Bane’s fierce scowl deepened, and the power of his mind shredded the dark god’s dwindling form again. Torvaran’s roar of fury shook the ground. Bane gritted his teeth as Torvaran landed another blow on his face, but it hardly hurt. The dra’voren became tenuous, and Bane spread his hands, took control of the dark power that clothed Torvaran’s soul and drew it off. Torvaran’s ability to Gather was gone with his power, and the dregs of his dark form dispersed like black smoke, revealing his soul’s red glare.
Bane squinted as the ruddy light flared, and the soul scream echoed in his mind. The soul strained at his hold, drawn powerfully downwards by a dark realm somewhere far below, and by the wish to escape its destruction at his hands. Bane struggled to hold onto it, increasing the power of the shadows that imprisoned it. He gasped, his heart laboured with the effort and sweat ran down his face. Filaments of dull red energy flickered from the doomed spirit to burn his fingers with sharp crackles of raw power. He increased the intensity of his grasp, crushing it.
The visions of Torvaran’s life formed, blinding Bane and bringing a terrible sense of foulness. He saw a young boy who had been abandoned by an uncaring mother and ran wild in the woods, killing animals to survive. He went to a city and became a beggar, then a thief, then a murderer. A black mage took him in and trained him in the dark arts, using him as a blood provider for his foul rituals. Torvaran learnt to hate, and his heart filled with rage. He became a powerful warlock who held a country in the grip of terror with his demands of sacrifice and worship.
Bane shuddered at the many parallels to his own torturous youth, save for one thing. Torvaran had not known love. His had been a long and lonely life that had made him bitter and twisted. His death had been a peaceful one from old age, then he had risen and laid waste to his world. His hatred had found an outlet when he had opened his domain’s World Gate and found his creator, a weak goddess. Her flight had been brief and her death had brought Torvaran the satisfaction he craved.
Bane relived the demise of twenty-two light gods through Torvaran’s memories, each one a cataclysmic, massive explosion of white fire that burnt him, yet slaked his thirst for revenge for a while. Then his acrimony and loathing returned, along with his contempt for light gods and all they created, blaming them for his suffering. Torvaran’s foul memories filled Bane with animosity that found echoes in his own heart.
Bane sensed the darkness of Torvaran’s spirit drawing him in as shadows invaded his soul. He had something pure to which to cling, however, which had saved him before and shielded him from the loathsome invasion now. The image of the soft smile and gentle eyes of the girl he loved filled his heart with purity and resolve. He flinched as a memory of her abuse at his hands lashed him, reviving his hatred for the darkness and all it had done to him. Torvaran was a part of that, a minion of it, an instrument of destruction and torture the darkness had used to inflict its depravity upon the innocent, just as he had once done.
The Demon Lord opened his eyes to gaze into the red depths of Torvaran’s soul, its scream tearing through his mind. Gritting his teeth, he moved his hands apart, tore open the spirit and allowed its dull glow to flood out. The soul expanded, shedding drifting flakes of crimson light that dwindled to bright sparks and winked out. The core of it shrank to a point of intense light and pulsed. Bane closed his eyes. The force of the explosion hurled him through the air, but darkness swallowed his senses before he struck the ground.
***
Nikira cast a puzzled glance at Drevarin, who stared at the screen with unnerving intensity. All she could see was Bane kneeling in a glowing creator, his hands spread as if he held something invisible between them. The tableau was eerily still after the mighty battle. Smoke rose from the torn, molten ground in lazy swirls. When the last shreds of shadow had vanished, a great cheer had gone up from the spectators, but Drevarin had ignored their celebration. She wondered why he did not go to Bane’s aid, for the tar’merin was badly injured.
“What is it?” she murmured, almost afraid to break his concentration.
“You cannot see it, but Bane holds Torvaran’s soul in his hands. He is about to destroy it, but first he must endure the visions that destroying one brings. This is a dangerous time, for, although he is tar’merin, he is still a dark god, and he will find many echoes of his own life in Torvaran’s. He has never destroyed a brother god before. It will affect him.”
