God Wars Box Set Edition: A Dark Fantasy Trilogy

by Mark Eller

  “I like your toys,” he said, indicating the snakes. “Did Zorce give them to you?”

  Belsac’s eyes narrowed. “He gave me nothing. Everything I have I gained myself. Any other path is weakness.” He looked toward Belthethsia. “Kill him.”

  “Nah,” Belthethsia said. She scraped gently at her gums with a single talon. “Did you know Athos gifted me with my own toys just a few months ago? I really like them.” Her smile grew unnaturally wide, stretching her lips beyond the natural contours of her face. Her teeth shone bright and hard and sharp. She continued scratching at her gums until they bled.

  “I had hopes for you,” Belsac growled, “but you are weak. Weaker, even, than your mother. You are a traitorous turncoat who has chosen the wrong side. If you are unlucky, I will leave you alive for Zorce.”

  “We could go on like this for a while,” Belthethsia commented, “but Athos is right. You do talk too much, and the war really needs our attention.”

  She opened her mouth, contorted her face, and thirty-two teeth ripped free from her gums. They flashed through air, scissored their way through flesh, zipping into bodies, out again, and back in, three or four times each. Demons and devils roared in pain and protest. Three had time to leap forward, but their leaps were interrupted by teeth popping through their eyeballs and into their brains, bouncing around inside the cranial cavity, turning brains into hamburger and then into a puree. Belsac’s five snakes straightened, but had no time to do more. Bel’s teeth struck, sliced, and the snakes fell.

  “And then there was one,” Belthethsia noted. Her voice sounded strange issuing from a toothless mouth. She waved an idle hand at Athos. “Your turn, brother.”

  Athos stepped forward until less than three feet separated them. Belsac looked— interesting. Athos wasn’t sure he had ever seen a devil turn pale before. “Give me my hook.”

  Nodding, Belsac held out the forearm, and then slashed it forward at the same time he released a bolt of magical force directly into Athos’s chest. The hook glistened as it cut through the air. It made a solid tunk when it slammed into Athos’s head, slicing through one of Athos’s horns before the point entered his skull, running its full length deep into Athos’s brain. Simultaneously, Belsac’s energy bolt ran incandescent circles around Athos’s chest, fading slowly with each circle until nothing remained.

  Athos reached up, grasped the arm, and casually pulled the hook from his head. No wound was left behind. He broke the hook free of Jolson’s arm, crumbling bone dust away from where it still clung to the arm’s shank. Holding up his left arm, Athos sliced the hook through his wrist, severing his own hand. Black blood spurted, but for only a moment. With a quick thrust, Athos jammed the hook into his bleeding flesh. His bone groaned. His injured flesh bubbled, shifted, and crawled toward the shank. Surrounding it. Merging. Athos chuckled at Belsac’s astonishment. “Did you really think you could harm me with my own hook?”

  “The hook should have killed you,” Belsac protested. “The bolt should have left you lying on the floor.”

  Athos laughed. “Either you are not as strong as you think, or I’m much more powerful than anyone suspected. Come Belsac, forget our differences. We have the same goals. You know as well as I do that the so called virtuous gods will eventually be destroyed, leaving a rather large power vacuum. It leaves a lot of vacancies. With only a small wait we can ensure your ascension into one of them. You might never be my equal, but give me your loyalty and you’ll never be surpassed by another.”

  Belsac stared in obvious disbelief. He looked at his fallen supporters then glared at Belthethsia. She grinned, allowing him to see the buds of new teeth already poking through her gums. “Family has to stay together, and we are, after all, family. Athos is here to take charge so why don’t you tell him the situation, and he can do what he does best. Create mayhem.”

  Athos raised an inquisitive brow. “Tell me why our cousins are dying.”

  “The initial attack was a joke,” Belsac finally said. “Humans fell by the hundreds before the castle gates. Very few of our hellborn were injured; none were killed, though most had to take a break from the killing when they became exhausted. Half our hellborn cut through so much human flesh they needed to re-sharpen their talons and teeth. Then the queen arrived with reinforcements and a dozen wagons. Each wagon carried a small catapult which was soon loaded with a bag filled by god-cursed salt!” He pointed at the fallen hellborn whose bodies smoked and sometimes burned. “There isn’t much else to tell. We hold the fortified position. We are harder to kill than weak humans, but with their recent reinforcements we are now outnumbered, and we’re losing.”

