“You need better attire, Dark Warrior,” he concluded.
2
Bandits and Graverobbers
What self-respecting mage would
associate himself with a bunch of bandits?
A quick gesture and the slain men’s horses gathered around the duo. For Hatu, the horses were a welcome sight. They were familiar animals, and there seemed to be no difference between them and the mounts found back where he came from.
Then he felt it. A gnawing in his stomach. A curious yet unfamiliar sensation. After some thought, Hatu realized he was hungry.
A mortal form in image and substance. I need to eat, sleep, defecate, and piss. Damn those worthless excuses for gods! thought Hatu with revulsion. It was the ultimate humiliation. A wave of rising anger was given vent by a loud and far-reaching outcry of protest and insulted pride. His scream echoed throughout the vast wasteland and reverberated among the distant mountains. It was an unearthly shout, more beast than man.
Then hunger pangs struck. Hatu doubled over from the strange and painful sensation. He had never experienced such a bodily demand before, and it didn’t care whether he was furious at its existence.
The dark deity capitulated. He couldn’t fight against his own body. Hatu realized that, despite still having enormous power, he was, for all intents and purposes, a mortal. He had eaten human fare before – for the experience, not sustenance. The various flavors and textures were welcome sensations, but the chewing and swallowing of food disgusted him.
Sighing, Hatu tried to recall the names of the mortal food he had tasted. As he did so, he realized he was also getting thirsty. Hatu’s throat felt dry, and the air that coursed down into his lungs had started to grate against the parched tissue.
Let’s make it simple fare, the exile thought, a roasted Tarakan chicken and a flask of clean water, laid out on a blanket of hide.
Hatu focused his mind on what he wanted and released a burst of magical energy. The pause and focus were necessary. It was the first time he had done such a minor, and to his mind, mundane conjuration.
The demanded hide and flask of water appeared on the ground before him. Yet no trace of the chicken could be seen. Hatu quickly quenched his thirst while wondering about the partial failure of his spell. Throwing the empty container aside, he cast the spell again, focused only on the desired viand. Again, failure.
He didn’t try for a third time. Only a fool would keep on repeating a process that yielded the same dismal result. It was strange, he admitted, and yet thought that a lesson could be learned here. Hatu was on a different reality after all.
Then it came to him. He could only create or summon from this reality. Horses and humans existed, but Hatu now doubted that the particular chicken he was considering would be found in this world. He tried for a generic description, but nothing happened. The unsuccessful attempt didn’t infuriate him. He knew he was on a learning process. Failure was to be expected in many circumstances.
Hatu decided that he needed to see or observe an actual specimen for his magic to work. It was a revelation that readily gave rise to a litany of curses. An entire world to discover. It was a monumental task. Even for one like him.
Giving up, Hatu conjured another flask of water. At least the refreshing liquid was a universal constant across worlds and dimensions. Looking at the hide, he assumed that it must be of equine origin. His hunger would have to wait.
Then he remembered his new minion. The bandits must have a camp nearby, and he doubted if the few men he had disposed of comprised the entire group. A thought on Hatu’s part and the dark warrior came to him.
“Your camp?” he asked brusquely.
“Nearby, my lord. Behind that outcrop in the distance,” came the answer, sepulchral and toneless.
“How many?” Hatu continued.
“Seventy-one right now, my lord. Less my patrol. Two mages are with them,” replied the dead warrior dully.
Hatu smiled. His creation said them. The man’s soul was truly gone. Sometimes, a defiant and strong-willed individual could retain a portion of his or her soul in the dead body and continued to defy their maker. But even if such exceptions escaped, such half-revenants eventually died, having rotted to pieces, leaving a lost soul to wander the world. The spellcaster’s magic and continued patronage were necessary elements for such creatures to retain their form and existence.
Nor was the dark being surprised by the presence of mages. Magic did exist in this world, after all. The only question was the kind of magic being practiced. But the individuals mentioned by the dark warrior would probably be at the bottom of the pack. The dregs of the domain of magical practice. What self-respecting mage would associate himself with a bunch of bandits?
Hatu grinned. “Let’s go and pay your former comrades a visit, shall we?”
***
Shrouded by the darkness of the night, the dark entity watched as his warrior laid ruthless and murderous waste to the camp. Its sudden arrival was first greeted with greetings and glad reactions. Hatu realized that the shell of what he had made was the leader of the bandit group. The rest looked too scrawny to be chieftains. A few wiry and muscular individuals approached the killer in bulk, but his puppet was clearly the tallest and largest of the motley collection.
Hatu was astride his new horse, atop a small mound, watching the bloody and gory proceedings. His slaughterer appeared to be of some skill as he went about cutting his erstwhile comrades to pieces. Swords and spears had pierced the undead fighter’s body, breaking through the poor excuse for armor. Some of the protective gear had already been hacked away, but the creature continued on with his blood-spattered rampage.