Nikira stared at Bane, concerned. “Affect him how?”
“I do not know. There is a risk, albeit a small one, that he will decide to spare Torvaran, but I doubt it. You should prepare the ship for some... disturbances.”
She shot him an alarmed look. “What sort of disturbances?”
“The sort that will result from a large explosion.”
Nikira slapped the intercom, opening a ship-wide channel. “Brace for shockwaves!”
An alarm whooped as one of the observation room crew triggered it, the rest clutched their consoles. The soldier grabbed Sarrin and Ethra and pushed them down on the floor. Mithran and Grem pulled Mirra down between them and braced themselves against the consoles. Artan and his men crouched as well, looking confused. Nikira gripped the console and studied Bane’s pale, bloody face, which was twisted in a grimace of intense disgust and rage, his eyes screwed shut. His hands moved apart, and Drevarin tensed, the vague look that she associated with his use of his power flitting over his face.
A flash of ruby light blanked out the screen’s image. When it cleared, Bane was gone. A shudder ran through the ship, as if it had struck something solid. It lurched, and the engines’ deep throb rose to a tortured scream. The deck tilted, sending chairs rolling across it, and two obstechs went sprawling. The image on the screen showed that the ship was moving rapidly backwards, heaving as if on a stormy sea. The engines’ wail rose to an overload crescendo.
Alarms brayed and beeped, and ops struggled to crawl to their stations and touch the panels that would restore the ship’s stability. Although the pilot held the ultimate control, the observation room control boards also accessed flight controls. Nikira clung to her console as the ship tilted and heeled. The screen’s image showed that they were getting perilously close to the ground. The massive shockwave would have caused a lot of damage without Drevarin’s shield, she was certain. Retribution continued to sink as obstechs clawed at their boards, trying to hang on and touch the keys at the same time. Nikira struggled to get her legs under her, but her feet slipped as the floor’s steep slant increased.
“We’re going to hit!” she shouted. “Brace for impact!”
Drevarin glanced down at her. He was the only one still on his feet. Spreading his hands towards the floor, he clenched them, tilted back his head and closed his eyes. Nikira gasped with relief as the screen showed the ground falling away, then the ship steadied and came back on an even keel. The engines’ scream dropped to a howl, while alarms continued to fill the air with discordant noise. Nikira rose to her feet, and the obstechs pulled themselves back to their consoles, running their hands over the keyboards. One by one, the alarms stopped, and the generators’ howl faded to a throbbing hum.
“Exiting stealth mode,” an obstech said. “We seem to have lost an engine.”
The hum faded away even more, and only the gasps of terrified people broke the stillness.
Nikira turned to the nearest obstech. “Damage report.”
He tapped his keyboard and read the screen. “One engine overloaded; it’s burnt out. Two stabilisers are offline, but apart from that, we’re okay.”
She glanced at Drevarin, who gazed at the screen. “Thank you, Lord.”
He turned to her, his brow furrowed. “I must find Bane.”
“We can do that.” She swung around. “Montar?”
The obstech gazed into his screen as he swept the scanners over the land. Bane’s group watched him with worried eyes; Ethra huddled close to the old priestess. Mirra held a hand over her mouth, her eyes shimmering with tears. Nikira wondered how anyone,
even a mortal god, could have survived an explosion of that magnitude.
“Got him!” Montar cried, and they all turned to look up at the big vidscreen as he turned the camera, zooming in on a distant area. The view was side on, due to the distance, and showed Bane lying on the rocky ground, his cloak spread around him. Drevarin strode across the room and vanished through the wall. Mirra turned to Nikira.
“We must go out there, Bane needs us.”
“Yes, of course.” In a daze, Nikira followed them into the lift.
Chapter Seven
Aftermath
Drevarin hurried towards the Demon Lord, growing more worried as he drew closer to Bane’s still form. He lay on his back, one arm out-flung, the other at his side, his legs twisted at an awkward angle. Pools of blood had formed beside him, and it still ran down his chalk-pale face from his nose and soaked into his hair from his ears. He breathed puffs of steam in short, harsh gasps, and shivers racked him.
