Something moved in the darkness. Into the light, a leg the size of ten men, stone, fissured with uncrossed lines. Dread came, and he banished it. Not now. A God must stand.
Yet, the creature cared little for his thoughts. It came. A massive thing, waxen, three-eyed. Like a man, naked, but encased in a skin of cracked stone. Length, 16 meters, two pairs of stone wings sprouted from the back. It was a monster. Silent, cold gazed, but a reaper of death. Surely. And it came for him. It came for his people.
Slowly, it lifted the stone hand, an axe, blood-edged, ready to descend. This would turn them into paste. Ended in moments.
It fell, and Merrin marshaled the wind. A boom echoed, and the cleaver was solid against a red, brown spiraling threadway. It was a net of color above them, doming, protection for his people.
Wind force surged into mad solidity. Below, he knelt, arm pressed against the cupola of air, red, brown, black. All colors of the stained chamber. Defending. The axe was inches from him, webbed against by the wind. And the creature of stone remained, thrusting the axe.
Again, it reared the mincer, largo, falling with a harder force. Into the web of wind—a sound like a clap ringing through. Powerful. Merrin grunted, sweat steaming off his skin. I am god, he thought the words as a mantra, but consequential awareness remained.
What happened now was a layering of illusions. As his people, he now must become what they believe!
White light burned from him—lulling strength, legs rotting hard on the earth. Screaming, his mouth was a wide gape, throat burning as the roar was forced out. I am God! The wind erupted, slamming the creature over the wall, reeling it.
Merrin turned to his people, Ron was among them, cradling the leg-damaged Catelyn. She gasped, blood dripping off the leg. Alive, regardless. Good.
"Run!" He shouted, voice, wind accrued. All heard it; they turned, a path, like a dark tear across the chamber's walls, birthed from the emergence of the creature. Now it was the course to safety. They moved, limping, running. The heat grew.
Who is coming?
The stone titan severed from the collided wall, axe in hand, wind barrier unprepared. Mist it. Merrin dashed forward. The creature plodded, rock shedding from its form. Like boulders, prime at reaping.
He rolled, one smashing into the earth. Almost. The wind pushed against him. Into the sky, flying. In moments, he scaled the creature's legs. Easy. Fissures like bumps, made simple. Fingers grabbed onto one, he panted, his form like an insect against a colossal god.
I am god! He sang and danced over the body of the creature. Like a mountain, the beast did not know how well he enjoyed it. Then, he leaped, cutting through the air, channeled the wind, and stormed it against the monster. A bang, and he was thrown back, cushioned in moments by air, rolling against the earth.
A glance and his people still ran. Into the dark scar, vanishing into the unknown nothing. More time, he thought. I need to give them more time. So he stood. Breath like lava, skin stinging, steaming, sizzling. Sound evident. He was a thing boiled alive. I am god…The words reverberated weakly, as he was.
But he stood…this was the thing he must always do; stand. Regardless of the enervation, regardless of the fragility, he must rise. He was a different creature now—everyone was. Beast or not, he must become the one who will never fall, for his people.
They watched him, and he felt their gaze against his back. Waiting patiently for what God was to do.
I—am—God!
Radiance spilled out from his form, a ring of light blurring behind his stained head. Brilliant. He stood and heard the distant rumbling, the heat rising across his pale skin. Awareness. Merrin heaved a breath, pointed at the stone titan, and said, "I give you over!"
Red burst through the wall, siding the titan. A fiery thing, consumed by dark red flames, bellowing smoke. It was a familiar dread. The Talemir. In a moment, it raised its dark sword, slashing through the stone titan. A giant hand crashing into the earth.
This must be what comes! He thought, knew the gamble. Ashman senses told of the approach, the noise told of where, and hope told of a clash between giants. And now, it was so. They fought like monsters; Fire against stone.
Let them fight. Let my people think this is what I did to save them. But let them be safe. A nod, and he turned, stopped: Something flowed into his awareness; a far gallop, then it neared, closed in. Merrin turned, and the wall behind smashed through with a thing, a creature, four-legged, glowing with an illusory white light.
