This chapter was so hard! So many characters and things to happen and I don't want it to drag out. Still feel like I need to go through it again and make sure I didn't forget anyone. Sorry for the delay, just took me ages. Hope you like it!
Marcela stared straight ahead, trying not to listen to the chaos of battle outside, but the screams, ring of steel, and magical explosions were difficult to ignore.
She was in an old mess hall inside one of the keep walls. Baelkor would be in Heaven now, doing gods knew what. It had only been minutes, but the Tree of Damnation had grown quickly to carry him up, and they hadn’t had a way to follow him.
That had changed with the arrival of Spy Master Drexel, who had gathered her along with any other Chosen of the fifth circle and above to be transported into Heaven by Chosen of Vesta. In the room with them was the spy master himself, along with Marshall Anara, Merrick, her mother, Justine Daston, Vivienne, and half a dozen other parties of similar quality. Henrietta of Blackthorne was amongst them, along with Randall Ferrand. So many even younger than Marcela, but they had reached such heights in war.
Just over thirty of them would be portalled in to serve as a distraction, and to buy time for General Korteg, Lady Isolde, Wizard Aldric and the Three Eyed Wizards, along with her father to strike. They would be portalled in by Natalie from a different location. Even more would be flown up by Chosen of Seres to reinforce.
While Lorissa worked on their portal, the rest of them sat in silence, exhausted to the very core of their beings.
She tried not to let it get to her, but the hole where Sumi’s connection had been was like a pit, swallowing every bit of hope and courage she had. It took everything to keep a stern face. The rest of her party had it just as bad. For them, she had to be strong. Well, for most of them.
Harris was fine, as was Lorissa. In fact, it seemed that all Chosen of Osidium, Vesta, Lady Light, and Loften were unaffected, while almost all other Chosen—of both minor and major gods—had felt their bonds severed.
The portal came into being, a shimmering purple rift in the air. Shadows stirred beyond. Demons, warlocks, and Baelkor’s plant creature army.
“It’s ready,” Lorissa said.
“Do not lose focus,” Spy Master Drexel said, his voice barely more than a whisper but it carried to each of their ears. “The Army of Alveron are distractions. Do not aid them. Our target is Baelkor, and Baelkor alone. Any one life is secondary to that, including our own.”
With that, shadows gathered around the spy master and he stepped through the portal, the marshalls and their parties following him.
Marcela was about to follow with her own party when her mother took her arm.
“Gods be with you,” she said, meeting Marcela’s eyes.
“And you, mother,” Marcela said. “I will make you proud.”
Her mother cupped her cheek, a sad smile on her lips. “You are already my pride. All I want now is for you to live.”
With that, she went on ahead, Vivienne and the rest of her party with her.
Marcela drew a deep breath and looked to her party—her closest friends. Len offered her a reassuring smile. Teff seemed as relaxed as ever. Tamsin had her twin axes already in hand, an excited grin on her face, while Faelor seemed nervous. Harris stood tall and bravely.
“To Heaven, my friends,” she said. “May the gods be with you all.”
Marcela turned and advanced through the portal. The feeling of it washing over her had become familiar at this stage. When her foot touched solid ground on the other side, her blade was already emerging from its sheath. She blinked against the light—a perfect blue sky overhead, though there was no sun. She stood in the courtyard beyond the Great Palace, and blood and fury surrounded her.
The Chosen fought in a half circle around the entrance of the portal, demons attacking from all sides. Marcela glanced behind her as her party emerged. There was no retreat. They stood at the edge of a cliff, staring down into a blue abyss, but for the fracture in the sky.
She frowned as pieces of the ground crumbled, as if the cliff’s edge was disintegrating. Below, past the towering Tree of Damnation that had carried Baelkor and his army up here, Chosen of Seres carried whole battalions through the fracture. Dragons escorted them, fighting flying demons with fire, tooth, and claw.
And far below, in the stronghold fragment, the battle still raged on.
So many dead, Marcela thought. So much more fighting to do.
Marcela cleaved a demon in two with her sword. As its body split, she saw the Great Palace behind it. Baelkor’s army was all that stood between her and the Pantheon.
Even this close to the Great Palace, in Heaven itself, she could not feel Sumi’s light.
Marcela didn’t allow herself the privilege of dwelling on it. She launched herself into the battle, her blade lopping off a demon’s head as she joined the line. Their target was already at the gate of the Great Palace.
The giant’s fist slammed against it, the air ringing with the sound of his fist against metal. Warlocks and demons gathered around him, Trees of Damnation stood tall at his side, the ground split by their roots, and rifts in their trunks from which more enemy reinforcements emerged.
