Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 41

The chaotic wave of sorcery swept Xenro several paces forward, sending him staggering across the scorched plains of the Realm of the Dead. His heels dug deep into volcanic ash as he regained his balance. Before he could completely register what had just happened, the portal behind him dissolved into air, and he was alone on the stormy plains, with no route of escape in sight. He had left the mortal-- Farren, far behind.

The first thing he felt upon stepping into Draedona's realm was the twinge of regret.

I should not have left her there.

In their chaos-ridden lives, with hurdles to overcome at every corner, mortals might blurt out things they did not mean. Had the thousands of years of his life taught him no patience? He should have accompanied her, should have tried to see the reason behind her fear, but instead he left her there.

He had not kept his word. One step out of his confinement, he had saved the life of one mortal but put another in danger.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Draedona's realm was not supposed to be in such turmoil, as it was now. Something had gone horribly wrong.

Usually, the Realm of the Dead welcomed him with neither apprehension, nor trepidation, but a soothing calm.

Aye, Death was an old friend, for she was always at the end of each of his tales he'd lived through in the Mortal Realm. When he walked those mortal lands, he had made friends, fallen in love... and outlived them all, time and again. Those stories may have started differently each, but Draedona always drew the concluding line, taking his loved ones from him, away to her melancholy realm.

Xenro used to be angry, at first.

Yet in her actions there never was any malice, only adherence to an undeniable law of nature: mortality. When the pain of parting would afflict Xenro, she would reassure him.

"I cannot ever go against the rules of nature, but in my realm, I shall keep all safe. I will hold their hands and guide them to the Golden Gates. In my realm, I am equal to all."

And she had truly upheld her principle of equality in all places. Even if Father resented Xenro for not being able to make himself into the weapon of destruction he wanted him to be, even if other immortals had turned their back to him, Draedona never had been one of them. The doors of her realm remained forever open, her voice ever so kind.

But now, something terrible had sunk its claws in her peaceful realm. The souls of the dead were safe no longer.

Around him, an ash storm howled and raged, the parched land of Draedona's realm ravaged beneath its onslaught. Corrupt sorcery rode the turgid air, making it difficult to breathe without one's lungs burning.

Shielding his eyes with his arm, Xenro struggled to make his way across, but every direction, the land looked the same. Cracked plains stretched out all around him, black trees swaying in the far horizons. The sky above swirled a murky red. Then realization struck him like an iron fist.

This is no ordinary ash storm!

There in the storm wailed voices, pleading to be set free from this agony, crying in vain for the gates to open. Those were not winds, but a turbulence of souls more than the realm could hold. The Realm of The Dead was overencumbered with dead souls who could not pass on-- and more and more dead were adding up.

Who had closed all the gates?

Xenro gathered his sorcery, and tried to conjure one of the many Golden Gates into existence, but magic did not seem to work the way it should in the realm which in itself was distorted.