Chương 188: Ashes

The blade knew she was dead even before they reached the door. It knew that because no one could have survived the divine inferno that filled the valley. Everything in every direction was burning, and the only one that could endure it was its wielder. -2, 276 Life Force. The weapon also knew it, though, because it took the souls of his wife and son moments before Geral opened the door to find his entire life had been murdered.

The blade had been burning unimportant monster souls to keep its Life Force up the moment the flames started. While some souls would be horded until the bitter end, the others it did not care about in the slightest. -3, 182 Life Force. +6 Human Souls. Many of the other human villagers that drifted to it in those seconds were used up just as carelessly, but those two at least, it set aside. It could not save them, but it could keep them, and perhaps, reunite them with its wielder when his heart finally failed.

+19 Human Souls. And as he crumpled to the ground, cradling his wife's burning corpse while the thatched roof above them burned away to reveal the sky, the blade thought his heart might fail in that moment. Perhaps it might have if whatever god was responsible for this atrocity had not picked that moment to launch a second salvo. The blade tried to use Eye for an Eye as it felt the heart-breaking grief swirl through its wielder, but it received an out-of-range message, which made sense.

Whoever was using this magic was nowhere close to them. -3, 762 Life Force. +22 Human Souls. Unable to lash out in response, all the sword could do was endure as Geral's rage danced with his despair, and he decided who to blame for this agony. Geral might have chosen to blame himself, or even the blade, but as the sky lit up a second time, and fire rained down to burn the ashes, he screamed a ragged scream of defiance as he watched the divine destroy everything he'd ever known.

His wife's corpse fell apart into bones, and then ash in his arms, and no amount of howling in pain could make it stop. The blade couldn't have done anything about that even if she weren't dead. While it could heal others, that ability was a slender thread compared to the way it sustained its wielder, and while Geral smouldered like an ember, everything else died. -4, 384 Life Force. Keeping him breathing and his heart beating was a terrible drain on the weapon.

Dozens of souls were converted to Life Force, and all of that Life Force and more was consumed. The blade was reminded in that moment how it had let Gar-lok die, and how Var'Gar's mind had done the same thing even if his body had lived. The blade had no way of knowing if Geral would endure any better; compared to the beastial orc, it didn't think he had good odds, but he'd been a good wielder, and it owed him a chance.

Besides, it reflected, even if there's no one home when this is done, I will still need a body to walk out of here before someone comes to collect me. The blade reflected on all of this while the world burned, and it burned through its reserves to keep its wielder whole. The weapon was surprised that it was able to hold him together, honestly, but the quick healing lent the man a noticeably inhuman appearance after a dozen cycles of fire and growth.

No one would ever recognize Geral again, but that didn't matter; everyone who'd ever known him had just died. After that, the stars fell, raining destruction in impacts that shattered the earth in and around the ruins of the village as well as most of the rest of the valley. Landslides started, and the earth shook, and then, shortly after its wielder lost even the faintest trace of his loved ones to hold, the punishment ended, and the world lay still. -3, 875 Life Force.

Geral knelt there, scarred and unblinking, and for a long time the two of them lingered in that silence. The blade was the only object for hundreds of feet in any direction that wasn't red hot, and Geral still smoked and steamed like a cooked roast as he sobbed amid the wreckage of his life. If he said anything intelligible during that time, the blade couldn't understand it. His mind was filled with blinding emotion, and words surfaced only occasionally in that morass. You might be reading a pirated copy.

Look for the official release to support the author. -2, 298 Life Force. The blade waited for full darkness, then for a little longer to see if he might become sensible when things cooled, but the silence stretched until he finally croaked.

"You can kill a god in the flesh," he asked, in a voice so gravely that it was only intelligible because it could read his mind.

"Can you kill them without that? Can you strike them down for good and all?" I have, the blade confessed. I killed the Queen of Hell. It was how I ended up here.

"Then we shall kill whoever has done this to my family," he intoned as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"We shall go to Mount Olyvel, and we shall destroy them." -1, 177 Life Force. The man turned and started shambling naked back toward the pass, gaining stability and strength as he went. The blade was pleased to see its Life Force stop falling, but was disturbed by its wielder. The man changed, and little trace remained of the Geral it had grown attached to over the last year.

Instead of trying to console him, the blade gave its wielder space and turned to the divine soul it had taken earlier when the battle had unexpectedly ended in its favor. It, the weapon interrogated without mercy. -992 Life Force. You have slain my wielder's family, tortured his mind and body beyond all reason, and forced me to spend incredible tides of Life Force to endure all of that. You will now tell me who your master is, the blade commanded.

You will tell me who he is, why he pursues me, and where I can find him to enact our revenge. The soul resisted, twisting in the blade's grip, but in the end, there was nothing it could do. The blade held greater demons a hundred times slipperier, and even if the thing had been gifted divine powers, it was still mortal at its core. Hydonar will never fall to the likes of you! He is the lord of creation, and he will purge your blight from the world.

He will snuff out your light and leave you nothing but a metal husk. Your wielder deserved all the punishment he received and more for going against the plan! He should… The spirit continued to boast, but the blade tuned it out and instead focused on the answers and the knowledge that flowed to it on the back of those words. Hydonar was the lord of creation.

He was the light and life of the world, and while it was always possible that the flames it had endured could have come from Gordon-val, the dwarven lord of the deeps, the sword was not surprised by the answer. Nor was it surprised by the other images that poured in to fill the gaps in its knowledge. As the avatar proclaimed its supremacy and how they'd never even find the "Mountain of the Gods," it practically drew a map for the Ebon Blade.

It described impregnable walls and cliffs that no one could scale once the bridge had been raised, but the blade ignored that. It couldn't quite fly, but it could fake it if necessary for short periods of time. Still, none of that distracted it from studying the divinity itself. While he wasn't a man, he certainly depicted himself as one to his followers. At twelve feet tall, he sat on a giant golden throne with his four wings of light folded neatly behind him.

He had as much in common with one of the ogres they'd slain, even if he was beautiful and wore a toga instead of a loincloth. There was no evidence of a weapon on his hip, but then, if he fought as his avatar had, the blade expected him to use treacherous magic instead of honest violence. How will I deal with that? It wondered. Could it use Nuella's soul against the deity, either with a grudge or with one of her powers?

If it could learn to use her nine rings or something like them, it could strike from any direction. That struck the weapon as too risky, and it dismissed it. Instead, for a moment, it considered the Path of Undeath. It was useless now, but if it pressed on a little further, it might yet discover some fantastic power. As the real world slowly faded into view, the blade considered its options while its wielder paced slowly down the once familiar mountain trail.

They'd walked this path a dozen times before, but it was unrecognizable now. It had been wrecked in their first fight and burned to ash in their second. Someone will probably come, and soon, to make sure we are dead, the blade realized, but it didn't spur Geral to move faster. After all he'd been through, the man could barely put one foot in front of the other, and the blade respected him too much to prod him so. Still, it had no good answers for what to do about Hydonar.

It was possible, the blade supposed, that it might draw him out of his place of power, or engage in some kind of ambush. Its honor prickled at the thought of anything but an even duel, but against a deity that might not be so wise. In theory, it didn't need to strike him down in a single blow. It could score one good cut and flee, inflicting a wound that would never heal. Still, it doubted that Geral would agree to such an unsatisfying victory, even if it was willing to do such a thing.

As the sun rose on the wreckage of its wielder's life, the blade had no answers, but that moment wasn't a time for answers. It was a moment for vengeance, and the two shared that certainty in silence as they descended to face a world utterly unprepared for their wrath.