He heard clapping and turned, his sword already in motion – it would be just like Mayhem to surprise him. A strong hand locked around his wrist and stopped his attack mid-strike.
“Hello.” The god in front of him was not Mayhem. No, Mayhem had the appearance of a warrior with an eye patch. This god looked more like a fat merchant. “You must be Garrett. I’m Rabble.” He had a bucket in his other hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Rabble… oh.” This was Mischief’s other brother. “Wait… you threw the sauce at me!”
“I was curious to see how you would do against the wolves, but I was worried they’d be too cautious since animals can feel the divine origin of your sword. I thought I’d give them some extra incentive.” Rabble chuckled. “I also wanted to know if they’d like the sauce I chose. Anyway, you did well. I thought they’d get at least one bite out of you, but you didn’t let them. Well done.” Rabble clapped him over the shoulder. “Now, would you like to hear what you could have done better?”
Garrett allowed himself to relax ever so slightly – but only after taking a quick look around to make sure the wolves were truly gone. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope. I’m here to help with your training, so you can either listen and learn, or I can bring the wolves back.”
“I think I’ll listen.”
* * *
“So… how do I use this thing properly?” Garrett tapped the hilt of his sword and then turned it, so he could stare down the length of the blade.
“Keep doing that and you won’t have to worry about learning how to use it.” Mischief fought the urge to slap him over the back of the head. Unlike a god, he wouldn’t be able to laugh off a sword through one of his eyes. Instead, she waited until he’d moved his head a safe distance from the sword before she used a stick she’d procured earlier to whack him. Not only did it make a funny sound but it also saved her the effort of having to reach up to hit him. It was wonderfully convenient. “In simple terms, your sword uses divine energy – like most weapons of divine origin. A normal mortal could never hope to use it properly, but you’re a demigod. Your access to divine energy might pale in comparison to a god, but you should still be able to muster enough to power your sword. You need to focus on unlocking your divine energy and learning how to use it to activate and control your sword’s powers.”
“And how do I do that?” Garrett asked. Mischief’s only response was to grin evilly. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
“Probably not.” Mischief’s grin widened, and Garrett felt ice crawl down his spine. “We can do this the slow way with meditation, research, and all that sort of thing, or we can do it the fast way. Considering how little time we have, we’ll be doing it the fast way. It’ll be fun. Maybe. For me.”
“How did I know you’d say – agh!” A scream tore its way from Garrett’s lips. He gasped and looked down to find the tip of a spear protruding from his chest. He tried to look back – he’d been struck from behind – but his body refused to obey him. Instead, he dropped to his knees. Behind him, he could hear Rabble speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. His whole world was pain. He reached up and fumbled for the tip of the spear, but his fingers could only scrabble uselessly against it. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Rabble leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Try not to talk. You’ll only drown in your own blood. Instead, try to focus. The mortal part of you will fade faster than the divine part. If you don’t want to die, you’d better reach out to the divine part. Otherwise, you’ll be meeting everyone’s favourite scythe-wielding Greater God.”
Fifteen minutes of agonising pain later…
Garrett gave Rabble and Mischief the most vicious, terrifying glare he could muster. They’d healed him, so he was perfectly fine now from a physical standpoint. The same could not be said of his mental state. “Was that really necessary?” he growled.
“Yep. Dying is one of the easiest ways to force a demigod to get in touch with their divine energy. It worked, didn’t it?” Mischief chuckled and patted him on the back in the same place the spear had gone through him. “And it’s not like we were actually going to let you die. I mean… Death didn’t even appear, so you were never in any real danger.”
“Your brother stabbed me with a spear! In the back!”
“Yes. Yes, he did. It also worked.” Mischief gave him a cheerful grin and a thumb’s up. “Now, we can get to the fun stuff.”
Garrett’s eye twitched, and he punched the air weakly. “Yay.”
* * *
“Okay.” Garrett took a deep breath and took a quick look around. He wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice. “I’m ready. How do I use my sword?”
Mischief gestured at him, and he handed her the sword. She accepted it with a frown. “It’s a good thing this isn’t locked to your specific bloodline since I have to show you how to use it, but it might be a good idea to fix that once you learn. It would be a pity if someone used it against you.” He felt a ripple of divine power as she pointed the sword off to one side. “Observe.”
The sword quivered, and its blade glowed a vivid red. A beam of searing heat lanced out and struck the ground almost a hundred yards away. The resulting explosion threw up a broad plume of dust, and a cloud of flame roared outward. The devastation expanded until it was headed right toward them.
“Uh…” Garrett pointed at the rapidly approaching wall of fiery death. “Maybe you should do something about that.”
“Oh, right.” Mischief scratched the back of her head and laughed. “Fire kills mortals.” She stepped in front of him, and the tide of destruction parted to either side of them as Mischief turned a thoughtful eye to the sword. “This thing isn’t half bad. The input to output ratio is quite nice even though it’s obvious they didn’t put too much effort into making it.” She waited for the flames to subside and then handed Garrett the sword. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Garrett fell silent as he took in the area around them. It was like a raging inferno had simply consumed the area. Oh, wait. A raging inferno had consumed the area. “Not that I’m not impressed, but how useful is my sword going to be? I mean, sure, it’ll kill the manticore, but it’ll kill me too.”
