Chapter 123: Melia's Domain (Patreon)

Content warning: a fight scene with a little gore.

In the godspace Orthulon’s realm

​

The tall elvish man paced, occasionally glancing in the mirror. His pale skin shone in stark contrast with his charcoal suit. While it fit thematically with his ashen complexion, perhaps the professional look wasn’t what was needed. He paused, put a finger to his chin with one hand, and snapped the fingers on his other.

Instantly, the man vanished. In his place stood a 12-foot-tall Northern Barbarian, complete with a leather cross-chest strap harness and a bearskin kilt. From pale grey, his skin morphed to an icy, bluish-white, and his thin, slicked-back sandy hair thickened into a wild, untamed bracken mess. The cane-like rapier he’d been holding morphed into a double-bearded battle axe, completing the image of [Kaarnok the Ravager].

The hulking man flexed, his muscles displaying the fearsome might of the ruthless raiders. But perhaps sheer force was not what he was going for either. He snapped his fingers again, changing into yet another persona.

The man had as many forms as he did names, famous and feared by every nation and every race.

Some only knew him by his title.

[Death].

To the elves, he was Orthulon; the first to call his name. To the dwarves, Karkuul, and they cursed him in their secret tongue. The many bestkin tribes called him Ramma Ha and paid him tribute of two gold coins for safe passage in the afterlife.

He was an old friend to the gnomes, and as Gama Ghoul he had witnessed their unwitting genocide of millions. It might be fitting to take the form most recognized by the Little People for what was about to transpire, but then again, perhaps not. No gnomes were actually going to be present, despite appearances, and dragons, in their arrogance, did not acknowledge Death.

Perhaps he should don the familiar form of the race that understood him like no other: a human skeleton shrouded in a tattered, black robe, wielding a sickle. [The Reaper] to some, and Morr to others; it mattered not what he was called, because in the end, he would always get his due.

But claiming souls was not Death’s only job, and [The Reaper] was no [Scribe]. Orthulon changed back to his initial choice, the elf in the tailored suit, to perform his lesser-known duty: observation. Once the flickering flames of their short lives inevitably snuffed out, all mortals would come to understand that [The Chronicler] bore witness to all, and all would eventually be judged.

Orthulon tugged at his suit lapels, adjusted his tie, and pinned a crimson spider lily corsage to his left breast. Usually, the delicate flower wouldn't suit such a task, but it was an iconic symbol of death. But enough [Gravekeepers] in the Far East tended gardens of them around their places of final rest that he could manifest them at will. Such were the perks of being [Death]. Assured of his choice, Orthulon summoned a door to his destination and stepped through.

​

The decor of Letharion’s realm spoke to a sharp contrast between what many considered similar domains. While, yes, [Death] and [War] went hand in hand, they were fundamentally different: war was but the prelude; death was the finale. Cousins, Orthulon might say, or brothers at best. He worked with Letharion so often; his presence in the god of war’s domain would never be questioned.

“Othulon?” An intrigued voice mused. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to my domain?”

The god of war had taken his favored form of a strong demon warrior with curling black ram’s horns. He was wearing heavy armor, as if he had just stepped off the field of battle, and the scuffs and dents on his breastplate told a damning tale. Whatever his venture was, it was not successful. Or, perhaps it could be that he recently empowered a [Champion]? That would explain the mars in what should be an otherwise pristine suit of plate. As usual, the man was quick to pick up on subtle cues and even quicker to make assumptions.

“Have you come join me for my project, old boy?” Letharion rambled, not waiting for Orthulon to get a word in. “Surely you’ve heard about the war I’ve brewed between the humans and the demons. I’ve hit a little snag, yes, but nothing that time won’t heal. It’s a pity about the [Saint]; I really could have used her sticking around for another decade or so. No matter, it might cost me another portion of my power, but I can summon her again.”

This was natural. Letharion very much liked listening to the sound of his own voice, and to him, “conversation” was a one-man job.

