Chapter 4

[Regurgitate]

One of the two Morduin knights froze, their eyes visibly widening behind the blood red mask as they saw Sabo standing there, panting, fists clenched. Clearly staring more at the giant mouth on the side of his neck than at the angry prisoner. The knight raised a gloved finger and pointed.

“That boy,” they shouted, voice carrying across the deck. “He has the Divine Mark!”

Sabo barely had time to register the words before he felt the pull of power, a shuddering ripple through the space around the knight, as they tore energy from the air itself, coalescing around their raised hand. The air crackled, a searing heat building between the knight’s fingers as fire began to flicker and grow, a swirling mass of flame that brightened into a roiling inferno. The knight thrust his hand forward, releasing a massive fireball that hurtled toward Sabo with blistering speed.

Instinct took over. Sabo flung himself to the side, hitting the deck hard, but he couldn’t escape the flames entirely. The fireball missed him by inches, the scorching heat searing his back as it shot past, roaring toward a huddled group of prisoners who hadn’t even had a chance to scream.

The explosion sent a shockwave through the deck, knocking Sabo forward, the heat so intense it stung his skin even from yards away. He heard the prisoners’ screams, high and panicked, the brief terror that was snuffed out in an instant, replaced by the crackling and hissing of hungry flames consuming everything they touched. Sabo felt the blistering heat and tasted ash in the air, felt the horror curl in his stomach. He heard the warden and one of the ship’s guards scream, swearing about the danger the knight’s Spell posed for the safety of the entire airship.

“Do not fear, mortal,” the voice in his neck rumbled. Its tone held a mocking patience, like a parent scolding a cowering child. “If you are to serve me, you must be steadfast. This is no way for a retainer to conduct himself. It’s . . . embarrassing.”

Sabo’s breaths were short and quick, chest rising and falling as he fought to process what he’d just seen. The knight’s casual violence, the smell of burning flesh—it all blurred into a miasma of horror. He could barely force words out.

“How. . . how am I supposed to fight?” he stammered. “They’re throwing bloody fireballs at me, and I’m barehanded!”

The voice chuckled, a gravelly, mocking sound that reverberated through his mind. “Is it simply a weapon you want? You already possess one, mortal. All you must do is ask.”

“Give me a weapon!” Sabo breathed, pushing himself up from where he was sprawled on the deck floor. The deck had erupted into chaos, the prisoners no longer willing to simply stand there and be roasted like helpless lambs. Prisoners were shoved and trampled in the hectic push to head below deck or get as far away from the two Morduin knights as possible. Some prisoners were accidentally pushed over the edge of the ship, tumbling to their deaths. Sabo was pushed onto his back, though he quickly righted himself, scrambling to stand amidst the jostle of dirty, screaming bodies.

“Foolish human! A vassal must ask its lord politely if it expects to have its requests granted . . . Grovel!”

Did this thing just ask me to ‘say please’?

Suddenly, the sea of bodies surrounding the two masked knights erupted into ribbons of blood. Men and women lost arms, legs, fingers—Sabo swore he saw a head lopped clean off a pair of shoulders and spinning through the air. He sensed a static rush of energy coming from the second knight, who stood ominously still in the midst of the carnage.

Another fireball was forming in the hand of the first knight, the heat radiating in waves as they readied themselves. Sabo forced his gaze back to his attacker, a cold dread filling him as he watched the deadly energy swirl in the knight’s hand.

The knight hurled the fireball just as Sabo leapt to the side, crashing into a stack of barrels that splintered under his weight. He pressed himself behind them, heart pounding, his mind spinning in a frantic spiral.

He had to fight back. There was no choice. Don’t be a coward, Sabo! He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. His heartbeat, like the pounding drum. In that moment, he focused himself and found that anger again, waiting for him, just beneath the surface. Simmering. Ready to boil over and drown them all.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracked and desperate. “Please, I need a weapon!”

The mouth on his neck twisted into a wicked grin, teeth gleaming in the shadows. Then it closed, the lips pressing together in a final smile as the flesh of his neck sealed over it. But the pain didn’t vanish—instead, it traveled, burning a path down his shoulder, searing his bicep, then slicing down his arm until it reached his right hand. Sabo clenched his teeth as the pain intensified, like molten iron pooling under his skin. The flesh on his palm split open, and from the wound, something began to grow, stretching and twisting outward.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

A pole extended from the wound, bloodied and slick, the metal shaft lengthening as it formed. Sabo watched in awe and horror as it grew longer, heavier, his hand instinctively wrapping around the weapon as it emerged. Then, with a final pulse of energy, it solidified—a massive maul, glistening in the dim light, forged from dark, fleshy metal.

