Demon Lord V - God Realm (10 page)

Kayos glanced
back at the Hound that followed him, closer now and gaining
rapidly. The Hound was no danger to him, but the one who followed
it was. He wondered what kind of danger Bane could be in, and
whether he would be able to help him. If Bane was somehow
incapacitated, leading a dark god to him would be a singularly bad
idea. He considered forming another Eye, but that would take
precious time he could not spare.

The shackles
Bane wore should not put him in any great danger on their own. They
were not designed to kill, only to prevent a dark god from using
his power, and Bane had other powers that spirit gods did not
possess. Again he wondered what other effect they might have upon a
mortal dark god, but put his concerns aside. For the moment, all he
could do was find him as soon as possible. With a gesture, he
formed a glowing pit and stepped into it, Mirra, Mithran and Grem
following close behind.

Bane became
aware of a presence beside him through the haze of pain that
clouded his mind and opened his eyes. He lay on an expanse of
greyness that looked like rock, but was soft and spongy. The
creature that watched him was almost invisible against it, the
exact same mottled grey shade, a hulking, cloaked form that was
vaguely man-shaped. It looked like a part of the landscape that had
become sentient and separate, but was certainly not alive. He
sensed no dark power within it, but no light either.

It retreated
when he looked at it, and then shuffled closer again, more boldly.
As it drew nearer, he was able to make out more details, and his
skin crawled. It looked like an ancient, decaying man with a long
ragged beard and tattered robe, its gnarled hands as bent and
twisted as tree roots. Its eyes, which were fastened upon the
shackles, looked like glistening grey slime. It crept closer,
crouched and reached for him with a claw-like hand, and he summoned
what little strength he possessed and sat up.

The creature
cowered with a whimper, and then reached for him again, as if
unable to resist the lure of touching him. Its cold, spongy fingers
touched his hand, and it gave a hoarse cry, shuffling closer. Bane
snatched his hand away, but it grabbed his wrist, suddenly
fearless. To his amazement, it spoke in a grating hiss.

"Enslaved one.
Powerless. Mortal. Dying."

Bane jerked
free, frowning at it. "What do you want?"

It gave a
rasping chuckle, and the ground beneath Bane moved. It surged up
behind him, forming a wall at his back, then fat, spongy tendrils
sprouted from it and oozed around his arms, pulling them back
against the wall. Bane struggled, but soon realised that he pitted
his depleted strength against the ground itself. The flat terrain
reformed into walls all around him that gave off a dull greyish
light and a rank stench. The creature bounced with glee, hissing.
Bane glared at it.

"Release
me."

It did not
appear to hear him, for it continued its macabre celebration,
waving twisted arms. Deciding that talking was wasted upon it, Bane
turned his attention to the substance that held him prisoner. It
quivered when his will touched it, and the ragged creature stopped
its horrible dance and turned to him. The thick pulpy loops parted,
and he yanked his arms free, then climbed to his feet, tottering.
The ground surged, making him stagger, and he sensed an increase in
the awareness around him. The grey creature hopped and flailed
again, hissing.

Thick fingers
of the soggy ground thrust up, trapped his legs and yanked them
from under him. He fell back against the wall, where more tendrils
pinned him to it. Bane took hold of the substance with his will and
moulded it, making it ooze and writhe, but this time another
intellect fought him for control. The sense of a brooding presence
all around him grew stronger, becoming oppressive, and the rank
stink increased.

Bane bent his
will upon the fabric of his prison, commanding its retreat, but
seethed and reformed, defying him. The grey creature lunged at him,
and a glinting bone fragment appearing at the end of one of its
fingers. It slashed his wrist, opening a shallow wound that dripped
blood onto the soft ground. The grey substance writhed and surged
over his legs, and the creature hopped over him and slashed his
other wrist. Bane bowed his head and closed his eyes as the dark
power seethed through him, igniting his blood, pouring out with it
and making the shackles flare.