“But really,” Letharion continued, as if the two of them had been discussing this topic for the last relative hour, “Who would have thought the [Destroyer] would get involved? I mean, it goes against tradition! What ever happened to letting things pan out? Now everyone is going to try mucking with my fun. There should be rules for this sort of thing! Who does she think she is, coming to my beach and kicking my sandcastle?”

Orthulon’s eyes dimmed in the face of an oncoming rant, but he said nothing. His skill, [Ominous Premonition], told him whatever was supposed to happen was yet to come.

And honestly, Letharion should know better. If he was going to go through the trouble of pitting two races against each other using such obvious methods, he really should have done his homework. Yes, demons and humans historically did not mesh. But war was so much more than shoving pointy objects through one’s enemies and casting flashy spells. Letharion knew this; he was an avid historian, having shaped many of the world’s defining moments. But his hotheadedness often got the better of him, and it was impossible to interrupt him in the middle of a rant.

Orthulon, however, kept a cooler head. He remembered the last time the gods were so active in mortal lives, when the [Destroyer] walked among them. At one point, every god stuck their fingers in the proverbial pie and threatened to collapse the world’s stability. But the [Destroyer] never felt the need to intervene, and in doing so she grew very close to several mortals.

The [Saint] was one of them, which Letharion should have known.

And like any dragon, the [Destroyer] was particularly fierce when it came to her treasures.

“...know what I mean, old boy? Do you think I should ask Order to petition Balance to restrict her movements? All may be fair in love and war, but hands-off is hands-off.”

Orthulon zoned back in. He wasn’t paying attention to Letharion’s rant, and honestly, he wasn’t here to listen to whiny drivel. He was on the job, and [Ominous Premonition] was telling him the event was on the horizon.

The god of war seemed to realize Orthulon let his attention wander. He frowned, but before he could say anything, a door started to appear. He shot Death a quick, questioning glance.

“One unexpected visitor is rare enough,” he said, frowning. “Did you invite somebody else?” Letharion paused to seriously consider Orthulon’s presence in his domain. “Why are you here, anyway?”

Because whoever was trying to enter Letharion’s realm uninvited, the door did not open immediately. Unlike Death, the newcomer was either not on friendly terms or, at best, they were a passing acquaintance; as such, the door took forever to manifest. But Orthulon knew exactly who was breaking their way through the divide, even before the telltale obsidian barrier with the golden dragon’s head appeared.

[Ominous Premonition] activated, and Death shook his head.

“You don’t pay much attention to the flavor text assigned to Order’s system descriptions, do you?” Orthulon asked. “A pity. I really believe you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you did.

“What are you talking about?” Letharion scoffed. “That nonsense is the ramblings of a madman. Where does Order get it from, anyway? No matter. It has no bearing on you or me.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” Orthulon said wryly. “You asked why I am here. It is not to join you, nor to listen to you complain as you lick your wounds. In fact, I imagine you are about to be dealt a serious blow. I am here to observe, Letharion; to chronicle the events which are about to pass. Perhaps, when you respawn, you can share with the rest of us how it feels to die. To quote the words of a certain system description on a select group of mortals:

Woe be unto those who try and separate a dragon from her hoard, even death itself.

​

Woe be unto those who try and separate a dragon from her heart, even death itself. There is no hell she would not endure to see her heart returned.

​

Letharion, you chose poorly. Your time has come. You will be judged.”

The door finished forming, a looming, towering portal filled with dark omens. It creaked open slowly, resisted by the reluctance of Letharion’s realm, but the intruder would not be denied. And through it…stepped the unlikeliest of creatures.

By appearance, a gnome. A strange gnome, mixed with draconic features. But not one unexpected.

Meliastraza Obsidianheart.

[The Destroyer of Worlds].

“It’s you,” Letharion said, frowning, his eyes narrowing. “What do you want? You aren’t welcome here.”

