Demon Lord VI - Son of Chaos (16 page)

“
He probably came close to death each time.”

“
He did,” Mirra whispered, and Drevarin cast her a sympathetic
glance.

“
Courage, My Lady, he will survive this too.”

Nikira looked
puzzled. “I can understand why Torvaran would use a weapon against
Bane, but why does Bane use a sword? Surely it’s useless against a
spirit god?”

“
No, it is not. Although Torvaran does not suffer from physical
exhaustion, maintaining his droge form costs him not only power but
psychic energy, so damaging it does tire him. And it
hurts.”

Bane summoned
yet another sword and strode towards the dra’voren. A mass of lava
engulfed Torvaran, and Bane stopped beside it, waiting for the dark
god to reappear. Moments later, Torvaran emerged, and Bane hacked
at him. Torvaran’s droge body wavered and smeared, then he shed it
and rose in his dark form, which sprouted bat wings and opened
blazing red eyes. Nikira hissed in dismay, for Torvaran appeared
more formidable than ever, looming over Bane, who looked small in
comparison.

“
He is weakening,” Drevarin said.

“
Who, Bane?”

“
No, Torvaran.”

“
But...”

Drevarin
smiled. “He looks worse, but a droge body is a symbol of his power.
It is unfortunate that there is no sunlight in the God Realm.”

Ethra yelped,
and Nikira glanced up at the screen again. Another massive torrent
of lava had engulfed Bane, and settled into a glowing pool.
Everyone held their breath while Torvaran prowled around the pool.
Nikira bit her lip, terrified for Bane, her heart pounding. The
Demon Lord rose from the lava, and, as he did, Torvaran swung his
axe. Bane flung himself backwards, sinking back into the lava, then
rose again a few feet away. Torvaran leapt at him, bringing the axe
down in a sweeping arc aimed to chop Bane’s head off.

The Demon
Lord’s hands flashed up and gripped Torvaran’s arms, holding him at
bay as he renewed his Gather. The dra’voren struggled, and a second
set of arms sprouted from his shoulders and reached for Bane’s
throat. Torvaran jerked one of his trapped arms free and punched
Bane in the face. Blood oozed from Bane’s nose, but the runes on
his chest flared bright yellow and Torvaran shrank. Shadows poured
into the dra’voren from the dark clouds and the gloom between the
rocks. He punched Bane again, and the Demon Lord fell back into the
pool of lava. Torvaran wrenched free and retreated, Gathering
shadows to thicken his form.

Bane climbed
out of the glowing pool, shook his head and wiped blood from his
nose. Nikira wondered how much more abuse he could withstand. He
lunged at Torvaran, who tried to avoid him, but Bane was quick
enough to catch his arm and yank him close. A toss of Bane’s head
hurled the dra’voren away, leaving his dissipating shadow arm in
Bane’s grasp.

She glanced at
Drevarin. “Why doesn’t Torvaran do that to Bane?”

“
He does not have that power. It belongs only to mortal
gods.”

Sarrin
whispered, “Destroy him; destroy him.”

Torvaran faced
Bane, drawing power now from the rocks beneath him, a glowing
source opening at his feet. Blood ran down Bane’s face and dripped
from his shirt, and he seemed a little unsteady. Rising on a column
of black flame, he flew at Torvaran, gripped his arms and Gathered
again. Torvaran summoned a dagger and stabbed Bane in the back
before his form shrank and his arm withered away. Still he fought,
unable to break free now. He drew shadows from the ground in a rush
of darkness, which Bane forced back into the stones in a river of
night.

Bane’s hands
sank into the dark form as shadows swirled around him in a vortex.
Nikira glimpsed him within it, his hair flying in the spectral
wind, his cloak flaring. Something that shone like a star fell from
Torvaran’s form to vanish amongst the rocks. The dra’voren slumped
and Bane pinned him down, then they rolled over and Torvaran loomed
over Bane, hammering him with black fists. Bane grimaced, and
Torvaran’s form flew apart, torn by the force of Bane’s mind to
allow a glimpse of redness within, then it reformed.

Drevarin
gripped the console, leaning forward to gaze into the screen, his
expression tense.

The two
struggled in the huge crater that was the dra’voren’s source, half
immersed in lava. Torvaran sought only to free himself now, but
Bane hung on.

