The Awakening of the Gods (Forgotten Ones)

by M. H. Hawkins

  Malick looked at his hand. It vanished, reappeared, then turned grotesque-beastly-looking, then turned back again. The veins in his hand glowed as the skin that covered them vanished again before again reappearing. “Well, ‘A’ for effort, I guess.” Malick squeezed his left eye shut and grunted. Then relaxing, he said, “Guess I’ll go ahead and do it myself.”

  CH 31: Burn It Down…. Burn It All Down

  Sifting through the shadows was more difficult than he remembered. Once it only took a blink of an eye to step through the blackness and emerge out of them. With a flash, he could step into the light (artificial or sun-given) and appear halfway around the world, there or anywhere else he desired. This time, it wasn’t so. The split-second felt like minutes, and as he held onto her hand, it seemed to slip through his fingers like the ocean’s saltwater-saturated sand. Oddly appropriate, he thought, both literally and symbolically—to loss the woman, the goddess, he loved… in this lifetime, in this body, just like the past ones, every single one of his past lives.

  Finally, they did emerge. Her hand turned solid, and he held on even tighter. Then they fell, from beneath an oversized branch, again the scraping pillar of the pine tree’s trunk. Daikon gasped for air as they finally came tumbling towards the ground—a bundle of scabbards, fluttering flaps of Mea’s cloak, and the flaring tail of Daikon’s trench coat.

  While Mea succeeded in tumbling into a sprinter’s stance, Daikon was less graceful. Gasping for air like a drowning man, his eyes were wide, and red. His face pale as snow, veins—black as death—traced over his skin, just like the shame from his weakness. Both his shame and weakness would have to wait. The shadows came and went, flickering in the orange flashes of light.

  The crash of bursting wood followed, occurring a split-second before the sound of thrashing thunder. Golden flashes of lightning joined the flickering orange flames. Then pine tree exploded into splashing flames and joined the other trees that were burning… the entire forest.

  “Daikon,” Mea said, gasping at the spectacle and not looking back at him in the least.

  Too far, Daikon thought through the pain. The tree they had fell out of was a mill and a lake away from the action, an embarrassing misstep on his part. Damn it, he thought, I screwed up. We’re too far… I’m too weak. The thunder cracked. A painful scowl was wrapped within it, sounding like an alley cat in heat yowling in pain. “Go,” he yelled, and he watched the chaos below them and watched Mea sprint off in a flash of white light to join the fray.

  Still gasping for air that wouldn’t reach his lungs, he was dying all over again. His shoulder. It hurt something fierce and throbbed with burning pain and venom. The fight in Nisha’s den. One of the creatures must have got him. Looking down on it all, he wondered: is this all my fault, my doing.

  Below the grass knoll that he was currently lying on, dying on, Daikon saw it all. The forest was ablaze with angry flames. Another burst of lightning shattered three more trees while other tentacles of raw electricity whipped through a squad of Malick’s creatures. More leapt in and out of the flames as the splintered trees came crashing down.

  Beyond the flames was the once-peaceful meadow. Emerging from the wildfire, another herd of Malick’s creatures galloped out of the flames, taking some with them. Now, camouflaged or not, the charging battalion of beasts looked more like a herd of living fireballs. Their long tails were coated in flames as well, thrashing around behind them like wild fire-whips.

  The meadow was no calmer. The ground was now pockmarked in manhole sized craters—from too many lightning strikes. Whatever grass that remained was too dry to survive the spreading flames. And in the center of it all was the mythical storm dragon. Still fighting, it was nearly pinned to ground. Malick’s creatures had used their harpoon-like tails to anchor down the storm dragon’s wings—like they were tying down a tarp during a storm. No less than ten were on each side, yanking down each wing like they were playing a sick game of tug-of-war.

  More creatures circled the storm dragon, and with a hard sideways whip, their tails shot out, ready to plunge into the storm dragon’s belly. As their barbed tails ricocheted off the storm dragon’s thick black scales, Daikon thought, it could be worse. Then a coughing spell distracted him, and he hacked out a wad of black sludge before resuming his gasping.

