Dark God

by T C Southwell

  A bolt of lightning revealed a movement beside him, and Bane ducked as something hissed past his ear. Halting Orriss, he turned to find his attacker in another white flash. A black-clad man struggled to reload a crossbow, then turned and fled when he realised that Bane had seen him. Bane frowned and gestured, unleashing a lash of fire that reduced the assassin's droge form to a splattered pool of grey sludge, and his corrupted soul vanished into the ground.

  Bane rode on, but moments later the assassin stepped from the trees again, and another quarrel skimmed past Bane's cheek. He stopped and burnt the droge to sludge, then urged Orriss forward. Just a short distance further on, a third bolt buzzed past, so close this time that it tugged at the sleeve of Bane's tunic, and he halted Orriss once more. A bolt of lightning revealed a fleeing figure, and Bane destroyed the assassin’s droge form again, but this time he waited.

  The persistent assassin annoyed Bane. He could shield himself from the bolts, but that meant using power and concentration, something he resented doing for any length of time, especially for such an insignificant foe. Within a few minutes, the assassin reappeared in a surge of dark power, staggering a little in the aftermath of the Sending. His expression stiffened when he found Bane waiting for him, and he raised the crossbow. Bane reduced the weapon to molten metal with a wave of his hand, and the man dropped it. The Black Lord sent his assassin to Bane's location, but he had no way of knowing, nor did he care, that Bane would be prepared this time.

  Bane raked the man with a contemptuous glance. "What did he promise you, fool? A form that feels pleasure, to keep forever? Or just an end to your torment? Do you not know that the Black Lord does not keep his word?"

  The assassin yanked a dagger from his belt, but it sagged as the crossbow had done.

  Bane shook his head. "Still you persist. How tiresome. What the Black Lord gives, I can take away, and if you return again, I will destroy you."

  Bane uttered a string of harsh words that made Orriss shudder, and the droge dissipated in a swirl of shadows, exposing the dull red glow of his soul, which shot into the ground. The Demon Lord rode on, the flames of his rage fanned with every passing mile. The droge would not dare to attack him again, no matter what Arkonen promised him. He would not risk being destroyed. He would know that Arkonen was less likely to destroy him for disobeying than Bane was for attacking him again.

  Bane was drawing close to the Black Lord now. He could taste it in the charged air, the tangible tension that crackled like the lightning and the swirling clouds whose vortex hung above the Lord of the Underworld. Arkonen was putting on a display for Bane's benefit, perhaps hoping to intimidate him with a show of power he probably assumed Bane did not know he could match. Without the healing, he could not have, without risking his life.

  A wall of rock shot up ahead, and he slammed into it, swept from the demon steed's back as it passed through the stone. Bane rolled to his feet as an earth demon sprang from the ground, a stone club whistling down at his head. Bane gestured, and a lash of shadow struck it in the chest. It disintegrated in a spray of foul soil, the club thudding to the ground beside the scattered mound. Bane spun as another shot up behind him, unleashing the fire with a sweep of his hands and scattering its dirt.

  Demons were exceedingly fast, although their massive bulk slowed earth demons, as Mirra had discovered outside the dragon's cave. Then, the wards had slowed the demon as well, but now that their powers had full rein they could move with lightning speed. Bane, however, had long ago discovered that he was faster. He contemplated the scattered mounds that had been greater demons, aeons old and powerful enough to defeat infinite armies of men, since they were indefatigable and unaffected by mundane weapons. This time, he did not regret their destruction; rather, it brought him satisfaction. He rubbed his face, his nose and brow throbbing from his collision with the rock, but his hand came away innocent of blood.

  The wall was gone, and Orriss waited for him. Bane mounted again, and the stallion sprang back on its course. Tiring of Arkonen's unchallenged toying with him, Bane closed his eyes and opened his mind to the Far See. The vision was unsullied by the pain that had stopped him from using it before his healing. The ability was similar to scrying, only within his mind, and the image seemed like a product of his imagination, but was not. Usually a Far See vision took an aerial vantage, like a bird's eye view, although he was able to see things more closely if he concentrated on them. Far Seeing was a gift of the dark power, and therefore other wielders of darkness could sense it.

