Chapter Three
Combating a God
Late afternoon approached evening as Stockholm finished explaining the situation to Hina Hinas and Timothy Vandross. Though open-minded and young, he could see that both of them were having a hard time swallowing everything he’d told them. Stockholm had seen fit to tell them everything there was to tell, excluding the bits about himself and his origins. He maintained that the brands on his face and hand were merely tribal spiritual markings, and they only held meaning to his people. That much, thankfully, they both accepted without argument.
“You expect me to believe that it’s the will of the gods that we go chase down a Lesser God on earth? And here, in Desanadron no less,” asked Hina, incredulous at the very idea. Stockholm merely shrugged his shoulders, and retrieved the last cup of coffee available from the pot.
“I don’t make the rules, lady. I just follow them,” he said. He could smell the faint traces of dirt and blood on the two travelers; they’d come through a few scraps on the road between the Elven Kingdom and the city of Desanadron. That much told him that they weren’t averse to fighting or defending themselves at the least. There was Orc blood on the young woman’s short sword, and some strange animal blood still stained the half-Elf Void Mage’s boots. Thresherbeast blood, if Stockholm’s nose was still functioning properly, and only a couple of days old. “Of course, neither of you is obligated to help me. I’m more than capable of handling this task on my own,” he grumbled, seating himself once more.
“Now wait a minute,” said Tim hastily. “We didn’t say we wouldn’t help. Right, Hina?” She shot him a glare that said ‘yeah, but what of it’, and he looked back to the Red Tribesman. At the moment, he wasn’t sure which one scared him more. “It’s just that, the whole idea of people from other realities and forcing them back and sealing these doorways as you call them? Well, it does all seem a little farfetched. I mean, do you even know where these, what did you call them? Rifts? Do you know where these rifts are?”
In answer to that question, Stockholm pulled out and unrolled the map that Lenos had given him earlier, laying it flat on the table. “See the red ‘X’s? Well, those are the rifts, and I’ll be the one to seal them up. You two are to accompany me and help me take care of the outsiders to this Mortal Plane, you see. It will be dangerous, I have no doubt of that, but you both seem capable, in your own ways,” he said, adding this last bit as a shot at their collective ego. He sensed that Timothy was no coward, but he did seem a bit naive and something of a clutz. He’d already dropped his mug twice while just sitting with Hina and Stockholm. However, Stockholm also sensed that the boy wished to make his own mark, and rise above the inheritance of his given last name.
The young woman, though, Stockholm thought. She needed to be goaded into doing something to help him. She seemed to have a hint of rebelliousness in her, but she also had a habit of looking away while he talked, as if her mind were wandering elsewhere while her body inhabited one space. If he wanted her help, he had to challenge her, and with his last statement, he saw some of the fine hairs on her neck rise up. Got her, he thought.
“What do you mean ‘in our own ways’,” she snarled, her tone filled with icy challenge. “We can handle ourselves just fine, Mr. Stockholm!”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t,” Stockholm taunted, waving his hands in a ‘I didn’t mean anything’ gesture. “It’s just that, you know, a mission from the gods themselves might be a smidgen out of your league right now,” he said with a cynical grin.
“Do you want a demonstration,” she growled, rising slowly to her feet with her palms pressed flat on his kitchen table. Timothy was giving her a signal to knock it off, to calm down, but she wasn’t precisely listening or looking at him at the moment. All of her wounded ego was focused squarely on the Red Tribesman.
“By all means, do what you think you can,” Stockholm taunted, folding his hands under his long chin. He immediately sensed her mana flowing up through her body, and had just a moment to wonder if he’d been wise in raising her ire.
“Maracs, Venom,” she growled, pointing one long finger at Stockholm. He felt the immediate effect of the spell, a line of mana tying his life force to her own. “Poisma,” she said next, using the same extended finger to strike him with the spell, rapid-firing the two spells in conjunction. While her Poison spell didn’t do much to harm him, he could see the affect visibly; as the magical poison worked on his body, the spell called Venom streamed his lost life force back to Hina Hinas. “What do you think of that, Mr. Stockholm?”