Bane’s breath
came in harsh gasps, pain racked him and fatigue drained his
strength. The dra’voren growled and writhed, his fists bruising
Bane’s arms and face, tearing at him with long claws that left red
welts. As the dark god neared destruction, Bane wondered what that
was going to be like. Fairly cataclysmic, he imagined. Still he
Gathered with all seven runes, the seventh linking the rest in a
chain of power. Torvaran drew power from the ground in conduits of
shadow, but Bane’s Gather outstripped his, and his form lost
solidity.

Bane’s fierce
scowl deepened, and the power of his mind shredded the dark god’s
dwindling form again. Torvaran’s roar of fury shook the ground.
Bane gritted his teeth as Torvaran landed another blow on his face,
but it hardly hurt. The dra’voren became tenuous, and Bane spread
his hands, took control of the dark power that clothed Torvaran’s
soul and drew it off. Torvaran’s ability to Gather was gone with
his power, and the dregs of his dark form dispersed like black
smoke, revealing his soul’s red glare.

Bane squinted
as the ruddy light flared, and the soul scream echoed in his mind.
The soul strained at his hold, drawn powerfully downwards by a dark
realm somewhere far below, and by the wish to escape its
destruction at his hands. Bane struggled to hold onto it,
increasing the power of the shadows that imprisoned it. He gasped,
his heart laboured with the effort and sweat ran down his face.
Filaments of dull red energy flickered from the doomed spirit to
burn his fingers with sharp crackles of raw power. He increased the
intensity of his grasp, crushing it.

The visions of
Torvaran’s life formed, blinding Bane and bringing a terrible sense
of foulness. He saw a young boy who had been abandoned by an
uncaring mother and ran wild in the woods, killing animals to
survive. He went to a city and became a beggar, then a thief, then
a murderer. A black mage took him in and trained him in the dark
arts, using him as a blood provider for his foul rituals. Torvaran
learnt to hate, and his heart filled with rage. He became a
powerful warlock who held a country in the grip of terror with his
demands of sacrifice and worship.

Bane shuddered
at the many parallels to his own torturous youth, save for one
thing. Torvaran had not known love. His had been a long and lonely
life that had made him bitter and twisted. His death had been a
peaceful one from old age, then he had risen and laid waste to his
world. His hatred had found an outlet when he had opened his
domain’s World Gate and found his creator, a weak goddess. Her
flight had been brief and her death had brought Torvaran the
satisfaction he craved.

Bane relived
the demise of twenty-two light gods through Torvaran’s memories,
each one a cataclysmic, massive explosion of white fire that burnt
him, yet slaked his thirst for revenge for a while. Then his
acrimony and loathing returned, along with his contempt for light
gods and all they created, blaming them for his suffering.
Torvaran’s foul memories filled Bane with animosity that found
echoes in his own heart.

Bane sensed
the darkness of Torvaran’s spirit drawing him in as shadows invaded
his soul. He had something pure to which to cling, however, which
had saved him before and shielded him from the loathsome invasion
now. The image of the soft smile and gentle eyes of the girl he
loved filled his heart with purity and resolve. He flinched as a
memory of her abuse at his hands lashed him, reviving his hatred
for the darkness and all it had done to him. Torvaran was a part of
that, a minion of it, an instrument of destruction and torture the
darkness had used to inflict its depravity upon the innocent, just
as he had once done.

The Demon Lord
opened his eyes to gaze into the red depths of Torvaran’s soul, its
scream tearing through his mind. Gritting his teeth, he moved his
hands apart, tore open the spirit and allowed its dull glow to
flood out. The soul expanded, shedding drifting flakes of crimson
light that dwindled to bright sparks and winked out. The core of it
shrank to a point of intense light and pulsed. Bane closed his
eyes. The force of the explosion hurled him through the air, but
darkness swallowed his senses before he struck the ground.

***

Nikira cast a
puzzled glance at Drevarin, who stared at the screen with unnerving
intensity. All she could see was Bane kneeling in a glowing
creator, his hands spread as if he held something invisible between
them. The tableau was eerily still after the mighty battle. Smoke
rose from the torn, molten ground in lazy swirls. When the last
shreds of shadow had vanished, a great cheer had gone up from the
spectators, but Drevarin had ignored their celebration. She
wondered why he did not go to Bane’s aid, for the tar’merin was
badly injured.

