Chapter Nineteen
Because of the amnesia that he had experienced upon his resurrection, Braim hadn't known what dying felt like. It was actually one of the most common questions that others had asked of him when he came back the first time: “What did dying feel like?”
That was an unusual, even morbid, question, but Braim never felt offended by it, probably because his answer was always, “I don't remember.”
It was the honest truth. Braim had always supposed that he should have felt grateful that he didn't remember it, because according to Jenur, Braim had died after getting thick smoke in his lungs courtesy of his father who had killed him (probably because his father had been a bad dad). It certainly explained why Braim had an aversion to smoke in general, even if it was only a tiny wisp from a warm fire.
But now, the pain that had taken over his whole body was starting to jog Braim's memory. He recalled feeling his body dying now, how he had felt his consciousness slip through his fingers inch by inch. His current method of dying—having his life force drained from him by a god who hated him—was different from how he had died the first time, but he supposed that in the end there wasn't much difference in how you died, only that you died, period.
Braim looked up at Diog. The god showed no mercy or forgiveness on his face at all as he looked down upon Braim. He clearly thought that Braim didn't deserve any mercy or forgiveness, probably because Braim had committed an unforgivable offense in this god's eyes.
This idiot's more like the God of Justice than the God of the Grave, Braim thought.
But that didn't matter to him. Right now, Braim needed to figure out a way to survive, but he unfortunately was not sure how. The pain of dying was making it hard, if not impossible, to think through a plan that would help him survive. He could feel his life draining from his body rapidly, which prompted him to briefly wonder what would happen if he died again.
Maybe the Mysterious One would just send me back to the physical realm, Braim thought. Regardless, I need a survival plan, and fast.
Braim reached for his wand, but it was too far out of his reach for him to grab. Besides, he was so weak now that he doubted he could actually lift the wand, much less channel magic through it.
Must keep trying, Braim thought, still reaching for the wand. My … only …
Diog pointed with his other hand at Braim's wand, causing it to snap in half instantly. Braim looked up at the God of the Grave, his eyes wide.
“I saw what you were trying to do,” said Diog. “And, while you may not be able to hurt me, I know how tricky you humans can be. You have no hope now. So why don't you just die and stay dead, as you did for three decades?”
“Because … I still haven't found … my purpose,” said Braim, forcing every word from his mouth with all of his strength.
“Your purpose?” said Diog. “Your purpose in life is to die and stay dead. That is the end of all mortals such as yourself. You should know that, seeing as you are a necromancer yourself.”
That may have been true, but Braim hardly remembered much about necromancy, even after he had gotten some training in the subject at North Academy after his resurrection. Not that it mattered either way. At this point, Braim was pretty much convinced that he was going to die.
For the 'greater good,' of course, Braim thought, scowling.
One thing that did reassure Braim somewhat was the knowledge that he was not entirely defenseless. While mages required wands in order to use their magic without damaging their bodies, it was still possible for a mage like Braim to use magic without a wand. Diog no doubt knew that, but he probably also didn't think Braim would risk using magic without a wand, as that sometimes had very negative effects on the mage who did that.
I really don't feel strong enough to do anything except grovel, Braim thought. But I gotta try. Even if I fail, I can at least say I tried.
The problem was obvious: Diog was draining Braim's life force. How much Braim had left, he didn't know, as life energy was not a substance that could be measured in the same way as water or air.
Nonetheless, Braim figured that if Diog could remove his energy, then it was possible for Braim to restore it. He recalled Jenur explaining the concept to him once, when she was reminding him about his first life and he had inquired about the exact powers of necromancers. Jenur had explained that, based on her own research into the subject, she had discovered that necromancers could not only drain the life force of individuals, but also draw it back into themselves. It was supposed to be an extremely difficult move, however, so difficult that only necromancers who had achieved Limitlessness—a state in which a mage could use magic without running out of magical energy—could do it.
Braim was not that kind of mage. At one point in the past, Braim had been so good that he had been the Magical Superior's personal pupil, but ever since returning to life, Braim had had to start over from square one. Granted, he had found magic easier to learn than most people did, but the fact was that Braim was nowhere near as skilled as Darek or Jenur or most of the other faculty at North Academy.
But I have to try, Braim thought, punching the floor to avoid crying out from the pain that was crippling him. Otherwise, I'll have lived an even shorter life than I lived before.
So Braim closed his eyes, focusing on Diog. In his mind's eye, he could see his life force like a great big cloud that was being sucked into a vacuum that was Diog. Diog was vacuuming his life force without any resistance from Braim, which was why his life force was depleting so rapidly at the moment.