Their numbers seemed unending. The only way this battle could be finished was to kill their leader.
“Kill them!” Baelkor roared.
His army split from around him, advancing on them and the gathering Army of Alveron carried up to the right. They were still only in the hundreds, and thousands of enemies came for them.
The air beside Baelkor split open.
Nine of Alveron’s most powerful Chosen stepped forward. With no ninth circle Chosen remaining, General Korteg led them, an aura of blood-red essence surrounding him. Isolde was on his left, Marcela’s father on the right, followed by members of the King’s guard, Wizard Aldric of the Three Eyes, and two more wizards that Marcela didn’t recognise. Each held their weapon in hand, but for her father, whose fists were all he needed.
“There is nowhere left to go, Servant of the Greed God,” Isolde declared, raising her sword overhead.
Her golden shield became radiant, the gem at its centre gleaming bright as the sun, Ordana’s power gathering to her. She smashed her shield forward, and an explosion of blinding light and heat blasted out. The closed Tree of Damnation simply exploded from the force. The closest demons were vaporised in the heat, and those that survived had bits of tree bombarding them. More still were sent flying back by the terrifying shockwave.
Marcela’s jaw fell open at the sudden display of force. Silence reigned over the battlefield for just a moment, even the army of the demon lord and Baelkor frozen by it.
General Korteg roared and charged Baelkor. Byzantius’ Chosen grew with every step, bloody essence pouring from his body until he was almost as tall as Baelkor. His greatsword seemed to glisten with blood as he swung.
The ground ruptured in its wake. Nearby demons evaporated into red mist. The blade struck Baelkor square in the chest, only to dig deeply into his bark armour. Baelkor grabbed the blade in one hand, vines erupting from his arm to swallow the sword whole.
Korteg tried to pull back but Baelkor’s grip was tight. With his other hand, Baelkor raised his staff. The world darkened, essence of deep, dark purple—so dark it was almost black—spiralled toward its crystal top.
He stabbed it into Korteg’s stomach, and the darkness leached into hiss kin. His veins bulged, changing colour to match Baelkor’s poison. Marcela’s father was on the giant a moment later, slamming into him like a boulder of white flame and knocking him off balance enough for Isolde to break him free, burning back the poison with her fire. The wizards were on him them, bombarding Baelkor with their magic. But they were outnumbered. Warlocks and demons aided in Baelkor’s defence.
Marcela had no time to worry about others. The army of warlocks and demons answered with powers of their own. Some stood out amongst the rabble. A warlock walked through shadows that swallowed entire parties of soldiers. Only for those that disappeared to emerge moments later as twisted monsters. A demon in the sky unfolded wings of living flame, its feathers bombarding the ground like fireballs. Another demon split its body apart into thousands of insects—a swarm of darkness that devoured blessings and flesh alike.
Something lunged at her from the side, and Marcela twisted away, feeling the air hiss over her skin as claws barely missed her. Her sword flashed, water surged around its and she sent it forward, severing an arm before she drove it through the demon’s throat. Tamsin’s axe tore into demons with a frenzy that matched their own. The berserker’s face was half covered in blood, a wild look in her eyes. Faelor and Teff were a few steps behind, providing archer support, while Len shielded them with his barriers. Harris marched at the front, his earth blessings making him an unstoppable object against these lesser foes.
Along with the other parties, they were making quick progress toward Baelkor. Randall Ferrand and his party fought to their right. Skander in a puff of shadow. Madeleine appeared before her, radiant shield holding back a bombardment. Her mother’s to the left. Fighting side by side with her fellow Chosen, a halo of blessings surrounded them in divinity, their powers uniting to face the barrage of enemy magic and fend it off.
Even as the Warlocks rallied around Baelkor, along with his generals and the Demon Lord, Marcela and her party started closing in, tearing through the demons. She gritted her teeth and pushed forwards. Finally, a gap cleared, and she caught sight of the battle against Baelkor once more. The nine had forced him to leave the gates alone. Silver rain poured from the sky, constantly harassing the giant’s allies and enhancing their own side, mist in the air like they were trapped within a cloud. Her father was bleeding from a number of wounds but he was still at the front, trading blows with Baelkor. The same poison she’d seen before pulsed across his body and instilled a fear in Marcela’s heart that urged her onward.
Now was not the time to hesitate. They were outnumbered and outpowered. What they needed was a surprise strike.
