Theurgy: The Journey's Dawn (Book One)

Chapter 45 The Path of Gods

I am a god.

The words turned these large chasms that much larger, it seems. And everything seemed to slow to a crawl at what had just occurred. The guards seemed nailed to their positions as Garath raised the goblet up. Realization became slow. The golden liquid oil fell into his mouth too quickly. A spear was lifted but was never used. And Garath's face, an expression of triumph, conquer. A wish and a promise being fulfilled in an instant, as the last of it disappeared in his mouth, some only dribbling off the side of his cheek next to his scar. And as that last drop seemed to hang in the air, things began to move once more.

The braziers, casting a dull blue light upon them, suddenly burst to life as if fed with an extraordinary fuel, turning as bright orange as forge flames and licking the ceiling vigorously. It was haunting. Gareth's face, for a moment, embraced in a maddened smile, looked perplexed, as if not expecting the outcome that had occurred. The scar on his cheek slowly faded away as if the skin surrounding it suddenly swallowed it. Garath lifted his hand to feel where it had been and smiled, marveling at the smooth new skin that had replaced it. But this momentary joy was swiftly disrupted by a sharp cracking sound, like the crackle of the fire, but deeper and more hollow, like coming from an extensive tunnel.

And then, Garath screamed.

Screamed like the deepest pain was committed against him, screamed with every fiber of his calloused soul. The walls, the mountain reverberated with his echo as everyone took a cautious step away, the guards no longer even concerned to pin the band to the ground. Some stared in awe, some even ran.

But out of all those who hesitated, Lyse was not one to falter for long. He snatched the blade out of the nearest guard's hand and charged at Garath. He didn't know what this was, but he knew enough that he should stop it here and now. With a swift cut, he slashed at Garath's throat, blood spilling out immediately upon impact. But Garath somehow had the mind between his excruciating wells to step back so that Lyse couldn't take his head. His blood gushed out like a pump, however, and he fell to the ground clutching his throat as his screams became gargled. Lyse pressed afoot to the man's chest, not sparing a single thought, and turned his blade down to finish this, finish it all. He could see the guards, those who had not yet run away, raising spears to engage him. But before he could stab him in the eye, an explosion seemed to emanate from the Garath's body that threw everyone backward. Lyse was thrown into a nearby column, cracking it and knocking all the wind from his lungs, leaving him wheezing and coughing. Guards who were prepared to fight as well were suddenly thrown into the hall along with Lyse's band. He looked up, weakly, to see Garath on his knees now, holding his head. Blood no longer gushed from his wound. It was closed. But now, his eyes and mouth seemed to light ablaze. Like embers, they glowed even against the light of the raging infernos across the room. Lyse watched as slowly, Garath's body became rigid, and his copper skin slowly losing color and turning an ashy grey instead.

"Make it stop," he wailed, though his voice sounded distorted and twisted, echoing on itself beyond the capabilities of the room and growing more resonant. "Make the voice stop. It burns. I hear it. I hear it."

Lyse pushed himself to his feet. He witnessed as Garath's body grow slower and slower, the wails growing more and more distorted and deeper, penetrating his mind. And his skin actually turned rock-like, a grey dusty material forming on top of it. He was slowly frozen into the stature of a screaming man, only his eyes and mouth glowing with light. The screams had stopped, echoing in the distance. Everyone was stood shocked even to move. Did they dare? But then, another crack. A long sinuous one down his chest that leaked flowing orange light. Then another, down his face mimicking his scar. More and more formed out of nowhere, forming a web of cracks and revealing magma flowing between them somehow. Gareth's beard, somehow still intact, was now singed and covered in ash. The heat in the room shot up by several dozen degrees as the air rippled around him. He grew taller, more imposing, his face now straight and composed. Yet his eyes, still they were bright empty sockets willed with coals. They stared with a strangely inhuman quality.