The Demon Lord radiated dark power in cold waves, and shadows leaked from his fingers to sink into the stone. Wisps of smoke and steam rose from his clothes and hair, and the seven runes on his chest shone dull red through the bloody tears in his tunic. A blue nimbus shimmered around Drevarin as he drew close, and he wondered if he should raise his shields, even though Bane was unconscious. Reaching the Demon Lord’s side, he knelt and stretched out his hand, but a flare of black fire repelled him.
“Bane.”
Drevarin wondered if the concussion had deafened Bane, or if he was too deeply unconscious. The sound of running feet made him look around. Mirra sprinted towards him, followed by Mithran, Nikira, several soldiers and the rest of Bane’s group.
Drevarin frowned at them. “Stay back!”
All except Mirra stopped, and he jumped up and grabbed her.
She struggled. “Let me go! He is hurt! Bane!”
“Stay away from him.”
“He is hurt! Heal him!”
“I cannot. Not yet.” He dragged her back to the others and thrust her into Mithran’s hands, then turned to gaze at Bane.
“Is he all right, Lord?” Sarrin asked.
“He will be, but he is unconscious right now.”
“Why do you not heal him?”
“He has too much dark power in him.”
Nikira shook her head in wonder. “How did he survive that explosion?”
“He has shields.”
Sarrin glanced back at the silver sphere. “Why does Kayos not emerge?”
“I do not know.”
Nikira looked puzzled. “If he has shields, why was he injured at all?”
“His body shields reside just beneath his skin, and when he raises them they protect him from fire, and, to a certain extent, from concussion or physical attack, but sharp weapons can penetrate them.”
Drevarin frowned at the Demon Lord, his concern growing with each passing minute. Bane’s wounds were grave, but Drevarin could not heal them unless Bane first cast out the dark power, and to do that he must wake up. The prospect of waking him up while he was filled with so much evil was not appealing, but there seemed to be no choice. The pools of blood around him were growing larger, and he had already lost a great deal during the battle. He walked back to Bane and knelt beside him again, braving the flare of black fire to try to touch his shoulder, but was thrust away.
“Bane, wake up.”
The Demon Lord’s eyelids flickered, and he groaned, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Bane, you have to wake up and purge the dark power.”
Bane turned his head towards him and opened his eyes. Drevarin recoiled from their blackness, and Bane studied him, his expression blank.
Drevarin smiled. “It is I.”
Bane’s brows drew together as he tried to raise his head, grimacing. His hands clenched and he groaned, staring at the grey sky. Clearly he was so weak he could hardly move, and that goaded the dark power within him to ineffectual rage.
Bane’s weakness did not comfort Drevarin, who knew he could lash out with the black fire even while he was incapacitated. Bane continued to pant, and drops of perspiration mingled with the blood that soaked his hair. The dark power had burnt most of it away, leaving only the fresh streaks that ran down his pale skin, where red marks had started to blossom, the result of the blows Torvaran had landed. He continued to exhale puffs of steam, even though the air was not chilly. His jaw muscles bulged as he clenched his teeth, then his mouth worked, and he spoke in a soft, grating voice.
“Go away.”
“Right.”
Drevarin retreated as Bane tried to raise his head again, baring his teeth in a snarl of pain. He relaxed, closing his eyes, and black fire flowed from him in a pool of shadow that soaked away into the ground. Drevarin returned to the little group and stood with them while Bane cast out the dark power in a foul tide.
It poured from him to vanish into the nooks and crannies amongst the rocks, while some rose to mingle with the clouds; an immense amount, even though he had shed it all through the battle. Drevarin glanced at the distant silver sphere, wondering why Kayos remained within it. Nikira came to stand beside him and gaze at Bane, her expression puzzled.
“May I ask a question, Lord?”
“You may.”
“Bane defeated Torvaran by taking away his power, right?”
Drevarin inclined his head.
“Then why didn’t Torvaran use the same tactic against Bane?”
