Chronicles of Death

In her mind’s eye the palace was a parchment floorplan. The footfalls disappeared down endless halls in the distance. Her crime would remain unnoticed for now. The most direct path to Veran’s chambers at the top of the palace would likely be guarded. There was, however, an alternative route that would likely provide less resistance.

That path went through the living space of his harem via staircase.

The harem was located on the eastern end of the third floor. When Katya approached from the top of the stairs, she found a grand, arched entryway. Veran’s wives were painted upon the door, all reaching toward its center where Veran was painted from floor to lintel. He wore nothing but jewels and his manhood was surely exaggerated. His ego knew no bounds. The entire wing was supposedly dedicated to his wives. On paper it was luxurious. Private dormitories, areas to relax, to eat, to have hobbies. But from where Katya stood, she saw the truth. It was a prison. Maybe it hadn’t always been, but it was now, and it had been for some time.

Katya stepped through the doors and down the hall. It was silent save for her boots which echoed upon marble. The rooms to her left and right, dormitories, were open and empty. From the dust gathered, they had been for some time. No one had come to clean in a long while.

The baths past the living area were filthy but looked recently used despite that. His wives were still there. Or at least someone was still living within the castle and making use of these facilities. On her left, there was an entryway to what was labeled on the floorplans as a living space and was her target destination. She stepped inside and found all thirty-seven of Veran’s wives.

At first glance, the room was grand. Luxurious furniture, marble floors, paintings, floor to ceiling bookcases, a fireplace, nooks to relax in. But with one breath, she smelled rot and stale air. The windows were sealed shut and the once grand furniture was in such a state of disrepair that Katya guessed it long pre-dated the war. Did Veran care so little for his wives that he hadn’t taken care of them even before Paya’s death? She had the distinct feeling that they hadn’t been permitted to care for themselves either.

It was a shame that it didn’t surprise her. The people of Lupinaio were playthings for most of the Gods. She was disgusted. Some of the women hadn’t noticed her arrival and were fruitlessly trying to tidy what was nowhere near a large enough space to house so many people. One younger, frailer looking woman sobbed in the corner on the floor while a few others comforted her. They were all too thin. Eyes sunken in. Likely malnourished and frightened.  

A few were obviously ill.

For them to be this bad off, their imprisonment had to have predated the war entirely. This level of neglect took time. More time than had passed since Veran locked himself away.

Sword in hand, dark clothing splattered with blood, Katya walked through the center of the room without so much as a word. They would be free soon enough. With any luck, they would inherit some of their terrible husband’s former riches. They’d have freedom and wealth. An unattainable dream to most.

Some of the women stared as she walked past but none of them spoke. Others pretended not to see her. Few whispered their prayers. Prayers to whom, she wondered.

She never understood prayer. The Gods weren’t listening. With the exception of Vrana, no prayers were heard. Even then, she was on the fence about Vrana’s true motives anyway.

Her cloak fluttered through the humid, stale air as she marched. A one-woman-army.

She’d never felt so determined in her life. Maybe prayer wasn’t so pointless after all. Katya was listening. She heard their prayers for freedom. They would no longer suffer beneath Veran’s selfish grasp.

Katya would free them of a man who discarded them so readily but would not give them freedom.

Lenna and Corym would be safe at the end of this road. Mahinaka would be free of a tyrant. Lupinaio would be better off without Kings who cared not for their people but only for themselves.

At the far end of the room there was a door. It was locked. Katya sheathed her sword and searched. The hinges were facing her, so she popped them loose and then removed the door from its frame. She laid it aside gingerly. The hall was narrow and the stairs steep. According to the floorplans Cordelia had gifted her, a path branched at the top. A throne room was recently erected there so that Veran could still enjoy his status while hidden away. His chambers were at the other end of the hall. Katya would check one then the other.

At the top of the stairs not a single soldier guarded the hall or the doors. There was another staircase at the far end leading downward. She couldn’t hear soldiers or footsteps. No one had raised the alarm even though Katya left bodies in the entry hall.

He hadn’t expected anyone to penetrate the gates of his palace. Hubris, as it was said, was the downfall of Kings.

She would check the throne room first and then his chambers since she expected to find him in the latter. It was better to be aware of soldiers standing alert than it was to be surprised by them. She cracked open the door to the throne room just an inch and listened. Beyond the double doors was a single soldier. He wore no armor, just a prismatic skirt that hung from a gilded belt to the floor. He was bejeweled and his chest and arms were painted. He held the same sort of spear that had broken beneath her blade in the entry hall.

