The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 1048: The Great God Grostian

Heavy pants and a looming sense of dread captured Angela’s face. She breathed or tried – the wound ambered periodically. Her purple hair was awry, the softness marred for plumps tied by her blood, latter of which followed the creases and hallow lines of the floor.

“Violetta, poor old Violetta,” a chair summoned, “-how could you be so foolish?” he straddled the chair and sat with its back in front, the chin kindly laid over the crossed arms, “-efforts ought be rewarded, I think?” her painful expression crossed with crinkles, noiseless sighs and exhales lessened. Color in her cheeks dulled, beauty of the living was true as for when the living die – the corpse laid as but an ugly remain of what hides inside. Guts, gore – a disgusting display. “A lady’s beauty is only surface level for when one seeks deep, they find the organs,” came randomly, “-someone said that, I think, don’t know. Weaver of Destiny, when are you planning to drop the act?” There was no act to drop. He watched. Her eyes slowly faded – the glimmer of life within dimmed. The eyelid froze, the color of her iris – a cross between light brown and green bleached into white. Something Igna was very familiar with, something his body did when the powers surged.

“Seriously?” he leaned on the chair and narrowed, “-are you honestly going to die?” a bronzy flare flashed. The shadow of the clouds released for the sun to shriek a powerful ray, “-the knife?” he stood, peculiar to bronze hue. It laid protruding from Angela’s side-way corpse, the pommel or handle of the knife, it lit and carried a few intriguing engraving. Violetta, the prior body, solidified – the shadow fell beside the reincarnation – it was akin to seeing the past and the present buried at the same time. A physical representation, her body, and the ethereal manifestation, the shadow.

“Overestimated her,” he pulled and held the knife into what little light invaded, “-using anything from Hephaestus’ workshop is considered rare. Engraving tells of a very nasty spell – one of self-destruction and sufferance. Explains why she felt confident, I would be if I were in her shoe. One stab and the entity will be subject to the wrath of the great god, Grostian,” a gentle motion wiped any evidence of the blade from existence. ‘The power of Nothing,’ he ambered to the window and flicked the lock – a burst of air and outside noise rushed inward. He lit a cigarette and puffed. Outside flourished the beautiful estate, a formidable yard of likes éclair might have been jealous of, a growing orchard with the kindling of trees native to the floating isles and the distant thicket. He flipped and puffed, the wind carried the smoke.

Sun fell a few meters, the evening drew near and the forest howled. Igna waited in a weird ritualistic chamber locked deep within the estate’s secret. The pale Angela laid on her back in the middle of a pentagram. Multiple pages floated amidst a rain of ancient symbols and flashes of mana. ‘Breaking the curse is going to be difficult,’ he stood over the altar holding Angela, he rose his arms and nicked the thumb. ‘Based on my assumption, she’s dead. I miscalculated and expected too much from the Weaver of Destiny. Who wouldn’t be led astray with a title like that? She who knows all barely knows much. The curse says, ‘-whoever falls for which they are slashed or stabbed, their life-energy shall become prison on Order of the Great God, to be locked and forced into sufferance to never see the light and forever be used as the fuel for the furnace of Gieol’ I don’t know much about Grostian, the name rarely comes up in the archives. If Mantia doesn’t have it, I’m sure Nexsolium, no need dwelling on the past.’ Droplets fell. A sinking sensation bellowed, and the whole island wobbled as whispers and murmurs flooded the visitor’s collective psyche. ‘Only way to find the answers is to get her back. I have a habit of making matters harder on myself.’ Pages circled like a tornado, the point being the spot where the blood fell. Violent winds crashed, tearing at the rocks and religious items. *By my order, open the gates to the cursed domain, carry me to the pits of despair, take me to the realm of the Great God, Grostian,* massive gates tore up Angela, splitting her body in half as it rose from the great concentration of energy. Thick and layered by ancient diagrams – such laid the colosse 1ahead. It didn’t open, no, it waited. The handles morphed into giant skulls that lashed at Igna – one bit the shoulder, the other, the leg, the sharp teeth bit and flew backward, crashing into the adjacent walls.

“Mind your tongue,” he thundered. The confused skulls pulled back like a turtle, shaking as their bones clopped, “-damned guardians.”

One of the skulls dropped its jaw, “-who are you?” and spoke without articulation.

.....

“I’m one wanting passage to Grostian’s realm.”

“Passage to our master is not attained easily,” it said, “-for one must prove their worth before setting foot into the Great God’s domain.”

“I need not prove myself,” he shot back, “-for the Great God must prove himself to me.”

“Stupid one,” added the other, “-payment, we must have payment!”

“Wait, brother, wait,” interjected the other skull, “-we mustn’t be hasty. The fellow is strong, very strong, I sense his energy, I sense the intent.”

“Are you sure brother?” they gawked each other, “-very well,” and soon melted into giant white handles. A deep inhale and *woosh,* the gate collapsed.

‘Where am I?’ focus returned at the edge of a cliff with back against a raising mountain. A heavily deep brownish-red covered the horizon and the world, like a filter placed upon one’s face. The hue had no highlights, no, for the darker bits were dull and bleak – inky black patches of shapes scattered here and there. ‘-A valley,’ he observed, ‘-nothing for miles. Where did I bring myself too?’ the more he narrowed, the lesser grew the distance.

