FALSE GODS

21 The Half-born

“You have a penchant for overdoing things, my ill-witted friend. And even then, you fail miserably,” Grave noted in his deep, gravelly voice.

“What?! I did not fail! LOOK, we have the girl. And I am not your friend!” Hypnos replied in his shrill, creature tone.

“But, oh LOOK, the girl is DEAD.” Grave quipped. “And your position is that I am not your friend, but you admit to being ill-witted?”

Hypnos threw his partner a seething glare. Grave was not a pretty sight to behold. He was an oversized man with large but misshapen limbs. Over six feet tall, his head was bulbous and hairless. The veins on his arms, legs, neck, and head were as thick as fingers. There were stacks of unnatural muscles on his back and traps, making him look like an overgrown wrestler. The truth was that Grave was dead. Or rather an undead.

To be exact, he was a Horkus. A reanimated body built from the limbs of ten carcasses. The most distinguishing feature was that he had four arms. However, he hid two of them in his tunic, which had been tailored for him from animal hide.

Hypnos, on the other hand, was a live person, albeit not a good-looking one. He was short, at five foot seven inches, and had a tanned complexion. His voice was high-pitched, and his face lizard-like. The latter attribute had less to do with his personality and more to do with the experiments he had carried out on himself to prolong his life and enhance his dark magick. Hypnos was already over seventy years old, but had the appearance of someone in his forties. He was neither a peculiar nor had divine blood in him. The elements did not listen to him. But he had a pact with the Dark Seraph, which granted him necromancy and other nefarious abilities. He knew that once his Mistress was reborn, he would gain powers equal to those of a God-prime.

Grave had been resurrected with Hypnos’ dark magick, but the former despised him for the shoddy work. Horkuses were not meant to be as ugly and despicable as Grave had turned out to be.

Of course, he lacked the prudence to understand the intricacies of resurrection. To prepare a Horkus ritual, Hypnos had to collect the remains of ten deceased who had broken great promises during their lives. Grave was an amalgamation of betrayal and deceit. Right then, however, they were partners in a task that was of much more significance than either of them imagined.

They stared blankly at the body of a young girl that a mud-born had belched out before them.

“She is not dead,” Hypnos maintained. “She has merely swallowed a lot of mud.”

“Consuming mud makes mortals dead. Being one of them, you ought to know that.”

“You have swallowed mud several times, haven’t you? Once, you fell into a swamp and escaped a month later.” Hypnos shot at him.

“I remember the incident vividly. YOU had lost the sense of direction while traveling and led us into a swamp. Then, YOU had abandoned ME. When you returned to rescue me, a MONTH had passed. ” Grave related the actual course of events in a morbid tone.

“I reckon our perspectives on what really happened, differ greatly.” Hypnos offered.

“There is nothing to gain from arguing with you. I have learned that from experience. But speaking on the matter at hand, I am undead and cannot die further through natural means. Death by swallowing mud does not apply to me. This girl, however, is a mortal, a weak one at that. And from what you have told me, she needs to be alive to perform the ritual.”

Hypnos spat on the ground with derision and picked up his sprig staff. It was a curious wooden rod with a white stone perched on top.

“An undead creation lecturing a necromancer about things he does not comprehend!” he barked.

“Malum anagen nimenos!” Hypnos chanted. The crystal grew murky, and the contours of Rhode’s shadow shimmered for a moment. Grass and herbs in the neighboring area shriveled and blackened.

“She will be alive soon. I had instructed the mud-born to provide enough air to her so that her heart stayed intact.”

“They understand instructions? The mud-borns? I was under the impression that they were mindless creatures.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that. My pact with them is fragile as it is.”

“What did you offer them in return?”

“Nothing. I threatened to kill their king.”

“Brutal. Some pact, that is. But why couldn’t WE retrieve the girl? Surely, the other mortals were weaklings.”

“You know very little about the foundations of old homes. In the olden days, sacrifices were made to the gods for protection. We could not set foot there and come out whole.”

“These matters are confusing to me. Corruption is toxic to the make-shift gods of Mt. Radomir? Divinity is toxic to us?”

“The corruption that runs in our blood, that gives me my powers and keeps you undead, is borne from centuries of hatred between the seraphim,” Hypnos explained. “Us minions cannot even begin to understand the scale of their might.”

