When Eshika had called for reinforcements, Violet wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting. Though twenty or so God-Graced, all flying about the place at the speed of light, wasn’t at all what she had in mind.
Neither were the shadows of the Old One.
Violet gulped, tore her eyes away from the twilit army, and prayed none of them bothered to come her way. She kept her aura drawn inwards, revealing not a smidge of her power. Eshika seemed to notice her aversion to the entities immediately.
“You two have history?”
The answer was obvious. “Indeed. Let’s avoid getting too close.”
Eshika nodded, but as not a single shadow expressed any interest in her, Violet’s attention was drawn to their expected support
A sky full of God-Graced.
They descended from a uniformed line above, each materialising as if from thin air. The sheer power, the sheer scale was unlike anything Violet had experienced before. Even at the scheduled meeting with all the civilised God-Graced of the world, they had all been restrained from using their real power out of obligation. Likely due to another civic Oath formed gods’ knew how long ago.
Only now, with the unprecedented threat of Belindo finally being in reach of extermination, could so many powerful individuals level their full power at the Right-bearer.
A litany of attacks all sprang onto an exhausted Belindo, the most eye-catching of which was actually quite simple: an iron net, imprisoning the pounding lizard, and sizzling with constant waves of electricity. The Metal and Lightning God-Graced were unfamiliar to her, but Violet struggled to name another unison of powers that was nearly as impressive. Perhaps Javil and Juniper in the past, forming that absurd titan of theirs, but it was a close call.
Out of the frantic bunch, Violet first recognised Cyrus. He waved down to them in that jovial manner of his, though his face furrowed in focus at one look at Belindo. The Right-bearer may have lacked the numbers advantage, but he would never go down without a fight.
In several instances, the fiend’s jaws seized open, as if ready to spout fire. Every time, Violet would give a sympathetic wince. And every time, serving as the guardian angel of this operation, Cyrus would take full control over the reptile’s blazing mastery. Either redirecting the flames back at the overgrown pest, or dispersing it to ash.
A man of cloud coated Belindo’s wings with the cushiony material, which somehow seemed to weigh the beast down. A rainbow emerged over the Unbounded’s eyes with a blinding brilliance. It dazzled the eyes and mind, akin to an alarm attached to the fiend’s skull. Aside from blocking his view, and perhaps burning his eyes to mush, it served as an excellent means of ticking the Unbounded off. His head shook from side to side, only to be whipped back into place time and time again by a myriad of projectiles. Ranging from splatters of acid, strange orbs of energy Violet could put no description to, and waves of killer breeze.
Then there was the Old One. Violet had overheard that the bulk of his power was distributed to tackling the Supreme Fiend elsewhere, but nevertheless, the presence of his dark servants provided the God-Graced with some much needed breathing room. Tossing away their inconsequential bodies to keep what little leeway Belindo had to attack useless.
Amongst it all was a beam of concentrated power. Violet focused on it with her internal senses, more intrigued than anything, only to be bombarded by an explosion of intermingling power. Whilst none of these directly harmed the Unbounded, they all played their part at keeping him at a dire disadvantage.
An aura of Fatigue made every great swat of his wings the heaviest burden; an incarnadine twirl spelled nothing but endless Suffering for the Unbounded; and sickly boils slowly but surely sprouted on his scaled flesh.
Other God-Graced took a more direct role in bringing about the God-Graced’s end. Different sectors of the animal kingdom had potentially hundreds of minions biting, pecking, and scratching away at Belindo’s flesh. A layer of skin that was quickly becoming patchwork, peeling off in unsightly messes of gore.
It bled and bled. Violet had to fight not to look away, and only did so when she was sure Belindo was well and truly dead. It was only a matter of time now. But she couldn’t wrap her mind around it — why was he resisting so adamantly? What was the need to keep pressing on and on, if it did nothing but extend your own torture?
If anyone deserved such a fate, it was a Right-bearer the likes of Belindo. Though such agony . . .
“He’s going to die.” It took saying it out loud to believe it, but there was nothing better than the sight above Violet to convince her of that reality.
“Indeed.” Eshika stood constantly at Violet’s side, though did lend as many arrows as she could spare to shooting down the fiend. “This will be a tremendous victory for us. If we hadn’t been able to weaken him, Belindo may have gotten away.” She offered Violet a hand. “Thank you.”
