God Of Immortals

The Lochal placed the tome on the table in front of Gallazza. The black cover bore a single onyx gem nestled in gold embellishments, and a forked black ribbon marked the section where some unknown reader had left off. The reader was likely dead now, the yaomo thought, but then perhaps so am I, if this is another of the king's plots.

He reached for the book, but the Lochal's voice stopped him.

"Will you not wait until she returns?"

She referred to the young girl, Chang Chang, of course. Gallazza scoffed at the notion. 

"What difference could her presence possibly make? If I'm to go mad, as you claim is a distinct possibility, she can't save me, nor would she want to."

"Isn't it preferable, even for one such as you, to go into the unknown with someone by your side? While she is present, you will know you are not alone."

"You're mistaken. 'Alone' to me means safety, Lochal. It means there is no knife poised at my back, no enemy waiting to take advantage of a weakness."

"Chang Chang is not a yaomo. Her sense of treachery does not stand as a virtue." 

The Lochal pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. Vice or virtue, when it comes to survival, everyone has a drow heart,"

Gallazza replied. He flipped open the book. What he'd been expecting, he couldn't truly say. He'd avoided thinking about the consequences of delving into the tome, focusing instead on the Lochal's promise of enlightenment and insight. If this tome would tell him who he was, he thought. He would risk madness. He would embrace it.

The first page of the book was blank. Gallazza scowled and flipped to the next. Blank. He turned the pages rapidly, searching for the words, but there next. Blank. He turned the pages rapidly, searching for the words, but there were none. He whirled angrily on the Lochal, but she was gone. Zollgarza slammed his fist against the tabletop.

"Are you playing with me?"

He picked up the tome, intending to cast it into the fire, but he stopped. Shifting his grip, he held the book open flat on his palms. He thought he must have been imagining what he was seeing. The book's pages stood upright—held by an unseen power. Gallazza reached out with his index finger to touch a page. It turned over slowly, ever so slowly, and fell from the right side of the book to the left.

Gallazza released the breath he'd been holding. The air felt different—heavier, somehow. Dust motes drifted in front of his face, hanging like miniature stars, crystal clear. He reached up to touch one, and the ground dropped out from underneath him. A dark void yawned, and Gallazza felt himself falling, his stomach heaving.

A trap? He should have known. He landed in a crouch on a cold stone floor. Gallazza instinctively reached for weapons he did not have and turned in a quick circle, looking for enemies. The library had vanished. He was in a room lit by bluish arcane light. The source was an altar at the back of the room. Gallazza rose to his feet, but he felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever. He recognized that altar. Once he'd run his hands over the symbols carved upon the obsidian surface, symbols now outlined in fresh blood.

But when? When had he done these things? This was an abyssal private chamber—he knew that as surely as he recognized the texture of the altar and the lingering scent—a sanctuary where a yaomo of his rank would never be allowed to go. Yet everything about it felt familiar, welcoming, as if he were coming home. Then, he felt an overwhelming aura. The pressure weighed heavily on him, making his legs wobbled.

"Kneel," said a voice from the darkness.

Gallazza tensed as he felt his spirit gave way. Was that his ancestor's voice? No, this was deeper, colder. Pulled from the darkness, the voice crawled over his skin, a seductive whisper, and a command so forceful Gallazza felt his knees give way before it. In a breath, he was on the ground with his back to the altar.

A figure stepped from the shadows. Gallazza recognized it and fell prostrate upon the floor.

"Foremost Akhart!"

The wraith smiled at Gallazza. She was the utmost's handmaiden, a high demon appearing as a young yaomo female with silky white hair, a form-fitting black dress with the figure of a pair of fangs belted at her waist, and a necklace of diamonds that glittered in the arcane light. She stood before Gallazza's prostrate body. The scent of night-blooming flowers wafted from her, but there was an underlying odor, a hint of decay.

Bending, she lifted Gallazza's chin and forced him to look into her bottomless red eyes. 

"Why are you asking questions, child? Why are you so lost like a mortal?"

"I want to know who I am." 

