Do Gods Bleed?
I remember that day on the first harsh rains of each winter.
That morning the rain had hit us nearly as hard as the pain of watching our loved ones leave. I woke early to see my eldest brother Vali off. The war was expected to begin East, and he was leaving to defend our Kingdom.
I was 16, but he kissed me on my forehead as he had so many times when I was a little girl. Vali smiled and said not to worry; he would see me when he returned. We both knew he was lying. I wanted to cry and scream and beg him to stay, but it wasn’t possible, and I knew he needed me to be strong. I can no longer remember his face, but when I dream I can clearly see his sword and shield lugged over his shoulder as he walked out the door. His best friend Cyril later told us that Vali had volunteered to fight at the front of the line, and had died valiantly protecting another soldier.
Of course they won that battle, but they weren't there for the real fireworks. The Demon lord Balthazar had sent a large force East, as our intelligence had suggested, but the bulk of his forces were sent to destroy us while our army was away. The King, Majestus, had sent what was left of his private guard to defend the castle, but only one of the soldiers returned to tell us that there was no hope. The castle was beset on all sides by impassable mystic waters; the only way they could come in was through a canyon, across a bridge and past gates forged by our best builders and blessed by magicians. But for all their strength, our defenses were no match for an army of Balthazar’s Demons. The King had no choice but to evacuate us. He’d requested help from his cousin, the King of our neighboring kingdom of Canaan. The court wizards created a portal, but it was only passable one at a time and we were many. We knew many would die, as there wasn't enough time to get every man, woman and child through before the enemy broke our defenses. My mother clung to me tightly and I could feel the fear in her heart.
Calmness enveloped me, as I felt strangely accepting of our fate.
But then they came.
We called them Gods, for the legends of their feats suggested that was exactly what they were. The Warriors of Heaven were known throughout the lands as the greatest warriors who had ever lived. Each one, they say, could level mountains with their bare hands. Of course some said that was a myth, but when they emerged through the portal on that day, each of us down to the most unapologetic atheist prayed that the stories were true. The room shifted from despair to joy as Barabis, Davalos, Karnac and Martel walked among them. It was Barabis the Mighty who spoke. "Be at peace. We swear to hold the line until each one of you are through and your triumphant army returns to send these beasts back to hell." The cheers were deafening as the four marched towards the edge of the castle walls. Everyone made there way to the portal; all except me. I tore free of my Mother's grip and lost her in the crowd as I made my way to follow them up to the battlements.
They scarcely noticed me as they stared out at a sea of enemies. I hid behind a barrel where I was sure they would not see. Fear rushed through me as I caught a glimpse of what awaited them. I cannot remember the faces of the demon soldiers; all that I have kept is the vivid memory of their unbridled, sadistic joy at the thought of our genocide. I knew evil on that day. And I knew fear. The Warriors of Heaven were powerful; indeed, each one of them was worth a thousand of the enemy. But our enemy numbered in the TENS of thousands. It was clear that none of them would live to see another sun, and it was very likely they would not even see that night's moon.
Davalos the Wise spoke. "Is this how our story is to end? The four of us adrift in the ocean, until the last of us can swim no more?" The other three nodded as Karnac the Brave replied, "So it would seem." Barabis smiled. "And how would that be different from any other day?" And with that Barabis lifted his mighty axe and leapt into the abyss. Karnac and Davalos followed him immediately, but Martel the Swift held behind. He didn't move, but he spoke out loud. "What do you think you're doing?" At first I thought he was talking to himself, but then he turned and looked at me. "Come on out; there's no use hiding." I stood and walked meekly up to him. As I got closer, I realized how young he was; barely ten years my senior.
"I asked you a question. What are you doing?" Ashamed, I responded "I wanted to see." "What? Our deaths?" I shook my head. "No." He looked back at his friends at the end of the canyon, holding the line. They were casually killing Demon soldiers with little notice of his absence.
"What then? What is it you think you will see here besides death?" I thought for a moment. "Hope." He did not look back at me. He spoke quietly but with authority. "Stay then, until the sun sets. And I will bring you hope. But when the sun falls on us, make haste your escape." And without another word, he stepped off the castle wall and fell to the earth with a thunderous thud and joined the fray alongside his friends.