An enervating
apathy stole over him, much like he had experienced during his
fall, and he was tempted to release his tenuous hold on life and
take the long plunge into death. Something deep within him rebelled
against the idea of being slain by a decaying ghoul and its
semi-sentient surroundings, however. Better to die from god-made
shackles than animate dirt. Once again he reached out with his
will, only with more determination now, and more concentration. His
inborn power over the elements was weak. He had not needed to use
it much, for even when he cast out the dark power, he replaced it
with the blue.

Now his life
depended upon it, and when he reached the level of power that he
usually achieved, he pushed harder, striving for more. He opened
his eyes and glared at the ghoul. The ground shuddered and heaved,
and the ghoul gibbered and sank into it up to its knees, but what
was happening to it distracted Bane. It changed, taking on a more
life-like aspect, its skin turning pale, and its clothes becoming
separate from its body. He stared at it in amazement, realising
that it was using the dark power in his blood to remake itself. It
came closer to collect the blood that dripped from his wrist and
smear it on its body, its transformation accelerating.

Rage flared in
Bane, and he frowned. He would not be sacrificed to give another
power. Lifting his head, he reached deep within himself, seeking
the god power that resided somewhere at the centre of his being.
His mind seemed to burn as he strained at the bounds of his
ability, striving to push past and claim that which had been
created in him before his birth. Pain lanced his brain as he
struggled to break the bonds that held his full power in check, but
he pushed harder, gritting his teeth. His wrists burnt, and he
turned his head to frown at his right arm, where a dull red glow
came from under the wrist guard. A glance at his left wrist found
the same red glow, and his frown deepened. Hidden under the wrist
guards he never removed were the rune scars he hated, and whose
purpose he had not understood, until now.

Someone had
bound his power within him, preventing him from using all but a
little of it, and he knew who that had been. Arkonen, who had made
him a god, named him a curse, and tried to ensure that he would not
achieve his full potential. The realisation brought a fresh tide of
rage to bolster his flagging resolve, and he pushed harder still,
straining at the chains that held back his power. The burning in
his wrists increased, and the light brightened beneath the wrist
guards. He became aware of a dull burning in his nape, where more
rune scars marked his skin.

At last, he
knew what purpose the rune scars served. They had bound his powers
at infancy, and he strained at the bonds, fighting to break free.
The light under the wrist guards brightened further, turning
yellow, and the pain increased with it, but that only made him try
harder to break free. His hands clenched, his knuckles whitening,
and his eyes bulged with effort. Sweat popped out on his brow and
ran down his cheeks, but he refused to give up, gasping as the pain
of the rune scars became agonising. Still he fought to be free of
the chains Arkonen had placed upon him when he had been too young
to even remember it, his hatred of the dark god who had mutilated
him growing to an all-consuming fury.

A wave of
something indefinable seeped into his ken, and he became aware of a
gradual increase in his sense of his mind's power, as if new
pathways formed in his brain, and the pain of his struggle faded to
a dull ache. This was intangible, unlike the dark power; it was a
part of him, an ability he had hardly used. The light beneath his
wrist guards died, sending a last malevolent shaft of pain from his
wrists and nape. A burden seemed to lift from him, one of which he
had been unaware until it vanished. The new sense of power suffused
him, making his head seem heavy, but at the same time buoying him
with its purity. It owed nothing to the darkness that had been his
only weapon, until now.

Its simplicity
and strength amazed him. This talent stemmed from his godhood, and
suffused him. He reached out with it, and a ripple passed through
his surroundings. A strangled cry made him look at the ghoul, which
had fallen to its knees, and stared at him with almost human green
eyes. It had achieved a close resemblance to a living man now, a
pale-skinned, dark-haired mage clad in silver-trimmed black robes.
Bane paused, studying it.

"No, please,"
it begged. "I've been trapped here for an aeon, helpless. I wish
only to regain some of that which I lost when I died here."

