God of Eyes

I can't imagine what the situation would have been like if Miana and I had not been sitting next to one another when it happened. But Xechi, a woman we both personally knew, was reaching out desperately, for anyone. For any god, at least--anyone who could make the situation right. I could feel Miana's fear, and the feeling in my own gut was cold, and we might as well have been holding hands as our thoughts raced out from my temple towards the large woman, far to the east and north of us.

When we appeared out of the woman's shadow, Xechi was laying there, her hand grasped tightly by Muir's. The smaller woman was crying openly, and Xechi had her eyes locked on her, an arrow sticking out of her neck, blood everywhere. There was a stench in the air, a stench I had only known once--the stench of ashen mist, of a soldier who was dying inside, losing something to achieve victory.

"Save... her." Xechi's torn-open throat was not a neat wound, and some part of me, still thinking the world was supposed to be office work and boring days, wanted to look away, but I didn't. I had seen a few bad wounds so far, but not... not on a person I wanted to save. Not on a person I knew.

I felt Miana starting to try to channel power, trying to reach her, to heal her, but I also heard shouting. Not far away, warriors were charging at Muir, and Muir, caught between grief and fury, stood up and ran headlong at her foes.

Mentally, I put a hand on Miana's shoulder, trying to stop her. Soulflame could heal Xechi, I was sure, but every fiber of my being said that it would cost a lot more than we could afford--not now, not when . Instead, I pushed what power I could to Muir, hoping to give her a moment, and reached for Xechi.

Save her, insisted Xechi the moment I touched her mind. Forget me. She is... brilliant. Brave. Strong. She needs you, and I need her. Don't... don't let me die... without protecting her.

You will die, I insisted. But you can protect her.

Xechi felt confused, and I understood after a moment that she thought of Angels and Vicars as something very special--as proof of a person's real and true dedication to a god, deeper than an ocean, boundless and beautiful. The thought that she could become an Angel seemed so far from her thoughts at that moment that I might as well have been trying to hint that she was actually royalty.

Listen... about the bridge... I am so... so sorry...

I turned my full attention back to Xechi, feeling a swell of irritation begin to build in me. I am not so petty, Xechi.

I was a fool... arrogant... proud...

STOP IT! I felt Xechi's body stop working, but knew that her spirit was only set free, and at that moment, I already had my hand on her. Xechi, I do not hate you. You are brave, you are wise, you are kind. Perhaps it is wrong of me, perhaps this is a task better suited for another. But I wish for you to protect your friend.

You may not. Suddenly, Miana was there, as though she was a storm, herself. She is mine.

I turned to look at Miana, astonished, but pushed past that and looked back at Xechi. Protect her.

Do not take my people from me.

Please... Xechi's mind was fading, as the part of her that did the thinking--the body--began to fall into chaos. Do not...

At my temple, Miana drew a sword, and I found the blade of it at my throat. "They are not your people to play games with, Ryan of Eyes."

"This is not a game, Miana," I snarled in return.

"They are my people." She pressed the edge of the blade against my neck, expecting that I would take a step back. I did not, and let a small amount of blood leak from the cut.

Instead, my eyes, which had for a moment been a world away, suddenly became the Eyes of Condemnation once more, and suddenly, Miana felt a pressure leaking from my eyes--a pressure that I had already used twice against other gods, gods far greater than her.

"They are not things, Miana." I locked both my eyes on her, and put no small amount of soulflame into the eyes, hoping more would not be needed. "I do not care about religion and I do not care about power. I am not stealing anything from anyone. I will help her."

"You will kill her," snapped Miana in return, trying with all her might to struggle against the force of my will.

"She is already dead." My eyes did not leave her. "But Muir is not. The others are not. If you want to make her your Vicar, then do. But if not--"

"She should not be dying at all!" Miana nearly screamed at me. "She is my friend and... and she is..."

"One of many to die in the name of the Goddess." I felt Xechi's spirit, still touching me, start to boil. Restlessly, without putting any more thought to it, I connected her to Muir, and to myself. With the task done, I closed my eyes, returning them to normal. "Everyone dies, Miana. Someday, I will. What is important is the world we leave behind."

Within moments, Miana's blade had pierced my shoulder, and I screamed.

Muir had never before been the center of attention going into a fight. Some days, yes, she jumped in the middle of a fight and drew a giant target on her, but she had never started one. Not a fight like this. She was normally... well. She'd like to say that she was too smart to get into a fight like this. Too strategic. Too clever.