“Hmm, impressive combination of Q magic spells,” he said, using his Fist of the Breaker to destroy the mana connection between himself and Hinas. Both Elven folk gasped, Hina taking a step back, and Timothy nearly falling out of his seat. Hina knew of no way, other than a Dispell spell, that the connection of the Venom spell could be broken without the spell’s duration ending. Yet with a flash from the mark on his right hand and a jab punch to the direct mana line connecting them, this Red Tribe Werewolf had done just that. The mark on his cheek flared next, and she sensed the Poisma spell lose its effect as well. Remarkable, she thought. I sense that he is not a magic-wielding Class, and yet he has broken both spells! “Yes, that was rather skilled of you. But not immediately effective, now was it?”
Hina had time to wonder about the wisdom of attacking Stockholm before the Red Tribesman, moving faster than she could blink, hurled himself out of his chair and hauled her up into the air by her throat. He slowly squeezed her neck, all the while with Timothy screaming at him to put her down, to stop. He gave Timothy a wicked grin and looked sideways at him out of the corner of his eye. “You want me to stop? Make me, young man,” he snarled.
Timothy found himself faced with an impossible choice. If he attacked the Werewolf directly, with a physical assault, he would easily defend himself, probably one-handed. If he cast a spell at Stockholm, he probably would use Hina as a human shield. What options did he have? In a flash of ingenuity, he had his answer. After all, Werewolves had notoriously sensitive noses. Timothy focused his attention on the peppershaker, and used a simple Levitation spell on it, throwing it upside down into Stockholm’s face.
With a tinkle of shattering glass, the peppershaker exploded on Stockholm’s snout, and he flailed backward into his living room, dropping the Elf girl and trying to blink the tears out of his eyes. He hadn’t expected such a basic but effective bit of trickery from the boy, but then again, he thought angrily, he is a Vandross. He tripped backward over an ottoman, and fell flat on his back.
Seeing a fresh opening and opportunity, Timothy launched into the living room after Stockholm, and unleashed a Glacial Prison spell on Stockholm, another silent spell that only required he make the appropriate hand sign. He used the spell, and before Stockholm could recover completely, he saw and felt crystals of ice forming in the air around and beneath him. A flash of sea blue light blinded him momentarily, and he found himself bound in a freezing block of ice from his ankles all the way up to his neck. He smiled despite the cold and pain, and nodded up at Timothy, who stood panting over him.
“Well, I must say that now I am truly impressed,” Stockholm said amiably. “A very good use of environment and ability. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get up now,” he said, using his Fist of the Breaker to burst free of the Glacial Prison spell. Shards of ice flew around the room, two or three embedding themselves in Tim’s Barrier spell, which he used the moment he saw the flash from the rune on Stockholm’s right hand. The mingled odors of sawdust, from the broken ottoman, and damp furniture and fur, from Stockholm and his now soaked chairs (the ice melts quick once the spell is broken) filled the air.
Timothy’s vision had gone misty red when he saw that Stockholm had a hold of Hina’s throat, and the young Elven woman came into the living room, hand on her throat and panting. “Are you all right,” Timothy asked her as he put himself under her arm, supporting her weight. She nodded breathlessly. “That was one hell of a way to test us, Mr. Stockholm,” he grumbled at the Red Tribesman.
“Hey, I had to make sure that you two were capable of doing what needs to be done,” Stockholm said in his own defense. “Now that I’m sure, I’ll ask you the bottom line question; will you help me with this situation?” Timothy felt Hina rising to her feet, supporting her own weight, and she nodded silently. Tim followed suit, because where she went, he wanted to follow. Over the course of their meeting up and their short travels together, he’d made up his mind at least that much. She was the first real friend he’d had in a long time, aside from Armin, and he didn’t want to part with her now.
