Forgotten Fates

by S J Doran

  It wouldn't be long before her own creatures became drawn to the screams which were now echoing through the crumbling temple, compounding the shit heap she’d found herself in. Somehow, she needed to secure a way for her and the sin-eater to make it out of here, alive preferably, and with the sword if at all possible.

  As the last of the guards was being dragged towards his fate, she knew the time for inaction had ended, the next one they would come for was her.

  Not allowing herself to dwell on what could happen to her once they grabbed hold, she lunged off the altar to land beside the toppled pedestal. Pain exploded through her abdomen upon impact, nausea rocked her, forcing her to swallow down a rise of bile and blood.

  Blowing out a slow breath she extended her arm, and finally her greedy fingers closed around the hilt of the legendary Sword of Justice.

  “Help… me…”

  Unable to help herself she turned to see the templar who earlier had been cheering on her death be dragged down. Horror and disbelief making his eyes impossibly large as he took a final breath and was swallowed up by the earth. Time’s up...

  Adrenaline rushed through her. With the sword tightly clasped to her chest she set into a blind sprint, rushing headlong through the horde of Draugr who already were coming for her. Each step taking her closer to the corridor she knew would lead her to the main hall, and the sin-eater.

  “SIN...!”

  All around her the corridors echoed with the screams of men and women, underscored by the unmistakable moans of the dead.

  “AMARA!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  vendetta of the deities

  The sound of her name nearly caused her knees to buckle, the sense of relief flooding her overwhelming. He was alive, he was looking for her, they would survive.

  Amara was too depleted of power to force open a temporary gateway, but with the sin-eater’s help they could reach one of the main portal outside of the capital, from there she could return directly to Asurim.

  “SIN, OVER HERE!”

  He couldn’t hear her over the cacophony of shouts and groans surrounding them. From every corner of the temple, agonized cries filled the air as the dead hunted the living. Her creatures biting into their flesh even as the Draugr grabbed hold and dragged both into the ground.

  An imprint of magic brushed her senses only moments before a gateway began to manifest directly behind the sin-eater, a portal was opening. Smart demon that he was, had he sent for help?

  Breathing was becoming more a of a struggle with every hurried step she took, still she pushed herself to run while dodging grabby hands which kept popping up out of the ground. Just how many dead had the Ghata’n buried here? It was for this reason warlocks considered burials a sacrilege, there were simply too many uses for a dead body, none particularly pleasant.

  Despite her effort, her pace was faltering, as feared her body already giving out. Her lungs refused to expand, and each step sent a wave of pain through her abdomen. Still she moved, her grip on the sword never easing, her eyes glued to the sin-eater and the portal opening behind his back.

  Just a bit farther…

  A blinding flash of light suddenly engulfed the hall, and when she could once again see, the portal was gone- the demon along with it.

  “No…”

  This time her legs did give out, her knees connecting with sand and stone as not relief but disappointment robbed her of strength. He left me behind.

  She mentally commanded herself to get back up, to move, to make it to the portal outside the city walls. Her legs refused.

  Her chest ached at the betrayal she felt, while logically she understood all to well why Cassius had made the rational choice to flee the Temple without her. “He thought me dead…”

  It was a logical conclusion to draw. Her creatures were free from her control, her magic had been exhausted. This had left him without any energy imprint to track her by. In his position, she would have drawn the same conclusion he had, would have done the same thing. Wouldn’t I?

  She liked to believe that she would have.

  “Does this mean you are finally ready to join me, bride?”

  Only one had the audacity to call her such, and as a result she had gained the moniker of death’s runaway bride.

  Amara had been wondering how long it would take before he made his appearance. Namtar, her personal angel of death had come in hopes today would finally be her death day, and he got to collect her soul. At least his presence served to keep the dead at bay, until he was done gloating decided it was time for her to die.

  “I could say that it’s a pleasure to see you again Namtar, but we both know I’d be lying.”

  Her fingers clenched around the sheath of the sword, keeping it tight to her chest lest he tried to take it from her. She had been so close to rid herself from the curse, and of him- giving up now was not an option.

  “Ah, the Sword of Divine Justice. If I knew any better, I would start to believe you wish to be rid of me. I understand that my curse killing your sisters created some hard feelings, but as you so eloquently put it earlier- you should have surrendered your soul to me when I asked nicely.”

  Namtar, the Sumerian god of death and pestilence had been a plague upon her existence ever since she had resurfaced from Hell, declaring ownership of her soul after having bartered a deal with her mother. The crown of Asurim in exchange for the life and soul of her infant daughter.

  His arrival was announced by the imprint of his energy moments before he stepped out of the shadows. Energy carried a unique feel and scent, his imprint conjured the mental image of slimy tentacles sliding along bared skin, its smell similar to that of an infected wound. It was only with great effort she was able to hold back a shudder of repulsion when he came to stand over her.

  As always, Namtar kept his form concealed beneath a muddy brown cloak and drawn hood, but she had seen enough to know the entire length of his body was bound in burial wrappings. Despite their many confrontations through the century she never seen his face, which he kept hidden behind a mirrored glass mask.