“The honour is mine.” Violet tried to act as humbly as possible, but the joy flooding through her . . . it made her so giddy, like a school child. She shoved her flushed face away, though Eshika smirked fondly at her.
When that man arrived, Violet didn’t even notice. Belindo was as good as butcher’s meat, and Violet was starting to suspect that if not for the magnitude of power being hurled at him, the Right-bearer would have fallen to the ground a decent while ago.
Out of the corner of her eye, demanding her attention as much as a pompous child, was a pillar of gold. Riches, jewels, and expenses unlike anything seen in the Labour Distract of First Rite all followed behind the silhouette of a . . . Violet thought it was a man, but as it descended closer, the being that graced them all was far too ugly for that description.
It was Damosh, no doubt. Hideous green skin, a ducktail cut so oiled, it looked greasy, and a vibrant, flapping robe the God-Graced must have designed to be as noisy as possible. He beamed, putting in great effort to showcase his pearly whites.
Flying over on his stream of Wealth, more than one God-Graced turned their attention away from Belindo, to the second most hideous being here.
Belindo roared, and if the reptile’s final expression in life was to be one of disgust at Damosh, then perhaps even the worst of us could have redeeming qualities.
“Late to the party, isn’t he?” Eshika muttered, her eyebrows furrowed critically.
“Showing up now, when there’s no threat.” Violet scoffed. “From Belindo at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other God-Graced try to take him out, while they still have the chance.”
Violet had meant it in jest, but Eshika frowned. “This is dangerous for Damosh. Quite out of the ordinary for him too. He normally clutches onto his precious Divine Ground like a lifeline. I’m serious when I say this: Damosh’ extended presence here is certain to draw the attention of someone up for a fight, sooner or later. Plus, he isn’t one to normally participate in fights like this — he’s cautious like that.”
“So why is he here?”
That seemed to be the question on everyone’s minds. The assault on Belindo continued, but a few of the less necessary God-Graced flew over to the King.
Damosh waved at them with cordial politeness, like they were all gathering at a banquet table and not in the middle of a raging battlefield.
A woman who constantly shifted in colour at times, and was fully transparent at others, flew closest to him. Damosh muttered one word Violet was too far away to hear, waved his hand aside politely, and proceeded to continue about his business — whatever it was — like that settled things.
Violet didn’t take long to put two and two together, but nevertheless, the fact Damosh was getting closer to Belindo befuddled her. Just what was he doing?
He came so close before the tremendous fiend, looked Belindo square in his one remaining eye, and then . . . simply stopped. He hovered there, on a stationary mound of gold, too close for comfort.
Belindo no longer had the energy to roar, to attack, to do anything other than continue flying. Gravity killing Belindo would perhaps be the greatest irony of all.
The iron chain around him grew closer, still sparking with a deadly voltage. This was it: the death blow. They were going to cage Belindo like the wild animal he was, leaving him to die at the hands of so much electricity.
The Lightning and Metal God-Graced clamped hands tightly, muscles bulging in both arms. Violet could barely see them, though did catch the peculiar detail of the latter’s hair, his spiking up and down his back, like an iron vein in itself. They exchanged a few words with an air of finality about them, raised their hands at the same time, when-
What happened next, Violet could only understand in retrospect.
A flash of blinding yellow exploded, but it was of a tint too metallic to be lightning. It was so quick. Violet would process one detail, only to be bombarded by three more. The chain erupted, expanding away instead of enclosing Belindo. A tide of gold was pushing their great links back, coating onto Belindo’s scales like they were giving him a paint job. As if encrusted Ichor, it was weighing Belindo down by an unimaginable mass. One not even his great wings, when punctured, beaten, bloody and bruised, could withstand.
There was one last gem tossed at Belindo’s face, a gigantic ruby with crushing might. So refined with Infinity, wisps of the godly power drafted off the ore. It fell upon the reptile’s head, elicited a world-splitting crack, and then Belindo finally, inexorably, fell.
Time seemed to pause. The image of a triumphant Damosh, towering over the deceased titan of the skies, would have been the perfect image for any budding artist to slather down onto their canvas.
