The War of Gods

"Take a seat," Turve's voice greeted the two younglings as they entered the same room they took their breakfast in. Seated at the same spot around the round table, the Advanced Magi kept one eye on the kid and the other on his disciple. Before him lay a staggering amount of food spread across several different plates. There were many sorts of cut meat, potatoes, roasted vegetables, sauces and beverages. 

Noticing his mouth watering, Azriel didn't hesitate to abide Turve's orders, taking his seat to the left of the older man. Without speaking a word, he began filling his plate, quickly building a mountain of food. Watching, Turve's lips widened into a barely noticeable smile, to Sod's surprise. — When was the last time he broke his stoicness? She wondered. 

"Sod?" Her master questioned, looking at her standing still in a stupor, the smile wiped clean from his face. Startling, the girl swiftly took a seat herself, to the right of her master, and began to pick out what she wanted to eat. 

Acting more like Azriel, Turve helped himself to build a mountain of food, bigger than even the boy on his left's. 

"So," he began, mouth filled with pork, "has the day been to both of yours' delight?" 

"Yes, master," Sod answered quickly, mouth empty of any digestibles, courtesy clearly on her mind. 

"Mhm," Azriel hummed, any words blocked from escaping his mouth by the wall of meat currently residing there. Sighing, Sod turned back to her own plate, disgusted by the behaviour. 

— Weak, Azriel thought. How will you kill another being if you can't handle someone eating? He shook his head.

Turve observed the silent interaction, unable to speak due to a wall of his own in his mouth. 

"Azriel," the boy nodded, "I've been informed by the Archwitch of Highland's Palace that an Advanced Magi of Space will arrive here tomorrow and shuttle us out by portal to your place of trial." 

Washing down the contents of his mouth with a big gulp of cider, Azriel swallowed completely before answering, to Sod's much delight. 

"That's awesome!" He said eagerly, astonishment lighting up his eyes like two bright suns. "Wow, a spacewielder, to think I would meet a spacewielder!" Azriel exclaimed, he really couldn't wrap his mind around it, the higher-ups were really sending a spacewielder to have him travel! His mind was blown. 

"They do this for a reason, a reason I'm now going to tell you so listen close," Turve continued, his stoic face not giving way for any sort of expression. Azriel stopped shifting in his chair, his demeanor changing from an excited kid to that of one being schooled by its mother. 

"I don't know how much your mother has told you about your father," the Magi started, Azriel slowly shaking his head in response, "but he is the sole reason for the importance you are given, and also why I was sent to fetch you." 

Azriel's mother had in fact not spoken much about her husband. She herself had been a gifted lifeweaver, having treated many people during the War of Gods, but her husband was in a league entirely to his own. 

"She never spoke about him, only that we should respect her as if he was there," Azriel said, his brain working on overdrive to remember any instance where she might've slipped a word or two. 

"I understand if she never did," Turve spoke, "your father is a sensitive topic to this whole Orderdome, even though he is the saviour of mankind." Azriel's eyes snapped to Turve, confusion painting his face. 

"What do you mean by that?" He asked, bewildered. 

"The War of Gods played out many years ago, 22 to be exact, and altered the course of this continent forever," Turve replied, as if staging a joke, "when the Gods we managed to kill bled out, Magic like we never thought about appeared. Suddenly, everyone could gain powers, and a society controlled by birthright changed to a society ruled by personal strength." Turve sipped on his wine, relaxing backwards in his chair. 

"But how do my father play a role in that, he couldn't have been old at the time?" Azriel pressed on, a new form of eagerness taking root in his heart. He really, really wanted to learn about his father. 

"I will come to that, calm down," Turve flung back. "After what has come to be known as the Dawn of the Magic Era, or the latest and first apocalypse for the pessimistic ones, many wars broke out between the five races over borders and that's where your father come into the picture." Turve breathed out, rising one leg over his knee and taking another sip of his wine.

To his right, Sod sat in silent listening, grasping every bit of knowledge spewed by her master's mouth. 

"Your father gained unimaginable strength during the War of the Gods, having killed a God alone and being granted the full Blessing of said Entity. Today, he wouldn't be categorised as a Grand Magus or Archwizard, no, he was beyond that, way beyond that." Turve sighed, his stoic face finally breaking into what looked like pain as reminiscences of a time long gone resurfaced in synch with his telling. 

Azriel had gone still as a statue in his chair. — Beyond Archwizard! That... that is insane! He shouted in his mind, astonishment and awe spreading through his body. Yet, despite the massive pride he felt, he couldn't resist a new, pressing question rising, — If he was beyond an Archwizard... how did he die?

"If looked back upon now, he would be slotted as the Sovereign of Magic, the single Entity of our lands who's one with Magic. Thanks to this, us humans, who, compared to other races, are very weak, managed to survive and thrive in the corner of this continent your father carved out for us. But as I said this morning, people fear power and influence and your father's unfathomable strength lead to the creation of a coalition between the other four races, whose sole purpose was to hunt down and kill him, which they did. In the face of four Entities on par with him, your father fought it out for several days straight on an island not far from these lands, which has now been named 'The Island of Evisceration'." 

Turve tilted his cup of wine, sighing at the sight of the emptiness. Telling this story was important for Azriel, as he needed to understand what was happening to the world and that his presence was the reason for recent aggression over the borders. But, as a consequence, Turve had to relive the past, going through memories of pain, grieving and blood. There was so much blood in his memories, so much so that it almost felt like he was drowning. 