  “Why do you persist on forcing my hand against you, priestess? Be my bride, give me what is rightfully mine, give me eternal life. In return I will ensure your death be relatively painless.”

  Those who had no soul to anchor them, like the gods, required faith and worship to survive, lest they be forgotten and fade. Mortals and immortals alike believed in death, but death had many forms and names, and that of Namtar was already being forgotten. Thus, he needed a compatible soul to claim for his own, that of a high priestess.

  “Tempting ...but, no.” She grinned at him, the gesture lacking any true humor.

  The problem for Namtar presented itself in the fact he couldn’t kill her. Her soul could only be harvested if surrendered willingly, or by a death not of his making. His power was vast, but not limitless, and even gods had rules they were forced to play by. As long as Amara continued to live, her soul belonged to her, and she was hellbent on keeping it that way.

  “Have it your way then, priestess. I think I will enjoy the sight of you being torn apart by your own creatures.” Namtar dissipated back into the shadows, and along with him went the control he held over the undead.

  Despite the adrenaline and fear that rushed her, her injured and spent body refused to follow her instinct to get up and run. As if laying in wait for their prey, hands marked by decay shot out from the ground beneath; the Draugr caught up to her.

  Her head struck stone as the first assault hit, the hungry undead wasting no time in rushing for her flesh even as the Draugr began to slowly pull her into the ground. Teeth sank into her calf, and despite Amara’s firm resolve not to scream and lure more of the creatures her direction, she did. Who knew a bite could hurt so damned much? Her struggle only helped to fuel their frenzy as they tore through skin, muscle and sinew, crunching into bone.

  She was morbid enough to often have given though on how she would meet her demise, ‘ironically, w
hile devoured by own creations’ had never before crossed her mind.

  Despite the pain, despite her fear, her gaze searched and found Namtar seated comfortably upon a collapsed column, watching the show while waiting for her to die. This couldn’t be her end, she refused. Her work was not yet done, there was vengeance left to claim. Five names to erase, five lives to end. Then and only then would she consider death an option.

  Yet despite the strength of spirit, her body was failing. It wouldn’t be long before either zombie or Draugr tore into her neck, as soon as cortex and brain were severed... not even an immortal could survive. She had one final move left on the gameboard, the odds of it working astronomical. Still she had to try, she had to live….

  Fighting survival instinct, she closed her eyes, forced her mind to release her body and step into the etheric planes, the veil which divided life from death, the realm of spirit where the primordial gods dwelled.

  “Kali Ma, great goddess of death and protection, I implore you to hear my call, answer my plea. Kali Ma— save me."

  The ground beneath her gave, sand moving over her as she sank, burying her. Unable to see, she could feel the grip of the Draugr hands clutched her, pulling her into her grave, and still the ravenous creatures refused to release their meal.

  “I will fucking haunt you Namtar, mark my words. My soul will offer you no peace!”

  “I have no need for peace, only life. Time to die, priestess…”

  It was in that moment she realized she would die in this place, buried alive beneath sand and soil. And the only thing she could feel a heavy sense of regret. She had failed to save him in life, and had failed to avenge him in death. With his soul destroyed and hers about to be devoured by a putrid death god- they would never again meet.

  Cassius

  Black flames burst up around her, enveloping her into an embrace, its flames burning away the touch of the undead while leaving her flesh unharmed.

  “KALI, THIS IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!”

  Namtar’s angered bellow caused the already unstable temple to tremble, his rage turning into a physical manifestation of destruction.

  “Praise be Kali.”

  As soon as she spoke the words accepting the intervention, despite the inevitable cost it would carry in the future, she felt her body become weightless. A portal had opened beneath her, and she fell through it.

  She drifted for what felt like eternity, clinging to the sword as if it were a life preserver rather than a mythical weapon. The next instant she was tossed onto a hard, cold surface, and her vision darkened.

  “Took you long enough Highness, we were just about to send out a rescue team to make sure you weren’t up to any troub… dark gods, what’s happened to you?”

  She recognized the deep masculine voice as Dominus Oberith, one of the nine rulers of Asurim, and her advisor. Unable to collect her wits enough to give a flippant retort, she weakly lifted up her arm to reveal the holy sword clasped within her grip.

  “You promised us to only go confirm its existence,” his tone was stern, laced with panic, his voice growing closer.

  With effort she lifted her head off the onyx floor to smirk up at him. “Confirmed…”

  Her Dominus looked furious when he reached her, yet his hold was gentle as he collected her off the floor, the dark stone now sticky with blood.

  “Er-Agate prepare the chamber and have En-Rasputin fetched this instant, Sarratum sa has been injured.”

  Despite her struggle to remain conscious, her eyes fell shut as soon as the adrenaline rush washed out. She was alive, she was safe, and she had the sword.

  CHAPTER SIX

  this was unexpected

  The temple was chaos. Sheets of marble slid to the cracking floors, crumbling to dust on impact, the groans and snarls of the undead sounding off in waves between explosions of rock. He watched in horror as the temple maidens he’d de-maidened just moments previous succumbed to the ravenous flesh-eating monsters his priestess had called up.