Mischief waved one hand dismissively. “Relax. You’ll be fine. I’m a god, so it works better for me than it will for you. I wasn’t even trying, but I doubt you’ll ever be able to match what I just did. Unless you screw up and it backfires while you’re using it – or you fire it at something that’s standing next to you – the sword shouldn’t produce a blast you can’t handle.” Mischief paused. “Probably. Maybe. Anyway, don’t use it on anything too close.” She chuckled at the expression of growing horror on his face. “Listen closely. I’m going to explain how the sword works.”
“Right.” Garrett was listening very closely indeed. It would be beyond embarrassing if his own weapon killed him.
Mischief decided to forgo the technical explanation. She doubted he’d be able to understand it, and using the weapon had given her a better idea of how it worked. The sword absorbed energy from its surroundings, such as sunlight and the ambient currents of power that flowed through Creation. Divine energy was used to power a process forged into the very fabric of the sword that transformed the energy it gathered into heat, amplified it, and then discharged it. She grinned. Contrary to what some of her fellow gods thought, she was more than simply cunning. She was also extremely clever. After all, she and her siblings were cousins, of a sort, to Wisdom and Knowledge. She also spent a lot of time around Wisdom. Gods with short mortal guises needed to stick together, and the other goddess always had the most interesting ideas.
“Your sword absorbs energy from its surroundings and Creation, so you’ll need to give it time to recharge if you use it a lot. To activate it, channel your divine energy into it and imagine the energy inside the sword transforming into fire. The sword should do the rest. All you have to do is to point it at what you want to kill.” Mischief
nodded sagely. “And be ready to run or dodge if the explosion is too big.”
“I don’t think running or dodging will help if the explosion is too big,” Garrett said slowly, his mind drifting back to what had happened only a few moments ago.
“Would you rather just stand there and wait to die?”
“Good point.” He took the sword and concentrated. “I might as well give this a try.” He pointed the sword at a rock about fifty yards away. “Hah! Take that!”
A thin beam of pale red light hit the ground about ten yards away from the rock. The resulting explosion was roughly the size of an apple. He had to strain his eyes to see it.
Garrett gaped, and Mischief could only shake her head. “You’re going to need a lot of practice. As it is, you’d be better off throwing your sword.”
“Probably…” Garrett sighed wearily. Of course, it wouldn’t come easily to him. Things never did. He’d simply have to make do somehow. And, hey, maybe practice would make perfect – or at least good enough to not die horribly.
* * *
Garrett checked to make sure he had everything. He had his sword of divine origin, a shield that was of the finest quality men could make, and mortal armour that was light but durable enough to withstand at least one hit from the manticore once he factored in his demigod nature. He was ready – or maybe not. The thought of fighting the manticore still terrified him, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d run out of time. If he couldn’t get it to stop attacking villagers in the next couple of days, he would have to return home in absolute disgrace.
He hoped things would go better than they had the last time. They should. He’d received months of brutal, gruelling training. He also had a plan: sneak into the manticore’s lair, get a clear line of sight, and blast the monster with his sword. No muss, no fuss. Well, that was the idea. As Mischief was so fond of saying, nothing ever went exactly to plan. They key was to understand how a situation was changing and then use those changes to his advantage. If he were lucky, all he’d have to do was to adjust his aim or hide behind a different rock. If he were unlucky, there would most likely be a lot of running and screaming involved.
He made his way through the rocky canyon that led to the manticore’s lair, well aware of how easy it would be for the creature to spot him if it had taken to the air. He’d asked Mischief about manticores, and the goddess had claimed they spent most of their time napping in or around their lairs when they weren’t looking for food. It would be just his luck for the manticore to be flying around in search of a snack – a snack like him.
It wasn’t long before paranoia set in, and he began to walk with one eye turned to the sky at all times. If only he had a cloak of invisibility, he wouldn’t have to worry. Alas, as good as his sword was at blowing things up, subtlety and stealth were not amongst its powers. Finally, he reached the rocky clearing in front of the cave the manticore had claimed. The beast was dozing in a patch of sunshine. He smiled. This was perfect. He could strike it down before it had a chance to get him. All he needed was to get closer. His aim was still less than stellar, and missing would be disastrous.
Garrett crept forward as quietly as he could although he wasn’t sure how quietly that really was. Sneaking had never been one of his talents although, in fairness, it wasn’t like he had a great many talents to begin with. He skirted the edges of the clearing before bracing himself and slowly climbing up a rock that would put him almost directly above the manticore. There was no way he’d be able to miss from this close. He reached for his sword and drew it as silently as possible. Heart pounding, he peeked over the edge of the rock.
The manticore yawned, shook its head, and looked up at him.
