The Blade of Arandus Snippet:
Arandus, God of War & Rossu, God of Peace
Arandus gripped his axe, Nazul. It’s golden eye peeked up at him through cracks in the bark near the blade. A slab of gold from the sun, bathed in the light of his mother, the moon. Arandus forged it just as his father had forged him so long ago. In his rage, Arandus named the axe Nazul, or “Wrath”. That was the beginning of this war. He didn’t feel so wrathful right now, just tired.
Arandus looked to his cousin. Rossu stood next to him, his chest rose and fell steadily. His crimson red hair and skin glistened with divine sweat, his armor peeled away, and his arms and shoulder bare. He held his giant saber in his hands. The blade was huge, as wide as the god’s muscled leg, and longer than he was tall. The metal gleamed scarlet, forged from the innards of a volcano, and bathed in the magma. He named it Efir o’Rossu, “Rossu’s Fire.”
Arandus remembered a time when they were young gods, hair barely on their chins, batting together in the name of justice. There was the rare occasion when peace god Rossu, would clean up the squabbles his war god cousin would start. Now they stood together on the battlefield that might be their last.
Arandus sighed. He missed his home in the heavens, Orthu, and his brothers. His family. Each night, he looked up into the sky and stared at his mother until morning.
“Rossu.”
The Red God grunted a response.
“How many times have we done this?”
Rossu blinked, a clear sign that he was thinking, quite deeply. “Somewhere around five billion, seventeen thousand, three hundred and fifty five. Plus that skirmish with my mother.” He shivered.
Arandus bellowed laughter, the hearty sound echoed across the field. “Leave it to the son of the Sofos the Wise to remember all of our battles, to fear of Rosiag, Torturer of Souls.” He paused.
The horde of vile monsters of the Void waited across the battlefield. They slashed their claws and flashed vicious fangs at Arandus and Rossu, eyes burning with black fire. Their hideous shadowy bodies writhed and hummed with anger. They stood around Oni, several times even the old god’s size, who towered over his nephews. He held a hand in the air, holding his army in place.
Oni’s black mane flowed in the wind, his ruddy grey skin glistening with his power stolen from the sun. His armor was black and gold, emblazoned with runes exclaiming his grace and strength. Oni twirled his spear in his other hand, the golden blade long and wicked. Arandus huffed and glared into his uncle’s onyx eyes.
Arandus chuckled. “We may die here today, Cousin,” he said. Rossu nodded. The God of Peace was never wasteful with his words.
“Shall we make it worth it?”
Rossu nodded again. He swung Efir around his head and slammed it into the ground. The earth separated at his feat, magma bubbling to the surface. The magma rose and morphed, and dryed into the shape of red molten rock warriors, each equipped with swords and axes, maces and spears. They let out guttural sounds that boomed across the field, then charged, hooping and flaying their weapons.
Oni raised his spear, gesturing for his monsters to charge in return, a devilish wrapped grin across his face.
Arandus took a deep breath, then he and Rossu lunged, weapons raised high. They let out a battle cry and crashed through the army of monsters, moving for Oni.
“You took my father from me,” Arandus yelled, sliding underneath a large wolf shaped creature, slashing the length of its belly with his axe. “You took my mother, my home.”
Arandus hopped up and spun, slicing off the head of a tall shadowy figure behind him. He grabbed the limp body and slammed it into another monster. He hacked at the ground, and Nazul’s blade gouged into the soil. He propelled himself through the frey, his eyes locked into Oni.
“For that, Oni, you will feel my wrath!”
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