God's Last Breath

by Sam Sykes

  Civilization hadn’t been so different from the wilds, really. Whether it be coin or blood, everything obeyed the food chain. The great merchants had been laid low by predators: first thugs, then soldiers. The looters and thieves had swept through to scavenge the remains.

  Some buildings remained, those that hadn’t been scarred and gutted by fire. A few noble stalls still tried to hold tall, surrounded as they were by those that had been collapsed or trampled. The debris of smashed pottery, dented metal, and those scraps unworthy of Cier’Djaal’s high standard of thievery remained behind.

  “There’s room to maneuver here,” he said. He pointed to a cluster of buildings. “He’s huge, so we’ll need high places to attack from. If worse comes to worst, we can use that.”

  He pointed to the Silken Spire, looming large over the Souk. Whether by reverence or by the fact that sheer size prevented any meaningful action from being taken, the Spire was untouched by war, by looting, by any of the city’s ills. It fluttered and flapped in the morning breeze, as bright and glimmering as it had been on the day he had arrived. The spiders crawling across it seemed no more perturbed by a giant demon’s approach than they had been by gang violence or warfare.

  “And it probably will come to worst,” he sighed. He looked at Kataria. “What do you think?”

  The shict stared out from their perch atop the building at the edge of the Souk. A frown creased her face, her ears drooping.

  “I think I see a lot of wide open space and not a lot of places to hide if a gigantic demon decides to step on us,” she said.

  “Can’t risk getting cornered in the proper city. He could bring a building on top of us if he wanted. This way, he at least has to aim for us.”

  “Uh-huh. I also think I see a lot of high places that work if he decides to get close enough.” She shook her bow in her hand. “I can’t hurt him, remember. Only you can.” She eyed his silver hair. “For whatever reason.”

  “But he’ll have to get close if he wants us,” Lenk replied. “We’ll have an opportunity, then.”

  “Will we? What if he decides he doesn’t want to get close? What if he decides to spit poison or vomit snakes on us or use some kind of demon death ray?”

  “Don’t be—” Lenk paused. “Can he do that?”

  “Can he?” Kataria shook her head. “We don’t even know what he can or can’t do.”

  “Yeah … yeah.” Lenk sighed and looked out over the Souk. “Let me ask you this: Do you think you see any better ideas?”

  Kataria looked around: at the ruined Souk before them, at the mazelike city behind them, at the looming Spire above them. Slowly, she looked back at him and shook her head.

  “Me neither,” he said. “This is our best chance.”

  “If he comes,” Kataria said.

  Lenk looked toward the city walls. And somewhere far away, someone was looking back at him.

  “He’ll come,” he said.

  They made their way down from the building, picked their way through the debris of the Souk, and found a spot that would allow them to see whatever was coming. Not that Lenk anticipated this last part to be a huge problem, what with their enemy being roughly the size of three or four houses. But it helped soothe him.

  He stared at the gate leading into the city.

  There, he said. If Khoth-Kapira comes from there, he’ll come straight for me. I just have to lead him toward a tall building I can fight from. Get up on him. Get in his eyes. Carve them out and finish him off. He nodded. Assuming I don’t get stepped on, crushed, or eaten, that should work. Unless …

  He cast a glance over his shoulder, toward the distant Sumps.

  If he comes from the Sumps, he’ll plow through the city. The houses there won’t stop him any more than tall grass would. He might try to force me to come to him, keep destroying and killing until I do. He sniffed. Should just let him kill them. That’ll show him. Of course …

  He looked up toward the sky.

  What if he just comes plummeting down from above and crushes me? What if I just see a big shadow and hear a faint whistling sound and then BOOM? Can he do that? He cringed. No, that’s insane. He can’t do that.

  Yeah, you’re right, he told himself. He can turn into a gigantic monster with snakes for a beard who can appear anywhere he wants, but flying? That’s just ridiculous. Listen to yourself, you stupid bastard. If you’re not considering every possible angle, every possible outcome, every possible attack …

  He paused. The last thought sank into his head like a hatchet.

