Something moves in the darkness. Into the light, a leg the size of ten men, stone, fissured with uncrossed lines. Dread comes, and he banishes it. Not now. A God must stand.
Yet, the creature cares little for his thoughts. It comes. A massive thing, waxen, three-eyed. Like a man, naked, but encased in a skin of cracked stone. Length, 16 meters, two pairs of stone wings sprouted from the back. It is a monster. Silent, cold gazed, but a reaper of death. Surely. And it comes for him. It comes for his people. Slowly, it lifts the stone hand, an axe, blood-edged, ready to descend. This would turn them into paste. Ended in moments.
It falls, and Merrin marshals the wind. A boom echoes, and the cleaver is solid against a red, brown spiraling threadway. It is a net of color above them, doming, protection for his people.
Wind force surged into mad solidity. Below, he kneels, arm pressing against the cupola of air, red, brown, black. All colors of the stained chamber. Defending. The axe is inches from him, webbed against by the wind. And the creature of stone remains, thrusting the axe.
Again, it rears the mincer, largo, falling with a harder force. Into the web of wind—a sound like a clap ringing through. Powerful. Merrin grunts, sweat steaming off his skin. I am god, he thinks the words as a mantra, but consequential awareness remains.
What happens now is a layering of illusions. As his people, he now must become what they believe!
White light burns from him—lulling strength, legs rotting hard on the earth. Screaming, his mouth is a wide gape, throat burning as the roar is forced out. I am God! The wind erupts, slamming the creature over the wall, reeling it.
Merrin turns to his people, Ron is among them, cradling the leg-damaged Catelyn. She gasps, blood dripping off the leg. Alive, regardless. Good.
"Run!" He shouts, voice, wind accrued. All heard it; they turned, a path, like a dark tear across the chamber's walls, birthed from the emergence of the creature. Now it is the course to safety. They moved, limping, running. The heat grows.
Who is coming?
The stone titan severs from the collided wall, axe in hand, wind barrier unprepared. Mist it. Merrin dashes forward. The creature plods, rock shedding from its form. Like boulders, prime at reaping.
He rolls, one smashing into the earth. Almost. The wind pushes against him. Into the sky, flying. In moments, he scales the creature's legs. Easy. Fissures like bumps, made simple. Fingers grab onto one, he pants, his form like an insect against a colossal god.
I am god! He sings and dances over the body of the creature. Like a mountain, the beast does not know how well he enjoys it. Then, he leaps, cutting through the air, channels the wind, and storms it against the monster. A bang, and he is thrown back, cushioned in moments by air, rolling against the earth.
A glance and his people still run. Into the dark scar, vanishing into the unknown nothing. More time, he thinks. I need to give them more time. So he stands. Breath like lava, skin stinging, steaming, sizzling. Sound evident. He is a thing boiled alive. I am god…The words reverberate weakly, as he was.
But he stands…this is the thing he must always do; stand. Regardless of the enervation, regardless of the fragility, he must rise. He is a different creature now—everyone was. Beast or not, he must become the one who will never fall, for his people.
They watch him, and he feels their gaze against his back. Waiting patiently for what God was to do.
I—am—God!
Radiance spills out from his form, a ring of light blurring behind his stained head. Brilliant. He stands and hears the distant rumbling, the heat rising across his pale skin. Awareness. Merrin heaves a breath, points at the stone titan, and says, "I give you over!"
Red bursts through the wall, siding the titan. A fiery thing, consumed by dark red flames, bellowing smoke. It is a familiar dread. The Talemir. In a moment, it raises its dark sword, slashing through the stone titan. A giant hand crashing into the earth.
This must be what comes! He thinks, knows the gamble. Ashman senses told of the approach, the noise told of where, and hope told of a clash between giants. And now, it was so. They fought like monsters; Fire against stone.
Let them fight. Let my people think this is what I did to save them. But let them be safe. A nod, and he turns, stops: Something flows into his awareness; a far gallop, then it nears, closing in. Merrin turns, and the wall behind smashes through with a thing, a creature, four-legged, glowing with an illusory white light.