Yet, whilst art is supposed to inspire emotion, all Violet felt was vacant. No, angry actually. Outraged that a thieving-fraud like Damosh could steal this moment from them.
The blood rushed into her ears, deafening to her own eardrums. Her fingers twitched, everything around her suddenly seemed ridiculous, and Violet felt her own anger reciprocated twentyfold by the titan of power all around her.
But Damosh had left as quickly as he’d arrived.
It went without saying that a sour taste was left into every God-Graced’s mouth. Belindo’s body was already dispersing into Infinity, leaving behind bones that were a poor man’s spoil of war.
It was all very anticlimactic, or at least Violet couldn’t help but think so. It wasn’t until her gums started aching that she realised just how tightly her teeth were gritted.
“Snooping in here at the last moment.” Eshika’s eyes were wide, but not out of fear. No, on the contrary, they frightened Violet. Opened and crazed, as if trying to devour the world with a single look, in one last revenge. “Stealing all the glory for himself.”
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“You think that’s why he did this?”
Eshika’s neck snapped to face Violet. “Why else? His only intention has always been to do exactly that: to reaffirm his own power while we all praise and serve his every need.”
“I take it that hatred for Damosh is a widespread thing then?”
Ignoring the instinctual dislike of competition innate to anyone in a position of power, everyone within First Rite, who had to put up with the King, would certainly take a disliking to Damosh. However true it may be that First Rite was the most densely populated city on Descent, it was also one of the strangest. Many sects only erected posts there as an additional base in one of the few areas of Divine Ground out there, for any safe haven was a vital one. Even if Damosh’s taxes tended to annoy, to say the least.
But the sects that were wholly dependent on First Rite, comprised almost entirely of gods making up the Talents of the Realm alliance, fostered a new kind of hatred all together. Alliances hardly held any weight nowadays, with betrayals springing up left, right and centre. Though none were more closely bonded than the Talents of the Realm, and that bond was born out of pain.
A common pain, one forged under the iron fist of Damosh.
Violet couldn’t fully fathom the suffering clansmen like Remus experienced under Damaoh’s crushing taxes, but the anger present on the faces of every other God-Graced — many of them hardly having any presence in First Rite at all — spoke of a hatred towards the man Violet was beginning to suspect was universal.
“His head would have been taken long ago, if he wasn’t so wrapped up in that tower of his, like a mother bird to a nest.” Eshika scoffed. “This isn’t the first time he’s pulled a stunt like this, doing everything in his means to steal all the glory for himself. It’s an image thing. To prove he has the right to be in the position he’s in.”
“Wouldn’t everyone know he’s a fraud?”
“But it's not that simple. Did Damosh kill Belindo just now?”
“Yes, but-”
“So he did. Did Damosh just become one of the few people alive to have killed a Right-bearer?”
“Again, yes, but-”
“Not buts about it. Regardless of whether or not Belindo had been beaten to a pulp by us all, long before Damosh even turned up, he still landed the finishing blow. He still technically killed him. Context means nothing. Now Damosh is going to spread the news around, embellish every last detail, and the ignorant people with no knowledge of what happened today, and with no way of hearing from a reliable source, will see Damosh as an even more unstoppable force.”
That made Violet pause. In all her time in First Rite, why had no-one rebelled against Damosh? Well, Divine Ground was one thing, but it went deeper than that. In the brief intervals where Damosh or any of his clansmen were outside the reach of the city, why did no-one make a move to kill him?
They had perfect reason to. Damosh was a tyarnt, self-obsessed, and had a hold on the power structure of First Rite so tight, that no one could ever hope to ascend to the throne through the political route: contributing most to the city. But who decided who contributed the most, when ordering the clans? Violet hoped some outside, neutral figure with no ulterior motives or ties to First Rite, yet harboured great doubts that such a thing existed.
Hatred of Damosh, Violet had discovered, was global. But something else was too. Fear of the man.
How many tales of Damosh’s alleged ‘heroic youth’ had Violet heard, even as a girl who was much too preoccupied to take notice of old legends? Hundreds. Most regarding some great stunt where he saved some poor, defenceless civilians from a generic, raging Unbounded. She had known since the start that most of those folk tales were heavily embellished of course, but still, after overhearing so many, slowly being brainwashed, what was the image of Damosh in her head?
