The Undying God (40 page)

Margzor felt crushed. Sanity had
slipped away only to be replaced by emotion. He was diseased with
the notion of love, a sickness that incised wounds deeper than any
cruel edge.

He felt a crippling weight upon his
soul that no god could ever lift. His fantasy, the woman of his
dreams, did not exist for him; a woman who was faithful,
understanding, beautiful, and loving.

That consoling, young woman displayed
beauty only further enriched, if truly possible, with her mercy.
She imbued him with hope that love existed. She ignited his will to
live when nothing else offered him meaning. Her isolated act of
kindness had offered him a second chance. A chance to turn his back
on all of the negative influences in his life. He almost thought he
could stop.

He almost let go of hate.

He would never kiss her.

He would never make love to
her.

Never
, what a ruthless concept.
To be denied.

Margzor felt frail and weak, so weak to
have allowed himself to hope. To hope that love existed for him,
that somewhere, a woman cared about him. What a fool he had
been.

The emotional high died and the cruelty
of life awaited. He could not deny it any longer; he was slowly
succumbing to the hatred he knew instead of growing with the love
he would never know.

How can a single heart be host to so
much hate?

Every loving thought must
die. It has taken thousands of days and nights.

To tear you apart. To
splinter your sanity.

Your fantasy is a lie. You
could never attain her. Now I understand your soul.

Weaving shadows grasped at his form as
he wandered through the ruins. Margzor came to a stop. He resisted
the urge to die. He would never succumb to this pain. He would
aspire for divinity and bring death to everything he could not
obtain.

Your sexual repression has
aroused the most beautiful hatred.

Ravaging pain burned suddenly within
Margzor. Anguish swelled in the wound in his side and he leaned
against an arch for support.

The demon voiced,
You still need me.
You have no followers. If you become a demigod, you will not reach
your full potential.
Margzor grimaced in disdain at the notion,
the weakness the demon implied.

None shall worship you. You will be
weak.
Margzor huffed and continued to carve his path toward
Praemenon. As if to contradict that knowledge, the demon said,
I
believe in you.

In that moment, a rage more powerful
than any demon possessed him. He did not require the aid of
anyone.

The demon immediately tightened its
grip on his will. The feral emotions emerged again, and Margzor
could remember everything; the fantasies, the pain, thrusting his
hand into the flames, killing the merchants, the sexual encounters
in his sleep. His body collapsed on the stone surface, suddenly set
upon by a seizure.

Pain receptors overdosed. His
conscience would have bled if it was possible. He could feel
horrific guilt for his lust and sexual longing.

Mental images of sex with the woman he
loved overwhelmed him. He could hear her laughing that he was not
good enough, that she loved another, and she would never accept
him.

He could almost see the blood running
down his limbs after plunging into the forest as a boy. Suddenly,
he was drowning again and the sun faded above him. Dark waters
snuffed the light and suffocated every scream in his lungs. He
fought the demon’s control over him. It enslaved his will, his
love, and trauma, but it could not control his hate.

He surrendered total control to the
malice and envy inside. All love died within.

The demon grappled for control over his
thoughts, but it was slipping away. It couldn’t believe that
Margzor was refusing it. The demonic essence fled his soul like
poison being bled out of a wound.

“I am my own god,” Margzor proclaimed
on his knees.

The demon was impressed by his
willpower. It had chosen the perfect vessel for
destruction.

Margzor scowled in rage. He rose from
his knees and walked toward the city, resolved of his own will to
inflict suffering on people, to murder, to pervert
beauty.

* * *

Astalla was too weak to leave the
temple, nonetheless the chamber in which she resided. Ava remained
by her side since she had collapsed into a comatose state. She
wouldn’t permit anyone in the room, not even the guards. Ava needed
to contain the ensuing panic from getting any further than these
walls. For all Margzor knew, Astalla hadn’t suffered from his
assaults.

“Astalla... be strong...
please
...”

Astalla stared deliriously into space.
She didn’t respond to the woman’s words, deaf to her pleas. Ava
squeezed her hand, taking comfort in the warmth that still emitted
from her fingers.

“Astalla…” A tear barely escaped
Astalla’s eye, and Ava realized she could see her.

Her lips barely moved.

Stay with me.
She could only
mouth the words, but they were just as powerful without her voice.
Ava stroked her cheek, scared of losing her only friend.

She would endure the pain for Astalla
if she could. She would give her life for her. And there was
something more that made her cry for Astalla. She held her hand and
buried her face next to hers.

She couldn’t possibly let her beloved
demigoddess succumb to this threat. She feared they were helpless
to the killer that was inevitably making his way to the temple
now.

She wanted to come up with a solution
that would eliminate her every concern, but nothing seemed to make
sense. The guards who maintained the temple would not be enough to
protect them.

She had only one option left, and she
couldn’t hesitate any longer.

Ava walked through the halls past
concerned clerics. A single guard opened the great double doors
before her and she emerged into the streets, where dozens of people
mingled in the plaza. They were unaware of the threat making its
way to their city. The people might argue they had nothing to fear,
but Ava knew they would suffer if Margzor became a demigod. He
would only redirect his anger at society once he eradicated the
temples.

She wished she share in their
ignorance, to forget about the danger she faced or the burden that
had fallen on her shoulders. She soon dismissed the fantasy as
nothing more than a product of her growing fear. She had never felt
so afraid in her life, not since...