The monster had been given speed and strength by Hatu’s spell, and the dark deity laughed as he saw spears being grabbed and tossed away. A particularly brave individual was able to push a lance right through the torso of the slaying machine, the shaft of the weapon penetrating halfway through the body. Hatu’s toy merely moved forward quickly and cleaved the spearman in half. Mere minutes had passed since the carnage began, and several bandits were already running for their lives. Without provisions or water, the dark deity doubted if they would survive long in the waste.
The flash of a magical spell caught his attention. The crackling sound of a lightning bolt followed, and he saw his warrior squarely hit in the torso, leaving behind a hole large enough for a fist to pass through. The undead warrior was staggered. Hatu looked in the direction of the caster and saw two mages standing by the entrance of a cave. As his gaze swept over the surrounding area, he noticed that the fissure’s entrance was surrounded by numerous ruins, presently shrouded by the night. A quick burst of power in the direction of his murderous underling removed all damage the creature had suffered. At the same time, Hatu released his own lightning spell against the pair of mages who were beside each other. He knew he had made a crucial mistake. The real leaders of the brigands were the ones who were now the focus of his lethal attention. Given the ruins around them, the bandit group was merely the escort to whatever was being done in this dismally isolated place.
With the power of a dark deity behind it, even if weakened and but a faded echo of what was once a feared and reviled god, Hatu’s spell broke through whatever magical protection was put up by the pair. He didn’t even sense any substantial barrier, only a paper-thin resistance to the coruscation. One of the mages messily burst into bloody bits, and the other was severely injured by the magical attack. The survivor probably also had a broken back, having been violently thrown backward against one of the walls of the cavern. Hatu spurred his horse toward the spot, noticing that his marauding minion had continued its killing spree.
Reaching the cave entrance, he dismounted and walked to the dying mage. Blood was already profusely flowing from the man’s mouth, and Hatu could see arms and legs in unnatural positions. Death was nearly upon the mage. Another release of power and the ragged breathing eased. Hatu didn’t have the ability to prevent death, rather
the opposite. To interfere with Death’s jealously regarded domain of power would be courting terrible consequences. Even deities die. What he just did was to prolong, for a little while, the man’s ability to survive. But Hatu knew even that had a limit.
As he moved forward, Hatu felt a sudden flow of power emanating from deep within the cave. The essence was unmistakable. It was the untainted energy coming from a magical artifact or monument. Now, he knew what the mages were searching for. He turned and smiled at the dying man.
“I don’t think I need you anymore,” said Hatu, cutting off the link that prolonged the man’s life and numbed his pain. The rush of unbearable agony was immediately reflected in the mage’s expression. The eyes bulged, and the facial muscles contorted, resulting in more suffering. The mages had not yet found what he had detected, making the survivor useless as a source of information. Whatever the magical source was, the exile held he could easily discover where and what it was.
The thought of making the mage an animated extension of his will never entered his mind. That way led to problems. What set mages apart was the knowledge they had. With such a trait, sooner or later, the conjurer had to face an undead lich who thought he or she ought to run the show.
Nice to know some things are the same throughout the universe, mused the dark deity as he glanced at the dark interior of the cave, ignoring the dying man. Like sources of magical power, for instance.
***
His stomach growled. Loudly. Hatu stared at the offending part of his body. Then he felt a weakening of his muscles, his vision swam, and he was forced to exert a burst of magical energy to keep himself upright. But the feeling of ravenous hunger remained, and his innards gnawed at his body.
Wondering if his form would have the outrageous temerity to eat itself, the lessened deity turned his attention back to the camp and his dark warrior. The creature was now rushing after a group of fleeing bandits. Still, there were also others wildly running off in other directions. It simply wouldn’t do.
He quickly mounted his horse and steered the mount in the direction of the camp’s bonfire where several pieces of roasted meat had already been set aside. The dead were everywhere. The dark being could see most had been sliced to bloody, meaty chunks. Then he spied two whole bodies lying in the corner of a large tent. His creature must have throttled them, or simply smashed the heads together.
A release of magical energy animated the pair. Instructed to arm themselves, Hatu planted the order to eliminate the fleeing survivors. With frightening speed, the duo made for a group in the distance. Hatu knew the energy wouldn’t be able to maintain the two past a few hours. They were merely animated corpses and unimbued with Hatu’s nature.
He found three more whole corpses by the time he sat down beside the food. Hatu sent them all off in pursuit of the bandit survivors. He knew he had to eat. Even the scrutiny of that magical source would have to wait. His mouth watered at the smell of food. The reaction amazed him. The need for sustenance must be extreme among mortals, observed the exiled deity.
Ignoring hunger might very well result in his body eating itself inside out. Despite his magic, he could end up as a walking and talking skeleton if he disregarded the bodily demands of being mortal. Such minor details were such a bother, thought Hatu as he grabbed a haunch, quickly bit into the still-warm meat, and tore away a large piece. As he munched on it, he observed that his teeth had immediately changed into fangs when he ripped into the roast.
A magical adaptation? wondered the dark entity, even as the flavor of the food flooded his mind.