“Do you think I care for your welcome?” The [Destroyer] said, her voice tinted with a dangerous tremor. “Do you think I would not find out what you’ve done?”

“What I’ve done?” Letharion scoffed. “What I’ve done is fully sanctioned! I have the blessing of Balance! My mission is ordained, meddler; the same cannot be said for you! This is none of your business; stay out of it!”

“You made it my business,” the [Destroyer] hissed, “The moment you brought Brandy into this. You should have left her alone.”

“And leave out the most important detail in a saga of heroes versus Dark Lord?” Letharion said, seemingly appalled. “One cannot direct a timeless classic without the correct pieces.”

“It was bad enough that you threatened Melody,” the [Destroyer] said. “That you tried to drown two nations in war.”

“Really, it’s in the name,” Letharion said lazily. “I am the god of war, not stern reprimands.”

“But you would go so far as to kidnap an innocent from a different realm?”

“There are no such things as innocents,” Letharion waved his hand lazily. “A bargain was made; a deal was struck. The [Saint] agreed to my conditions…it isn’t my fault she didn’t read the contract fully.”

“How dare you…?” The [Destroyer] seethed, but Letharion was unmoved. With all the bloodlust the dragon was circulating through the room, Letharion was infused with power, and it likely went straight to his head.

“It was a calculated cost!” He said, as if considering petty expenses. “A little power gone in exchange for Balance’s Favor! I would do it again! In fact, I will! The contract was binding; now that the agreement is secured, I will summon her again. You won’t interfere a second time.”

“You would do it again?” The [Destroyer] parroted, her eyes dilating with wrath. Yet her rage only fueled Lehtarion.

“Perhaps not her,” the god of war shrugged. “The bargain was for any being compatible with the summoning spell. If another comes along, I can use them too.”

That was, perhaps, the worst thing he could have said. Orthulon’s skill shone brightly before petering out, spent. He witnessed the moment the Divine Realm shifted: where Letharion’s domain diminished as the [Destroyer]’s flared to life. The moment when she finally considered a threat extreme enough to step in.

“How much of you do I need to break?” The [Destroyer] asked in a hushed, trembling voice. “To make it so you can’t endanger innocents from a different world? Rip them away from their families? Destroy their lives? How much do I need to break until the contract is destroyed?”

“Eh?” Letharion mumbled, blind to the manifested mana and raw primal might suffocating the room. “You think you can fight me?” he laughed. “Foolish dragon! Arrogant ass! You seek to challenge me, the god of war, inside my own domain? Do you not realize that fighting will only make me stronger? Well then! Begone!”

He didn’t wait for the dragonkin to attack. Letharion manifested a golden spear dyed crimson by the blood of all the fallen. He thrust it at the [Destroyer]...and it shattered with a resounding clang as if striking a solid mountain.

The gnome quickly grabbed the ruins of the handle before Letharion could draw it back. She compensated for her lack of size by yanking on it…and pulling the god of war down to her.

“Release the contract,” the [Destroyer] said.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Letharion balked in bewilderment. In his confusion, he did not back away, but continued to stare at the destroyed spear in his hand in complete disbelief.

“Release the contract,” the [Destroyer] repeated. She was single-minded in her fury, and though Letharion could not see it, Orthulon did. He cringed; yes, he, [Death] himself, was afraid of what was about to befall a god.

While Letharion was blathering uselessly, the [Destroyer] was not idle. She pulled the spear to herself until she could reach his arm, and by the time Letharion came to his senses, he could not pull away.

“Release the contract,” the [Destroyer] demanded. Letharion’s eyes finally widened with fear as he realized he was trapped. He tugged with all his might, but he could not escape her grip.

“Wait! No! Unhand me…!”

A poor choice of words.

The [Destroyer] opened her mouth, stretching far wider than her face should allow, displaying a row of jagged, lethal razors. And with a sickening crunch…she bit down.