“We’ll go,” Hina said, sauntering back into the kitchen. “But right now, what I’d like is some tea, and an explanation of why we are supposed to help you. Why us,” she said. Stockholm had no real answer to her question, but thought that perhaps future events might pull them together again. He couldn’t say for certain why he suspected as much, but he did.
“I’ll brew up the tea,” said Stockholm. “As for your question, I haven’t the foggiest at the moment. Just try to keep an open mind,” Stockholm said, walking into the kitchen after the two younger Elven folk. “Because I’ll tell you, most people in these parts may say they have an open mind, but all they really have is a hole in their heads.”
Evening had come in earnest to the city by the time that Hina and Timothy felt ready to embark upon their first task with Ignatious Stockholm. Both had used Stockholm’s shower and changed into fresh clothes, and they both smelled and looked much better for it. Tim had shaved as well, giving him an even younger appearance. The Void Mage’s only weapon appeared to be a staff of medium length, but its uses, he explained, were various.
“It’s called a Void staff,” Timothy explained to Hina and Stockholm. “It can take the form of any weapon it has ever touched, including enchanted weapons.”
“That’s handy,” Hina commented. “Do you have a lot of weapons available on it?”
“Not really,” Timothy said, whipping the staff into both hands and concentrating. A burst of light exploded from it into the living room, and when Hina and Stockholm looked again, it was a long, two-headed axe made of mythril. “This is my favorite though. It only mimics melee weapons,” Tim said, putting the axe on his back. “It can’t mimic missile weapons or anything made of mecha. So, we’re heading to the north part of the city?”
“Indeed,” said Stockholm, securing his iron greaves in place over his legs. “Are the two of you certain you don’t want to stop at an armory and pick up some protection? Brigandine is all well and good,” he said, looking at the two travelers. “But it can’t beat solid protection,” he said. He himself was only wearing his clothes, his brigandine vest, and the iron leggings, but he also had the advantage of being much faster than either the Elf Q Mage or the half-Elf Void Mage. That, and he was a former god, and thus better equipped to handle the mortal manifestation of Churiya.
“We have plenty of defensive spells at our disposal, thanks,” said Hina. “My Spirit Shell spell will last a couple of hours once I cast it, so I’ll just do that now,” she said, bringing her mana to bear and casting the protective spell. Her skin now gave off a soft yellow glow, and she cast the spell on Timothy as well, though he could have done it for himself. “You have more offensive spells than me, and you’ll need the extra mana,” she replied when he said as much.
“Very well,” said Stockholm, moving to the front door of his home. “We’ll stop for a quick bite to eat at a diner, and then we’ll head north to the warehouse. Either of you have any extra cash,” he asked, not wanting to have to treat. Hina patted her money pouch, but when Timothy went to do the same, he found his own money pouch missing.
“I don’t get it,” Tim said worriedly. “I’m certain I had it with my extra clothes,” he said, half-panicked. Then he stood up stiff, remembering the brief brush he’d had with someone just before encountering Stockholm. “That bastard stole my money,” Timothy said. Uh oh, Stockholm thought as he shook his head slowly. Hope it wasn’t one of our boys. “There was a Wererat I bumped into just before we met up with you, Mr. Stockholm! He was about your height, slender build, and he appeared to be picking at his claws with a dagger,” Timothy said. He continued to give Stocky a physical description, and the Red Tribe Werewolf immediately brought a mental image of Flint to mind. He hadn’t even caught a whiff of the Hoods’ Prime while waiting for Tim and Hina, but then again, going unobserved was one of Flint’s special talents as a Son of Night thief. Even so, the habit the Wererat had of cleaning his claws with a dagger should have garnered his attention. Well, he thought, feeling responsible for Tim’s loss, maybe I will treat.
“No worries, young man,” Stockholm said, patting one of his own heavy money pouches. “I’ll pay for the meal. Now, let’s get moving.” Off into the ever-busy streets of Desanadron, the trio headed over to Lenny’s, a small chain restaurant that seemed to pop up in every major city throughout Tamalaria. Desanadron alone was host to three such restaurants, but each one was owned by a different individual. Stockholm had heard of this recent business practice; it was called ‘franchising’, and he didn’t care for the idea one bit. Then again, he was never a supporter of big business, unless it came in the form of a unified Guild.
