When it comes to the most basic, most primal, most fundamental and most instinctive emotions, fear generally overshadows everything else. Of course, everyone feels fear, everyone knows what it is like. To call fear the first emotion is to try and put a tidy little flag on the pinnacle of the mountain that is human experience. Fear is simply the most aggressive in its takeover of the human mind and it is the most negative. There is a grandiosity in simply rejecting fear, even though most of the time fear appears for good reason. A man may boast of walking the cliff’s edge and conquering his fear, yet the best way to avoid falling to one’s doom is to listen to instinctive fear and stay away from the edge.

This same pattern is demonstrated in all facets of stupidity, we praise the man who stared a wolf down and forced the beast to flinch, yet we do not talk of the dozen before him that fed the wolf’s belly. And just as in the case of the cliff, the best way to deal with this scenario of looking into a wolf’s eyes is to simply listen to fear and avoid it. Fear, as said before, is the most negative of human emotions. There is an inherent want to kick it away and overcome the state. In this case it is similar to Love, for it is only from Love and from Fear can a man be freed. There is no aspiration that is equivalent as “Freedom from happiness”.

Yet there are other emotions that are just as consuming and just as primal as Fear. In some cases, they are far more destructive than Fear too, for Fear shuts down and immobilizes and wipes away all traces of thought. There are emotions that would make one move entire mountains as they wade through rivers of blood.

It may be rare, but Loyalty is one such trait. It is such an absolute, unquestionable facet of existence that even dogs know the value of loyalty.

– Excerpt from “To Pick Apart A Man”, written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

Aslana opened her eyes to a human Cleric laying hands on her bare stomach. She looked down at the man, her silver eyes narrowed, she was about to take a deep breath, and then she felt herself convulse as if an anvil had been dropped from the sky straight into her abdomen. The Cleric, in the standard issue grey uniform of the Second Expedition, was only identifiable by the band of Kavaa’s green around his arm and a ribbon of the same colour which went around his cap.

Aslana looked down at herself and saw that they had not stripped her down, her clothes had been torn apart by the fight. Another Cleric, in the exact same uniform, had his hands on the calf of her leg. In there, Aslana just felt a minor stinging as muscle’s sinew wrapped and twisted around itself. “Is it over?” Aslana asked and both Clerics looked up to see her as Aslana rolled her head from side to side. She was outside, there were more wounded around her, more men in grey suits with green bands on their arms and ribbons in their caps kneeling over them. And behind them, men had dour expressions as they sat about aimlessly and didn’t do much of anything.

“They retreated, Goddess.” The Cleric closer to her said. Aslana had been in this situation too many times not to be able to read the signs. The words were too quick and the reply came too quickly. The man didn’t look up at her and there had been a pause between the answer and her title. Something was off.

“What about Labrys?” Aslana asked. Please say it wasn’t her. Labrys was annoying and crude and uncultured, but Labrys was still Labrys. Aslana was the first Weapon Divine and Labrys the second. They had their differences, but…

“Goddess Labrys is awake.” The Cleric answered just as quickly. “Her wound was heavier than yours, we had more Clerics on her.” Oh. Then… If not Labrys. And if Aslana had awoken not in chains. Then… Aslana’s face went pale she realised the worst case scenario of what could have happened. It couldn’t be…

But then if not that, then what? “And Kassandora?” Aslana asked and knew the answer would be terrible the moment she saw expressions darken and the Clerics share glances. There was a good ten seconds of silence before the first Cleric replied once again. “It’s her, isn’t it?” Aslana asked as she sat up. Her wounds had been closed by the Clerics enough that she could let her own natural healing take over at this point. She started to button up her white shirt which had spots of red crimson blood. Her own most likely.

“Goddess Kassandora got taken away. She fought well.” The Cleric replied and stood up. “We have more wounded to attend to Goddess. Excuse us.”

It was obvious that they did not want to keep talking or answering questions. Aslana was not the sort of Divine to keep them here. Neither did she really want to have a nice chat about anything considering what she had just heard. “You’re excused.” The two Clerics made tiny bows of their heads, stood up, and left to heal more of the wounded. Aslana’s eyes followed them for a moment. She looked over the defeated camp.

