Birth of a Mortal God (15 page)

Despite having proved otherwise, many still believed the tohura were nothing more than intelligent canines. Solely due to their uncanny facial likeness to the Pit Bull, a favoured breed among dogfighters. The association was one of the few things that made the disciplined race lose their composure.

“You would be wise to move on,” warned the merchant as he reared up on his hind legs.

His cloak dropped to the ground, exposing the rest of his dust-brown chitinous form. He stood little over six feet tall, but his broad shoulders and stocky complexion made him an intimidating figure, none the less.

The group, however, seemed unfazed as one of them pointed to their leader. “This man right here’s the Blue Rose. Do you really think you can scare us off?”

The merchant snorted as he studied the man. “I’m afraid you have been deceived, he is not—”

“Piss off! We’re busy here,” snapped one of the men at the back of the group.

They turned to the commotion, and the merchant put his forelegs back onto the ground. He sniffed at the air and shook his head at the irony as he detected the familiar scent. Slowly, he started to back away while everyone’s attention was diverted.

The Sapphire Wolf who had shouted scowled at the advancing robed man. “Do you want to die, you deaf bastard?!” he said, before drawing his dagger from his belt and lurching forward.

Killmar caught the man’s wrist with his right hand in stride, before striking his inner elbow with the back of his left hand. He guided the dagger into the thug’s neck and strode on as if he had merely avoided a collision in a crowd.

The dark, blue-haired man indicated to his men that they shouldn’t draw their weapons. “You boys are tough bastards, but you can’t handle this fellow. I told Peter his tendency to underestimate his opponents would someday get him killed. I guess this makes me a prophet.” He drew the large great sword from the sheath on his back, “What business do you have with me, stranger?”

Killmar stopped a few feet away from him as the Sapphire Wolves made way for him. “There are those who don’t like you disrupting their business.”

“Ha, I was wondering when the Shadow Coins were going send their next assassin. It seems they hired someone worthwhile this time. Your predecessors died much too quick. You see, I am bad at holding back, so my fights tend to be rather short. Still, you are a strange one. What kind of assassin walks up to his target in broad daylight?”

Killmar looked around to see if a crowd was gathering. “The kind that doesn’t need to attack by surprise.”

The band burst into laughter. “Well you have got a pair of balls on you, I’ll give you that. Did they tell you who I was? I bet they didn’t.”

“They didn’t know.”

The Sapphire Wolves all wore a universal, smug grin. “I am Killmar the Blue Rose! Now that you know who I am, you don’t need to needlessly throw your life away. I like skilled men like you. Why don’t you join us?”

Killmar smiled. “Why would I want to follow a man who hides behind the name of another?”

People started to gather and the man raised his voice. “Are you implying I am not Killmar?!”

Something felt familiar about this man, but he couldn’t quite place it. He looked at the large surrounding crowd. “I think they’ll be enough.”

“For what?”

“To watch you die,” he said, before surging forward.

The impostor took the blow on his sword, then retaliated with an upward swing. Killmar jumped back, avoiding it, before sprinting forward again.

“You fool!” screamed the giant man as he brought down his large blade.

Killmar waited until the last instant, then moved slightly to the left, allowing the sword to miss him barely by an inch. It dug into the road, and his fist smashed into the impostor’s right shoulder. He spun backwards into a stall with his sword still tightly gripped in his left hand.

“Vendrious’s blood, what kind of strength is that?” asked one of the Sapphire Wolves as their leader slowly came to his feet.

Killmar raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. You jumped back in time to avoid a broken shoulder. Your reflexes are above human capabilities. You also don’t seem very injured, despite your little tumble through those wooden beams. Some kind magical augmentation perhaps?”

The man now studied his movements intently as he advanced with caution, his earlier bravado long forgotten.

Killmar feinted to his right, and when his opponent reacted, sent a kick towards his head from the left. The impostor ducked in time to avoid the blow and attempted to skewer him with a sideward thrust which he in turn parried by striking the dull side of the blade with his right fist.

The dark, blue-haired man stumbled back and almost lost his grip as vicious vibrations ravaged his arms.