“Aaaaaggggghhiiiieeeeee!” Letharion wailed. The gods, as much as they looked down upon Humanity, did not truly understand pain. Yes, they experienced it to some degree, much as one feels the sun on their skin or the wind on their face; but not the bone-wearying, soul-crushing agony of mortal flesh.

Without the limb to hold on to, Letharion stumbled back. He stared, white-faced and sweating, at the bleeding stump of his arm, gone halfway to his elbow. The [Destroyer] chewed noisily, eventually swallowing with an exaggerated gulp.

“Release. The. Contract.”

Letharion tried to back away, scooting back on his legs and shuffling on his rump. But the wet remains of his arm caused him to slip, and he faltered. The [Destroyer] pounced on his left leg. It snapped like a twig.

The god of war let out an agonized howl. His futile attempts to get away ended abruptly as his concentration broke.

“Get off! Get off!!” He managed to yell.

Letharion began kicking wildly with his remaining good leg in an effort to throw the dragonkin off, his foot impacting repeatedly on her face. But it was as effective as a bothersome fly, and the [Destroyer] latched onto the annoyance as it struck her nose. She frowned as the panicking god struggled. The [Destroyer] stood up and pulled.

The god screamed as something came apart at his knee, and the [Destroyer] finished the job by pinning him to the floor. She picked up the ruins of the spear, stabbed it through his abdomen, and drove it into the ground. No longer able to move, Letharion couldn’t even muster the energy to swat at her as the [Destroyer] stood on his chest and looked down scornfully.

“Say the words and your suffering ends,” the [Destroyer] decreed. “Release the contract.”

“You…think…this…will…stop…me?” Letharion hissed with labored breath. The [Destroyer] dropped heavily onto his chest, crushing his suit of armor as she leaned close.

“Do you need to speak to end it?” She asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer. “Or will it break when you no longer can? Shall we find out?”

Normally, a gnome’s hand was very small. Meliastraza’s was no exception. She held it up; soft, pudgy, and barely enough to cup the god’s chin.

Until she morphed it into a grotesque mockery of a dragon’s claw.

The [Destroyer] clamped her hand over Letharion’s mouth and squeezed.

“End it,” she said.

Letharion’s only reply was to scream. Orthulon could tell he was close to breaking.

“End it,” she demanded. Letharion’s cries of agony only rose in pitch as the knife-like claws gouged canyons in his face. Blood flowed freely, mixing with snot and tears.

“END IT!!” The [Destroyer] roared. With a gut-churning crunch, Letharion’s jaw shattered.

“Ahhh, ahhhh! Ahhh!” Was all the ruined god was able to say.

But the intent was clear. His will was dead and his resistance shattered. The contract was no more.

“Little godling,” the [Destroyer] said, whispering into Letharion’s ear. “Do not try my patience again. Construct what petty plans as you see fit for the armies of this realm, but leave the other world out of it.”

Having spoken her piece, the [Destroyer] enlarged her claw to cover Letharion’s entire face. He fought back weakly, but his strength had already left him, and with a gentle squeeze, she crushed his skull.

Orthulon kept all his senses alert. He watched, with the finality of a passive observer, as the god of war’s body turned to light and faded away.

“Thus passes Letharion,” he said solemnly.

Orthulon felt ill. He never imagined what it might be like to transition from one phase of existence to the next. It wouldn’t be permanent, as Order or Chaos would begin reconstructing the fallen god almost immediately, but he knew in his heart the memory would stick with Letharion forever.

Being the god of war, forever was quite literal. The only true way to kill a god was to be forgotten, and mortals could never forget war.

Orthulon considered his work here done. His skill lay dormant, and he had seen what he needed to see. But as he looked around to summon a door back to his own domain, he saw the [Destroyer] staring at him.

“Lady Meliastraza,” he said courteously, giving the respect that was due to one of her standing.