That was the only way to truly describe it. Soldiers that were wounded lay in long rows on bare stone, their wounds bandaged to stall death’s slow creep for just long enough for the Clerics to truly save them. Men had their limbs bandaged, and then when the bandages had ran out, men had their limbs cauterized with hot irons to stem the bleeding. Clerics closed holes and erased scars and regrew limbs, but there were only two dozen of Kavaa’s blessed down here and, from what it looked like, more than a thousand wounded.

Yet wounded were after every battle. It was from the survivors and those who had already been healed that Aslana could see the battle had been lost. Men who had been saved from drowning in their own blood immediately went to drowning themselves in drink. They sat back to back doing nothing in particular. Inspecting the glass on their bottles, the freshly pink that always remained after healing or the scratches in stone. Men who smoked and watch the smoke rise from their cigarettes with empty eyes and groups of soldiers who sat in empty circles together. Men who wandered out to the edge of the lights and strolled aimlessly to nowhere.

It was nothing like the crass festivities that celebrated all the joys of life itself after victory. Instead, the men looked like they were attending victory’s funeral. Aslana could not find Labrys and she was not about to start wandering around here. What was she to do? She wasn’t a commander. She was just the Goddess of the Sword, even in the past, she would simply get attached to armies in preparation for major battles. So she let herself fall backwards and lie down on the cold stone. Aslana stared up at what should be the grey ceiling of stone here, but all her eyes found was just darkness. The huge spotlights that illuminated the underground Highway from top to bottom had been destroyed during the battle. She wanted that darkness to come crashing down on her. She had lost Kassandora. What was there to do exactly? She had lost Kassandora.

Her life was over.

She may as well die. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novᴇlfire.net

Arascus would execute her, of course, as he should frankly. She was a bodyguard who had been left standing. And frankly, his execution was a better prospect for the future than being made to live disgraced in the Empire. What would she be remembered as? Aslana? Goddess of the Sword, such a grand fighter that she let the Goddess of War be stolen? Her life was over. Aslana sighed heavily and ran a hand down her shirt to pat her smooth stomach, the skin still fresh and pink where it had just been regrown. It shouldn’t be like this. It should be Kassandora lying here, after a battle, and it should have been Aslana who was taken away.

It should have been Aslana who had died to make sure that Kassandora was lying here. Better to be remembered in heroic memory than to die reduced to honourless waste. Aslana did not know how long she there. She simply laid down and rotted. How would the history books remember her? The glorious Goddess of War had disappeared under Aslana’s wing. Or would she even be remembered? Would she just be an offhand mention? Just a note at the bottom of Kassandora’s obituary? ‘In the final battle, Labrys and Aslana were also present.’ Did she even deserve that much?

Aslana smiled to herself as she let her rotting thoughts take her to all the places she needed to go. There was a certain warmth in self-flagellation. Even if it was meaningless, at least it was something. Some people had the ability to just switch off, sit and stare into space. Aslana was not that unfortunately. Right now, self-flagellation was all she had so it was all she would do. Her smile dropped when she saw headlight beams light up the ceiling high above her. It was stone with inklings of gold within it. She had heard Kassandora talk of Mammon. She remembered the man-with-gold-for-eyes back from the Great War. And she wondered if she was being watched now. Is that why Furcas knew where to hit to take Kassandora? Is that why he was so confident as to reveal himself in the first place?

It was a question she could only ponder though. Aslana knew she would not work out the answer even if she was smart enough to work out the question, so she simply did not bother. She heard the rumbling of engines and of boots marching and of hooves. Aslana did not bother looking up to see the reinforcements that had arrived too late. She heard men get up and give salutes, but all she thought was which Divine would come to free her from this suffering with a judgement. It didn’t matter what the judgement was, whether death or exile or forgiveness, any judgement cast by another would be better than the suffering brought on by oneself.

