Demon Lord V - God Realm (5 page)

It roared and
leapt at him, raking his chest with long curved claws. His power
reacted to his injury unbidden, pouring from his bones. The
shackles flared, and pain shot through him as he raised his legs
and planted his feet on the monster's chest, then hurled it
backwards with a powerful kick. It flew several feet and landed
heavily, and the soldiers reached it before it could rise, stabbing
it. It flailed at them with massive arms before it leapt up and
raced away into the darkness, leaving a trail of blood.

Bane rolled
onto his side, struggling to suck air into his burning lungs. The
shackles shone with scintillating brilliance, and the dark power
seethed within the prison of his flesh, burning in his blood. He
writhed, biting his lip as a soft groan escaped him. Someone knelt
beside him, and a sword clanged on the ground, then hard hands
rolled him onto his back and thumped his chest. Air rushed into his
lungs as his sight dimmed, and he groaned again, striving to
control the dark power through the haze of pain. He was aware that
the runes on his chest had ignited, and of Artan's muffled
oath.

The dark power
fought Bane, and the added pain of his wounds weakened him. The
shadows flowed through him, seeking exit, rushing back and forth in
a black tide of agony. His stomach contracted into a tight knot,
and he rolled onto his side again, retching. The dark power had not
wreaked such havoc upon him since he had learnt how to increase his
control over it after his healing, but now he was at its mercy
again.

Bane had no
idea how long it took him to regain control and force it back into
quiescence. It seemed like an age, and by the time he did he was
shaking with fatigue. He became aware of the people gathered around
him, and that cold sweat chilled his skin. He rolled onto his back,
gasping as the last dregs of pain leaked away, leaving only the
burning of his injuries. The beast had ripped his shirt open,
exposing the rune scars. If they were going kill him now, there was
little he could do about it. The silence was deafening and
pregnant, and, when no one rammed a sword through his heart, he
opened his eyes.

Artan's
expression was a study of angry confusion. Sarrin looked uncertain,
Ethra appeared doubtful and the rest looked stunned, apart from the
demon, who seemed nervous again. Bane closed his eyes. They knew
what he was now, without a doubt.

"If you are
going to kill me, best get it over with. There is nothing I can do
to stop you."

The silence
became more pregnant, and then Artan broke it. "You're mortal?"

Bane nodded.
"I am." He sensed Sarrin move closer and kneel beside him, and
opened his eyes.

She touched
his chest and examined the blood on her fingers. "This is not an
illusion?"

Bane sighed.
"Right now I cannot even form an illusion, priestess. Your god's
shackles prevent me from using my power. I am helpless."

Perhaps, if he
could convince them that he was harmless, they would spare him. If
he had claimed to be immortal they might well have tested him,
considering that they thought everything he said was a lie. By
telling the truth, and in doing so placing himself at their mercy,
he hoped to convince them that he could be trusted. Then again,
they might still test the validity of his words, with fatal
consequences, so either way he was in grave danger. Being at the
mercy of these strangers was a novel and extremely unpleasant
situation, he found.

He looked at
Ethra. "You may even get your heart's desire, Ethra. I expect you
will be allowed to kill me now."

The young
seeress looked away, frowning, and Artan leant closer, drawing
Bane's eyes to him. "Let me be certain of this. You're a
demigod?"

Bane
considered agreeing with that, in the hopes that it would make them
less inclined to kill him, but discarded the notion. "No, Artan.
There is nothing demi about me." He chuckled mirthlessly. This was
not how he had thought to die. He looked at the shackles, and the
metal flowed, shimmering. Bane met Artan's eyes. "I am a god."

Artan glanced
at Sarrin, who nodded. "Even a demigod could not have survived the
torture of the Dre'beth runes, and only a god can change metals,
which is what he is trying to do to the shackles."

Artan looked
down at Bane. "You're a dark god."

"Yes." Bane
smiled. "No. I am tar'merin."

Sarrin now
looked stunned, and stared at Bane's chest, where the blood had
started to vanish. "I should have known. Had I seen these runes
before I would have. He is a dark god, but whether or not he is
tar'merin I cannot tell."

"What is
tar'merin?" Artan demanded, frowning.

Bane studied
Sarrin, surprised that she knew what a tar'merin was. He had only
mentioned it to confuse them, not thinking that any of them would
know.

"It is... “She
raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening." But he has proven
it already!"

"I have?" Bane
looked puzzled now.

"You saved
Ethra."

"And you do
not think that was only to gain your trust?"

She frowned.
"Perhaps. But if you are mortal, you risked your life to save her.
A true dark god would not do that."

"How do we
know that anything he says is true?" Ethra demanded. "It could all
be lies! The blood could be an illusion. He might not be mortal at
all!"

"The only way
I could prove that is if you kill me," Bane murmured.

"We should
kill him now, before he spins any more lies." The demon pushed his
way to the front of the group, drawing his sword with a hiss of
steel. Artan stood up to confront him, and the demon punched him in
the face, sending him sprawling. Before the other soldiers could
react, the fiend loomed over Bane, swung his sword point down and
thrust it at the Demon Lord's chest. Bane rolled aside a split
second before it plunged into him. The demon plucked it from the
soil and swung it high.

Artan's men
flung themselves at him, but he smashed them aside with powerful
blows that knocked more than one of them unconscious. Bane tried to
rise to his feet, but his strength was only trickling back. To add
to his woes, the dark power surged in response to his need, and the
manacles glowed. Artan was on his hands and knees, blood dripping
from his nose. Bane threw himself aside again as the demon's sword
struck the ground where he had been a moment before, grinding his
teeth as the dark power burnt his flesh.

"Vertack,
leave him!" Artan shouted, struggling to his feet.

"He is a
demon," Bane said, avoiding another sweep of Vertack's sword, the
shackles hampering him. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed
the black-haired woman moving towards the priestesses. Bane rolled
to his feet and staggered away as the demon lunged at him, narrowly
evading the sword. Sarrin gabbled the words of exorcism, and
Vertack gripped his sword in both hands, raising it high.

Bane stepped
closer and grabbed the demon's arms as he brought the sword down in
a mighty stroke that would have cleft Bane in two. The Demon Lord
staggered under the force of the impact, his tendons popping as if
his arms were about to be ripped from their sockets. Even weakened
as he was, Bane was far more of a match for a minor air demon's
vast strength than a normal man. Vertack dragged Bane around as he
tried to free himself, and Artan, seeing that the demon's arms were
occupied, flung himself at Vertack.

Sarrin's chant
broke off with a yelp, and Bane glanced around. The black-haired
woman stood over the old priestess, who lay on the ground, her lip
bloodied. Ethra ran towards her, as did the younger priestess. Bane
turned his attention back to his foe, who continued to drag him
about as he strived to free himself. Bane hung on, but what little
strength he had regained was waning. The dark power sapped it as it
burnt his blood, defying his attempts to keep it leashed. The
remaining soldiers followed their leader's example and attacked
Vertack, their swords slicing into his droge form, but to a demon
they were no more than a minor annoyance.

"Protect the
priestess!" Bane shouted. Artan glanced around, noticed Sarrin's
danger and ran to her aid.

Bane pulled
Vertack closer and glared into his ink black eyes. The dark power
whispered the demon's true name in his mind. "You dare to attack a
dark god, Vertackavor, you will pay."

"You are
powerless, and only a puny mortal god," Vertack rasped.

"You are
ignorant, and doomed."

Bane closed
his eyes and bent his will upon the substance of Vertack's droge
form. All matter was subject to his will, and Vertack's pseudo
flesh was no exception. The inborn god powers were slow to
manifest, however, and his inexperience in their use made them
useless in the speed of a battle. Now all he had was time, though,
time for his strength to dwindle to the point where he could no
longer hold Vertack, time for the demon to win free and slay him.
Or time to use his small skills at manipulating the elements.

"Fire," he
murmured.

The dark power
seethed like a malevolent entity in his flesh, and tears of agony
leaked from his eyes as he struggled to leash it. The demon fought
him, sapping his dwindling strength further. Bane gasped, and the
world receded. He split his concentration with an effort. The dark
power surged against his will, and the demon's droge flesh grew hot
as Bane commanded it to become fire. Vertack screamed as he started
to melt, then his man shape was consumed in a rush of flame.

The demon
reverted to his true form, an entity of foul, freezing air that
slipped from Bane's grasp and engulfed him. The Demon Lord fell to
his knees as Vertack sucked the air from his lungs, his sight
dimming. Again he lashed out with his will, seeking the incorporeal
substance of Vertack's new form. Needles of icy chill stabbed his
skin as Vertack sought to freeze it, but the dark power within Bane
protected him. Again he commanded heat, and the air around him
shimmered. An explosion shredded Vertack's substance and sent Bane
sprawling.

The Demon Lord
lay stunned. The explosion had winded him, and his head hammered
with renewed fury. He coughed and drew in a great gasp, the
blackness that nibbled at his vision receding somewhat. His muscles
throbbed and his stomach heaved stinging bile into his throat. His
limbs trembled with fatigue, and he longed to let the sweet
darkness of oblivion wash over him. A scream jerked him from his
lethargy, and he rolled onto his side, raising his head.

The burly man
was crouched over the old priestess, shielding her, while the two
remaining soldiers and Artan surrounded the black-haired woman,
slashing at her with their swords. The woman's hair bristled around
her head in a wild mane, and she glared at her accosters with
ink-black eyes. Had it not been for the foul red soul she
possessed, she could have been a demon. Bane stared at her, his
tired mind protesting the prospect of taking on a black sorceress
at this moment. The woman flung a bolt of dark power at a soldier,
sending him sprawling with a scream of pain, and Bane realised that
the men had no hope of overcoming her.

With a groan,
he pushed himself up, rising to his feet. His knees almost buckled
with every step as he walked towards the woman. She spied him, and
the flush of fury drained from her face, leaving it chalk pale.
Artan tried to rush her from behind while she was distracted, but a
black shield sprang up between them, and he rebounded off it with a
grunt. Another soldier lunged at her from the side, but she knocked
him down with a negligent flick of her hand. Bane stopped several
feet away, revising his opinion of what she was.

Her unnatural
strength indicated that she was more than a black mage, yet her
physical reactions told him she was mortal. Deciding that it was
probably irrelevant, he approached her again. She backed away, fear
shining in her eyes, and the soldiers looked at Bane for guidance.
He waved them away. The woman glanced at the darkness, clearly
wishing to flee but afraid to brave the creatures that dwelt in it,
and he did not blame her.

The woman
flung a bolt of dark power at Bane, but it had no effect. A soldier
picked up a fallen crossbow and loaded it, and she hurled another
streak of shadow at him, sending him rolling with a howl. As Bane
approached her, she retreated, turning in circles to stay in the
light, but not allowing him to get close to her. Bane stopped. This
could go on for a long time.

With her
powers, only he could defeat her, but he did not have the strength
to catch her. He swayed, barely able to stand, and all he wanted to
do was sink down and close his eyes. He had almost succeeded in
leashing the dark power, which sat sullenly in his bones, hating
its imprisonment. The woman stared at him, her breath coming in
short, harsh gasps. She feared him, and he knew that she wanted to
kill him. With him gone she could summon her demon again, and the
people would be forced to serve and protect her. She could not kill
him with the dark power, so she would have to use the dagger in her
belt. To do that, however, she would have to come close to him. So
long as he was capable of defending himself, she would not approach
him, but if she thought that he was helpless, she might.

Bane rolled
his eyes up and let his knees buckle, slumping to the ground. A
deathly silence fell, and he tracked the souls around him. The dark
red one approached, slowly at first, then more quickly, and
footsteps crunched in the dust beside him. He waited until she
squatted down before he opened his eyes. She had drawn the dagger,
but something off to the side had distracted her attention. He did
not bother to see what it was, but lunged upwards and punched her
on the side of the head with his manacled hands. As she fell, pain
shot up his left arm. Bane sagged back, staring in surprise at the
crossbow bolt that sprouted from his forearm. Shock hit him like a
bucket of ice water, and darkness washed over him in a blessed
tide.