The Immortals

The goddess Alana has failed. Now, the Elder Gods have banished her to the dying worlds, where she must suffer and wait . . . and grow strong, for one day she will stand against the Plague once more. This time, on the soil of the Seventh World. Meanwhile, Anon begins his journey to the dying elven world to save the Elf Prince, Adros. But once there, he discovers the Plague has evolved into a horror beyond imagining. Now, to save the last of the elven race he must face creation's greatest enemy, the embodiment of the Void itself. The fate of the universe depends on his success. But there seems only one way to prevail, for even the Maker has abandoned him in the hellish world Ki'minsyllessil. To save Prince Adros, Anon must die.

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4. EPILOGUE

 

 

 

“You have failed me.  Now your body will be reclaimed.”

Vines began tearing him apart, piece by piece.  Through the pain, he somehow summoned a thought.

‘I CAN REDEEM MYSELF, GREAT LORD.  PLEASE, I CAN YET AID YOU . . .  DELIVER TO YOU WHAT YOU DESIRE MOST OF ALL.’

“You have nothing left to give me but your flesh, Ostedes?”

There was only one force the Dead Tree feared, one world it could not obtain.

‘THE ELDERS.  GRANT ME THE DARK ARMY, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU THEIR SANCTUARY.’

As if in thought, the vines paused their grisly task.

“You will take me there.  But if you fail me again, you will not be reclaimed, but will suffer eternal.”

‘I PROMISE YOU, GREAT LORD.  I WILL NOT FAIL.’

The vines came at him again.  This time they didn’t tear him apart but penetrated him instead.  They swelled with the dark fluid, secreting it in his innards, rebuilding his ruined flesh.  Somehow, his reconstruction was more painful than his rending. 

But through it all, Ostedes thought only of fulfilling his promise to the Dead Tree.  Oh yes.  He would make the Elders suffer, far more than even he had.  He would go to the Sanctuary and show their minds pain and suffering like they never thought possible.

His body was so swollen with the fluid it spewed from his eyes.

The bark-like ridges on Ostedes’ face warped into what could almost be interpreted as a grin.

 

 

 

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