Unfortunately though, it was none of Arascus’ cohort. None of his Daughter-Goddesses and none of Kassandora’s generals, whether ancient elf or young human, so it was no one who was worthy to judge Aslana. The Goddess of the Sword’s face immediately soured, she felt her lips twist low and her eyebrows dart downwards, close to her squinting eyes as she looked up at a face she knew so very well.

Pridwen, God of the Shield. Tall and broad, far, far, far larger than Aslana, although much slower. The man came clad in simple steel plate and he had that soft, comforting face. Frankly, Aslana did not even dislike him unlike with Labrys. They made a good pair, there had even jokes in the Great War that they should marry. But now was not the time, and now, Pridwen’s comforting face was not the face Aslana wanted to see. The tired old blade had to finally be sheathed and not drawn again. Fighting against Furcas was not a battle they could win. Pridwen spoke in a terribly low, terribly slow and terribly calm tone. If a fat bumblebee was the size of a mountain, it would speak like the God of the Shield. “Have you finally grown dull Aslana? Is this what you’ve been reduced to?” He asked and gestured to the Goddess lying in torn clothes on her back.

“Do you know what has happened Pridwen?”

“Word travels fast. I do.”

“Then you should know why I’ve decided the best course of action is to lie down and rot.” Aslana replied.

“You’ve lost Kassandora Aslana. I know. I heard. We got told. That’s why I’m here.” Aslana could not take it. She snapped to Pridwen in the same she would snap to Labrys, even though she knew that the God of the Shield did not deserve it.

“What are you even doing here? Have you come here to just tell me off? To pretend it’s going to be fine? Aren’t you supposed to guard Fer? Go do your job old man.” Aslana snapped back. For a moment, Aslana saw anger and annoyance flash across his face. The seemingly unflappable giant looked down at Aslana for a moment, then he sighed and shook his head slowly.

Pridwen replied in that terribly calm, terribly monotone and ever-unchanging voice he always had. “I am guarding Fer.” The worst part was that he did not even bring up the fact Aslana was a few years older than him after being called an old man. But as Aslana’s eyes readjusted to the light, she finally realised what the army trotting past them was. Men that were not men. Men with the heads of wolves and goats and bulls. Men with horns that curled like crowns around their heads. Men who exchanged clothes for fur. Men whose weapons were tipped with heavy bayonets that resembled axe and cleaver. Men with beady red eyes that could give little children nightmares. Men whose jagged teeth spilled out from their maws. Men almost as large as Aslana and as wide as Pridwen, that wielded guns meant to be stuck on the back of vehicles, and men that on top of trucks and tanks, all adorned with their own feral insignias of animal heads and animal claws and animal skulls.

No. Army was not the correct word. Aslana had seen this before, although it was something she did not think would return. An army was something for humans and elves and even Divines. Animals that marched in formation belonged to something more primal: Warherd.

Pridwen saw Aslana looking. “Get up Aslana. Find a Godwielder, our work isn’t done.” Aslana finally stood up. Pridwen was larger than her easily, his shoulder were thrice as wide as hers, but she, rather proudly had a finger on him in terms of sheer height. Aslana looked over the heads of the mortals and the Clerics that were standing to look up at the herd. And at the very front was the leader of the pack. A giant mountain of a shaggy gold mane that looked like cloak. She was hunched over and swaying from side to side, her head turning from side to side as she kept an inhuman pace for the warriors behind her.

That mountain of golden hair that looked up and sniffed the air. She looked around. For a moment, those golden vulpine eyes crossed Aslana’s. And the Goddess of Sword felt a freezing blast of lightning shoot down her spine. It was Fer, but it was not the Fer that Aslana had seen above in Epa. Not the cheerful giant with small fangs glinted in the light and promised some cheeky joke.

It was Fer, but it was the Fer that Aslana remembered from a thousand year’s past. The monster that would walk through knee-deep ponds of blood she herself spilled. She had a thousand titles, but only one was truly needed. It summed up the Goddess in her entirety. There was no need to read into things, or try to search for a light in the darkness. Aslana had stared into Fer’s eyes for a moment, and she saw no light in them whatsoever.

The Goddess of Beasthood was back.

Fer took a step forward.

Fer smelled her sister’s blood.

And Fer saw red.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep