Everything around them went dark, save for a single corridor. It was as obvious as a trap could be. But there was nothing else they could do. Waiting or searching for the Hollow Gods had proven to be a pointless task. Martell knew as he knew Regis knew it. Still, knowing didn’t change the fact that he felt like they were being ordered what to do next.

“Do we just walk?” The Second asked in a low voice so that the others couldn’t hear him.

“Do you have a better idea?” The leader of the Slayers shrugged.

Yet, Martell could see the uncertainty in his eyes. When faced with the unknown, and without a clear plan of action, his friend always made the same choice. It wasn’t the best one, but it was the creed of the Ferrex tribe – charge forward and trust in the Twenty.

Before the Second could open his mouth in an attempt to reason with him, Regis bellowed the order. “Death to the Hollow Gods!”

The cry was echoed by all, but to their credit, they didn’t rush blindly. The mercenaries were far too experienced to make such a mistake. Instead, they moved into formation and advanced as a group. Martell wanted to tell them he was proud to see how much they had progressed since the first days when they were nothing but a mob, blinded by the urge to kill. But he could never do that, it would ruin his position as Second. Besides, there was a time and place for everything, and right now he needed to focus.

That was the most difficult thing for him. His mind was a constant mess of images and thoughts, most of which he could barely comprehend. Martell could see the others were suffering in the same. It would not be obvious for an outside observer, but he could see it. It was hidden in the small flinches, the darting of their eyes, the tension in their backs.

It nearly startled him to realise his senses had become sharper, yet dulled. If he looked hard enough, he could see the small fissures where the strange material of the walls met the next section. He understood that he had been seeing those details the entire time, but was simply overwhelmed by the amount of information his brain was forced to process.

Martell felt as if they had been walking for hours, and they might have for all he knew. The lit path had taken them through twisting corridors. Some were small enough to be actually made for humans, while others were wide and specious that a horseman could pass through them. He cursed himself for a fool for allowing his mind to wander so much.

The group finally stopped at a strange metal door. There were runes engraved onto it and strange markings lined it on all four sides. There was no need for Martell to even try and attempt breaking it down. The Second gave Nadene a meaningful look, just to receive a slight shake of her head as an answer to his unspoken question. He noticed the thin line of blood gently worming its way from her nostril, a mark both Cylin and Sarduk also had.

Martell wanted to know what was happening to them, the power of their gifts was key in fighting the gods, however, he did not have the opportunity to voice his concerns. Regis slammed the back of the axe at the door, producing a deafening echo followed by the booming voice of the Hollow Gods.

“It is your last chance savages. Submit to our will and prostrate yourselves or die!”

“Look at this!” Regis laughed and turned around to face the Slayers. “Gods, we call them…” He spat theatrically on the floor. “Look how they cower behind their gates, afraid to face us. Afraid they will die!”

The short speech elevated the mercenaries and kindled the fire for battle in their hearts. The words of their leader were answered by a chorus of roars and the clanking of weapons. Even Martell felt it; the happiness of taking a life, a feeling he had thought lost since what happened to Nina. For the first time, he understood the others. They were about to fight and kill actual Gods. It was exhilarating.

The large door opened with a hiss. A wave of noxious gasses washed over the Slayers. It was pungent and acidic and forced bile up their throats. At the same time, a second door closed at the other end of the corridor. It was clear there was no turning back, not anymore. Martell tightened his grip on the handle of the bar mace, trying to blink the tears away from his eyes. Guided by some primitive instinct he took a step back and hunched his shoulders, preparing himself to act.

It was the same for the others, he was sure of it. Except for Regis, the man was smiling. The leader of the mercenaries took a confident step forward and spread out his hands. A small metal ball clanked on the floor near him. Regis moved fast, faster than Martell could have thought a person could move. He kicked the ball back and it exploded in a cloud of light, that nearly blinded all the Slayers. It took the Second a moment to realise that it was the same arcane item that had incapacitated them all, back in front of the temple of Scoria Tria

“Your tricks won’t work anymore!” Regis roared. “Your blessings are quite good.” He added with maniacal laughter spilling from his mouth.

The short outburst was followed by screams of pain and anger from the room in front of them. Martell could not see a thing beyond the wall of darkness that covered the entrance, but he saw the moment a large bulky figure passed through it and slammed into Regis. He saw both man and God drop in a tangled mess on the floor and a strange sharp knife pressed against his friend’s throat and it prompted him to action.