“Supai’s six thousand cocks! Who in the nine hells parries a sword with his bare hands?” asked another Sapphire Wolf as he started to back away.

“This is far more than augmented reflexes. Your strength and speed are far above the capabilities of your race. There is only one way to break the biological limits of your species so profoundly,” said Killmar before rushing forward. Though instead of attacking, he just kept avoiding the man’s attacks, searching what little exposed skin he could see for the mark.

The imposter made another thrust as he rushed him again, however this time, Killmar ducked and slid through the gap between his legs, grabbing his collar from behind and ripping the shirt cleanly off his body.

He sighed as the crowd laughed and started to cheer him on, but he had found what he was looking for. Right on the skin covering the first thoracic vertebrae was a purple seven hundred and twenty-nine-point star, Ashaat’s Seal. “That explains the ewien guards. Better finish this quick before the idiot starts drawing more power from it.”

The impostor blushed as the laughter in the crowd grew. “I am going to cut you in half, you little fucker!” he screamed as he raised his sword above his head in the Death Stance.

His reputation was all but ruined as some in the faceless crowd shouted insults, while others voiced their approval at his courage at attempting the Death Stance. It was a reckless move in swordplay. It allows the swordsman to deliver a single, powerful blow that has been rumoured to have sundered even the greatest shields. But the swordsman has to bring down his blade before his opponent can close the distance between them and strike; it requires tremendous strength and near perfect timing. If the imposter struck just a second to early or late, he would be unable to guard himself as his sword would either be above his head or pointing to the ground.

Killmar smiled and darted forward. But instead of holding his ground, the man jumped backward as he brought down his blade. Killmar skidded to a halt just in time. The enormous blade nicked his hood as it missed his face by a hair’s width.

The impostor quickly reacted and dug the ball of his right foot into the ground and reversed his retreat into an upward leaping thrust. Again, it barely missed its mark as it sped past Killmar’s face, ripping the hood from his head.

He caught the man by the throat as his light blue locks glistened in the morning sun. “Damn you!”

The cheering ceased almost immediately, replaced by an awed silence.

“It is Killmar! We have been following a fraud. We—I didn’t, I didn’t know I swear,” said one of the Sapphire Wolves before attempting to flee. His comrades followed suit, but they were all cut down like dogs by city guards, who seemed to have concealed themselves among the crowd. They then immediately started dispersing the masses before a panic could ensue.

The impostor saw it all and went ashen. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. You’re not real! You’re just some ewienian folk tale.”

“Killmar?” asked a familiar voice.

He turned and saw Jessica standing in the crowd. “What are you doing here?!”

“I was shop—” she started when a dagger struck her chest.

“Jessica!” he screamed as he rushed to her, releasing his quarry.

“Thank Nekt I brought my dagger today,” muttered the impostor as he fled, pleased with how well his distraction had worked.

Killmar knelt beside Jessica. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be all right. I have to remove the dagger, and it’s going to hurt . . . a lot.”

She nodded weakly.

He pulled the dagger free, then turned to the fleeing pretender, who tried to dodge into an alley. He threw it, and the dagger travelled the distance in a second before boring through the man’s right thigh, pinning him to a wooden pillar of a nearby building. “I’ll kill you momentarily.”

“Killmar, I have to tell you I—” started Jessica weakly.

“Don’t talk; you can tell me later,” he said as he held his hand over the gushing wound.

Fear showed in her face as she nodded.

He felt her life seeping away and screamed, “No! I will not let him have you!”

Light exploded from his hair and eyes to such an extent that those close were forced to cover their eyes and back away. Jessica felt her strength returning but felt a spasm of fear when she looked at Killmar. As if to contrast his bright hair and eyes, his skin became lightly transparent. However, beyond it was not red muscle, but a black void. It seemed as if it could consume everything.

He finally stood up as the wound closed and vanished. His hair, eyes, and skin returned to normal, and she got to her feet. But before she could express her gratitude, he headed for the impostor. The man was frantically trying to loosen the dagger, screaming like a terrified animal.

“Please, spare me!” he cried.