As they ate, he learned a bit more about his companions, each of whom gave him a summary background story about him and herself. They’d been traveling and working together for a couple of weeks now, but already he could see that they’d grown quite fond of one another. Elves often made quick friends and relations, Stockholm knew, and he envied them for that at least. He himself couldn’t make a true friend until he felt he could completely trust them, and earning Ignatious Stockholm’s trust took quite a while. Anna Deus could tell you that.
That wasn’t to say he didn’t like the Elven travelers, he did. Still, there was a sense of lack of focus from Hina, and he still didn’t know what to make of Timothy’s genetic background. He seemed devoted to turning out different from the tyrant that was his father, but often times in the effort to be unlike one’s parents, one only did exactly what would be expected of the parent.
The trio ate a quick meal at Lenny’s, and then they were off into the night streets, heading north. “Everybody be on guard,” Stockholm warned, keeping his body tensed and his wits about him. “This isn’t precisely the safest city to be in at night.”
“We’re off to do battle with a god, according to you,” said Timothy. “What possible comparison could the thugs of even this city be?”
“Perhaps I didn’t make things clear before,” Stockholm grumbled. “Churiya is a Lesser God of mischief. He isn’t exactly a combat-oriented god. He’ll give us some trouble most likely, but not as much as some of the brutes we could encounter out here on the streets.” Stockholm’s words of warning were punctuated by the appearance of a strange figure clad all in white in the middle of the street before them. But while Timothy and Hina drew weapons, Stockholm stepped forward and held his hands back toward them. He addressed the figure in white. “Akimaru, it is good to see you out and about,” the Red Tribe Werewolf said.
“Likewise, honorable Ignatious,” said the white clad Ninja. “Agents in training?”
“No, new friends of mine,” said Stockholm, referring to the two Elven travelers. They each sheathed their weapon, though not without caution. “What’s your business in the streets tonight, Akimaru? Robbery? Breaking and entering?”
“My assignment does not concern such matters as theft,” said the white clad Ninja. “I am attempting to track a renegade agent of ours. He has been seen speaking with members of the twelfth police precinct, and after these meetings, several of our operations have met with failure and capture by the constables.”
“A stool pigeon,” Stockholm said with a nod. “So, seek and destroy?”
“Affirmative,” Akimaru replied. “If you will excuse me,” he said, and leaped off into the middle distance to the top of a five-story building. Timothy and Hina watched him go, marveling at his agility.
“So, you know that guy,” Hina asked after a moment more of watching Akimaru’s fading movements.
“Yes. He’s an okay sort, though he’s a bit off,” Stockholm said, himself unaware of Akimaru’s dual nature. “Few Ninja can pull off the all-white look like him. But you see now what I mean,” said Stockholm to the travelers. “There are others on these streets at night like him, but they won’t hesitate to attack us if they think it’s worth their time. Let’s move quickly and quietly folks.” Even with street traffic reduced at this time of night, it took the trio a good hour and a half to reach the district they needed to get to, even with the aid of a Haste spell cast on them all by Hina. Stockholm stopped at a street corner lit by a tall iron torch post with an iron and glass covering to protect the illuminating flame from wind and rain. To Timothy, the post was a new and unknown device.
“How does it work,” he asked, pointing at lamp post.
“There’s a small port in the side of the pole,” Stockholm explained, pointing to a ring in the side of the metal post. “The city guards light a match and stick it in here, igniting the dried oil on a metal filament. The flame travels inside the pole until it reaches the torch at the top, there,” he said, pointing up to the lit post torch. “They douse it in the morning by pulling this lever, here,” he said, pointing to a small metal lever that, when pulled, brought the post cap down on the torch. “They replace the torch once every few days.”
