Loss and Sacrifice

and the face managed to recompose itself. “You are lucky. At least you get to leave. All I have to look forward to, is death. And you are going to help me with that, are you not, Lung Tian Tse? Because if you do not, you are going to suffer eternally.”

  “You forget,” Altian replied fearlessly. “I already suffer. I am not afraid to die.”

  “Well, then. Let us see how true that is...”

  The face exploded outwards, transforming into a long black tendril that shot through the air and struck into Altian’s chest. The buzzing began again, and the cloud began to cut its way through his armour, to his heart. Altian punched at the cloud with his left hand, but his blows passed impotently through the intangible mass.

  His robe was cut away, and his leather armour worn to nothing. The cloud held him in place as he struggled, and finally began cutting through his flesh and bone. He could feel it removing his skin, grinding away his ribcage. Then it felt like an icy hand had gripped his heart.

  And he could feel it. The Shen-Xin. Its energy and power flowing through the disillusioned Guardian and into him. He could feel its wants and desires, to be free of the Otherworld, to be taken in by someone worthy. To be gone from its prison and its insane warder.

  It showed him the things it could do. Immortality was nothing. This was the heart of a greater being, a greater creature. A god. It could level whole lands with a sweep of a hand. It could send the heavens tumbling. It could open portals to other worlds, better worlds.

  And it showed him other things. The Lok’Chang in the courtyard, fighting and now losing, decimated and dying. Altian could see the General lying fallen by the portal, his sword still gripped tight in his fist, his mouth opened as if he had died in the middle of issuing an order.

  Then it showed him visions from another world. His world. The throne room of the Emperor appeared, and before him the Emperor gave the orders for the destruction of an entire village who refused to build a monument to him. He gave the order dismissively, as he was far more interested in the dancing girls he would have perform and then killed for his pleasure.

  Finally came the vision of a lavish bed chamber. A beautiful young woman stared longingly out of the window, as heavy footsteps of her husband drew closer.

  The Shen-Xin could help him. It could undo all of the injustices and set right the world. All it needed was the proper hand to wield it. A worthy hand. A righteous hand. Altian’s hand. And if he no longer had one, that was unimportant, the Shen-Xin could give him a new one, a better one. It was a god after all. A god could create anything.

  The vision disappeared, and the face reformed in the cloud over his own.

  “Take it!” the Guardian screamed, mad and shrill. “Take it, you fool! TAKE IT!”

  Altian felt the cold touch of the Shen-Xin against his heart, and saw the long, empty black abyss that beckoned him.

  And he took it.

  The guardian screamed, and tore Altian’s heart to mush. He felt the coldness fill the now empty cavity in his chest, and then there was only darkness.

  Time was irrelevant in the Otherworld. No day, and no night. No concept to mark its passing, and nothing to note its presence.

  But now, something was happening. The blood red sky was going dark, and for the first time ever, small pin pricks of light began to appear. Night had finally arrived in the Hae’Darak, for the first and last time ever.

  The volcano began to rumble. Quietly at first, then with enough force to cause the fortress to crumble. Lava spewed higher and higher, threatening to envelope the ruined building above.

  In the tallest tower, Altian pushed on the door. It fell into splinters at his touch. He emerged from the chamber and stood at the top of the long winding stairs. The ragged remains of his robe were pulled like a makeshift cloak over his right side, to hide his arm. The hole in his armour revealed sore red flesh over his heart, but even now that was beginning to heal and return to its natural colour.

  Altian walked down slowly, noting remorsefully the five bodies of his men lying slain on the steps. About them were the crumbled remains of the creatures that had chased them.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, and respectfully stepped around them.

  He made his way slowly through the fortress, ignoring the tremors and the shaking walls, the tumbling bricks and falling stones of masonry. The fortress would fall, but he would be long gone when it did.

  He emerged back out into the courtyard, and looked at the dark sky and the stars that came out. It was just like the sky he remembered from his youth. He gave a small smile, and made his way to where the Lok’Chang had made its greatest stand.