  They were the easiest to find, and the more powerful the wielder was, the easier he or she was to locate. Places were also easy to discern, especially if he had visited them before, while uncorrupted folk tended to be more difficult to perceive. Far Seeing required a great deal of power, and was therefore taxing, making it something that black mages rarely used.

  The Black Lord stood on a barren, wind-swept plain dotted with boulders, burning forests surrounding it. Foul smoke rose from glowing cracks to thicken the air. Several hundred demons attended him, and an army of dark creatures huddled some distance away.

  Bane muttered a string of guttural words and pointed at the ground. A hole appeared under the Black Lord, and he vanished into it, drawn back into the Underworld as metal is drawn to a magnet. The hole closed at Bane's command as the demons followed their master down. He opened his eyes and chuckled. The Black Lord was so confident he had not even guarded himself, and could easily have escaped, had he been paying attention.

  A blow on the back of Bane's shoulder threw him forwards, and he spun the demon steed, cursing his own inattention. Grimacing, he pulled out the crossbow bolt and flung it away as he glanced around for his assailant. Dorel reloaded her bow, clad now in the pseudo form of a blowsy, over-endowed blonde.

  Bane's lip curled. "Ah, Dorel, I see your master did not bother to give you such an attractive form this time."

  She cranked the bow. "He will, once I've killed you, as I did that snivelling piece of human trash."

  "You, kill me?" Bane chuckled. "And, if she was dead, do you not think he would have rewarded you for that too?"

  Dorel squinted at him. "She's alive?"

  "Yes."

  "Good, then I'll have the satisfaction of killing her again when you've gone to the Land of the Dead. The Black Lord promised her to me."

  "You will not get the chance," Bane said, his amusement evaporating.

  Dorel raised the crossbow and aimed it at him. "What will you do, destroy me? You don't have the guts, human filth!"

  Bane's fury flared, and he made a vicious, slashing gesture. The dark power slammed into the droge, shredding her pseudo body into a cloud of ash and shadow, the crossbow falling with a clatter. Within the dissipating greyness, her soul floated like a marsh light where she had been standing. In the instant before it shot into the ground, Bane stretched out his hand, his fingers spread, and his power captured her in a dark fist. He held her trapped, unable to descend to the Underworld to escape him.

  Dorel's spirit blazed sullen red as Bane increased the power, and a silent scream ripped through his mind. Her soul became incandescent, and expanded to a pool of orange light as visions of her life formed within it. Bane strived to block the screaming from his mind, but he could not turn away from the soul he was destroying. An unspoken law forced him to share her pain.

  A thin girl dressed in rags begged for food. Four burly men raped her and left her for dead, but a healer saved her. She sold herself, bore a child and lost him to a fever, bore another and lost her to a murderer. She was abused, beaten, whipped and raped, until she struck back and killed, her heart filled with hate. She swung from the gallows, and the Black Lord welcomed her to the Underworld.

  Dorel's soul shattered into soft red flakes of light that dimmed and went out as they drifted down. The soul-scream in his mind rose to a shriek, then faded away into the wind whistling darkness. Orriss stamped uneasily, and Bane dismounted. Blood trickled down his back under his shirt. Fu
mbling in a pocket, he drew out a jar of green paste and rubbed some on the wound. He paused to consider what he had just done – consigning a soul to oblivion – but he had little regret. Dorel's torment would not have ended any other way.

  Pocketing the jar, he went to remount the demon steed. The stallion cavorted away, rearing, and Bane turned to face a spreading black circle, its edge flaring with foul fire. The Black Lord rose, his ebon form filled with whirling sparks like maddened, tiny red stars. Arkonen took on a winged, four-armed aspect with flaming hair and glowing yellow eyes. His red maw curved in a grotesque smile.