The grease continued to drip from his ravenous mouth, and he didn’t care. His taste buds exploded in glorious ecstasy and he could feel his relieved stomach settle down to digest the food. Hatu smiled through a face copiously laced with animal grease. Bits of meat stuck to the area around his mouth. There were benefits to being mortal, he reflected. Hatu didn’t think human fare could be so tasty when one was hungry.
Having filled himself, Hatu glanced at the largest tent in the clearing, and after a few moments’ thought, walked toward it. It must be the tent of the mages, Hatu concluded as he wondered what he would find. He could sense something but wasn’t sure what it was.
Entering the tent made of hide, what immediately caught his eye was a massive trunk in a corner. It was a simple box, reinforced by iron. He quickly noted the positioning of the metal bands. Only one familiar with the workings of magic would notice that they were worked into the wood in such a way that anything of power within wouldn’t give out any aura, or more importantly, escape. He knew that if he were to remove one of the bands, he’d find arcane engravings on the side touching the container.
Hatu crossed his arms as he continued examining the box. The faint glow of several spells surrounding the box met his eyes, though a safe and discernible gap was between the iron and the enchantments. A magical spirit would get severely damaged by the protections built into the metal bands. But a deity, even a lesser one, would laugh at such barriers and precautions. Hatu suspected that an offensive spell would be triggered once the box was opened unless the proper counter-spell was invoked. Such a final forethought was but anticipated. The mortals who prepared the container appeared to be traditionalists, after all.
Yet, Hatu was now a mortal. A magically powerful one, but he still hadn’t tested the limits of his powers. His mortal body might end up being instantly burned to ashes. A careful approach was necessitated. It was an insulting process for one such as him, but Hatu admitted he had no choice. He might disdain, or even hate the precaution, but nothing could be done.
He admitted that the elaborate protections intrigued him. The encircling spells were clearly not of the dead mages’ making. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have died so easily. Pressing further into the magical envelope, something immediately made him draw back. He sensed a deity’s essence. It was quiescent, yet powerful, and strangely, separated into two pieces. It increased his curiosity and made him more determined to open the damned thing.
To Argano’s inferno with it, I am Ruin personified. That wimp Shatelore might go about it in his measured way, but that’s not me, decided Hatu, respectively referring to the ruler of the hottest hell back in his world and the sagely deity known for his continuous search for knowledge. Then Hatu realized with a shock that he remembered something from his original reality.
By Velira’s heavenly tits, the memory isn’t gone! It’s still within my mind, he reacted with shock. There. It happened again.
Ruin looked at the ensorcelled box once more, gauging what power he had left. He sensed that the mortal form inflicted on him had imposed limits on his magical energy. It was a realization strong enough to reduce him to cursing those limp-decked and shriveled-pussy cowards again. Hatu caught himself; some deities and greater spirits were definitely not of mortal form, that much he knew. Still, the sentiment was there, and applied in equal measure to all those treacherous excuses for gods.
But the reduction in his innate energy was substantial. He knew it was another concern, though magical levels of power could be increased to infinite ones, even for mortals. Some adjustments to one’s flesh would be necessary, but the reward would be well worth it. Hatu resolved to look into it. Such a process might be possible in this reality.
Hatu gathered what power he believed he could safely release without compromising the control of his recent creations and own magical protection. He could feel the arcane flow confidently surge through his body. It was a novel experience – amassing such a level of power. His dim memory didn’t remind him of any similar exhilarating feeling. It was almost orgasmic.
The massive enchantment released was destructive in essence. It didn’t adhere to any elemental form. Pure, unadulterated, savage magical fury struck the container, reducing it to bits and pieces of iron and wood in an instant. Scraps of parchment joined the dusty cloud. He could barely feel the feedback from the protective spells.
They were of some might, Hatu had to agree.
Probably cast by some not-so-incompetent sorcerer. But they were flung aside in an instant, their magical matrices shredded to oblivion. From the bits of vellum now mixed with the remains of the box, it was apparent that it also contained books of lore and magic.
But for Hatu, anything that wasn’t able to withstand what he threw at the container was beneath his notice. On the other hand, whatever remained whole after the destructive display was definitely worth examining, or even keeping. Even now, he could see the pointed half of a broken blade and its cross-guard. An ethereal blade, he mused, imbued with the essence of a deity. He didn’t expect such objects to exist in this reality. The dead mages must be searching for the items and other parts of the weapon.
Fools, he smiled grimly. Those morons really didn’t know anything. Wielding such an extremely useful weapon required the power of a god or with the sanction of one. Even if completed, the blade, or whatever one wished it to be, was apt to turn on an insufficiently prepared wielder.
Suddenly, a black, shadowy figure emerged from the debris. Hatu was expecting something like the creature. Guardians were usually provided for the kind of artifact before him. Only the puppet’s kind and magical strength remained unknown. Though now that he had seen its form and felt its aura, Hatu surmised it to be a demon of some sort. Of a high rank, that much was certain.
The humanoid mist started toward Hatu and then stopped once it saw him. It stared at him silently. Hatu waited, gauging his own strength, and was surprised at the bodily weakness he felt. His muscles also ached. He had misjudged the effect of casting such a powerful spell while in his present human coil.
My Name is Ruin Page 2
