The Creators Ch. 12

"Run!" I screamed hoarsely at her. "It's all you can do!"

She didn't respond. If anything, my voice only spurred her flight. The ground beneath me was beginning to dull with frost, the air around me was chill to the flesh, but I didn't care. The heat was building within me. I stopped, threw my arms forward, and sent a tsunami of sapphire flame across the plateau. Willowbud put up another thousand-foot wall, and my wave crashed upon it, but it did not die. It rose, climbing the wall like gravity had turned on its axis, and spilled over the other side. The wall collapsed backward, falling in one piece like a massive domino, and I barely got off the ground in time before the impact occurred. The world shook, the glass plane shattered, and my wave was blown to the winds by the force of the moving air. I was propelled twenty yards back, my jets sputtering in the bluster. When the dust finally settled, there was no sign of the Earth Former. There was only a great slab whose surface was charred and melted, and the fractured web of glass beneath it.

ASTRID

I stumbled back, catching one strike against my gauntlet, wincing as I felt the metallic glove split. My bare hand felt the cool air, then my bare knuckles met the attacker's jaw, then my sword's pommel met her nose until it caved. She gurgled, eyes rolling stupidly in her sockets, and she hit the ground, clutching at her exposed sinuses. I ducked just as a blade sang over my head, then I summersaulted forward as another came for my calves. I rolled out of the strike, and into a wall of swords. Three pierced my wings, and one took me along the shoulder, leaving a bloodless pink gash. I screamed, the pain not yet registering, only the manic rage of battle compelling me. I flung backward as they sliced downward, and my already-crippled wings were cut to ribbons. The white feathers were stained scarlet, and the sinew hung from the broken bones grotesquely. I reared around with the full force of my wrath, and separated two women from their hips. They shrieked a horribly, their eyes wide and panicked, their mouths red with the vomit of their ruptured bellies. I didn't have time to end their hell; I was going for the record. The greatest number of valkyrie kills committed by another valkyrie was when High Guard Eira Sunscraper of Iona slew forty-three Ofanians in the battle of Rockford Crossing. Now, if I could just take three of them at a time, maybe I could... my train of thought was interrupted by the edge of a katana. It sliced into my forearm, cut through the muscle, and clanged against the bone. Even the adrenaline couldn't dull that blow. I screeched almost as loudly as the poor souls I'd halved, and I dropped my sword. I rolled away as four katanas sliced downward, then I picked up one of the oriental short-swords, and flung it handle-over-blade into the attackers. The hilt stopped against a woman's clavicle, the blade swaying behind her. She fell sideways into her sisters, and I had just enough time to reach out with my good hand, and pick up my people's sword. I held the sword tightly, the knuckles whitening against the handle, but I couldn't feel it in my grip. I came to the sudden realization that my hand, my good hand, was lying on the ground. It didn't seem like my hand anymore. I could see the tattoos and the veins I knew so well, but it didn't seem like it belonged to me. It was quite odd. I barely registered what had happened before I felt something cold in my back, and a shining blade was sticking out of my shoulder. Then I lost feeling in my right wing, then my left wing, then in my left foot, then in my left leg below the knee. Then they were on me, black robes surrounding me, shining steel flicking up to the black sky.

"Stop!" I heard a familiar voice yell. I looked up to see four women poised to take my head off. I looked behind me, and realized I could see quite a lot more than I was used to. My wings no longer obstructed the view, and that view showed me a twice-severed tattooed leg, and the embroidered handle of a katana pressed to the hilt in my shoulder blade. I brought my stumpy forearm upward, and scowled. The tattoo of Tera's sultry silhouette had been decapitated; that would be a hard piece to explain to curious fans. Are we in denial? My conscious asked. Blood pooled from the wound in my shoulder, reddening the white and gold armor my mistress had given me. It was still a pristine piece of clothing, still starkly white and shining gold, but now it was splattered with meat and red. Mistress wouldn't be happy about that. Actually, she'd probably find it funny. You're in denial. But no; I knew what was happening, and I knew what was going to happen.

"I will do it," the familiar voice said. Jade Tao walked forward; the sword of her people held in her hand.

"How many did I get?" I asked. My voice was oddly calm.

"Forty-two," Jade said, reaching down to pick up my sword.

"Shit!" I groaned.

