Her first blow was immediately countered by Kali’Mar’s open hand. The sword bit deep into his flesh, yes. His blood, bright and red and seeming like hers, dripped down the blade and across her hand, where it burned against her skin. The pain was immense, filling the world with the crackle of flame and darkness of smoke. But she held on to the milk-quartz sword, held as he stepped backward and wrenched his hand off the blade, splattering still more blood across its length. Now her hands felt lashed by flames, set to char like the worshippers of Argon. She did not look down. Kali’Mar bled most profusely, and the white burr of tendon was visible through the red mess in his palm. He struggled to close and open his hand, and the blood, oh, the blood was pouring across the golden yellows of his raiment.
She stepped back a few paces and, as Kali’Mar screamed and held his gushing palm, she glanced at her own hands. Smeared with red, but unblemished. Just as she thought. The enormous pain was an illusion.
Hers was, at least.
“That hurt.” He didn’t look malignant now. He looked like a four year old who’d been told that Santa didn’t exist. “You’re not supposed to be able to hurt me. I am a god!”
She held the sword in what she thought was a defensive position. “No, you’re not. You’re a highschool science teacher who stole something that wasn’t yours.” My husband! She screamed inside her head. “You got your power from someone else. I’m just collecting a bill that’s come due.”
“I won that power! We, the four of us, defeated the Shadow on his first rising!”
“Really? I thought the legend was, you four ate the First God. Except none of you are Gods—not even the Shadow. He was an Archetype, and an innocent person that you chained to the floor of the Prism so he could do what you were too scared to do yourself.”
He came at her, screaming, and she whipped around with barely enough time to respond, and dragged the blade across what seemed to be nothing more than air. Kali’Mar’s essence swept across her, and this time his touch did not burn. In fact, it felt pleasant, felt good. Felt like the promising caress of sex. As if he were trying to bait her into something she had zero interest in. His howl of pain, however, suggested she’d cut through more than his bedroom ambitions.
When he reappeared across from her, he had a large slash running from his shoulder to his hip. She’d nailed him with her defensive stance, alright. What kind of sword was this?
“You’re tired,” he whispered, his voice now pleasant. In fact, it was the most beautiful voice she’d ever heard. Caruso at his finest, Pavarotti in his velvet complexity, nothing could compare to the dulcet tones of Kali’Mar’s voice. He held his shoulder, cut deep and bleeding that red brilliance across mossy greens and flagstone brown. “You’re confused. You’re grieving. It’s not your fault you don’t understand what we are.”
“I understand what you are. A thief. A murderer.”
“I didn’t kill Alex West.” He said, and the beauty he’d been projecting fractured under the strain of his lie. It came out rapid fire, too quick to be anything but his own hot guilt burning through his breast. “I ate…what I ate. We all did. And we became something so much more than mortals—your foul mistake in attacking me will soon make that clear—but I did not kill the man.”
“When I call you murderer, I’m not talking about Alex,” She said, softly. “I’m talking about your worshippers.” She began walking around him, and he turned to follow her pace. “They came to you in faith, not fear. They trusted you to bring the good things you promised. And you turned them into chattle for your amusement and abuse. Nasheth and the Earth Archon butchered hundreds of people while I was there. Argon had his followers burn their hands to char and then open them in front of him. Tell me, you supposed Master of Air. Tell me how many lives have you fed your so-called godhood—”
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And he attacked again.
Now he had dropped all pretense. He glowed a bright, yellowed light and came at her, screaming. She brought the sword up at the last second, and he caught it in his hands. Now they were near enough to kiss, faces separated by Hawk’s blade and Kali’Mar’s pressure.
But the sword held. She could feel the power Kali’mar was bringing against her, throbbing through the handle of the sword. The milk-quartz was glowing with it, turning deeper and deeper shades of gold as the energies shifted and grew. Magic, she thought, it might as well be magic, and she didn’t falter a step.
