Dawn and Shadow

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One man has the chance to revere his deity more intimately.
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What heroic epic wouldn't benefit from complete gratification? Why should fantasies not explore their characters' desires to their fullest extent? This is for those who have always wondered what it might be like to play goddess.

Special thanks to the volunteer editors Alias_Omega and LaRascasse!

***

Long had legend foretold the return of the sacred guardians. Many a story and song proclaimed the grandeur of ancient battles which had been won by their hand. But the yawning expanse of time faded memories of their presence, thinning over the centuries, as tales of great winged saviors fell into disrepair and were forgotten. Mankind came to know an epoch of peace and prosperity, and did not call upon the swords of their guardians, praying the need would never arrive.

Five, they were. Five warriors who held dominion over the realms of men, safeguarding them from greater evils than their mortal minds could fathom. They were five of many.

Zonova, Dawn's Hammer and second of the five, heard the distant battle cries before any of the others. She rallied her sisters to arms, and together they watched as peace met a bloody end. Mankind had been cast into turmoil once more, warring fiercely with swarms of beasts borne from the shadowy wildlands to the east. The lands sang with the clash of steel and bone, and The Five kept vigil from on high, enraptured by the melody.

They heard the prayers of generals and foot soldiers alike, men and women who knew naught but a war which spanned generations. And by The Five's presence alone among the people, their will was bolstered. Gifts of strength and fortitude were bestowed upon their subjects, until a day came when the swarms amassed at their border. All battles drifted together like planets to a star, drawing in every warrior to make a final stand for their survival. The goddesses of war lingered close overhead. And when thousands of voices cried out for aid, they heeded the call.

Zonova followed close behind her sister Drita's right hand, streaking to the battlefield in great beams of light. Their wingbeats joined the booming drums, and their radiance shone upon the innumerous upturned faces. Armies which stretched to the horizon in either direction eclipsed the terrain beneath their feet, and every man and woman raised their eyes to the glory of divine retribution.

One by one, each champion joined the fray. When Zonova made landfall, scattering a horde of beasts, her coming was heralded by gasps and screams. Bathed in light of stars, enrobed in ethereal silks, and armored in rage and beauty. She was resplendent, the purest white of sacred fury, as she brought her hammer to bear.

As most fell to their knees or froze in awe at her majesty, there was one man who continued to fight valiantly. He didn't flinch as she felled swathes of enemies. He didn't stare at the trails of stars and glimpses of constellations left by her passing. He was of one mind, for the battle at hand. Where knights and generals lingered at the rear in all their engraved finery, this one soldier showed more valor than any of them. Dark of skin and black of hair, he would have blended with the masses but for his lithe limbs, which flowed through his sword as though they were a single entity.

The soldier began anticipating Zonova's pattern of attack, and was swift to follow behind. When beasts stumbled, hesitated, screamed at the sight of their comrades being massacred, he was there to take advantage. Heavily armed yet lightly armored, he darted about with a rigidly controlled finesse. Where the goddess stood tall and bright, he was like her shadow, mirroring her every move as well as one with mortal stamina could.

Though his actions made little difference to the massive ring of corpses left by the hammer's blows, it was the men and women at their back who benefited. As Zonova battled to protect the realm, so too did the soldier to protect his brothers and sisters in arms. He herded the creatures when they attempted to slip through, harried them when they rallied, and hacked at the masses with his greatsword at every opportunity. His fearlessness in the face of divinity and slaughter inspired others to surge forth with renewed vigor, and Zonova rejoiced at the flash and clang of weapons on flesh, flanking her attacks.

When the brave soldier began to tire and fade, he took a blow to the shoulder and fell to one knee. His broad back heaved with his breath, and his fingers clenched furiously into the wound where it wept red. Zonova, Dawn's Hammer, was at his side in the space of a breath. She did not bend to him, nor did she pity him with reassurances.

"Rise," she commanded, the first she'd spoken. "Rise and fight. They shall honour your memory." The words crackled with energy, and resonated as though proclaimed from far beyond. The soldier met her eyes fearlessly, gritting his teeth. When she offered her hand, he took it, and his wounds and exhaustion fled as the goddess willed it so. He remained standing only for the time it took to thank her, before he set upon his foe with renewed vigor.