“Because it does not work very well against a mortal god, whose flesh traps the dark power like stone. A spirit god, who is made of it, is easy to Gather from. Also, as you discovered, Bane cannot be killed like that, since he does not need the dark power to survive, whilst a spirit god requires it to clothe himself, or his soul will be drawn back into a dark realm. It is, in some instances, useful for a dark god to be defeated. It is the easiest way for them to gain access to a domain.”
Nikira paled and swallowed, looking stricken. “You mean...?”
“Those you defeated will have flown to the nearest dark realm, where they will rise again and lay waste to the domain.”
“We didn’t know.”
“Ignorance is not an excuse. You should not do things if you do not know what will result, even if you have the power.”
“There was no way to find out something like that,” she protested.
“There are always ways. If you had studied the ancient arts instead of using machines, you would have been able to summon a demon, and he could have told you.”
“But they’re evil. They would have lied.”
Drevarin shook his head. “A demon cannot deceive its summoner. It can omit to give vital information, but it must reply truthfully. Such is the binding of a summoning.”
Nikira gazed at Bane. “He could summon one, couldn’t he?”
“With a few words. He summoned many during the battle, and he could control hundreds, perhaps even thousands. After witnessing his destruction of Torvaran, I would hesitate to surmise the limits of his power. The battle lasted less than seven hours, and he did it without the aid of sunlight, or even my help to heal his wounds.”
“But if you don’t heal him now, he’ll die, right?”
Drevarin inclined his head. “Possibly, but not for certain. He would be ill and weak for a long time, but he might survive without healing.”
“But we almost killed him, and it didn’t take much.”
“He was weak and sick when you captured him, and you stripped him of his power, then prevented him from freeing himself. In that state, he was vulnerable to dehydration and starvation, as is any mortal.”
Drevarin glanced at Bane and frowned as the dark god’s head lolled to one side and the flow of shadows stopped. Hurrying into the pool of darkness, Drevarin knelt to examine him. Bane had lapsed into unconsciousness again, probably from blood loss. When he touched Bane’s chest, blue fire sparkled under his fingers. Placing his palms over Bane’s wounds, Drevarin let the white power flow, and a
golden glow formed under his hands.
The blue flames intensified, preventing his power from entering Bane’s flesh. Drevarin strived to force it past that of the Demon Lord’s but, while Bane’s power was acquiescent, it formed an impenetrable shield just beneath his skin. After a minute, Drevarin removed his hands, rubbing them. Bane still contained too much dark power.
Sliding his arms under the Demon Lord, he picked him up and headed for the ship. The group followed, and Mithran and Grem murmured to Mirra as she gazed at her husband with intense anguish. Nikira caught up to trot beside him, eyeing the blue flames that licked at his arms. Bane’s sodden cloak left a crimson trail, and his blood stained Drevarin’s shirt.
“Can’t you heal him now?”
Drevarin shook his head. “He still has too much power. I hope you have a well-equipped hospital.”
“We do, but will we be able to treat him? Won’t his power harm the medtechs?”
“No, it will make them feel sick, that is all.”
“They can handle that.”
“Good.” Drevarin ascended the ramp, and Nikira led him to the hospital, where the medtechs tended to the crewmembers the shockwave had injured.
The doctors scrambled from Drevarin’s path when he marched in and placed Bane on the nearest bed, which a soldier with a bruised hand hastily vacated. Crimson stains spread over the white sheets, and a gawping crowd of patients and medics gathered as Drevarin unbuttoned Bane’s ripped tunic and pulled it aside, then did the same to his shirt.
Sarrin unclipped Bane’s cloak and attempted to strip off his soaked tunic, but the moment she touched his blood she recoiled, clamped a hand over her mouth and retched. Drevarin cast her a sympathetic glance as he eased Bane’s shirt away from his lacerated skin. Ethra stood beside Sarrin, chewing her lip. Mirra merely watched, apparently knowing better than to try to touch her husband.
Demon Lord VI - Son of Chaos Page 12