  Then you’re not realizing how completely fucked you are.

  He saw Kataria moving. Her ears twitched and went rigid. She turned toward the eastern gate, drawing an arrow from her quiver. He followed suit, sliding his sword out, waiting.

  In another three breaths, he heard it, too: boots crunching on grit, metal dragged across stone, heavy breathing. Desperate soldiers deserting, Khovura skulking, some other manner of demon he hadn’t seen yet; he didn’t know what it was, but he hadn’t met anything yet that couldn’t be solved by putting a sword in it.

  Whatever it was, he was ready for it.

  Or so he thought.

  Not that he wasn’t ready for the woman who came trudging out of the rubble toward him, but he certainly hadn’t expected to see her alive again, even if she looked even just barely alive.

  She was more tired than he remembered her looking, bruised around the face and neck. She had worn robes instead of dirty armor, carrying a medicine bag instead of dragging a shield and sword. But the pendant of the Healer’s Phoenix around her neck was the same. And the smile—the weary smile she gave when she didn’t know what else to give—was exactly as he remembered.

  They lowered their weapons. Asper came to a slow, weary halt before them. She stared at them for a moment before looking back over her shoulder.

  “It was shicts, at first,” she said. “They got around us somehow, got up on the cliffs. We were attacked from above. And then …” She paused, staring into the distance. “Then the demons came. I didn’t listen to you.” She looked at them. “Either of you.”

  She neither made nor demanded an apology—for her not listening, for them not doing more. She fumbled for no explanations and made no prayers. This woman, dusty and tired and hard, was not the same priestess he had left behind.

  Which was fine by him. This woman looked a little more useful in a fight.

  “That thing …” Asper said. “That demon … it’s coming here, isn’t it?”

  Lenk nodded. “He is.”

  “And it’s not going to stop.”

  “Not unless we kill it.”

  She looked at him meaningfully. “And … can you?”

  He glanced at Kataria. The shict looked to him, frowned, and shrugged. He sighed, turned to Asper, and smacked his lips.

  “Kind of? Maybe?”

  Asper’s face drained of emotion. “Outstanding,” she said. She rolled her shoulder. “I’m in.”

  “Asper,” he said, “you don’t have to.”

  “I know,” she replied.

  “This isn’t some ordinary demon.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “This is Khoth-Kapira. The God-King. This foe is beyond anything we’ve ever—”

  “Holy shit, I get it, all right?” she snapped. “I know it’s huge. I know it’s a demon. I know we probably can’t win. We’ve survived things like this before, right?”

  He shook his head. “Not like this.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’ve lost everything so far. Every battle that counted, every life that I needed to save. If I have to keep losing … then let me do it trying my damnedest.” She forced a weak smile. “Okay?”

  He sighed. “Yeah. Okay.” He rubbed the back of his head. “If it’ll make you happy, you can come die horribly with us.”

  She didn’t seem happy with that—though it was hard to imagine how this situation could ever be happy—but she seemed satisfied, at l
east.

  “That’s fine and all,” Kataria grunted. “But what’s she even going to do? As far as we know, only Lenk can hurt the damn thing. We’re going to need her to bring more than just hacking at its ankles.”

  “I brought more.” Asper looked over their heads. “And he’s right here.”

  Lenk whirled and, at the sight of the shadow looming out of the ruins of the Souk, raised his sword. It stood stark as night in the morning, an inky void shaped like a man. One of Khoth-Kapira’s tricks? Some other sorcery? He would have charged it right then and there, regardless, had it not spoken.

  “What the hell is that supposed to do?” A black hand reached out and pointed to Lenk’s blade. “You see a creepy thing made out of darkness incarnate and your first thought is to whack it with a big metal stick?”

  The voice rang familiar enough for Lenk to lower his blade. “Who are you?”

  And though the thing had no face beneath its hood, Lenk could have sworn it was smiling at him.

  “Fine,” it said, “but promise you won’t say anything stupid.”

