Birth of a Mortal God Read online

  D’RAC WATCHED AS his subjects filled the arena, and looked at his son nervously. He was a handsome boy with tusks that would make any girl swoon. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “And how will you explain it to the tribe?”

  “I am the Chieftain. I need not explain myself,” he said irritated.

  “I am twelve, Father,” said the boy absently as he continued to don the black armour.

  “This whole affair is ridiculous.”

  “It is the Rite of Blood, Father. Every boy has to pass to become a man.”

  “It is an idiotic practice that belongs outside our walls with those other things,” he said with clear disgust.

  “It is important to the Old Bloods. They feel that it keeps us in touch with our roots or some such garbage. I’ll be back soon,” said his son indifferently as he began getting ready to leave the loggia.

  “The Old Bloods,” said D’rac. His right eye twitching slightly as he spat the words. “Those fanatics would see us striped of both clothing and reason.”

  “They’ve been gaining more support ever since their change in leadership.”

  “Ah yes, the moulder’s son. It is good to know they chose a man of true intellect! He’s little better than those beyond the wall. I should have disbanded their little sect years ago.”

  “An illusion of importance is better than the enforcement of servitude. Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching me? Give the plebeians their little ritual; it distracts them from how powerless they truly are,” said the boy with a smirk.

  “You are going to make a wise chieftain someday, my son. How does the armour fit? I told them to spare no expense.” said D’rac as he studied the black armour his son wore.

  His son ran his hands over the embossed gold and silver trimming. “It is truly a work of art. It is almost a shame I will only wear it this once.”

  U’NARK SAT AMONG the masses to observe the Rite of Blood. Fourteen boys, each armed to the teeth, pitted against a starved wolf. It was a disgrace. Their tribe has sunk so deep into the bog of their own arrogance that they have forgotten what it means to be yog’murgarr. Unfortunately, all the positions of power were filled with those who would see them completely stripped of their heritage. It saddened him that they were once revered by the other tribes as warriors of unparalleled skill, but now fourteen of them can hardly kill a single wolf. He watched in disgust as the children chased the wolf around the arena like a pup would a butterfly.

  The crowd laughed and cheered at the spectacle, and he once again understood why none of the others attended the Rites anymore. It was a mockery of a hallowed time in a boy’s life, when he could prove himself more than a child. He still remembered when his father had sneaked him out of the city to kill an animal for his Cloth of Honour. It had been a mountain lion, and when he finally slew it, his father told him tales of how their ancestors used to do their Rites completely naked and unarmed. It was in that moment when he really understood how much they had lost over the past centuries.

  The boys finally managed to surround the wolf when its desperate growl turned into a whimper. Before any of the boys could deal a killing blow, a red object fell from the sky and crashed into the sand in a blur of movement.

  The crowd was in an uproar when a voice bellowed, “I am Asteroth. I am here to call on Tribe U’nor to form a nation with its brothers and sisters. Is there any who would deny this call?”

  ASTEROTH SQUINTED TO distinguish his surroundings. He had wanted to display as much of his godly majesty as possible with his landing, but he never took into account that landing with such force would create quite a significant dust cloud. From the armed silhouettes, he could tell that the warriors had not fled. Not that any yog’mur would. There was an ocean of voices, but no distinct answer to his question.

  A juvenile wolf darted past him, and he suddenly stood with axe in hand. He had found that with each passing battle, his instincts and reflexes became more acute; the shang’gomagarr claim it’s because war and battle are Ve’ndrious’s domain and by extension his own.

  His eye caught a flicker of movement to his right, and as he turned, he found a black-armoured warrior upon him. His opponent had clearly used the wolf to distract him, in the hope of catching him off guard. A good tactic, however the warrior had sacrificed too much defensibility in his haste, an error he will now find to be quite fatal.

  The man realised his mistake and tried to skid to a halt, but it was too late. The axe bit into his breastplate with a screech, and he slumped to the ground as blood gushed from the wound.

  Metal shrieked as Asteroth pulled his axe free from the corpse. He looked at his weapon with surprise. He didn’t know what the black armour was made from, but it had completely marred the steel of his axe. In fact, the armour would have probably negated the blow if not for his supernatural strength. If this was the kind of equipment the U’norgarr possessed, it would make subjugating or destroying them a task that could take years. Something he could not allow. He had to end it here, make an example out of these warriors. Destroy them so utterly that the thought of opposing him would seem like madness.

  He threw aside the ruined axe and acquired his first quarry.

  A SUDDEN GALE dispersed the dust cloud as the shang’gomagarr finally remembered they could use the Art for something other than spying on political enemies. There was a gasp of horror among the crowd as they beheld what had been transpiring within it. The boys now faced much more than a wolf. The red creature towered over them as they tried to get to the gates. Only eight of them remained, the others were spread across the sand as dismembered body parts.

  U’nark saw several of those around him fight to keep down their lunch. He couldn’t help but feel a perverse delight. Where was their idolised sophistication now?