  "So, Bane, you think to challenge me, stupid boy." His deep baritone boomed across the clearing. "Do you really think you are my equal? Do you think I was foolish enough to create one who could challenge me and win?"

  Bane returned the Black Lord's icy smile with an equally frigid one. "You planned my death so I could not."

  "I wished to be rid of a nuisance, nothing more. You are a puny human with a weak mortal body. You cannot sustain the power for as long or as well as I, who am made of it."

  "We shall see."

  "Come now. I was wrong not to reward you; you did your work so well. Join me, and we will rule together, just as I promised. I was angry with you for disobeying me and saving that human slut, even destroying a demon to do it. She was a trap for you; she worked on your weak human emotions, as I warned you. You lost in the end. You fell completely under her spell and turned against me."

  "No. I turned against you when you left me to die. You should not have done that. You should have killed me when you had the chance. Now you will pay."

  The Black Lord laughed, a grating hiss. Two fire demons manifested before the grass fires on the edge of the black ring went out, and stationed themselves on either side of their master.

  "You would pit yourself against me for revenge? Because I let you live?"

  "You thought I would die."

  "Indeed, you should have, and would have, if not for that damned meddling witch. I should have killed her, then you would have died."

  "You have made a lot of mistakes, have you not? Making me your equal was one of them."

  Arkonen cocked his head. "What did those old hags tell you? That you are good? That you belong here, and should save the Overworld for them? They told you lies, but you are too stupid to know that. You wanted to believe them, after I left, you longed to believe that you were good, and I evil. I did not need you anymore, but they did, and you have craved that all your life. You cannot fight me; we are the same. You are as evil as I, no matter how much you deny it. The witches duped you, stupid boy."

  "No, what they said did not sway me. I am here because of what you did to me."

  Arkonen spread his hands. "I gave you unimaginable power."

  "You turned me into a monster."

  "Then I think we have no more to say. I will see you in the Land of the Dead, when I come to destroy your soul."

  The Black Lord pointed a finger at the ground in front of Bane, and it exploded in an avalanche of soil and flying rocks. Bane was hurled backwards, and sprawled. The dark shields that existed just under his skin protected him, as they had done when the ring of standing stones had exploded. Springing up, he extinguished one of the fire demons in a rush of flame, snuffing it out forever. This was calculated to annoy Arkonen, more than anything.

  Neither of the combatants could strike directly at the other; their opponent would merely absorb the power and grow stronger. Only indirect means could inflict damage. The Black Lord's form was vulnerable to shredding, crushing and dismemberment, but, most of all, light. This would only destroy his shadow form, however, his soul would descend to the Land of the Dead, where it would create another body, but that would take time.

  If Bane could strip away Arkonen's form, his soul would be vulnerable to the black power, just as Dorel's had been, but Arkonen's spirit was infinitely more powerful than a droge's. Bane's mortality made him more vulnerable, and although he too had the power to clothe himself in a dark form if he was killed, he did not know how. His inexperience would hamper him, and it would take him a great deal longer to gather a dark form than Arkonen. His journey to the Land of the Dead would be a brief one, however, for Arkonen would follow him there and destroy him whilst he was powerless.

  Bane raised his arms and unleashed a river of black fire that tore open the clouds. Arkonen smiled and directed his power upwards to hold the thunderheads in place. The clouds swirled and raced, as if in a cyclone. They struggled, their powers matched, and the wind's tortured howl rose to a shriek. Lightning rent the air with crackling flashes, and a stench of burning ozone rode the wind as thunder made the ground tremble.

  The runes on Bane's chest flared as he Gathered. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind and plucked several tonnes of rock from a distant mountain, releasing it over his opponent. The Black Lord barely had time to shout a word of power before he was buried with a grinding rumble. Within seconds, he climbed from the hill of settling rubble, unharmed. His concentration had been broken, however, and the clouds parted. He strived to close them again.

  Bane collected a mass of ice from a distant glacier, dropping that on Arkonen, but again he shouted the word of power as it hammered him to the ground under a creaking, grinding mountain of whiteness. He oozed from the melting mound unscathed, but the clouds thinned while he climbed out, and he restored his power to the battle above.

