Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I

Thus began the era of the Balance.

During the era of the Balance between the Creator and the Lightbringer, there are countless chronicles of the interactions between the demons, angels, humans, and the gods. Mostly, these are accounts of war as the demon empire expanded upon the Earth—with most of its people still imprisoned below.

The souls of humans became a more available resource for their people. Human societies were molded according to the designs of the demons with dominion over any given providence. However, the end-goal for each dominion was the same. The demons were to mold the humans to allow for pockets of power within their society, no matter how primitive. The pockets of power acted as a catalyst for the human souls in those positions. For while not every soul was corrupted by power, those who could be corrupted were most drawn to these positions and able to reach them through treachery and deceit that the rest of their kind were not capable of. From there, the humans with power over the lives of others would inevitably abuse those they ruled over … in acts of ever-increasing horror and depravity until the souls of power were ripe for harvest.

In Heaven, the Archangels took charge as the Creator became silent. They were tasked with maintaining the balance and fighting the corruptive influence of the demons over the humans. At first, the soldiers of Michael fought directly against the demons in independent skirmishes that skirted the lines of the truce between Heaven and Hell. The demons did not pursue retaliation, however, because these battles were entirely fruitless. So the Archangel Gabriel sent out his guardians, angels tasked to find humans with great potential for healing the spirits of their societies and of the individuals around them. Thesehumans were called the saints. The Archangel Michael was tasked with analyzing the threat of the gods.

For while the gods had been no true threat during the time of the Creator’s storms, that was no longer the case. As the gods broke down their souls to pursue their unending passion in creating new life, more and more fell into sleep just like the Creator had. And like the Creator, they woke in states of madness and cruelty. First fell the least successful gods who had few human worshippers to nourish their spirits, followed by the greater ones. The Archangel Michael was tasked with their destruction, but his scouts returned to him with reports of mysterious entities leading a trail of destruction throughout every stronghold of the gods.

It was, of course, the demons Dufaii and Ammon who had destroyed the gods, one at a time, over the next few millennia, sometimes with through war bust mostly through assassination. Though most angels and demons did not realize it, it was the journey of these two spirits which brought the era of the Balance to a close. As one of the most powerful of the gods, one who was an oddity for having somehow fallen to corruption before sleep came upon him, captured the two demons.

Desdemona DeBlake

(demon archivist for the Library of Hades)

-O-

The searing pain of adjustment to the comforts of the physical realm went on for what felt like the longest minute of Dufaii’s life. He was unable to move or sense much of anything around him for a long time. At first, the only thing he knew beyond his suffering was that he was floating. At some point after that, he felt a shoulder in his sternum that led him to think that he was being carried. Then, he felt a cool hard surface beneath him, some sort of polished rock. This cool rock began to soothe his pain, along with something slick which was applied by unseen hands.

Gradually, Dufaii’s eyes adjusted, and he began to see color and shapes. There was a person tending to him, with bronze skin and white clothes. She was female … with large curves and flowing black hair. Her eyes were solid cyan, with a soft glow. And her aura was tremendous, thick as the auras from a hundred angels clustered together and concentrated enough that it could almost be felt. She … she was a god.

Dufaii nearly fell over himself, pulling away from her. He reached for his walking stick, cursing himself for not having transformed it back into a sword. He stumbled over his weakened legs and then crawled away until, in his partial blinded state, his head struck a stone wall. Hot blood oozed on his head, though it had long since become too dry to flow down his face.

A lion’s roar came from not far away.

Dufaii looked for it, and saw a large yellow shape on the opposite side of the white stone space he was in.

“Hush, creature!” said the god, her tone firm but soft. At first, Dufaii thought she was talking to him, but her subsequent movement and turning to face him indicated that she had been speaking to the lion. Then she said, “It’s alright, Dufaii, do not fear. Your friend, Ammon, brought you here so that we could take care of you.”

Dufaii stared at her for a moment, more confused than he’d felt in quite a long time. He didn’t know if he could believe her, being a god. But she did not seem insane or malicious. And even if she was set on his destruction, his only chance was to bide his time until he could at least see clearly and walk. So, Dufaii nodded and stood onto his trembling legs, weak from both his struggle and perhaps his fear of the creature who tended to him. He stepped closer to where he could see her blurred outline and felt the raw power coming from her aura.