"Your mercy cost you," Jade smiled compassionately, placing the sword in my useless, but connected hand. "And you told me you weren't merciful."

"I needed someone to tell my story," I laughed, tasting iron. "Who better than the High Guard herself?"

"They will sing about you until the end of times," Jade winked, then stood upright, and raised her sword. "Are you ready, old friend?"

"We never are," I muttered, and bowed my head. You were a failure and a disappointment. My conscious whispered as Jade raised her weapon overhead. I couldn't disagree.

There was a scuffle, a shout, and a sudden clang of metal. Who was interrupting my honorable last moment? I looked up, and screwed up my face in confusion. For no reason at all, the Breytan warriors in the back had started hacking away at their sisters. The attackers' movements bore none of the grace or skill of the valkyrie, but were brutish, simple motions, like they'd forgotten all their training. Their eyes were violet. Justina Autumnsong was racing through the Breytan ranks, brushing her hands on their exposed necks before nimbly maneuvering to the next. She darted beneath the swing of one sword, yelped as another barely missed her belly, then she sprinted right for the center. She left a trail of chaos in her wake, her possessed minions swinging haphazardly at their brethren. Jade turned on her heel and sprinted into the chaos, leaving me alone in the middle of it. I couldn't see Justina anymore, but I could follow her path by the sudden turn of black-haired heads. The path abruptly stopped, and a terrible, very non-valkyrie shriek split the air. Before I could discern what had happened, a pair of strong arms hoisted me up, pinned me against a strong body, and I was launched into the sky, the sword of Iona falling from my useless hand.

"Master told me to take you far away," a Breytan voice said in my ear. I looked down, but I could not see the bronze figure of my savior. What I did see, was a wide circle of fallen black robes with a me-sized space in the center. There were so few of the great Breytan warriors left, and their numbers were only dwindling as the possessed fighters hacked at their brethren. I heard another of Justina's agonized shriek on the wind, and her slaves suddenly halted their attacks. I grimaced, and looked at the horizon where the flashes of blue flame had met the shadows of rock. There was only smoke now. She's still alive. She has to be.

"Take me there," I said, pointing with my remaining forefinger, "that's far away."

WILLOWBUD

Down, down, down, I dug, the earth crumbling before me and reforming behind me, my breaths shallow and hot, my heart thundering in my ears. I just needed to go deeper. She couldn't find me down here. The confined space was making breathing difficult, so I shot my arms forward, and an immense tunnel was created before me. I rested my back against the wall behind me, and propelled it forward, moving so fast that my lips peeled back and my cheeks flapped. Though I was not exerting myself, I was getting tired. My reservoir of power was dwindling with every deific action I took, making me weaker and slower. Julia couldn't chase me forever; I could outlast her. I accelerated, pouring everything into going faster, further, deeper. My body was numb, my extremities were cold, my heartbeat was slowing even as my panic grew. Just a little longer. Just a little longer, and I'd be safe. She wouldn't find me. She couldn't. I drained myself until my head was throbbing, my mouth was dry, and my heart drummed a sluggish off-beat cadence, then I dropped limply to the cold stone.

My gasping breath echoed in the darkness, accompanied by the soft drip of water. Drip, drip, drip. I tried to match my breathing to the rhythm of the sound, tried to pull air into my hungry lungs and push blood into my starving limbs. Drip, breathe, drip, breathe. It was an oddly soothing coupling of sounds. It brought my mind into focus, and set my heart into a slow, but steady beat. Drip, breathe, drip, breathe, drip, breathe, drip, sizzle.

"No," I whispered. "Impossible."

Drip, sizzle, drip, sizzle, sizzle, sizzle, sizzle. The comforting darkness slowly peeled away. The rock above me was brightening, turning red, then purple, the sapphire. The molten stone dripped from the center of the illumination, pooling a yard away from me, running like molasses. Little toes emerged from the melted ceiling, then feet, then calves, thighs, penis, pelvis, belly, breasts, neck, chin, mouth, nose, eyes. I wanted to scramble away, I wanted to dive deeper into the rock, but I had nothing left in me. She dropped before me, her bare feet splashing the molten rock from its pool, speckling my limp form with scalding heat. I only groaned.

"How?" I hissed.

"I see through flame like you see through rock," Julia sat cross-legged beside me, and brushed her fingers across my lower back where her brand raised the skin. "You still have my fire in you. On the surface you're invisible to me, but down here, where the sun has never touched the stone, you are a candle in the dark."