  The red creature moved with deadly efficiency, despite being unarmed and completely naked. Two boys broke away from the rest; whether it was a heroic attempt to give the others more time to reach the gate, or just an act of mindless terror, he couldn’t decide. He did, however, watch with fascination at their opponent’s reaction.

  The creature took a defensive step back, allowing a sideward slash to barely miss its abdomen. Then it rushed forward and grabbed the boy who had performed the attack. It hurled him at the retreating group more than a hundred feet away before the other boy could intervene. The group scattered, and the boy met his end by broken bones and twisted metal. His friend rushed over, but his throat was ripped out by the creature’s talons before he could even swing his axe.

  The red creature was dragging its fresh kill towards the others when the gates opened and twenty guards rushed out onto the sand. They quickly formed a crescent between it and the terrified children.

  U’nark watched curiously as the red monster stopped and ripped off the helm from the corpse at its feet. It seemed bothered by something as it kept looking back and forth between the boy and the newly arrived guards. Then it suddenly charged, using the boy as a shield. It closed the distances faster than anyone would have thought possible and crashed into the group of guards, wielding the dead boy as if it had been fighting with it all its life. Slowly but surely, it beat the guards to death one by one with the corpse.

  An action that would have been comical if it hadn’t been so efficient. The creature used the heavily armoured corpse’s substantial weight to crush and break the bones of its enemies, seemingly negating their armour.

  U’nark regretted that he couldn’t continue to watch the creature. It was like a poet on the battlefield, and each movement a verse. That he couldn’t stay to see this sonnet of death to its completion will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. But some things were more important than personal gratification, and an opportunity like the one that just presented itself was just such a thing.

  He saw the surrounding crowd was similarly mesmerized. There was something primal in them that called for their attention. Although it could also be that they were just paralysed with fear.
None the less. He stole one last glance at the battle below before slipping from the pavilion. He rushed out the arena and down alleys. He had to inform the others. He had to tell them the time for their revolution has come.

  U’NARK LED THE mob back to the arena. It had taken longer to get everyone mobilised than he would have liked, especially since many believed he had gone mad, and longer still to overwhelm and detain those who were opposed to the revolution. It had not been bloodless, but with most of the Pure Bloods distracted in the arena, their opponents were leaderless and uncoordinated.

  The loss of the Art Archive during The Usurpation was generally thought to be the U’norgarr’s single greatest loss. But today, U’nark was truly thankful that the Pure Bloods could do nothing more than mildly impressive tricks. Otherwise, that creature would have died the moment he landed in the arena, and any real chance of revolution with him.

  “Spread out and take the positions we discussed,” he said as they reached the entrance to the arena.

  He led his unit up the stairs leading to the loggias and was surprised that they were not met with any resistance. In fact, all the guards were ominously absent. He had pushed aside his apprehension when they found no one at the arena’s entrance, but they should be fighting their way through the Chieftain’s personal guard by now.

  They reached the door to the Chieftain’s personal loggia and broke it down. And there he was, their glorious leader, whimpering in the corner like a sla’gat.

  He just sat their holding his knees while muttering unendingly, “It’s unstoppable. It’s unstoppable. It’s unstoppable. It’s unstoppable.”

  U’nark motioned to his companions to seize the whimpering fool before turning to look at the sands below. It seemed like no one had left the pavilions, they all just watched in stunned silence. The sonnet below was one of carnage. Almost a hundred warriors littered the sands, and in the centre of the sea of crimson stood the creature. It was facing what must be the last breathing guard in the whole Recreation Quarter.

  The man stood well armed; he was perhaps all that was left of Chieftain’s personal guard. The creature also seemed to have traded the boy’s corpse for more efficient writing instruments. Cre’per’um war axes were dwarfed in each of its hands. He shuddered to think what it would be capable of if a moulder were to fashion it equipment to its specifications, but those were thoughts for another time.

  He quickly turned from the window and left the loggia, motioning to his companions to bring D’rac.

  ASTEROTH FELT HIS muscles burn and wondered if this was what fatigue felt like. There was only one man left, but he didn’t know if he would have the strength to get airborne after he killed him. He didn’t like the idea of retreating, but it was only a matter of time before more reinforcements arrived.

  Although the stories of U’norgarr combat expertise were wild exaggerations, they were still massive compared to their kin. Each one of them stood at least a foot taller than the tallest yog’mur he has ever laid eyes on, and they were adorned with incredibly muscular bodies, almost to a monstrous degree. He could still hardly believe that those first few warriors had been children. Their physiques were that of a yog’mur in his prime, not of a child fondling adulthood.

  He found the U’norgarr to be quite bizarre, in more than just their physiques and human-like adornment of armour. The one facing him was . . . afraid. In fact, the air stank with fear. It came not just from the coward in front of him, but from all those watching. He didn’t understand. Yog’murgarr did not feel fear; fear is something humans and animals felt. Yet here he stood amongst the only cowardly yog’murgarr in existence. He would have laughed if they had not borne the reputation of being the greatest of their kind.

  He took a step forward, and his opponent retreated like a frightened fox. “What are you doing?!”

  The warrior turned to flee when Asteroth’s axe tore through his helm and dug deep into the back of his skull.

