God Of Immortals

Ju Feng sprang to his feet and hurled a dagger he picked up earlier. The metal flashed once and buried itself in the neck of one of the running yaomo. He choked and went down at the foot of the bridge. He wasn't dead, but was dying. The other two ignored their comrade and kept going. It wasn't his war, but he was bound to fight the yaomo. Although they were not demons, but their ways were not that different from that of demons.

Dropping into a crouch, Ju Feng ducked the lead yaomo's sword swing and slammed his shoulder into the yaomo's stomach. The force of the impact was audible, and for a moment, Chang Chang didn't think Ju Feng's slight weight would slow the yaomo, but suddenly Ju Feng thrust his hands out and shoved the yaomo away from him. Reeling, the yaomo fell and struck his head against the stone bridge. He lay still, dazed.

The other yaomo was faster than his comrade had been. He side-stepped the palm thrust of Ju Feng and stabbed him in the shoulder. Ju Feng hissed and danced back. The dragon-shield robe absorbed most of the blow. He brought his hands up, palms out but held close to his body. To them, he appeared as if he was gathering his strength. Meanwhile, Ju Feng was performing the first stage of Eternal World hand technique. In this world, it wouldn't be that much useful, but it was enough to achieve what he wanted. When the yaomo lunged at him again, he thrust his hands forward, catching the yaomo in the chest. The yaomo fell back, driven to the edge of the river. He fell and clutched his chest, gasping for breath.

Ju Feng pressed a hand to his shoulder and went back to where Chang Chang lay. 

"We have to move. There's no cover here, and they'll be coming over the bridges in waves. How are you doing?"

"I have a message from the king. We have to pull all the soldiers across to this side of the river."

Chang Chang said, though she could hardly believe what she'd heard King Laggarma say in her mind. 

"I'll find someone to sound a call. What's the king planning?"

Ju Feng said, glancing around.

"Do you remember what Abron did to that bridge on our trip down to Myria?" 

Chang Chang said grimly.

"Yes."

"He's going to do the same thing, only a lot bigger."

***

Fizzri watched the white-silver dragon circle overhead, a thread of fear working its way into her heart like the most subtle poison. She had only felt such doubts and conflicts on one other occasion, and that had been just before she asked Arkhat for the power to transform Gallazza. Arkhat had fashioned a way for them to achieve this without reaching the transformation stage.

Gallazza, this is all your doing, Fizzri thought. A surge of hatred for her old lover went through the mistress mother. If only Gallazza had succeeded in obtaining the Arcane Script Sphere, this attack wouldn't be necessary.

Rage and frustration burned in Fizzri. Ever since the Arcane Script Sphere began calling to her, disturbing her dreams, she'd been planning her tribute to Lolth. The artifact that held Mystra's essence—in Gallazza's hands, the conduit would channel the arcane and the divine. Gallazza's sacrifice, the sacrifice of a piece of Mystra—all to Arkhat's glory. Fizzri would earn ultimate favor with the divine. When Gallazza had been captured, she'd feared all was lost. Now they were on the verge of taking the city, yet they still hadn't located Gallazza or the sphere. She shouted to Levriin, who stood with one of his apprentices, looking worn and battered from the continuous magical assault. 

"Press forward! The priestesses will deal with the dragon."

She filled her voice with confidence, but in truth, Fizzri had noticed that several of the priestesses had disappeared since the battle began. For all she knew, they were dead or separated from the main army.

"Aagona." 

Fizzri called out to her second in command, who'd been directing the yaomo mages and watching for treachery at the same time. But no answer came. Fizzri turned and saw Aagona lying on the ground, sightless eyes staring up at the cavern ceiling. Cursing, Fizzri approached the body. A dagger protruded from the dead yaomo's chest, a dagger affixed with the figure of a spider. Fizzri drew the dagger out, saw the remnants of the poison seeping from the spider's hollow leg, and a chill passed over her.

"Hello, my lover." 

Said a velvet-soft, feminine voice behind her.

"Gallazza, you're back."

Fizzri whispered, slowly turning to face the priestess. 

"I never truly left, Fizzri, you knew that."

