The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 971

Chapter 971: “Pure black hair and yellow eyes drowned in a sea of black,”

“A little too late,” spat a ghastly pale Yuria, “-a little too late,” she said, tilting her head parallel against her shoulder, “-a little too late.” Reinforcement arrived as she said, a little too late. Nothing was left alive in her wake – the sanctuary, hours ago – a refuge for the depraved, now laid in a pool of blood. Body parts smeared across walls and floors. Rusty cages held the petrified remains of severed hands – an ash-like structure of those who begged for a chance at salvation. There was naught but hatred. An air familiar to Formle, Kaleem, and Cora. Yuria’s innocent face and dignified disposition sat crossed-legged upon a single remaining altar.

They advanced carefully – each footstep was either in blood or remains. At the center, the changed Yuria sat with one foot on the altar and the other left to dangle. Remnants of flesh hung off her teeth. Lines of brownish red marred her chin, “-a little too late,” she stared squarely, her eye socket turned inky-black – in the middle of which blinked a yellow circle.

“Yuria,” gestured Cora, “-come on, it’s us.”

“Who is us?” returned a heavily throaty voice, “-us as in those who ran?” a condescending leer struck the trio. Her would-be exposed self was hidden behind a veil of black covering her legs and chest.

“Tell me,” Formle advanced, “-are you god or demon?”

“What does it matter to you?” she grunted.

“Oh, it matters plenty,” a snap of the wrist conjured an iron cage.

.....

“WHAT’S THE MATTER?” fired Cora, “-FORMLE!”

“TRAITOR,” gnarled Kaleem.

“Don’t bother,” he snapped – a lance impaled their legs to the ground, “-I won’t stand for weakened heart on the battlefield. Watch and learn,” he said, looming over the cages, “-tis the price one has to pay. Watch and learn, newbies, watch and learn,” he spun to a visible aura. Plainclothes swapped for a black and gold armor, “-allow me to introduce myself,” he bowed cordially, “-I am known as Formle, the god of war and patron god of the Sadian people. A pleasure to make thy acquaintance.”

“Name’s Ergine, a Demonlord awakened by these ingrates,” she threw a severed finger over her shoulder. A mild splash followed – the landing told much of what had happened. ‘Everyone’s dead,’ narrowed Cora, ‘-did she kill them?’

“Right, Ergine,” the ominously powerful god stepped forward, “-you’re not here on whim nor called by ritual. Give me the truth. Think before speaking for I hate liars more than traitors.”

“God of war,” she cackled, “-very impressive. A murderous animosity, are all gods so unruly, or art thou the exception?”

“Gods have gotten a better reputation in the millennia I slept. Trust me when I say, gods are not righteous entities,” a prideful air hung by the way he spoke. “-Ergine.”

No take-backs. The once living Yuria leaped into battle, her body instantly dispersed into mist, “-good luck, god, for thou art dead,” resounded a smug declaration. Each breath felt more suffocating, *cough, cough,* “-don’t breathe,” Cora forced in great agony, “-the a-a-a-a-air. Kaleem?” he turned, no reply, ‘-he passed out. What’s happening, I can’t see anything... please, Yuria, do something...’

From the depth of the shadows, where the god of war found himself; claws and spikes darted forth. Each strike hurt not the body, but the inside. ‘-my strength is draining,’ he opened and closed his fist, ‘-I might lose this battle?’ the simple thought broadened a smile.

“Contemplating thy death?”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “-I feel alive,” he slammed his feet – the air rattled. Unintelligible chants left his lips. Bombardment of ancient symbols pulled, “-damn,” the shadowy entity, “-strong, you’re strong,” into a distorted sense of Yuria’s body. Half of the visage melted; limbs extended far beyond human limits. Any hope of recognizing their comrade faded as did the fog.

‘Yuria,’ Kaleem reawakened, the mind blurry and the thoughts unsteady.

“I don’t want to say it...”

“Then don’t. I still believe.”