Without saying a word, Killmar reached out and dug his fingers into the man’s shoulder. In a single quick jerk, he ripped him from the wall and tossed him through the air like a rag doll. The impostor crashed to the ground not far from where he had first escaped. The weeping man was trying to crawl away when Killmar pinned him to the ground with his right foot.

“You almost took something very precious from me,” hissed Killmar as he started putting pressure on the impostor’s back.

“I’m sorry. Please, in the name of Xenusê, have mercy.”

“Your gods mean nothing to me,” he replied as bones started to crack under the pressure.

“I’m alive. Maybe you could let him live?” asked Jessica when she could no longer bear to hear the man’s screams.

Killmar gave her a crazed smile, and she felt a chill go down her spine. “He will die. He must die. He cannot escape it!”

She wanted to say something but didn’t know what. Then a series of sickening snaps heralded the man’s death.

Killmar removed his foot from the carcass and shook the entrails from his boot as if he had stepped into a puddle of mud. He started towards her when his knees to buckled, an expression of agony on his face.

Jessica rushed forward, and as she got closer, she noticed his skin was fading in and out of its previous transparent state. “What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching out to him.

“Don’t touch me!” he warned. His voice wasn’t filled with anger but tainted with desperation.

“What should I do?!” she asked, infected by his unusual display of distress.

“Do you still have the gold I gave you?”

“Most of it.”

“Good. Head to the Silent Mistress and gather our things. The gold should be more than enough to pay the bill. Once you do, meet me at the northern city gate,” he said, his arms folded around himself in pain.

“All right. What about you?” she asked, worried.

“I’ll be fine. I just have to quickly visit someone,” he said as he got to his feet.

“But. . . all right,” she said before starting towards the Silent Mistress.

The guards seemed about done dispersing the crowd. “And, Jessica.”

“What?”

“Make haste.”

Killmar stumbled into
the Broken Keg. Ignoring the patrons’ reaction to his appearance, he frantically scanned the room for Handsome Jack. Spotting him at the same table where he had met the man, he staggered towards him.

“What—” started Jack.

“Payment, where is my payment?” he asked, using the corner of the table to steady himself.

“You look like you just fought Vendrious himself. What happened?” asked the old thug, clearly surprised.

“Enough! Hand over the Shield of Yonil, or I shall kill you where you sit.”

“Hold on. I don’t have it with me,” said Jack anxiously.

Killmar clenched his teeth as his skin turned almost entirely transparent for a moment. In that moment, everyone in the Broken Keg was slammed to the floor by an unexplained pressure. Most of the patrons started weeping like children as they glimpsed the void-like darkness.

“Don’t toy with me, mortal!” roared Killmar as the spasm subsided.

Jack looked up in terror. “I swear by every god and his mother that I don’t have it!”

“Where is it?!”

“At a hidden warehouse.”

Jack saw a flash of fear in the legend’s face before he said, “Then have it brought to the northern city gate at once. Give it there to a beautiful black-haired woman carrying a wooden box. And, Jack, do not try to cheat me, or I’ll make sure you’ll spend every waking minute wishing for death.”

The ugly thief just nodded dumbly as Killmar stumbled out of the tavern.

Jessica awkwardly held
the wooden box and large shield tightly against her chest. “Where is he? It is already midday.”

Once again, she looked at the legendary artefact, the Shield of Yonil, said to grant its wielder unlimited stamina. A strange man had approached her and handed her the shield, saying only that it was meant for Killmar. She had taken it, assuming it was payment for one of his contracts, but that had been shortly after her arrival. She could not help but grow anxious since she knew he liked punctuality.

“Jessica.”

She turned around and saw him leaning on a piece of scrap wood, a dirty grey rag covering his head. “What—”

“Don’t come too close. I’ll explain later. First we need to leave Larin.”

A guard approached as they neared the city gate. “May I ask where you are headed?”

“Our business is our own,” answered Killmar.

The guard reached out to remove the grey rag when Jessica stepped in front of him. “Forgive my father; he is sick and can be rather unnecessarily difficult at times.”