Soulseeker’s Descent

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  The God of Light looked long and hard at his enemy, entirely dark and terrifying, floating near the black planet.

  “They set a trap for us,” Róganok said.

  Alac looked at Mythlium, hieratic on her dragon and too relaxed. What was going on?

  “Fluenthal, Mythlium,” the God of Chaos said.

  Both of them moved forward until they were by the side of Górgometh and his terrible master.

  “No! It can’t be,” Alac stammered. “Sister, I saved your life! And this is the way you thank me?” Tears burned in his eyes.

  “It was all part of the plan,” Mórgomiel explained in his cavernous voice.

  Górgometh was enjoying the moment.

  “I am sorry, brother. But the forces have changed and so has the order of the universe. The beings of the Celestial Divinity have abandoned us. Perhaps they are creating a new cosmos a long way from here. But this is our home and Mórgomiel has shown me that only Chaos will prevail. Think about it, brother. Join us. It is the only way to prevent the death of millions of innocents. There is no need for a war.”

  “Fluenthal?” Róganok said, his voice broken. “Folfiri and Kágalath refused, is that not the truth? And you killed them. Were you there, Mythlium? Speak, traitor!”

  Mórgomiel replied, “Mythlium and Fluenthal were present, that is so. They were the first ones to yield to me.”

  The Goddess of Water and her dragoness were quiet, but exuding shame.

  “I am sorry, brother,” Fluenthal said. “There is but one existence and we cannot allow it to escape from us. Even gods have a beginning and an end. Look at Folfiri and Kágalath—dead. Why? Because they had no vision. But there is still hope. There is still time. Mórgomiel is generous with those who yield to his designs. Do it, Róganok. Do it for me.”

  “For you?” Róganok roared. “It is not my sister talking, but the fear which rules you. You succumbed out of cowardice. A curse on you!” He felt badly wounded and alone, he had no siblings left. “There is no worse wound than a sibling’s betrayal. You have broken my heart, Fluenthal. I will never forgive you.”

  “But—”

  “Enough of this sentimental nonsense!” Mórgomiel burst out. “You wretched lizards. Make up your minds, do you join, or do you die? It’s as simple as that. Choose.”

  “Poor, weak creatures,” Górgometh said. ”Don’t be stupid, join us.”

  “Alac, be brave and heed me,” Mythlium pleaded with him. “You must join us.”

  Alac was forced to admit to himself that he was confused. He asked the young Manchego he carried within him. This crossroads was the result of a betrayal without equal in the Grand Alliance, granting Mórgomiel victory without the need to fight. A strategy of genius: divide and conquer.

  “There is nowhere to hide,” Mórgomiel said as if he could read his thoughts. “Have you still not fully understood? You are an imbecile, Alac. The truth is that you were always quite simple-minded. The universe is mine; I know every one of its nooks and crannies so that fleeing will not avail you, it would be suicide. Make up your mind!”

  “It might be best if they did not join, my lord of the shadows,” Górgometh said, squirming. “I would like to kill Róganok and make him pay for the wounds he inflicted on me.”

  The dragons weighed one another up with their gaze.

  Alac was trying to remember. “But the Oracle said—”

  “It was not hard to convince her. She has also betrayed you.” Mórgomiel cut in. “It is very simple: I am the supreme being of the universe. It seems you are the only one who does not understand that.”

  Was it possible that the Oracle too had betrayed him? Or was this another of Mórgomiel’s games?

  “And the elves?” Alac asked. “What will happen to Allündel?”

  “We will get rid of them as soon as we find their sanctuary. I will have no mercy with those wretched beings. So, do you join, or do you die?”

  Alac felt a vortex of energy growing inside Róganok. He had no idea what to do since any decision he might make implied destruction and death. He thought about his family, his grandmother, and Luchy. He remembered Allündel, Ÿ, and the images that had been revealed to him. Mother. She was alive and surely a witness of this very moment. He thought about something else: that the beings of the Celestial Divinity had chosen him to stop Evil and that was what he was going to do.