  He watched the warrior fall in disgust; then he noticed another group passing through the gate. Calmly, he walked over to the coward’s corpse and retrieved the axe he had thrown in blind rage. The fact that the force of the axe had not ripped the coward’s head from his body was a testament to his severe fatigue.

  It was only a group of six, but their presence was more imposing than all of those cluttering the sands had been. They had the look; the look of one who does not fear death. These were yog’murgarr.

  They stopped a few feet away and revealed a seventh bound member, a shang’goma by the look of him, who was pushed down in front of whom Asteroth assumed was their leader; a yog’mur with claw marks across his left cheek, the work of a large feline or perhaps an angry woman. Based on his recently acquired experience, he thought the latter to be much more likely.

  “Great warrior, I am U’nark. Will you stay your wrath and listen to what I have to say?”

  Asteroth regarded him with curiosity. “You are clearly a man of intellect, yet you stand not as a shang’goma. I know of only one yog’mur with such a gift. Are you of a similar individuality among your tribe?”

  The U’nor seemed disappointed as he replied, “So it is true then. Those beyond our walls are of low intelligence. All among Tribe U’nor stand as I.”

  Asteroth made a mental note to broach the subject with his father. “Speak.”

  “I do not know who you are or . . . what you are. But you are clearly familiar with us yog’murgarr. When you first . . . arrived, you spoke of an unification of the tribes beyond our walls and an offer to be a part of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many of the other tribes have joined this alliance?”

  Asteroth grinned, exposing a mouth full of pointed teeth, each the size of a lion’s fang. “All of them.”

  U’nark was slightly shaken by the strange sight but did his best to conceal it. “Who leads this alliance?”

  “I do. I am Asteroth, Chieftain of the Nine Tribes.”

  “Nine? I thought you said all the tribes had joined this alliance? Should it not then be eleven tribes?”

  “Tribe Tar’ga fell to the humans and Ka’rul was destroyed after refusing to join their brothers and sisters.”

  If anyone else had brought him this news, U’nark would have doubted it, but there was something about this creature, something honourable that told him to trust in its words. “How did you, a being of another race, manage to become chieftain of the nine remaining tribes?”

  “My coming has been foretold by the gods. I’m sure you would be able to confirm this within an hour of browsing your Art Archive. But for now, let’s just say that I’m held in high esteem by our brothers and sisters. I initially came here to see if Tribe U’nor would accept subjugation without any needless bloodshed, but I was attacked upon my arrival.”

  “Subjugation? You mean to rule over us?” he asked surprised.

  “I do, and you will either join us and stand as equals with the other tribes or be destroyed; there is no third choice. All the tribes follow my word as law, and they will tear down your mighty walls with their bare hands if I so commanded. I have faced your warriors, and despite your impressive appearance, you are feeble in combat. We will take this great village in less than a month if you resist, and there will then be no mercy.”

  U’nark felt a cold chill run down his spine. “I—”

  “Never! We will never stand shoulder to shoulder with those beasts! Never! I’ll never allow it!” screamed the kneeling prisoner, having snapped out of his stupor.

  “Who is he?” asked Asteroth with clear annoyance.

  “He is our chieftain,” said U’nark with a fare amount of embarrassment.

  “Oh?” said Asteroth before moving forward and decapitating the kneeling man in a single fluid motion. “You have now surrendered.”

  THERE WAS A slight tremble in the ground as the unified tribes approached the wall. U’nark had always known that the tribes beyond the wall were larger than Tribe U’nor. They lived in wide
open fields and had never needed to control their birth rate over the passing centuries as the U’norgarr were forced to. Overpopulation was always a concern for those living in the Black City, and expansion beyond the wall was always thrown out as madness.

  But still, he was shocked by their numbers. They were a seemingly unending river of olive bodies that would flood the city if so commanded. He recalled Asteroth’s threat those few weeks ago and was now glad that they had revolted when they did. For those in power at the time would have certainly resisted, and in doing so, doomed their tribe to annihilation.

  “They’ll make camp against the wall as we discussed, but only until more permanent accommodations can be found. Open the gates,” said Asteroth as he mounted the last of the steps before peering off the two-hundred-foot wall at those below. “These moulders you’ve told me about are capable of very impressive feats.”

  U’nark turned and signalled for the gate to be opened. “It is said that it took twenty years to fashion this wall, but you’ll find no moulder claiming it to be extraordinary craftsmanship. It is just very big.”

  Asteroth laughed. “Very big is often extraordinary.”

  U’nark smiled at yet another not-so-veiled reference to his new leader’s member; a specimen he proudly called Arack. At first, Asteroth’s nudity, indifference towards it, and crude humour bothered him, but he found that he now barely noticed the two formers. However, he could not say the same for the rest of his people.

  “Come, I would have you meet my brother and father,” said Asteroth before grabbing him and jumping off the wall.

  They glided down to where an odd group of four waited. There were two warriors, both with a fair number of scars, though one of them wore a black pelt while the other was nude. The nude one had very strange facial features, much too narrow for his liking.