  A hand went up to the hood and peeled it back. A face, colorless, and two dark eyes stared back at Lenk. And though the grin he shot them was familiar, Denaos’s smile had never been so unnerving.

  “Denaos,” he whispered, breathless. “By all that’s holy—”

  The rogue held up a finger. “So I know you didn’t promise, but let’s not go compounding stupidity with blasphemy. I know what I look like.”

  “Shit,” Kataria whispered. “Are you … dead?”

  “I am.” He stood tall and resolute, hands on his hips. “And I am here to help. In your darkest hour, I’ve—”

  “But how, though?” she interrupted. “Dead people are supposed to stay dead.”

  “That’s not important right now. What is—”

  “The hell it’s not important!” she snapped. “You’re fucking dead! How is that possible? Do you crave flesh? Blood?” She quirked a brow. “Virgins? Is that how this is supposed to—”

  “For fuck’s sake, woman, I just got done explaining this whole shitty thing to Asper. I can’t very well be mysterious and dramatic every time I have to open my mouth.” He waved a fingerless hand at her. “I’ll explain this whole … thing later.”

  “I think I’d rather know now,” Lenk said.

  “Oh, would you?” Denaos replied. “Can you afford to be choosy about who helps you or am I mistaken and that’s some other gargantuan demon king marching toward us?”

  Kataria glanced toward Lenk and muttered, “I mean, whatever happened to him, he’s still a gigantic asshole, so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “I heard that,” Denaos said.

  “Good,” she snapped back.

  “Look,” Lenk said, holding up a hand. “Whatever happened, whatever’s going to happen, it’s not your responsibility. Heroism isn’t going to save us.”

  “No,” a voice from above echoed. “But power will.”

  Eyes drifted up to the eyes looking down upon them. Hanging there like a ghost, the tails of his dirty coat swaying beneath him, Dreadaeleon hovered in the middle of the air. His hands were outstretched, the air shimmering around his fingertips with whatever power was keeping him aloft. Though his hair still hung in greasy strands and he looked as scrawny as ever beneath his coat, there was something off about him. There was something in his eyes, an intensity that hadn’t been there before.

  Also, Lenk noted, his eyes are on fire. That’s new.

  The wizard slowly let himself down to the ground. The fires in his eyes, bright crimson, should have dissipated as soon as the spell was released. Yet they merely dimmed to embers, glowing in the morning gray.

  Lenk swept his eyes about, glancing from Dreadaeleon’s burning stare to Denaos’s colorless face to Asper’s dirty armor.

  “So,” he said. “Looks like we’ve all been busy.”

  “There are few words that could describe what happened to me,” Dreadaeleon said. “And those that exist are beyond the grasp of your mind. Suffice to say …” He flexed his fingers. Cobalt sparks danced across his knuckles. “I have become … something more than the boy you left behind.” He clenched his hand into a fist. A burst of bright electricity blossomed. “And what I have become, you cannot afford to deny.”

  A silence fell over them, their eyes fixated on the boy—or whatever he was now. And when the quiet was broken, it was Denaos who spoke.

  “Did you come up with that just now?”

  “Yes.” Dreadaeleon coughed. “I mean, I thought about it a little on the way over. It sounded good, though, right?”

  “Was a gods-damned letter sent out or something?” Lenk asked. “Why have you all decided to show up now?”

  “What’d we come together for in the first place?” Denaos asked. “I thought it was gold, back then. Or maybe running away from the guard. Something like that. It didn’t become clear to me until this happened to me.” He sighed. “Some are born with money sense, some are born with excellent taste in wine …”

  The smile he offered Lenk was soft, small, and terribly sad.

  “And some are just born to troubles.”

  Lenk found it hard to dispute that. After all, it had been … what? A month? Two months? And in that time, Asper had formed and lost a holy army, Dreadaeleon had found power that he clearly shouldn’t have, and he didn’t have words for whatever the fuck had happened to Denaos.

  And him? He had released the demon that would end a thousand lives, a thousand cities, an entire world.