  An enormous pressure bore down on his chest. He might die. He might never see Luchy again. But if he failed to fight and conquer Mórgomiel, the universe would be at the mercy of Chaos. A tear slipped from his eye and he felt a cascade of emotions that unleashed his fury, his will to go to the limit, and the passion that a pure god would never get to experience. His armor began to burn brightly, as did his emotions. He had gathered together his maximum potential.

  He pointed his spear toward Mórgomiel. He felt that Róganok was rejoicing, feeding on the energy of his god, and this in turn increased Alac’s power.

  “We have chosen!” Róganok roared and he spits out a blast of light that struck its target.

  Fluenthal and Mythlium were swallowed up by the flash, consumed by the powerful blast of energy that instantly consumed the Goddess of Water and her dragon.

  “Now you cannot add the essences of Fluenthal and Mythlium to your accursed sword, you miserable God of Chaos!” the white dragon shouted.

  Alac perceived the doubt in Górgometh and although Mórgomiel was hiding his face behind his helmet, he knew that an attack like the one they had just witnessed must be making him uneasy.

  “That is how much you loved your sisters?” Mórgomiel mocked him, but he could not go on because a flash of light caught Górgometh squarely in the chest.

  The duel to the death had begun.

  Górgometh was thrown off balance and Róganok and Alac seized the opportunity to attack. Alac concentrated on Mórgomiel. He threw the spear at him again and again at an incredible speed, but Mórgomiel defended himself with his shield just as fast.

  Another flash flew from Róganok’s mouth, but this time the smoky dragon counterattacked with a spell of shadows. He hit the white dragon on a wing where the spell bounced off and hit Mortis Depthos, which exploded. Mórgomiel groaned at the sight of his planet being consumed.

  Róganok recovered in a matter of seconds. The dragons were now locked into body-to-body combat. Shadows and lights mingled with howls of pain and fury.

  Róganok twisted so that Górgometh missed a brutal bite and hurt his jaw when his teeth clashed together. The dragon of shadows howled in pain and frustration. Róganok renewed the attack. He generated a spell of ice that froze the hind legs of the Dragon of Chaos, then delivered a blow with his tail which shattered them.

  Górgometh took advantage of the white dragon’s proximity to contaminate his lungs with the dust of dead stars and his soul with a sphere of evil energy that left his mind prey to black thoughts. Death, carrion, corpses, and the desire for suicide invaded Róganok’s mind. The beast shook his head and claws as if trying to shake off a swarm of wasps. Shadows surrounded his body. Seeing himself trapped in a wake of smoke, Alac panicked. He heard a ferocious laugh and then the clash of teeth beginning to chew. Górgometh was eating the white dragon’s tail, legs, and back. Róganok, tortured by the spell, was howling.

  Alac sent a beacon of light toward Róganok that cleared his sight and soul. Górgometh suffered the effects of that light and the energy Róganok managed to summon to conjure a spell of fire around him. He gave Górgometh a dose of his own medicine when he put a spell of Goodness on him which filled his soul with visions of pure and harmonious actions.

  Róganok was bleeding everywhere. He tried to get the blood to coagulate, but the wounds were many and deep. The beast was losing vitality. Even so, he advanced and impaled a saber of light in Górgometh’s neck, which brushed Mórgomiel’s body. The god responded with Wrath the Godslayer and cut off one of Róganok’s powerful claws. The pain of the amputation forced him to retreat. In terro
r, he saw his claw vanishing before his eyes.

  The two dragons were badly wounded, their strength similarly balanced. Alac knew that the fight would be decided by the riders.

  On an impulse, Róganok hurled himself at Górgometh. Once again, they embraced in a duel to the death, each trying to wound the other in the chest which was the magical beasts’ weakest part. Then their riders joined the fight.

  Alac launched his weapon of fiery energy, but Mórgomiel intercepted it with his shield. The beams were deflected and struck Górgometh, not the God of Chaos. The God of Light concentrated a ball of energy in his shield which shot out as though from a catapult. Mórgomiel absorbed the liquid fire and hurled a tumult of shadows at Alac, who barely avoided the deadly blow by creating a sphere of light around him.

  Not being able to move away from his dragon was a problem. Alac knew he had a chance in face-to-face combat, but separating from Róganok would mean his death. Then, Mórgomiel leaped from Górgometh, raising his sword to swing it down it on his enemy’s head.