Marcela closed herself off. She gathered all her power to her, drawing upon the essence of her soul. Without the touch of Sumi, it felt a little different but no less powerful. She became the ocean in that moment, impossible quantities of water gathering around her. Waves surged from her feet, sweeping back demons and plant creatures in a tide, and clearing the way forward.
A hundred Water Blades formed around her like a storm of sapphire steel, circling overhead as she advanced. Her sword flashed. The blades followed. A path opened through the enemy ranks, and at the end of it stood Baelkor.
The giant loomed over the battlefield like a mountain given life. General Korteg's blood-red blessings battered him from one side while Lady Isolde's burning suns exploded against him from the other. Wizards of the Three Eyes filled the air with destruction powerful enough to level cities. Yet none of it seemed to matter. Wounds closed as quickly as they were opened. Roots stitched flesh together. Bark armour regrew. Through it all, Baelkor unleashed his dark magic, and each one of them carried the mark of his poison.
But his attention was not on them. Water condensed around Marcela’s blade as she charged, until it shone bright blue. She crossed the distance in a blur and struck with everything she had. The impact thundered through the street. Dark blood spilled as a deep wound opened across the giant's leg.
Then roots burst from the injury and sealed it shut before her eyes.
Baelkor looked down at her. There was no anger in his expression. No frustration. No recognition that she had accomplished anything at all. The casual indifference in his gaze chilled her more than any hatred could have.
His staff moved.
Marcela threw herself aside as the street vanished beneath an eruption of black roots. The stone ground shattered. The shockwave hurled her through the air and left her sprawled across broken stone, coughing blood. She landed near the gates, and backed closer to them as Baelkor raised a hand.
The battlefield darkened as roots erupted from every direction, converging into a single colossal wave of black wood and thorns. It towered above the city streets, above the armies, above Marcela herself. Looking up at it, she felt very small.
There was no surviving that.
Her parents appeared before her in a blur of white essence and silver moonlight. Barrier after barrier erupted from her father while her mother's Eclipse swallowed the area around them into monochrome darkness. Together, they met the attack.
The roots smashed through the barriers one after another. Her mother's blade carved apart entire sections of the attack only for more to replace them. The final defence shattered. Blood exploded across the black-and-white world as her father took the blow meant for her.
When the colours returned, he stood with his back to her, a bloody gash where his left arm had been.
Marcela stared at the wound in horror.
Her father had always been indestructible. As a child, she’d believed nothing in the world was capable of truly hurting him. Yet here he stood, pale and bleeding.
They were losing.
Her eyes roamed the battlefield for help. General Korteg and Isolde were fighting, but exhaustion showed in every movement. The poison had slowed them. The battle had made them weary. And even standing before the very gates to the Great Palace, the gods did not reveal themselves.
Baelkor raised his staff, gathering power to it.
“You have done well to survive a direct blow of mine,” Baelkor said. “But it shall be your last. A pity. In another life, you would have been a great talent.”
“I have more fight in me yet,” her father snarled.
Please, Marcela prayed. Sumi, I need you now, more than ever. Lend me your strength. Help us.
Everywhere she looked, her people were losing ground. Even here, in the very heart of Heaven, the gods did not reveal themselves. Even with the gates at her back.
No god answered. No miracle came. The hollow absence left by Sumi seemed to deepen inside her chest. The last fragments of hope slipped into the pit she had left behind.
Then the palace gates clicked. She turned, watching as they opened. The sound was so quiet, yet it carried across the battlefield with impossible clarity. Demons, warlocks, and Chosen all paused.
Even Baelkor halted his swing.
Marcela held her breath as the golden gates slowly parted. Light spilled from within, and a lone figure stood in the entrance.
A hood covered their head, and they carried a staff in their right hand. They were short, yet their presence carried a weight. The very air distorted around them. White fire drifted lazily around his feet as molten cracks spread forward across the stone ground. Above him, spell formations shimmered into existence, suspended in the air like stars.
“The gods have answered!” came a cry.
“They are with us!” roared another. “The gods are here.”
But Marcela frowned. There was a touch of divinity to the figure’s aura, but it felt less powerful than it should. And where were the others?
Baelkor’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” His eyes went past him, into the palace beyond, then they widened. “No! It cannot be…” His voice grew louder. “Where are the sparks?”
“Somewhere safe,” came a man’s voice that was strangely familiar to Marcela.
“Who are you?” Marcela muttered, her eyes went to the white fire floating around him. “You are no god.”
“I am not,” the man said. White flame erupted from the man's staff, revealing a face that absolutely did not belong standing at the centre of Heaven.
Her eyes widened. “Hump. How are you alive? How are you here?”
“The gods are dead,” he said. “You’re stuck with me.”