“Ah,” said Tim, rubbing his chin.
“The warehouse we’re looking for is an old mecha factory that’s no longer in use,” Stockholm said, looking around the area at the lighted buildings. “I live in this city, but I don’t know the layout this far north very well. We’ll split up and look for the place, and meet back here in twenty minutes or so,” Stockholm said. “If nobody finds the place by then, we’ll look together and leave out the areas we already hit up on our own. Agreed?” Timothy didn’t like the idea of leaving Hina’s side, but if this were truly the will of the gods, then he felt that perhaps he had no other choice. Besides, he figured, Mr. Stockholm seems to have a pretty good idea of what he’s doing. He knows what’s best.
“All right,” said Tim. “I’ll head west.”
“I’ll head east,” said Hina.
“And I’ll head a little further north,” said Stockholm. “Remember, twenty minutes, no more. If you get a bad vibe, get back here on the double,” he said. Hina and Tim nodded, and the trio split up, each heading in their own designated direction. Timothy felt a chill run up his spine, and immediately looked over his shoulder to see if he could still spot Hina. She was still there, walking cautiously east down a street labeled Elm Road. Tim turned back around, and proceeded on his part of the search.
After only five minutes of walking down the same cobblestone road, Tim found that the area he was searching was a residential neighborhood, mostly single and two-family houses on either side of the street. After about ten minutes, there was a break on his left, with a small park occupying a goodly amount of city landscape. Street torches lit the paths of the park fairly well, and he could see several couples out for a romantic evening stroll, among them an older Lizardman pair. The sight struck him as a bit odd, as the male was dressed in a business suit complete with tie, and the female wore a modest red dress and a black fur coat. He’d never seen such a strange pair in all of his time living in the Elven Kingdom. He supposed it was a side-effect of living in the big city and buckling down with the rest of society.
He continued on for a minute longer, and after discovering nothing out of the ordinary, he turned around to head back for their meet-up.
Ignatious Stockholm knew the moment he set off north of the intersection that he wouldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Rather, he wouldn’t find a trace or hint of Churiya. What he did find struck him as a nice bit of odd coincidence, and little more. While walking along the northbound road, he saw Richard Tiverski exiting a general goods’ store, and he flagged down the leader of the passive Vampire trio that lived north of Desanadron.
“Richard Tiverski, as I live and breath,” Stockholm called in greeting. Richard took a defensive stance when he heard his name called, his bag of goods clutched in hand and his legs bent to take flight if the need arose. Upon seeing the Red Tribe Werewolf, however, he visibly relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Ignatious Stockholm,” he said. “It is good to see you. I vas afraid you might be vun off the less desirable acqvaintances I’ve made in Desanadron,” said the elegant Vampire gentleman. “Vhat can I do for you?”
“Richard, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary near your home at all,” Stockholm asked, deciding to be direct in this matter. “Anything at all unusual?”
“Vell, now that you mention it, it has been rather strange the last few days,” the Vampire said, his eyes glossing over slightly as he thought back on the question. He hitched up his bag of purchases from the store, and cleared his throat. “There vas a very strange creature that came through our voods not two days ago, an enormous gray beast. It vas round and tall, about tvelve feet high on its back, and it had a long, narrow nose. It appeared to be prehensile, like the tail of a monkey,” the Vampire said.
“That is odd,” Stockholm said. “Did it attack you at all?”
“Oh no, no,” said the charming Vampire fellow, scoffing at the suggestion. “I vas harmless, I think. But it did seem very, very confused and afraid. There vas another creature as vell, came by in the middle of the night yesterday, but that creature had to be dealt vith rather harshly,” he said in a half whisper.
“Can you describe it to me?”
“Certainly. It vas an enormous eyeball, roughly the size of a man, and it had all of these strange green and black tentacles. Vhen it vas crossing by our home, my brothers and I vere just enjoying the light of the full moon outside. It approached to vithin a few dozen yards, and zen a beam of yellow light flashed by us and disintegrated vun of my favorite pine trees! Vell, ve couldn’t leave somesing like zat roaming about, now could ve? Simon and I took care of distracting it vhile Trevor got into position to stab its central eyeball-body. It didn’t even make a noise as it died, my friend, but it did let out a horrible odor. Like a skunk it vas, Ignatious,” Richard said, curling up his nose in memorial disgust.
“Right. Look, keep indoors as much as you can for the next night or two, and then I’ll be along to investigate,” Stockholm said. “I think I may know a way of dealing with these strange occurrences,” he said. Richard thanked him, and then took flight back toward his home. Knowing he wouldn’t find Churiya this way but now with an idea of what to expect when he went to the northern ‘X’ on his map, Stockholm turned about and headed back to meet up with Hina and Timothy.
It’s just my luck, Hina thought, sensing something out of place after only seven minutes of walking east along Elm Road. I separate from Tim, and not ten minutes go by without me possibly getting into some sort of trouble on my own. “Well, nothing for it,” she said aloud to herself. A three-story building, with no lights in any of the windows, was ahead on her left side about fifty yards down the street. Deciding to take no chances, she summoned her mana, and prepared to cast another spell. “Identify,” she whispered, focusing her eyes on just the one building.
Before her eyes, her field of vision narrowed and telescoped forward, just onto the building in question. The outer layer of brick and mortar visually fell away, exposing a green, red and black field of vision. Inside of the old factory, ancient mecha equipment, long out of use, dangled from the ceiling and lay strewn about in heaps. However, there were two blurs of yellow inside the building, one moving and one stationary. She focused harder on the stationary life form, and her field of vision scoped in further, until the object came into fully colorized focus; a plant. Wilting and dying from lack of water, the plant still had a little life in it.
She telescoped her vision out, and spotted the moving life form once more, focusing on it. Unlike the plant, because the life form was still moving around, she couldn’t get as clear a picture of it. However, she could sense the amount of energy coming from it, and whoever it was, he gave off a lot of power and life force. She retracted her vision, breaking the spell willingly. She’d found their target, she believed, for only a god or something equally daunting could hold the sort of power she’d sensed from the moving yellow blur.
She turned around and headed back for Timothy and Stockholm. Both men were already waiting for her when she arrived.
“So, did either of you come across anything unusual,” Stockholm asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“I think I may have found him,” said Hina immediately, once more thinking about the yellow energy signature. “Back that way, an old factory. I used an Identify spell and located something really powerful, more powerful than anything else in the city, that’s for sure,” she said.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” said Stockholm, taking his own battle axe from its slot on his back. “You two follow me inside the factory. When we enter, Timothy, you’ll flank left, Hina, you’ll flank right. I’ll go straight ahead unless there’s some sort of obstacle. Hina, did you get a look inside of the place with that spell of yours?”
“Not a great look, but the place seems fairly open. There’s a few walkways and a pair of offices, and then the main chamber is the old work space,” she said.
“All right, let’s do it,” said Stockholm. Timothy drew his weapon, as did Hina, and together they stalked east down the street. A few minutes later, they arrived at the front bay doors of the old factory. Stockholm could sense Churiya inside, just as Hina had sensed his vast quantity of power; an energy of laughter and merriment permeated the atmosphere around him, and he almost felt the urge to try to crack a joke before entering. Instead, axe in his right hand, he grabbed one of the large bay door handles with his left hand and threw the door a few feet open on rusted tracks.
With a loud squeal the door opened, and they gained access to the dim interior of the old factory. Junked out machinery lay in piles of scrap along the long walls of the building, and as Timothy darted to the Red Tribesman’s left, he could see one of the walkways that Hina had identified from outside. Stockholm could smell various odors mingling, including Tim’s sweat, old machine oil, and an otherwise unidentified living being. The odor of Churiya reminded him of the sort of sweets and candies that eleven-year old Human children enjoyed so much, all sugar and no substance. The scent was further away than the other odors, but it remained tangible and stationary.