Well, before having seen the man for herself in person . . . Violet recalled the expectation of an invincible, larger than life figure, one who defied reality by being a god walking amongst men.
The man who had just departed the scene with his tail between his legs, however, was most certainly not a god. He was a man, and a very powerful one at that, but he was far from a god.
Alas, for the average citizen living in First Rite, whose only sight of Damosh would be the occasional announcement . . . what did they think? Violet had reality to burst her bubble, but what reality check would the millions of denizens making up First Rite have? Dependent on the city for their very livelihoods?
An unkillable god. Who in their right mind would oppose that?
Remus, that went without saying, but he was a wildcard. That was part of why Violet admired him so much. No threat, no matter how large or daunting, would hold him down. But could the same be said for the rest of the desperate, hungry people who knew nothing but drudgery and fear? No, it couldn’t.
Now what Damosh had been doing here was made crystal clear. No one would challenge a man who could slay a Right-bearer. Or at least not the average, middle-aged Emblazed of a sect that hardly specialised in combat.
The weight of all of that, realised in probably the span of a few seconds, left Violet speechless. Who knew one Godling could be so despicable?
The dust had cleared. God-Graced were beginning to depart, and Violet could tell Eshika was itching to leave too. The feeling was mutual. Truly, as Violet realised one of the wandering shadows was staring directly at her, there was no desire in Violet greater than the one to depart.
And she would have to be quick about it too, for it was approaching closer.
----------------------------------------
Koa didn’t have a thought in his mind as the Insect Clan slammed into the Pet-Keeper’s forces. Or at least that was the case until he caught sight of the Right-bearer — then Koa couldn’t think of anything but the blood pumping through his ears.
And how scared he was, now that Octavia was nowhere to be seen.
Time seemed to jump between the awe-inspiring stand of the Insect Clan, to now. Koa blinked, as if the last five minutes had been a trance, and tried to keep a hold on his stomach.
There were achranoid Unbounded, of course, numbers of the eight-legged fiends reaching the hundreds. It was like night itself was moving in one multifaceted curtain, almost indiscernible in the relative dark of night. But with his one functional eye, Koa could just about focus on them — and the abhorrent amount of blood they spewed.
Rejuvenating the Insect Clan was without a doubt, the best decision Koa had ever made. They flew through the Unbounded, bursting rodent after rodent in their fight for survival.
Pity they were destroying the Insect base in the process. Already, the honeycomb of the bee’s nest was stained so many shades of red, Koa dreaded to think of what would become of the honey.
Beckett blasted forward through the fray, despite all the damage inflicted upon his very own province. He laughed, spun around, and tore Unounded in two with pincer-like claws. He kept close to the focus of Koa’s hatred: the Pet-Keeper. Circling around and around so that he would eventually be face to face with the evasive fiend.
The sight of the Right-bearer, while annoying, yes, inspired in Koa no confidence. Here was the being who had taken his family, friends, and his own eye away from him. Here was the being who had turned his most powerful weapon into ash, and then trampled across the remains. Here was every force in this world working against Koa put into one vessel, laden with life, and supplied a monstrous name and face.
Going up to him again, to bite the bullet and accept the possibility that he might die without claiming vengeance. The thought chilled the marrow in Koa’s bones.
But who was he to send so many brave men into battle, and then cower out at the last moment? To lay paralysed out of fear, while Beckett looked into the face of death and laughed?
Koa forced himself into the midst of battle. The real world, a reality more twisted than the nightmares of his mind, did nothing but fry Koa’s senses and deepen his inhibitions. His inward senses, however . . .
They spoke of a world thrumming with power.
Infinity was everywhere. Like strands of cloth interwoven through space itself. Between the raindrops slapping across his face, ahead of the rattling wall of Unbounded, and even between his fingertips as he rushed through the dripping sheets of rainfall.
Koa drank deep; deeper of the resource than he ever had in his life. The abundance here, with Unbounded everywhere, and clansmen sending more of the fiends dispersing into their Infinity with every passing second, it was almost suffocating. Koa felt ten times more alive for all that he inhaled. Each drop of water that splattered across his face was a more poignant sensation than anything Durations of captivity could have to offer.