“You look like death,” she said blankly. Orthulon was amused; he’d heard the expression used when somebody looked incredibly sick, but he didn’t think he looked that bad.

“Indeed, I am,” he said with a flourished bow. “I did not think I would ever see the [Destroyer] in action. In the past, you elected to refrain from acting on your power as arbiter.”

She stared at him, momentarily confused, before blushing.

“Oh. You’re death death, not, like…sorry.”

Orthulon merely smiled at her encouragingly…lest he somehow draw her ire. What would happen if the god of death were to be killed? He’d rather not find out.

“We…aren’t going to have any problems, right?” She asked. “You and I?”

“No,” he chuckled. It was an honest answer, and after what he just saw, how could he say anything else? But now that the moment had passed, the [Destroyer]’s domain was rapidly diminishing, and it was almost like he was standing above a mortal, weak and unassuming.

“Good,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Because I think I’m about to have a serious cry.”

That…was unexpected. He watched the [Destroyer] eat a god, and now she needed to cry? Was all her time spent mingling among mortals rubbing off on her?

“Er,” he muttered pathetically. He wanted to leave, but now it was just awkward. The [Destroyer] sat down, propriety forgotten, and began to weep. She cried out, loud, messy tears streaming down her face, and she cursed Letharion.

“Why? Why did you have to bring Brandy? Why did you have to tempt me with a second chance? And why did I have to sever the link?! Now she’s gone for good!”

Beside Orthulon, two doors appeared, opening simultaneously. He saw the figures walking in and immediately dropped to his knees.

“It might not be as permanent as you expect,” Lady Chaos said. “We may be able to use the foundation Letharion built to create a more…stable relationship with the Visitor’s realm.”

“He was always a bit short-sighted, that one,” Order said, shaking his head. “Blinded by his own ambition.”

Today, Chaos had taken the form of a young woman, hardly more than skin and bones. But her pale skin, combined with her polarizing red-and-blue hair twisted into a braid, made her look like a court jester.

Order, as always, was immaculate. He wore a pristine suit with a vest and not a thread was out of place.

The [Destroyer] glanced at them, and to Orthulon’s great shock, she merely nodded.

“You’re Chaos, right?” She said to the High Goddess. “It’s good to see you again. Is that your true form?”

“Since we aren’t in my realm,” Chaos replied, “No. But this one was available, so I borrowed it. Rather fetching, I must say; I think I’m fond of it.”

“Let’s get to the point,” Order said. His no-nonsense nature lent itself to punctuality. “Balance is pleased. This is good.”

“Really?” The [Destroyer] asked. Orthulon couldn’t understand what she was saying; he felt the Focus this entire time.

“Hmm,” Order nodded speculatively. “I suppose, residing outside the Divine Realm, you might not feel it. Rest assured, it is pleased. However, it wants more.”

“It’s always more,” the [Destroyer] spat. “Does it ever end?”

“Eventually, all things come to an end,” Chaos said in a sing-song voice. “Mortals, the various realms…even the gods. Well,” she chuckled, “Except Balance.”

“Quite,” Order agreed. “Balance allowed our children to have their fun, but it finds them lacking. What it really longs for, why it allowed Letharion to establish a link with the Visitor’s world, is the imagination they bring. Even you, agent of destruction that you are, have something to offer that none of us born in this realm can offer. I will speak plainly. We want to re-establish the link to the Visitor’s realm.”

“Are you serious?” The [Destroyer]’s anger flared. “After I just got done cutting it off?”

“As I said,” Order replied calmly, not intimidated in the least, “Letharion was shortsighted. He stole a soul from their world and tethered it to our plane under…unoptimal circumstances. It cost precisely 12.37% of his power, with a .025% drain. He kept the soul confined here, against its will, which was not a conducive atmosphere for creative growth.”

The [Destroyer] stared at Order blankly, and Orthulon sympathized. Order was an acquired taste; hard to understand, as he usually spoke in words that held little meaning.

