> “Life is War.”
> —Personal declaration to his son, Dumas Absad
Of the few things Micha Ostor brought with him into his forced exile was a spear shaft, whose blade was broken on his very first spar with his father. He tried to fix it over and over as his humiliation poorly disguised as physical training continued, but all it amounted to was a shaft end sloppily sharpened using the very blade it was supposed to hold.
He knew only one move and that was to thrust forward, for anything more complicated confused him and his body wouldn’t have allowed him to execute such moves anyway. When he still had delusions of fulfilling his father’s ambition, he’d practiced that one move hundreds upon thousands and tens of thousands of times, until sweat, blood, and tears stained his clothes and surroundings. When he had a chance to use it once, that was the only time that Dumas Absad deigned to look at Micha with the barest hint of interest. This sliver of attention was, for a love-starved child, the sweetest of nectars and yet also the most destructive of poisons.
Now though, the child knew it was all for naught. Nothing he had done in the Godrealm meant anything, and for those first few moments in the Retribution Fields, Micha’s thoughts grew dark. He had no idea if deities could even die, but at that point he didn’t care much for the success of this way out of hell. He pointed the sharpened end of his spear shaft to where his heartbeat began to quicken, and braced himself. But this too was useless effort, for the very weakness of his body that failed him then had failed him again, and all it amounted to was a wooden tip dulling itself upon his godly skin.
Suddenly exhausted from his attempt, the boy collapsed onto the sandy rocks that made up the majority of the land in the Retribution Fields. Red grains of rust move across his face, and he coughed as some were inhaled. He considered to remain there and be buried forever, for even if he suffers from hunger and thirst, he would never die. He couldn’t die, and with that thought all the bad memories of his life so far surfaced like mire from a swamp.
While the winds did their best to slowly bury the pariah godling, a figure sheltering under a mushroom-shaped rock some distance away watched him. Much better dressed for the harsh weather, they seemed to be contemplating what to do about Micha Ostor, tapping their walking staff on the ground as they were thinking. A hand languidly reached for a water bottle they carried on their backpack, to which another popped the tip open and delivered it to its owner’s mouth.
“The Godrealm really has no mercy even for family, huh?” A mouth different to the one drinking spoke up. “I bet this little one wouldn’t survive until tonight.”
“I’ll take that bet. I think they’re going to last until at least tomorrow’s morning.” Another mouth chimed in, coming seemingly from the top of the figure’s head.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“None of you are right.” The mouth that was drinking said. “We’re going to take him to Blood Falls. You boys got that?”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re the main mouth.” The second mouth pouted from the figure’s neck.
“I want to be a flyer this time, with grabby tails.” The third mouth’s tone gave the impression it was grinning as it spoke.
The figure then grasped its staff with three pairs of hands, energy flowing from their veins into the rod as each of the three mouths chanted different things in the same, reality-warping tongue. When they finished, three constructs of magical energy manifested before the figure. One was a dog-like creature with a lance for a head and whips for tails. Another was a dead body bound by chains and cloth, its visage a grim sight. The last but not least, was a winged centipede with dragonfly wings and an eagle’s head.
The three spirits looked at each other in quiet confirmation before beginning their assault, with the dog-like creature at the forefront and the bound body close behind. The third, winged menace soared high up into the sky, where it seemed to lie in wait for the moment to strike.
Micha Ostor noticed this ambush far too late, as he saw the dog-like creature charge straight at him with its lance head. A brief thought of defense came to mind, but he dismissed it and prepared to dodge instead. The godling may lack in all the ways to hurt others, but in the daily beatings and pain he endured, his body came to know the best way to escape from such trials.
He moved simply by side-stepping the charging beast, taking the brief reprieve to look for more enemies on the way. The bound body took a trickier approach, by hurling chains and cloths in an ever-enclosing web of bondage. This cost Micha his spear shaft and some of his clothes, but all-in-all he had avoided getting seriously injured. That soon changed as the third enemy made their appearance by dropping straight down from the sky, striking the godling square on his back via an invisible fist of wind.
Before Micha could recover, the trio continued a barrage of attacks over and over, ending only when the last of Micha’s consciousness snapped and he fell unconscious. The whole thing seemed excessive, but really it was more of a testament to how tough deities were as a whole, even minor ones. The figure that made all this happen, who’d remained still as everything unfolded, now stirred and began walking to where the three magic constructs were waiting.
“He would fetch a nice price in a flesh market.” The lance-headed dog spoke before it merged into the figure’s staff.
“Godly flesh is super tough to work with though. Not many butchers with that level of skill around here.” The bound body bowed to the staff before disintegrating and reabsorbed into the staff.
“Stop it with trying to make more money on the side. We’ve already decided what to do with this one.” The eagle-headed centipede buzzed around before each of its parts separated and joined its fellows inside the figure’s staff.
“ … I’ve got to find less chatty mouths for a change.” The trio of mouths spoke in unison, their voices overlapping to create a different, fourth voice. “Now, onto business.”
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