God of Hell - Chapter 41 - Fear The Undone (Patreon)

Tommy’s armor was in ruins, and he’d lost his dagger. It had happened so quickly, so fast, that he was barely able to recall the actions that led to any of it. All that mattered now was that a man was coming to kill him and he had to kill them first.

He swung a heavy slash and took off the man’s head, swung another and cut another enemy’s eye out. 

He’d become stronger since the revolution, faster, quicker, better. It hadn’t been that long ago, but he could already feel the effects of his head clearing, the focus that brought to his days that up until recently he’d entirely lacked.

But now and today, all he could feel was fear.

For the first time in a while Tommy had something to look forward to, he had something to fight for, and it was only just as he was beginning to realize it that it was all thrown into jeopardy.

Now he had to fight for it tooth and nail, and if he didn't, everything he cared about and everything he knew would be in ruins.

A roar told him a Gray was approaching from behind, a blade to the skull stopped his approach. If he hadn’t made a sound, Tommy would be dead.

The body fell on him but he pushed it aside just in time to earn a slash to the ear instead of the face.

He put a blade in that attacker’s heart, but two more were coming to replace him soon.

Might was something that could be trained, could be honed within one’s vessel, he had already started off with a naturally higher amount of it than most ever reached, how far could he push it if he had the chance? Just how powerful could he have become if he urged his body as far as he could.

Probably never strong enough to make up for the bad he’d done.

Never enough to earn the forgiveness of Stradale.

But he could do good, a lot of good.

A Gray Knight approached, intent to make sure Tommy never found out how much. They dodged his swing and tackled him to the ground.

He slammed a gauntleted fist into the bastard’s face that left him dazed and useless. Tommy threw him off, but his gambeson-clad allies didn’t intend to let a downed man stand.

They came at him with a frantic desperation, blades flying fast and dangerously.

Tommy couldn’t possibly dodge them all so he earned one slash to the shoulder and cut his blade into one of their knees as revenge. 

They grew weary at seeing the fight in him and began to flee.

A slash to the thigh, it sent him to the ground, but not to his final sleep, not now, not yet.

The Gray attacker dropped to the floor before Tommy could cut him down, there was a patch of blood where ribs were meant to be. What he’d felt was the death rattle of a doomed man. It might have killed him.

He forced himself onto one leg and limped with the other. His heart ached, his lungs burned, he wanted to rest.

Soon, soon…

He knew it was coming, only a fool wouldn’t know now.

But he didn’t want it to, he was scared, he’d barely lived and barely had a life in the times he had. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair.

Why didn’t I run when I had the chance?It’s not like I’d be remembered.

The vagrant bastard who died in the attack.

That’s all I would be, that’s all I’ll ever be.

A killer stabbed a spear at him and Tommy batted it away, pulled his enemy by the length of the weapon and buried his sword into his gut. The man whispered gurgled pleas and slumped to the dirt.

Something red appeared in the corner of his eyes, he twisted but couldn’t avoid a slash to the back from the Crimson. Tommy stumbled backwards and the Crimson chased him.

“I don’t want to die.” Tommy told the man, but he had no ear for his pleas, only a blade that thirsted after his blood.

Sparks flew as their swords clashed, each round left his arms aching and made the next slash harder to catch. Ruined armor and bleeding from cuts and slashes, this was not a fresh enemy, instead he was like him a drained man.“Just, fucking, stop. Please!” He growled. His father had said a man should face adversity with a brave heart and unflinching nerve, but that fucker was the bastard who faced the death of their mother at the bottom of a bottle, so what the fuck did he know? If there was a chance, even a single chance, that he could be a coward today and live to see another then he would take it, he would scramble for it, crawl through a stream of shit, piss and vomit just for a glimmer of tomorrow.

The Crimson gave him none and his blade continued to chase Tommy.

Shit!Shit!Shit!Shit!

Tommy caught him with a glancing blade to the helm and he retaliated with a slash to his shoulder. The cruel weapon dug into Tommy’s shoulder and sank hot pain into his soul.

He stumbled back, arm weak, blade fallen.

“Pl-” He tried but the Crimson’s blade found his lungs before he could speak, plunging deep and then twisting. He heard himself gasp, once as the blade was plunged in and again as it was wrenched free in a spray of blood.