  The portal was gone, but evidence of its existence was littered all about. The bodies of the enemy, and of the Lok’Chang were everywhere. Altian recognised many of them. The General was exactly as his vision had shown him, with his mouth wide and his sword in hand. A warrior and leader even in death.

  “I am sorry,” he told the dead.

  “Altian?”

  He turned, and saw ten men approaching, all with the red mark of the damned on their faces. He smiled for the first time in a long time. The men were wounded, but they would survive. Altian would see to that.

  “Thank the gods,” one of the men exclaimed. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Are you all that is left?”

  The man nodded solemnly. “The enemy left little wounded.”

  Altian breathed out deeply. If he could not do right by all, then he could do right by these men.

  “Did you find it?” another man asked.

  Altian nodded. Under his robe, something shifted unnaturally.

  “Can we go home?”

  Without reply, Altian walked to the raised platform, being careful to avoid stepping on the bodies of his lost companions. He stepped onto the platform and held up his left hand to the open air. The air before him contorted as unseen forces pulled space into itself. Reality was sucked inward, and a black portal was torn open.

  “This will take you home,” he told them.

  The men grinned at one another. And jumped up onto the platform as fast as their wounds would allow.

  “Stop!”

  The men halted in their tracks before the portal, and spun around in fear. Altian looked back calmly and regarded the speaker with interest. The Archangel Illociah limped painfully into the courtyard. Its left wing hung limp from its back, and dragged across the ground behind it. One of its eyes lolled uselessly in its socket. Glowing blood dripped from the many wounds inflicted on it, and left a bright trail of light in its wake.

  “Stop,” the angel said again. “You cannot leave this place.”

  Altian turned back to the men. “Ignore him. Go.”

  The men exchange glances, and then one by one stepped into the portal and disappeared. The last one paused and thanked him, and then was gone.

  Altian and the angel faced each other as another tremor rocked the fortress.

  “You should leave too,” Altian told it.

  “You should not leave at all,” the angel spat angrily. “You know what it is you have. How can you allow it escape?”

  “Look about you, angel. This world is about to end. It will disappear into the dark from which it was born. And I have made a promise that if possible I would avoid dying in this place.”

  “But to take it with you...” the angel looked desperate. “Do you not know what it is?”

  “Yes. It is the heart of a god, cut from his body when he plagued the earth aeons ago. It harbours his power, and his spirit.”

  “Not a god,” the angel replied. “A demon. A monster.”

  “What is the difference?” Altian replied. “To an ant hill, the farmer who stands above with a raised shovel is a god, with the power to spare, or to destroy. It was a creature of great power. Its species makes no difference. But now it is diminished, its form lost, its twisted soul melded with mine. I can only hope that I can contain its power better than my predecessor.”

  “You stil
l do not understand,” the angel shook his head. “There are others, buried beneath the earth of your world. They sleep, and they wait. They wait for their master to return so that he might lead them again.”

  “The Shen-Xin?”

  “Yes. It belonged to the master of all monsters.”

  “Well,” Altian said. “I promise I will try not to destroy the world. After all, there are parts of it I quite like.” He paused. To his own ears, his voice sounded too much like that of the Guardian for comfort. Under his robe, the thing that was his new arm stirred violently, almost in excitement. “I will control it,” he said with conviction. The movement stopped.

  “No one can control it. Not even an angel.” Illociah lowered its head. “What will you do with it then? Will you give it to the Emperor?”

  “I was never, even before, planning to do that.”

  “Then you will keep it for yourself?”

  “Only for the rest of my life,” Altian replied. He turned away, but paused before he went through the portal. He looked to the horizon, and the sky began to brighten once more. The stars disappeared, and the dark night vanished with the coming of day.

  “One last dawn,” Altian explained to the confused angel. “For those that did survive.“ Then he turned, and stepped into the portal, to return to the world that was no longer his.

  And behind him the world ended.

  Also by Andrew Day

  The Hollow

  Everyone has their reasons for joining the Imperial Legion. Some seek fame. Some are just running from something. You sign the