Not since the abuse.

Ava made her way toward the guardhouse.
She never relied on city officials or guards to protect her before,
and she didn’t like the idea as she entered unfamiliar territory.
Several guards looked at her with amusement, as though it was
unacceptable for a woman to enter their patriarchal establishment.
She ignored their stares and continued in search of someone who
would help her.

Ava paused outside the commander’s
office, hoping for the best possible outcome. She breathed deeply
and opened the door.

Inside, a man sat behind a desk laden
with reports. The authority figure was at the prime of his life;
physically fit, handsome, and well-respected among the community.
Ava nervously approached the commander who had served the city of
Praemenon for more than thirteen years.

“Commander Respa?”

“Ava?” he said, sounding
intrigued.

“I urgently need more guards to monitor
the temple. A man has been slaying Astalla’s followers and he seeks
to kill her. She can barely endure.”

“Someone has been murdering her
followers? Has he breached Praemenon?”

“I don’t know. He is going to attempt
an assault on the temple. I am certain of it. Please help me.” Her
eyes barely held back tears. “We must not let Astalla die.” Respa
regarded her with empathy.

“That is horrendous.”

“Then you will help?” Ava said,
surprised that he was considering her plea. He rubbed his chin and
gazed into the distance, contemplating the request. At last, his
brown eyes settled on hers again.

“I require something in return for
dispatching so many of my men to the temple.” Ava regarded him
cautiously. What could a priestess possibly offer a high-ranking
official? Respa absently sealed a letter on his desk. He held it
aloft and looked at it for a while, lost deep in thought. “I am in
need of female companionship.”

His words struck her like a blade in
her chest.

Ava always felt uncomfortable around
this man when she passed him in the streets; now she knew why his
eyes followed her so closely. Never could she imagine that he would
coerce her for sexual favors. It violated everything she stood
for.

“You know my vows,” she
seethed.

“Ava, I can make you feel like you have
never felt before,” Respa said. She recoiled at the notion of
intercourse with this shallow man.

The thought of this man degrading her
to a sex object infuriated her. Memories of her abusive husband
surfaced.

“I cannot,” she said. Respa regarded
Ava with boredom and disappointment.

“Then my squad shall remain at their
designated posts.” He relaxed his arms behind his head and leaned
back in his chair. He scanned her with a triumphant smile.
Disgusted, Ava turned away to walk out the door. She stifled the
curses that writhed behind her lips.

As her hand rested on the handle, she
hesitated. The mental image of Astalla kneeling and coughing up
blood came to mind again. Ava wished she could endure the pain for
Astalla. She would do anything to end it...
almost
anything.

But how could she violate everything
she stood for? How could she bring herself to endure abuse a second
time?

She wanted to flee the guardhouse as
she considered the man behind her, who only wanted to use her body
to sate his ego.

She wished someone was there to help
her come to the right conclusion. Ava was not sure anymore what was
right in this world.

Her hand slipped from the door. Ava’s
chin sunk into her breast, her blue eyes shutting
sorrowfully.

Chapter 40

Margzor abandoned all caution as he
walked through the streets of Praemenon.

He stepped into the city plaza and his
presence instantly triggered a reaction. Three guards saw the
approaching man, particularly the weapon in his hand. They looked
to each other as if to confirm they weren’t
hallucinating.

Immediately, they assumed a formation
to block his path. They could not break his determined gait and
they reached for their swords. Margzor was upon them so quickly
that they couldn’t ready themselves for the attack. Onlookers
screamed in horror as the violent display unfolded before their
eyes. The innocents fled from the streets, their cries attracting
more watchmen.

Guards converged at the site, trying to
overwhelm Margzor with sheer numbers. He leaned and pivoted,
dodging as many blows as he could. His blade jabbed out and tore
through the throat of an enemy combatant, and his armored foot
snapped across and crushed the knee of a soldier behind him. They
besieged him from every angle in their efforts to subdue him.
Margzor gyrated sharply and swung his sword to deflect several
blades.

His sword entwined with another, and he
suddenly dipped low, slipping through a man’s defenses. The guards
didn’t shy away from the battle, though Margzor’s ferocity was
eating away at their resolve.

The overcast sky began to bruise with
gray and black. Shadows flocked to the cityscape as dark clouds
obscured the sun. The wind picked up and howled along with the
screams of the dying guards.

* * *

Respa looked down at her with
amusement. He was pleased that Ava had at last agreed to this
exchange of services. She returned to the guardhouse that morning
and reluctantly complied with his demands.

He would not soon forget this
experience. The next twenty minutes would be the most precious of
his life. He admitted that he cared nothing for her, but that would
hardly stop him from using Ava to whet his appetite. It was a shame
she was not a virgin. He would have coveted the trophy of her
virginal innocence. Respa was quite aware of her previous marriage,
and by all accounts, it was a tragic arrangement.

He learned of her husband when the man
in question came to the guardhouse looking for his wife. Respa had
the moral decency to keep Ava’s whereabouts a secret, but whether
it was done out of pity for the woman or a feeling of
possessiveness remained unknown.

There was no denying her beauty. Ava’s
figure had enamored him since their first encounter on the streets.
They were hardly more than acquaintances, and he was certain she
had no interest in him. However, he didn’t have any use for
relationships, only one-night trysts.