Hina darted to the right of him, and Stockholm looked up and across the vast, mostly empty space of the work area. The conveyor belts and machines had all been taken from the center of the chamber and either auctioned off by the city or strewn to the side piles of mecha, there to rot until some curious Gnome or Dwarf decided they could do something with the ancient technology. Opposite the bay doors that Stockholm stood inside of, raised up and fronted by one of the wrapping walkways, was an office door, barely discernable in the dim light coming in through the enormous windows of the old factory.
“I know you’re there,” Stockholm whispered to himself, sensing Churiya’s life force in the office. He began stalking forward, into the open space of the work area. He turned to Tim, who had stopped at the bottom of a set of steps leading up onto the walkway. Stockholm gave him a hand signal to proceed, which he knew the half-Elf would be able to see better than he could. Elves had always had better eyesight than Stockholm’s people, though he made up for this by use of his keen nose. He turned around, found Hina waiting for him in the same fashion, and gave her a signal to proceed as well.
The two sylvan folk were moving slowly on either side of him, keeping pace with the menacing Red Tribe Werewolf. The walkways were elevated a good ten feet over the work floor area, but he knew that when he came to the flat wall fronting the office he could easily leap up over the railing. However, when they closed to within twenty yards of the office, just before Hina or Tim had to turn at where the walls met, Churiya put in his appearance. The Lesser God of mischief burst from the office, kicking the door out and sending it crashing into the railing to drop over the side to the work area floor.
In mortal form, Churiya appeared to be a humanoid male wearing a strange green jumpsuit that accented his musculature, with a streak of yellow up the center. At the neck, the yellow streak circled his neck, and a sort of skin-tight head covering concealed his hair and ears. The head covering also had two yellow horned protrusions near the crown of his head, giving him an almost demonic appearance. Churiya came stalking out of the office, and grinned widely at Stockholm, whom he recognized almost immediately.
“Well well, it has been a long time old friend,” Churiya called down to Stockholm tauntingly. Hina and Tim stopped in their tracks, waiting for the Lesser God to make his first move before reacting. “Still running errands for the boys and girls upstairs, I see,” he called, snapping his fingers. The ancient lighting fixtures in the ceiling of the abandoned factory flickered on and off, and then finally remained on after a few seconds, providing a dreary lighting to the building. “I assume they sent you for me?”
“That is correct, Churiya,” Stockholm said, his voice just loud enough to reverberate around the factory space. Timothy tensed his muscles, preparing to bring his mana to bear and ready a spell for use. He wasn’t certain anything he did would have an affect on this man; even thirty yards away, he could feel the enormous power of the mortal manifestation of the Lesser God of mischief, and it daunted him. “You should surrender peaceably, and avoid any ugliness with us,” Stockholm continued, his right hand flexing and relaxing its grip on his trusty battle axe.
Fat chance of that happening, Hina thought. Already she could detect the flow of magic from the Lesser God, though she could not tell to what end he would use his powers. Like Timothy, she felt incredibly outmatched by Churiya, but she had a certain amount of confidence in herself that the half-Elf lacked. Hina Hinas did not question the purity of her blood, of her heritage. She had done battle with various beasts and bandits in her time wandering the woods of the Elven Kingdom. She had proven herself often enough that she could hold her head high. Lastly, she knew her limits, and knew them well. Timothy did not have these advantages of understanding.
Churiya interrupted both of their streams of thought by speaking once again. Still the expression of amusement mixed with disdain played across his face. “You want me to surrender, Ignatious Stockholm? To one such as you? I think not, little man,” Churiya said, the smile fading as he began moving his left arm upward in an arc. Hina watched his hand movements, and then darted a look into the work area. A large piece of equipment, wrapped in blue light, levitated up off of the floor. Before she could shout a warning to Stockholm, Churiya whipped his left arm forward, sending the machine hurtling at the Red Tribe Werewolf.
