress and fine jewelry. She stood off to the side amongst the rest of the court. Her bald head was lowered to the floor as her large spikey grey stone dorsal fins protruded from the top of her skull down her back.

  “Oh.” Merc coughed.

  “I sat here watching her fumbling around to feed the pup,” his mother scoffed. “Complaining that her nipples ached from him suckling too hard. You and your eldest brother almost tore mine off till I gave you proper flicking to the nose. I told her to do the same, and then she whined about hurting the child.

  So, I ordered the wench to bring him hither. The chil
d did not even require a flick. Her leaf-thin skin is no match from my half-blooded bastard great son's gums,” she cackled. “Zerakian milk tastes like Dorac piss anyway. Thracian milk from his dear old great-mother will ensure he grows and stands powerful amongst the proud ranks of the Thracian empire.”

  Merc’s eyes became narrowed with curiosity as he used two fingers to beckon the child’s mother to come forward. As she timidly obeyed, standing before him, Merc loosened the top of her dress, taking hold of her engorged right breast. The Zerakian female trembled while covering her mouth as Merc suckled her nipple, tasting the milk for himself.

  He released her, wearing a disappointed visage.

  “Find your way to Embaro,” Merc ordered. “He will construct a proper diet for you, which you will follow while nursing my son. Until then, you will reframe from feeding him. A wet nurse will be assigned to your duties until you are fit. Do we have understanding?”

  “Yes, my father’s child,” answered the Zerakian mother.

  With a dismissive wave of his hand, she scurried out of the courtroom bitterly weeping. Merc sighed as he turned back to his mother, still glaring at him from her throne.

  "So, where have you come from?"

  "From roaming throughout the universe, going back and forth." Merc nonchalantly answered.

  “Bring not your coy tongue to me boy, less you wish to taste the back of my ax, your father would have words with you.”

  “So, I have been informed. I take it he’s in the main garden.”

  “Entertaining his legion of great-whelps,” Furia nodded. “He waits for you there.”

  Merc’s eyes mirrored the narrow slant windows in his royal transport as he caught his mother’s underline hostility toward him.

  “Have I done something to upset you, mother?” Merc flatly inquired. “You appear to be more perturbed than usual.”

  “Inquire once again after you have had words with your father,” Furia coldly answered her second born. “If you dare.”

  Out of nowhere, the half breed child within her palm ended his suckling of her nipple. He slightly opened his eyes, emitting a choking sound. Merc watched as his mother skillfully laid the infant belly down across her knee while still wielding her ax. She then raised her hand, delivering one powerful slap across his back.