Night Eyes would've had a snarky comment, but I didn't. I only had terror. Like an insect in the spider's web, I lay limply and defeated while the predator decided how she would feed. My resignation didn't ease my fear; it only heightened it. This was the end, and I never before wanted so badly to live. My heart thundered back to its wild rapid rhythm, but its pump did not compel my limbs into action. They were rubber and useless, as sapped of strength from my terror as they'd been from my flight. I felt warmth between my legs, and realized I was pissing myself.

"Please," I blubbered, "mercy."

"Mercy..." Julia cooed the word, her fingers trailed slowly back and forth along my spine.

"The Holy Mother would want you to be merciful," I pleaded, staring up at her.

"The Holy Mother can't see us down here, Willowbud," Julia said softly. There was no mercy in those emerald eyes. Only a steady, calm hatred. I should've met my end up above, when her hate was hot. She would take her time with me. I felt heat begin to radiate from her touch. It started as a pleasant warmth, then grew steadily hotter. Back and forth her fingers traced, and hotter and hotter they became. I couldn't thrash, couldn't twist, couldn't even roll over. I could only scream, anticipating the pain that would come, possessed by some instinct to expel useless terrible sound from my exhausted lungs. Julia stopped.

"What is this thing?" she asked, the contempt dripping from her voice. "What is this thing that begs, and screams, and runs away?"

"Lucilla would want you to be merciful," I tried, sobbing the words. Julia's caressing hand ceased her motions. When she spoke next, her voice was dead.

"If you say her name again, I will scar every surface of you with it. I will make patterns of her name across your flesh like the patterns she wore upon hers."

"I'm sorry!" I barely said, my head dropping to the stones.

"You are. You are the sorriest thing I've ever seen."

"Mercy. Please, mercy!" I cried, my voice straining, then breaking. I whimpered onto the stones. "I don't want to die."

"You're not the first woman who's begged me for her life," Julia chuckled. "And I loved Passion, Willowbud. I hate you."

"It wasn't me; it was Night Eyes! It was Corruption!" I hissed, knowing it to be a lie. It was me. It was me without pretense, and I longed to be her again. She would've fought. She would've laughed in the face of death.

"Maybe it was. Maybe you're innocent," Julia ran her hand through my hair. "Maybe you're just a terrified little girl who's stuck with the memories and choices of another woman." Julia put her lips against my ear, and whispered, "But that woman isn't here, Willowbud. You are." And with that, Julia scooped a handful of molten rock, and hovered it above my back. Drip, sizzle, scream. The droplet splattered between my shoulders, pooling, then burning in, eating through layer after layer of flesh. Drip, sizzle, scream. I could smell it now, like pork fat on a cast iron pan. Drip, sizzle, scream. I could feel it eating through muscle. Drip, sizzle scream; whoosh, clang, screech. Julia shot upright, her head rearing to the hole in the ceiling, her hands flinging back as her chest jutted violently forward. Behind her, I saw what looked like a human woman, but it was hard to tell. Gore and blood covered her, one leg was missing below the knee, one hand was missing halfway up the forearm, and a brutal hole was opened in her muscular shoulder. A thin blade stuck loosely from that hole; the shining edge wet with fresh Heat Bringer blood. Julia twisted and shrieked, trying to claw at something behind her. Her back wrenched, and I saw a vicious slice that ran diagonally from shoulder to hip, deep enough the expose the muscle beneath. She thrashed in her agony for a moment longer, then exploded. The double-amputee flung herself atop me, gurgling a scream as light blasted around her. I could smell the burning now. It filled the cavern, filled my nostrils, filled my head. It was horrible, almost as horrible as the duet of shrieks coming from their mouths. Julia writhed for a moment longer, then blasted upward, cooking what was left of the woman atop me. My savior heaved a few choking breaths, then went limp atop me.

I couldn't see her face. She was a silhouette against the dim light, her scalp exposed and weeping, only the faint tuft of blonde hair left just above her forehead. I reached behind her, and shivered when my hand grazed her back, or what used to be her back. I recoiled, and in so doing, I touched something. A feather, barely hanging from the two inches of bone she had left of her right wing. A white feather. Suddenly, the body atop me felt extremely familiar.