It had a long-haired rider—a man, beautiful, majestic, clad in silvery white armor, hair white, a similar spear in hand. Radiant, shimmering with white dots floating about him.
He bellowed: "Auwale joins the Hunt!" And his creature smashed into the Talemir, sending it crashing into the wall, the titan too. A shockwave of sound and wind blew through the chamber.
Merrin was pried from his legs, tumbling over hard stone. Ear ringing. He gasped, queer dots floating across his vision. A groan escaped him, bones like solid stone, unmoving. Nerves aflame. Sheer agony.
Who is that? Vision shifted black to light—reality to darkness. Something flashed in the distance: white, red, grey, blended. Then there were the clads of metal, the whistle of sliced wind, and the furnace of rising heat. He staggered up and drew in humid breaths, head leading the slanted body. He must see. The bird had spoken of it: "He comes."
Was it him? This Auwale….A name written in the believed ancient stele. Who is he? Wind slammed hard, rolling him across the earth, head banging against stray stone. A wail exploded from him. Pain like a stone trapped in his skull. Even the sound became torment. Like a calamity, the chamber screamed in torture. But he stood, blood streaming down the head, over the shoulders, trailing the arm and dripping into charred soil, hissing.
He saw red; half sight of blurred scarlet, the other was sidely blackened. He was a suit, worn by pain. Ah, he couldn't scream. Now, it had become a luxury to do even that. Not that he should—eyes were upon him.
Oddly, his people remained at the mouth of the dark tear, watching, patient for what god was to do. Not seen, of course, but he knew their presence. There. A boom flooded the chamber, the earth quaking, legs wobbling.
Merrin wiped the blood, sight returning. Then a roar thundered in: "Auwale claims you today." And white burned mad, raying across the walls, nulling darkness. Cold, the light. Frostcold. Yet, calming. Like the other force. Was it so? The thought drifted into a forced serenity, heart calming, pounding with the slow breathing.
Mentation cleared, and he found himself standing, stunned, eyes locked on the tall figure, mounted on the white creature, spear in hand, tip burning with a radiant orb like a god of sorts. Auwale roared and launched the spear into the stone titan. All turned white—blinding. Sound like a hundred howls. War had come, and it had the form of a man.
Auwale.
Darkness returned, and the Titan stood, a hole in its stomach, stone dripping out. No scream, it tumbled, slanting against the high walls, pounding down like a fallen mountain. The earth quaked accordingly, and soot was thrown up. Then there was one.
The giant rav'zul, burning red with fumes of black smoke. A beast from the world below. Sword, black, brittle in hand, poised at a smaller form. A man, clad in silvery white armor, hair long, lambent white, astride on a waxen creature of the same color. He was adorned by swaying white servs, odd creatures, spear in hand, trained on the Talemir.
And he was off, riding across the earth, the beast's legs a blur of motion. Glass spear pointed ahead. To hunt; that was the singular echoed word. Merrin heard it within: Auwale hunts for a demon of fire. What is a prey of stone, hard, compared to that of fire, blazing? He knew now—this man was his savior. Memories surged.
At the first meeting of Flame and him, Auwale was there. He and his beast, saviors, both of them. And now, he stood again. Battling death for him. Deliberate or not, Merrin felt indebted—repayment, however, was a maddening thought. For now, he turned to his people and shouted, "This is Auwale of the Shaedoran. And he stands with God!"
He was unsure of what they heard—the booms alone seal out the sounds, but they turned, eyes wide, body trembling. They saw power now. Auwale, and they linked it to their god. Patterns within patterns.
The myth deepened.
Cracks tore through the face of the walls, fire blooming across the chamber. White flashes, a beastly roar, a howl, and a seismic bang. Merrin was thrown from his feet, and he stood, his people sprawled over the ground, unconscious. Ron remained, backing the conked Catelyn. But he steamed—ah, they all did.
This needs to end now! He knew to run, to free himself of this disaster. Let Auwale hunt alone, but then there was the myth. How strong would it become when his people see God standing by his soldier, battling as one?
A seductive outcome.