When at last the seething horde broke and made to flee, The Five took wing and divided them up. The armies of men pursued as long as they were able, drawn beyond the limits of their flesh to continue the fight. Dawn broke upon the battlefield to see only a few hundred of the enemy remaining, scattered like ashes to the wind.

Zonova walked the fields of dead with her sisters the following day, untainted by the bloodied earth beneath their feet. Not a one of them took to the sky out of reverence for the fallen, but deigned to tread among them. The glory of each warrior's passing was properly honoured, the wounded were healed at their touch, and Zonova was worshiped by crowds of adoring faces, who wept and prayed wherever she went.

The retreating sun at day's end hearkened the departure of The Five, each to their own unique ritual following a grand battle. Drita, to her soaring flight above the clouds. Ymelia to her silent meditation. Virena to a long hunt. And Rona to her forge. But Zonova, rather than ascending the highest mountain peaks to contemplate their grandeur, appeared to the soldier who'd fought at her side.

She wore simpler vestment of long fabrics winding endlessly around her body, and a look of curiosity as she materialized in an unusually lavish tent. Exquisitely embroidered fabrics and furniture were widely spread beneath the capacious vaulted canvas, and an array of bestial skulls was perched atop pedestals in its center. Zonova smiled as she reclined on a small couch, watching silently as the only other occupant washed and dried his face and neck in an ornate basin opposite her.

When the soldier caught sight of her, pure white amid the crimson and gold, he straightened. The momentary hesitation held not a hint of fear or nervousness, as his implacable eyes stared shrewdly.

"Your Grace," he said, kneeling and pressing his forehead into the plush rug. When silence draped itself over his shoulders, Zonova frowned.

"Have the scriptures been forgotten? Lost to the ebb of the century's tide?" The man did not answer. "Arise," she commanded, every word carrying considerable weight. "Blessed be thy strength, bloodied be thy path."

He sat upright, but remained on his knees in a rigidly disciplined posture.

"We are honored by your presence, Your Grace. Long has it been since our hearts were ignited by your radiance. Longer still since your likeness appeared before mortal eyes." His tone wasn't explicitly suspicious, but neither did it exude the fear and awe of the praying masses from hours earlier.

"These are not accommodations of a common foot soldier," Zonova stated, ignoring the implicit question. "You are not who you appear to be." Her gaze bored through him as she spoke, from eyes of purest black which possessed neither iris nor pupil. Unnatural stillness dominated her form, rendering her warming aura like that of a bright star: steadfast and reticent as the celestial wonders, utterly motionless but for the gleaming strands of silvery hair which floated freely through the air.

"General Mui Zuay, if it please Your Grace," he said, crossing his forearm over his breast with a slight bow. "Champion of Malkesh, and Slayer of Dragons."

"General?" asked Zonova, eyes flaring unblinkingly. Zuay met them. "How intriguing."

With a twirl of her fingers, a crystal goblet manifested in Zonova's hand. She conjured and sipped from it in a single motion, finally casting her gaze about the tent.

"Was it you that slew these creatures?" she asked, rising to her feet and gliding to the sepia pedestals.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Zonova's feet, obscured by shifting cloth, made no sound as she moved about. Nor did her raiment whisper, or her breath hiss. In the silence, Zuay's eyes wandered.

"My lieutenants thought them prudent to display, for the sake of our subordinates' confidence in my abilities," he said.

"Is your capacity to lead so tenuous?"

"No, Your Grace. Many doubt an officer's prowess in combat." The shadow of a vulpine grin touched his lips. "But I am a trueborn warrior, bred and reared to smite the enemies of man. Our armies follow my charge."

Zonova sipped from her goblet, the deep burgundy wine assuming a morbid tinge against the glimmering white of her lips.

"Stand," she commanded, moving swiftly towards the tent's main entryway. "Walk with me."

Zuay rose gracefully and followed close behind. When the fabric doors parted before them, he froze. For it was not the vast encampment, nor the view of the battlefield which lay beyond; a broken stony path wound its way through an infinite blackness. The void twinkled with distant prismatic auras, and hummed ominously through teeth and bone.

"What magic is this?" he asked.

"An invitation, General. I would make an offer, in recognition of thy greatness."

"Is this a trick, Your Grace? The legends caution men to be wary of such offers." He surveyed the void through narrowed eyes.

"I've no need for such amusements, General. There shall be no trickery on my part. You have my word."