  Athos rubbed gingerly at the spot where his horn had been sheered away. “So that’s it? You didn’t even try to neutralize Flinstar’s salt? You haven’t made a plan of attack?

  “There’s no way to neutralize it,” Belsac insisted. “There can be no plan when we are so greatly outnumbered.”

  “I have already formed a plan,” Athos said. Reaching out with his hook, he snared its tip in Belsac’s clothing and pulled his father’s next oldest son closer. “It’s a killer idea, and it should work, only I need a little help from you to pull it off.”

  “Anything,” Belsac eagerly agreed. “You can ask for anything if it will get us out of this mess.”

  “Thank you,” Athos said politely. His hand quivered. His talons flexed, relaxed, and then flexed again. “All I need are the first few inches.”

  His hand flashed through the air, paused briefly when his claws met flesh, and then Belsac’s head rolled free of his body. Neatly catching it, Belthethsia bounced it in her hands a couple times before she grasped it by its ears and swung it hard down into the floor. The skull cracked with a dull tunk. Laughing, she grinned at her sworn lord. “I really enjoyed doing that— only I wish you had waited a bit before you shortened him. We know the queen arrived, but we don’t know if anyone significant arrived with her.”

  Athos set his hand against her back and rubbed it gently, cutting furrows only a quarter inch deep into her flesh. Around them, the remaining hellborn pretended very hard they had not just witnessed a change in command.

  “It doesn’t matter who the bitch queen coerced into this fight,” Athos commented. “All humans die easily.” He studied his hook, mesmerized by its innate greed for evil. Off in the distance, he heard a distant thunk. Moments later several canisters fell to the battlements, bearing fire which sputtered from a short length of oil soaked rag. With a quick burst of energy, Athos extinguished the fire before releasing a grimace and crushing Belsac’s head beneath his foot. “This is a perfect opportunity for wholesale slaughter. I’m really going to like this, but first I need to neutralize the salt.” He shook his head. “I hate burning up the strength, but there’s no point in conserving power if doing so gets us killed.

  He stepped to the edge of the battlement and peered over the edge. Belthethsia gestured for the remaining hellborn to draw near. Athos’s body thrummed with suddenly accessed power. It exuded off him, pouring out of his body like a heady wine. Hellborn groaned. Some dropped to their knees. From below, enemy thrown missiles flew toward Athos, but they burned and cindered before reaching his body. Athos raised his hook encumbered arm and pointed toward the humans. He spoke, and his voice was like a rumble of thunder. Drawing in a deep breath, Athos released it, and his power flowed forth. Human screams instantly sounded. Salt wagons exploded, but no salt was released. Instead, their contents had shifted form, changing into tons of charcoal dust. More screams answered the first— and then there was a sudden silence.

  Athos lowered his arm. “Shit. Most of the wagons were already empty. The salt is elsewhere. He looked at the remaining hellborn and gestured toward the gathered rebels. “Kill them all. Leave no human standing.”

  And the hellborn listened. They flowed over the walls. They leaped, climbed, and flew. They left the battlements in a frightened mass, and the screams renewed once more.

  “This is ent
ertaining,” Belthethsia noted in bored tones, “but not challenging at all.”

  Athos smiled at a minor succubus as she displayed herself to the humans. A small lizard shaped hellborn stood atop the battlements beside the succubus, taunting the enemy. Raw flesh hung from its jaws. “It will get challenging,” he promised. “Tessla is out there, and so is our cousin.”

  Belthethsia stretched languidly and ran her tongue across Athos’s cheek, slicing it on his short facial spikes. “Perfect.”

  * * * *

  Anger

  "Anothosia help me," Elise prayed. She tugged at her bound hands, but they were fastened too tightly to a tent pole for her to pull them free. She glared at the canvas walls surrounding her, listened to her family prepare for battle, and despaired. She was alone, helpless. It was a feeling she did not like at all.