“What this oaf is saying,” Chaos said cheerfully, propping herself up on a table and swinging her legs, “Is that, done correctly, we think we could open a better portal. One that doesn’t drain a god and doesn’t make a big, bad dragon want to eat anybody.”

“A happy subordinate is a productive subordinate,” Order said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Wait,” the [Destroyer] said tiredly. “Explain ‘better.’ I don’t want to make a habit out of eating gods. Kidnapping is strictly off the table.”

“What if they’re here of their own free will?” Order proposed. “Free will is essential to mortals. We know this; without it, no reverence is gained from faith. In fact, it isn’t faith if it’s forced. But I digress. As my sister said, the connection could be better. Much better. It would allow for multiple Visitors to be active at once!”

A return to the tumultuous days of the Age of Upheaval…Orthulon was intrigued.

“Great,” the [Destroyer] grumped. “More people. You still haven’t explained how that’s not kidnapping.”

“Well, they’d be able to come and go as they please,” Chaos said. Orthulon could feel Balance’s Focus intensify; blood rushed to his head and his pulse quickened.

“But Brandy couldn’t do that,” the [Destroyer] complained. “And she said time over there was stopped. How would that even work for more than one person?”

“Do not think of time and space as a mortal does,” Order instructed. “This world and that, they are not the same. Do not think of them as two slices of carrots floating in the same bowl. Instead, consider two bowls, each with a single slice of carrot.”

Asinine analogy aside, Orthulon could tell the [Destroyer] was intrigued. He only wished he could understand more about the world beyond the veil, but some things were secrets even from the gods.

“I like carrots,” the [Destroyer] muttered.

“Don’t eat these carrots,” Chaos cooed sympathetically.

“Ahem,” Order cleared his throat. “As we are, our worlds stand apart. Balance granted temporary access while Letharion played his game, but now that it is over, we can adjust the rules. Our worlds can be aligned, and if there are Visitors who are willing, we can allow them access at their own pace.”

“Balance can do that?” The [Destroyer] questioned in awe. It was true; Balance’s power was unfathomable. “But won’t time be all wonky?”

“If we are to do this,” Chaos said, “We will monitor it strictly. To Balance, time is but a scale to be adjusted. As your friend the [Saint] experienced, it can be frozen on one side and active on the other. A year can pass here while seconds pass over there. Likewise, to them, we might seem frozen for eternity. Such are the whims of the cosmos when left unchecked.”

“If we connect the two, this would no longer be the case,” Order said. “There will be rules. There will be guidelines. Everything will be in its place.”

Ah, yes. A very Order statement.

“To allow for continuous travel, our worlds will be aligned. There will be no difference in the passing of time.”

“Once again, Visitors will grace our land,” Chaos said fondly, “And bring all the mischief they can manage.”

As Order speaks, so too does Chaos.

“So,” the [Destroyer] said thoughtfully, her face scrunched up in concentration. “I might get to see Brandy again?”

“Your friend will, of course, be offered a position,” Order said. “We’ll need to start small, with the trusted few, to make sure we’re not making a big mistake.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Chaos asked, laughing to herself. “Besides, that’s where Meliastraza comes in! It doesn’t matter if things go too far!”

Personally, Orthulon had enough to keep himself busy without tending to Armageddon.

“Yes,” Order nodded. “Your help will be invaluable. As one who has spent so much time dwelling among the Visitors, your input will be crucial.”

The [Destroyer] visibly perked up, her eyes wide with glee and her smile growing larger. Orthulon, on the other hand, felt mildly worried. A smile like that did not bode well for him.

“Oooh, I’m in!” She cheered. “When do we start?”

“Not right away,” Order countered, shaking his head. “There are variables to test, data to be collected. We must be sure our world is prepared. Now, are you ready to discuss the details?”

The [Destroyer] nodded frantically. Orthulon groaned…he was about to get a whole lot busier, wasn’t he?