Now Braim had to focus very, very hard on asserting his rights over his life force. He focused hard on grabbing hold of his life force and holding it firmly in his hands so that Diog couldn't take any more of it. That was hard, because visualizing it as a cloud made it almost impossible to visualize grabbing and taking it away from Diog.
Nonetheless, Braim pulled as hard as he could until finally he felt his life force break off from Diog's sucking force. The pain that had tormented Braim suddenly vanished, replaced instead by a high that Braim had not expected to feel. It was like all of his life energy had returned to his body at once, making him feel giddier than ever.
Diog, on the other hand, actually staggered backwards from Braim's actions, almost like Braim had hit him hard. The god even fell on his behind, dropping his shovel, which fell to the stone floor with a clatter by his side.
“What …” Diog sounded and looked bewildered by this sudden turn of events. “How did you do that?”
Braim got to his feet. He felt better than ever, like he could run laps around Diog without even trying. He felt so good that he clapped his hands twice and said, “I just got my life force back, Diog. Do you really need to know how?”
Diog scowled and grabbed his shovel. He then stood back up, still leaning on his shovel for support, and said, “It doesn't matter how, I suppose, because there is more than one way to skin a cat.”
Diog waved his hand and Ragao appeared as if by teleportation, wielding her four swords as usual. Diog then barked at the half-god, “Kill him! Tear him apart with your bare hands if you must!”
Ragao nodded to show that she understood. Then she launched herself at Braim, swords flying through the air before her.
But Braim wasn't afraid of her. He raised his hands and unleashed a powerful burst of light from them that struck Ragao directly in the chest. The blow sent Ragao flying backwards into the far wall, which she struck hard. She then slid to the wall's base, dropping her swords. She did not get up again.
“Ragao?” Diog repeated in a horrified tone. “Ragao, please answer me.”
Through the eye holes of Ragao's mask, Braim saw that she wasn't conscious. She wasn't dead, because her chest was still rising and falling with each breath, but it was pretty clear that Ragao was not going to be getting back up for another round anytime soon.
So Braim lowered his hands—which hurt from the light blast he had fired, although his high allowed him to ignore the pain fo
r now—looked at Diog, and said, “Looks like your little servant is out for the count.”
“Impossible,” said Diog. He was now shaking. “Strictly impossible. The half-gods may not be on the same level as us gods, but they should be much stronger than you humans. How, then, did you knock her out in one hit?”
“Not sure,” said Braim with a shrug. “Guess I just got lucky.”
“Only fools and thieves believe in luck,” said Diog. “You are even worse than I thought. There must be something about your nature that has made you stronger than you should be. It is unnatural. It is time I stopped holding back.”
Diog pointed at the coffin with Braim's picture on it. The lid lifted open and then the coffin itself flew through the air toward Braim.
Taken by surprise, Braim did not move in time to dodge the coffin, which closed around him immediately. Braim found himself in a tight, narrow, and completely black space, which would have been easier to break out of if he hadn't felt the air being rapidly depleted from the coffin's interior.
He's trying to suffocate me, Braim thought. No, you don't!
Braim punched the coffin lid as hard as he could. His hand broke through the stone lid as though it were paper, allowing air to flow in. He then punched another hole in it with his other hand and tore open a gap large enough for him to dive through, which he did.
Rolling to his feet, Braim looked to see the coffin fall to the floor where he stood mere moments before. Diog looked absolutely enraged now. He was panting hard and gripping the handle of his shovel so tightly that it looked like he was about to break it.
Before Braim could say anything, Diog roared in anger and jumped through the air toward Braim, landing before Braim with a hideous scowl on his face. He swung his shovel, aiming directly for Braim's head, but Braim managed to duck and avoid it. Braim then began walking backwards outside of Diog's reach as quickly as he could as the god advanced on him with an angry scowl on his foul features.
“Hey, we don't have to fight, you know,” said Braim, holding up his hands to pacify the angry god. “If you would just take me back to World's End, I promise I won't bring this up if I win the Tournament and become the God of Martir.”
“Idiotic mortal,” said Diog. “Did your brain come back faulty? I will only be happy when you are dead and not a moment before that.”
“Then I guess you're never going to be happy, because I intend to live a long time,” Braim said.
Diog stabbed at Braim with his shovel. Braim grabbed the shovel's head, however, and ripped it out of the god's hands. With a grunt, Braim then threw the shovel away out of both of their reach.