Zuay strode to the threshold and peered over its edge, his posture leaning ever closer as though drawn by a hand about his neck. Zonova regarded his actions with a watchful gaze, and an air of fascination.

"Am I to return?" Zuay asked, looking up to the goddess's glow where she towered above him.

"It shall be as though you never left." Zonova's alien eyes, slightly too large for her face, compounded the depths of the yawning void. Her wings loomed at her back.

"As you will, Your Grace," said Zuay, averting his eyes. The slight deference in the action did nothing to eclipse the wariness in his gait, nor the rigidity of his stance. As Zonova led on, a shadow flickered at her feet.

General Zuay's every footfall echoed through his chest in a booming drumbeat, and the swirling eons pulsed in time with his heart. A slight twitch in his fingertips was all that betrayed a speck of nervousness, as he basked in the warm luminescence of his guardian's wake. When he attempted to speak, the sound was swallowed up by the gaping maw of infinite space, leaving only a din of silence as he departed his plane of existence.

Zuay looked ahead, and blinked. In one moment, their path was surrounding on all sides by rumbling blackness. In the next, a brilliantly lit expanse nearly blinded him. He flinched, gasped, but did not break stride. His clean-shaven jaw cut deep lines where it tensed, and his eyes reflected the brilliance all about them.

Zonova casually descended a grand stair leading to countless twisting spires and walkways of the purest white, intertwined silvery branches trimming their borders and gleaming in a diffuse light. Wisps of cloud and song softened the edges, while the thin, crisp air bespoke a high altitude. She stretched her wings to their full reach, a disconcertingly serene vision of peace and prosperity. The chaos of slaughter and hammerfall were but a memory, the grime and blood cleansed from cloth and limb.

"Where are we, Your Grace?" asked Zuay.

"East of the sunrise," she murmured, "above the stars, and beneath the deepest seas. The space between spaces." She folded her wings and extended a porcelain hand back towards Zuay. The general's off hand flitted to his hip, grasping at the space where a sword should have been.

"Take heed, General. You are not yet in any danger. But I will not tolerate such wanton blasphemy in my house." From where she stood several steps below, they were nearly of a height. Zuay unclenched his hand, and reached for hers. "Welcome to my domain."

As Zonova escorted her champion onward, holding his hand aloft, she wore a prideful grin. Zuay glanced subtly back over his shoulder several times, his brow furrowing and his every move emanating care and deliberation.

They soon arrived in a vast room with vaulted glass ceilings, a shining marble floor, and dozens of branching silver displays. A cloying scent of anise lingered upon the tongue. Zuay, dark of hair and skin, appeared as a blight amidst the divinity.

"I've an offer for you, General," said Zonova, proffering a second goblet of deep burgundy wine. He took it warily. "An opportunity for you to prove your worthiness and prowess." She glided towards a nearby weapons display, glancing back invitingly. Zuay remained rooted in place, watching.

"Am I at liberty to refuse?" he asked.

"One should at least savor the aroma of their host's wine before spilling it upon the ground," said Zonova with a chuckle. "But yes, you are. There shall be no negative repercussions for doing so."

Zuay nodded, and sipped at his goblet. If the goddess noticed the slight raise of his brow, the soft sigh of contentment, she did not mention it.

"Many a great warrior have I witnessed across the eons. There was once a time when the sanctity of combat was lauded by all, when only those fallen in battle were eulogized by high priests. Long has it been since we were called upon. My wings have grown restless awaiting the call." She trailed slowly between her elaborate displays, hovering her delicate fingertips along them. "I have seen a great potential. Thou lionhearted General, hailed for his valor by his fellows, where and when it matters most. For your deeds, I offer you this: if you can best me in single combat, on equal footing, I will grant you any one boon that you desire. Any wish, any favor which is within my power, shall be bestowed upon you."

"Anything?" asked Zuay. "Riches? Power? Immortality?"

Zonova nodded, lips curled slyly as her hair floated freely about.

"You would be permitted to use any of the weapons in my armory," she said, gesturing to silvered racks of blades, chains, and hammers. Zuay, drawn forth by his curious eye, began to walk their lengths. His hands remained firmly about the crystal goblet, despite the longing in his gaze.

"And, should I fail? What then?" he asked.

