Chương 30: Against a God

Gwyn's teeth sank into my neck. I braced, worried her teeth might shatter against Divine Neck. They didn't. She wasn't biting. She was sucking it, drawing something out with slow, steady pulls that had nothing to do with teeth at all. It was a little ticklish. For some reason, the feeling wasn't bad. The shadow began swirling around her again, gathering faster this time, red petals raining down above us. She pulled back, licked her lips once, and looked at me.

"Thanks for the meal." Her cloak reformed around her shoulders. The crescent moon materialized back into her open palm, larger now. Above us, the self-declared god leaned forward.

"Hey. You're the giraffe, right?" I didn't answer. It seemed like a bad idea to answer.

"If you're not going to answer, then I'll force them out myself." He extended one arm toward me.

"As the God of Beasts, I command—" Gwyn stepped between us before he could finish, planting herself in his line of sight, weapon raised.

"I don't know what you're going on about, but I'm guessing I need to beat you to end all this. Right?"

"Impudent mortal. You'd dare interrupt my dramatic speech mid-sentence?" His grin didn't waver at all. If anything it widened.

"I like you." He spread both arms wide.

"I don't mind sparing you, if you become my follower instead."

"Who the hell would follow you? Never even heard of a God of Beasts." His smile twitched at the corner.

"Very well, mortal. You've made your choice." For a moment, nothing happened. The giant creature shifted its weight. Its enormous head tilted toward Gwyn and then away again, as though some instinct buried beneath all that darkness understood how the last exchange had gone and wanted no part of it.

"What are you waiting for?" The god's voice sharpened.

"Get her." The giant flinched at the command, a full-body shudder running through its mass, and then its remaining arm swept toward her.

"You know it'll just get severed. Same as last time." Gwyn readied her stance, weight settling low, weapon angled to meet it.

"We'll see about that." The god extended his own hand lazily toward the creature.

"Enrage." The arm, already massive, doubled in size mid-swing, the black mass of it thickening as it closed the distance. Gwyn's crescent moon met it head-on. This time, the arm didn't sever. It simply stopped. Neither the weapon nor the creature's limb gave an inch. She stood braced against it, both hands locked around the handle.

"Impressive, mortal." The god's voice came from in front of her. I hadn't seen him move. He was simply there, close enough to touch her.

"But don't forget I'm here too." His hand drove forward, piercing straight through her chest. Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth, dark against her pale skin. But in the same motion, she wrenched the crescent moon downward, cutting through the giant's arm at last, and continuing the arc straight into the god's own chest. He staggered backward, hand withdrawing from her chest as he moved. His eyes widened.

"Impossible. You should be dead by now." Gwyn didn't answer him. She stepped forward instead, weapon leveled, the crescent blade an inch from his throat. Above her, the severed arm came apart mid-air. It disintegrated into a black rain that resolved, piece by piece, into dozens of smaller creatures descending toward her from every angle at once. She shifted her stance, changing the angle of her weapon, and slashed outward in a wide, continuous sweep.

A full dome of slashes, catching every falling creature before it could land. The god used the opening to sprint back toward the giant creature. But a man with a thunder weapon pointed it directly at the god's head, stopping him mid-stride. The weapon in his hands looked nothing like the raiders': sleeker, darker, angled differently, clearly something else entirely.

"Mortal." The god grinned.

"You do know that kind of weapon won't work on me." The man scratched the back of his head and laughed, awkward, almost apologetic about it.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just here to collect the goods. Ends up getting something more interesting instead." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"The hell are you talking about, mortal?" The god laughed loudly in response, delighted, the sound of someone enjoying being superior. The man shifted his aim downward while they were still laughing together. From the god's head to his foot. They kept on laughing, easy and companionable, like old friends catching up after years apart. Then the man's weapon roared, without warning, without any change in his expression at all. Ratatatata!

The god dropped, hitting the ground hard, both hands clamped around his bleeding foot as he rolled. The giant roared and swung its entire upper body toward the man, mouth gaping wide enough to swallow a building whole. The man reached into his pocket, pulled out something small, black, and round, and tossed it. A soft clink as it vanished into the creature's open mouth. It exploded. Where the creature's head had been, there was simply nothing left at all.

The whole upper portion was gone in a single, violent instant, but the rest of its body remained standing. The god stared at it. Then at the weapon still resting casually against the man's shoulder.

"What in the mortal realms was that?"

"This?" The man blew a thin curl of smoke drifting up from the weapon's tip.

"AK-47." His hair stood up in short, stiff spikes, green and wild like weeds pushing up through cracked pavement, swaying faintly with the motion but never losing their upright shape, as though gravity had made an exception for it specifically. He was tall, taller than anyone else standing in the street, and paler than any of us, skin nearly colorless under the moonlight. His brown eyes looked down at the god.