The Second charged with the idea of caving in the head of the Hollow God. His movement was arrested by another one of the Gods almost appearing in his path from thin air. The being’s thin arm, holding Martell’s own in place, with strength that defied reality. It was enough to break the spell that had the others rooted to the ground, be it from fear or indecision. Just in time, Martell noted in the second before he shifted his body. His knee flew high colliding with his opponent’s shoulder, as seven more of the Hollow Gods emerged from the darkness.

Man and deity become one, as time resumed its normal flow. Martell felt as if his leg had crashed into a castle’s wall, his opponent although looking unharmed, faltered and took a step back, realising the warrior from its grip. Gods they might be, but they were no fighters, the Second noted as he saw the creature’s poor imitation of a fighting stance. The thing was armed with a mace similar to his, covered by dancing lightning, and he soon realised that even a graze from it caused intense pain.

The weapon had barely scratched his shoulder as the God tried to crush his skull, just as Martell was getting his footing after the collision. Quickly he spun on his heels and struck with the mace in his hand. The hit was on target; however, the steel was stopped just a few centimetres from the Hollow God’s body by what looked like a bubble of water. Martell could feel it bent and perhaps with enough force he might actually be able to break it, but all that was made mute when the thing kicked him in the stomach.

Cylin wanted to scream, run away or just die, so long as the pain stopped. The backlash of her spell had made her feel sick and weak and had jolts of misery cascading through her body, but it was nothing compared to what she felt now. Every time she made an attempt to employ her gifts, her mind erupted in pure unfiltered agony. Every nerve in her body was ablaze forcing her to curl on the ground.

The girl lacked the control of Nadene, the experienced mage showed no signs of suffering the same as her. Nor did she have Sarduk’s constitution. The shaman, obviously felt similar to her, yet he was able to use the spirits to a small extent; mostly as a distraction while the weasel of a man Little Uhr fought one of the dreadful beings. At least, he was helping the others fight the Pathari Saar, while all she could do was look in horror as her new tribe opposed the Gods, she had been taught to fear.

What Cylin was seeing was a battle taken from the stories of the end times. Regis was struggling on the ground with a God atop of him, while Inney savagely struck it with her weapon. All of the elf’s efforts were not enough to so much as mark the Hollow God’s strange armour. Next to them, Martell was engaged in a brutal melee with another one, clearly unable to hurt it. His blows bounced off harmlessly from the protective magics of the fiend.

The one-eyed woman Lilly and the emotionless Sonya were struggling to free themselves from the tentacles coming from another one’s back. The silent Sarjak and the red-skinned Mekset were doing everything they could to buy the two women some extra time. However, their best was simply not enough, and the unyielding appendages were slowly strangling the life out of the two women.

Cylin saw the giant man – Big Uhr, lift one of the Pathari Saar and break its back on his knee. The man then proceeded to beat it with his massive fists, shards of the God’s mask piercing his knuckles. The charming Dominique and the stern-looking Kurt protected Big Uhr’s back from the attacks of a God armed with blades of blue fire, emerging from the top of its wrists.

Next to them berserker Asmund and the cold veteran Colder were butchering another of the Pathari Saar, which had overestimated its skills with a strange green-glass whip. But it was a small victory, won an enormous cost. Both men would soon succumb to the numerous cuts decorating their bodies.

Just a few steps in front of her the lithe Seth tackled another of the Gods and allowed Os to smash his mace at its back. The blow crushed the strange apparatus attached to the creature producing a small fireball that scorched the skin of the torturer’s new face. While the last of the Hollow Gods was being kept at bay by Sigismund and the unarmed Till, Cylin understood that she needed to act.

The numerical advantage of her tribe was the key to their victory. Even if the Pathari Saar were stronger and far more resilient, they were finding it difficult to struggle against the twenty mercenaries. Biting through the pain, the girl sprinted and pushed away Sigismund out of the way of the incoming mace of his opponent. The heavy steel weapon struck her on the left side of her neck and she felt her spine break.

Cylin crumbled, like a puppet with its strings cut, to the cold floor. Unable to feel her body, fresh terror engulfed her mind. The strike should have killed her, instead because of some dumb lick, a fate worse than death awaited her. Cylin knew she had done something foolish, but the warrior was far more valuable than her. Sigismund didn’t bother to check on her, instead used her sacrifice to his advantage. His strike was true and shattered the mask covering the lower half of the God’s face.

The face underneath it was horrible to look at. The mouth resembled that of the dog-sized scorpions that roamed the sands of Scoria. Cylin had seen the beasts gorge themselves on the flesh of both animals and men alike, and each time it had sickened her. But unlike those monsters, the skin around the Hollow God’s mouth was not covered in strong plates of chitin. No, it was discoloured and rotting, thick brownish pus weeping from the small cuts.