The weapon was monstrous. The shaft stretched five feet long, thick and solid. Its head was impossibly large, spiked and brutal. At the back end, a single massive spike protruded like the barb of a scorpion’s tail, cruel and gleaming. And in the center, embedded in the metal and flesh, were features that twisted his stomach—a maw, enormous and leering, filled with jagged teeth that moved, dripping with thick saliva. The saliva was a sickly, purple ichor that hissed as it hit the deck Above the mouth, two reddish eyes glowed, fierce and intelligent, watching him with a hungry malice that sent a chill down his spine.

He felt a haptic tingle at the base of his skull. Neat, silver letters appeared before him, transparent and floating in the air about a foot in front of his face.

[Divine Mark – God-Eater: Activated]

He blinked, the message disappearing from his vision.

He swallowed hard, his hand tight around the handle, feeling the weight and power thrumming through it, an extension of his own fury and terror. He could barely breathe, yet there was a rush to it, a thrill in his blood that dared him to swing, to strike, to let the beast within the maul loose. Despite the weapon being larger than anything he could reasonably have been expected to wield—even before imprisonment had deteriorated his muscle—he was able to hold and move it with ease.

The monstrous eyes in the maul blinked, shifting to look at him, and the maw split open in a wicked, gleeful grin.

The first knight raised their hand once more, a new fireball crackling to life between their gloved fingers, each flicker of flame growing hotter, brighter. Their eyes gleamed with confidence from behind the mask as they hurled it toward Sabo, the inferno tearing through the air with a deadly roar.

But Sabo didn’t flinch this time. The heat of the ship’s flames already blazed at his back, pinning him between death and destruction. Gripping the maul tight, he swung, bringing the massive head of the weapon into the fireball’s path.

The maw in the warhammer’s head opened wide, teeth gleaming, and swallowed the fireball whole. A low, guttural crunch followed, the mouth chomping down as if it were devouring some kind of prey. Black smoke billowed from its maw, spiraling up in wisps that curled and danced in the darkening air. Sabo could feel it—the power transferred through the weapon, moving up the shaft and sinking into his hands, then deeper, flooding his veins like a river of ice. The chill sharpened his senses, awakening every fiber of his body, and he felt a surge of energy that drove him to move, to act. The sounds of chaos on the deck quieted, as if muffled, and his vision sharpened.

Before the knight could throw another, Sabo charged forward, legs coiled like springs, feet pounding the wooden planks. He closed the distance in a few strides, muscles thrumming with urgency. The weight of the maul felt almost inconsequential in his hands as he swung it in a wide arc, aiming to smash the knight to the ground.

But the knight was quicker. In a deft move, they leapt up, balancing on the head of the maul with eerie precision. They turned their crimson, gruesome-faced mask down towards Sabo, eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement from the two circular eye holes.

“A little out of your depth, aren’t you?” the knight sneered, their voice dripping with contempt. “That power doesn’t belong to you. In the name of the Order, I will be reclaiming it now.” Flames erupted along the masked knight’s arm, which they threw out in a sharp motion, sending a searing lash of fire towards Sabo’s face.

With the maul’s icy energy coursing through him, everything seemed to slow down. Sabo twisted his body, bending backward just enough to feel the heat graze his cheek, narrowly avoiding the burning strike. But the evasion threw him off-balance, forcing him to stumble back a step.

The knight laughed, pressing their advantage, sending another lash of flame toward him. Sabo swung the maul upward, using it as a shield, but he could feel his footing slipping as the knight continued their relentless assault, raining blow after blow down on him—each punch or kick enhanced with shimmering flame. Each swing of Sabo’s in return was wild and desperate, buying him seconds but doing little to turn the tide.

Sabo gritted his teeth, feeling a burst of frustration ignite inside him. He needed to do more than survive this. Why am I fighting like a damned coward? He recalled his life in Solstice, and sparring Mags with wooden practice swords under Vitomir’s watchful guidance. The two had always been evenly matched, but where Sabo used his longer reach to evade and keep his distance, Mags would bulldoze forward, breaking through his defenses with sheer force of will. He thought of the courage Vitomir showed when the Ravaelian Empire burned Solstice to the ground. I need to be more like them! I won’t be afraid!

Suddenly, his vision flashed again.

[Spell: Regurgitate]

The mouth on the maul opened again. It stretched wide, letting out a low, throaty growl, and without warning, it spat a jet of flame directly toward the knight. The knight’s expression shifted, widening in surprise as they instantly halted their assault, lifting their arm to shield their eyes from the blast. The fire was weaker than the fireball the knight had conjured, sputtering and flickering, but it was enough to force the knight back a step.

Sabo’s eyes narrowed as he felt the maul’s power thrumming beneath his hands. It wanted to consume, to absorb. He was beginning to understand: the weapon took in power and returned it, albeit diminished, in kind. It could eat magic and let him wield its power as his own.

I understand you now.

< If that is true mortal, than are you ready to fight for me? >

A smile crept onto Sabo’s face. “This is going to be fun.”