The yaomo uttered. It hurt to speak, to look at her. She was a beautiful, all-encompassing creature, and in a breath, she could devour him, taking all the pieces that were left of his mind.

"You are Gallazza. Loyal servant of the Utmost Queen."

The wraith's breath ghosted over his face, that same rich smell of flowers and rot, sweet and terrible. 

"My memories …"

"Do not think on the past." 

The wraith purred, but there was a note of warning in her voice, a deepening of her crimson gaze. Slowly, she continued.

"The past clouds your purpose. Identity, self—these mean nothing to the Utmost Queen. You must surrender them to her greater glory."

"I … but there is such emptiness. The void threatens to consume me. I must give the void meaning. I must know my purpose." 

Zollgarza begged. Those places where identity and self dwell, they were gone. If he couldn't fill them, he had to know why they'd been taken. 

"You've failed in your purpose. Laggarma lives, and you've failed to obtain the Arcane Script Sphere."

"Forgive me. The dwarves should have killed me, yet I live. My failure in the eyes of Lolth should have meant my death, yet I live. What is the purpose of it? Am I meant to be trapped—caged—forever? Is that my fate? I beg you, Foremost, don't waste me like this! Don't damn me to a dwarven prison. I can be so much more to you."

His voice gave out, and he collapsed, pressing his forehead against the ground at the handmaiden's feet. The wraith walked past him, pausing before the altar to run her hand over the blood-filled carvings. Gallazza followed her with his eyes, not daring to breathe, to hope that she would show him mercy. Arkhat was not merciful, but she might give him a second chance if she thought him worthy.

"Is that what you believe? Do you believe the goddess sees in you a worthy servant?"

The wraith purred. She lifted her hand from the altar, examining the fresh blood on her fingers. Inhaling the scent, she closed her eyes and with obvious pleasure, licked the blood from her fingers.

Gallazza raised himself to his knees and parted the folds of his dark tunic to expose his chest. 

"I would spill my lifeblood for her. She has only to ask."

"And what is that worth, foolish one?" 

The wraith laughed—a hard, cruel sound that echoed in the quiet chamber. She held up her bloodstained fingers. 

"This is the blood of a thousand priestesses, beloved of the utmost herself, mingled upon the altar to Arhkat's glory. They, too, shed blood willingly for Arkhat. Do you claim your blood is purer than theirs?"

"I …" 

The denial stuck in his throat. Questioning the high demon's view was not only forbidden but would certainly result in a slow and excruciatingly painful death. Yet the words burned in his throat, and the urge to shout a denial, to scream at the demon that she had no idea of what greatness he was capable. Instead, he bowed low again to the wrath, the handmaiden. 

"I know my place, but I can be more—to Arkhat."

"Perhaps, but not as you are now. In this form, you are beneath her notice and caring. When you spill your blood and lie dying upon the floor, screaming Arkhst's name, she will not be there for you."

"Why?" 

The scream burst from Gallazza's soul. He was unable to contain it. Let the handmaiden damn him. Do what she will. He needed answers, or he truly would go mad. 

"Why won't the goddess accept my offering? Why am I not worthy?"

"Because you're still becoming." 

The wraith knelt before him and put her hand on his stomach. She let her fingers explore his flesh, drifting below his belt, nails digging in, penetrating his armor as if it were silk. Gallazza closed his eyes and moaned as the pain and pleasure crashed over him. This was only an avatar of the high demon, he wondered how powerful the true from would be. 

"You are a child, unable to comprehend what lies ahead." 

The wraith grabbed his flesh and twisted effortlessly. This time the pain was so blinding, Gallazza could not find it in himself to scream. He stared at the high demon servant of Arkhat, begging with his eyes, pleading for answers or for an end to it all.

"Don't worry." 

The wraith purred as Gallazza's awareness slipped in and out. After a few seconds, she continued.

"You're almost there. You're standing at the edge of the void. Remember the sphere, Gallazza. The sphere is the key to finding what you seek. I will make sure you do not forget this."

The pain came again.