How Gods Bleed Page 3

  Chapter 2

  As they had been commanded to do the guards began to open the door, but it was soon evident that opening this door was far more complicated than turning a knob. All four guards moved to one side and began twisting and turning heavy iron switches that the numerous chains were connected to. The sounds of the chains falling from their latches and dangling became powerful in the otherwise silence. Once this was done each of the guards took up a different position against the gigantic edge and began pushing, moving the massive silver door in a sliding fashion. Like all Helluvans the guards possessed incredible strength powered by overdeveloped shoulders that were covered by thick muscle. But even with 4 of the strongest breed of men pushing it the door would not be opened hastily.

  As they did so Cada Varl thought about the reasons why he had come here in the first place. Out of all the horror stories and terrible myths whether fact of fiction that had been spoken about the werewolves there was none amongst them more legendary or infamous than Gorgoza. Of the monster’s lineage he was first generation, once upon a time he was indeed human. He was the first werewolf to actually envision himself and his brethren, not as monsters or cursed beings, but as a race. Quickly he set about carving out a land that the werewolves could truly call their own. He gathered others like him, forging an army of monsters that was as terrifying as it was powerful. From there he claimed the west in the name of his people eventually crowning himself their king. After purging the west of all mankind he set about the destruction of every man made thing from cities to dams. Thus began the transformation of the west where Gorgoza built his empire quite literally from scratch and in his image. Much of the cities and other such landscapes he designed were more marvelous than anything his human predecessor’s could envision were. However Gorgoza in both of his lives had always believed that knowledge was power and so before he destroyed the history and cities of men he learned everything he could about them, if for whatever reason such knowledge could one day serve him. Werewolves never forgot anything, once they had seen it or thought about it, every second could flawlessly be recalled in memory. Because of this Gorgoza could recall everything he had learned about the west before his ascension and such knowledge he passed down to his son.

  Unlike most leaders Gorgoza was not a sexual fiend, he did not bed a different female every night and in his thousands and thousands of years of rule he had only bore one son, Yakarzin. Perhaps this had to do with the fact for all his 3800 years as ruler there had never been an age of peace in his lands. There was always some kind of rebellion or uprising lead by a would be usurper. This was not due to him being a weak ruler for indeed his cruelty, malevolence and power was greater than any before him. But Noonsva was the largest continent on the planet and the west was too large for a single king to rule, werewolf or otherwise completely. Out of all the renegades and false kings Gorgoza had to deal with there was none more powerful than Metamok.

  In the lands of man little was known about Metamok with the exception that unlike all the other usurpers he was the only one that Gorgoza had never been able to completely subdue and his thirst for power seemed beyond endless if such a thing was possible. Metamok was like an inferno that had burned for so long it could never be put out as if the very earth itself had become so use to burning that it no longer knew any other way to thrive.

  In actuality Gorgoza had served the preservation of the east well for he had little desire to further expand his empire and indeed for the most part he wanted nothing to do with humans. The culture he had shaped over the centuries had kept most werewolves with the same ideals as his own. It was strange to think about how much Granzool and Gorgoza must have hated one another. Granzool because of the threat Gorgoza represented against his kingdom and Gorgoza because of the capture of his son by a human ruler. Though despite their differences both monster and the man monsters feared had more in common than either would like to admit, the survival of their people. Now with Gorgoza gone there would be no significant force in the west that could stand against Metamok and once he gained control he indeed would set his sights on the east to the kingdoms of men.

  With these thoughts still very strong in his mind Cada Varl watched as finally the silver door was opened revealing a large chamber. At first the Immortal could hear a powerful sound that resembled the growl of a dog but was far more incredible to hear, the sound soon subsided however and Cada Varl took notice of the crimson light reflecting off something large and rectangular. In size the massive rectangle would have taken up half of the chamber but had been positioned in the center of it. It had been forged from silver, which could be told from how the light shone off against it.

  The growl the Immortal had heard had come from the lips of what could only be described as a strange creature. Only its head could be seen sticking out from the top of the rectangle revealing the mass of silver had somehow been forged around its frame effectively locking it in place. The head was a hideous thing to look at, a horrid amalgamation of man and beast. Human skin and the dark fur of a beast could both be seen as both fangs and teeth were represented in the thing’s twisted mouth. Its eyes were different from one another also, one a very dark green and almost human the other almost twice the first’s size was animalistic and soulless. It was the presence of silver remaining so close to his body over such a long period that kept Yakarzin in such a state of half transformation, making him appear a freak in the eyes of both men and monster.

  Cada Varl without fear or hesitation entered the chamber taking notice of how the guards seemed not fazed by the sight of the half-transformed freak. Though his eyes were utterly opposite to one another they worked in unison as the captured prince looked over every inch of the Immortal and like most who looked upon Cada Varl the werewolf’s eyes stopped their search when he noticed the ripe red eyes of the Immortal. It could not be told what Yakarzin was thinking whether he was weary or simply curious about the presence of someone who looked so different after all these decades imprisoned. There was more that broke the silence other than the burning torches outside the chamber as they devoured their fuel source, the sound of Yakarzin breathing resembled that of an old man who had smoked far too much tobacco in his life. His breaths were heavy from agony, no doubt caused by the severe irritation the silver was having on his skin.

  “You’re not Helluvan,” Yakarzin commented in a voice that was neither human nor monstrous but falling somewhere morbidly in between.

