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Epic Fantacea #26 The Worst Kind of Wound
Epic Fantacea #26 The Worst Kind of Wound
There Noriova stood, standing as was barely knee-high to a god, a lesser one, but a god indeed.
“I am Ba`al! And you shall ever serve me!” That’s what the giant’s physique and demeanor seemed to say to the visibly-shaken knight.
Ba`al, Noriova wasn’t sure how he knew who it was, that he was standing before, but it was Ba`al, indeed–Lord Regent of Luzd, a principle deity in the Underworld Pantheon.
The tall, muscular, and fat man, towering three times over Noriova, laughed just then, a booming guffaw, a roar that was an earthquake, and a note of contemptuous irony that was the hurricane, destroying the newly built village.
Noriova’s hand burned in flaring agony–a sensation like the flesh boiling and charring from the inside out. In a matter of one second’s time a great multitude of events transpired.
Noriova knew whom he stood before. He felt fear, and oddly nonchalantly accepted his odd fate. He looked up to meet Ba`al’s derisive glare and his green eyes locked with daemonic red hate. Noriova’s hand burnt in pain. The oddly colored birthmark on Noriova’s hand swelled and lengthened, growing brighter and darker all at once. Then another being stood in their presence, visible to Noriova and invisible to Ba`al.
It was neither male nor female, and somehow encompassed all characteristics of each gender.
It spoke to Noriova then. It had in it all the voices of every age, but it spoke directly into Noriova’s mind, in the compassionate voice of a confident and commanding male figure.
You shall live, Noriova. That is your boon. This is your charge; when you do meet him, you shall escort Trypsoul, my servant, and shall take him before the priest, that he may his mission accomplish and grand purpose fulfill.
Now speak aloud these words…
And every word, first said by this mysterious being was echoed by Noriova.
“I stand before thee, Ba`al, Servant and Seneschal of Syn, you who are principle of lust and flesh, Regent-Prince of Luzd.”
Almost as if channeling this mysterious being, that stood off to Noriova’s right side, and clearly out of sight of Ba`al, Noriova practically spoke in unison, so well was he following along to the words.
“I stand before you, and although I may recognize you and fear you, you have no authority over me. I step aside you, as I step aside my fear. You have no dominion over me.”
Noriova began to walk around the giant, daemonesque and grotesque behemoth that was Ba`al, Lust Incarnate. He continued echoing the words of the luminescent stranger.
“Ba`al, you who are lust and governor of beast and flesh, I, this moment, recognize you and fear ye not, and as so I am freed of your realms.”
Noriova continued on his journey, walking in the direction the luminescent, beautiful, and otherwise indescribable figure pointed.
Within a few minutes, Noriova ascended a flight of stone stairs and found himself greeting daylight and the fresh air of a terran forest. The familiar figure appeared by him, and Noriova, brushing his bangs from his eyes, tried to study this figure that was, in turn, studying him.
Unfortunately the human senses, by their very nature and design are unable to discern certain things, namely those characteristics of many deities and primordial beings.
“Who are you?” Noriova asked.
Although his biological senses were unable to ascertain much of this mysterious guide, Noriova’s as of yet undeveloped True Sight showed him contradictory glimpses of benevolence and turmoil.
“I Am called Selphuvall. I can directly help you or tell you no more.”
And with that the being who was Selphuvall was gone, and Noriova was left standing there, rather stupefied.
As he stood there, stupefied as he was, the ground beneath his feet shook and trembled violently for almost half a minute’s time.
While Noriova stood on the surface of Fantacea, completely dumbfounded, a being of immense power located under the world’s surface was also dumfounded and furious beyond all account and reckoning.
It is said, although no one knows the truth of the claim, that the loss by Ba`al of Noriova’s soul, resulted in such a scream of rage that the whole surface, the entire face of Fantacea shook.
And as Ba`al was lost in his ecstatic frenzy of rage and frustration, a most beautifu and radiant figure walked into his throne room, each step, every movement of her legs, hips, and entire body, a captivating and arresting display of grace and elegance.
In Ba`al’s chamber she always wore red, a revealing and tantalizing outfit the color of blood.
“Oh, Cousin,” she said, her voice musical and teasing, “did you lose another one?”
Her sympathy was completely false and mocking, only adding to the god’s fury. There was nothing he could do, however, for she, the lady of Love, lust and poison was daughter, mother, and wife to Syn, and without either, Ba`al would be powerless, and to anger or threaten either one would be tantamount to suicide.
“Be silent, wench!” he roared.
“Tut. Tut. Cousin, you really need to watch that temper of yours,” she said teasingly, running her hands through hair–hair that was the envy of every mortal woman, and a prize for any man if he could be granted just the opportunity to run his hand through it, to experience its softer than silk essence.
“Did you lose another one, then?”
“You know the truth of the matter very well, Princess,” he said, more than a trace of utter and complete disdain in his voice.
“This makes two in the last half century, Cousin. You’re losing your touch.”
Ba`al seethed. It is always the truest of truisms, the truth is always hardest to bear, and this mocking little bitch was speaking it, almost singing it to him, teasing his inner child (if a god can be said to have one) and completely mocking him.
“The last one doesn’t count,” is all Ba`al could say, “he was mostly dead.”
“And he still is,” added Dezyre, the Lady of Love and poison, “but he still counts,” she said pouring the salt on the infected wound.
She glided around the giant Ba`al, her every move tantamount to an erotic story of epic proportions. He, however, being Lust Incarnate was safe from her many charms, but not at all impervious to the annoyance of one who liked nothing more than to get his goat.
“And what of this one?” she asked, “How did he escape from your most awesome and powerful clutches?”
“I do not know,” moaned the giant--but feeling rather tiny--god of lust.
“One minute he was standing before me, and the next minute he was gone. I truly do not know, how I lost him,” he said sullenly.
“I will find him, though, and I will rule over him,” he roared swinging his arms around furiously, wishing that there was something in the room other than this pestering bitch and his own throne; something that he might be able to destroy.
He gestured quickly with one hand, and instantly a succubus and an incubus stood before him. There will was his, but if they had a will of their own surely they would have fled, for as soon as they stood before him, hoping to please their lord and creator, his jaw opened to an impossible degree and he grabbed them both, one in each hand, the male and female daemons of seduction and crammed them into his mouth, devouring them whole.
Dezyre watched him devour the two pleasure daemons, half with amusement, and half with disgust. She thought it a shame and a pity to destroy two useful servants of the flesh and loins so recklessly.
She arched her eyebrows and shook her head.
“He wants me to deliver a message,” she said.
“Don’t worry about this one. He has a use for this one, yet, and he’s serving his purpose according to plan.”
Despite her words, which were clearly and simply a warning to back down and let this one go, Ba`al could not help but to feel fury. He would pursue this one no matter what.
Even gods have their pride, and when the pride is injured, all who have lived a life, mortal or not, know a wound to the pride is the hardest to heal, and it’s one that festers with infection and discomfort.