Chapter Five:

“I… have sacrificed everything you wanted. Spare my people, like we agreed.”

“You assumed I would?”

“...”

“Then you assumed wrong. Soldiers! Kill them all!”

-Conversation between an unknown god and the High Priestess of Althia, last Goddess of Hope

I stepped forward, a straight jab flying at the cultist in front of me. His head rocked back, nose broken, as I stepped in with the god’s gift held in my other hand. I stabbed as hard as I could, straight at his heart. It slid in easily, and the cultist fell.

I pulled, retracting the dagger. A scream sounded at my right side, and I turned to see a crude knife coming for me. My own cry sounded as the knife thudded onto my face.

The knife bounced off, somehow, rocking my head back. This was not the time to waste chances, so I turned my blade at my newest attacker. Then I stabbed him with it. Three times in the belly.

As he sunk to the ground, screaming, I looked around warily at the other cultists, who hadn’t joined the fight yet. I was experienced with my fists-I’d had to ward off other thieves or other desperates-but I’d never used a knife before. I felt it in my movements. Clumsy, sloppy.

The knife was light, and I clutched it like a lifeline as the rest of the cultists simply stared. I felt at my face for a single moment, to find the wound the earlier man had inflicted. I only felt cold metal. The metal covered my entire face. I could vaguely feel etchings in the steel, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Then one of the cultists screamed, charging with a pitchfork held high, and the rest followed.

The scythe came down, and I stepped aside, my knife going right through his sternum. As he fell, clutching his chest, I kicked his body into the path of another cultist, before stepping in close and punching another. My knife went through one of his eyes, and as I yanked it out, the next fight had already begun.

Blood covered the ground, a hazard for my enemies. My bare feet had good traction through the blood-not perfect, but I wouldn’t fall. My enemies were constantly slipping, their shoes acting as if the blood was ice. These were the easiest kills.

There were no enemies with real skill here. I took the time to learn the art of knife wielding, experimenting on my different opponents to learn the best way to stab, to slash, to deflect. As I did this, I quickly noted a few things. My knife was far sharper than it had any right to be. I’d never seen a knife cut as easily as this one. I could also make it disappear or reappear at any time. The knife would melt into my skin and flow up to my shoulder.

I also noted my own insanity, to be willing to experiment with knife fighting in the middle of a deadly battle.

My mask was strong enough to block steel, and so I took multiple blows on it when I couldn’t dodge them. The force whipped my head back, but didn’t cause me any injury I could feel.

Further, I was stronger than I would normally be. My body moved faster, stronger, and… simply, with more power than before. It would be unnoticeable for any strangers-I hadn’t suddenly become able to tear doors off their hinges-but I was certain of it. My body moved when I willed, exactly as I willed.

The god’s power had changed me.

I stepped forward, waiting for another opponent, my knife held at the ready. Blood soaked everything-my clothes, the ground, the walls. I slumped to the ground when no further opponents approached, kneeling in the pool of blood.

Then a figure peeked at me from behind a door. There were two doors to this chamber, which I noted only now. One on each side of the altar, leading in opposite directions out of the perfectly square room. The door to my left, the one I’d been facing away from when I’d gone into the god’s domain, was the one the boy peeked through. He noted the dead cultists, and… walked inside.

I stared, in silent surprise, as he stepped carefully between the bodies laying on the floor, finally stopping in front of me, his feet soaking in blood. I still held my knife to the ready, but dismissed it now.

The boy was almost half my size, with the palest skin one could imagine. His eyes contained purple irises, an otherworldly, vibrant color. This boy was a foreigner. I dropped to one knee to put myself at the same height as the boy, to comfort him. Then the boy screamed and lunged for me with a dagger he’d hidden. Casually, I stepped aside, and drove my knife into his neck.

The boy’s lifeblood cascaded onto the floor, adding to the pool of red.

I felt the knife tattoo crawl back up to my shoulder as I exited the room.

I ran out of the church as fast as I could, not wanting to be there a single moment more than I had to. Nothing stopped me from escaping. As soon as I did, I ran all the way back to my alcove over the rooftops.

As soon as I reached it, settled among the signs of my life here-a small pile of blankets, all stolen-I reached for the mask.

To my surprise, it came quite easily, falling into my hands. The side that would touch my face was smooth, with reversed facial features that I assumed conformed to my own.

I turned it over, examining the other side.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The mask was decorated into two halves, with the decorations blending slightly in the center. A field of flowers coated the left side. Some were etched, others popping off the mask, as if they were physical flowers pressed there that would fall off at any second. One of the flowers curled through the left eyehole, seemingly blocking any vision from inside. I put the mask on again. It was as if it disappeared. I couldn’t just see through the eyehole, but simply through the mask. My vision was utterly unhindered.