For a second, man and beast simply stared at each other in shock before Garrett gave a cry of alarm and the manticore bellowed in outrage. Almost instantly, its scorpion tail lashed out, and Garrett dodged with desperation he’d learned training against Mayhem. He skidded off the rock and hit the ground hard. He was up on his feet a moment later, and he raised his sword just in time to keep his head on his shoulders. The blade deflected a swipe of the manticore’s claws, and the sheer force of the blow nearly tore the weapon from his grasp. He staggered back and sent a quick prayer of thanks to Mayhem, Mischief, and Rabble. Before his training, the blow would have ripped his sword out of his hands and sent him flying.
Garrett steadied himself and gave the manticore what he hoped was a grim smile instead of a terrified one. “Get ready, beast. Last time, you faced Garrett the Man. Now, you face Garrett the Demigod.” He almost did a little victory dance then and there. He’d finally managed to say something heroic even if he hadn’t intended to. Mischief would be proud.
If the manticore was the least bit impressed, it gave no sign of it. Instead, it attacked with astounding speed and ferocity. It was only thanks to the horror of his training – Mayhem seemed to find almost decapitating him funny – that he managed to survive the onslaught. Even so, he was completely on the defensive. He had no time to look for an opening, never mind use his sword’s power. All he could do was bob, weave, block, and throw himself out of the way. The manticore was simply too fast, and it wasn’t giving him the time he needed to put some distance between them and use his sword. Finally – finally – it took a careless swipe at him. Garrett caught the blow on his sword and let it toss him back, which gave him the distance he needed to use his sword.
Garrett pointed the sword at the manticore and activated it with a surge of divine energy.
BOOM.
The manticore jerked to the side just in time to avoid being annihilated by a beam of heat that was very reminiscent of concentrated dragon fire. The boulders behind the creature were not so lucky. For a second, the manticore could only gape at Garrett. In its long life – and manticores could live for centuries – it had encountered several dragons. There was a reason they were at the top of the food chain. Thus anything that could mimic their fire was no longer simply food. It was a threat – and threats had to be wiped out. The manticore regathered its wits and charged. Garrett yelped, and he was again completely on the defensive as the manticore’s relentless assault crushed boulders, tore trenches into the ground, and came within a hair’s breadth of killing him on at least fifteen separate occasions. This was insane. Training or not, he couldn’t keep this up forever. He was going to die here if he didn’t do something to regain control of the fight.
Desperation filled him as he began to tire. He’d been fighting for what felt like forever although it could easily have been as short as a few minutes. During his training, he’d learned that a demigod’s perception of time changed as they drew upon more of their divine heritage, allowing them to react to things with impossible speed. Half blind with sweat, he lunged forward at what he hoped and prayed was an actual gap in the creature’s defence. It was. His sword drove toward the manticore’s throat only to screech to a halt as the beast’s claws mirrored the attack.
Garrett dragged in a deep breath. Neither of them could strike without risking a fatal blow in return. Just taking that deep breath had almost been enough to cut his throat open on the manticore’s claws, and his sword was in a similar position. If the manticore so much as breathed funny, he would slice its throat open.
“It looks like we have a problem.”
The manticore’s eyes narrowed, and he could see understanding in them. This creature was no mere beast. Damn it. He should have asked Mischief how smart they really were when he’d had the chance.
“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” Garret almost laughed. “Of course, you do. There’s no way you could have survived so long without being reasonably intelligent and cunning. But if that’s true, why do you keep eating villagers? That’s why the king keeps sending people after you. Even if I don’t get you, someone else will eventually. If you stuck to bandits and troublemakers, nobody would care. Heck, they might even build you a shrine.”
The manticore’s expression shifted. It looked… almost e
mbarrassed.
“Wait…” A sneaking suspicion occurred to Garrett. “You can’t tell villagers or bandits apart, can you? We all just look like food to you.” Garrett grimaced. “Good grief.” Then again… that gave him an idea, a crazy idea, an idea so crazy that even Mischief would have been proud of how crazy it was. It was risky, but it was worth a shot. After all, this wasn’t a situation he could get out of without taking a few risks. Besides, Mischief had always stressed the importance of thinking outside the proverbial box, and his idea was about as far outside of the box as it was possible to be. “Okay… how about this? I don’t have to kill you. All I promised was to make sure you would stop eating villagers and other innocent people. What if… what if I told you whom you could eat?”
The manticore’s expression said it all.
“Hey! Hey! Relax. There are plenty of bad people to eat, and it would only apply to people. If you wanted to eat a bear or something, nobody would mind. And think about the situation we’re in right now. Sure, you could claw my throat open, but are you sure you’d kill me before I killed you too? This is a sword of divine origin, and I’m a demigod. You might be tough, but my sword will still cut through your throat like paper. I might even survive long enough to blast you. Either way, you’d be taking a very, very big risk.”
The manticore glared.
“Look, all I want is for you to stop eating villagers and other innocent people. If you do that, then we both get to walk away from this. You go your way, and I’ll go mine. We both end up winners. Otherwise, we’ll probably both end up dead. What do you say?” The manticore tensed for a second before its expression shifted. He assumed it had accepted. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
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