The Undying God (43 page)

Margzor slowly approached and then
broke into a run. His arm whipped across, the fangs on his skin
extended toward Arxu. The hooks snagged his sleeve as he dodged,
taunting him with the horrible sound of ripping.

Slipping past Margzor, Arxu rammed down
his staff on his tail. The demigod cried out in wrath as he twisted
the sharp, metal tip, crushing the black carapace. Before Margzor
could spin around, Arxu severed the appendage with a final thrust.
He writhed in anguish and fell to his knees. Resorting to the blade
again, Margzor whisked up his sword.

He snapped off a blow that threatened
to maim Arxu. Dizziness assaulted him and he swooned under the urge
to fall down and close his eyes. He floundered back and tried to
raise his staff in a parry, but Margzor’s sword grazed
him.

Margzor seemed to descend into feral
frenzy when he saw the blood of his enemy. He spun sharply to the
left, bringing his sword across in a swing.

Arxu was knocked on his back from the
blow. Margzor advanced like a beast stalking its prey.

Nishka’s eyes briefly met Arxu’s.
Why isn’t he getting up?! Get up, damn it!
Arxu held her in
his gaze and he didn’t need to speak to convey what he was feeling.
Nishka recognized his fear, longing, conflict, and worst of all,
his acceptance. Her heart throbbed in horror as she stumbled
forward. He was going to sacrifice himself to let her
escape.

No, Arxu,
please!

Margzor planted his foot on Arxu’s
neck, pinning him in place. He would tear him apart for taking her
away. Nishka broke into a run, knowing she wouldn’t reach him in
time.

In those last anguished seconds, Arxu
felt the blade plunge through him, through bone and muscle, a body
he toned over years only to be destroyed. The instantaneous
pressure in his lungs shocked him. He also felt the blade scrape
against something hard, and he knew his sacrifice would not be in
vain. Little did Margzor know that his own blade would initiate his
demise as it struck a small orb of volcanic glass in Arxu’s
pocket.

The blade plunged through the device,
combusting in tendrils of flame. The force of the explosion
consumed Margzor’s lower torso and shrapnel embedded in his chest.
Arxu screamed as the blade retracted.

Margzor could feel his vitality fading
and the divine power flowing outward like the blood that now
adorned his body. He did not have the power to heal.

He staggered away from Arxu. Pain
barbed through his flesh and droplets of blood spattered to the
floor. His scream was so monstrous that it paralyzed everyone in
his presence.

He roared and swung his sword at a
marble column, smashing the tip off by several inches. It sounded
like a high pitched explosion stifled by wind, followed by a
searing flash. Nishka squinted and Hrioshango raised his arms to
shield his eyes. The blade flared bright with rage, hissing like a
thousand serpent tongues.

Nishka saw an expression in Margzor’s
eyes that could only portend disaster.

Helplessness.

Margzor reversed his grip on the sword
and its tip swerved toward his breast. For a moment, he looked as
though he might say something. The blade plunged through his own
heart with a tortured scream.

The most insane emotion pierced his
heart.

Denial… denial, anger, depression, and
acceptance were compounded into one instant. He could not begin to
separate the emotions. Margzor sank to his knees without a sound.
He trembled like a frightened animal as defeat and humiliation
erupted inside.

Happiness did not exist anymore. Maybe
it never existed.

A throbbing pain ached in his chest,
much more than just the blade embedded in his heart: the
bittersweet relief of death. He did not want to feel alone for
another night. Never would he know love. He wanted to scream at
Nishka and tell her how much he adored her.

But at the same time, he wanted to kill
her.

The hate within him rose like a bile in
his chest, a fierce malice writhing to seize his heart. If he
couldn’t kill everything he hated, then his own death would
suffice.

Margzor gazed upon Nishka with piercing
eyes.

“I loved you,” he lamented. Regret
stained his face. Nishka stared in shock. He was crying.