  A rustling of cloth sounded. Calto slid beneath the tent's far side. His once pristine wardrobe was dirty and torn. It wore stains of blood. She still saw little sign of the dandified prick Calto had once been. Apparently, his change continued. He had become even more real, more focused, during the recent battle. Much of the pride he had once worn was gone, replaced by solid purpose. She liked the change but the heat it engendered within her loins was frightening. Even now, with her hands bound to this damn tent pole, some part of her wanted Calto to rip her clothes free and use her with a passion her husband had never managed. It was embarrassing. Her feelings had become so intense they seemed almost god driven.

  "Anothosia’s busy fighting Zorce, so I will have to do," Calto whispered once he stood erect. He pulled a knife and approached her.

  "Leave," Elise begged. "They will kill you if they find you here. My family has no reason to want you alive."

  "I have no reason to live if they keep you captive," Calto rejoined as he set the knife to her bindings.

  "Do you love Yernden so?"

  "I love Yernden with all the loyalty that has been bred into me," Calto admitted. "Above Yernden, I love the goddess I have served for all my life. For either of them I will gladly give my life, but there is one I love more. There is one for whom I would give my life, my honor, and my family name.

  "Ani?" Elise asked, her stomach suddenly churning. She pulled her hands free of the cut bonds and rubbed at her chaffed wrists, waiting…waiting. She watched Calto’s face closely, but his expression remained focused, barely paying her any mind at all. Damn him.

  "No," Calto finally said, and the knots in her belly relented. He pulled her toward where he had crawled beneath the tent side.

  Elise resisted. "The guards you killed might have been found."

  "I killed nobody. I only found those whose loyalty lies more with Anothosia and you than it does to your sister. Come. It's beginning."

  Outside the tent there was a sudden pounding of drums. Men shouted and beat spear shafts on their shields. She heard the distant release of full sized catapults, heard the sudden whirl of five thousand arrows taking flight, and then she heard a crash of thunder as magic battled against magic.

  Calto’s fingers gently brushed her cheek. His eyes were large, liquid fire that held her captive with their intensity. They showed depth and hurt and— and something Elise had never expected to see.

  “We will probably be dead tomorrow,” Calto said, his voice quiet, almost trembling, “so one thing must be said.”

  Elise waited. Expectant. Almost frightened.

  Calto drew a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve made love to more than a hundred women trying to forget the woman I love. It has not worked. Elise, My Queen, I would shred my soul for you.”

  Dropping to his knees, he pulled the tent’s side up, crawled under, and left her alone.

  “Timing is everything,” Elise muttered to herself, feeling flushed. “Yours sucked.” Still, she felt glorious.

  Following Calto, she crawled beneath the tent, intending to have a few extra words with the man, only to find several bound captives lying on the ground, their limbs frozen, their eyes locked in uncomprehending stares. Looking up, she saw Harlo and Ludwig. Tirelle stood nearby, motes of magic trickling from her fingers to dust the air around them. Calto was nowhere to be seen.

  "Hurry," Harlo said. "Tirelle makes sure the others see only the regular guard, but she can't keep this up forever. She's only a sprite or nymph or something else insignificant. She's not very strong."

  Ludwig cuffed Harlo alongside his head. "That's my wife you’re talking about." He shrugged at a look from Tirelle. "Well almost."

  Tessla came into sudden view, Jolson by her side. "The fools refused to listen. They are dying in droves and doing little damage. You must get all the salt catapults operational again. Give them a chance." She shuddered when a sudden enraged roar sounded from the castle. The roar filled the air, resounded against the earth and sky. Agonized screams answered it, rising in volume until Elise's nerves became so taut they threatened to snap.

  "Athos has arrived," Jolson stated calmly. "He is angry."

  Another roar sounded. Off in the distance Elise saw at least a dozen catapults burst into sudden flame. Soldiers scattered or became living torches who screamed and flailed and died. Part of her heart died with them. For now, her father's troops might be the enemy but there had been a time when she served with them. Some of those flaming bodies could belong to people she knew. Plans evolved in her head. She must get her people involved; use her resources, Calto’s priests, the salt, and finally, Ani’s followers. Her brother and sister might be real bastards, but she did not want to see them dead.