  His priestess. She was in this melee somewhere… alive? Would she have allowed her creatures to slip her control if she still were?

  The sweet song of benediction came in the form of his name. Amara called for him, voice full of panic. He caught sight of her stumbling, narrowly avoiding the grasping dead and his own panic notched to uncontainable levels. Heat flared around him. Flames. Hell-flame… had he done this?

  The flames spread and opened, revealing a vortex at the center, a portal that smelled like home. Amara… she was reaching for him, the portal pulling at him. He moved to take a step towards her, and that was all the imbalance the excessive gravity needed, he was sucked back through the flames before he could finish calling out her name.

  He was sucked through a sound barrier, his ears popped, his arms flung out, dropping the borrowed sword, his consciousness lagging. He’d taken in too much power, it kept hitting him in waves, threatening to drag him under. The portal didn’t lead home. It should have been as simple as stepping over a seam between realities, the air inside had switched from welcoming and comfort to suffocating oppression.

  When he finally landed hard on his ass, he couldn’t get a sense of his surroundings. He rubbed a hand over his bleary face and blinked open his eyes.

  His father stared down at him, the full glory of his power radiating. His inky black wings were spread wide, his skin a glowing blur.

  Cassius scrambled to his feet, keeping his head down, unable to look upon his father in all his splendour. There was no denying his celestial ancestry when he looked like this. No denying his anger either. It pervaded all senses.

  “Did you not think I would find a way to summon you?” His father’s voice boomed, Cass held himself firm, though his insides shrank back. “My own son.” His voice softened, a waspish edge to it, making Cass’s head buzz with a thousand thoughts.

  He knew.

  His father’s hand settled on his shoulder and Cass finally looked up at him. At six and a half feet tall himself, his father was one of the few beings he looked up to.

  Asmodeus dimmed his essence, his face settling into marble coldness.

  “I’ve had nothing but time to think, Cassius. Five long years of picking apart patterns.”

  Cass swallowed hard. Had he figured out how they had maneuvered him into losing his throne?

  “I would be proud. If it hadn’t been me you were acting against.”

  He had.

  “All things end in time.” He said, swallowing again, trying to ease the dryness in his throat.

  His father’s hand squeezed his shoulder, a touch too tight to be comfortable.

  “I am a god, boy. Born from the fabric of time. I have no beginning and no end.” Asmodeus’s voice boomed once again, echoing through the vast emptiness of this realm.

  Cass wasn’t certain about his father’s origins. The stories were varied, some having him as a being created by a god to act as sentinel, some that he sprouted up with the forging of the universe. He highly suspected that designation of ‘god’ was one Asmodeus took upon himself.

  His father crooked a finger under Cass’s chin, tilting it up, studying him. He had no choice but to meet his father’s pale blue eyes, their color one of the many differences between them. Try as he might, he could never remember what his mother looked like, but he knew he took after her.

  “You’ve taken on more power?” His father appeared more curious than angry.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

  His father looked into his eyes, searching, then let out a chuff that might have been a laugh.

  “Indeed. My blood runs strong in you.” He gripped Cass’s shoulder again, leading him to a seating area.

  The room looked similar to his father’s offices in the fortress, with the feeling of being in the center of a vacuum, as though this room as it appeared was the only thing that existed in whatever realm they were in.

  Asmodeus took a seat first, gesturing to the chair beside him. Cass perch
ed on the edge, discomfort blaring through him. He wasn’t good at playing games directly against his father, his mind was too sharp and thoughts too varied to predict.

  A glass was shoved toward him, the pungent scent of port wafting out of it.

  “Drink. It’s not poisoned.” His father’s eyes assessed, knowledge shining.

  He took a sip, watching his father over the rim of the glass, not certain what to expect.

  “You’re holding my throne?” Asmodeus said, sipping from his own glass. “Enjoying all the plotting and scheming?”

  Now they were just to have a friendly family chat? His gut was beginning to hurt, the anticipation tying it up in knots.

  “I am. They fear you, and so offer me courtesy.”

  “Courtesy does not make kings, boy. You’ll have to show them your might. I know you’re capable, I can feel your power.” He scented the air, breathing deeply, “and you’ve fed well. Basileus is paving ground for you?”

  His gut spasmed again. He’d left Bas to stand regent as he’d recklessly traversed the mortal realm. It had been a wildly irresponsible move, he could see that now.

  Bas was leading him into many things, but he wasn’t sure from a political aspect, if he was in Cass’s corner. Not entirely.

  “Basileus is currently negotiating with my sis… Glasya. She requested my assistance and expected I’d come running.” His lips tilted up as he studied the contents of his glass, taking another sip as he carefully thought out his words. “I would not bend.”

  Nor would he sign any deals with her, treachery ran strong in his family. Maintaining peace had been seen to through Basileus, his father’s herald and right hand.

  Asmodeus nodded. “Exert your power. Crush them under heel if you must. You live in a world where might makes right, and you have the might, if not the heart.”