"Then you shall be mine," said Zonova, circling close at his shoulder. "Mind and soul forfeited to Rona's forge, your mortal flesh gone forever. Another addition to my collection." She smiled, running her palm along the flat of an ornate blade. Zuay's shoulders straightened.

"How can a lowly man be expected to defeat you, Your Grace?"

"I did state we would be on equal footing," she said. "My physical limitations shall match yours."

"Will you bleed, then? Fatigue? Falter when harmed?"

"Yes."

Zuay took a long swallow of wine as he carefully examined the weapons arrayed before him. After a long silence, Zonova spoke again, her eyes swirling their dizzying depths.

"What say you, General? Will you retreat before your greatest challenge yet? Or will you stake your life on your blade?" With a booming downdraft from her wings, she leapt atop a high glass case, balancing perfectly on its thin edge. The grotesque masks within stared ominously across the room, utterly petrified.

Zuay watched her measured steps from below, not as a mouse cowering from a hawk, but as a soldier facing his foe.

"I accept," he said bluntly. Zonova smiled, her lips briefly too wide for her face.

"Excellent," she purred. She flitted back down to the marble floor, and quaffed her wine. "And what shall be thy wish? Invulnerability, perhaps? Unyielding fortitude?"

As Zuay watched the smooth flow of light fabric upon her limbs, undulating like a choir's harmonious exaltations, he smiled warmly.

"Your Grace, I would ask of you no gold, nor power, nor longevity," he said with a bow. "For I desire but one night in your bed."

Zonova halted and cocked her head, examining the general with renewed interest. His confident stance, placid stillness, and broad-shouldered muscle barely hidden beneath thin clothing - looking for all the world like a god himself but for his attire.

"Lo, but do I behold thy heart's depths," she said. "An admirable choice. Let us hope you do not regret it." With a single gesture, the crystal goblets vanished, and the racks of gleaming weapons stretched to encircle them both.

"What is your armament of choice, General? You may try any of them before making your selection."

Zuay glanced briefly at his empty hand before folding both at the small of his back.

"After you, Your Grace," he said firmly. "I insist."

Zonova's melodic laughter colored the air in a deep rosy hue, echoing irregularly from the distant walls.

"As you please, General. You continue to amuse me." She deftly plucked her warhammer from a high shelf, shifting her form as she retrieved it. Her hair and clothing wrapped themselves tightly about her body, her skin ceased its glow, and her height shrank to match Zuay's. The clean white feathers of her wings homogenized into strands of thread, then draped themselves delicately from her shoulders as a fluttering cloak. She leaned upon her hammer, thumbing the runes engraved upon its shaft, and watched Zuay peruse her collection. He drew half a dozen weapons, tested their weight and balance, inspected them from hilt to tip, and from grip to finial, before finally settling on a belt of throwing knives, a round shield, and a halberd. Upon seeing Zonova's questioning gaze, he shrugged.

"You did not specify a limit," he said. "I don't suppose my usual prayer would serve to lend me strength of arms now?"

Zonova laughed at that, then returned the racks of weapons to their former position while hefting her hammer aloft. She extended it forward with both arms, and the line of her posture tilted away to oppose its weight.

"How long do you require to prepare?" she asked.

"I'd prefer not to," Zuay answered, and clacked the filial of his halberd soundly against her hammer's. He flourished the polearm round his head while bracing his stance behind the shield. "No magics of any sort, nor any capabilities beyond those of mortals. Have I the right of it, Your Grace?"

"I give my word, Noble General," said Zonova with a smile. "For I've no need of either."

With that, she surged forth in a potent charge, swinging her hammer downward in a sundering blow. Zuay only just managed to dodge its fury, and cast a lingering glance at the shattered marble left by the strike. Zonova was quick to recover, discouraging any attempt at a follow-up. She was swift despite the hammer's weight, but not as swift as Zuay.

He kept a light foot and coiled stance, dancing beyond the goddess's reach while harrying her movement. The halberd's blade struck and withdrew in flurries, punctuated by Zuay's measured breaths. He narrowly predicted and avoided the hammer's wrath, though each strike bore great consequence for any miscalculation. Oddly, the air was filled not with the clash of metal, but with firm footfalls and low grunts, as their steel rarely met. The air parting before blunt and blade seemed discontent with the state of affairs, as the sweet scent of anise mingled unwillingly with sweat.

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