Chapter 9 - The Age of the gods
The boy started to regain consciousness. He was drowsy, his brain felt like it had melted into mush. He tried standing up but after many tries he settled for just sitting and resting his back on a pillar.
Rhema's mind was still in shock but he already started to get his bearings. He looked around trying to figure out what happened to make him pass out and feel so heavy but he just couldn't remember.
His head was still ringing with the vibrations he had been hearing. It was very loud now and it was causing quick a headache for him. His body felt heavy like lead and hot like lava, he looked at his skin and found it red like heated iron.
There was only one thing he could do now...something he should have done since he felt the strumming vibrations back in his room. Pray.
Painstakingly, he brought his legs into a crossed position and then settled his hands on his legs as though in meditation. His breathing started to slow until his chest began to rise and fall rhythmically. He thought of his teacher, Imila Agbonniregun, the god of divine wisdom and magic, he knew praying to him will only alert him to the danger he was in but he had no other choice.
He asked for grace and after a short time he felt his teachers presence. Like a cold bath on a very hot afternoon, his body began to relax from its tense state. His temperature also reduced but not entirely back to its normal levels.
He then stood up, he still felt heavy but he could move and that was enough. Rhema looked around and found that he was already inside the barrier. How it happened was mind boggling, but he also noticed the blue barrier was no longer there. He then turned to face the giant doors.
He held his breath and marveled at the beauty and sheer power the doors flaunted. There was an giant image of a golden red bird on the doors.
Rhema pushed open the golden doors. Inside, the hall seemed very gigantic and deserted. No balls of fire floated around the ceiling, no glowing hieroglyphs, just unnerving quiet. But images still shimmered between the columns, washing the hall with strange, multicolored light.
The young man took a few nervous steps. Something about those images had shaken him. He thought he'd gone into a dangerous trance, he felt a connection to those images, like there was an answer within—a vital piece of information he needed.
He stepped off the carpet and approached the curtain of golden light. He saw sand dunes shifting in the wind, storm clouds brewing, a gigantic sea creature sliding down an ocean. He saw a vast hall full of revelers. He touched the image. And suddenly he was in a vast wasteland, he saw seven gods standing in the aftermath of a devastating battle.
Huge beings swirled around him, changing shape from human to animal to pure energy.
A throne was conjured in the center of the room and a muscular man in rich white robes and silver hair sat on it. He had a handsome face and warm golden eyes. His hands looked strong enough to crush rocks.
The other gods celebrated round him. Music played—a sound so powerful that the air burned. At the man’s side stood a beautiful woman in purple. Her form flickered; at times she seemed to have multicolored wings. Then she turned in his direction, Rhema gasped. She had Janaina's face but she didn’t seem to notice him. In fact, none of the gods did, until a voice behind him said, “Are you a visitor?”
Rhema turned and saw something he knew he couldn't have imagined, he saw someone who looked like an adult, yet also a child; like a man, yet also a woman; like a saint, yet also a criminal, dressed in black and white checkered robes. His? Her? face was also painted half white, half black, the eyes are a golden color and they had their teeth constantly bared, giving the appearance of them constantly smiling. It also wore a white hat with four ends that point to four sided and a large black scarf around their neck.
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It tilted its head, and it finally occurred to him that he’d asked a question. Rhema tried to think of something to say but nothing came to mind. Anything would’ve done. But all he could manage was a shake of the head.
“Not a visitor, eh?” it mused. “A god then?” It gestured towards the throne. “Watch, but do not interfere.” The person in black and white dissolved into a shadow and disappeared, leaving him no further distraction.
“Janaina,” said the man on the throne.
The woman turned towards him and beamed. “My lord Ochala”.
The gods were moving around busily, the very air swirling in a dance of creation.
Lord Ochala raised his hands and drew hieroglyphs after hieroglyphs and the wasteland began to terraform, the ground rose, a temple was created, a city followed then the surrounding area. He knew he was looking at the creation of Orundun Nla. He then separated the heavens from the earth and nether realm.
The golden light became a blur of images and events, a cycle of chaos and destruction followed by order and creation, two forces always in battle, death vs life but the gods of order always appeared to win.
Events changed once more, the atmosphere felt different, he was on earth, the battle field of the gods, the gods were battling chaos and its legion of demons. Hieroglyphs were illuminated in many colours, spells from the ancient tongue and weapons were conjured.
The gods, several hundred in number this time, held back the legion while Ochala battled chaos.
It appeared more or less humanoid from the waist up, but his legs were like the bodies of boa constrictors. He was far bigger than all the gods, standing at 50 feets. On each hand, he had a hundred fingers tipped with red-eyed serpent heads. He had massive leathery wings and long matted hair that smelled like volcanic smoke.
Rhema felt like he could risk going insane from trying to comprehend what he was looking at.
Chaos moved and not even Ochala's staff, the most powerful weapon ever created, was able to stop him, Ochala struck and the whole battle field lit up, an attack so devastating a country wide mushroom cloud resulted from the fall out and hordes of chaos demon were vanquished from the aftermath of his attacks.
It was terrible, he made a nuclear bomb look like a fire cracker but Chaos merely stumbled backwards before continuing.
Chaos waved its hand, incapacitating Eshuro and Oshun along the way, smashing Eshuro deep into a mountain, and smashing Oshun out of the sky with enough force to create a new lake.
Every time chaos attacked, It was like watching a god tearing away the wings of insignificant insects with little to no effort.
Ochala barely matched chaos blow for blow, he seemed powerful enough to hold it down till the gods cleared the demon army but not powerful enough to beat chaos on his own.
Ochala was occupied, drawing multiple hieroglyphs with his free hand, speaking divine words from his mouth and physically battling Chaos with his staff.
The battle lasted all the way throughout the night into the morning of the next day. While chaos was cutting down the gods, whether through sheer luck, strategic planning, or exhaustion of the other party, the remaining gods were able to slowly whittle down the demon army, as their fatigue grew over the ceaseless fighting.
Eventually as the demon horde were defeated so was Ochala gainning the advantage over Chaos, the gods in their dwindled numbers were powerless to join in the fight, chaos could only be faced by the lord of order, numbers meant nothing to it. It was simply a battle between destruction and creation, darkness versus light. Nothing could stand inbetween.
The other gods had done their part, now they await.
Inevitably, as was in the past, Order reigned supreme, finally destroying chaos and banishing its essense to the nether realm.
Exhausted, wounded and his life hanging by a thread, he stumbled and fell to a knee before slowly regaining his foothold. The gods begin to surround him. Janaina moved to help him but he held a hand out to stop her. His eyes glowed and he drew hieroglyphs in the air to summon Eshuro and Oshun back. They reappeared and Eshuro did what it has always done after the battle of armageddon, it drew hieroglyphs summoning a portal back to Orundun Nla.
Ochala went first, taking a steady step into the portal. In war the slightest distraction could be fatal, but the war was over so Ochala paid no mind to the shadow closing in from behind.
Only when the sword burst forth from his chest did he notice them.
H-how..? Eyes wide, Ochala felt the pain bloom through him, stealing his breath. In jerky movements he turned his head to see Eshuro's black and white face grinning at him. Only there was something horrible about it - twisted and unnatural.
"A gift from fate." It said.