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Chapter 37

Having been carried back to the surface by the witch-hunter priest, Ashok stepped from the space between worlds to fight the monster who had murdered Thera. He arrived just in time to save the life of his fallen brother.

“You should have stayed and died in the water where you belong, Black Heart, for I shall—”

Ashok slashed Angruvadal across the mask. The golden jaw flew off, but the face behind it was somehow unharmed.

Omand reacted with demonlike speed, leaping back twenty feet. Both whips lashed toward Ashok, moving as if they had minds of their own. He caught one with Angruvadal, but the other struck him in the side, and his armor had been left at the bottom of the river. Shadow burned like fire. He grimaced as it cut deep.

The Grand Inquisitor pulled off his damaged mask, revealing his true face to the world.

He was just a man.

Omand was wizard and manipulator, conspirator and tyrant, who had punished Ashok with life, and somehow stolen for himself the power of the ancients…but despite all that he was only a man. As Ashok and Javed had swum up through the rocks in the darkness outside of reality, he had heard Omand’s mad boasting, but this was no god. This was a liar and a thief.

The mask was discarded. There wasn’t so much as a mark where Angruvadal had split his mouth. No matter. Ashok would find a way to kill him anyway.

Running toward his enemy, he leapt over one flashing whip, and dove beneath the next. Ashok rose, striking upward, through Omand’s side and out his neck. He even felt resistance to the cut as black steel hewed through flesh and bone, but when he stepped away, Omand was already whole.

The air itself coalesced into an invisible hammer, smashing Ashok over the shoulder, driving him to one knee. It hit him again, across the face, throwing him down. The whip struck, but Ashok had already rolled out of the way. It split a divot in the stones.

The Protectors ran to help, but they collided with an invisible barrier and bounced off. Warriors struck at that shield, but their weapons did nothing. He had seen the Voice use a similar pattern in the Graveyard of Demons, and even Ashok’s desperate actions had been futile to break through.

Only Omand, Ashok, and the gravely wounded Devedas remained inside that unbreakable dome. It seemed the Grand Inquisitor wanted to keep this duel personal, or perhaps he just wanted more time to toy with them without further interruption.

Ashok launched himself back to his feet and attacked. Omand possessed incredible speed, and he must have been a passable swordsman as a mortal man, but he was no Protector. Sword spinning, Ashok moved between the snapping whips. Instinct helped him dodge the hammers of air. He hit Omand again, with a slash that should have left both of his legs bloody stumps, but it was as useless as striking through sand.

Angruvadal had no suggestions to guide him, for black steel had been designed with safeguards, so as to never be turned against its creators, and Omand had stolen that mantle of their authority.

The lightning had set the roofs ablaze, and that fire spread to more stores of the workers’ Fortress powder. Explosions shook the district. Sparks and fiery debris rained down on the top of the invisible barrier as they fought on inside.

Omand knew many magical patterns, and he struck Ashok with several different kinds, one after the other. He was stabbed with beams of piercing light. The shard sealed those lacerations. He was blasted with a cold so intense it caused his skin to crack and ice crystals to form in his veins, but the Heart of the Mountain warmed his blood and kept it moving. Even his mind was tormented with visions of Thera falling to her death, over and over again. Ashok didn’t know if that last one was truly an attack, or rather his guilt motivating him to continue fighting through the pain.

Ashok should have died ten times over, but he refused.

He fought until the Heart of the Mountain had nothing left to give…and when even that ancient artifact reached its breaking point, Ashok almost managed to hit Omand one more time.

Omand floated away. Amused. “It appears your Protector tricks have finally reached their limit.”

Exhausted, Ashok collapsed to his hands and knees, blood drizzling from his mouth. Next to him lay Devedas, who wore the pallor of death, and had broken bones sticking through his skin. Only a few feet away, Protectors and warriors uselessly struck their weapons against the invisible barrier, screaming for their champions to rise and fight. Javed tried to work some magic with the demon flesh he’d taken from the river, but the pattern he’d used to save Ashok there was powerless against Omand’s shield. The Keeper of Names gave Ashok a stricken look as his former master strolled over to kill the Forgotten’s holy warrior.

When Devedas wheezed, blood bubbled from his chest. “Today was still a great victory.”

“That it was, brother.”

“Did you see I got a sword?”

It was true, because Devedas clutched an ancestor blade in his bloody hand. “I never doubted you were worthy.”

“I doubted enough for both of us. Help me up, Ashok.”

