“Oh, Brandon’s here! Hey, tell him that you stopped the resurrection so that we can get into heaven.”
Brandon blinked his eyes, discombobulated. One moment, he was selling his soul to the enemy, and then there was a bit of pain… and then what?
“Brandon!” the familiar voice demanded. “Snap out of it! Sol damnit, you’re just as braindead as you’ve always been.”
“Hey, language,” reprimanded a new voice.
Finally gaining some presence of mind, Brandon looked around. He was standing before the closed gates of a heaven, but much to his dismay, there was a large sun emblem at the gate’s center.
This was Sol’s heaven.
And Brandon had died a traitor.
Beside him was an annoyed looking Arthur, which was to say Arthur looked the way he always looked whenever the two spoke. This time, however, the [Hero]’s annoyance was directed at someone else.
Between the two freshly disembodied souls and eternal paradise, there was a tired looking angel in the form of a bespectacled old man. The angel stood behind a sun-emblazoned podium that matched the emblem on the gates, but the angel’s own robes had no such iconography.
But wait, why was Brandon here with Arthur in the first place? Why put a traitor with a [Hero]? Did Sol not know about his betrayal? Gods couldn’t keep up with everything their followers did, after all.
Best to gather intelligence before making assumptions.
“Wait, why I am here?” Brandon probed. “I thought these evaluations were supposed to be individual?”
“They are,” the angel replied, “but policy states that [Vassals] get evaluated with their [Liege] if they die around the same time.”
“Then where are the troops?”
“Troops go to a separate gate.”
“And what of—“
“Shut up, Brandon. Enough of your ‘intelligence gathering,’” Arthur mocked.
Brandon clenched his jaw. His first instinct was to obey, but then he remembered that he didn’t have to listen to Arthur anymore. “We’re dead because you never listened to me,” Brandon said. “Stop talking, or we’ll find out whether or not a soul can have broken teeth..”
“Whatever. Just tell him you stopped the resurrection so we can—“
Arthur’s words were cut off by a fist to the face — Brandon’s fist, to be precise.
“I’ve taken enough of your abuse!” Brandon yelled, surprising himself with just how ferocious his bottled-up anger was. A few years campaigning under the command of an arrogant idiot had apparently affected him more than he thought.
“Y-You punched me!”
“And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up.”
“Brandon, you’ve never—“
SMACK!
“I said shut it!” Brandon yelled, and for the first time since Brandon met him all those years ago, Arthur was too stunned to speak.
Brandon turned to the angel and found him looking at the pair with a mildly amused expression.
“Does this happen often?” Brandon asked.
“No, but more often than you’d think.”
“Sorry, but I never caught your name.”
The angel chuckled. “This form has no name, but my main self is Hadraniel. However, I’m just one of his aspects on loan to Sol, so it wouldn’t be proper to call me that. If you saw my whole self, your soul might dissipate from the shock.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow. “On loan? From who?”
“I would tell you, but you know,” and then the angel puffed his lips and mimicked his head exploding, “incomprehensible truths and all that. Just call me Gatekeeper.”
Whether Gatekeeper meant that his mind would be metaphorically blown or that the truth would literally vaporize his consciousness, Brandon didn’t know, and he didn’t care to find out.
The angel scanned his eyes down the book on his podium. “Ah, here we are! ‘Brandon: Death by dramatic entrance.’ Is that correct?”
“I was killed by what?”
“A dramatic entrance. More common than you’d think. Anyway, your karma looks good. You can go in first if you’d like.”
“I can?”
“Yeah, sure. Sol keeps things pretty lax. Believers get a pretty big bonus, and then points go up and down from there. That little turnabout at the end cost you, but you still meet the minimum.”
Souls had no traditional circulatory system, but the angel’s words caused Brandon to pale nonetheless.
“Turnabout?” Arthur asked, sensing Brandon’s trepidation. “What does that mean?”