  The God of Chaos could not understand why Alac did not follow his example and leap off his dragon. Could it be a strategy? He saw fear in Róganok’s eyes. Imbecile, Mórgomiel thought as he watched his victim. You should have leaped to stop me. Now I am going to destroy your beast.

  Mórgomiel turned at the last moment and delivered a blow to the white dragon. The blade, black and lethal, fell in a clean swipe which instantly cut his snout in two.

  The howl he gave was violent. Blood gushed profusely and with it, his life. Róganok was dying with part of his face severed. Górgometh seized the opportunity to thrust his claw into the now-jawless mouth, down to the very bottom, deep into his innards. He scratched the other dragon’s esophagus, pierced his stomach, and tore out his organs. Róganok’s body turned limp. Alac could feel the animal’s agony, his savage suffering. He could not believe that one of Górgometh’s limbs was now inside his dragon. Something in him cracked.

  Górgometh pulled out his claw and displayed the prize as if it were a hideous trophy: it was Róganok’s heart. In contact with the void, without the protection of his magic, it froze and shattered into a thousand pieces.

  “Noooo!” Alac screamed, crying oceans over Róganok’s death.

  Then, the magic cloak that protected him vanished.

  When Alac Arc Ángelo realized, it was too late. He froze. The dragon and his god had been defeated and were now nothing more than statues of ice. Mórgomiel understood everything when he emerged from his surprise.

  Of course, he did not jump to stop my attack. If I had known he was a demigod, I would have attacked him from the beginning and I would have prevented Róganok’s suffering. Poor demigod! To be reincarnated in a human! Mockery soon gave way to concern. I, too, have a human part within me. There you are. This is me, Argbralius. Mórgomiel concealed these thoughts from his dragon. He did not want to lose his authority.

  He mounted Górgometh and together, they watched the bodies of Alac and Róganok drifting away.

  “You are magnificent, Mórgomiel. You have saved me and thanks to that, I was able to tear my enemy apart. We have won. After thousands of years, we have finally taken revenge on the God of Light and his insolent dragon. Shall we turn them into dust?”

  “No. The star will swallow them when gravity finishes attracting them to it. The universe they wanted to protect will be what consumes them. The beings of the Celestial Divinity thought of a human to grant the God of Light a certain moral superiority, without realizing that it implied a risk: physical weakness. Useless! It is a time to celebrate, Górgometh, and to heal those wounds of yours. The conquest of the universe is very close.”

  The Dragon of Chaos launched himself into flight. A purple vortex appeared and he entered it to transport himself to another dimension.

  Meanwhile, in the cruelty of space, Róganok’s torn body floated, surrounded by blood and organs, and enveloped in ice, heading slowly toward the red star. The stony figure of the God of Light, with that mask of terror on its face, also moved away in the direction of the giant star that was shining with unusual wrath. The star would consume them both and turn them into ash.

  —THE END—

  Epilogue

  Luchy and Lulita had seats of honor reserved near the nobles of the Empire. They were behind Philip Góndola, the Duke of Érliadon and a man of excellent style and elegance. The Décamon of Háztatlon was crammed with people.

  They were listening to the pontiff as he gave his speech. He was dressed in white and purple with a hat that resembled a bird’s beak. His words flew up to the great dome above the spacious oratory that was lit by the serene dance of a hundred candles. The murmur was constant; some wealthy ladies were whispering about Ajedrea’s looks and dress and noblemen were making use of the time to strike business deals.

  Luchy gazed at Ajedrea beside Lombardo. Both were seated on a small bench before the altar. The day before, the bride had invited her to her room and asked her for help. Ajedrea had appeared proud and happy when she showed her the dress that was the color of sea pearls. Luchy had suggested a necklace of aquamarines; they were not the most ostentatious of gems, but they were lovely.

  “Have you seen the ring Lombardo gave me? It’s very simple, but it’s enough for me,” the girl had said. She stretched out her left hand. On it was a golden ring with a small ruby.

  “Oh!” cried Ajedrea at the sight of Luchy’s ring. “Are you engaged as well?”