‘Whimpers?’ he looked up, ‘-wow,’ the drop over on which he stood was nothing for the cliff climbed far beyond the clouds into an equally brown skyscape. ‘-Guess I ought to fly,’ the wings spread and he stepped, the instant he dropped, the whole perception swapped – he emerged out of a lake and fell ashore on a rocky beach. Semi-translucent waves crashed, not like the one home, but rather, ones of a weaker strength. The droplets hovered weightlessly – the domain was strange, very strange. A glance below showed his burnt feet. The shoe melted as did the pants in a more classic burnt fashion. ‘Stepped off the cliff and fell, I’m sure I flapped my wings but it didn’t matter. I guess I fell into the other side, what I saw as a valley was the reflection that lay on the surface. I wasn’t on a cliff, I was underwater, or under whatever this veil is?’ he leaned over the strange water, it drew on, emptily without stop. ‘-Weird lagoon,’ he spun and faced craggy rocks and patches of emptiness. Some parts were there and not, ‘-I can sense there should be more here, there’s not. Like a missing puzzle, you know what should be there but can’t picture what it represents. What realm did I get sent to?’ The wings spread, ‘-my foot’s healed, touching that surface is lethal, I should be careful,’ he flapped and had vantage over the area. Once more, part of what he saw wasn’t there, though he knew it ought to be. ‘-There should be an island there... I’m sure I know there’s an island there... no, wait, why am I trying to see?’ *See the unseen, feel the unfelt, knowledge deep within, awaken for I order so; Eye of Truth.* The real picture unveiled – mana-lines converged, and if he had opened his eyes to see, the point would be deep in the ground behind harsh surfaces. ‘-I know this sensation, I just have to believe,’ he aimed at the point and flapped, instantly firing him at the ground. He phased right through and slowed, ‘-feels stable, it’s more stable,’ he opened to a massive furnace operated by stranger beings. Screams were thrown into gates, the churns crashed as if they ate the fuel. Waves snapped as he landed – the lashes were unforgiving. Regardless, the workers of undefinable shapes did their due.

‘The furnace’s tending to a domain’s core. I understand, what I experience was what remains after a domain’s core goes over or under its capabilities. Whoever owns this domain must be dead, there’s nothing to define its reality. Long as I believe this place exists, I should be fine. The question now is who’s keeping the belief, who believes? The screaming prisoners perhaps – conscious prisoners forever doomed to watch and fuel a dead domain,’ a bronze-plate read, ‘-Gieol’s furnace’.

“Help us, help me, I want to leave,” escaped from suspended cages, “-help!” they begged, as he walked. The furnace burnt a couple of meters away, even raising one’s head fully wouldn’t give a sufficient angle to see the furnace’s top.

‘At the bottom carries buildings,’ he marched, ‘-there she is, I have her string,’ he followed until a workshop hidden into the bowls of the mine-like city. Buildings stacked on one another, destitute and empty of light save flickers. Hammer swings dashed, and sparks lit a heavy shadow against the walls. No doors nor windows, he approached, the swings roared. A muscular old bearded man drenched in sweat swung. ‘-There’s Angela,’ the lass was thrown in a basket with the mark, ‘-unworthy,’ burnt into her forehead.

‘No mistaking the symbol, that’s Hammer of Grostian on the bicep.’

“Who’s there?” the hammer dropped, “-visitor, in my domain?” he turned and tied his hair, “-who are you?”

“Might I ask who you are first?”

“Name’ Grostian,” he answered, “-this here is my realm, and you are?”

“Igna Haggard. You’re the Great God Grostian?”

“No, no,” he answered humbly, “-I was a Great God... I hate the title, I’m a Titan, not a god. Tell me, Haggard, why are you here, have you come to deliver this old man from his misery?”

“Why hasn’t Death come?”

“Death can’t come. What is there to take from nothing?”

“From nothing?”

“Yes boy, Nothing. Come on, I want to show you something,” and so, intrigued at the strangely friendly invitation, Igna followed. Grostian pulled a torch and seeped deeper into the workshop’s lower floors.

“Mind your head,” he ducked and reached for a handle, “-and here we are,” they exited, “-the top of the world.”

“Top of the world?”

“Yeah.”

A floating island in green and blue, idyllic colors and rainbows over a pearly blue lake, “-I’m proud to call this island my bastion. Working day and night to keep this place afloat is my only purpose, how long has it been, how long have I swung?” there laid emptiness in his eyes, “-questions I don’t care to know.”

“Grostian, I’m curious, what happened here?”

“War,” they settled under a tree overlooking the lake, “-a war for love. I’m to blame for bringing him into life. I sinned for I loved. My domain’s always been pretty, it has always remained a subject of worship, we used to host parties and enjoy our times. There I met her, a vixen who stole my heart. We bonded, sharing the first entity birthed from our union. Our child wasn’t what I expected, I regret not taking his side, I regret my fear. I’m not a Great God, I was hailed for my powers but never respected. Our child was a curse, everything he touched decayed, he had the potential to end all... look at my domain, he killed his mother and very nearly killed me, I surrendered... he returned as an enemy to the gods and slaughtered... I couldn’t fight and was overwhelmed by newer gods. The domain was ransacked... what little power I have is in Gieol, the furnace burns selfishly until the day he returns. Destiny foreshadowed my son’s return, I have to survive until he comes,” he turned a sympathetic smile, “-visitor, are you my son?”

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