Valkyrie of Desire

46. Demigod's Hour

You are light in the mind

Of a ship on a page

Being read by the blind

Trapped in a gilded cage

An excess of recess

Those born for scarcity

Go crazy with plenty

Ambition births purpose

Start with nothing and crawl

Climb atop the maze's wall

Be the sage not the fool

See the game to break rules

—Rowarh "Wart" Nepitdon

Darla smiles, accepting the reward of an extra hour possessing Hildr's body, this body. She stretches her arms and scratches where her heavy tunic itches. The discomfort shocks loose ancient memories; suffering, from a time when she wore her original skin and bones. She licks her lips. It is bracing.

At her feet, a man sleeps. Jax, remade, returned to being Ajax. Still tongue-less and starved, but without the Red that made him a dread walker. He is a berserker no longer. Anger will not give him inhuman strength, nor flame, nor cause magical fear. He has been cured.

Darla smirks and puts her shortsword in his limp hand. When Hildr resumes control, she will be confused. Her request was for a healing of Jax's heart. She could not expect him remade into a mundane human.

Lifting her foot, Darla pulls a piece of straw out of her slipper. "Imbue. Stalk. Fire."

The stalk glows bright as the hall lanterns and then fades to a golden shimmer. A poor weapon for a demigod but magnificent in a realm without divine rivals.

Darla concentrates on her wand, channeling unrefined power into it. A ball of flame grows from its tip, spinning and expanding until half her arm could fit inside. She flicks her wrist. The fireball shoots forward with a whoosh to smack into a door at the end of the hall.

A roar of heat and light, the flames explode in all directions, ripping the door off its hinges to reveal stairs leading down. Darla kisses the wand's tip as it smolders, becoming shorter. She sighs. Such a satisfying spell.

She sneezes as gray ash dusts the hall. Sniffling, she brushes her tunic and hair. Her arm stiffens and eyes widen. What? She rubs the fuzz covering her head, not so different from the fur of her divine body but not at all like the long orange locks that should be there.

Darla scoffs. Hildr dared to shave off her blessed hair. How can she tempt men bald as a nun?

The stairs down are wide. She stomps on the smoking remains of the door and leans over some railing. Below, footsteps and voices come closer.

Less than an hour; no time to dawdle on entertainment. The fun can happen after access to these mortal realms is secured. At some point, Pantheon Gyme will open up to all players again. Whatever she can accomplish before this will be a bonus. If her exclusivity goes on long enough, she could win a divine seat and ascend to proper godhood.

This was why Darla and her fellow demigods had established Lords Under The Eye. Their plan was plotted to take decades, most of the holy war, to reach their goal. Only a half-dozen years in and she can leap ahead of all other players. Ishkur and her other partners may not forgive her, but they knew her nature when she joined. Nor apologies. No regrets.

A pair of soldiers climb the steps. Spears forward and helms on, they are ready for nothing she has to offer.

"Desire. Men. Anger."