The War of Gods

Chapter 3 - Part 6

The farmers need those horses, traveller, the stable master had said. Mavar hoped to feel some sort of guilt over stealing from simple farmers, but he found indifference instead. Joel and Nerith hadn't been thrilled at the idea, but the past couple of days had been wearing them all out.

Mavar watched as his partners galloped into the night after Joel smoothly earned the trust of his shared steed with Nerith. He moved up to his own target, but the brown horse, not much taller than him, backed up with every step Mavar took forward.

Mavar sighed, aware of the toll recent years had taken on him. Something was happening to his body. His skin now had blotches of gray in certain areas that he could, fortunately, conceal, for now. His face began to feel wrong if he touched the right spots, and he could feel that no amount of water could rid him of what had became a natural stench of rot. He felt himself becoming an undead without ever being dead in the first place.

He tried to force his way up onto the horse but, with no saddle, this earned him a swift fall to the ground, a lot of noise from his victim, and a torchlight getting closer to inspect all the ruckus.

With his earlier bravado and sense of leadership fading away, the whole situation now seemed a little ridiculous to Mavar. He had no patience left to deal with an angry farmer.

Alone, in the dark, he felt something stir inside of him again. But not like God usually does. Not like God's magic flowing through his body. This was something primal. Not anger, sadness or shame. Maybe not even a feeling, not his own anyway. Something wanted to come out, like a fever that threatens to shut down your body.

Let me help you, he heard someone say.

No, he didn't hear these words, he felt them. The first time God had communicated with him in so long, and he would not let that go to waste.

He relaxed and opened himself to whatever was to come.

It was as if a million bugs crawled inside his skin, starting on his chest and spreading across his whole body. He felt some of these bugs trying to escape at his back, leaving a lingering tingling sensation at two distinct spots. A dark shadow fell over his eyes, as if a veil was covering his face, and the same tingling sensation had now decided to linger at the tip of his fingers. He looked down and found talons instead of fingernails.

"Caw."

Mavar shot his head up at the sudden bird call, distracting him from his transformation.

Resting on the fence in front of him were three crows, looking at him expectantly. Confused, Mavar hunched forward coming eye to eye with the crows.

"Caw?" The crow in the middle said once again, as if prompting him.

He only noticed the farmer behind him once he heard the torch drop to the floor. He wasn't sure what the farmer saw once Mavar turned to face him, but it was terrifying enough for the farmer to trip backwards, hit is head on the pen fence, and proceed to seemingly bleed to death.

Not good, Mavar thought, surprisingly calm. As his Form of Dread retreated, Mavar easily hopped onto his new steed, which was now terrified into submission.

As he galloped away from the town, Mavar realized he didn't feel any particular way regarding the past five minutes. He was pleased with his new trick. But he looked for guilt, shame - even pleasure, just in case - regarding the farmer's death.

Instead, indifference embraced him once again.