  Trying to free itself, the storm dragon howled and the thunder cracked. Lighting shot from its mouth and tore through whatever flaming creatures were racing in front of it and around Asher.

  Asher was twenty steps in front of the storm dragon. Draped in his black armor with his massive raven-like wings spinning around him, he was darting around and swiping at the endless flood of beasts. His eyes were lit up in wild purple flames, and then he disappeared beneath a swarm of angry flames. More of the flaming creatures pounced on Asher, and Daikon was sure that his friend was dead. And him, he was dying atop a small hill, too weak to do anything about it.

  Asher wouldn’t die right now. A burst of violet sparks exploded out of the pile. The energy spears shot through the burning creatures and into the star-filled sky. The creatures, the violet-glowing spears shot through them, and their flames were extinguished, replaced by puffs of black smoke as the creatures flashed like a string of exploding firecrackers. Asher emerged, his wings sparkling with the same violet hue as the spears he’d unleashed.

  He turned and flung his axe across the meadow, towards the storm dragon. Its spinning blade of axe seemed to spark against the night’s air and its edge lit up in purple sparks, expanding into a sparking pinwheel as tall as a house. It slid past the storm dragon and through the barbed tails anchoring its left wing to the ground.

  Asher gave the dragon a nod before flinging his axe on the other side of the dragon. Asher yanked out the barbed tails through the back of his shoulders and the other one out of his left arm. The flames in his eyes were flickering out, and Asher seemed to be shrinking, less formidable.

  Asher gazed up at the stars then seemed to look over to Daikon and smile. Can he see me? Daikon wondered, too weak to go to his friend. He saw Asher’s armor dripping down his left arm. No, not his armor, blood—he’s bleeding out. He is dying.

  Still sucking air while sounding like a death rattle, Daikon tried to stand, to go to his friend, but his left shoulder burned something fierce. Pushing up on his left hand, his whole side went limp, and he collapsed. By now, the black veins had covered his pale face in a lattice of ink lines and his cheeks were sunken in. His blood-red eyes were shaky and seemed to be melting out of his eye sockets. Asher wasn’t the only one that was dying.

  Then one of Raven’s old memories crept into his mind, something Mea had said, something Anna used to say (when she was human). Chuckling weakly, he mumbled to himself, “I’m useless as tits on a boar.”

  Sprawled on the ground, he watched as the storm dragon continued to fight off the swarm of creatures that where still pouncing on it. Others were racing past it, to the mountain. Kill the boy. The storm dragon shook off its attackers then limped after the ones buzzing towards the mountain. The storm dragon let out another labored breath of lightning and took out the creatures, buying them a little more time.

  Asher flicked his wrists at his sides, expecting his axes to return to him, but only one returned, and he winced as his left hand remained empty and continued to bleed. Save them, Daikon thought. Mea, you have to save them.

  The sound of crashing trees and the sight of falling flames sent Daikon’s eyes back to the raging forest fire. Two by two, the burning pine trees came tumbling down. Something was bulldozing through them, through the forest, and it was making a trail as it did so. Mea? He wondered. No. As the bulldozer shot out of the flaming forest, Daikon knew it wasn’t Mea. It was a creature—looking like a combination of an oversized bear and a giant bull. Drenched in flames, the beast’s golden horns crashed through anything in its path as it charged Asher.

  “Damn,” Daikon muttered, “what a shitty way to die… for both of us.”

 
“I would have to agree with you,” said a voice behind him. It was Lilly. Her red ribbons latched on to Daikon’s wrists and yanked him onto his feet. “I can’t save Azazel,” she said, “but I may be able to save you.”

  “Azazel? He’s going by Ash—Owe!”

  Lilly’s hand was swiping down Daikon’s back, her nails slicing into his back and slicing through both his trench coat and the crimson shirt, tearing both of them to ribbons. Then holding up Daikon with one hand, she stripped off Daikon’s coat and shirt with her other one. “Ugh,” She said as she looked at his back and examined his shoulder. Skinny, pale, covered in a web of black veins. Directly over his shoulder blade was the wound; a purple, baseball-sized hole that was oozing a thick, clear liquid. Spidering across his back, it was clear to her that the wound was the source of the black-veined roadmap stenciled over his back and face. “Boy, they got you good, huh?”

