Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 68

"Shut your trap," snapped Farren. "You like nothing but the pain of others!"

Atruer was not fazed in the least. "So very true. Ah, you two are a delight, both God and mortal. Your anguished presence brings me such joy!"

The words hit Xenro like a cudgel. The true purpose of summoning him had begun to fade from his mind, as the darkness, almost sentient, penetrated right into his soul. Insane or not, Atruer had spoken true. Ever since stepping into the Mortal Realm after his imprisonment, there hadn't been a moment he'd been truly happy. Many a chances there had been, in moments spent with the company or with the honorable soldiers. But each time, they had been sullied by the fact that he knew their inevitable fate, the path where they were all headed.

Death.

The company would perish someday, Midaelia would vanish, the soldier at his side would be dead, soul lost into the whirlpool in Draedona's realm. And Xenro would be left alone to wander the ravaged lands once again. Immortality was a curse, and he was the living proof of it.

Something thin and sharp poked just beneath his chin.

Xenro's eyes snapped up, realizing with sudden terror how close Atruer had gotten in the splintered moment of distraction. The elder God loomed taller than he'd ever seen, his aura getting stronger by the second as dark thoughts clogged the air. Surpassing the terms of the deals, he had begun to feed on all the torment. Farren was motionless as though frozen in place, her resolve crumbling almost tangibly.

This was going downhill. He had to snap out of this, fast.

An ice-cold, taloned hand held up his chin. Atruer's pale face peered down at him, with something vaguely resembling... compassion.

"You poor thing," he said gently, "the torment His Majesty put you through! So unjust, so much for a young God to take. We of the olden times-- me, the one you call father, your dear friend Draedona--we've been around since the beginning of time. We've seen how things go, taken hits, toughened up and moved on. But you...you were still a little mortal child merely a few millenia ago."

With a sneer, Xenro shoved the hand away, rearing back with all the strength he had left. But he was beginning to run out. "I am not here for your pity. I am here to aid someone who once saved my life."

He made to stride across to a dazed looking Farren, to snap her back to her senses, and get this over with.

The small patch of land between them stretched for miles unending. He ran and ran, but she remained out of reach. An illusion no doubt, one he could not break through.

"Who am I to pity you?" Atruer's voice behind him was now cold, devoid of all sick humor.

He looked back.

"I am nothing but your own despair, reflected back. Every word I speak, it's yours. This is not my pity, fool--this is the pathetic part of you that pities itself!" spat Atruer.

The words echoed in Xenro's head until it felt like he would go deaf. Then it stopped.

"Ah, forgive my rudeness. I must not turn away a potential contract!" With a grotesque twitching of muscles, the usual smile flickered back into his face. "I understand you, Xenro, unlike everyone else. I get how difficult things are for you. Forget about her. Won't you let me help you?"

No.

Yes, yes I will.

What is wrong with me? "No!" he shouted.

Xenro's head spun, stomach lurched as the air grew thick with celestial sorcery. He shook his head and tightened his slackening grip on his sword. Was he so starved for empathy that he was grasping at the straws? Letting himself be swayed by a lowly trickster?