By this time the battle had begun in earnest, but the first three warriors had not yet broken a sweat. They danced among the army like angels of blood, tearing them to pieces. It was the most magnificent sight I have ever beheld. The rain pounded them as they fought and laughed. Davalos raised his hammer and parted the earth itself with each swing, swallowing scores of Demons into the ground. Karnac had no weapons save for his deadly fighting prowess. Each punch stopped a heart; each kick made a Demon's head explode like a pumpkin. Martel flew through them with his twin swords, running dozens of them through like their skin was made of sweet cream.
While those three took on the hordes, Barabis took on one of their commanders... the Black Beast of Hell. No one knew his name, if such a thing ever had one. None had even seen his face and lived to tell about it, save for me. I only recognized him by his blood-stained blindfold, where legend says he tore out his own eyes to prove his loyalty to Balthazar. One might wonder how he fought without eyes to see, but he didn't seem to need them. He was the most deadly creature alive, but Barabis sized him up and laughed. The Beast struck at him with nails that could shred steel, but Barabis swung his mighty axe and relieved him of his arm. Unphased by his missing appendage, the Beast struck again, this time slicing Barabis' ribs. Angered, Barabis dove into the air, and rended the Beast in twain.
So ended that legend.
As I watched, I heard my mother’s voice behind me, and then felt her hand on my shoulder. She struggled to take me with her until she saw the battle in front of us. We both knew something amazing was happening before us. The four fought as one. And as promised, they held the line for three straight hours. But even they could not hold out forever. One by one I watched them fall. Davalos was the first. He took three arrows to the chest and one in his right eye, and still he fought on for two whole minutes before the darkness took him. Karnac lived up to his name, fighting bravely and taking many down hordes of his foes, but in the end he was overwhelmed and one of the Demons snapped his neck. Mighty Barabis seemingly could not be stopped, until finally one of their few giants moved against him. The giant pressed down with his tremendous foot, but Barabis caught it. He held the giant back for as long as possible, but as he held it, a demon struck him and he was crushed. In the end all that remained was Martel the Swift.
It seemed hopeless, but then a miracle happened. He held the line by himself. They say Martel was the weakest of them, but if he was, I saw no sign of it that day. He fought like a dragon, tearing through the hordes like a force of nature. He had watched his friends… his brothers… die in front of him, but still he fought on. With each of their deaths he grew more fierce, as though he took their spirit into himself. Martel wanted their blood and screamed out loud “More!!!” And more they gave him. The Demons pressed harder. Still, his bloodlust was not sated. “More!!!!!!” He dared them. And more came. He held them for another hour without pause or fear. For a moment I thought he might win the battle all by himself. But it was not to be.
When his time came, he knew it. As the Demons swallowed him with their numbers, he looked up at me and I saw him smile. With his last bit of strength, he threw his favored sword high into the air. It flew like an eagle, shimmering in the sunlight before landing in the castle wall in front of us. And then he was gone. The sun had set upon the Warriors of Heaven and it was time to leave. My mother grabbed me to go, but I wasn’t ready to leave quite yet. I rushed over to the sword, and pulled it from the stone it had buried itself in. Though Martel’s story had ended, I knew this sword was not done avenging him. We ran as fast as our feet would take us, making it just before the portal closed.
Over the years, that story would become myth. Some say they were Gods, or Demons themselves. The latter is foolishness. As for the former… I choose to believe that they were not Gods. To suggest such is to do disservice to their memory and accomplishments. It is nothing to say that a God killed five thousand Demons. But to say that four men held them until their last breath, that is a true miracle. Their power was not rooted in their magic blessings, but in simple human will. Their lives were proof of humanity’s potential; their strength gave us… gave me… hope.
Many years have passed, but I never forgot what I saw that day.
I carry Martel’s sword. And with each Demon I kill, I honor my friend’s memory.
*I wrote this story in 2012. As it turns out, I didn’t have to rewrite any of it. I just cleaned it up a little. And honestly, I think it’s pretty good.