“There,” said Braim, looking at Diog again. “Now we're both unarmed. If I were you, I'd—”
Braim was interrupted when Diog appeared right in front of him, the stink of death radiating from the god's body, and grabbed Braim by the neck. Shocked, Braim grabbed Diog's arm and tried to remove it from his neck, but the god's grip was like iron and there was nothing Braim could do but flail his limbs about uselessly as Diog choked him to death.
“I dislike getting my hands dirty, but if this is what I must do to ensure the continued survival of Martir and the gods, then so be it,” said Diog. “But do not worry, Braim Kotogs. I will take your body back to World's End as proof of my deed and then return it to your friends in North Academy, where they can bury it again in the grave that you are destined to rest in for eternity.”
Panicking, Braim did the only thing he figured had any chance of working: He grabbed Diog's arm and tried to suck out the god's life force.
This was another necromancer technique that he had never done before, but Braim was so desperate to live that he would have tried literally anything at this point if it offered him even the slightest chance of survival. He quickly visualized Diog's life force as a large cup of water from which he drank with a straw. He drank and drank as much as he could, feeling his body fill with the stuff to the point where he could barely contain it all.
And much to Braim's surprise, he could already see and feel the effect that it was having on Diog. The god looked weaker and weaker, his grip became limper and limper, and he seemed to be having trouble standing. Still, Diog was a god and therefore had a ton of life force, perhaps an infinite amount, considering how it was impossible for a mortal to kill a god.
Even so, Braim must have been draining a ton of it at a rate faster than he thought, because he now felt stronger than ever. He kicked at Diog's chest, which caused the god to drop Braim, who fell on his feet. Braim's throat still hurt from where Diog had tried to choke him, but he didn't focus on that. Instead, he focused on absorbing more of Diog's life force, because he still held the god's arm and did not intend on letting go until he was sure that Diog was down for good.
The god tried to pull his arm out of Braim's grasp, but he could not succeed because Braim was holding on as tightly as he could. Under ordinary circumstances, Braim would have been absolutely shocked by this turn of events, but he was so focused on taking down Diog that he didn't let himself be shocked.
“Let go,” Diog said, his voice weaker than ever. “Let me go, you unnatural abomination, or I'll—”
“Or you'll what, kill me?” said Braim. He felt stronger than ever, so strong that even Diog didn't scare him anymore. “That's not exactly the most compelling reason for me to let you go, you know.”
Diog lashed out with his other arm, striking Braim in the stomach. The blow—while not as strong as it could have been, perhaps, because Diog was weaker than he normally was—still hit like a boulder rolling down a steep hill and the impact sent Braim flying. A ripping sound followed as well, but Braim paid no attention to it due to the fact that he was currently flying uncontrollably through the air.
But Braim managed to recover in midair and land on his feet, albeit unsteadily. The impact jolted him, but a quick shake of his head reoriented his senses and made him realize that he was holding something.
Looking at his right hand, Braim saw that he was holding Diog's arm, which was little more than a dry, weathered husk now. The sight of it made him look up at Diog, who was indeed missing the lower half of his left arm. The God of the Grave, however, didn't look like he was in pain at all, though he rubbed his left elbow just the same.
“Clever … clever move, Braim Kotogs,” said Diog, whose voice sounded a little stronger now than it had before. “Very clever. Very few human mages would have dared to even attempt to absorb the life force of a god. I am surprised that the effort didn't outright kill you.”
Braim threw Diog's severed arm onto the floor. It immediately turned into dust. A second later, Diog's arm regrew out of the stump of his left arm. The God of the Grave glanced at his newly-regrown arm before looking at Braim again.
“Yeah, well, I'm pretty creative that way, I guess,” said Braim with a shrug. “Maybe I survived because I'm special.”
“Or unnatural,” said Diog. He flexed the fingers of his newly-regrown arm. “But it doesn't matter how you were able to handle that, because I will kill you just the same and restore the power that the natural laws of Martir once held in this world.”
Braim sighed heavily. “Come on. You've already tried—and failed—to kill me several times. I know you gods tend to be stubborn, but don't you think your time might be better spent doing something else? Like, I dunno, attending a funeral or something?”
Diog didn't answer. He just ran at Braim again, his hands balled into fists.
Braim didn't run, however, because he was tired of fighting and he wanted to end this now. He punched his fist into his other hand and drew upon all of the godly power that he had absorbed from Diog. He was going to wait until the god was just within his reach, which would be soon, based on how fast Diog was running toward him.
Just a few more feet now … Braim thought, staying as still as possible so Diog could not anticipate his next move. Just a few more feet and …
In a second, Diog was in Braim's reach. And Braim struck, pu
nching the god in the face with as much strength as he possibly could. It wasn't just his own mortal strength he called upon, but also Diog's own strength which he had absorbed earlier. It made his fist feel strong enough to smash boulders into pieces.
