Monday, August 31, 2009

"Sword Gods," Awakening, pt. 5, 392 words

The god snapped his hand up and grabbed the tip of the sword in his bare hand. The razor edge cut deep into the god's flesh, but he held on tight, and managed to shift the blow into the ground. The smith lost his grip in surprise, and the god used the sword for support as he pulled himself out from under the rubble. Blood streamed freely but, as the god turned to glare up at the smith, that was the least of his hurts.

Horrible burns marred the god's no-longer-handsome features. He'd had his face all but thrust directly into the heart of a fire when he was pinned, and even a god could burn. Fat had charred and flesh had melted, deforming the god into a waxy parody of himself. His left eye was completely destroyed by the flames, and the right one looked half-blinded as well.

The god reached up and gripped the hilt of the sword, pulling himself out of the rubble pile. He grabbed the longsword in one hand and snatched up his falchion in the other. Most of his clothing was destroyed, charred and burning away, and burns crawled all over his body. Still, the god came onwards inexorably, and as the smith stumbled back he tripped on a fallen beam. The smith fell to the ground, and the god came to stand over him.

Before anything could be said, before anything could be done, the god drove the tip of the longsword through the smith's chest, sliding the blade between ribs and pinning him to the ground. It was the smith's own blade, it wouldn't have killed him – couldn't have killed him – but it did hold him in place long enough, as the god raised his falchion high and then brought it low, cleaving clean through the smith's neck.

Dark.

Nothing.

A sudden welter of confusing images and sounds. More dreams. More visions. Random scenes with no rhyme nor reason.

(A beautiful woman kissing his cheek, the point of contact which suddenly blooms with an irritating itch, which spreads swiftly all over his body.)

(Beating iron impossibly thin, in foil-like sheets, cutting out and assembling delicate flowers out of the foil, each petal's edge sharper than the finest knife.)

(Embracing the god, laughing, the faces flushed with excitement and spattered with drying blood.)

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