“You know about that?” Brandon asked the angel in a whisper. “I-I was just getting her to lower her guard! I-If—“
“Don’t worry about it. Funny thing, that little betrayal probably saved your skin. There’s a clause that states all people executed by the courts go straight to Sol’s hell, no matter their karma. If you somehow lived long enough to make it home, they would have damned your soul for eternity! Doing bad things to get into heaven…” The angel trailed off, a bittersweet expression on his face.
“It happens more often than you’d think?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah. How’d you know I’d say that?”
“Lucky guess. Anyway, I’d like to get into heaven now, please.”
“Wait!” Arthur yelled. “Why does he get into heaven so easily? I’m the [Hero]! You should be begging me to enter!”
“Well, to answer your first question, Brandon spent years trying to minimize Solarian deaths. Looks like most of his attempts to save lives and resources were foiled, but he still got points for trying.”
“And I did the same thing! I personally campaigned across the land, fulfilling my duties as a [Hero]!”
“That’s the problem.” Gatekeeper tapped his book, and a two-column balance sheet projected into the air. He pointed at one column. “The one who kept foiling Brandon’s plans was you.”
Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle, but Arthur was incensed. “What are you—? Brandon, stop laughing!”
Rather than die down, Brandon’s chuckles grew into an uproarious cackle.
“Well, don’t I at least get points for dying at the hands of the Demon King?”
“But that’s not how you died.”
“But it is!”
“That’s not what the book says.”
“Why won’t you tell me what the book says? Or are you lying to deprive me of my right to enjoy a [Hero]’s eternity? Tell me right now!”
Gatekeeper winced. “Are you sure you want to know? It’s pretty embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” Brandon asked, his laughter subsiding as he sensed the chance to get more dirt on Arthur. “Can you tell me?”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Yeah, if you’re not lying, why don’t you tell us what’s written in that little book of yours?” Arthur demanded. “I’m sure there’s been a mistake.”
The angel looked back and forth between the two, and after a moment, seemed to reach a decision. “Alright, if you say so.”
The angel cleared his throat, which he probably didn’t need to do since none of them were corporeal, but it added to the dramatic effect.
“The detailed account says you died of a heart attack due to the shock of being bested in combat by a woman. In brief, ‘Arthur Kingsblood III: Death by misogyny.’”
----------------------------------------
Before Melpomene had a chance to respond, the newcomer attacked her.
Lightning flashed in Morgan’s wake as she dashed forward, her wings of air and blood ionizing into red forks of plasma. A thunderclap boomed through the cramped ritual chamber, rebounding against the stone walls and filling the space entirely.
On instinct, Melpomene dropped the helmet she was holding and used both hands to block Morgan’s stone sword with the flat of [Audacity]’s blade, but the maneuver left her vulnerable to a stab from the blade of air. The serrating winds in the [Dragonslayer]’s hand pierced precisely through a gap in Melpomene’s plate armor, easily cutting through the enchanted mail and leathers beneath.
The wind blade shredded the flesh of Melpomene’s right thigh, just below the hip, and then unleashed a sonic burst. Melpomene was sent flying through the air, a trail of blood arching behind her like the tail of a comet. Her back slammed into the wall, knocking the air out of her.
Instead of following up her attack while Melpomene was dazed, Morgan rushed to the dais to disrupt the ritual. By now, the seven [Shards of Aolyn the Deathless] shone so brightly with azure light, the room could have been mistaken for a slice of the sky. With a double overhead chop, Morgan slammed both her blades into the merging shards, but an invisible barrier absorbed her blow’s tremendous power.
Understanding immediately, Morgan turned to face the [Demon Autarch] that was just now finding her feet. “A [Soul Barrier],” the [Dragonslayer] said. “Then I’ll have to kill you first.”
With another burst of lightning, Morgan charged, but this time Melpomene was ready. Holding [Audacity] with one hand, she locked her flamberge with Morgan’s incoming stone blade. With her free hand, she grabbed [Subtlety].
Morgan again stabbed with her blade of air, this time aiming for Melpomene’s helmetless head, but Melpomene anticipated the strike and jumped into the air.