  “No I am not,” the Immortal simply replied.

  “An obvious statement,” Yakarzin said as if he had not spoken in so long he had forgotten what his voice had sounded like and was now remembering how much he enjoyed the sound.

  “It has been thousands of years since I have seen such garments, the military garb of a Gatavoi soldier, a kingdom that fell 4137 years 8 months and 4 days ago….”

  It was a reminder, deliberate or not of the flawless memories werewolves possessed. In return Cada Varl said nothing before Yakarzin began to sniff at the air and it was in these moments he looked the most monstrous and animalistic.

  “Hmmm….” Yakarzin muttered not taking his odd eyes off of the Immortal. “You don’t smell human…but you are not of my kind either are you? Your eyes give that away almost as well as my senses tell me.”

  With more words spoken there was a definite undertone to the imprisoned princes words, if he was not encased in silver and allowed his human shape than his voice would be almost charming and soothing to listen to, but remained morphed from the pain he was feeling.

  “I am Cada Varl,” the Immortal answered in a clear tone that was neither proud nor modest. This revelation made the imprisoned prince hold his breath or rather it was taken from him allowing the sound of the crimson fires burning to reign supreme if only for a moment.

  “Cada Varl?” Yakarzin said as if his mind needed to hear the Immortal’s name from his own lips before he could believe it.

  “Do you know what you are known as in my ho
melands? Javuzzzz Nememba,” Yakarzin said, not allowing Cada Varl a second to answer the question. “The revered one,” Yakarzin translated “ Many of my kind consider you a god second only to Elfanya, but I am not amongst them.”

  It could not be told whether Yakarzin had said this out of truth, which would contradict his body’s reaction mere moments before or he was simply trying to keep some level of awe about him.

  Elfanya was the name the werewolves had for the moon, in their theology (or mythology depending on who was speaking the story). She was a great goddess and the stars were her soldiers always at the ready to descend upon the earth if the werewolves dared to do anything that did not please her.

  “Was it your father who gave me such a name? To help others of his kind to embrace the fact they were no longer human?”

  This question seemed to stir something inside the prince, something that for a whole legion of reasons did not sit well with him.

  “Indeed it was.”

 

  It seemed this question had reminded Yakarzin of his father and all he had done for his kind. Though he did not care for the Immortal he knew what his father had thought of Cada Varl.

  “Tell me,” the imprisoned prince said after a moment of silence. “Where is it that you have been all this time?”

  Cada Varl answered truthfully, “Uldaween, do you know of it?”

  Yakarzin tried to move his head in a nodding fashion but the silver was so tightly melded around him that he could not even accomplish this simple task.

  “Earth’s memory, the place where all the histories of this continent had been stored until my father took control of the west.”

  “That is why I have come to see you,” Yakarzin made no reply but waited for the Immortal to explain himself. Without any change in his voice the Immortal said, “Your father is dead Yakarzin, overthrown by Metamok.”

  As soon as he had heard these words a look came over Yakarzin’s eyes, more easily seen in his human one, a sadness that was as powerful as it was undeniable. Perhaps it was a remnant of humanity buried so deep inside the beast that it could only be seen in such an extreme situation. But Yakarzin had never been human and hence it seemed more to prove that even monsters felt empathy and sadness.

  “So….” The prince said slowly after several moments, “The Harbinger of Hollowness has finally succeeded…” The prince went quiet again for some time and Cada Varl allowed him his time.

  “ When I was first captured by the Helluvans I felt such shame that I had dishonored my father’s name by being taken prison by those who are inferior to my kind. That shame has been a greater poison to me than even this silver that now surrounds me. I should have been at my father’s side I should have personally led armies to vanquish Metamok or at the least had the chance to die trying, an honorable death compared to this rotting existence. With my father no longer opposing him Metamok will conquer the west before long…and when he does he will set his hunger east…starting with this dustbowl of a kingdom!”

  The prince screamed his last several words, a might returning to his voice that had not be there for all those years, he wanted to ensure that the guards outside heard him and indeed they did. But with the exception of each one of them looking as far into the corner of their eyes they did or said nothing else. The sadness had been replaced by anger only to be quickly replaced with the darkest of joy in the eyes of the imprisoned prince as he realized this.

  “I will see my father soon in the world beyond our own, for what reason would Granzool now have to keep me living.”

  There was no fear in his tone at the prospect of his own death; perhaps this was bravery or simple acceptance. Then again maybe after enduring such agony for all these decades he found some kind of relief in the fact he no longer would have to endure such pain.

  “Not necessarily,” Cada Varl said bringing the attention of Yakarzin upon him. “I am going to travel into the west and kill Metamok myself.”

  Yakarzin stared in silence for a moment before he snarled in a mocking way similar to a disgusted laugh.

  “Why would you do that? Never have you meddled in the affairs of my kind before.”

  Now the Immortal stepped forward and as he did so the crimson flames of the torches behind him began to burn differently, casting shadows around him that made him appear even more powerful. The shadows darkened his face increasing the intensity of red within his eyes. He leaned forward ever so slightly but the movement was enough to make Yakarzin silent. “Because, never before has the east been in such threat from the west, I saw Gatavoi fall to your father and then the rest of the west. I am responsible for the genocide of my brethren that is a burden I must bear. There is nothing that I could do about the past only the present and the future. I cannot allow Metamok to conquer the east and in order to stop him I will need your aid.”