Chapter 683 - The Power of a God

The demon begged.

He pleaded.

He promised Zeke the world. 

But it all fell on deaf ears as [Pantheon] ripped the once-haughty thing apart, bit by bit, until even his screams receded into nothing.  All the while, Zeke watched impassively.  He could have ended it sooner.  His minions only carried with them a fraction of his power.  And yet, he never made that move.  Instead, he just watched.  He waited.  And when the demon died, he felt a sense of deep satisfaction. 

Was that because he held some enmity for demonkind?  Likely.  After all, Zeke’s experiences with the creatures had never been positive.  Going back as far as he could remember, they had alternated between attempting to kill and torture him.  The only positive interaction with a demon was with Eveline, and she didn’t really count. 

“I think you might just be making excuses,” she said.

Zeke shrugged.  “Maybe,” he admitted.  Watching the demon die had been cathartic, but it was only part of a much larger whole that had begun with his assault on the lake monsters. 

He glanced back, seeing that the waters had begun to seep back into place.  The monsters were still dead, though.  And they would not return. 

“He was a lesser god, wasn’t he?” Zeke asked. 

“I think that’s a safe assumption.  I’m not certain of anything beyond that,” Eveline admitted.  “He might have been the weakest lesser god.  Or he might have been on the verge of stepping into a new realm.  There’s no way to tell.”

“He was past level two-hundred,” Zeke stated. 

She gave a mental frown.  “I have no context for what that means,” she stated.  “Sure, it’s higher than you were. A lot higher.  But I think you banked kill energy from your experiences in the pit.  If you didn’t…”

Zeke understood the implication.  He was freshly ascended – or descended, he supposed – and he’d just killed someone who’d been there for quite a while.  How powerful would he be after he had the chance to progress?  What would he become once he reached the pinnacle of his power?

It was a good question, but when he looked at his status, he saw that despite the number of kills he had piled up, it had not changed.  He felt that he’d made a little progress, but only when the lesser god had died. 

Perhaps there was a clue there.

“You think it has something to do with divine energy?” Eveline asked.

“I do,” he answered aloud.  “Oberon said I’d have to kill them all if I wanted to ascend to The End.  I think he meant that that was the only way I’d gain enough kill energy – or divine energy, I guess – to make any progress.”

“Oberon, eh?” came a new voice. 

Elijah whipped around, but he couldn’t find the owner.  “Who’s there?” he demanded.

“I should have known that meddlesome dwarf was behind this.  He sent you here, did he not?” came the voice once again, but it was entirely disembodied.  Zeke couldn’t discern the source.  So he didn’t even try.

Instead, he focused on preparing for the attack he knew was coming.  In the meantime, he said, “No one sent me here.  This is just where I climbed out of the pit.”

“Oh, how delightful.  You’re one of those.  I never expected one of you to be so strong!” the voice echoed.  Zeke focused every ounce of his being on determining where it originated.

Then, he pinpointed a location about forty yards away.  There were others nearby – almost like the speaker was using a skill to echo the voice – but they were little more than shadows. 

Zeke turned to the speaker.  “Who are you?” he demanded.  “What do you want?”

“You come into my home and demand answers?” the voice asked, suddenly shimmering into view.  He was a slight figure.  Average height for a human, unless Zeke was missing something.  Sure, he had horns, and his skin was demonically red, but otherwise, he looked fairly normal.  Especially since he was wearing what appeared to be a white suit. 

“Mak’tar,” Zeke guessed.

“Guilty,” the greater god replied, spreading his arms out wide.  “As are you, Ezekiel Blackwood.  Don’t think that your presence was unnoticed.  I have been watching you since the very beginning.  Out of respect, I allowed you your freedom – and how do you repay me?  By destroying my favorite children.”

Zeke glanced back at the lake.  “Must’ve been the black sheep of the family.  I could see why you’d have a soft spot for them, I guess.  Pity does strange things.”

“Funny,” Mak’tar breathed, that same broad smile still plastered on his face.  With his slicked-back hair, it made him look like a used car salesman.  Or a petty gangster.  “Insulting my children will not earn you lenience, little god.”

“God?” Zeke asked.  “I think you have me confused with someone else.  I am no god.”

“Little ‘g’,” said an annoyed Mak’tar.  “You mortals and your silly notions about deification.  You don’t –”

“I don’t think you understand what I was saying.  I am not a god.  I am more.”

Mak’tar glared at him, probably for interrupting.  Then, he said, “So it’s hubris, then?  You believe because you overcame a few minor challenges in the pit, you are more than a god?”

Zeke couldn’t help it.

He let out a laugh.  In his titanic form, it likely made for an extremely disconcerting sight, considering his face didn’t move at all.  His voice was changed as well, sounding more like grinding rocks during an avalanche than anything that might come from a human’s throat. 

“You think this is funny?” demanded Mak’tar, clearly irritated.

Zeke took a deep breath.  “A little,” he admitted.  “I have killed gods before.”

“I am aware of what you did to Kalix.”

“Oh, he wasn’t my first.”

“But you said you only just climbed from the pit,” Mak’tar said. 

“It was in the pit,” Zeke said, stepping forward.  He let his titanic form fall away.  As it did, his hammer returned to its normal size.  However, the look of it remained the same – like a geode stuck to the end of an inscribed bone.  Only the barest hint of its former shape remained.  “I slaughtered the god of greed.  I killed the king of Hell.  I defeated countless enemies of the course of thousands of years.  I am the lone survivor of Valhalla.”

By that point, he was face-to-face with Mak’tar.  Up close the demon looked even slimier than he had from afar.  “Test me at your own peril.”

Zeke felt it before he saw even the slightest twitch from the greater god.  So, he didn’t hesitate to let loose with [Eye of Judgement].  The world went white, and the illusion flickered.  When Zeke’s vision returned, Mak’tar was no longer there.

Instead, the demon was miles away – a charred husk of a figure. 

But he wasn’t dead.

Zeke used [Unfettered Truth], and a deluge of information slammed into his mind.  He couldn’t make sense of any of it, but thankfully, he had a resident mind spirit to pick up the slack.

“Level three-hundred and thirty,” she said.  “I don’t speak his language, but I think his class name roughly translates to swashbuckler.  Or brigand, perhaps.  It’s difficult to make sense of all this information.”

“That’s enough,” Zeke said, striding toward the fallen god.

By that point, Mak’tar had begun to rise.  The charred remnants of his white suit drifted away to reveal that his skin wasn’t much better off.  However, a surge of divine energy enveloped him, and after only a few seconds, he returned to normal.  He was only naked for a brief moment before white light flashed, cladding him in an identical suit. 

“You dare?” he growled, summoning a pair of blades to hand.  They glowed with malevolent fury. 

Then, he disappeared.

A second later, Zeke felt two blades erupt from his chest in a shower of blood, bone, and gore.  A foot connected with his back a moment after that, and suddenly, he was face-down on the ground.  Another dozen stabs hit him within the next second, followed by a pinch in his neck. 

That’s when Zeke felt his awareness rolling away.  He couldn’t move at all, and when he came to a stop, he saw his own decapitated body lying on the ground a few feet away.  Mak’tar stood over him like a triumphant hero.

If Zeke hadn’t been the one who’d just had his head severed, he might have admired the audacity of the pose.  After all, Mak’tar was an unabashed demon who presided over a city where torture and enslavement was normal.  Sure, he hid it all behind a clever illusion, but that didn’t change his city’s – or his own – nature. 

As it was, Zeke simply pulsed [Hand of Creation]. 

The skill didn’t simply grow him a new body.  Nor did it create a new head and transfer his consciousness.  Instead, divine energy erupted from his body, throwing Mak’tar aside like a ragdoll.  He skipped across the ground, not stopping for a couple hundred yards.  Meanwhile, Zeke’s body hovered off the ground and floated towards his severed head.  A second later, the two pieces were reunited.

He picked himself up, then flexed his shoulders.  As Mak’tar gathered himself and approached, Zeke cracked his neck. 

“That’s all you’ve got?” he called out.

The god roared in anger, then raced forward.  What followed was an evisceration in every sense of the word.  Zeke couldn’t even begin to track Mak’tar’s movements.  He could barely even perceive his presence.  The only indicator that he was there was the fact that Zeke was continuously cut to pieces.  Limbs and hunks of meat went flying in every direction.  Intestines flopped to the ground, and bits Zeke definitely didn’t want to part with were thrown aside.

Yet, he only needed to maintain [Hand of Creation] – and not even at full power – to mend whatever damage the major god inflicted upon him.  Idly, Zeke considered just how frustrating it had to be for Mak’tar. 

More, he couldn’t deny his own irritation.  Despite all his strength and power, he was completely incapable of stopping the god from doing whatever he wanted.

So, he needed a counter.

Thankfully, he had the perfect skill for that.  Just as Mak’tar’s fury ramped up, Zeke embraced [Vengeance]. 

The god cried out in agony as the damage of his attacks were revisited upon him tenfold.  And suddenly, Zeke had a moment of peace.  [Hand of Creation] healed him, mending broken bones and rent flesh as he focused on the staggered demon god. 

For the second time in recent hours, he embraced [Steps of Creation]. 

Divine energy flooded out of him, and the world stood still.  He stepped forward, his hand snapping out.  The second he made contact, the demon shattered and was unmade.  However, a pulse of competing divine energy slammed against [Steps of Creation] and remade Mak’tar.

Zeke didn’t stop, though.  Dismissing Voromir, he pulled his fist back, then brought it down in a hammer punch that splintered reality.  The ground for miles in every direction split into a million cracks as a the earth exploded beneath him.  He fell into a crater, but he barely acknowledged it.  Instead, he punched the demonic god again.  Then again after that.  Each blow destroyed a part of Mak’tar’s very essence. 

But when [Steps of Creation] dissipated, the demonic god was still very much alive.  He lifted the semi-conscious Mak’tar with one hand.  A surge of ethera announced the activation of an ability, and suddenly, Zeke’s hand began to disintegrate.  Acting on reflex, he threw the figure with as much strength as he could muster.  Mak’tar hit the lip of the crater, flipped over the edge, then kept going for more than five miles.

Zeke leaped from the crater to see him still skipping across the land. 

But again, he wasn’t dead yet.  So, without further hesitation, he decided to use the one ability he’d not used yet.

He raised his hand, then closed his fist as he activated [Primordial Wrath]. 

And the world broke.