“You look worse than Ammon did,” the god said and slowly stepped closer to him. He saw her large bronze arm reach toward his face, and then felt something damp touch his eyes it burned … like sand being ground into his eye. Yet somehow, he sensed that he needed it more than anything. She continued to speak, “Of course, Ammon had been wandering around the mortal realm for many months before we met him. To imagine he survived in much the same state you are in … it makes me sick to think about.”

It occurred to Dufaii that he had no idea what he looked like. Of course, he’d seen a few other demons, particularly when they’d approached the dwelling of the Lightbringer for the first time. He’d seen their shriveled and thin skin, their sunken black eyes like raisins. Their skeletal shapes. It hadn’t occurred to him that he did not look like he had when he’d been cast from Heaven.

His body had taken thousands of years to acclimate to the complete lack of moisture in Hell. Then, all of the sudden, his body was now being hit with a little moist air and absorbed it, expanding like a sponge and causing his numb skin to suddenly feel all the wear of those thousand years.

The god continued to alternate the cloth between his two eyes, which much have been cracked and oozing for how quickly they had been rehydrated after so long. Yes, he could see streaks of blackness in the cloth before she replaced it with a new one. It was his blood.

The god said, “I know you distrust our kind. But believe me that you have no enemies in this house. Nobody here has gone into the deep sleep. We’ve seen what happens to the gods who do go mad and have dealt with our own share of struggles because of them.”

“Nonetheless,” Dufaii tried to say, but it came out a garbled mess. He began to cough and choke violently on his own words. It felt as if a knife had been jammed down his throat, and he coughed thick black blood clotted with clumps of dust and grit into his sleeve. He felt something hot touch his lips, and he instinctively opened his mouth to take in a tea that tasted of citrus. This made the pain worse at first. But, after a few minutes of taking slow painful sips between agonizing coughs, it began to soothe his throat. Then, in a pained whisper, he said, “I apologize for my overreaction.”

“There’s no need for that,” The god said and gently continued her work.

After another few moments, he ventured to try to whisper again. He said, “I am Dufaii.”

“I am Rhea,” the god replied, sounding pleased that he was able to now communicate a little more. “My husband is Kronos. We are the children of one of the original gods.”

“I … know little of what has become of the original gods or the kingdoms of their descendants,” Dufaii whispered between coughs.

Rhea gave a sigh that was neither happy nor as pained as might have been expected, “All of the original gods are gone, lost to the sleep that brought them to madness after they expended too much of their souls to create this world. A few, like mother Gaia herself, arranged ways not to wake from the sleep that they knew would fall upon them. My father … was not so wise. We had to imprison him … for his own safety and ours. After that, my husband and I kept a quiet existence, not involving ourselves in mass creation or the pursuit of human souls.”

Dufaii felt … shocked … that this was all there was to it. He had assumed that the original gods, the most powerful of beings, would have attacked the Creator by this point. They had been so paranoid about it … so sure. He asked, “None went for the original source of divine power?”

Rhea regarded him with a soft frown that he could only barely make out. He sensed that it wasn’t for herself. Rather, she was sad for him. “The Creator was right to create your kind as a way to resolve the crisis of the gods. But I’m afraid that the Creator themself has never been in any danger. The original gods were in no mental state to successfully pose any threat to them. All that Ammon has described of the events that happened in Heaven before your exile … it was the same madness and paranoia that infected the original gods and now the lesser gods that continue to exert their power. I’m sorry.”

Dufaii felt somewhat winded by this but had nothing to say in reply. Something inside him had long known that the Storms and the Wall could have only been the product of complete madness. It was not a comforting feeling, knowing that these particular suspicions had been valid, but it did not dull the emotional impact from finally knowing for certain that all his suffering had been for nothing.

Dufaii sat there in silence for another few minutes while Rhea continued to tend to his eyes … shaken … but with an old rage that began to burn low in his belly. By now, he could see with a bit more clarity the entity tending to his eyes. He could see the room around him as well, carved entirely of polished white stone. It was open as well, with windows large enough to easily fly from. These let it the warm sunlight and a gentles breeze, coming from rolling green hills and a cloudy blue sky above. Yet, with all the beauty he’d missed for so long, none of it could distract him from the weight he now felt at all he’d learned.

Throughout the day, Dufaii’s host continued to tend to him. While Ammon was in and out, visiting the other deities of the realm, Dufaii was not even permitted to stand for fear he would fall and injure himself further. Meanwhile, his scabs and desiccated external body were treated with aromatic herbs and gentle washing with wet cloths.

Eventually, a new god who introduced himself as Rhea’s husband—Kronos—lifted him and placed him in another white-stone room with an above-ground bath. The water was visibly warm—with steam rising visibly off the surface. Of course, being immersed in it was pure pain, at first, very gradually followed by absolute bliss.

In that bath, Rhea brought Dufaii his first sips of drink in a cool mug.

Dufaii was fearful at first, worried about how much pain drinking would bring to his insides. It turned out that he was right to worry. The pain was terrible … followed by an unexpected dizziness. Even as Dufaii’s emotions began to swirl and his thoughts began to swim, he had figured out that he was experiencing intoxication.

Apologies, Dufaii,” Rhea said, smiling empathetically. “It is just water. Your body just needs some time to grow accustomed to it.”

Kronos gave a friendly chuckle and said, “Let the man enjoy it! In fact, we’ll imbibe with you.” He left the room for a moment and then returned with wine for himself and Rhea.

Seeing it, Dufaii felt his face twitch. He remembered … Hades’ desperate drinking of mortal blood. By now, all of his people were doing the same. While he understood why it was necessary, the degradation of it hurt far more than the water had.

“You’re not there anymore, dear friend,” Rhea said, brushing one of Dufaii’s locks from his face. It was uncanny how she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. It was little wonder … Ammon had likely told them much about their experiences in the realm of torment.

Kronos put a hand on Dufaii’s shoulder. “We’ll give you some space for a while. Please do not hesitate to call if you need any help.”

Before they went, something came over Dufaii. Under the influence of how his body had been affected by the water, as well as emotions he was only now able to process, he frantically grabbed each of their hands. “Please … I saw what happened to the Creator. Do not fracture your souls to create more of your kind.”

Rhea seemed shocked at first, but then her expressions softened. “Rest assured, we will not create fantastic creatures and the numbers of offspring that my parents and other gods did. Only a few young … and they should cause no great amount of harm.”

For just an instant, Kronos paid a worried glance at Rhea’s midsection. One of his nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly. But then he shook his head, smiled, and said, “The moment we feel any amount of strain on our power, we’ll stop. We just wish to live a full life, as living beings are meant to.”

Dufaii tried to say more, that even such a small expenditure of power was too much of a danger to be worthwhile. But he could only stare as the couple left the room. Something inside them knew by their dismissive, if gracious, tones that they had made up their minds. Even after seeing the madness firsthand, they thought they would be immune. Dufaii almost didn’t notice them acknowledging someone right outside the door as they left.

It was Ammon who entered the bathing room after they left, a gracious smile on his face and a cup of wine in his hand. “They are very kind. It will be … painful … to cut them down. Though, as even the Creator found a way to make it so easy to betray them, I’m sure those two will find a way as well.” He took a seat on the stone edge of the bath and shook his head remorsefully.

“Cut them down,” Dufaii repeated and shook his head several times. “How …”

“Well … Kronos has the budding beginnings of paranoia—fear of what losing his power will do to him. His trauma at imprisoning his own father—an elder god—has no doubt left a foreboding knowledge of what awaits him. My thought would be to wait for a while … let him expend some of his power and maybe turn his children against him. It shouldn’t be difficult,” Ammon said, but then looked at Dufaii and let his jaw go slack in an expression of sudden awareness. “I apologize. You were asking how we could kill such kind people. How I can be thinking of betraying the people who only a few years ago nursed me back to health. Plotting while communing with them in their very homes.”

“They just want to live their lives,” Dufaii whispered, his head still swimming from the water that was so foreign to his insides.

“Just like the Creator, before they slept,” Ammon said, nodding somberly. “We can’t stop them from being what and who they are. They were made to create a higher diversity of life. Inevitably, they will all do just that. And when they do …”

“…they become like the Creator,” Dufaii finished. He looked down at the bath water and, in a moment of compulsion, dipped under to swallow another painful few swallows. Immediately, his head began to swim. He sat back up and tried to violently exhale all his inner turmoil away.

Ammon sighed as well, poured a few drips of wine to the floor, and then raised his glass. “Pura Vida.” He said cynically before downing the entire cup in one swallow.

Pure Life … this is what the exact opposite of what Dufaii’s had become. Because he had refused a fate of abuse and torment, he was damned to an existence of corrupting mortals and killing deities whose greatest sin was only doing what they were meant to.

“I’ve been making plans for the downfall of most of the deities in the region,” Ammon said, setting his empty glass aside. “Of course, that still leaves the question of how to permanently end an immortal. I suppose I could cut them into pieces and scatter them across the Earth … but that would leave some loose ends that I would rather avoid.”

Dufaii tried to raise himself out of the bath, but his arms gave out from under him. He gave another sigh—this one far more ... defeated. He replied, “I can handle that part.”

-O-

“Ammon continued his preparations for the next few centuries. Not only in what the mortals would call Greece, but spanning across the continents. His instinct when it came to the paranoia of Kronos was found to be accurate, and he was able to turn everyone around the growingly unhinged deity against him.

His own son, Zeus, narrowly escaped murder by his father. He was the one who led the assault. For their purposes, Zeus and his allies used the realm of Tartarus—a place created by Kronos himself to imprison his own father.

What the gods didn’t know was that their greatest advisors and spies, Ammon and Dufaii, had found a way to access their secret prison realm. Nor that this sort of alliance was the way the downfalls of all deities were planned, so that demons could never be pinpointed as the culprits and targeted for war by the gods. I think, they also wished to avoid any credit for the growing health of the Creator—who was reinvigorated by the reacquisition of the souls of murdered gods. Receiving their power and that of each deity’s followers.”

-General Hades in her work “A Prison or a Country?” Volume II, pg. 55

-O-

Dufaii stepped over the corpse of yet another Titan—its blood pooling on the stone ground like a sickening red pond. Three massive walls surrounded this stone world, and a quiet black cyclone circled overhead. The scene reminded him of a place … somewhere that, after centuries in the mortal realm, he dared not remember. He shook his head forcefully and continued on to where he sensed the final thrum of life in this prison-realm. He knew this last presence—it was the chaotic aura of the most powerful deity here. The god who, alongside his wife, had once nursed the demon back to health.

Of course, after eating countless of his own young to reabsorb not just his own power but that invested into their children by Rhea, Kronos was hardly the same man that Dufaii had once known. Just like the Creator, madness had befallen him … as it would eventually befall his children. They, by comparison, would eventually be so much easier to kill.

Dufaii heard a flap of wings next to him, and only detected this being’s familiar aura at the last moment. He turned to his recently-arrived partner and asked, “Did you take care of … whatever vague mission you set out on?” Despite his horror at the sight around him … or perhaps because of it … he gave a wry smile. It was an attempt at levity, something he only seemed to manage in the grimmest of situations.

Ammon nodded, dusting at a few minor lacerations on his arms. “They were going to leave that poor beast to guard the maddened ones for eternity. Chained up as it was … without even a pool to drink from!” He sighed irritably.

“At least their blatant cruelty and disregard for other lives will be a weakness you will no doubt be able to use against them,” Dufaii said.

Over the years, he’d gained an appreciation and even a feel for how Ammon strategized. They’d both been forced to grow numb to the cruelty of it all, to the feelings of betrayal toward beings whose greatest sin was their illness. After watching one after another turn into cruel and pathetic shells of their former selves, their eventual ends felt like mercy.

“Probably,” Ammon said, nodding his head. “Still … I released the hydra from where they had it chained at the gates. It … may have been foolish.”

Dufaii tapped his bearded chin for a moment, feeling a slight amount of humor in the situation. He knew that he should be taking this all much more seriously, perhaps even grimly. But the truth was that part of him had grown to love the hunt … the small bit of justice he felt at making at least these minor tyrants actually pay for the suffering they’d inflicted on those who didn’t deserve it. He also admitted to a sense of comfort in the friendship he’d found in Ammon.

Dufaii shrugged. “I don’t see any potential harm in leaving it to further distort any possibly evidence that we were here. If we’re lucky, those lazy drunkards will just decide that it was the hydra which broke free on its own and destroyed the weakened Titans.”

Ammon frowned for a moment.

Dufaii lifted an eyebrow. “I sense … some sadness at the prospect of eventually hunting them.”

Ammon gave a heavy sigh. “It was just easier with the Titans and Elder Gods. It was like playing out the rebellion again. But their children—I feel like they are my own nieces and nephews. It just feels … different … striking down rather than striking up.”

Dufaii thought about this for a moment. The truth was that he had never allowed himself to grow that close to the children of Kronos and Rhea. While they had called him uncle, he had always kept his distance. Perhaps it was easier for him, having been an older angel and watching those he’d considered younger siblings grow up into maniacal members of the guard. He hadn’t considered how difficult that might be for Ammon who, even as a general, had been so young at the time.