  All in two months.

  It had taken the gods centuries to create it and, in maybe one more day, they’d destroy it all.

  Born to troubles, he thought. Isn’t that the gods-damned truth. He sighed, looking over his companions—the men and woman he barely recognized. Still, I guess it could be worse.

  And, in another moment, it was.

  It was Asper who noticed first. She glanced up, tensed, drew her sword and shield in one fluid motion, and made ready. Their glances followed and, while they might not have had exactly as severe a reaction, Lenk could feel every cheek of every ass collectively tense at the creature approaching.

  Even after all this time, there were some things that just didn’t change.

  And the sight of Gariath was one of them.

  From a distance, he looked huge, imposing, unstoppable. And as he drew closer … well, he still looked all those things. But Lenk could only now see the fresh wounds, the old scars that were a little too apparent on him, the hint of stiffness in his limbs. And his eyes, so often unfathomably reptilian and dark, reflected a weariness that Lenk had never seen in him before.

  Gariath came to a halt a few feet away. Perhaps he noticed their collective tension and was being cautious. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be respectful, given the circumstance.

  “You all smell awful,” he growled.

  Or maybe it was that.

  “I caught your scent at the city gates,” he said, sweeping his eyes from one of them to the other. “I didn’t expect to find you all here.” His gaze settled on Asper. “I am not here to fight.”

  “Then consider this to be a fucking bonus,” Asper roared.

  She took a leap toward him, only to find herself suspended in midair. She glared over her shoulder toward Dreadaeleon, the air trembling around his hand. She snarled.

  “You!” she snapped. “You would help him, wouldn’t you?”

  “Only because we need both of you,” Dreadaeleon said. “Asper, I—”

  “No!” she roared. “Put me down. Let me fight him! Let me die or kill him, I don’t fucking care anymore! If you knew what he did, what his army did, you’d—”

  “My army is dead.”

  It was the way he said it that made her, and the rest of them, pause. His was a voice made for hard statements and unflinching words. To hear him speak with a damp voice, creaking at the edges, was unsettling enough to cause them to stop.

  “I
led them to their deaths,” he said. “Even before the shicts, the demons, they were dead.” He stared at the ground. “I promised them new lives, a new home, free from fears. All I could give them was death.”

  He looked toward the city walls and snorted.

  “And if all I can give them is death, then I shall give them the biggest one there is.” He looked back to them and spit the next words. “The demon.”

  Asper slowly slid to the ground as Dreadaeleon’s magic faded. And though she no longer looked eager to fight, she regarded Gariath with a glare.

  “If you think I’m going to fight alongside him …”

  “I don’t care,” Gariath growled. “I sent the rest of the tulwar away. They’ll go back to their homes, back to their families, try to forget this day. But I’m here to fight, to kill or to die. One way or another, their deaths will be answered. Whether you’re here for that or not, I don’t care.”

  Dreadaeleon cast a burning glance toward him. “He’s here. We might as well use him. I’ve seen the demon from on high. Even I can’t stop him alone. We’ll need every—”

  “Oh, not even you?” Asper snapped. “Not even the great and mighty Dreadaeleon, whose power of magic is matched only by the amount of awkward erections he suffers, can stop it? Spare me. You want him around because he’s like you. Neither of you can take responsibility for what you’ve done. If you knew what he—”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Dreadaeleon snapped. “Your problems and all your invisible sky people and delusions of heaven were trivial before, and they’ve only grown more trivial now. Your losses are nothing compared to—”

  “Yours?” Denaos interjected. “What losses would those be? The people you killed to get your power? The oaths you broke? The buildings you’ve burned? You don’t know loss.” He sneered. “You only break everything you touch.”

  “That’s probably true.” Kataria sniffed. “But, as a counterpoint, may I point out that you’re fucking dead?”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Like fuck it doesn’t,” she snarled. “All of you are bickering and whining about which one of you is the dumbest, but none of you are going to be worth shit when the fighting happens. I’ve had enough of trusting everyone else not to fuck things up and—”