  Jolson frowned at Tessla. "We must find Joss before we leave."

  "Where are you going?" Harlo demanded. "There’s a war going on in case you missed it."

  "Your war," Tessla answered. "Not ours. For this day your task is to deal with the hellborn. Ours is to deal with their god. But not at this time, and maybe not even on this day."

  Ludwig laughed nervously. "What do you think you’re going to do?"

  "'Athos must die," Jolson answered.

  Harlo cursed. "Impossible. He’s a god!"

  "You call me Nedross," Jolson pointed out, "the god of hopeless causes." He waved his hand toward the battle, bringing their attention back to the screams and the crashing of magic negating magic. Elise suddenly noticed his hand held Calto’s sacred book, the one from which many of his original memories had been drawn. "Tell me, can you think of anything more hopeless than this?"

  “It is madness,” Elise confirmed. “No matter the cost, I must confront my brother. Preferably alone. I’ll have none of you looming while I try to talk sense into the man.”

  “I’m pleased to hear this,” another voice broke in. Reed stepped out of the darkness, an older woman wearing a disapproving expression by his side. “Sister, we need to talk.”

  “Not now,” Elise answered, “but soon. I’ve matters needing my attention first.” She paused. “Unless you intend to bind me again.”

  “I don’t,” Reed answered. “I’m not the sort who repeats mistakes. Your being here proves you’ve too many loyal friends to remain captive. ‘

  “Later then,” Elise said.

  “Later,” Reese agreed. “We’ll talk. I’ve a favor to ask.”

  Chapter 10-- Shadow’s Awakening

  Dakar, the god of the night, drifted in among the shadows of the queen’s bedraggled followers. He watched their futile attempts to arm themselves. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. Screams echoed through the battleground. Acrid smoke drifted in among the combatants, and the night was darker than any he had ever seen. The fabric of the world was coming undone. Time and the seasons had been twisted about. It would not be long before Athos and Zorce reigned over the entire true world.

  Dakar sighed. How sad. Such a waste. Perfectly good servants were being made into so much dog meat. His rule would be one of pleasure, a feast for the human libido. At least one good thing would come of all of this. When Athos died Dakar, Erlmene, and Dulce would be there to suck up his essence. Not al
l of it of course. They needed to be able to stay among the throng, to remain on Terra. Too much essence would make them unstable. That’s what had happened to Zorce and his followers. Greed. They sucked up too much of the nano field into their bodies and ended up mad, loathsome creatures. No, Dakar was smarter than them. He had learned from other’s mistakes.

  He stopped in front of the biggest tent. From inside it he could feel anger and fear. His magic tasted the flavor of a hellborn spy,

  “Please, give us your people.” A man begged. “Give us some hope. She is your sister, Elise. She is too young to know what she’s doing. Don’t let her kill herself in this pointless bid for power. How can you be so cold?”

  Dakar moved closer. A woman’s voice answered, strong, but so filled with sorrow he swore he could hear tears in her voice. “I, too, am our father’s daughter.”

  The queen? Elise?

  An old woman’s cackle, harsh, dry, and course grated against the other voices. The stench of death, of corpses long past their rotting stage, wormed their way up Dakar’s nose, making it twitch. Athos’s brand was upon her. This woman was the spy. “Oh you are too precious, too holy. My cause is my people, not my crown, you insinuate, you treacherous snake.” The spy paused. “Why should your sister fight for a crown? She already has one, or she will when darling Mari and all her troops lie dead. The queen tries to sway with pretty words, tries to influence us with her loyalty and self-sacrifice. She is as bad as the rest of them, as bad as all our so-called rulers. We are nothing to them but cattle waiting for the sacrificial knife.”

  Dakar heard the old woman gasp as he moved closer so he could peer through the flap’s gap. Looking within, he saw the tattered remains of a hag fall forward, lifeless, pathetic. A dark stain quickly formed beneath her. The night seemed to take on a darker tone as his shadow slipped through the gap to stand beside the traitor. A wasted, old woman, resembling a dried mummy more than a recently living being, lay upon her belly, her withered and gnarled hand stretched out as if she had tried in vain to call to her so-called god. He wondered how much she had learned. How much had Athos gleaned from his slave?