Energy returned to Koa, and he set his Mark alight in an emerald beacon. Immediately, pillars of oak spliced through the earth, catching Unbounded on their ends, their rapid deaths nothing short of a mercy. Bugs, somehow surviving in this crazed onslaught, flew over at Koa’s heed. They were his eyes now. Warning him of danger. Warning him of . . .
Koa swivelled round, face to face with the Pet-Keeper.
His tousled hair stuck to his forehead in the rain, but aside from that, there was nothing new about the Pet-Keeper. Which was fitting. To Koa at least, the Pet-Keeper was irredeemable. There was no change to be made — except of course, his continued state of living, but Koa was determined to make short work of that.
At his side, Beckett dived into a crouch. Wings extended out of his sides, insectile and reminiscent of a butterfly.
“I hope those aren’t too fragile.”
The man laughed. It was ill humour for a time like this, but there was a subtle strength to it that Koa latched onto with all he had.
“Koa.”
Koa would have snapped his neck, if he turned to face the man any faster. No, not the man.
The monster.
Koa made to rush forwards. What could this maniac possibly have to say, to mutter from those repulsive lips of his? Nothing of any value, that was for sure. So Koa might as well rush over and slit his throat while he had the chance. At his side, learning forward with both pincers spread wide, Beckett looked eager to join him.
The Infinity pulsed through Koa’s body. For the past Passing, he had been on a strict diet of nothing but Infinity, Infinity, and more Infinity. He bathed in it, basked in the divine essence every minute he spent in this Unbounded-ridden hellhole.
For all the pain it had cost him, his Vault, so close to completion it was agonising, had been repaid in dividends.
If he could lay a blow on the Pet-Keeper before, he certainly could now. Especially with a God-Graced at his side.
“I know what you want Koa.”
Wooden armour sprouted across his body.
“Okay, fight me then. Fight me, while Draven kills Octavia.”
For a second, Koa didn't understand what he was hearing. Then it clicked. Draven: the scorpion clansman.
“What, were you wondering where she was? Oh, instructing her to carry out a few pointless errands was more than enough to turn her away. She’ll be heading back to your cell right about now, though I don't suppose she’ll be too happy with who she meets there.”
Koa didn’t want to fall victim to the tricks of the Pet-Keeper. But hearing those words alone was enough to derail any naive preconceptions of how this night was going to proceed. An educated choice or not, Koa found himself itching to leave. To go and make sure Octavia was okay.
He knew full well that Octavia was quite capable of looking after herself. Hell, she had been looking after him for so long, it wasn’t even funny. Yet Koa wasn’t ignorant of how powerful Draven was either. Did he risk leaving this fight to assist her? Yet that would require the unthinkable. Abandoning the army he, no-one else, had brought and guided here.
What kind of leader led his men to their own deaths? And for what? What kind was he?
Koa scrunched his eyes shut. Even then, Octavia ’s face wouldn’t stop swimming in front of him.
The army or Octavia.
This was the Pet-Keeper’s plan, to tear him apart at the last second. To give him an ultimatum he could never settle on a choice for. Not before the Right-bearer had time to cut him apart, anyway.
But Koa wasn’t alone. The Pet-Keeper would have been a genius to predict the reinforcements Koa and Octavia, together, had prepared. Thankfully, though, the army at his feet showed great signs of disconcerting the Right-bearer. Clearly, this hadn’t been on his radar at all. And there it was: the flaw in the Pet-Keeper’s schemes Koa would have to exploit.
Beckett smiled at him. He was scarred all over, looked exhausted from all the turmoil the last few Passings had to offer. Regardless, Beckett was a God-Graced. A weakened God-Graced inhibited from fighting at his full power, but a God-Graced nevertheless.
The Pet-Keeper wouldn’t be able to breeze past him with a shrug of the shoulder. Regardless of whether the man was weakened or not, no God-Graced on this earth was a pushover.
“I’ll hold this son of a gun down for us. You go find Octavia, and bring her back, you hear?”
“I hear.” Koa turned around, bolting in the first direction clear of the Pet-Keeper.
Before he was out of range, the last thing Koa heard was a furious screech, a string of sound Koa could only interpret as a declaration of war.
One way or the other, this feud was going to end tonight.