And when his fist struck, the blow sent Diog flying. The god didn't even let out a shout of surprise as he flew through the air and struck the back wall of the room, the impact causing the entire building to shake. Then Diog fell to the floor face-first, revealing a huge, ugly crack in the wall from where he had crashed into it.
Braim waited ten seconds, waiting for Diog to get back up and go at him again. The longer he waited, however, the more unlikely it seemed that Diog would get up again.
Damn, Braim thought, looking down at his fist, which didn't hurt at all despite the fact that he had just punched a god hard enough to send him flying. I must have hit him pretty hard. I don't think I killed him, but maybe he'll have a really bad headache for the rest of the day.
In any case, Braim was happy that the fight was over and that he had, somehow, won. He was pretty sure that he shouldn't have won—gods were so far above mortals that it was like comparing the strength of an ant to that of a human—but he didn't like questioning strokes of luck like this, so he decided to find his way out of here and get back to World's End.
So Braim ran over to the closed door and pulled it open. He was just about to dash through it when he caught a glimpse of shining metal from within the darkness of the hallway, a sight that forced him to jump back.
But then Ragao's blades came flying out of the darkness and cut across his chest. Blood shot out from his chest and ripples of pain went across Braim's entire body as the blades cut through him.
Crying out in pain, Braim staggered backwards, staying just out of Ragao's reach, but the half-god was advancing on him rapidly. She glanced at Diog briefly, let out a deeply primal and unsettling growl, and then resumed advancing on Braim, his blood glinting off her swords.
Damn beast, Braim thought, scowling. I don't have time for you.
Braim raised his hand and unleashed a burst of light from it. The light burst stuck Ragao in the face; and since it was powered by Diog's life force, it was strong enough to knock her flat on her back. Ragao's swords clattered around her when she fell, but she did not get up again.
That did not solve Braim's chest problems, but he knew enough panamancy to cast a quick healing spell to heal his chest, which he performed without delay. His clothes were still bloody and he was still worn out from the shock of the blow, but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. He would have to have a more qualified healer look at his chest later, however, to have it healed fully, because the spell he had cast only really healed the skin and not much else.
Now time to get out of here, Braim thought as he walked around Ragao, who seemed to be out like a light now. I wonder how the others are doing and if they're trying to find me.
But that thought made Braim stop. He realized that he didn't know how he was going to get out of here. He knew nothing about the general layout of Diog's castle; and even if he did, that didn't mean he could get off this island and back to World's End in a reasonable amount of time. While Braim could teleport, he wasn't good enough at it to teleport great distances.
Am I stuck here until these two wake up for round two? Braim thought, his shoulders slumping at the thought. There's no way I could go another round with these two, not again.
Then a thought occurred to Braim. He looked down at Ragao, who was still unconscious, and wondered if he could possibly use her powers to return to Martir. She was clearly capable of traversing great distances, after all, so he would just make her take him back.
So Braim kicked the half-god in the head to wake her up. The blow worked, because as soon as he kicked her, Ragao's eyes opened underneath her mask and looked at him with anger. She reached toward her swords, but Braim aimed a hand shining with light energy at her face, causing her to stop.
“Listen, Ragao, I think the two of us got off to a rough start, what with you trying to kill me three times in a row and all,” said Braim, keeping his tone friendly, but deeply serious so she wouldn't think he was someone to underestimate. “And if you keep trying to kill me, we might have to end our relationship on a grim note, if you catch my drift.”
Ragao stared at Braim, but she seemed to understand his words well enough, because she didn't move any of her arms. Still, Braim could tell that she was just waiting for him to lower his guard so she could kill him as mercilessly as a baba raga.
“So I thought I'd cut a deal with you,” said Braim. He nodded at Diog, who was still lying unconscious on the base of the wall on the other side of the room. “See your old master? Diog? He's down. I beat him. And I'll do far, far worse to you if you don't help me get to where I need to go.”
Ragao said nothing, but he could tell that she was thinking about what he just said. Braim briefly wondered what the thought process of a half-god was like before returning his focus to the current situation.
“Now, I need to get back to World's End, and fast,” Braim continued. “I, however, don't know how to get back to World's End from here. So I want you to take me back. If you do, I promise not to attack and beat you ever again. Sound like a good deal?”
Ragao let out a deep, throaty growl, but even he could tell that she was not going to try to kill him again. She then nodded her ugly head, though she hardly looked happy about it.
“Awesome,” said Braim. “Just take me back to the Stadium and I'll handle the rest from there.”
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Gathering of the Chosen Page 19