Page 126 of His Atonement
He fucking should be.
Not only because I intend to destroy him—a task that seems impossible since he is at least two thousand years my senior with more power than I could ever dream of having—but because he knows he fucked up.
Thologar knows he betrayed The Caster of Shadows by lying through our deal, by tainting it to sway the outcome, and for that he will be punished, whether he wins or loses.
If he wins, The Destroyer shall make him suffer a punishment greater than one can fathom, will most likely strip his power and turn him into nothing more than a Reaper, possibly lower, though, I'm not sure what that would be, since they are the lowest of our kind.
And if Thologar loses, it will mean I've killed him, but his torment will not stop there, no.
The Destroyer shall surely resurrect him only to slay him again and again, strip the souls he has taken from me over the years and whisk him away to the deepest, darkest parts of The End where he will experience a hell worse than any conjured in the most depraved of minds.
Basically, anyway you look at it, Thologar is fucked six ways from Sunday, and that fact alone has my sardonic grin making an appearance.
"As tradition dictates..." The Maker takes Her place in the small box seat She created for Her and The Destroyer. "You will be unable to use your power. The battle shall be a match of wit as well as strength, hand to hand combat with nothing more than the single weapon that will be selected by one of you. A coin toss will determine who shall choose the tool of pain."
I arch a brow.
A fucking coin toss?
We have no currency on this plane, so to hear something like that is rather odd, but I say nothing, simply watch The Maker conjure a fucking silver dollar out of thin air.
"Heads or tails, demon." She looks in my direction, the coin hovering in between Her and Her brother.
"Tails." Gods, this is so strange. I feel more like we're getting ready for kick off in an American football game instead of a fight to the death. Whatever, it shall make a good story for my gem, given that I return to her, of course. "Tails, oh great Creator."
The coin falls in front of them and they both look, the outcome evident by the brightening of The Destroyer’s light.
"It is heads. Thologar chooses the weapon you shall use. The battle does not begin until you each have one and return to your respective corners. Thologar, come forth."
Black light swirls in front of their box seat to reveal a small table lined with various gold weapons; battle ax, sickle sword, mace, barbed whip, combat daggers, other random instruments of pain.
Thologar steps forward and I watch, watch him closely as he tries to decide on the tool he intends to slaughter me with, but my grin grows.
That son of a bitch has never wielded a weapon in his life.
He has never had to, never needed to use anything other than his power and it is something else I can use to my advantage. I love a good fight, and sparring with the shifters and the vampyr this past year will surely come in handy.
His hand hovers over the barbed whip briefly before he seems to settle on the sickle sword because he picks it up and points it toward The Creator and The Destroyer. "This is my choice."
"Very well.” The Maker looks my way, motions for me to grab my weapon, and after I do I return to my respective corner and wait. "If either of you use your power it is an automatic forfeit, so the only way to victory is a kill shot. As with most creatures of divinity, decapitation or a direct hit to the heart, otherwise the battle continues until one is attained." She looks between us briefly, lifts Her arm then slices the air with Her black light before Thologar attacks.
He roars as he races toward me, unsteady on his mangled legs, sword raised above his head, silver eyes wide and crazed.
I wait until he is close enough to almost touch, then dodge his unskilled blow and bring my sword down on his back as I turn.
He howls in pain, his back arching, defense dropped so I strike again, stab him once, twice, three times in the ribs before Thologar gains his footing. He lunges again and nicks my side as he stumbles, then drives his sword through my thigh, the metal cutting through flesh and muscle like a hot knife through butter.
I stagger back, grip my leg then look up into smiling silver eyes.
"Didn't those fae teach you to honor thy father, Ueltorrhzan?" Thologar stalks toward me, his side gaping, black-tinged silver running freely from the wound. "Oh wait, I am surely mistaken. That only applies to humans; humans such as your cowardly mate."
The roar that escapes my body is one mixed with raw pain and so much rage I can barely see through the haze it creates, but I charge forward so quickly the bastard before me has no time to react.
I drive my blade into his stomach, twist until his entrails spill between us, but when I remove it to go for the kill shot, Thologar manages to knock my sword from my hand and brings his own down in an uncoordinated slice from my shoulder to hip.
My body falls to the ground, my head connecting with its uneven, rocky terrain before my vision momentarily goes black. A weight lands on top of me, a heavy, slippery weight, and with it comes the warm gold blade as it is driven up under my ribs into one of my lungs.
"Give up,” Thologar pants in my face. "Give up, my son, and accept your fate. You are a failure, Ueltorrhzan. A disgrace to your kind, a disease upon your clan and a failure to your mate."