"Who are you?" The god pushed himself upright, gathering back what dignity he could manage.

"They call me Pusher." He shrugged.

"You're welcome to use it too." He swept the weapon in a slow arc: at the god, at Gwyn standing with her chest still torn open, somewhere random that when I looked closely was where Genrik was, and finally at me.

"Anyway. I'm here to do business. How about the lot of you join my team instead? I've got a soft spot for interesting people."

"Why should we?" Gwyn stepped closer, weapon still raised.

"You, specifically, need my help. To fix that." He nodded toward the wound in her chest, still hollow, still bleeding.

"You've got a skill that resists death, sure. But what happens the moment that skill wears off?" She clicked her tongue.

"How could I possibly trust you can actually do that?"

"Call it a free sample, then." Pusher was suddenly in front of her, hand resting flat against her chest.

"Bio Flesh." Gwyn's wound began closing beneath his palm. Strands of muscle knitting together, meeting end to end, drawing the gap shut piece by piece until skin sealed over the top of it entirely. She looked down at herself, touching where the hole had been.

"What kind of skill is that? Wood cultivation?"

"Wood what?" Pusher tilted his head.

"Ahh. You're one of the lot influenced by the transported Chinese."

"What are you talking about?" She looked at him with narrowing eyes.

"The island I'm stationed on was influenced by the American."

"Ameri... what?"

"Let's just say while you lot cultivate Dao, we cultivate weeds." He winked, offering nothing further and crossed to the god next, crouching beside him.

"Bio Flesh." The same effect spread through the wounded foot, flesh and tendon reassembling themselves under his palm.

"Never expected a god's flesh to run on the same biology as a human's." Pusher whistled low.

"You dare compare a god to a mortal?" The god pushed himself upright, testing his repaired foot with a cautious step, weight shifting slowly. Then, quieter, almost to himself: "No way in heaven you'd have beaten me, if the other gods hadn't cursed me."

"Such a pity I couldn't fight you at full strength, then." Pusher laughed.

"Are you courting death, mortal?"

"Probably." Pusher stopped laughing, his expression settling into something flatter.

"Say. How about teaming up with me instead." He spread both hands, palms open.

"I've got connections that could help with a problem like yours." The god went quiet. He put one hand under his chin, gaze dropping to the ground between them.

"Hmm." Then he looked back at Pusher.

"Mortal. You intrigue me."

"You flatter me, god." Pusher glanced once more at the giant headless creature still looming behind them, then at the scattered bodies of the raiders lying across the road, then at Gwyn. He turned. He moved toward me next.

"How about you, lass?" He extended a hand.

"That neck of yours alone would make all of us very, very rich." I raised my hand like it was the most natural thing to do. Someone pulled at my sleeve from the side. I turned. It was Mei, shaking hard enough that I could feel the tremor through the fabric.

"He's scary." I looked around. The women around me were all trembling for reasons I didn't understand until I looked at Pusher. He was smiling, but it didn't feel like a smile at all.

"You won't abandon us. Right?" One of the women asked, voice shaking around the words. I nodded and asked, "What would happen to the others?" His smile flattened a bit.

"They'd be products, of course. Only those who could contribute something should be given special treatment. It's fair don't you think?" I lowered my hand. He sighed. Then something ignited above us, a small point of light that grew fast, dropping straight down between the group. The flame cracked open mid-fall, splitting into two wide, burning wings, and inside the light stood a woman with long red hair, black robes untouched by the fire wrapped around her.

She stepped forward and out of it, the wings folding shut and dispersing into embers behind her.

"Boss." She held out a thick stack of papers, bound with cord.

"You forgot the transaction documents." Pusher accepted them, shuffling through the first few pages.

"You're a lifesaver, Akasha." My eyes went wide at the name.

"Akasha? What are you doing here?" The woman turned. Her gaze stayed exactly the way I remembered it: sharp, a little dangerous around the edges, but warm underneath.

"Raffea…" She averted her eyes.

"... Sorry, we couldn't have survived without him."

"Where are the others?" I asked.

"They're safe."

"All of them?" She didn't answer this time. Something in my chest went hard and cold at once. I gritted my teeth and glared past her at Pusher.

"What's this? You two already know each other?" Pusher asked, unbothered by my glare. Akasha turned back to him.

"Yes, boss. She was once my student."

"I see." Pusher looked at me.

"All the more reason to join up, then. Call it a reunion."

"Shut up." I stamped my foot and charged. A flame sword materialized in Akasha's hand before I'd covered half the distance, leveled against my chest, stopping me cold.

"Step out of the way," I warned her. She shook her head.