Too slow. Stockholm sensed the oncoming attack, and bent slightly forward, thrusting his right leg back in a basic martial arts back kick. The bottom of his foot connected with several hundred pounds of machinery, and though he didn’t look powerful enough at first glance to achieve his end, he did so. The mecha dropped to the floor with a loud crash of metal, and he stood straight up once again, glaring balefully at Churiya. “I see,” grumbled the Lesser God. “You retain much of your former strength. No matter! Can you protect yourself and these whelps from all of my tricks?”
Timothy Vandross hopped over the railing on his side, down onto the floor of the work space, and launched an immediate spell up at Churiya. “Volcannon,” he shouted, spewing a jet of flames at the Lesser God, who snarled in rage and burning pain as he brought his arms up in front of his face to defend against the spell. A smell of burned rubber wafted off of him, and matching scorch marks remained on his forearms as the smoke cleared.
“Greater Raybolt,” Hina cried, charging toward Churiya on the walkway as she thrust a single finger at him, a beam of white energy erupting from her outstretched digit. The spell blasted into his exposed side, throwing the Lesser God through the air to crash into the very spot Timothy had occupied moments before. Well, Stockholm thought with a grin, they certainly know what they’re doing.
Churiya, rising from a heap on the surface of the walkway, stood with his shoulders hunched and his head down, his arms and legs trembling with fury. How dare these mortals lay a finger on me, he fumed internally. How can they possibly harm me, a god? Before any other spells could be used against him, Churiya rose to his full height and loosed a war cry, carving a circular pattern in the air before him in saffron light. A semi-transparent shield appeared between himself and his opponents, and he grinned once again.
Timothy launched another Volcannon spell at the Lesser God, but the flames disappeared right into the yellow shielding force. “Ha ha ha! Fools! Nothing can penetrate my defenses,” mocked Churiya. “Try all you like! You will only exhaust your pathetically small reserves of mana!” The Lesser God of mischief laughed until he looked up, and saw Stockholm descending from a vertical leap toward him. In his rush to defend himself against the two sylvan mortals, he had forgotten that Ignatious Stockholm, banished Greater God, needn’t rely on magic spells to finish him off.
His axe switched to his left hand, Stockholm descended on the arrogant god, his mouth twisted into a snarling grimace. As he came down toward the god and his yellow shield, the rune on his right hand flared to life. “Did you forget about me,” he growled as he landed, crashing his fist into the shielding force. Sparks of blue fire crackled as his Fist of the Breaker collided with Churiya’s guarding spell, and inch by inch Stockholm’s fist drew closer to Churiya. The Lesser God backed himself into the corner, where the western and northern walls met on along the walkway, but the terrible mark on Stockholm’s fist glowed ever brighter as he closed the gap. Stockholm spoke softly to Churiya then, making certain that his companions didn’t overhear his last statement to the Lesser God. “Did you forget who I am, Churiya?”
As the Lesser God screamed, Stockholm’s Fist of the Breaker snapped the last vestiges of the shield, and he crashed his knuckles firmly into Churiya’s jaw. There was a sickening crunch as the jawbone gave way under Stockholm’s brute strength, and he thudded his axe into Churiya’s ribs, burying it to the divider of the two heads. Stockholm released the axe and leaped back down to the work floor, giving a hand signal to Hina and Timothy to move in for the final blow.
Hina Hinas used then one of her most potent Ancient spells, calling forth the power of lightning into her body. She cracked her neck, and cast the silent spell, twin bolts of electrical energy flashing from her eyes into the Lesser God’s mortal incarnation. Timothy, spurred on by Hina’s lack of hesitation, cast another Ancient spell at Churiya, one that Hina had taught him on the road. “Thousand Destruction,” he called, forcing shards of white energy to fly from his chest into the ravaged and electrified body of Churiya. Each sliver of white energy, he knew, held enough violent force to shred steel armor, and as the two sylvan mages continued to unleash their spells on Churiya, his mortal body bled, thrashed and smoldered under the combined assault.
Thirty seconds of this punishment, and all that remained were smoking scraps of meat.
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