This was Ammon’s first time as an elder … with younger beings looking up to him. Also, as much as Ammon tried to hide it, Dufaii had noticed an affinity for connection in him—even during the rebellion. While Dufaii had kept to himself until necessity had forced him to connect with others, Ammon had sought out others and formed a community.

“I’m being foolish and sentimental,” Ammon said with a dismissive chuckle before shaking his head. “Just like with that damn hydra.”

Dufaii shook his head. He realized that he did not see it that way. While he could not bring himself to connect with most beings ever again, he valued his partner’s ability to connect. He put his hand on Ammon’s shoulder and said, “You are no fool. You’re demon … more demon than I could ever be. What we’re doing, it’s a painful endeavor. Sometimes I falter, and you are there to remind me why we are doing this. Which means when you falter, it’s time for me to remind you. But we are doing what we must … and we are in it together.”

“You’re right,” Ammon said, and gave a resolute nod. “Thank you.”

Dufaii nodded a bit more softly, and then began to walk toward where he sensed that final Titan. He muttered, “When we’re done here, we’re going for drinks.”

“I second that,” Ammon replied, following along.

The two of them walked until they reached one of the three corners of the triangular, rocky prison. It was warmer here, and a bit of orange light lit the area from the fiery river just beyond the wall.

Kronos was there—naked, crouched, his form changed to be monstrously rippled with muscles. It was much like the Creator during the battle of the rebellion, and so many gods since. The more vulnerable the maddened ones felt on the inside, the more invulnerable they always made their forms on the outside. He finally turned to face his assassins—revealing a boulder held between both his hands. He was gnawing on it—having already cracked the rock between his teeth so that more bits could be bitten off and swallowed.

Kronos muttered, “Stupid, stupid, stupid! Tastes nothing like a baby. No blood, no flesh. I should have chewed, always chew on the flesh! That way no lying bitch can feed you a rock that doesn’t even taste like a baby. Traitorous bitch, ungrateful bitch! Just like the two of you!”

Dufaii flared a nostril in unenergetic disgust. This was always the end point of the maddened ones—blaming everyone they could think of. For the masculine entities, this was almost always accompanied by misogynistic tirades and infantile hysterics.

Ammon glanced over and said, “There’s no point, is there?”

Dufaii shook his head and replied, “The Kronos we knew would have bit off his tongue before treating his beloved like this. He is dead … and has been for a long time.”

“You know … I never really got why you addressed the guard and the Archangels in your final speech to Heaven,” Ammon said, unsheathing his double-edged short sword calmly. “You spoke to all of them, but not once did you really even acknowledge the Creator. You said something about it … but I think I was just so angry that I still saw the Creator for who they had been. Now … I think I get it.”

Dufaii nodded, reaching for his second soul-weapon, one he’d been preparing for just this occasion. It was a razor-sharp dagger. Thin, useless against armor or other weapons—that was what his blade-breaker was for. His dagger had only a singular purpose. He said, “It’s understandable. I think the maddened ones purposefully make it harder to see them for what they are as well. Pretending to still be a person is still a useful defense. You see it in the corrupted humans, as well. They convince everyone around that, no matter who or how they horrifically torment, there’s a person who can be reached, hidden beneath it all. It keeps them from being slaughtered or abandoned long after they ought to be for the safety of everyone around. Worse, it keeps their victims working … trying to placate their abuser to try to free the good person underneath. It’s why the loyalists betrayed us for the sake of that monster on their throne.”

Ammon nodded, stepping closer to the Titan that, by immensity of the shard of divinity inside him, should have been so much more powerful that both the demons there to kill him. He said, “But they’re already dead. At this point, he’s just … a series of fear-based defenses without a person there at all. It’d be fascinating if it weren’t so pitiable.”

“Do not speak of me as if I’m not here!” the creature who had once been Kronos roared.

“But you’re not … and I see that now,” Ammon said, mostly to himself. He shook his head grimly. “Suddenly, I feel great shame that I empowered humans who are broken as this to become the heads of their cultures, their faiths, their families …”

Dufaii shook his head. “You just fast-tracked their development—made it systemized and efficient. After all, it was you who wrote in your teaching materials that scum always floats to the top. Had there not been a top, these maddened wretches would have been sure to make one. Where else could they feel safe, with the living of their kind protecting and serving them? Creating emotional balm for the ghost-pain of where their personhood once was.”