“
What is it?” she murmured, almost afraid to break his
concentration.

“
You cannot see it, but Bane holds Torvaran’s soul in his
hands. He is about to destroy it, but first he must endure the
visions that destroying one brings. This is a dangerous time, for,
although he is tar’merin, he is still a dark god, and he will find
many echoes of his own life in Torvaran’s. He has never destroyed a
brother god before. It will affect him.”

Nikira stared
at Bane, concerned. “Affect him how?”

“
I do not know. There is a risk, albeit a small one, that he
will decide to spare Torvaran, but I doubt it. You should prepare
the ship for some... disturbances.”

She shot him
an alarmed look. “What sort of disturbances?”

“
The sort that will result from a large explosion.”

Nikira slapped
the intercom, opening a ship-wide channel. “Brace for
shockwaves!”

An alarm
whooped as one of the observation room crew triggered it, the rest
clutched their consoles. The soldier grabbed Sarrin and Ethra and
pushed them down on the floor. Mithran and Grem pulled Mirra down
between them and braced themselves against the consoles. Artan and
his men crouched as well, looking confused. Nikira gripped the
console and studied Bane’s pale, bloody face, which was twisted in
a grimace of intense disgust and rage, his eyes screwed shut. His
hands moved apart, and Drevarin tensed, the vague look that she
associated with his use of his power flitting over his face.

A flash of
ruby light blanked out the screen’s image. When it cleared, Bane
was gone. A shudder ran through the ship, as if it had struck
something solid. It lurched, and the engines’ deep throb rose to a
tortured scream. The deck tilted, sending chairs rolling across it,
and two obstechs went sprawling. The image on the screen showed
that the ship was moving rapidly backwards, heaving as if on a
stormy sea. The engines’ wail rose to an overload crescendo.

Alarms brayed
and beeped, and ops struggled to crawl to their stations and touch
the panels that would restore the ship’s stability. Although the
pilot held the ultimate control, the observation room control
boards also accessed flight controls. Nikira clung to her console
as the ship tilted and heeled. The screen’s image showed that they
were getting perilously close to the ground. The massive shockwave
would have caused a lot of damage without Drevarin’s shield, she
was certain. Retribution continued to sink as obstechs clawed at
their boards, trying to hang on and touch the keys at the same
time. Nikira struggled to get her legs under her, but her feet
slipped as the floor’s steep slant increased.

“
We’re going to hit!” she shouted. “Brace for
impact!”

Drevarin
glanced down at her. He was the only one still on his feet.
Spreading his hands towards the floor, he clenched them, tilted
back his head and closed his eyes. Nikira gasped with relief as the
screen showed the ground falling away, then the ship steadied and
came back on an even keel. The engines’ scream dropped to a howl,
while alarms continued to fill the air with discordant noise.
Nikira rose to her feet, and the obstechs pulled themselves back to
their consoles, running their hands over the keyboards. One by one,
the alarms stopped, and the generators’ howl faded to a throbbing
hum.

“
Exiting stealth mode,” an obstech said. “We seem to have lost
an engine.”

The hum faded
away even more, and only the gasps of terrified people broke the
stillness.

Nikira turned
to the nearest obstech. “Damage report.”

He tapped his
keyboard and read the screen. “One engine overloaded; it’s burnt
out. Two stabilisers are offline, but apart from that, we’re
okay.”

She glanced at
Drevarin, who gazed at the screen. “Thank you, Lord.”

He turned to
her, his brow furrowed. “I must find Bane.”

“
We can do that.” She swung around. “Montar?”

The obstech
gazed into his screen as he swept the scanners over the land.
Bane’s group watched him with worried eyes; Ethra huddled close to
the old priestess. Mirra held a hand over her mouth, her eyes
shimmering with tears. Nikira wondered how anyone, even a mortal
god, could have survived an explosion of that magnitude.

“
Got him!” Montar cried, and they all turned to look up at the
big vidscreen as he turned the camera, zooming in on a distant
area. The view was side on, due to the distance, and showed Bane
lying on the rocky ground, his cloak spread around him. Drevarin
strode across the room and vanished through the wall. Mirra turned
to Nikira.