Margzor released an ironic laugh and it
continued far longer than he expected. He laughed at himself and
the innocent notion of sharing his life with Nishka. Perhaps love
did not exist for him. Suddenly, his laughter coagulated and a gout
of blood erupted from his mouth.

Margzor weakly reached for Nishka. He
held out his hand for her, as if she could save him yet again.
Something ripped at his soul, agony more visceral than the blood
that pooled from his heart. So ferociously was he fighting for
breath, like a newborn with apnea. He felt so fragile and naked
before the woman he desired.

Each tear that struck the floor
resonated louder than the beat of his heart. It seemed to echo
throughout his mind, those years of torture and grief eternalized
in that moment. He could only think of her as everything
ended.

As Margzor died, he felt ecstasy.
Pleasure pulsed through him, scattering his sanity in
incomprehensible ways. He tried to focus on the feeling. The final
throes of death were the most enchanting.

Margzor breathed for the last time, and
his eyes gently shut. One second at a time, Nishka faded before
him. And his philosophy of a world where love truly existed died
with him.

One breath, one second, one last
heartbeat.

No more pain.

Chapter 42

Nishka raced toward the dying Arxu. She
fought back the tears in her eyes when she saw the ashes and
shrapnel gathered around his body, suggesting the extent of the
damage he endured.

“Arxu!” she cried. Nishka tried not to
look at his chest, abused by both blade and fire. The breath oozed
out of his lungs in rapid succession, fighting back as blood
drained into his chest cavity. He could feel the sporadic
palpitations of his heart weakening. Despite the trauma, his eyes
had not lost their blue luster.

They glowed with a hint of relief as
Nishka knelt down next to him.

“
Arxu…” she whispered. “I
don’t want to lose you.” Another wave of pressure exploded in
Arxu’s lungs, denying him the opportunity to reply.

“Nishka…” He used all of his strength
to force out the words. “Don’t think of my death as a loss… I won’t
be gone forever.”

This isn’t fair
. Nishka bit her
lip.
You followed me this far because I asked you to.
How
could this be the same man who kissed her last night and held her
close? Now he lay dying in this dark temple, a victim of his
emotions. Maybe he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself if he didn’t
love Nishka and try to protect her.

“
I will be waiting for you
when it’s over,” he whispered. “Both your mother and I will be
waiting. I promise you.”

Nishka took his one remaining hand and
held it. Nishka’s eyes finally fell to his chest, but she did not
focus on the wounds. Arxu wore a blue stone around his neck. She
recognized the stone she had given him in the forest. Among all the
scars, it glistened there like a sapphire tear.

Hrioshango retrieved a vial of ointment
laced with opium and hemlock.

“I lack the energy needed to heal him,
but I can ease the passing,” he said quietly. Nishka nodded, not
taking her eyes off Arxu.

“I’m sorry, Arxu.” The Nightwalker
squeezed her hand in response.

“Don’t be.” Even as he looked into her
eyes, he wondered what would become of his fragmented soul. Words
that Nishka once spoke echoed through his mind.
Even if you die,
you won’t be alone. I’ll be there until it’s over.
Maybe he
could accept losing his soul if the afterlife didn’t exist. At
least he would have Nishka beside him for the next few seconds.
Another fit of coughing accosted him, signaling that it was time
for Hrioshango to show mercy.

Looking unsure of himself, he applied
the ointment to Arxu’s forehead. Arxu could feel the pain
diminishing. He sighed as the room seemed to fill with white light.
He could feel Nishka’s grip on him becoming even tighter, refusing
to let him go. Numbness washed away the feeling in his limbs, one
nerve at a time.

He gasped as an otherworldly feeling
scorched his insides. Nishka regarded him with wonder as she, too,
felt the change around her.

Arxu trembled as a rush of power surged
through him. It filled his veins, soaring through his soul, and he
felt as though he was being pulled between two worlds. He almost
feared the last of his soul was being eradicated, calling him
somewhere far away. Dazzling light consumed his vision until he
could no longer see Nishka or Hrioshango. Reality began to dawn
upon the Nightwalker. He was becoming the vessel of divinity for
mortally wounding Margzor.