Bane's lip
curled. "You are an abomination. You gave sentience to this place,
and it gave you form. Now you seek to use my power to gain a droge
body. You have no right."

"What harm do
I do? You are dying."

"That does not
give you the right to steal my power."

It stretched
forth its hands in a pleading gesture. "Please, I only want to be
able to leave this place."

"Then I shall
release you."

"No! Let me
have this, I beg you!"

"No."

The ghoul gave
a choked cry and lunged at Bane, its hands closing around his
throat. Bane jerked up his head and unleashed the force within him.
The ghoul flew backwards several yards, to bounce on the springy
ground. The brooding sentience around Bane intensified and became
hostile, angered by his mistreatment of what was its parent and its
child. Bane was not even certain that the two were entirely
separate. The ghoul rose to its feet and gave a cry of horror,
staring at its hands. They were turning grey and gnarled, the droge
form's substance reverting as the dark power seeped out of the
former black mage.

It ran back to
Bane and knelt once more in his blood, scooped it up and smeared
itself with it, absorbing the dark power. Its droge body reformed,
and Bane reached out with his will and touched his surroundings.
Sensing his power, the grey land closed around him like a giant
fist, seeking to crush him. The walls sank back into the ground,
and Bane held it at bay with an effort, darkness nibbling at his
mind. He commanded the substance that held him, and it fell away,
allowing him to slump forward. He clasped one wrist with a shaking
hand, trying to stop the bleeding, which had slowed to an ooze. The
ghoul crawled to him and tried to throttle him again. Bane lacked
the strength to fight it, and struggled to retain his consciousness
as a dark abyss opened in his mind.

"Burn," he
whispered.

"No!"

The ghoul's
almost human face twisted with despair, and then it screamed as
flames engulfed it. They spread from Bane in a fiery circle,
consuming the entity within the ground. It writhed as a molten ring
scorched through it and raced away into the distance, killing all
that it touched, and in its wake the ground turned to stone. Bane
rolled onto his back and gasped, his skin sheened with sweat.
Turning his head, he gazed with dull eyes at the ancient grey
skeleton, its dry bones crumbling to dust, that lay beside him.
Bane closed his eyes and allowed the dark abyss to claim him.

Ethra was
almost on the bottom step when the land beneath it turned molten in
a flash of flame. The intense heat made her retreat upwards a few
steps, where she stopped to stare down. The fire vanished into the
wall beneath the steps, to her relief. In its wake, the ground
sizzled and smoked, but the heat dissipated rapidly. Ethra wondered
if this was a natural phenomenon, or something else. If it was
natural, would there be another one and how long before it came?
Artan arrived beside her and studied the smoking ground, casting
her a look of disbelief.

"You intend to
go down there?"

"Yes."

"It's too
dangerous. Be sensible."

She turned to
glare at him. "How long do you think we'll survive in here without
his help? Without him, we would all have perished in that dark
place already. He said he would find another world for us to live
in."

"If he isn't
already dead, he soon will be."

"You don't
know that."

"I'd put money
on it."

She started
down the last few steps. "I didn't come this far to give up
now."

Artan glanced
back at Sarrin, who looked pale and tired. The old priestess gazed
across the grey landscape, which the seething glow above tinged
red.

"She is
right."

"About
what?"

"If we do not
find him, we are doomed."

"The last time
I saw him, he wasn't in any shape to help us. After that fall, do
you think he's even going to be alive?"

Sarrin sighed
and shrugged. "Gods are amazing beings. If he is alive, he is our
best hope."

Artan snorted,
then hastened after Ethra, catching up as she was about to step off
the last stair. The stone was hot, but not enough to burn the soles
of her shoes, and it made soft clicking, ticking sounds as it
cooled. When the rest of the group joined her, she set off away
from the cliff. Artan fell into step beside her.

"How do you
intend to find him? This place looks vast, and he could be anywhere
in it."

"Then I'll
just keep looking."

"We'll run out
of food and water and starve."

She shot him a
scathing look. "Was there food up there?"