The noise and frenzy of the battle faded into the background. Amid the bodies of dwarf and yaomo, the two females faced each other. Gallazza's dagger fell from Fizzri's hand. The look on Gallazza's face—the crazed, triumphant light and the hatred smoldering in her scarlet eyes—Fizzri felt that up until this moment she'd never seen Gallazza's true face, whether male or female. This face heralded something entirely new, something that frightened Fizzri terribly.

"What happened to you? How did you return to your true form?"

"You won't believe it. A human girl, a child, broke the spell. She's one of Mystra's faithful."

"Mystra is in limbo," Fizzri said.

"Oh, my beautiful Fizzri, the truth has unknotted my tongue. I sought purpose, and purpose found me. A battle rages inside me, brighter and bloodier than anything you see on this field.  "Purpose will win. Female will win. I know this." 

Sweat shone on Gallazza's face, and she breathed heavily, as if she'd been running for miles through dark tunnels.

"You're insane, Arkhat has revealed your weakness—"

Fizzri said, lip curled in disgust. She had nothing to fear from this broken creature. "

"Weakness?" 

Keening laughter burst from Gallazza's throat. A pensive expression creased her sweaty face as she pounded a fist against her chest. The sound raised the hairs on Fizzri's arms. 

"I have played the game from both sides. Secrets live in me that wizards and priestesses would kill to know. I understand now. The strongest will win out. I will tear the weakness from my soul. If it destroys me, so be it. But if I win … if I win, I will have found my purpose—Lolth be damned."

Fizzri hissed and drew her snake-headed whip. 

"I will tear your tongue from your mouth."

Gallazza smiled indulgently at her, which incensed Fizzri more. 

"I don't blame you, my precious one. You've not known true desperation. Throw yourself on the ground, prostrate yourself before the divine, crawl, crawl, and crawl, and all will be well again. Arkhat needs those like you, the pliant and the blind, those she can twist to suit her." 

Her smile widened, and her shoulders shook—with contained laughter or hysterics, Fizzri couldn't say. 

"Godsdamn you. Let your sacrifice be now. I will take the sphere without you." 

She didn't bother with the whip. Hissing the words of a spell, she reached for Gallazza, fingers curled in a clawlike grip. Black lightning poured from her hands. The dark energy struck Gallazza and twisted around her, encasing her like a cage. Gallazza staggered, but her fixed, hysterical smile remained in place. She lifted her trembling hands in the air and shouted an answering spell. She thrust out her hands and poured the energy back at Fizzri.

Fizzri had her defenses in place, but the shadow of the dragon passing overhead distracted her, and the black energy poured past her spell shield and seized her. Gasping with the pain, Fizzri suddenly looked to the sky. A build-up of arcane energy—power that sizzled, crackled, and created spatial rift in the air itself—came from the dragon. Gallazza must have felt it too. She tipped her head back, white hair spilling amidst the black energy of Fizzri's attack. Spreading her arms, she sketched a shaky bow to the silver dragon soaring overhead.

"What have you done? You've destroyed everything! For what? Arkhat, why have you let this happen?"

Fizzri screamed at Gallazza. She spit out a phrase and hurled a sheet of flame at Gallazza, but the yaomo leaped nimbly aside and took cover behind a large rock. The exclamation burst from Fizzri before she could stop it. She covered her mouth in horror at her own words. Trembling with fear and pain, she backed up a step.

Fiery pain erupted at the small of her back. Fizzri looked down and saw the tip of an axe blade protruding through her stomach. She tried to turn, but her legs would not obey her. With a jerk, the axe came free, and Fizzri dropped, loose-limbed, to her knees. Her attacker circled around so she could see his bloody axe. Three black horns protruded from the weapon, all stained with blood. The dwarf stared down at her and muttered something in his own language that Fizzri didn't hear. Then he was gone, running across one of the bridges over the river.

Above her, the arcane energy continued to build, along with Gallazza's laughter. Fizzri tried to summon the strength to care about any of these events, but her thoughts were getting fuzzy around the edges. She reached out with her fading consciousness, seeking Arkhat's power, but her cry was a hollow echo, met with only silence.