Jacob glanced his way, jutting his chin toward the battlefield.
“Poetry in motion,” he replied, then fell silent.
Looking to his right, Roland caught a glimpse of a lone fighter kneeling in the grass, staring out at the temple, his face streaked with tears. His skull was malformed, his arms were too large for his body, and his hunched back and blood-matted red hair completed the wretched picture. He seemed to be the only one who was not intent on watching Ashhur’s irreconcilable outburst of violence.
“BROTHER!”
The cry rocked over them all, and Roland turned to see Ashhur had ceased his butchery. The god stood in the center of the killing field, chest rapidly rising and falling, his glowing sword held low. Ashhur’s eyes narrowed, staring off into the distance. Roland did the same, and he saw a figure emerge from the darkness on the other end of the clearing, entering the light of the inferno.
It was a man, incredibly tall, dressed in black plate armor, the breastplate bearing the glowing red symbol of a roaring lion. The man’s hair was dark and wavy, his face chiseled and smooth, and his eyes glowed golden, just like Ashhur’s.
This time Roland did fall to his knees, yanking Azariah down with him.
“Karak,” the Warden whispered, as if in awe.
The two gods faced each other, Ashhur shaking with rage, Karak firm and calm. All else seemed to halt at their meeting, as if the entire world were focused on the reunion of the two brother gods in the center of a battlefield strewn with blood and death. Even the flames erupting from the temple’s ruins seemed to die away.
It was Karak who spoke first.
“Has justice been served, brother?”
“Do you know what you did?” Ashhur spat through clenched teeth.
“You slaughtered my children,” said Karak, ignoring his question.
Ashhur pointed toward the temple. “You butchered the helpless. Hundreds of them. Is this not what we came to this world to prevent?”
Karak tilted his head forward. His eyes glowed brighter.
“I will punish my creations as I see fit. That is the deal we made; that is the deal I have stood by.”
“They were children!” Ashhur screamed. “Innocents! We did not come to this world to slaughter those who do not agree with us.”
Karak shrugged.
“I gave them their chance. It is out of their own vanity and defiance that they hid in the very object I had ordered them to destroy.”
“And the children, given no choice? The young, the helpless?”
“Do not chastise me on this, brother. You would have done the same.”
Ashhur’s teeth ground together, the sound like two boulders colliding.
“Never,” he said.
“Of course, the pacifist, Ashhur,” laughed Karak. “My gentle brother, who bribes his children with flowers and fornication and loathes violence.” The god gestured to the bodies lying all around him. “It is a poor god who cannot practice what he preaches.”
“Enough,” growled Ashhur.
“Yes, enough. This land is mine, brother, as are its people. I will do with them as I choose.”
“This land was given to neither of us.”
Karak shook his head.
“You are an ignorant, idealistic fool, brother. We fled here for a reason, seizing the chance to make amends. We would wash away our failure, give life to a far greater kingdom than the one we saw destroyed. Yet it seems that as long as you are here with me, there will always be at least one failure hanging over our perfect world.”
Ashhur lunged, his colossal blade aimed for Karak’s head. The Eastern Divinity raised his hand, and a blade of purple-tinged blackness, the mirror of Ashhur’s, appeared where before there had been none. The swords met, and an explosion of light flashed across the meadow. Sparks rained down all around the gods, and as their blades slid against each other, the sound was like a thunderclap. Energy sizzled overhead as the gods danced. Ashhur swung, Karak blocked. Karak jabbed, Ashhur parried it aside. And that same rumble and flash came each time their blades collided. The ground beneath them cracked from the power of their movements, and the air became supercharged. Roland could feel it penetrating his flesh, setting his insides abuzz, making goose pimples rise on his flesh.
Karak landed a blow on Ashhur’s left breast, charring his brother’s polished silver armor. Ashhur fell to a knee, holding his sword up with one hand, his body jolting each time his brother battered it with his own. Roland feared the his god was done for, that Karak would sever Ashhur’s head from his spine right there and then, but Ashhur was far from beaten. He dropped his sword arm, providing a tantalizing opening. Karak immediately lunged for it, and when he did, Ashhur rolled to the side. Karak stumbled past him, and Ashhur spun in a circle, chopping slantwise at his brother. The blade found purchase in the bare flesh below Karak’s coal-colored vambrace. Its cutting edge sank deep into the eastern god’s forearm, almost to the elbow. Streams of liquid shadow flowed from the wound, snaking around Ashhur’s blade, dulling its brightness.
Ashhur pulled his weapon free, and Karak’s wound closed almost instantly. It was his turn this time, and he slashed out with his sword of shadow. Ashhur tried to lean back but was not quick enough. The blade passed through his neck without the slightest resistance. Ashhur’s throat bled out smoldering magma, dripping down his chest and coating his breastplate. Roland screamed in horror, thinking that he was witnessing the death of his god, but then that wound closed too.
The two gods met each other once more, slamming their ethereal swords together in mid air. Clouds rolled in, blocking out the moon, and a light rain began to fall, forks of lightening flashing down from above. Roland looked up at the pitch-black sky that sizzled with electricity and wondered with strange detachment if this were Celestia’s way of closing her eyes.
Karak leapt into the air, holding his blade above him like an executioner’s ax, and landed hard. Ashhur’s sword came up, and the two weapons locked together, sliding downward until their pommels touched. The blades wound together, their light and darkness swirling together into a single beam of gray. The brother gods began to thrash wildly, trying to free their swords, but both slipped from their grasp at the same time. The weapons disappeared, vanishing into the night before they ever reached the ground, the magic that formed them dissolving as soon as they left the gods’ hands.
The loss of their swords didn’t mean an end to the gods’ battle. Now weaponless, they rained fists down on each other. Heads snapped back and bodies doubled over as blow after blow landed. Ashhur flipped backward, barely avoiding a swinging punch from his brother, but then Karak leapt high into the air and knocked Ashhur flat by planting both feet firmly on his chest. Karak slid down, pinning down his brother’s shoulders as he mercilessly clouted his face, time and again, until Roland’s beloved god was covered in a litany of bulging, magma-leaking wounds.
“Stop, please!” Roland shouted, running forward. Azariah snatched him by the collar and pulled him back before he could get too close, but his sudden outburst seemed to have distracted Karak, for Ashhur managed to slide a hand out from beneath his brother’s knee. His usually powerful voice was weak and rasping as he whispered something Roland couldn’t hear. His free hand touched Karak’s chest, then a loud thwump followed, like a hammer striking a sack of flour, and the eastern god was sent airborne. He landed on his back twenty feet away, a smoldering hole burned into his chestplate, revealing the charred flesh beneath.
Karak and Ashhur each struggled to rise, and they knelt across from each other, gasping, their eyes locked together. It was Karak who got to his feet first. Ashhur looked tired and defeated, as if his attempt to save himself had drained the last of his power. Karak fared no better; he clutched at the hole in his armor as his entire body rose and fell with his breaths.