Chapter 43: Death knell of a Deity
"You don't have to be here, you know," Saulden said, glancing over at the chef who stood assembled among numerous members of the Twin Azure Covenants. There were in a small alcove where a bonfire was. Before them, the blood-stained Coliseum loomed in the gloom.
"I cannot explain it, but I feel that something is pulling me here. I need to bear witness to Nahr Alma's demise."
"I see," the Covenant master mused, turning his gaze over to the men who stood next to Erik Potts like guards. Benhart of Jugo was here for Erik and to end the dire threat the Brotherhood posed, but there was a smoldering fury in the eyes of Vengarl.
In fact that same blood thirsty look was in the faces of several of the warriors from Forossa. The red giant and Gordin had declined to explain why, claiming that their reason was personal. For Forossans at least.
"So be it, then. Targey, shall we begin the assault?" Saulden inquired and his friend nodded.
"Indeed. Blue Sentinels, advance!"
"Way of Blue, forward!"
With their roared commands echoing over the hills of the Huntsman's Copse hundreds of men and women surged forward towards.
Earlier in the morning the Twin Azure Orders had warped over to the Huntsman's Copse and sealed off the entrances and exits with fog gates. Furthermore their barriers were raised and Phantoms could not manifest. The main advantage of the Brotherhood of Blood was gutted.
As soon as that happened a burst of activity had filled the ancient ruins and countless figures could be seen within preparing basic defenses. Then, the justice seeking warriors prepared for a siege. The only way to the Coliseum was a rickety bridge, but engineers from the Covenants had raised smaller crosswalks when the murderous cultists had cut the ropes.
Soon, arrows were flying through the air alongside spells, miracles, hexes, and pyromancies from both sides.
"Keep the cultists from targeting our ladders! And bring up more Lifegems, we have wounded out there!" Targey shouted.
"Ah, a good old fashioned siege! I haven't been in one of these since I brought down the walls of Carme," Vengarl reminisced. Erik blanched at that.
The city once known as Carme in Lindelt had been besieged by countless mercenaries from Forossa centuries ago. None knew the reason why, but the city that had once held the archives of the gods was razed to the ground.
"Oh, don't worry, Erik. Ivar and I didn't partake in too much of the looting," Vengarl assured his companion with what he assumed was a comforting smile. Coming from the towering slab of muscles and death it was mostly terrifying.
Hours passed by in a blur of blood and smoke. The Undead on both side made this conflict a battle of attrition more than anything else. But there were two advantages the Twin Azure Orders had that were wearing down the Brotherhood.
First, their skills were superior. Many had had some degree of training before enlisting and years as an Undead allowed them to hone those skills further. And last but not least was morale.
The Brothers of Blood did not have Erik Potts or his cooking. They did not have hope. Compared to the dozen or so Blue Sentinels who had gone Hollow so far, ten times that number from the cultists had gone mad from the constant deaths. And that was the nail in the coffin for the Coliseum's defenses.
"The gate is ours! We can make our way inside!" A scout cried out, and Targey and Saulden smirked while Vengarl gained a feral grin.
"Let's go! Take the entrance and push in! Slaughter them all! Rip and tear them and their god to scraps of meat!" The Crimson Lion of Forossa roared, raising his cleaver-like blade in the air. Howls of bloodlust from the other Forossans filled the Copse. He then charged forwards, a few steps ahead of the Covenant masters.
"Well, he seems eager," Saulden said, amused. Erik just sighed and walked forth as well, drawing his swords and firing up his powers.
"Come on, Benhart. Let's make sure Vengarl doesn't have all the fun."
"Now you're getting into the spirit of Drangleic!" The knight of Jugo chuckled before hefting his gargantuan sword and hurrying out to take his own share of souls.
The chef from Lindelt watched in awe as the once headless man barreled through the mass of soldiers of both sides. He at least had the sense to only strike the cultists, which was a small mercy.
"Come out, Nahr Alma! Face the children of Faraam!" Vengarl screamed.
Through the Coliseum Erik and his group ran. The place they came to was a narrow race track, where more than a few clumps of Undead were battling. Necromancers and animated skeletons mingled with the Brotherhood as they clashed against the Blue warriors. Vengarl strode through it all, striking out against any who challenged him.
Suddenly, a faint rattling sound echoed around the walls, and stones and bones began to clatter as something began to charge down the narrow lane towards the entrance.
"Chariot! Chariot! Here comes the chariot!" Several of the Brotherhood cried, elated at the arrival of their trump card.
From around the bend a massive, deformed skeletal horse with two heads appeared, dragging a large, spiked chariot while a skeleton lashed out from the back with a spear and notched whip.
It mowed down friend and foe alike, grinding them to paste beneath jagged wheels and pounding hooves. A gout of black fire was belched at those in front of the steed, and it nicked in grim amusement as they scattered.
Yet Vengarl held his ground.
"Get out of the way!" Erik shouted. He raised his hand an sent out a rush of ice. It turned the floor in front of the chariot slippery, and the two-head horse slipped, sending its payload flying. With an almost comical look of surprise the Charioteer spun through the air before plunging down into the deep pit behind Erik.
A rush of souls ran up to him, and the chef blinked in surprise. But it wasn't over yet. The horse staggered to its feet, and freed of its harness, began to rampage. Unfortunately for it, it was in front of a certain knight is red, rusted armor.
"Face the might of the Red Lion of Forossa, scum!" Vengarl roared. "You and your master shall perish today!"
The malformed demon-horse-skeleton neighed before charging with black, cursed flames billowing from it.
To everyone's surprise, Vengarl put away his weapons and took a stance that looked as if he was going to catch the creature and stop it with his own two hands.
"He's mad," Benhart said in appreciation. Erik only sweat-dropped.
With an eerie cry, the horse-thing slammed into the crimson knight. To everyone's shock, especially the horses', Vengarl only skidded back a few steps before stopping it's momentum and movement completely.
Pure awe in the eyes of everyone present, and more than a lot of shock in the empty sockets, Vengarl tightened the grip of his arms that were wrapped around its necks, before he let out a mighty battlecry and did the most insane, hardcore, and impossible stunt anyone had ever seen. And for people who'd survived Drangleic, that was saying something.
Vengarl lifted the horse then toppled backwards, delivering a devastating suplex. The two skulls shattered like fragile porcelain as it was slammed into the tiled floor, shards of ivory flying off like shrapnel. The flickering black flames that had sustained it faded and was replaced by a black and red soul that danced in its ribcage.
That act alone had caused every battle going on in the chariot track to stop dead. And the combatants to stare.
"What the fuck?" A familiar woman hexer in an animal skull mask had uttered.
"Run or die." Vengarl stated as he rose, slicing the tainted soul into pieces before it could be absorbed. Those words were filled with promises of death and more than a few cultists darted away in sheer terror.
"Did that just happen?" Erik asked, turning to Benhart. He noticed that Saulden and Targey were staring in stupefied shock, while Gordin looked like Winter Fest Day had come early had he'd gotten all the gifts.
The Grandmaster of the Blue Sentinels shook his head to regain his composure before pointing into the distance of the now emptying road.
"Up the stairs! I can feel the soul of a god in the central arena!" Targey directed. Leaving Vengarl behind to butcher the remaining cultists on the race track the group rushed towards the interior of the Coliseum and up some stairs, finding a bonfire burning in a corner. A few Brotherhood cultists were popping out of it, so it was probably the source of their revival.
However, what brought everyone up short was a tiny person blocking the rest of the way inside. No pun intended since making fun of a person with a sharp scythe tends to be a bad idea. The cultist in question was a dwarf, less than four feet tall and wearing tattered rags and a conical helmet. Clutched in their hands was a scythe that seemed comically oversized for the wielder's size.
"Ah, more intruders! Fresh blood, lots of blood!" The small figure cackled.
"Titchy Gren," Saulden hissed, glaring at the man.
"Step back, I'll deal with him," Gordin declared, stepping forward.
"Who is he?" Erik asked. Why was everyone acting like this man was a threat?
"Don't let his appearance deceive you. That individual is the Covenant Master of the Brotherhood of Blood, and second in command to Nahr Alma himself," Targey warned.
"Die!" Titchy Gren cried, lunging forward with unnatural dexterity and speed. Gordin countered with his reclaimed great sword and ethereal sparks went flying when the two blades crossed.
Oozing red flames suddenly leapt forth from the midget and sent Gordin flying back.
"None can match my Chaos Flames! I'll melt you down and feed you to master Alma!" the dwarf snickered.
"Go! I'll hold this little psychopath back!" Gordin shouted, dodging a literally screaming fireball that turned the tiles it struck into a puddle of pseudo-lava. He then dashed forward and forced the miniature figure back against the wall, leaving the stairs free.
"Fight well," Erik uttered as he rushed past.
"I shall."
The team consisting of the chef, Benhart, Saulden and Targey fought their way into the central domain of the Coliseum. The inside was an open air amphitheater that dominated the center with a bridge overheard and a jumble of rubble in the middle of the arena's stage.
And sitting upon the wreckage like a throne was a towering man, easily the largest Erik had ever seen. But what was more noticeable was the power he oozed. The man's soul screamed out, straining against the flesh and bathing the arena in crimson-gold shadows.
His skin was bronze colored, while a tangled mane of red hair dominated his head. He wore naught but a chainmail loincloth and two rings, one on each hand. Eyes that were blood and gold stared down with distain, and with a sigh the figure rose up.
"I was hoping for my challengers to be somewhat more impressive. But what do I get? A bunch of righteous knights and a freakishly white souled weakling?"
Faster than anyone could blink the titan jumped from his perch and landed in front of the intruders. The deity cracked his knuckles and lashed out with a vicious punch. Benhart didn't even have time to raise his sword to defend before the blow sent the Jugonan flying into the wall. The chef took a step forward before an arm was thrown in front of him.
"Erik, stay back!" Saulden commanded.
"Yes, stay out of this. As delectable your souls may be you yourself are nothing. So be a good boy and let the real men talk before I rip those godly fragments from you," Nahr Alma sneered, dismissing the chef with a wave.
Erik nodded mutely at the normally dreary knight before running over to check on Benhart. The Bluemoon Knight's armor was completely ruined. The blow had ripped his leather and chainmail chest plate open, exposing tan skin that was punctured with a gaping wound and slick with blood. The chef hastily dripped some estus onto the wound, and it rapidly healed.
"That hurt," Benhart wheezed, struggling to sit up.
"Stay down. That blow did a lot of damage."
The Knight of the Bluemoon reluctantly agreed and sagged a bit as the pain faded somewhat.
"How are Saulden and Targey doing?" he asked, and Erik turned around to check. The chef paled as he saw the fight.
'Fight' was too strong a word though. 'One sided massacre' was probably most apt. Nahr Alma was a brutal warrior and possessed immense strength. Each blow sent them staggering back with cracks on their armaments. The two grandmasters had been forced onto the defensive by the brawling god.
"…They could be doing better," Erik admitted.
"Something is strange about that being. When he struck me with his fist, I'd swear I felt something else strike me as well," Benhart confessed, struggling into a position he could watch the fight.
"Good eye." The pair on the sideline looked over to where Vengarl had suddenly appeared. Pure loathing was directed at the God of Murder and the Red Lion Knight snarled in fury. "Now sit back and witness the revenge of Forossa."
Without waiting for a reply, the once headless Undead lunged forward, slashing his machete like sword down upon the back of the god.
"Sneak attacks don't work on me," Nahr Alma uttered, and a vicious kick was barely blocked by Vengarl's shield.
"Nahr Alma! In the name of Forossa and Faraam the God of Knights, I condemn you! Face death at my hands!" Vengarl howled.
"Another pitiful follower of that weakling? I'll enjoy this," the bloody god mocked, bringing his fists up.
What followed was an impossible display of martial skill. Nahr Alma hurled punch after punch that were almost too fast to even see! The shockwaves of his blows tore up the ground and sent shards of stone flying.
But each and every attack was blocked or countered by Vengarl. The attacks from the god either broke upon his shield or were deflected by his blade.
"Do you recognize this armor? It is the blessed armament and equipment of Faraam himself, drenched in the blood of millions of warriors. Imbued by the First Flames blessings, this armor can hold up to your blasphemy with ease," Vengarl taunted. "Ivar and I spent our youth collecting these scattered relics, all in order to fight you one day. And though my friend may not be here, I know he watches me all the same."
Nahr Alma simply began to strike harder and faster, displeasure clear through a frown on the god's face. But then a cruel smile split his face and Erik shivered.
"Perhaps. But that armor was for a god, not a man. And as strong as you may be, my impacts still send shockwaves through your body, tearing up muscles and cracking bones. Because that is the price for wearing unbreakable armor. Something else has to give instead."
It was clear that the God of Murder's words were true. Blood was starting to drip from Vengarl as he was torn up on the inside of his armor. Plus, he was slowly weakening, for the fists of the god were heavy and draining the Crimson Lion's stamina rapidly.
All seemed lost when one of Nahr Alma's blows sent Vengarl staggering back. But much to the murderous deities shock, that had been naught but a faint.
"Hiyaaa!" With a mighty roar Vengarl twisted to the side at the last minute and brought his sword crashing down upon the god's wrist. A scream of pain and a spurt of golden ichor later and the fist was sent tumbling to the floor.
"Holy…!" Erik cried as the severed limb smashed into the floor next to him. Furthermore, in front of his eyes something flickered and the fist was covered in a punching glove made of bone.
"Illusory Ring of the Exalted," Vengarl snarled, taking a step towards the de-handed god. "One of two of God Faraam's sacred artifacts, alongside the Illusory Ring of the Conqueror."
"The Exalted ring turns the weapon held in the right hand invisible, while the Conqueror's ring does the same for the left. That's the secret behind your strength. After you murdered our lord and drove Forossa to ruin, you stole his artifacts and used them for your own vile uses."
"Bravo. I'd applaud your deduction if I cared," Nahr Alma scowled. Vengarl ignored him and pointed his blade at the crippled god.
"You time is over. Pay for your sins with your own blood!" The battle erupted once more, but this time Vengarl was the one leading the fight.
The Blood God was on the defensive, small cuts appearing on his body as the Forossan hurled himself at his foe.
"What is this?! How are you this strong?!"
"I have Faraam's blessing, you bastard! And I have that of his wife!"
Erik blinked in surprise at that. He hadn't known Elana had given Vengarl anything, or even told him. But then again the knight was smarter than most would believe. He could have figured it out on his own, and spoken to the Squalid Queen in private.
"I devoured his soul! I am the god of war now!" Nahr Alma retorted, only to lose his other arm when Gordin jumped down from above, severing it from the elbow up.
"What?!"
"The secrets of the Fall of Forossa have been passed down through the centuries," Gordin said with a sneer. "From master to apprentice the survivors have told of your treachery, teaching the young to hate you and dream of your death. And though the message and lesson have faded over time, there are those who still remember. And now, we have a chance at revenge. The Scions of Faraam judge you! And we find you guilty!"
From the shadows a dozen other people appeared. They wrapped chains around the stunned god and dragged him to his knees, pinning him down as Erik, Benhart, and the grandmasters stared in awe.
Nahr Alma cried out in fury, struggling against his bonds. But they glowed with blue energy, and though they creaked and groaned, the enchanted metal held strong.
"Titchy Gren! Charioteer! Anyone!" The God of Murder howled, a tinge of dread in his voice. But there was no response. The Forrossan chuckled darkly as they witness their ancient foe grow terrified.
"No one can help you now."
The patron of bloodshed looked up into the pitiless eyes of his audience, and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.
"Die." So utterly cold was Vengarl's command Erik could swear he saw frost appear on the ground.
Without hesitating the red armored behemoth drew his rust-red scimitar and together with his other sword, brought the blades down onto Nahr Alma's neck.
An explosion of power ripped apart the arena, the god screaming in pain as he immolated in a massive gold and red fireball. The flames then condensed into a giant flickering soul, the final remains of the once fearsome God of Murder.
"Is it over?" One of the Forossan Sentinels inquired. The chains had been melted by the blast and Vengarl had been thrown back as a steaming semi-corpse.
A fearsome howl reverberated through the air, and the twisted soul throbbed violently. It spasmed, and his two severed arms disappeared in a flash of light and flames, not unlike how Undead were claimed by a bonfire. They left behind the rings and bone gauntlets though, so whatever was happening, it wasn't exactly the same sort of reanimation.
The soul began to contort violently, bulging as countless faces appeared in the flames. Limbs started to grow from the First Flame's fragment as something tried to claw back from death.
Before anyone could act, a gold and ivory arrow lashed out from the shadows and impaled the god's soul. Stunned silence greeted the attack, and even the monstrous soul seemed surprised before emitting a mind numbing cry.
With a vile shriek that made everyone's head pound, the throbbing mass of energy twisted and contorted before imploding. Naught was left but a scorch mark on the floor.
"…Yes, I would say so," Gordin said with a chuckle as the shock wore off. "So, who shot that arrow?"
When no one spoke up, Gordin frowned. He looked about, but everyone seemed as confused as him. He walked over and picked up the arrow, or what was left of it.
From the shape of it, the projectile resembled a golden needle crossed with a sun motif.
"Well, alright then. Commander Targey, Commander Saulden, I believe this is our victory."
"We're going to have words about you keeping certain secret's from us," Targey vowed, and the assembled Forossan's shuffled awkwardly.
"But for now, it is indeed our victory," Saulden said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let us inform the troops."
"Do you ever feel really useless, and that you could be doing more?" Erik asked Benhart as he helped the knight to his feet while the Blue Sentinels exited the arena.
"I have, recently," the Jugonan admitted.
"Oh. Well then. Let's grab Vengarl and leave this place." The chef and knight hobbled over to the charred titan and helped him to his feet. As they all left though, none noticed the feminine figure clad in brass armor that watched them leave.