God of Discovery [high fantasy, slow build, mlm]

Arc 3 - 42. God of Change

Now what? The question popped up in D'Argen's mind even as his hands shook where he gripped Thar's robes as tight as he could. Vah'mor had just—

No. They had—

But—

D'Argen's entire body started shaking. One of the arms wrapped around his back felt like a band of metal, keeping him upright. Keeping him supported. He could not feel his legs. The hand at the back of his head, the one he used as an excuse to hide his face, felt like a comfort. A heavy one.

The hand from his head disappeared and then returned to wrap so tight around his waist that it hurt. But it also kept him from falling when he realized his legs were not supporting him.

The hold surrounding him was both comforting and worrisome. It was too tight. It was too strong. It was too warm.

D'Argen dared to pull his head back and though he was looking at Thar, it was not Thar looking back at him. D'Argen flinched and the grip around him loosened. He barely found his feet as he stumbled back a few steps and then tripped over his sword. He landed heavily in the same spot where Vah'mor had disappeared. The thought had him back on his feet so fast it could have been his mahee that shot him up.

Thar—no—the thing wearing Thar's face was staring at him with cold eyes. His arms were still outstretched as if waiting for D'Argen to return to that warm embrace.

It was tempting.

Not enough. D'Argen quickly picked up his sword and then dared a look around. The others were still there and they were all staring at him with varying degrees of shock or anger. Or the emotionless stares with pure black eyes like Thar.

Except one pair of eyes in the crowd.

Asa's eyes were just a shade off silver. Just a shade too wrong.

D'Argen's fist tightened around his sword. When Asa moved forward, gently nudging Sa'ab aside with a hand on her shoulder – they were too tall. Asa barely reached D'Argen's chest. Now, their silver eyes were level with his shoulders. Another two steps and they met his chin.

The others spread out slowly, forming a circle around Asa and D'Argen. Thar was at the edges of that circle. The castle walls behind him remained the same. The world was the same. Killing Vah'mor was not what would get him out of his place.

D'Argen looked down at the sword in his hand. He could turn it on himself. He could. He had to. That was—

A bellow of rage had him raising the sword in a defensive move and stepping back at the same time.

Vah'mor's bladed glaive bounced off the silver of D'Argen's sword.

D'Argen stumbled a few steps back from the force and shock. Asa's light hair was almost black, their silver eyes glistening a shade wrong, their features sharpening and thinning out. The wooden staff they had used earlier was a black metal glaive with black blades at either end of it and silver etchings in it all.

When Asa charged with another bellow, their voice changed as well. D'Argen blocked the downward strike and the glaive's blade locked at the guard right over his fingers. Vah'mor snarled at him from across their crossed weapons. D'Argen pushed with all his might, disengaging them. He immediately slashed at the air in front of him, knowing he would hit nothing but it would keep Vah'mor from charging again so fast.

With the next step back, D'Argen raised his sword just in time to turn away Vah'mor's blade from a stab. It left an opening. D'Argen stepped into it. The shaft came back around and he raised his defending arm just in time for it to bounce off his bracer. It still hurt and left him off balance, but his own stab with the sword was true. The tip of it sank through Vah'mor's armour as if they were not wearing anything at all.