Theurgy: The Journey's Dawn (Book One)

Chapter 57 The Assault

Hephaestus had been moving for two straight weeks with only one thing on his perpetual mind.

He managed to see much of this world, virgin to the thought of gods. Yet still so familiar. He had come across men and creatures alike. All sorts of terrors were still plentiful in the crevices of the world. At least that much had not changed. But while these creatures and these men posed no suitable threat to his might, as he entered the frigid north and the blistering powers of winter, he could feel his power weaken. This body was so ill-suited. The pained voices of the burned-out soul he has captured cried out as its energies were drained, and his own presence faded. He will not last long without finding a new host, and he knows this. He knew it as soon as he emerged what he must do. He still has forged, he still had the fire, and he still had his hammer. If this mortal body should fail him soon, he shall create one of his own of the strongest of metals. And the new gods will know his wrath as he wreaked havoc upon men.

But that thought came back to him. Godslayers. The concept sickened him to his core. Even in the warring era, even upon armageddon when men acquired arms to decimate their own gods, not yet would such a word be created. Men given the power of gods is a heresy above unnatural or insulting. It was a threat to his very being. He carried the knowledge from this mortal he has gripped, what these so-called godslayers, who called themselves Theurgy, were capable of. But he has encountered one and was not at all impressed with what he had showcased. Perhaps these men of Theurgy were just like all other mortals then, as insignificant and only boasting false prowess they sorely lack. Well, he is sure he will find out. As he traveled, he knew he ould be followed and that those very same godslayers will try their once more to eliminate him before he reaches his forge and regains even a sliver of his power.

This land of eternal winter, the mortals know it as Frostland, holds ancient powers. As ancient as his own. He felt as if he was stepping into the territory of something else, yet it did not respond to him, so he kept moving. He shall not be impeded. The very land morphed and shifted under his presence. The snows melted and ice shattered. The wild creatures fled as the bare earth long-hidden was revealed. The scattered forests groaned in protest. As a god, the world responded as if he was its focal. And he drew ever closer to his end goal. But the further in he went; still, he felt power leave him. He was a leaking bucket, with no way to patch his holes now. And he was as vulnerable as he ever could be. So when he entered a very peculiar area, he knew something was wrong when he saw it.

The landscape suddenly shifted, the trees no longer plentiful, and opened into this extreme environment. Spires of what appeared the be rock and ice seemed to sprout from the ground, and the strong winter winds dashed through them. Each was of immense size, at the very least fifty men across. Their jagged points stabbed the skies and loomed over the ground. Some even penetrated another at odd angles, creating a maze of structures with only one clear path along that was obviously carved out by intelligent hands. This is what stopped him in his tracks; there was something intelligent in their design and intention; he could sense it. And it bothered him. He felt the cold return in force, a wind billowing out from the heavens. His rocky skin barely felt it, but it was there. Power was clearly present here and refused to show itself.

"Why isn't he moving in?" Lyse whispered to himself behind one of the several pillars overlooking the entrance to this forest of ice spires. He could see the faint figure of the god, his black and ashy exterior making him stand out in the bare snow. He had felt him before he ever arrived. The pendants he carried, each of them screamed out at his appearance, and that surely did not help his nerves. He held his breath closed, only barely peaking around the ice pillar he hid behind. Hephaestus still did not move an inch, examining the pillars like they were a threatening beast. Did he know? Lyse looked across from him, on the other side of the path to where Edlund and Makyra also waited. They both looked pale, Makyra a bit paler than usual. They looked to him for some sort of signal, anything to allow the plan to go underway. Lyse signaled that the enemy has halted and wait for further instructions. They both looked apprehensive then. This is their only chance to stall him long enough. If they fail, they will be forced to race him to his destination and fight him on his own turf.