The Broken Halo

The God of War closed his right hand around the Chaos Blade’s hilt and lifted it.

Nothing happened.

Simon watched from the ground, one shallow breath catching against the wound in his chest. The god held the sword before him and turned it slightly, examining the black surface with open interest.

”A fine weapon,” he murmured. ”Even holding it tells me how well it receives energy.”

His thumb shifted against the hilt. The blade remained still, neither resisting his grip nor revealing anything more.

”No wonder my chosen’s weapon suffered.”

The interest in his expression deepened. Then his brows slowly drew together. He turned the sword once more, and something tightened beneath the skin of his wrist.

The god looked down.

His eyes widened, and he abruptly threw the Chaos Blade aside. It struck the road several paces from Simon and skidded through the dust.

”What is this?”

His voice had become cold.

Simon followed his gaze. Black lines ran beneath the fingers that had held the sword. They thickened through the back of the hand, spreading into the wrist along veins that were no longer their original colour.

He was not surprised.

The god had mistaken the sword’s silence for acceptance.

Black fire erupted from his palm. His fingers disappeared inside it, and the flames curled around his wrist before climbing his forearm, following the darkening veins beneath the skin.

The God of War’s expression hardened.

He drew upon Darius’s Elemental Blessing. Golden-white fire gathered over the burning hand, wrapping it tightly before pressing inward against the black flames.

For an instant, both colours occupied the same space.

Then the gold vanished.

The black fire climbed higher.

The god increased the pressure. Aether gathered around his forearm in a dense sleeve, attempting to contain the burning section and prevent anything from escaping it.

Dark cracks spread through the sleeve.

Simon felt heat stir within his own wrappings. He kept his remaining attention on the damaged wall of his Demon Heart and tried to heal his body as quickly as possible.

The god looked at the flames approaching his elbow, then flattened his left hand.

Chi!

One merciless cutting motion severed his right arm at the elbow.

Thud

The burning forearm struck the road. Its fingers curled against the stone before the black fire swallowed them completely.

For several breaths, both god and demon watched it burn.

’A shame...’

Simon had hoped for more. But the severed forearm belonged to the mortal body the god was occupying. The presence within that body had not weakened enough to offer him an opportunity to escape or defeat the god of war.

The god had nearly killed him with one hand.

He still possessed one.

Simon directed a thin current of demonic energy around another patch of foreign Aether. A torn vessel joined inside his chest, held briefly, then began leaking again.

He had gained time, and he hoped he could gain even more time.

The God of War raised his remaining hand toward the stump. Aether gathered, and flesh began forming below the severed joint. Pale strands reached downward, knitting around the first narrow shape of bone.

Then blackness appeared within them.

The new tissue shrivelled and fell apart.

The god went still.

He tried again, this time gathering the Aether more tightly before allowing the flesh to form. The broken end of the bone lengthened, but a black spark passed through it.

The forming limb disintegrated before a wrist could appear.

The god’s expression darkened. A third attempt lasted even less time. Whatever the fire had left behind refused to let the replacement remain.

”What in the world are these flames?”

There was no longer any praise in his voice.

He looked from the unhealed stump to the forearm still burning on the road. Some of its shape had disappeared, but the black flames continued moving above the remains.

Because of his aura, presence, and energies that was contained in the arm, the black flames had not completely turned the entire arm to ash.

”Familiar...” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. ”I have felt and seen something like this before.”

He waited, searching for the memory. Nothing in his expression suggested he had found it.

Then his gaze settled on Simon.

”What is that black fire? Is it the same thing inside your wrappings?”

His attention shifted briefly toward the discarded sword.

”And what, exactly, have you been carrying?”

Simon swallowed the blood gathering in his mouth. The god’s failure to regenerate had made the questions more dangerous, not less.

He gathered enough breath to speak.

Then five powerful presences approached.

His lips remained parted as figures descended through the smoke and landed several metres from the God of War. None stepped closer.

The woman at their front immediately lowered herself onto one knee. Copper hair streaked with silver fell beside her face. Her metallic left eye remained lowered, while her empty hands rested where they could easily be seen.

Mara Veles, commander of the Carpathian Front.

Tomas Radu knelt beside her and placed his sealed spear against the ground. Pavel Orsic followed, the six transparent lenses circling his head becoming still.

Ilona Serrin and Dorian Kest lowered themselves behind them.

Five of the humans directing the defence of the basin. Not one looked toward Simon for more than an instant.

”Lord of Battles,” Mara began, her voice solemn and carefully controlled. ”We who hold the Carpathian Front bow before you. May our victories honour your name, and may our blades never shame the strength you have granted us. We offer our reverence and await your will.”

The other four repeated the greeting, their voices joining hers before falling quiet.

The God of War frowned.

His right arm still ended at the elbow. Black fire moved over the remains on the road, and the sword he had thrown away lay beyond them.

Mara kept her head lowered.

”Why are you here?” he asked.

”We sensed your presence, Your Eminence,” she answered respectfully. ”Once we understood that you had descended, we could not remain at command without coming to greet you properly.”

She paused, choosing her next words carefully.

”Please forgive our delay. At first, we were unsure whether our senses had deceived us. We did not dare assume that the change in your chosen meant you had personally entered his body.”

The god said nothing.

”We came as soon as we were certain,” Mara finished.

Silence settled over the road.

Behind them, the battlefield remained louder and more savage than before. A distant explosion shook the ground beneath the kneeling humans, but none of them moved.

Simon watched Mara’s hand tighten against her knee. Her gaze had briefly caught the burning arm when she arrived. She had carefully avoided looking at it again.

The God of War studied the five bowed heads.

”Are you deaf?”

Mara’s fingers went still.

”Or simply a fool?”

Tomas’s shoulders stiffened. One of Pavel’s lenses shifted before he stopped it, while Ilona lowered her head further.

Mara looked up only far enough to address the god.

”My lord...”

A thin line of sweat formed at her temple. She had faced demons capable of destroying entire defensive positions without losing control of her voice.

Now the next words caught in her throat.

”Forgive me. I... have misunderstood. Please tell me how I have offended you.”

The god’s expression filled with cold disdain.

”Five leaders,” he said. ”And not enough sense between you to understand one question.”

Mara’s face paled. No one beside her attempted to speak.

The God of War glanced toward Simon, then the Chaos Blade, before returning his attention to the humans kneeling in the road.

”I did not ask what your senses told you.”

His voice remained quiet.

”I asked why you thought you could interrupt me while I was doing something important.”