Chapter 7: Paths

Throughout the entirety of the day, the man hadn't flinched once, nor had he worried the ceiling above his head would collapse under the numerous explosions and enraged shoutings, burying him before he could accomplish his dream. He did not fear for he trusted the god's capabilities. He had gone too far anyway to start questioning the path he had taken.

There was no going back this path. His one and only friend now roamed somewhere in the neglected Districts, his current desire probably killing him. Not that he didn't deserve it: he had betrayed him on what should have been his last mission and attempted to assassinate him... or at least made him believe so.

He needed the artifact to accomplish his dream, and alone, he wasn't strong enough to procure it, thus he made it so Jacques and other well-trained contractees would lend him a hand. Of course, being the wise-ass Jacques had always been, he never would've entertained the idea of keeping the artifact to themselves. Learning he actually was the one to have requested this retrieval - a fancy way of painting robbery - would have only made matters worse, because then Jacques would've desired explanations - rightfully so - and the man was incapable of keeping his mouth shut, not when his brother of arms insisted on something. And so he decided on plotting a fake assassination attempt on his only friend so that he would not bother him about how morals and honor were important concepts, especially so in today's age. But most importantly it would avoid him ever discovering his true motives and where he planned on going. The place he was heading to was far too dangerous for someone who hadn't fully awoken. Even more so to someone oblivious to the existence of Wills - or like Jacques would say, magic.

Despite what he had done to arrive this far, he did not regret it an ounce. He was accomplishing his destiny, the dream of his nights, what his mother never dared do. He would accomplish it even if it meant dying.

And so he kept on thinking; the past whispered to his ears, telling him of days that were no more, a peace of mind he would not have the luxure to keep in the journey awaiting him.

The door opposing him creaked opened, a tall, disfigured aberration entering the room. "The time to leave has come," the aberration simply said.

As they walked out of the room, the view shakened for an instant T's beliefs. "Who did that?" he asked after a short pause.

"A fool who once opposed me. Our discord belongs to the past, and it seems he has chosen to stay there. However there is no place for worry: the reason he was able to walk out unscathed is because this vessel is not resilient enough for me to unleash my complete will." As he explained the situation, he observed with disgust the shape of his flesh.

T's gaze lingered on the strange machine that was sole to come out unscathed. "Why is it this thing's still standing?"

He smirked. "I don't know you well enough to let you in on my hobbies."

"Then let's make an exchange. An information for another. I know you're intrigued about how I got my hands on this artifact."

He reflected on the proposal for some time, stopping to walk, then agreed, "the machine is there to repair the will of this world, so to say. When I first arrived in this city, I thought I'd have to execute my mission alone, but I was surprised to see maniacs calling themselves disciples of Tovernas wanted to serve me. In the end, Montezio's most trusted pillar turned out to be more loyal to us, gods." He snickered, "such irony for someone who betrayed his own people. Anyway, I gave them this machine so that they could have awakened by the time I conquer the last of this planet. Truth be told, it's more so to keep them under my control, they think of it as a gift, but because of how inefficient I made it, there never will be enough awakened humans to oppose my arrival."

Hearing Tezcatlipoca's plans, his acolyte shuddered for a brief moment, but soon regained composure. This was not the time, not yet. "I guess now I have to tell you how I obtained the dagger. Actually, I'm pretty surprised you haven't guessed the answer already. I'm the descendant of the Nacayotl." The god stopped once again in his track, this time because of apprehension. "Come on, you don't have to worry. You can trust me, I gave you the dagger knowing all too well to what ends you would use it, and it's not like I'm a family man."

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"The Nacayotl do not scare me," he said, seemingly offended. "I was seeing wether you'd act foolishly; you wouldn't believe the number of people ready to die to avenge their lost ones. What's worse is they don't even train beforehand, they just come to me like they're begging to die."

"I suppose." the man said, a little amused by his reaction.

"Anyway, it's not like the bait ended up useful. The cursed blood went to the siblings to kill them, and now there is no one to maintain the barrier... But I always keep my promises, and thus you'll be granted access to my people's land."

"... And I thank you for that. It is a gift I will not forget, I assure you."

"I hope so, as a Nacayotl, your potential is much more grand than regular humans. You might even graze the gods' realm of power, who knows."

He thanked him once again, much too happy to coax the god as much as he so desired. He was not strong enough yet to come out victorious from a bout against such a being.

The outside air whipped the man's face, elevating his hear and revealing his almond eyes, which aligned with his skin color. "So, how are we getting out of here?"

"The spell has died, now anyone would be capable of escaping these walls. We'll simply walk until we reach the outside. Tell me what stage you've reached."

"My body is strong enough to jump a few hundred meters at a time, but I still can't fly, although I'm close to reaching a breakthrough."

"That will have to do. It'll take a day's time to reach the portal. However I will not wait for you, if you're unable to keep up with me, you will be abandoned."

The streets they walked were desolated, corpless heads and various limbs littering the ground of a shaken city. Survivors mourned their relatives, the others were too numbed by the previous chaos that reaped the lives of innocents. The Nacayotl did not avert his gaze, looking intensely at the massacre, never shall he forget: this is what the gods do. This is what they will do to all Districts. If it means stopping them, nothing is too much, no path is unworthy of being stepped. After an hour, they arrived in front of Netema, Tezcatlipoca simply levered his hand, Light coming out, letting a wide, scorching hole be made.

"Follow me," the god ordered.

The journey was tiring, but the man never stopped, nor did he slow. Whenever his body ached and burned, he admired the landscape. It was everything the gods had deprived them of: the verdant grass; the streams and creeks of a blue only dreams could come up with letting bubbles escape to reality; animals hiding behind coats of furs, their true selves hidden from any prying eyes; birds capable of touching the horizon, resting on warm clouds as they sang their love. Looking back, he saw a veil of death hiding Arkanoth away from this haven of life. It was their world, yet they did not live in it.

A day passed, and when he was on the brink of exhaustion, they finally arrived. The god slowed down, enough for him to catch his breath, too fast for him to take in the landscape. All he could see was the imposing edifice looking him down. It felt disproportionate, like it was built for giants and not humans, yet the stairs fitted the human foot. It was a pyramid made solely of stone, a glorious commemoration to what humanity once acheived and was. But the god did not stop to admire this piece of art, on the contrary, he looked as if he disdained what he saw. Each step he climbed allowed him to see more of the scenery; the trees bowed, instead showing a myriad of leaves with trails of water, reflecting a ballet of shapeless stars overseen by a moon donned with a white, immaculate, pellucid dress that only magnified the beauty and pride her eyes possessed. Looking back in front of him, he saw two people awaiting them - gods. They both stood at one side of two piles of stone two meters distant, only linked upward by a trail of stone that did not fall to gravity. The one at the right end was a wailing skeleton attacked here and there by yellow circles and red, gleaming dots. Only his feet and hands still had flesh, although rotting. His skull was weirdly shaped, like someone had tried to bash it inwards with a club. His jaw was wide open to the sky, letting out a tattered tongue of red and black and making it seem like he would eat the stars and everyone's souls. Just like his tongue, his ears still hid the bones away with flesh, but also with onarment such as human hands and bones serving as homemade piercings. The god at the left end stood tall, his red skin making a poor job of hiding the sea of scars flowing across his body, only nuance in his body the yellow stripes on his face. The only resemblance in the two gods was their left eye drawing a myriad of shape-shifting signs of dull red, worrying black, and mesmerizing white.

Everything was as he said, there would be no going back. The flame of hatred between humans and gods would be rekindled by a new war - one that would bring the total annihilation of either of them.