“You may be a minion, Hypnos, but I am free.”

“Oh, really? Let us put your claim to the test, dearest Grave. I dare you to walk away from all this. Right now.”

“Then you will wave your staff and make me a corpse again? I’d rather not take you up on your offer.”

“I have created you, and I can end you. And do not forget we are in debt to the Dark Seraph, Aera Cura. Otherwise, the titans’ realm steps on insignificant entities like us. So, let me tell you the truth- you are not free. I am Cura’s minion, and you are mine.”

“When Cura awakes, I shall be sure to let her know how rude you are,” Grave grumbled.

The girl’s eyes opened, and she instantly tried to rush to her feet. She failed and collapsed on her knees, convulsing and retching. Mud sputtered out of her mouth, mixed with food and dregs and blood. She let out cries of agony in between the vomiting sprees. Finally, she leaned back and watched her surroundings. They were at the mouth of a cavern near the bank of a river. It must be a tributary of Struma, she realized, from the surrounding vegetation.

“Ah, she wakes,” Hypnos announced musically.

“Maybe we should wash her first.” Grave suggested.

“Who are you, people? Where is my family?” Rhode asked, her voice a mere squeak.

“Your family is safe. Unfortunately, you will never see them again. To answer your other question- we are the servants of the Dark Seraph, Aera Cura.” Hypnos replied.

“Who is that?”

The necromancer was hurt by the ignorance of the girl. But he offered her water in a bowl.

“It is a long history lesson, but we have time. The summer solstice begins at nightfall. Drink up, child, and if you feel better, I will offer you some bread.”

“Remember what I have taught you, Grave,” he said to the Horkus. “It is time you repeated it to someone.”

Grave had been standing frozen in place. A woman’s conscious presence had somehow put him into a mood of silence. He was going to suggest again that they wash her when Hypnos decided to test his knowledge of history.

Grave cleared his throat and began.

“In the ancient days, when Aion, the god of boundless time and space, entered the living world, Kinheim, from the timeless dimension, Katharheim, and sought to obliterate creation and start anew, the wisest of men begged for amnesty. Aion, moved by their supplication, showed mercy, bestowing the land with his progeny. From the embodiment of his power were born four seraphim. From his arms was born TITUS LUCIFER, the brightest and mightiest; from his torso came NECESSITAS- the Goddess of Destiny; from his backbone rose CAAN VECTOR, the god of Prosperity and from his legs was beget AERA CURA, the Keeper of the Dead.”

“The immortal seraphim blessed the human race and brought centuries-worth leaps in civilization. In time they came to be worshipped as gods, who grew in both power and influence. But the gap in sheer capacity between the seraphim and mortals was so humongous. that they were loved by only a few, while being feared by most. Titus Lucifer, the eldest and mightiest among the seraphim, proposed to disperse their divinity among the mortals to be assimilated better into the human race. Thus they would sacrifice their immortality and boundless power. Caan Vector followed his brother’s lead. The goddess Necessitas, disillusioned with the material world, dissolved into the ether and continued to live in the recesses of reality. Aera Cura, who despised the humans for enchanting her brothers, retreated into the underworld, plotting revenge.”

“And thus, Lucifer and Caan created their progeny by procreating with mortals and themselves dying of old age. They dissipated their divine powers in humans, who continued to be born with small fractions of their abilities. Such exceptional individuals were written into history books as gods. The four titans ruling from Mt. Radomir are the direct descendants of Lucifer and Caan.“

“Now you know who the Dark Seraph is, little girl. It is a tragic story,” Hypnos concluded Grave’s monologue.

“I don’t care,” Rhode replied, much to their chagrin.

She looked around, saw the head of a person near her foot, and shrieked.

“Don’t be scared,” Grave said, picking up the head. “He’s someone you know.”

“That is- That is Jirel!”

“Your future husband,” he added smugly. “I ate him.”

“Grave has to eat humans to prolong his life,” Hypnos explained.

The villains stepped closer to her. Rhode was too weak to panic physically. She lay helpless, her eyes wide in horror.

“Are you going to eat me too?” she whimpered.

“Oh no, we have a higher purpose for you.”

“We want you to be the vessel of the Dark Seraph, Aera Cura.”