It has a long-haired rider—a man, beautiful, majestic, clad in silvery white armor, hair white, a similar spear in hand. Radiant, shimmering with white dots floating about him.
He bellows: "Auwale joins the Hunt!" And his creature smashes into the Talemir, sending it crashing into the wall, the titan too. A shockwave of sound and wind blows through the chamber.
Merrin is pried from his legs, tumbling over hard stone. Ear ringing. He gasps, queer dots floating across his vision. A groan escapes him, bones like solid stone, unmoving. Nerves aflame. Sheer agony.
Who is that? Vision shifts black to light—reality to darkness. Something flashes in the distance: white, red, grey, blended. Then there are the clads of metal, the whistle of sliced wind, and the furnace of rising heat. He staggers up and draws in humid breaths, head leading the slanted body. He must see. The bird had spoken of it: "He comes."
Was it him? This Auwale….A name written in the believed ancient stele. Who is he? Wind slams hard, rolling him across the earth, head banging against stray stone. A wail explodes from him. Pain like a stone trapped in his skull. Even the sound becomes torment. Like a calamity, the chamber screams in torture. But he stands, blood streaming down the head, over the shoulders, trailing the arm and dripping into charred soil, hissing.
He sees red; half sight of blurred scarlet, the other is sidely blackened. He is a suit, worn by pain. Ah, he couldn't scream. Now, it has become a luxury to do even that. Not that he should—eyes are upon him.
Oddly, his people remain at the mouth of the dark tear, watching, patient for what god was to do. Not seen, of course, but he knows their presence. There. A boom floods the chamber, the earth quaking, legs wobbling.
Merrin wipes the blood, sight returning. Then a roar thunders in: "Auwale claims you today." And white burns mad, raying across the walls, nulling darkness. Cold, the light. Frostcold. Yet, calming. Like the other force. Was it so? The thought drifts into a forced serenity, heart calming, pounding with the slow breathing.
Mentation clears, and he finds himself standing, stunned, eyes locked on the tall figure, mounted on the white creature, spear in hand, tip burning with a radiant orb like a god of sorts. Auwale roars and launches the spear into the stone titan. All turns white—blinding. Sound like a hundred howls. War has come, and it has the form of a man.
Auwale.
Darkness returns, and the Titan stands, a hole in its stomach, stone dripping out. No scream, it tumbles, slanting against the high walls, pounding down like a fallen mountain. The earth quakes accordingly, and soot is thrown up. Then there was one.
The giant rav'zul, burning red with fumes of black smoke. A beast from the world below. Sword, black, brittle in hand, poised at a smaller form. A man, clad in silvery white armor, hair long, lambent white, astride on a waxen creature of the same color. He is adorned by swaying white servs, odd creatures, spear in hand, trained on the Talemir.
And he is off, riding across the earth, the beast's legs a blur of motion. Glass spear pointed ahead. To hunt; that was the singular echoed word. Merrin heard it within: Auwale hunts for a demon of fire. What is a prey of stone, hard, compared to that of fire, blazing? He knows now—this man was his savior. Memories surge.
At the first meeting of Flame and him, Auwale was there. He and his beast, saviors, both of them. And now, he stands again. Battling death for him. Deliberate or not, Merrin feels indebted—repayment, however, was a maddening thought. For now, he turns to his people and shouts, "This is Auwale of the Shaedoran. And he stands with God!"
He is unsure of what they heard—the booms alone seal out the sounds, but they turn, eyes wide, body trembling. They see power now. Auwale, and they link it to their god. Patterns within patterns.
The myth deepens.
Cracks tore through the face of the walls, fire blooming across the chamber. White flashes, a beastly roar, a howl, and a seismic bang. Merrin is thrown from his feet, and he stands, his people sprawled over the ground, unconscious. Ron remains, backing the conked Catelyn. But he steams—ah, they all do.
This needs to end now! He knows to run, to free himself of this disaster. Let Auwale hunt alone, but then there was the myth. How strong would it become when his people see God standing by his soldier, battling as one?
A seductive outcome.