Leveraging their locked blades, Melpomene sent Morgan stumbling forward as Melpomene kicked off the wall, twisted in the air, and landed preternaturally fast behind her now off-balance opponent. Without hesitation, she placed [Subtlety]’s muzzle against the nape of Morgan’s neck and pulled the trigger.
The explosion of gunpowder echoed throughout the room, loud as Morgan’s earlier thunderclaps. Flesh rent and tore beneath the power of her handcannon — or at least it should have.
Before the shot went off, Morgan’s living armor had shifted over her neck, and the shot that should have killed her instead impacted a runic plate of metal. The force of the shot still must have caused serious damage, throwing the already off-balance [Omnimancer] to the floor, but Morgan had the wherewithal to twist and land on her back.
Melpomene wasted no time in following up with a stab, but Morgan blocked by plunging a hand into the floor and throwing up a curtain of stone. She kicked the ground, and with another burst of lightning, both fighters again found themselves standing on opposite sides of the room with nothing but a resurrecting god between them.
Both of them were injured and breathing heavily, but while Morgan wore the grim expression of a warrior, Melpomene had the brightest grin on her face.
“The rumors don’t do you justice, Morgan Dragonsbane.”
“Don’t bother stalling!”
Morgan charged and the two clashed, but after a few exchanges, they pulled apart again, neither able to land a decisive blow.
“I mean it sincerely,” Melpomene said, and this time she was the first to approach. She feinted low, then struck high. Morgan didn’t fall for the simple deception, blocking easily, but when the underside of Melpomene’s gauntlet opened to fire out a barrage of poisoned needles, she barely twisted out of the way in time to avoid the surprise attack, missing her opportunity to counter.
“Traps within traps,” Morgan mused, blocking another strike. “This is why none of you [Despoiled Legionnaires] will ever be able to beat me in a straight up fight.”
“Incorrect,” Melpomene said as she blocked a vicious forehand strike. “We’ll never beat you because your god is a whiny toddler who always pulls out some bullshit right before his toy soldiers lose.” She lunged and fired a shot, forcing her opponent to back off. “We use tactics because we don’t have a heavenly asshole ensuring we win.”
Morgan snorted. “Don’t call that bastard Sol ‘my god.’ I’m a mercenary. I’m powerful in spite of that chauvinist pig, not because of him.” She charged back in and landed a shallow cut below Melpomene’s eye. “You think his courts full of bickering nobles could create a fighter like me?”
Between exchanges, Melpomene stole a glance at the pair of dismembered corpses whose parts littered the room. ”Point taken.”
“Enough talking. Time to die.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
The two continued their duel, picking up speed as they went. As they each experienced more of the other’s fighting style, they became better able to anticipate and react to the other’s moves.
Morgan stomped the ground, shifting the ground beneath Melpomene’s feet to break her guard, but Melpomene simply spun with the earth, twisting her lunge into a rising kick. A blade extended from the tip of her boot and dug into the [Dragonslayer]’s side.
Ignoring the pain, Morgan responded by dissipating her sword of air and grabbing her opponent’s greave, channeling a lightning spell through her hand to electrocute the [Daemon Autarch] within her own armor.
Unluckily for Morgan, Melpomene had designed her armor with lightning magic in mind.
The lightning travelled through Melpomene’s armor, scorching her as it went, but instead of cooking her into a husk, the charge concentrated itself into her gauntlet. She flexed her abs, curling toward her grappled foot, and punched Morgan in the face with an electrocuted fist.
Back and forth they went, attack and counterattack, faster and faster and faster, until both of them lost themselves in the melody of violence.
And what a beautiful melody it was.
This was what what Melpomene wanted. She knew from the beginning that she would lose — she’d known for decades — but in the heat of battle, she could forget. She could forget that the game was rigged. She could forget that all her effort was ultimately useless. She could forget that her destiny was already written by the gods, and that she was just their captive actor spilling out lines.
When every moment was an imminent struggle between life and death, she could forget it all. There was only the battle, and nothing else.
A pillar of stone launched from the ground and smashed into Melpomene’s jaw, knocking her to the ground and dazing her for a split second, but that was more than enough time. Morgan’s swords and armor disappeared as she diverted all her mana into one final spell. In one fluid motion, she formed a blade of six raw elemental energies and plunged it towards Melpomene’s neck.
“[Planar Strike]!”
Melpomene barely had time to raise her arms in a cross block, but the sword skewered through her gauntleted forearms with all the wrath of nature, halting bare centimeters from her unprotected throat.
“AAUGH!” she screamed. The swirling blade of energy continued to tear apart her arms from within as its tip inched closer and closer.
In a straightforward contest of physical strength, Melpomene should’ve been able to beat the spellcaster easily, but Melpomene was on the ground pushing upwards with poor leverage while Morgan was able to throw her full weight into her plunging strike.
“Die!” the [Dragonslayer] yelled as she pushed the blade down further, forcing Melpomene to bend her neck away, lest she receive an unwanted tracheotomy.
It should have been terrifying — it was terrifying — but Melpomene couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. If she was going to die, she would die giving it her all.
She couldn’t speak loudly for fear of moving her throat, so she looked up at Morgan and whispered with the breathy tone of a lover.
“Time for phase two.”
Melpomene suddenly grew in size, the feathers of her armor fanning out to accommodate her new size as the gaps between plates widened. Her muscles bulged with power, and the texture of her sapphire skin became tough as hide. Her short black hair grew into a river of white as the lines in her face went from feminine to androgynous.
Before the transformation was complete, Melpomene used her increased strength to kick Morgan away, dissipating the elemental blade in the process. As Morgan regained her balance, Melpomene calmly rose to her feet.
Melpomene’s transformation continued as she spotted her discarded helmet and walked toward it. Black spiny wings sprouted from her back. Her nails extended into claws. All her wounds remained, including the holes in her forearms and the gash in her thigh, but her exhaustion seemed to melt away. When it was over, the [Daemon Autarch] was over two meters tall, and her appearance was that of a godless champion.
She bent down and retrieved her beaked helmet, undoing a hidden fastener. The helmet unfurled, splitting and flattening until it held the gentle curve of a mask. She turned to face Morgan, placing the jawless darksteel mask over her own face.
The mask’s design was odd, a symmetrical plate of sharp lines and texture that belonged in a nightmarish masquerade. It adhered magically to Melpomene’s face, hiding all but her smile and the once blue-grey eyes that now glowed red.
She extended her leathery wings and raised both clawed hands in a brawler’s stance. “Shall we get back to it, Morgan Dragonsbane?” she asked, voice low and earthy.
“I didn’t want to use this,” Morgan grumbled, taking off her witch’s hat and sticking in her hand, “but it’s now or never.”
From within her hat, she pulled out a gold glimmering gem and crushed it in her fist. She stifled a shout of pain as the energy within the stone was released and invaded her body. Her eyes and wounds began shining the gold of primordial power. Renewed, she took a stance and readied a spell.
They stared each other down a moment. Then, as if on cue, they both let out war cries and charged at the other, their eyes filled with naught but blood and glory. Melpomene reared back with a massive clawed fist while Morgan conjured a flurry of elemental spears, both going for the kill.
This battle was going to be legendary.
This… Melpomene thought.
In Melpomene’s short life of eighty-something years, she experienced only a few moments of inarticulable revelation. That moment — the split second before they clashed, she and Morgan, enemies of equal and immense might, each utterly enthralled within their duet of sword and spell — was one such moment. Wordlessly and instantly, faster than words could ever hope to convey, Melpomene realized a truth decades in the making.
This…
The shift in her heart that began during her tantrum against Sol finally completed. Her greatest desire was no longer to revive her god, nor to defy fate, nor even to win. All she wanted was the fight itself.
She accepted that her fate was to lose and die, and only through that acceptance was she able to forget her fate altogether. There was the battle, and there was nothing else. She would die going all-out, and that was all that mattered.
This is what I wanted all along.
A smile on her face, Melpomene charged towards death.
But then a pulse of divinity blasted throughout the room, throwing both combatants away from the other and ending the battle early.
Apparently, a certain god just had to show up and ruin everything.
“Oh, come on!”