  Luchy blushed.

  “How it shines! What kind of stone is this? Who is he? The one who was with you at my father’s coronation? Tell me!”

  Ajedrea’s enthusiasm had caught Luchy off guard. She did not know where to start. Luckily at that moment, Ajedrea’s ladies arrived with the dresses for the parties after the religious ceremony. Thus, she was able to dodge the questions and avoid having to answer.

  “And may the strength of the Gods unite you forever.”

  “She looks so beautiful,” Lulita said, moving her head so as not to miss a thing, although there was always some head or other blocking her view.

  To be present at a wedding between a boy who had grown up in the village and the princess of the Mandrake Empire was a very special event. She had met Lombardo’s parents, hard workers on the Zapotillo estate, and had fought side by side with the brave lad. The lady smiled to herself.

  Luchy’s attention turned to the young men of the nobility and the wealthy families as well as the daughters of the House of Vathor and the dukes. Not only were they beautiful, but they could also boast illustrious family names. Luchy had never considered this sort of thing important, and she knew that none of those lads would ever be as special as her very own Manchego.

  The king was surrounded by some rather odd-looking people, particularly as far as the color of their hair and eyes was concerned. Tradition dictated that he should sit with the queen or alone, so those guests must be important ones, Luchy thought. Among them was a very tall, slim lady who was beautiful with her pale skin, fine lips and nose, and a black hat that looked like a flower. She was dressed entirely in black with a close-fitting dress that emphasized her slenderness. There was a man with long blond locks and an iron crown, very much like the late Gramal Gard but with even broader shoulders which were covered by a cloak that looked like a bearskin with the animal’s huge mouth around his neck. Beside him was a man with brown skin and a long mustache wearing golden clothes and comical-looking slippers with ends that curled up. Beside him was a shortish man with a long beard and strange clothes. Beside him, a beautiful woman with curls that looked like silver and eyes that were… purple? Together, they made an unusual group but a remarkable one that attracted glances and admiring whispers.

  Luchy smoothed the dark blue tulle of her skirt. She had bought the dress at a shop in San San-Tera that imported products from Érliadon. She had chosen a dark color so as not to draw the young men’s attention, but that particular shade only emphasized her white skin and emerald eyes
. Her hairstyle and the aquamarines Lulita had given her were the final touches in shaping the image of a princess who awoke envy in many ladies of the nobility.

  Lulita had chosen a very simple cotton frock. She had woven her hair into a long braid, a custom of the women of Devnóngaron when they attended important events. Many nobles showed their disapproval at the presence of a representative of the Wild People despite the decisive part she had played in the battle of Háztatlon.

  “Let the newlyweds stand,” the pontiff said, assisted by several priests. “Those present are witnesses to what the Gods have united and which cannot be destroyed.”

  Luchy felt as if someone had suddenly wrenched away a piece of her soul. She put her hand to her chest, fearful at such intense pain. Her eyes filled with tears and she was breathing with great agitation. The pontiff looked at her gravely and left in haste.

  The girl was having a premonition. The same thing had happened when Manchego had died at Legionaer’s hands. She burst into inconsolable tears. Beside her, Lulita, too, appeared sunken in spirit. And beside the king, the two women—the one silver-haired and the other dressed in black—could not hide their sorrow.

  One of the priests finished the mass and the guests filed down to the outskirts of the town toward the Imperial Palace. Carriages were waiting, pulled by beautiful horses that had been specially arrayed for the occasion. Crowds were gathered around, pressing on the line of soldiers who were keeping them a safe distance from the guests. The citizens were celebrating the wedding in their own way, letting the beer run freely and complaining about the exorbitant cost when there were people elsewhere dying of hunger.

  It was Luchy and Lulita’s turn and their carriage was waiting. However, they turned away. They had heard words that had awakened their suspicions. They went into the Décamon. The murmur led them to the Decagon, the sanctuary where the ten stained-glass windows shone with the Emanating Rose in the center.

  There, they found the pontiff on his knees and accompanied by a group of priests. The windows showing the Gods of Water, Fire, and Earth were blurred, faceless. The one which represented the God of Light had begun to fade.