  “Why?” asked Daikon. “Why are you helping me?” he asked. Although, considering that he could barely hold his head up, he could barely object.

  Lilly sighed. “Why? I don’t know.” She paused to press on Daikon’s wound, making him howl in pain while more clear ooze streamed down his back. As more black veins branched out across Daikon’s back, Lilly raised an eyebrow. “Huh… Why am I here?” Thinking about it, she realized that a strand of hair was in her eyes. She shook her head to get it out of the way before finally deciding to blow at it, blowing the errant hair out of her eyes. “Why? Why am I doing this? Hell, I don’t know,” she said questioning her decision a third time, seemingly not knowing the answer herself. “Guess I just wanted to do something stupid.” Lilly wrapped her arm around Daikon’s neck and pulled his head back to hers. Putting her lips up to his ear, she whispered, “Kinda feels like déjà vu, huh? Déjà vu, all over again.” Then she sank her fangs into him.

  While the whole thing was nearly identical to the when Lilly killed Vincent Blackwell in the stone tower, there were some differences. This time, her tail stayed put, instead of jamming itself through his chest. And this time, instead of sinking her fangs into his neck, they were currently firmly pushed into his wounded shoulder.

  Spitting out the venom from Daikon’s wound, Lilly wrinkled up her face. “Ugh, that’s nasty.” She spit again. “God, I hate him, Vandriel. He’s such an ass.” Then she sang her fangs back into Daikon’s shoulder.

  Lilly spit out the venom and winced again. She looked out over the burning forest and at Asher—Asher, who was about to be gored by a giant bull (Vandriel). “It’s a shame. I was hoping that Azazel—Asher—would make it… but it doesn’t seem like it.” Pushing on Daikon’s lower back, Lilly noticed that it was squishing, not firm. The venom, she thought, it’s liquefying his insides. “Huh… A few more minutes and those... things out there would be gestating inside you, multiplying like… gerbils on steroids.” Lilly pushed on Daikon’s back a few more times, making her way down the left side of it. Pushing on a few more spots, near his waist, where the black veins had dissipated; she finally found a firm spot on Daikon, at least it was firm enough. Shrugging, she said, “Azazel, Asher…. Huh. At least he reclaimed his old name before he dies. That’s good, don’t you think? I do. I think so. It suits him better. Now, don’t move. This is going to hurt.” Lilly opened her mouth wide, and her fangs stretched out even larger, like two switchblades. “Hurt a lot,” she mumbled, her fangs too large for her to enunciate correctly. Then she bit into Daikon’s shoulder. Her giant fangs slowly sank into Daikon’s wound as he buckled in pain. Then, as fangs dug in to his back, deeper than before and tearing open the wound, Daikon passed out from the pain.

  CH 32: Fire and Rain

  Racing towards Asher and Anna (the storm dragon), Mea saw the same things that Daikon had: the burning forest, Malick’s swarming creatures, the bull engulfed in flames racing towards Asher. Falling to her knees, her swords fell from her limp hands. She was too late.

  The rampaging bull tore out of the forest of wildfire and charged Asher while the rest of Malick’s creatures pounced at him or sent their tails lashing wildly out at him. While Asher was turned, he was too exhausted, too drained, too weak, to stop the rampaging bull. And swing at it with whatever energy he could muster, Asher saw its snarling muzzle, its golden flame-filled eyes, and its curved, polished, golden horns; And dipped in the flames that engulfed the forest and everything else.

  Mea watched it happen. Strangely enough, the world seemed to turn mute as she watched the golden bull’s horns plunge into her brother’s chest and fling him into the air. And when Asher dropped and bounced, hard and lifeless, on and off the ground; Mea saw the bull pounce on him with its clawed hooves then burrow its golden horns into his chest again.