"What happened to the four Entities?" Azriel said, sadness lacing his words. Hearing about his father's death had created a conflict in his mind. He had never met him so... should he care? Should he feel sad for a person who ultimately sacrificed himself for the greater good, even limiting the damage to civilians? One part of him wanted to hail him, praise him to the skies, he felt pride in being that man's son. 

The other part, though, wanted to blame his father, blame him for leaving his and his brother's mother alone, blame him for them living in a place so far from society, blame him for not being there. Yet wouldn't that be quite selfish?

Unknowingly, in Azriel's mind, a seed of doubt began to sprout. Looking at Turve, he didn't see the man as he had seen him before, instead he saw a man who betrayed his father, like all the other humans at the time. Why did nobody help him? Why did he have to fight it out alone? Where was the human people whom he had saved? Surely there had to have existed a few strong people? 

Deep inside, Azriel knew the answers to these questions. And it boiled down yet again to Turve's statement: people fear power and influence. If four Entities on par with his father traversed these lands, of course he wouldn't strike up a fight, he would run, hide and never lay eyes on them again.

But in the face of doubt, despite subconsciously understanding why his father was alone, Azriel couldn't help but shift the blame from his father, to the whole of mankind: they were the reason for his death. 

"They got slaughtered. Your father was stronger than they thought, so they succumbed rather quickly, but not before inflicting significant damage to him, which ultimately came to be the reason for his death. That and the Entities' reinforcements who arrived on the island after realising your father had survived." 

With a quick wipe, Turve dried a single tear streaking down his face. Pain practically beaming from his eyes, him being unable to contain it. 

"Why did no one help him?" Azriel asked coldly. He was staring at the Magi besides him, his young eyes radiating such pure hatred that Turve felt beads of sweat emerging from his temples. 

The pain in Turve's eyes reached a new depth, like sinkholes of grievance. He was so deep in his memories that he felt the pain from back then in his whole body; the blood trickling from his hands, clasped around his best friend. "I tried, little one, I tried..." He sobbed. 

"You're not an Advanced Magi, are you?" Azriel wondered aloud, the hatred in his eyes seemingly not directed at Turve anymore. 

"Sod. Out." The Magi barked in response, a stern look locked at his disciple. Without questions, she rose from her chair, bowed slightly and left the room, closing the door gently behind herself. 

"What'd you do that for?" The boy continued. 

"She is too young, " Turve grunted.

"I'm younger than her," Azriel remarked. 

"You deserve to know how your father perished and who betrayed him from the beginning. She don't." 

Azriel shrugged, observing Turve's steeled expression, his tightly shut mouth. He could almost hear the teeth grind. He saw the pain in the man's eyes, the huge amount of pain he bore and shouldered deep within. He pitied him. 

"After your mother, I was closest to your father, but in terms of strength, I was the second strongest of the human domain, rivaled only by him," a hint of reverence split the sea of pain. "When the four Entities showed up on our doorstep, I could only watch as what I thought of as my brothers and sisters reveal your father's secluded location, pointing them straight to him."

"Weren't you stronger than them?" Azriel pondered aloud, a little confusion seeping into his voice. 

"We met them in the sky, as they knew that I would be the weakest up there. I couldn't do anything but watch the backs of those four pigs fly away. The others dared to even laugh, as if they had done something great." 

"What happened after that?" Azriel's voice had grown chilly, a murderous intent breaking in. 

"When we landed, I killed them, right there and then, cold-blooded and with no hesitation, before shooting after the four, praying to the Gods who forsook us that I wouldn't be late."

"But you were?" 

"Yes. When I arrived at your cabin, your mother, who was pregnant with you at the time, stood at the door waiting for me, pointing in a direction. I just nodded and continued to fly, sending more prayers." 

"Is my brother adopted then?" Azriel suddenly cut off, the question waking Turve from his bloody memories. 

"I suppose so?" He answered hesitantly. 

"Sorry, please continue," The boy waved an apology. 

"Yes. When I arrived at the island, only ash remained of the once thriving ecosystem. Scattered around your father lay ashen pieces of bone and gemstones, he himself down on his knees in a little crater. Surrounding him was thousands of soldiers from the demons, angels, elves and dwarfs, weapons ready in hand and waiting for the signal to execute. I struck down besides your father, who only had enough strength to nod at my presence. Young as I was, I didn't wait for them to make a move, I began to rampage. 

"They stood no chance. Earth is my element and I am Earth, standing on the ground I could even battle it out evenly with one of the four Entities. I eviscerated every last soul on that island, no one escaped. When the second in command from the humans arrived at the island, I was holding your father, my sworn brother, in my blood-drenched arms. I begged the Gods and the Devils, I cried, I screamed, I blamed myself, to no avail. He bled out, his wounds too deep, too sinister."

Tears flooded down Turve's face, his stoic expression shattered into a million pieces. Pain like nothing he had ever felt since then surfaced, making him want to jump out of his own skin. Looking at Azriel, who was so similar to his father, triggered hidden depths of self-blame, more pain latching onto his mind. 

Azriel didn't know what to do, what to feel. He only watched as Turve broke down, guilt and anger breaking down walls in his mind. 

"Right there and then, as human's shackled and flew me away, tearing me from the other half of my heart, I swore to protect you from society, I swore on my existence to protect you from the power hungry bastards who caused your fathers death, and I will uphold that promise, even if it means I have to die." 

Turve met Azriel's gaze, locking sights with those young eyes which were now clouded with anger, pain and grief. He hated himself for inflicting this upon a child, but he had no choice. The Archwitch expected them tomorrow and they wouldn't arrive, rebellion awaited. 

"Therefrom originated my nickname 'the Butcher' and further why those in the main hall were afraid of me, everyone is. The only thing I bring is blood and the only things I leave are corpses."