Together, the two of them staggered back to their feet and prepared for battle, just like when they were boys, fighting for their lives on a frozen mountaintop.

Omand approached, whips devouring parallel lines in the stones behind him.

The Heart of the Mountain was not broken, but it was drained for now. Their arms were weak, their injuries great. They could barely move at all. All they had was each other.

“I have an idea…” Ashok said. “Just like old times.”

“Just like old times,” Devedas agreed, even though that meant sacrificing himself.

As they’d done against many foes before, Devedas would distract and divert the limbs, while Angruvadal delivered the killing blow.

“Ashok and Devedas…” Omand gave them a cruel smile. “As you die, I need you both to know that I could never have ascended without your help. That knowledge, I think, is the best torture of all.”

Omand swung a whip at each of them. Devedas lunged forward to intercept both. With the path cleared, Ashok swept past him and thrust Angruvadal deep into Omand’s guts, driving it clear to the hilt, shoving him back. They ended up face to battered face. Omand sneered as three feet of black steel through the belly did absolutely nothing to him.

“You lack the authority to wound me, Ashok. Only a god can kill a god!

“Then hold this for me.”

Ashok let go of Angruvadal.

Realizing what had been done, Omand looked down in terror at the deadly weapon buried in his torso and shrieked, “No! I do not try to claim this blade! I don’t want to be its bearer!”

Angruvadal judged him regardless.

The ancients had designed their ultimate creation to not harm them, but they had also commanded the ancestor blades to weigh and measure the worth of whoever tried to take one up. In that moment, Omand alone was touching the deadly material. Angruvadal must have deemed that sufficient, for it began to cut.

Omand screamed, for now he felt the wrath of black steel. Panicking, he grabbed hold of the hilt with both hands and tried to pull Angruvadal free. The black steel immediately bit into his palms, securing them in place.

The sword found him unworthy.

Angruvadal forced Omand to saw. Back and forth. Now there was blood. So much blood.

Even a false god could still feel pain, for Omand’s wails echoed through the city. Ashok had seen Angruvadal angry before, but never like this, for the black steel burned and spit as it cut. Flesh charred as if put to the torch. Blood boiled. Organs expanded until they popped. Omand’s limbs were forced to drag the blade down through his bowels, shearing through the bones of his pelvis, and out through his groin, obliterating everything along the way.

But Angruvadal was not through, and immediately sliced one of Omand’s legs off at the knee. Then it took the other at the thigh.

The Grand Inquisitor fell on his back, but Angruvadal was not sated, and it cut off one of his arms at the shoulder. That hand remained welded to the grip, and the severed limb dangled, drizzling blood, as Angruvadal forced Omand to lever the sword back into his chest.

Omand must have called upon the pattern to escape into the space between, as the air around him darkened briefly, but Angruvadal was far too vengeful for that, and the ancestor blade dragged him back into reality. There would be no reprieve from this sentence.

The invisible barrier failed along with the rest of the Grand Inquisitor’s protections, and warriors spilled into the circle. Together they watched in silent awe as Omand lacerated his own lungs, before pulling the sword free and placing the edge atop his throat. Angruvadal could have sliced his head off instantly, but that was far too kind for Omand, and instead it let gravity slowly do the work.

Omand screamed until he couldn’t, then he silently cursed Ashok with his dying glare.

It had been Omand’s curse that had given him to Thera, and with another curse Ashok avenged her. “To the ocean with you, demon.”

With a sick crack, Omand’s spine was severed from his skull, and a moment later the head rolled free. Omand’s face continued to make incomprehensible expressions for several seconds, and when Ashok was certain the life had fully gone out of it, and this was nothing but the spasming of muscles, he kicked Omand’s head into the blood-filled gutter.

Ashok bent down and retrieved his sword from the mess. “Apologies, Angruvadal. I saw no other way.”

The sword did not mind.

He went to Devedas, who was lying still upon the ground, surrounded by Protectors and loyal bodyguards. They parted to let Ashok through. It was bad. Devedas was clearly not long for this world and the Heart of the Mountain was too depleted to do anything beyond dull his agony.

Kneeling beside his brother, Ashok took him by the hand.

“Omand’s dead?”

“He’s dead,” Ashok assured Devedas.

“Good.” Weary, Devedas closed his eyes. “Bury me in the south. Put on my grave I did my best.”

“I’ll see to it,” a young Garo with tears streaming down his cheeks swore.

“Tell Rada…I love…” Devedas trailed off, and the Maharaja of Lok was no more.

Ashok wept.


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