A cry, akin to that of a wounded beast, issued from its throat and it began clawing at its neck, choking on the air the mercenaries were having trouble breathing. Cylin could feel the bones in her slender neck move back into place and sensation returning to her limbs. The sensation was like nothing she had experienced before – strange, frightening and exciting at the same time. Not even in the many stories, Cylin had memorized, did such a thing miracle occur. But what sparked hope in her heart was the lessening of the pain torturing her mind and the familiar tingle at the back of her head. The veil clouding her gits was slowly parting away.

“They cannot use the gifts.” The girl heard Nadene’s soft words as she helped her stand up. “They consume it, I can see the currents flowing at them, being drained from us. But they cannot use them.”

“Then we are useless.” Cylin felt her hope being crushed.

“You – yes. I on the other hand can do this.” Nadene grabbed the back of her head with one arm and stretched her other one out.

Cylin screamed. Her soul was aflame and her entire body was rocked by an unnatural chill. The mage was consuming her powers, syphoning them without restraint. It was similar to what Nadene had done to her after they woke in the strange room, but this time it was done without any fines, it was brutal and savage.

A spear of orange light shot out of the woman’s outstretched hand and jerked and twisted its way towards the creature Martell was fighting. The impact devastated the barrier which had prevented the warrior from landing a meaningful blow. But it did not end with that, the spear continued through the Hollow God and detonated in a ball of fire and lightning, obliterating a third of the creature’s body. It was the last thing Cylin saw as the last vestiges of her strength left her and the peaceful embrace of sleep took hold of her.

Martell was blinded by whatever mad spell one of the mages had used. He felt warm chunks of flesh pepper his naked skin as a horrible thunder resonated in his ears, deafening him for a brief moment. He had no doubt the Hollow God was dead, but he worried if he could ever see again. If by some miracle, they came out of this battle victorious, he would need to have a word with Nadene and Cylin. Preferably by breaking their fingers as they apologised for their idiocy.

The Second blinked several times, noting that the bright spot, which clouded his sight was getting smaller. At the same time, he hoped that no one attacked him, because blinded and deaf, he would pose no challenge. Slowly his vision returned and he could see that the Slayers would soon claim the lives of the remaining Hollow Gods. A single death was all it took to run the tide of the battle. A single moment of distraction was enough to provide the edge, the Slayers so desperately needed to overcome their foes.

Most of Scoria’s tyrannical Gods were either dead or close to it. Big Uhr was roaring while waving one’s spine and head, which he had ripped with his bare hands. Os and Colder were desecrating what was left of another. Next to the Second, Inney and Regis were venting their frustration on the one that had made an attempt at killing the mercenaries’ leader. The thing was still alive, but the way its arms and legs were bent indicated it posed no threat.

Regis finished it off by tearing its chest open with the axe he had taken and carved out the Hollow God’s black heart. Similar acts were happening all around as the final remnants of life were snuffed from the Lords of Scoria.

“We are the slayers of Gods!” Their leader roared and bit a large chunk from the black heart in his hand. “The Twenty Dragons are the true masters of this world, and we are their avatars!”

Martell was the first to mirror the shout and lifted his mace in triumph, after taking a bite from the black chunk of flesh Regis offered to him. All around him, a similar scene played out, as the mercenaries tore into the bodies of their opponents, and as the dragons, they had adopted as their guardian deities, consumed the flesh of their enemies. They had earned the name Godslayers, and no one could ever take that from them.

Martell’s heart beat faster in his chest. They had actually done it, they had killed the Hollow Gods, they had become immortal. They were the future and all would kneel before them. And Regis would be the one to lead them through it all. The man had proven that he could turn insanity into reality and Martell vowed to himself that he would follow his leader to the ends of the earth and beyond them if he had to.

“You savage animals…” A deep tired voice interrupted their moment of triumph. “You’ve ruined it all. Hundreds of cycles of research lost and wasted, because of you.”

The black veil that covered the chamber from which the Hollow Gods had come through, melted like ice. In the centre of a large room was the last one, seating on a throne, surrounded by empty desks and chairs.

“Your victory shall ring hollow and taste like ash and dust.” It lifted its hand and pointed at Regis. “One day, my kind shall return and lay waste to this forsaken rock. But until that day comes, I name you the Destroyer.”

A small arrow, no larger than a man’s finger, pierced the breast of their leader. Regis dropped to one knee and collapsed on the cold marble floor. Screams of pain and anger rang around Martell. He moved without thinking, crossing the dozen meters to the last of the Hollow Gods.

“Activate the Ruler Interment protocol!” The last Pathari Saar yelled just before the Second’s mace split its head in two.