“My games didn’t work,” shrugged Yuria,”-how disappointing. Tell me, Formle, have you ever visited the Aapith nation?”

“No, and my schedule doesn’t allow for vacations,” he reached for a curved blade fixed upon his back, *-by authority granted on my name and title, I, God of War, Formle, decree my opponent and I to be locked in mortal combat. Close the cage, rise the flames, cry the pain and glisten through the age; Domain Expansion: Colosseum.* Reality shattered – from the tiny area exploded rows of seats, oval-shaped walls, and sand reaching the arena’s walls. Sun’s ray fired as if flaming arrows.

“No more trickery,” said a mysteriously heavy Formle.

Ergine’s deformed body disintegrated into a somewhat normal appearance, “-this must be the domain of a high-tier god,” she smiled, “-I never thought an entity so powerful would so brazenly conjure his domain in a realm filled by blood-thirsty demons and power-hungry gods,” she covered one ear and pointed, “-listen, battle cries of the vicious.”

“Ha-ha,” he caressed his stubby beard, “-Ergine, you ought to be faced with reality. Those cries aren’t from the outside – look carefully,” tainted white cages showed but handprints of the desperate, “-gods, demons, angels, humans. I’ve fought them all,” he carried his finger from sides to the top, “-the number of souls trapped in my domain equals that of an entire nation. Thus, I say again, Ergine, gods are sometimes worse than demons themselves,” the ground shook – a crack laid where he once stood, *crack,* the barrier walls caved, *COUGH,* blood hurled, “-what the-” she crashed and bled.

“Never underestimate gods,” he approached, “-worthless newbie.” Cupid-like entities fluttered over the defeated. “-I wish I could say you fought admirably. Cowardice deserves no praise, only shame. Be sentenced to the oubliette, Ergine, and may thee regret the day thou crossed my path.”

*THUD,* “-well, well,” said a stranger voice, “-the god of war, Formle.”

“There you are, Artanos, or should I refer to thee as Artanos’s duplicate?”

“Astute as always,” he smiled, “-the arena hasn’t changed despite the ages.”

“What do you want, Artanos?”

“Nothing much, I wanted to check on an old comrade. Tell me,” he teleported beside Formle, “-where have thee been for so long?”

“On a vacation.”

“Here I thought you didn’t take vacations.”

“And sure I don’t,” he smiled, “-drop the fa?ade, Artanos, what do you want?”

“A partnership of course,” he mumbled, “-like the good ol’ days. We team up and all be the wiser to the strongest duo.”

“Sadly,” he placed a hand on Artanos’ shoulder, “-bygones be bygones. Water under the bridge as they say. I’m afraid I’ve sworn loyalty to another. Looking at your expression, you already knew.”

He exhaled, “-Formle, come on.”

“Pure black hair and yellow eyes drowned in a sea of black,” Formle gave a disappointed sigh, he pressed his forehead and shook his head, “-I should have known on seeing what she had become. You possessed her, didn’t you, well, one of the clockwork warriors did.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “-it was me, I wanted to test Igna’s subordinate’s mettle. From what I’ve seen,” once at Yuria, second at the defeated duo, “-I don’t have much to worry. Relay my warmest regards. I’m needed someplace else – titans sure are a rowdy bunch to control,” he inched ever closer to Formle’s ears, “-between you and me, Titan women have an otherworldly taste. The pleasure of taming a strong woman, my, it gets my heart beating. So long, partner, so long.”

*Realm Retraction,* the colosseum dug itself into nonexistence. The sanctuary remained untouched from when they first arrived – repugnant and stomach-turning. With a slight grin, Cora, Kaleem, and Yuria were teleported into the Shadow Realm.

“Welcome back,” said a passing attendant.

“Where are the guardians?”

“At their respective estates, shall I call for them?”

He rose his head and hailed a passing dragon carriage, “-master?”

“Take these two to their masters.”

“As is wished,” the flaming scarlet dragonaught flapped, leaving Formle with a bundle of tangled body parts. Fluid escaped the dirtied package, “-where’s Miira?”