"No," I muttered. "No, no, no, no, no!" I rolled her over, and her face caught the sun. Her stoic brow was relaxed, her steely eyes were dull, and her luscious lips were parted, with no breath passing from them.

"Why did you do it?" I whimpered, but I knew the answer. She loved me. She loved me more than anyone ever had, and I'd taken that love, and destroyed her with it. And even after I'd raped her, tortured her, and ruined her, she still loved me with all her heart, and that was what tore mine to pieces. There had been one moment in my life, one single day where I'd been whole. It was that day on the Gratoran Wall, when there was nothing but her golden body lined with the silver of the sun. Now she was lined with the char of her own flesh, and I felt that one good memory blacken.

"I'm sorry," I whispered even more desperately than when I'd been begging for my life. My tears wetted the bosom that I'd rested my head upon for so many nights. I rested my head their now, my mind swirling in a vortex of grief and exhaustion. I was just so drained. I just... I just... needed to... sleep... shadow... red eyes...

Interlude Five: A Subtle End

PETRANUMEN

"I was in this very room, lying upon this very bed. Joy's body was tangled with mine, limbs splayed in the languor after passion. We had not donned the masks for millennia, and it had been nearly as long since we had felt such urges. We did not need them to express our love anymore. Our white hair and white flesh shown truly from us, and our white eyes connected above blissful smiles.

"Your breath smells like shit," Joy smirked over her shoulder at me.

"But your ass tastes so delicious," I sniggered back, then blew air through pursed lips. Joy crinkled her nose, then stuck her tongue out me, and I took the opportunity to suck her presented appendage. "See?" I chuckled after withdrawing. "Absolutely decadent."

"You whore," Joy giggled.

"What is that poem you wrote about the pot and the kettle?" I laughed teasingly.

"Pot said to the kettle, 'look at your hue, it is the ill that defines you.' And kettle, incensed, said wrathfully back, 'then we're both sick, for we're both hopelessly black.' Pot scoffed with a huff and said, 'no way, for am I just a very dark tinge of grey.' Kettle just sighed with a resigned breath, 'to everyone else, you're as black as death. To me, I can see, that you're a lighter hue, but you're the only one that matters to.'" Joy recited perfectly, then chuckled. "When you think about it, the poem could be construed as horribly racist."

"That was not the point I was trying to make, Joy," I replied wryly.

"Are you calling your own daughter a whore?" Joy smirked.

"I am not saying that..." I trailed off with a sly grin, "...all I am saying, is that tasting your further nethers used to be like dipping my tongue into a closed tulip, and now it is like licking a soup bowl."

"Mother!" Joy gasped through a giggle, and I licked my lips in retort. She slapped my playfully, and I wrestled into her submission, before licking the soup bowl once more. Afterward, the sweat of our lust glistened from our bodies, and the smell of it wafted pleasantly through the room. I held her, much like you are holding me. The cataclysm was subtle."

I took a shuddering breath.

"I remember that she turned around, and there was confusion in her eyes. I'd seen that confusion on millions of faces before, and seeing it etched upon hers was the greatest horror I had ever known.

"Mother?" she asked.

"Vitanimus!" I called.

"Mother?" She asked again. Her voice was changing. Oh, the fear in it. I had never heard fear like that before from her. I held her closely, desperately, and whispered my soothing words into her ear.

"Vitanimus!" I screamed again, but he would not come. It was silent outside. Deathly silent. The low rumble of revelry that had always filled the afterlife was muted to nothing.

"Mother?!" she said again, and now her voice was high and panicked, like a child's voice.

"It's OK," I pleaded with her, trying to keep her still, "it's OK, baby."

"What's happening?!" she screamed. I didn't want to look at her anymore. For as her voice grew small and childlike, her features grew old. Her pristine portrait withered before my eyes, stuck in its expression of primal desperation. She wrinkled and shrank, withered and curled. Soon, she was not but skin and bones, but still alive, still horrifically alive. Her voice was that of a babe's, her mutterings were babble, but she still understood what was happening to her. I tried to comfort her, tried through tears and kisses, but she found no comfort with me. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling, her flesh flaked away, and a final questioning 'Mama?' left her lips before they peeled back. Then, I was holding a skeleton. I looked to the window, knowing it would kill me to do it, but I had to see. Maybe some part of me thought there was still hope as long as her face never passed. It did. It stared at me with that confusion, then it faded."