In reality, she just hated everything, and there was no point in going to war for people that you hated. Except, now and again, someone would give her a reason to care, and so she would. Whether it had been her sister, or Xechi, or that hot little number from the temple who invited her for three-ways with a war hero... some days, very rarely, she cared.

But never this much.

She had two weapons, and neither was meant for a pitched battle with her at the center. One was a set of linked throwing knives--good for picking people off at medium range, good for discrete action, not really meant for a battlefield. The other was a Fallen shortsword, and while it was big enough for her, it was nobody's idea of a main weapon.

Even the previous owner tried to warn her, but not seriously. The woman inside had been young, but distinguished, when her time came. Muir had thought from the moment she received the blade that if she'd known the woman in person, they might have been fast friends. Clever, yes; cynical, definitely. And full, full to the brim with repressed rage begging to be released.

She knew the anger that was flooding Muir, and didn't try to stop it. But she kept nudging Muir a little to the side, trying to get her to wake up, because she clearly felt that this was going to be a fight to the death--and a waste.

Still, between the two of them, Muir was able to put her throwing knives to good use. Although they weren't much in terms of weight, as linked weapons, they moved with her will, as long as she fed magic into the one knife handle she kept in her hand. As soldiers approached, she hobbled their knees, slashed their throats, and tore open their eyes, only one or two at a time.

When the first of them got close enough to swing, Muir found that the previous owner of the sword was an adept at Water martial arts; she found herself immediately going through motions unfamiliar to her, fluidly blocking and accepting the momentum from the enemy weapon, barely having to focus on it while also controlling the knives. When another enemy got close enough, and it became two on one, the two of them found that she moved effortlessly from one defense to the next without losing a beat.

Meanwhile, one, then another of her knives was sundered. At least one of the enemies had enough magic to do that much; the knives were tough, but not indestructible.

And then...

And then a feeling came over Muir that was at once immensely familiar, and also unlike anything she'd ever known. If she had to describe it, it was a lot like when she and Xechi had had a foursome with a couple of very handsome gentlemen they'd picked up in a bar one night in their youth. She had been right there next to Xechi, feeling something indescribable, and Xechi... she had also been feeling something indescribable. They were not feeling the same things, they were not together, either. But there was something between them, something tangled. She had never felt quite the same, not sleeping alone with Xechi, nor sharing a threesome, nor any other time.

But now, she was certain Xechi was there. Xechi was feeling something indescribable. And she wanted, so desperately, to share it, but couldn't. And after a moment, Muir realized what that feeling meant--now, and before.

Xechi had only ever wanted her, but Muir wasn't interested. Muir had never once thought Xechi was actually jealous, but now, here, she felt it more strongly than she had at any time since. Xechi had been patient, and Muir had not understood. And now, it was too late. Too late, but also...

But also Xechi still wanted her. There was a burning passion within the big woman, and right now, the inside of her was all that was left. And it had to watch her... watch her? With another?

It took Muir entirely too long to understand, but after a moment, she took the blade of the Fallen and threw it with all her might. The blade embedded itself into the chest of one of the soldiers of Parre, and Muir understood that she could never pick the blade up again. Because that blade was promised to the Goddess, and Xechi had been chosen by another. For Muir, the choice between the two was easy, immediate, and final.

The power that surged into her body, she recognized in an odd way--but while she knew the little mousy man as the God of Eyes, the power that flowed through her and through Xechi was more primal, more violent, and it fit the two of them perfectly.

The storm that had been chasing after Muir moved at her command, and a crack of thunder split the skies. A wind and rain picked up around her that was so intense that Muir could have flown in the gale, or drowned people in the pouring sheets of water, if that was what she chose to do. But Muir was not going to run, and the enemy would not oblige her by drowning quickly enough.

Instead she stalked forward in the rain, and this time, whenever her throwing knives flashed through the rain, another blade flashed down from the heavens to meet it. She had no sword, but whenever she was close enough to need one, she would instead grab someone twice her height and jump--carrying them into the sky, where she threw them aside like the garbage they were, and fell towards her next victim.

Muir had never known, before today, how much Xechi had loved her. But neither of them had known, either, how much they both loved the beauty, ferocity, and raw power of a storm. They had watched them from afar, cowered under trees and tents. But knowing that they did not need to fear the storm, that it was theirs to command...

Xechi had been intensely jealous of watching Muir. She had been jealous because she could not be a part of her friend's lust, and love, could not share in the feelings. But this was not a foursome, and she would always be there, sharing in those feelings alongside her. She didn't just get to watch her lover fight. She was with her, and Xechi wanted nothing more than that.

Muir's scream of defiance echoed through the storm, and her enemies shivered, their victory suddenly far from certain.