Wodan could feel his own body shifting strangely, and he knew that his body wanted to concentrate on mending the arm as quickly as possible.
Don’t do it! Wodan thought, hoping that his body could hear him. We don’t have enough strength left to heal and fight at the same time. Leave the arm as it is!
He staggered onto one knee, grasping Capricornus in one shaking hand.
Zamael shot forward, tentacles flying all around, ready to finish him.
* * *
“His name is Zamael! His name is Zamael!” Saul screamed into the void. “Oh, God, it hurts so bad! His name is Zamael!”
“Open your eyes, Saul!” Freyja shouted.
Saul peeked for one moment and saw a terrifying, pale monster with a green-glowing cleaver. The monster’s hideous face was twisted, sadistic, bloodthirsty. He closed his eyes again.
“We have to help Zamael fight that monster!” said Saul. “Or we’ll all die! His name is-”
“No, Saul, that thing isn’t a monster. You have to stop Zamael! He made this world, he’s responsible for our pain. If he sees something that he’s afraid of, then we have to ignore what we see and… and stop Zamael, no matter what!”
Saul felt Freyja’s bloody, scab-covered hand clutch his own.
“You saw that thing,” said Saul, unsure what was worse – the pain he was used to or the fear of the outsider. “Th-that thing is evil, Freyja, evil!”
“This pain is what’s evil, you idiot! Being trapped is evil! Open your eyes again!”
Saul did so, but he turned away from the pale monster that threatened to destroy his entire world. Instead, he looked at Freyja. She knelt beside him on the hill. She was thin, covered in bruises and lacerations, hair ragged and filthy. But her eyes were clear and strong and he could see that she was completely unafraid of the monster threatening to destroy their immortal, synthetic world.
“Say it, Saul,” she said, still staring at the monster. “Surely you must remember that pain is not the meaning of existence. Repeating some creature’s name and worshipping it and helping uphold this awful, false world is not the meaning of existence. There must be something else. Anything else would be better than this.” Finally she turned to him, then repeated: “Say it.”
“I…”
“Say it!”
“I… I am. I am. Not Zamael.”
Freyja smiled. Saul could see flames spreading around her, but still she smiled.
“Zamael… is… not,” said Saul, forcing what little will he had left into a tight bundle. “To hell with this place, then. Death is better than this. Do you hear me? My name is Saul. My name is Saul! To hell with your name, monster!” Freyja laughed and fell over. Saul stood on top of the hill, and even as it disintegrated under his feet, he forced himself to laugh at his captor. Even as a leash at his neck pulled tight, he jerked against it, forcing his own will upon his old master.
* * *
Wodan rushed toward the nest of writhing tentacles, eyes burning in his skull. As one great tentacle flew at him he swung Capricornus in a wide arc that sliced through it, then another, and even as the tentacles moved to stop him they jerked, unsure of themselves, the thousand egos within the monster working against the single weak identity at their head. Wodan jerked to the side as another tentacle swung near him, slowly, and jammed Capricornus in its side and lashed it open as he ran alongside it, spilling blood at his feet.
Wodan’s will focused into one hard, bright point, and as Zamael fell backwards in confusion Wodan leaped forward, felt himself hanging in the cold air, then sliced through Zamael’s horns and landed feet-first on top of the jerking, gasping flesh demon. Wodan lifted the glowing sword of the Ancients and brought it crashing down into the bulbous sack of the devil’s body, piercing flesh, tearing through brain matter, and grinding through bone.
The demon Zamael collapsed, and just as a torrent of vile liquid gushed from his deathblow, Wodan’s head filled with the singing of a thousand gasping souls all fading as their torture ended. Wodan wrenched the sword free and the monstrous demon-god gasped his final breath and vomited out gallons of brain matter.
All of the ghouls whose minds were trapped by the demon were suddenly unshackled, and they felt only fear at the new world around them. For the first time they saw the world unfiltered by their master’s will, and instantly they turned and fled in every direction, screaming like mad, trampling over the dogmen around them. Wodan fell atop the giant corpse, leaned against the sword, and watched as the horde of ghouls ran shrieking across the field and back into the dark forest. The rest of the traitorous dogmen, tired and confused by the sudden turn of events, soon followed suit.
For a long time Wodan laid against the sword, exhausted and empty, capable only of breathing. Then he turned his head to the fort and saw, through the shattered walls, people gathering. They looked across the field at Wodan, bathed in green light, and with greater effort than he’d ever forced out of himself he stood on shaking limbs, pulled free the sword Capricornus, and held it high over his head.
The people of the valley cheered, crying tears that washed away the terror of the battle, glowing with the triumph of having earned their place in the world. Wodan smiled at them across the battlefield, tears running through his mask of blood, and he swore that if Freyja was still among them then he would ask her to be his wife and Queen, for he was now King of that land, and those weary pioneers and warrior-farmers were the true Lords of the Black Valley.
To be continued in
Demonworld Book Six:
The Love of Tyrants
Demonworld Book 5: Lords of the Black Valley (Demonworld series) Page 36