  Bane sensed a displacement above him and shouted the word as pressing redness enveloped him, and crawled from the spreading mass of solidifying lava that had landed on him. Flames licked at its edge, consuming the dry grass. The clouds closed as the Black Lord gained the upper hand. Bane restarted his Gather and conjured a mass of ice spears, flinging them at Arkonen. They made an eerie whistling, and the Black Lord diverted his power to melt them. Bane sensed a movement beneath him and ascended on a pillar of fire as the ground opened with a gritty ripping sound.

  Bane sweated, his flesh burning as the power coursed through him. His bones throbbed and his stomach clenched to subdue the burgeoning nausea. Abandoning the struggle for the clouds, he Moved, reappearing next to the Black Lord. He grasped the shadow form, his Gather draining his opponent. The Lord of the Underworld's wings vanished, and he struggled to free himself, the ground beneath his feet burning as he drew power from it. As he reached for Bane's throat, the Demon Lord broke away and conjured a gold-hilted sword whose four-foot silver blade flashed with a blue patina, the dark power within it strengthening it.

  The weapon was crafted with inhuman precision, perfectly balanced and indestructible, a product of Bane's mind, birthed by the dark power. Such weapons were known as eir'greth, or god gifts, and only one such as Bane could tap their mystical source somewhere between the realms of thought and reality. Bringing it into being relied solely upon his need for it, and required no skill.

  Runes etched the blade's length on either side of the blood groove, adding to its strength and making it immune to melting or bending. Its keen edge would not blunt unless its creator used it against something as strong as itself. The weapon would last for all eternity, and only Bane could destroy it. Not even another dark god could undo his conjuring, and the runes ensured it.

  Bane slashed at Arkonen, tearing his shadow form. He punched Bane in the jaw and knocked him down. The Demon Lord Moved again as his foe leapt at him, rolling to his feet out of reach. The Black Lord straightened and spread his hands.

  "Now you see, we cannot fight each other. We are too much alike. Our power is the same. Join me, and we will rule together."

  "I do not want to rule this world."

  "The girl is the only thing you care about. You may keep her."

  Bane said, "She would not want to live in your world, and I do not need your permission. I am going to destroy you."

  "Face it, you cannot. Your power cannot harm me anymore than mine can harm you. This is a stalemate."

  "I will find a way." Bane wiped sweat
from his brow.

  "Already your human body weakens. You cannot beat me."

  "If you are so certain you can win, then try."

  The Black Lord's fiery maw curved in a smile. "Very well." He gestured, and a stocky man in battered armour and ragged livery appeared beside him. His brown eyes widened and his mouth stretched in fear. The Black Lord pointed a finger at him, and he froze, his face becoming blank.

  Bane frowned. "Do you think you can stop me with a man?"

  "Oh no, I only need him to carry a message, that is all."

  The Lord of the Underworld drew a shadow rune in the air with a finger and flicked it into the man. The unfortunate soldier stiffened, then walked away with a puppet’s jerky stride. Bane glanced around, disorientated by the battle, and realised that the man was walking towards the temple. His bolt of power reduced the man to a charred corpse, which tottered and collapsed.

  The Black Lord threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Ah, you still amuse me. How I used to struggle not to laugh at you, when you showed your stupid bravado in the Underworld. It irked me no end that I had to be so sweet and nice to you."

  "I will wager it did," Bane said. "Leave the healer. This is between you and me."

  "All is fair in war, boy. Why should I, when she is my ticket to victory? Your stupid, weak emotions will be your downfall."

  Bane sent a bolt of fire into the clouds, punching a hole in the grey blanket. The Black Lord leapt back as a shaft of radiance shot down to light a patch of dead grass. He closed the hole with a sweep of his arm and sneered, "Do you think I would send the real messenger where you could see him, boy? Already your sweetheart leaves the temple. Do not think about Moving. I will have her before you can stop her."