A brilliant flash seared through the
chamber, blinding Nishka to the chaos. When she could see again,
her eyes were riveted on Arxu’s body. Blue, flowing runes adorned
his arms and legs, radiating with moonlight. His chest bore no sign
of harm, cleansed of wounds.

Nishka was overwhelmed by the power
emanating from her companion. She reached out for something to lean
on, feeling diminutive compared to his divinity. Despite the
ecstasy of being a demigod, deep inside, Arxu did not crave this.
He did not desire followers or fame.

Nishka seemed to understand this, as
though Arxu’s thoughts spilled over his consciousness and pervaded
hers.

“Nishka, I do not want this,” he said.
She awaited his words with great anticipation. “All I want is to be
with you.”

Their minds seemed to become one at
that point, and images of pleasure and love cascaded over Nishka.
She could almost feel herself floating. Her feet were drifting
above the floor, and Arxu was also rising. It was as much a
revocation of his divinity as it was a declaration of his devotion
to Nishka.

Arxu reached for her hand and as soon
as their fingers clasped, they dissipated. Their souls coalesced,
birthing ecstasy more sensational than any kiss or
caress.

Hrioshango watched in awe as their
ethereal forms floated high and vanished. He remained behind in the
defiled temple.

He would never see Nishka and Arxu
again.

Their souls seemed entwined, and Nishka
experienced ecstasy beyond any mortal sensation. Her eyes fluttered
open. The space around them seemed to fill with light and give way
to a sprawling oasis. Gilded horizons that stretched on for
eternity. Oceanic clouds rippled beneath them, and she smiled as
she felt Arxu’s lips press against hers.

Outside the temple, guards formed a
human wall around the structure, barring any citizen from coming
too close. Men and women gathered around, fearful for loved ones
inside. Others simply wanted to watch chaos unfold.

The lord of the city authorized the
military to storm the temple and seize anyone inside. They had
received explicit orders to kill the man responsible for the
massacre in the streets. For all the rhetoric of a fair justice
system and court by a jury, there would be no trial this day. Only
execution.

The general paced in front of a
contingent of armed soldiers. They would succeed where the guards
failed. He had already formed a strategy for invading the temple.
He would galvanize a frontal assault to draw the killer’s focus
while more covert soldiers infiltrated from the east
wing.

His hand rested on the pommel of his
sword as his heartbeat began to race, betraying his trepidation. He
had seen what happened to the guards who challenged the murderer.
How could one man end so many lives, cutting down the finest
warriors?

The general sighed and shut his eyes,
picturing his three-year-old son at home. He hoped this morning
would not be the last time he hugged him good-bye. Finished with
his reflections, he slid his sword out of its sheath.

“I don’t care if you find the killer
unarmed!” he roared. “This man must answer for the blood he has
shed in the city square! The lord has decreed that we do not take
him into custody!” The soldiers answered his call with a chorus of
vengeance and the crowd echoed their excitement. “Show no mercy to
this criminal!” A mass of armored men wielding polearms and blades
ascended the steps. The plaza itself seemed to tremble under their
march.

The temple doors burst open and
Hrioshango boldly swaggered out of the temple. He lurched to a halt
when he saw the soldiers and hundreds of people amassed
below.

The war veterans awkwardly stopped, but
they did not lower their weapons. Their faces encompassed
everything from shock to awe at the spectacle of this darkling.
Hrioshango basked in the tension for a while longer, unsure if they
would attack.

The crowd murmured as a young girl came
forward, and Hrioshango immediately recognized her.

“He went into the temple with his
friends to save us,” she announced. “They said they would stop the
evil man from hurting more people.” All eyes turned to the darkling
again, who looked like he might bolt for an escape. The people
still regarded him suspiciously, especially the soldiers. His hand
discretely fell to his sword. There was only one way out of this
situation.