“As I said...”

“Right, my bad. Have Raphael head towards Miira’s estate.”

“As my lord wishes,” she left. Another gesture brought another dragonaught carriage, “-Frostrest manor,” he said, stuffing the bundle on the side, “-also, I’ll pay extra for the mess.”

“A paying customer is a paying customer,” whimpered the jaded rider, “-always something to happen when I fly over the castle...”

“Did I miss something?” he inquired, sensing more to the man’s jaded comment.

“Yeah, I saw one of the goddesses having a steamy exchange on the hill ‘ver there,” he pointed with a frown, “-don’t know who she was... at my age, catching glimpse of people whilst traveling this fast is tedious.”

“Still impressive,” he returned, ‘-we should be wary. A goddess and my old comrade,’ the lines clicked, ‘-for the love of God, why didn’t I realize this sooner. Artanos is back... he’s Gophy’s lover, the Romeo, and Juliette of the heavenly realm. How in the fuck did I miss such a big development. We were young and they were so in love. I was forced to third wheel; I doubt she even remembers my face as I’d hid in the bushes whilst he snuck into her estate. Good times... if he reignites her cold heart, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

“We’re here,” returned the rider in the same deadpan expression, “-jump, my lord, tis quicker.”

“Merciless,” he slid the door and leaped, “-PAYMENT IS ON THE CASTLE’S TAB,” the voice faded to which the rider winked. Miira’s estate rested calmly beside Kronos’ temple – from the freefall, it looked close. When the ground approached, the distance grew to be quite the trek. Her heavenly estate was crafted more so than built into the side of a limestone deposit. He landed squarely within the courtyard. Pilgrims scattered about, ‘-holy massive,’ he stared up at statues of behemoths shaped as if they held the massive entrance to her home.

‘Boredom is a vice, alright.’

“Formle?”

“Lady Miira,” she passed his side in common ware, “-might I ask the nature of such a normal outfit?”

“Oh, doesn’t it look like a chef’s outfit?”

“I suppose?”

“Nothing beats feeding the pilgrims who trek from around the world. Tell me, why are you here-”

“Noticed the stench?”

“Yeah,” she gulped, “-let’s head inside.”

And thus the greater halls narrowed into a singular sterile room. Minutes elapsed, and Miira couldn’t shake her emotions from his labor’s fruit, “-when I said to try and save, I didn’t mean turn her into jam?”

“Well, I couldn’t do much. She was possessed. Come on, we can heal her, can’t we?”

“Look at the state she’s in,” she reached in and pulled a severed head, “-do you think we can revive her, just look at her, it’s comically gruesome...” her notice landed upon a sterner gaze, “-what?”

“I imaged her ladyship to be most troubled?”

“By a dead body?” she eased, Yuria’s head fell, “-she’s dead, there’s no changing what’s happened. True, I agree I should be more on edge... however,” she opened her palm to the materialization of a sandglass, “-I’m not worried.” Time around the lass turned – the bludgeoned mess gained a skeletal frame, flesh and skin reattached and the agreeable beauty returned.

*Knock, knock,* “-pardon the intrusion.”

“Raphael. Go on, heal her,” she said with childish abandon. He entered, threw a suspicious gaze at Formle, ‘-what’s with her?’

A shrug and a few blinks responded; ‘-I don’t know.’

Greenlight gripped Yuria, “-and there,” he wiped his forehead, “-all done. Master, are you well?”

“Don’t worry about me, Raphael, what about Yuria?”

“I don’t want to know how or what happened. She’ll be fine after a few days’ rest.”

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked, “-the outfit, it’s very, how can I put it, otherworldly.”

“Yeah, Draconis and the other children have decided to visit father. A surprise visit of sorts. I should get going, I’ll see you soon, master. Thank you for the food,” he exited the kitchen.

“Safe travels,” she said with motherly tenderness, “-now, Formle, tell me what really happened,” her apron tightened.

.....