Kortasakh growled savagely. He turned in a semicircle shooting lightning haphazardly.
“He is blind,” Zartakh screamed over the thunder rattling the earth around him. “We have to hide.”
“No time.” Harshana rushed from his side to the towering giant. Right by Kortasakh, she hit the earth with her swords, and the earth exploded propelling her twenty feet in the air. She plunged both swords into the Kortasakh’s thigh, barely puncturing the skin.
“What is she trying to do?” Gerra shouted to Zartakh.
“A god can only be injured around the halo.” He pointed to the cloud formation circling Kortasakh’s neck. “This is the only spot that he is vulnerable.”
“I can help.” Gerra tapped Zartakh’s shoulder to pull him out of his terrified look to his mate. Then she pulled her sleeve to show him her arm. “I am not just a healer.”
Zartakh stared at her bare arm, where a vein throbbed in the middle of her arm, with each throb, for only a moment, he could see a scythe. His eyes widened in shock. “You are touched!”
“Not just touched.” Gerra bared the other sleeve. “I am the chosen of Ghanghansheer, the god of Death.”
“Ironic.” Zartakh laughed. “Harshana is the chosen of Firghanata, the goddess of Life and rebirth.”
Gerra smiled grimly. “Can you help me reach her?”
He looked down at Tarkan. “I can borrow some of his life force to augment my magic. Maybe then I can call on the earth to raise you to meet her.” Both looked up, Harshana was just past Kortasakh’s waist.
“Would it killed him?” Gerra pointed to Tarkan.
“I doubt it.” Zartakh shook his head. “Killing the god though, I don’t know what it will do to him now that he was touched.”
“Alright, do it then.” Gerra clenched her fists and gnashed her death.
Zartakh nodded and brought a small rock from his satchel, he whispered at it for a few seconds, then touched it to Tarkan’s forehead. The rock glowed, and Zartakh pulled it away from Tarkan, dragging with it a thin line of light.
He kissed the rock, and its glow increased ten folds. He kneeled and planted the rock in the earth.
The ground rumbled and groaned, then a mound of earth started to erupt and climb fast.
“Jump on it,” Zartakh shouted to Gerra.
Gerra jumped and almost lost her footing. The mound climbed fast, extremely fast. Gerra had to lay face down on the mound not to fall from it.
Within seconds, Gerra passed by Harshana in her climb. “Quick, jump.” Harashana didn’t hesitate, she joined Gerra on the mound.
“What do you think you are doing here, healer?” Harshana shouted over the growls of Kortasakh, who apparently started to see again, and he directed his anger at Zartakh.
“I am the chosen of Death,” Gerra shouted back.
“Ironic.” Harshana scoffed.
“This is what your mate said as well.” Gerra smiled. “Do you need me to augment your strike, or should I deal a direct one myself?”
“Here.” Harshana gave Gerra one of her swords. “I will go west, you go east. Better chances at a fatal cut.”
Gerra’s face paled suddenly. “Aren’t you afraid of killing Kortasakh? I mean you know what they say about the ones who landed the fatal strike on the old gods, right?”
“Eternal damnation, and a life without end in agony?” Harshana laughed. “Who would refuse eternal life?”
“But…” Before Gerra could finish her words, Kortasakh swatted at the mound of earth which crumpled under her and Harshana. Both jumped from the mound to Kortasakh’s shoulder and started to climb fast using Kortasakh’s chest hair.
Kortasakh growled and beat at his chest, but the two women were already on his shoulder. He tried to swat them off, but Harshana plunged her sword in his neck. Kortasakh screamed, and the sky rumbled to his scream. He plucked Harshana and threw her in the air.
Gerra watched Harshana disappear over the far hills. She stared down and saw Zartakh, he was buried under the mound of earth he called. His eyes were open and lifeless.
“Who would refuse eternal life? I wouldn’t.” Gerra bared her arms, passed the sword on the throbbing veins which opened and a blue-black ichor dripped from them, covering the sword. She raised the sword high and plunged it into Kortasakh’s neck with all her might right at the level of the clouds circling just above her head.
Kortasakh gazed down at Gerra and smiled. “Thank you.” He whispered softly.
Gerra felt that she was falling. No, not falling, she clung with all her might to the sword. Kortasakh was shrinking.
In ten seconds Gerra was at the ground level, with her sword plunged in the neck of a kid, no older than sixteen. He had a peaceful smile on his face. Gerra felt miserable. She cried out. The sky split to show a ray of pure light. The ray touched Gerra’s head, and she heard a whisper in her head. “We are very sorry, young one. You are one of us now, a goddess.”
If you liked this story, please check the other parts: Broken Fighter, part 1, and Broken fighter, part two, Gerra.
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The Broken Fighter,
This short story is very good. I like how Sharif tells the story. I shall be reading more of this author’s work.