His legs gave out underneath him and his back met the dirt. 

The Crimson fell to his knee, panting and heaving for several long moments. Finally he got to his feet and stumbled towards him, blade in hand.

He raised his sword high over Tommy and plunged it down through his chest.

A streak of bright red flashed through the air tore through the knight’s eye socket and exploded out the back in a spray of gore.

A man with red hair, green eyes and curious looking weapon stood in the middle of the battle. Tommy had heard enough stories of the crew to know Klaus the Fire Spitter, they were here, the Death Rattle Crew were here to save Stradale.

Perhaps Tommy would have found himself succumbing to oblivion a hopeful man, had he not died before he could set his eyes on them.

Mercury had grown bored of torturing the girl, instead he stared at the three limbs the Light Breather had ruined, once a vibrant blue, now shriveled and black.

How could Magic like this be allowed to exist? Magic meant for the express purpose of purging his people. It seemed wrong, like a fault of nature, and yet here it was, a perpetual scar on his skin.

He hadn’t yet been born when the last cycle ended, so much of what he knew about it were mere stories, stories of a man, a filthy human, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Demon-kind. Who through his service to the Three Faced Monarch led them into an age of prosperity, where no human fought for freedom, none even dared to humour the idea.

It was even rumoured that Mercury’s philosophy, Darieum, a school of thought that sought to elevate Demon-kind through ensuring humanity was able to serve to their best ability, was founded by the last Light Breather.

Mercury doubted the truth of that, but what he knew now was that another being of such power had again been brought upon Damnation, his world, his home. And he had to stop it.

A knock dragged Mercury out of his mind and towards the door. He opened it to find a Gray Knight standing at attention, helm bowed and body tense. “My Lord.” He began. “It’s the Light Breather… He’s…”“Speak boy!” Mercury snapped, finding his patience wearing thin lately.

The man’s spine straightened like it had been pulled taut. “He came for me, my officer and I, it was at night, we were on duty, we could barely see…” Fear coated his tongue, his body nearly quivered as he spoke. “He killed him my Lord, hung his corpse outside the city and told me he was only letting me live so I can show you what he did to my… my friend.”

Violence… Pure, meaningless violence. The Light Breather is growing desperate now, frustration flowing, in his anger he’s lunged at the first thing he’d seen that was even tangentially related to me.

This was good, a calm and rational enemy might prove a difficult obstacle.

This child… Would not.

“Take me there.” He told the Knight and the man began walking.Mercury wrapped his appendages around the girl’s form and brought her with him as he followed. She herself was no threat, she was barely alive if anything, just about managing to draw in shallow breaths with each second that passed.

What he needed her for was leverage however. Mercury was confident in his assertion that the Light Breather had indeed been acting irrationally, but on the off chance that this was some sort of ambush, the girl would surely ward off such stupid ideas.

The pair were beyond the city in time and Mercury was brought towards a solitary tree in the middle of a clearing. There, like he’d been told, a Crimson laid before him, armor ruined, crucified, naked, throat, ankle and wrists slit. It was quite a gory sight to behold, such rage manifested as almost an art.

There was a note nailed to the man’s left palm, Mercury pulled it off of the corpse and read it. ‘Meet me here tomorrow you blue fuck.’ 

Ah, so the boy can write, interesting.

Confirmation that he was a Damned then.

He tossed the note to the Knight who barely caught it. “My Lord, you’re not actually going to-”

“No, you idiot, I’m not actually going to meet him here tomorrow.” Mercury rolled his eyes. How he wished he had his own men, who he could train and educate, not these wastes of space shelled from their ineptitude by flimsy plate. “This is the behaviour of a man stuck in a tight place, trying to assert dominance despite his desperation. When he comes here tomorrow, you and your colleagues under my command shall cut him down, do you understand? Is that something you can manage?!”

“Y-yes my Lord.” He nodded foolishly. “You’re right, that’s why I brought you here.”

Mercury raised an eyebrow. “What in Damnation are you blabbering on about?”

The Gray didn’t reply, he just raised his hand right in front of Mercury’s face, and out of it spat out a familiar, terrifying golden light.