“Why are you fighting me?” Kali’Mar whispered at last. His disbelieving face told her all she needed to see. “Why not just give me what I want? Give me that blade. Give me your worship. Adore me, and I will give you everything you want. You’re a beautiful woman. You should have beautiful things. Give up. Give in. Let me take you and remake you into the goddess you should be. It’s simple enough to do. The Shadow likes you. He—”
Something within her broke, because she understood in an instant what he meant: The capture and further mutilation of Alex, to give her the immortality he was offering. But she wanted to confirm. She was jumping to conclusions now, surely. No one could be that craven, to offer the flesh of the dead to his grieving widow. She kicked out, catching only his robes. But it forced him into an instinctive dodge, and she was able to roll away from him, to stand in the winds swirling fiercely around them. She met his eyes. “How would you do that?” She whispered. “Why do you think I would let you murder my husband?”
“Didn’t he keep you down? Didn’t he bury you in housework? You’re smart, aren’t you? But you’re trapped in a small marriage with a small man, and you’re trained into caring for him. Don’t you want your own life?” A pause. “It wouldn’t destroy him. It’d take the smallest piece. If you’re that desperate for the bastard, you could even keep him as a pet.”
He did mean it, after all.
She pulled back as he spoke, trying to get as much room as she possibly could. “You want me to eat—” she almost gagged on the word.
“It’s not even his flesh. There’s an orb, like a ball, located in his head. That’s the nexus of his power. That’s what—”
She swung, hard, and caught him in the neck and shoulder. This time the divine blood exploded forth, high arterial sprays arching through space to splatter in violent patterns on the star-moss underfoot. It beaded atop the plants, as if they, too, were rejecting him. She swung again, more like a lumberjack cutting down a tree, and caught him in nearly the same place. But this time the sword embedded in his collar bone. She ripped at it, yanking, but she could not wrench it free.
Kali’mar’s eyes flared with an almost joyous light, and he twisted his body hard, to the left, ripping the sword out of her hands. Then he ripped it out of his own shoulder, almost severing his collarbone and leaving his free arm limp and loose against his body. He tossed the milk-quartz blade away, where it landed on the soft grass behind him. And for the first time Hawk saw Kaiser. He stood about a yard away from the blade, staring at her with frightened and hopeless eyes.
“So. You’ve lost your toy. Now, what will you do?” Kalimar walked around her slowly, holding his gushing arm against his body. His golden robes were now drenched in blood, his gait unsure. But there was only a dazzling hatred in his eyes now. He licked his lips like a tiger preparing for a meal. “Who will you call on? Who can save you here? This is a pit, girl, I agree…but it’s ours. And you have delivered yourself into my hand.” He offered his unwounded arm. “But it’s not too late. Bow to me. Kiss the ring. Make obeisance, and I will let you live.”
“Let me live like the Earth Archon. Let me live as something twisted and broken, a mockery of flesh. That’s what you mean.” She said, and then braced herself. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you ate what you should have protected. Not just him. Every person who has bowed to you, you’ve devoured their spirit. Every person who put their trust and faith in you, you’ve betrayed. You’ve drunk their blood when you should be washing their feet. And I will not bow to a murderer, a drunkard, or a false-god.” She paused. Were those last words good enough? No, she decided, and met, not Kali’Mar’s eyes, but Kaiser’s. “You’re not a god. You’re a selfish, egotistical man with too much power. I will never bow to you.”
And the rage and hatred rising in his eyes was almost beautiful. He stepped across the ground, each footfall crushing the life out of the star-moss, leaving brown footprints where once there was green. Electricity crackled around him, lancing through wisteria blossoms, a small tree, a part of the building, and then the ground. His bloodied robes spread around him like a promise. He raised his hand for the killing blow.
“Know this, girl,” he whispered, as she stood unbowed. “When I find him, I will kill him. And before I consume what is left of his power, I am going to eat his heart, and make him watch. I want you to know this, because you will not be alive to watch.”
And, as shadows trembled and lightning flashed, his hand came down.