Ammon managed a small smile, “You read my teaching materials?”

Dufaii smirked and shook his head. “Had to make sure I hadn’t been partnered up with a complete moron, now, didn’t I?”

Kronos roared in fury and hurled the boulder he’d been eating.

Dufaii and Ammon twirled synchronistically, as they had practiced. As they did, each lifted up their opposing outer wings to give their bodies enough lift to rise and launch toward their enemy.

Kronos—whose form was at about ten feet tall—tried to backhand his approaching enemies with one of his massive arms.

Dufaii swung upward—connecting his blunt heavy-sword with the Titan’s elbow. There was a satisfying snap that came from it, and Dufaii then slid under the enormous, broken limb.

Simultaneously, Ammon, pulled his wings and limbs close to his body at the last moment—summersaulting over the arm with his sword overhead. This was enough to carve the Titan’s massive hand clean away from his wrist.

Kronos let out a pained and furious howl. He raised his remaining fist to slam Ammon, who had just landed from his acrobatic maneuver. However, the demon stepped in close, raised his sword, and impaled his attacker directly under the elbow.

At the same moment, Dufaii swung his sword with both hands to shatter the Titan’s opposing kneecap.

Again, Kronos roared as he could do nothing else but fall onto his only good knee. He snarled like an animal—spittle running down his jaw. His cyan eyes were wild, darting between his attackers with loathing.

“He’s still raging … even as his aura projects that almost all his anger has been replaced by terror,” Ammon said as he causally hacked the limb he had stabbed until it fell uselessly to the ground. “Just … like the Creator.”

“It’s the last defense,” Dufaii said, reading the Titan’s erratic thoughts that were more like a disjointed storm than the canvas of color it had once been. It made sense why the Creator had used such weather to communicate their wrath. It was the only imagery the maddened ones could really relate to. “He has other defenses that he’s thought of using. Berating us and making us feel shame and guilt for our actions. Tears to make us feel pity for him and leave him alone. Empty promises to change, blame on the Creator for making him this way, so on and so forth. But he knows that we see past all that … so the only defense and mask he has left is the most primal. Rage. He’ll die with this last mask on; the maddened ones will sooner do so than reveal the terrified nothingness that is the only truth left inside them.”

“Then … what is left?” Ammon asked, plunging his sword through the Titan’s clavicle to keep its thrashing under control.

Dufaii sheathed his sword and then took out his dagger. With a single slash he cut a deep gash across the Titan’s chest—eliciting a terrible scream that deafened him. He then sliced again so that the wound was in a ‘V’ shape. Dufaii pulled a handful of bloodied flesh away—revealing the ribcage beneath. The first Titan he’d done this to had made him a bit queasy. Already, however, this carnage hand become mechanical. He felt nothing as he reached in, broke the sternum off with his bloodied hand, and tossed it to the side. This revealed the Titan’s heart, still beating away inside.

“This … is what you saw when you were in the mortal realm with Michael,” Ammon said.

Dufaii nodded and replied, “You must cut through the blood that fills their body, using a piece of your soul. It’s just like making any portal through any other water.” With his soul-dagger, he carved a diagonal line across the Titan’s heart.

What was revealed was a shimmering silver orb resting within.

Dufaii reached in and took the orb in his hand. As soon as he had taken it, the Titan’s body fell limp. Dufaii then showed Ammon—letting the orb rest on his open palm. It felt almost like … nothing. A wisp that was barely materialized, and only for the violence with which it had been carved out by another soul.

Ammon watched in awe for a moment and then reached out and placed his hand on it. He kept it there until the orb began to levitate and rise into the air. Within a matter of seconds, it disappeared into the ether.

Dufaii and Ammon gave mutually mirrored looks of surprise when they found their blood-soaked hands still resting together.

-O-

“Godkiller” by Desdemona DeBlake

Have you ever killed a god?

Watched one fall to the musty

earth beneath you and leave a

crater.

Do you know what happens

when you kill God? The grass and

trees crawl upon Its breast and

face.

Did you taste the blood on your fingers?

As you watched the rest pour out of

Its side? A flavor like water, but

metallic.

Then you know that you do not die

In the water that drowns you when you kill

God. No, you live and you watch the water

pour.

Down the mountain in rushing streams

that satiate thirst and germinate seed. Like

icy balm on their souls are Its blood and your

tears.

What could be left for a mountain maker, God

killer, human savior, weeping sinner? You

descend into a box with your clerical collar to

confess.