She pushed open the door and he turned to face her. He had no time to react before she struck. He fell to his knees, bleeding from his bare chest, hands on the ground. He looked up at her in terror and she kicked his dropped spear far out of his reach.

“Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me!” He cowered with his hands held before him in a defensive position.

Katya stepped aside and allowed him to crawl through the doorway behind her. He did not make it all the way into the hall. Instead, he fell flat on his face, passed out. Katya used Vrana’s magic to wrap him in shadow and drag him into the hall. Then she closed the door behind him.

There, standing before his throne at the other end of the room, atop several steps, was Veran, alert.

The God King of Mahinaka.

She barely caught a glimpse of his dark skin and white hair. A wall of fire spread before her, threatening to burn her alive. Katya reached again for Vrana’s magic. It was always with her, like a trusted battle companion. It surrounded her in a thin layer of shadow. She walked through the flames unharmed.

The tattoo on the back of her right shoulder burned with borrowed power. The flames were smothered into smoke.

“How?” Veran demanded in his deep, alluring voice. With another wave of his hand, he stumbled backwards and hid behind his massive, gilded throne. Water rose from the marble floors before him. But it was a weak attempt at a spell. Just as Raven had warned, the God had given up too much of his magic. Even if he withdrew his pact with Cordelia, which she guessed he would, there would be little he could do to stop her.

The Gods had become complacent and lazy.

Katya walked through the spell unharmed, and it disappeared before Vrana’s magic. It was followed by more feeble attempts to stop her but each time she sang with Vrana and it kept her safe. Air failed to push her. Fire failed to burn her. Water failed to drown her. And the ground would not crush her.

Marble shattered beneath her feet, slipping into cracks that led to the room below. The palace groaned in objection. But Katya kept her stride strong and her feet steady.

“Enough! Stop! Stop this madness at once!” Veran commanded, emerging from behind his throne. Despite his stern, deep voice, he radiated cowardice. She would not be fooled. She would heed Raven’s warning about the strength of the Gods. Even if he appeared feeble, he was capable of great strength and magic.

A duo of blades spun from flames that rose from the ground before the God King and hovered at his sides, just within reach. She stopped, as he requested, but held her blade firmly.

“By entering my well-guarded palace, you have proven you are worthy.” His tone shifted back to arrogance, but she could hear the quivering fear beneath it. His palace had not been well-guarded. “Cease this attack and become my most favored General. Lead my armies. Win my wars. Be rich beyond your wildest fantasies. Make a pact with me and all will fall before us.”

A petty offer from a petty man.

She’d been raised to see the Gods as otherworldly figures- larger than life. But now she saw them for what they truly were: selfish, petty, privileged brats.

Katya took an aggressive step forward and Veran stepped back in time with her.

He laughed, as if finding his confidence. “You cannot kill me! I am a God!” He took each of his blades of flame in his grasp. They licked at his hands harmlessly. “Nothing can. Bow before me or die by my hand.”

She would not bow before anyone. Not anymore.

Veran ran toward her aggressively down his now broken steps. He swung his blades in a haze of fire. Katya deflected each blow carefully. For someone who threatened her with death, his form sure was sloppy. Had the Gods really become so careless? They were written as the strongest foes in all of history. Veran’s skill with a blade was barely better than a soldier on his first week.

He swung again and again in predictable and talentless strikes. His blows were easily parried. She waited for him to swing again, and this time kicked him backwards. She wanted him to know that he was outmanned. Let him reap what his laziness and cowardice had sown. She allowed him back to his feet. Each blow increased in desperation. He threw his weight and speed into his attacks, hoping for a lucky shot.

Luck didn’t win swordfights against a well-trained swordsman.

She kept him on his toes, continuing her advance. His arrogance faded and now he was actually trying. Even at his most desperate, he was no match. It was disappointing. She’d expected a more difficult fight.

She’d toyed with Veran long enough.

When she knocked one of his swords aside, she twisted her own and drove a heavy blow against it. He resisted and much to their surprise, his fiery blade shattered beneath the Godkiller. Panicked, Veran swung his only remaining blade with a yell. Hot, it sliced through her shoulder armor and nicked her flesh. She stepped just out of the way to keep it from doing more damage. She’d taken the blow to prove a point. Even at his strongest, he barely harmed her.

“You fight like a true warrior but in vain. No mortal can harm me. This battle is pointless. Lay down your weapon and join me. Whatever your motives, they are petty in comparison to the life I could provide you. Together, we could take the whole of Lupinaio. Your strength and my magic. Think of it!”

She dusted off her armor where it’d been struck. It’d melted at the surface but by the time the blade cut flesh, the fire became harmless.

The strength of the Gods was a lie. A lie they had been spoon fed since birth to trick them into subservience. What else about them was untrue? What else about Lupinaio was untrue?

She advanced and he swung far too heavily, forcing a stumble to catch himself. She blocked, her practiced hand only making his struggling one more evident. His blade fell from his grasp and slid down the broken stairs out of reach. Its flames were extinguished, leaving behind only the corpse of a thin curved blade. His weapons were just like the rest of Veran’s rule- beautifully skin deep and useless.

Veran’s eyes darted to it, and he dove but Katya smashed her foot onto his back to stop him. He fell on his stomach, hand still outstretched. She stepped upon his forearm and placed the edge of her blade to his throat. He held his other hand up defensively, but he was at her mercy. She stepped off of his arm and gestured for him to stand. He slowly did and she kept her blade gingerly at his throat.

For someone who couldn’t be killed he sure was worried that she was about to chop his head off.

“This is all for not. I do not bleed. I am a God.”

Katya pressed the blade firmer against his throat. Why stop fighting her then? Why surrender beneath her blade if he feared nothing?

“I am a God!” He was throwing a tantrum. “Birthed by the chaos of darkness to rule Lupinaio! You are a mortal. A pathetic creature born only to serve and only because we allow you to.” He smirked but uncertainty flickered behind his gray eyes. A remarkable ring of blue ran around their center. He had no idea what she was, mortal or God. Katya pulled her blade away from his throat. When he breathed a sigh of relief and held his hands at his side, Katya plunged her blade into his gut. He wore no armor. Just jewelry, body paint, and the finest linens.

Veran was handsome. A strong jaw, honey colored skin, striking eyes, and thick, long, luxurious hair. Yet he was ugly. One of the ugliest men that Katya ever laid eyes on. Greed revealed a true face that no amount of vanity could hide.

Blood ran in rivers over his dark skin, painting his stomach and skirt a deep red. She withdrew her blade. The squirming of his insides was art. Beautiful and sickening at the same time. He stumbled back, mouth agape, hands over the wound in disbelief.

“What are you?”

“Renounce your Godly gifts.” Katya ordered, aiming her blade at him.

“Impossible.” Veran’s lips curled in a sudden snarl. Then he coughed and blood splattered down his chin. “I will not. I will bow for no man and certainly not for a frail, pathetic, woman.”

Big words for a man who was bleeding out.

“You end here.” Katya placed the tip of her blade to his chest and pierced Veran’s skin. He screamed and stepped back, but Katya moved with him. There was no escaping her.

“Wait! Wait, woman. Wait. I am not supposed to bleed. It is impossible.” His hands were again before him defensively. Disgust was replaced by fear when faced with mortality. “I… I will do as you wish if you spare me. The gifts given to me, born into my flesh, granted by ancient darkness, I renounce them. To you. Intruder. Woman.” Veran’s voice trembled, tears staining his pained face. His words would only be words without the magic of the Godkiller blade. It made them real and true.

The tattoo on her shoulder tingled with numbness and then became blazing hot. Shocks then spread through her body, but she remained steady and stoic. She could feel Veran’s forfeited magic being drawn into her body through her tattoo. It was overwhelming but she did not let it show to her opponent. Her blade remained at his chest, eyes piercing him through her mask.

It was burning. Miserable.

Power.

Pure power.

It was corrupting, like sickness spreading through her veins. Vile. She wanted to vomit. Then it was like a hot knife traced the edges of the feathered tattoo on the back of her shoulder. Veran would not see her agony.

It didn’t fade. She fought it. She swallowed it down.

“No, no! What have you done?” Veran tried to fight the magic of the Godkiller, but it was impossible. What they’d done could not be undone. Katya pressed the blade firmer against his chest and he grunted in frustration. “I have done as you requested, wretched creature.” Veran pushed at the side of the blade to knock it away, but she held fast, and it barely budged. He was trembling, lips pale. “Let me go. That was our deal.” Katya hadn’t made any deals. She pulled back her sword and then swung with all her might. His head was cut clean from his shoulders. His mouth hung open in a scream that never escaped.

Veran was dead.

Without his Godly gifts, there was no resistance.