  Then the bull burst into flames, into a fireball. The flames dissipated and everything was different. Asher was impaled, dangling atop a golden spear. Malick (Vandriel) was standing next to him, grinning. Albeit he was now covered in silver and gold armor. A long barbed tail—golden—hung behind him and sagged and stretched across the ground behind him. His hands were still beastly, oily black fur tipped with onyx talons. One of its claws was wrapped around a long golden spear. The spear itself was a thick golden pole topped with three barbs that ended with a long, stretched out spear tip. Its other claw was hidden behind an oversized shield—made of thick sterling silver and trimmed with gold. A bull’s head was embroidered in the center of its gleaming surface.

  Malick’s face was gone, replaced with a head of black smoke. Two flames replaced his eyes, and his mouth was replaced by a set of floating fangs hanging within the pitch-black smoke. Glancing at the impaled Asher, it turned to Mea and grinned. Then with a short whistle, all of his creatures stopped what they were doing and turned their focus to Mea as well. Malick whistled again, and his creatures were now charging at her. She watched as Malick spread open his hands—along with the shield and spear that were in them, as his beasts came swarming at her. Malick aimed the spear at Asher’s dangling body, then at Mea, and then he shrugged. Oh well.

  Mea was broken, and everything seemed too far gone. Asher wasn’t moving and she could see the blood dripping down his arms and off his fingertips. More blood was seeping from his chest; the rest leaked out his punctured back and down Malick’s spear.

  Behind Asher was Anna, the storm dragon. Barely able to stand, her wings were moth-eaten, tattered, and torn—worn-out and ripped sheets of black that were filled with holes. Glancing in Mea’s direction the storm dragon howled, but the thunder could only grumble and the lightning could only flicker. The storm dragon pushed herself onto her feet and stepped towards Mea, but it could only manage two limping steps before it collapsed. Then with no more than a grumble, she closed her eyes.

  Mea didn’t know if storm dragons could die, but if they could, this was how she imagined that it would happen, at least, as best she could imagine.

  Mea glanced to her right, towards the mountain. It was beautiful. More importantly she didn’t see any of Malick’s creatures scaling it. Halfway up the mountain, she saw the stone balcony of chiseled statues. Behind it was the steel wall; a dim yellow glow was seeping out of the edges of it. Ryan, her mother. The steel barrier seemed clean and untampered with, as best she could tell. At least some of her family was still alive, safe… yet still so far away.

  By now the lightning was died out, and the blazing forest and the moonlight were the only real source of light. Then all of the lights dimmed, and as Mea sulked in silence, the darkness crept nearer. The darkness, she saw—she felt—it. It was more of Malick’s creatures. A swarm of them. They had regrouped and joined together into a dark fog of ink blots—like locusts. As more beasts joined, swelling their numbers even more, the fog grew darker and denser. Finally growing into a tall, dense, buzzing curtain; they finally began flying over the reservoir, towards her, at her. The swarm fluttered higher and created a blinder, of sort, and they blocked out the moon and the flickering lights from the thrashing forest fire. And the moonlight—that was just sparkl
ed across the water’s surface and making it look like silver waves in a sea of black—was gone; swallowed by the shadows of Malick’s creatures. Then the sparkling water was just as black as everything else was.

  Something broke Mea out of her stupor. She heard a great beast wail and the thunder whimper weakly. A cry. A weaker flash of lightning followed, lighting up the veil of creatures coming at her and showed their rows of chattering teeth. Then something poked her; dot after dot after dot… rain. Holding out her palms and raising her head, she let the cool droplets splatter across her face and hands. Tears, Anna’s tears. More droplets splashed against her cloak and armor, sliding down their slick sheen as gravity dragged them down the molded creases of armor and into the dirt.

  Behind the curtain of creatures, Mea could see the vicious forest fire simmering down, dying out. The storm clouds gathered, and the rain started to pour. Mea took a deep breath and realized something, Anna was still fighting. Even as she was dying, she was still fighting.

  The rain finally made its way through the swarming creatures, sifting through their ranks and beating wings, and eventually splashed down on the lake’s surface. Thousands of heavy droplets exploded against the lake’s surface and sent out thousands of doughnut-shaped ripples. Then as the rippling waves crashed into each other, and rolled over one another, and joined each other to form even bigger ripples, Mea thought that it all was quite beautiful, worth saving. It reminded her of the Guf, the Treasury of Souls… the Tree of Life… hope, life.