The right side of the mask was covered in visions of magic. It was all etched, none of it popping off the mask except for a single knife that reminded me of the one on my shoulder. It covered the other eyehole. A river cascaded down the bottom section of the mask, with a bonfire at its banks. A storm thundered above, lightning crackling within. I felt-no, I knew that I could change the scene I saw, and so I did. The image changed from one of nature to one of war and blood. A battlefield emerged. Poison littered both sides, with fire and fury shooting from both. The soldiers, stuck in place, each carried a different weapon. One, with eyes I was sure were purple, stared back at me holding a knife.

Appalled, I changed it back, leaving it on the nature scene. This would be fine.

I looked at the mask, then put it on. I gazed at the church-an unassuming home from the outside-and only had a single thought.

Am I a monster?

It rained as I ran back to my alcove. The only thing I could think of was the blood spilling out of the dagger wound in the soldier’s neck.

I sighed and leaned back in her chair, finishing the last drops of my cup of tea. “Run along now, boy. Back to your house. We’ll talk more later.”

Contrary to what I expected, the boy did not run along. He responded to me instead. “I’m sorry you had to go through-”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “It’s just a story now. Long in the past.”

He started to pack up his writing materials, a story visibly half-written on the pad. “I’ll come back… tomorrow?”

I shrugged. “Just be careful not to lead anyone here.”

“My name is Elseth. Just so you know.”

I nodded, keeping up a straight face until he exited the house. Then I grabbed hold of my power and spiked blood directly out of my forearm. The spikes gleamed red in the light. The pain the self-inflicted injuries caused let me hold onto my sanity until I could calm down. Elseth, huh? I still had nightmares about him.

Elseth, true to his words, arrived the next day, bright and ready to write once more. As he stepped through the door, I sensed a gathering of people following him. I sighed. “Who are these friends you’ve brought?’

Elseth stopped. “I brought friends?”

I stepped out the door, greeting the people who had followed him. Some wore robes. Priests. Their robes were in all the colors of the setting sun, so they were probably priests of some god of twilight or something. The rest of the group was made of burly men, all wielding intimidating weapons.

Elseth spoke from behind me. “I-I didn’t bring them on purpose!”

I shrugged, glancing at him. “I believe you.”

One of the priests, presumably the leader, stepped forward. “We are here to take care of you, magic user. Our god is the only true god in this region. As such, you must die.”

I shrugged. “Why do you think I can use magic?”

“Someone in our village reported having seen you conjure a blade of ice while watching the man behind you.”

I stepped forward. “And why do you believe that you’re enough to kill me?”

The priest raised his hands, and his allies did as well. “We do not need to kill you. If you have no wish to die, you may join our church.”

I started laughing. “Who’s your god?”

“The high and mighty Noxet.”

“Never heard of him.”

The priest raised his hands. “Will you join our church?”

“No. You can leave, or you can die. Anyone who surrenders now will be left to live. I don’t wish to kill any more people.”

I caught a glimpse of the priests’ method of transport. My vision immediately went red. “No surrendering, actually. None of you slavers leave here alive.”

I called my power, and it answered. I had no need to go this far, but I did anyways, conjuring my mask onto my face. Power filled my body, and I acted. I dashed forward and crumpled the first burly man’s face with my fist. No need for magic here. Just my body.

The second died swiftly afterwards, with a chop to the back of his neck breaking his spine. I lunged at a priest, destroying his barrier without a thought and killing him as well.

A spear shot at my back, and I grabbed it without looking, dragging it out of the burly man who wielded it’s hands. The tip swiftly went into another priest, and then through the rest of the burly men’s heads.

I stood in front of the last priest, the tip of the spear nearly touching his neck. I stared coldly at him from behind my mask-not that he could see my eyes.

“How many slaves does your church own?”

“30,000,” the priest said, still calm while I held a spear at his neck. I knew that inside, he was anything but, his emotions roiling like invisible tongues of flame.

I glanced at the slaves holding the palanquin behind him. The chains attaching them to it suddenly broke, the shackles snapping off of their wrists. The slaves, awed, glanced at each other before running. “Noxy ordered this?”

“The high and mighty Noxet ordered this, yes.”

“Warn him right now. The Devourer is coming for him tomorrow.”

After a faint release of magic occurred, a message having been sent by the priest, my spear went through his neck without warning.

I dropped the spear, and walked back into my house, completely unbloodied. Elseth watched as the mess of flesh outside faded into the ground, as if it was being eaten.

Then he walked inside. “Everywhere, you’ll find gods like that, My Lady Allina. Noxet was not the worst, nor was he one of the bigger gods.”

I glared at him. “What do you expect me to do, kill them all?”

Elseth stared me down. “Yes! You have the power to do it, to save everyone!”

I glanced at my hand, and my constant companion appeared in it. I drew a finger across the blade, relishing the slight prickle of pain that came with it. Then the dagger disappeared. “You wanted your story? Sit down.”

I sat and started talking without checking whether Elseth had his writing equipment out or not.