ANGEL OF JUSTICE (2014 revised)

Chapter Twenty Six - The God of War

The God Of War

The tall blonde man walked across a dusty valley of shadows littered with corpses and devoid of any life. A familiar feminine voice tugged at his mind but it fled like a whisper on the wind before he could recognize it. Pain suddenly flared in his shoulder and chest. The man looked at his body to see five gaping wounds seeping black blood. Panic flared in the man's heart.

"Am I dying?"

He reached up to touch the wound of his shoulder. Contact with the blood scorched his hand and he jerked it away. Looking at his burning hands he asked.

"Who am I? What is happening to me?"

From a hawk's view, the spirit watched as a beautiful dark haired woman in emerald robes knelt beside a blonde warrior, her hands placed upon his bloody wounds. Nearby the spirit saw many red robed healers tending to the wounded or giving last rites to the many dead soldiers. Comrades dug pits into the earth while others placed the bodies within. For some reason unknown, the sight saddened the spirit. Then a familiar voice called the spirit to follow.

The man looked up. Weakened and weary he walked on through the void of emptiness, seeing a golden light in the distance. Instinct compelled the dying man to turn around to see a billowing mass of darkness swallowing up the land towards him. Fear gripped like a vice and he turned away running with lungs burning like fire as the agony of his wounds ripped through his body. He tried to outrun the pursuing cloud, yet with each heartbeat it drew closer. His legs felt caught in quicksand preventing him from escaping the blackness that was pursuing him. He spied the golden light ahead flare like a beacon and heard a rich female voice filled with great power calling him forth towards the light.

"If you want to live you must draw the sword!"

What sword?

The man pushed himself on, fighting with every step to draw breath. To his horror, every wound he had sustained during his life began to rip open one by one spilling black blood that blistered the skin of his body as it flowed. His leggings smoldered and the skin peeled away from his bare feet. He screamed out in agony but no sound could be heard. He wiped at the blood and felt his hands burning, pulling them away he saw the skin charred and blistered.

"Why is this happening to me?"

"Your judgement." A voice echoed in his mind.

Through wisps of clouds, the spirit watched a long line of wagons carrying wounded men. Monks dressed in coloured robes designating their rank and skill, formed an honour guard that led the proud yet fatigued black armoured warriors north through the gateway of the eighth steppe of Dreamuria towards the great temple that was the Heavenly Chambers.

Turning back again, the man saw the black fog forming into a massive cloud that blanketed the sky. A face of pure terror tugged at his soul and he staggered on trying to reach the safety of the golden light that seemed to be moving ever further away. The man stumbled and fell several times over rocks that rose out of the ground. As he crawled over them, the jagged granite slashed the flesh of his body.

Ignoring the blood flowing from new wounds, the man finally saw a shining sword thrust into the ground ahead. The source of golden light that led him to travel this far was now right before him. Tendrils of mist seeped out of the sword, flowing around the man's body, filling him with great strength. Yet reaching out to touch the blade brought a fresh wave of pain which caused him to scream out. The man snatched his hand away, confused. Sudden flashes of colour exploded in his mind and fragments of images danced before his eyes. This time a different spectral figure of great power called to him to find the strength to take up the sword. There was something about this new power that dared him to fail.