Chapter 23
Nemesis
Lake Olympus, Konge Province, Titan
"'Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy,' rings true to the mortal ear, even though our brethren are commanded otherwise. To love friend and foe alike, to show compassion to him that hates you, it is a thing that offends our senses. We would pay good for good and evil for evil. It is the way of the world, but it is not the Way."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
Exhausted and overwhelmed by the pain, Mark could feel his consciousness fading when he saw the red flash in the distance. His fears of what that red flash meant were confirmed when he felt the squeezing pain in his chest and his heart sinking into his gut like a leaden weight. Sonia was dead, but not before unleashing one final blast of her power. How many true enemies did she take with her? How many were just the hapless souls stricken by the curse?
If he was almost lost before, how much more so now? Who was even left at this point? What was he even fighting for?
He tried conjuring up images of his wife and son to give him the strength beyond mortal strength to free himself, but it was not enough. The part of him that wanted to cease his struggles and embrace the inevitable was gaining the upper hand. He had done enough. He was ready for his rest.
His fingers relaxed and his sword fell from his hand. How would the end come? Would it be at the hands of the enemy? Would he fall prey to one of his own men made mad? Or would the strength just slowly bleed out of him until he breathed his last?
He began muttering the words of his final prayer, stumbling over what he wanted to say, forgetting, repeating. Could he not even keep his wits together to give his soul and the souls of all the fallen a proper send-off?
As he was struggling to finish his prayer, he could feel a creeping darkness surround him. Withered hands rose up from the ground to seize him. Had his faith failed him in his final moments and the Devil's minions had come to drag his soul down to the pits of Hell?
Like a scavenging crow seeking a carrion feast, a cloaked figure appeared perched on the body of Mark's horse, looming over him. It may not have been that Mark was being taken to Hell, but it would seem he was right about this being the work of a minion of the Devil.
"Giving up already, are you, Marko?" Brenok asked. "Does your blood really run so thin these days?"
Mark knew that his old foe could not resist making an appearance to boast. Of course he waited for an opportune moment when Mark's strength was all but spent.
"Do you like the show I put on for you? It would've been so boring if I just let things play out. How many of your own men have you killed, Marko? Did you know their names?
"Imagine what it'll be like for the survivors, especially the ones who felt my touch. Imagine what it'll be like to wake up to find yourself steeped in your brother's blood. How many will go truly mad after that? Oh, I can hardly wait."
Mark could not even find the energy for his stomach to turn at Brenok's wanton, petty cruelty on gruesome display yet again. Could such a vile, twisted creature even be called human?
In spite of himself, a single word escaped Mark's lips.
"Why?"
Brenok cocked his head.
"'Why?' After all these years, you ask me 'Why?' Why not? I hate you, Marko. I always have. I hate you, I hate your God, I hate the Elemental Knights. All of it. Everything about you. I've always hated it.
"All my life, I've sought the power to bring pain to the ones I hate. I've had many teachers. The Omnimancer, that old warlock, this..."
Brenok pulled out a pendant of black crystal from under his robe. Mark's bones ached at the sight of it. His body could not forget his battle with the Omnimancer all those years ago. He and his companions combined their powers, combined body and soul, only for the Omnimancer to use the power of that pendant to seize control. Even now, a part of him longed to be one with that dark power once more.
Brenok saw how Mark's eyes were fixed on his pendant and his eyes brightened in twisted delight.
"You want this, don't you, Marko? You great hypocrite, masquerading as a child of light all this time when deep down, you're just another child of the Darkness, just like me. At least I'm honest about it."
He scratched his chin.
"Oh, what to do, what to do? I was planning on paying that Antonovich mindwalker a special visit once all this is over, tie up loose ends and all, but I think I have a better idea. You're in a good place right now, Marko. All it would take is a little push to make you mine. I'll bind up that broken body of yours and send you home, then, oh, the things you'll do. That little wife of yours and... I believe I heard you have a son, yes? It'll be quite the homecoming."
He chuckled, then began to swing his pendant back and forth.
"Leave the rest to me, Marko. I'll make you into what you were always meant to be."
With the swinging of the pendant, Mark's mind became hazy and distant. Even in top condition, he surely would have struggled against the power of the Hell Pendant, but now with him on the verge of death, he felt as helpless as a newborn babe. Was this how he would meet his end, as a slave to an evil power made to work horrors that would assure him eternal damnation?
Images of Catherine and Nathan flashed in his mind. If Brenok were to do anything to them... Worse still, if Mark himself was used as the instrument of Brenok's evil intent, he truly would be damned.
No, he could not let that happen. He recalled the story of the strongman Samson, whose lost his strength and gained it again in his last hour to avenge himself on his enemies, and how he pleaded with God to die among them once this grace was granted to him. Mark prayed for his arm to remember its strength one last time. Let him die with his enemy so long as he could rid the world of the blight of Brenok's evil.
Mark reached out and took hold of his sword. He could feel his flesh enlivened. A flame was kindled within him. He did not expect it to last long, so he did not waste it. He plunged the blade into Brenok's ribs. Brenok was so assured of his victory, so preoccupied with crafting the his final spite, that he was taken entirely by surprise. His eyes bulged, but he did not cry out, did not utter any curse. All he could manage was a choked gasp.
Surely that should have been enough, but Mark would not settle for any half measures. The Gems in his sword glowed brighter than they ever had before as he poured his very soul into a bolt of lightning so intense that the ancestral blade—said to be unbreakable—shattered like glass. And of course if an enchanted blade of finest craftsmanship could not withstand this attack, how much less could Brenok's mortal flesh endure? Indeed, nothing remained, or very nearly so. Mark could not say for certain, though, as his vision was failing him.
It was enough. His hated foe was vanquished and no one else would have to suffer Brenok's evil works. It was judgment a long time coming. Too long, to be sure.
The weight on Mark's soul was lifted. He offered up thanks for being granted this grace and prayed for the well-being of those left behind and mercy for those who were dead. His only regret was that he could not see his wife and son one last time, but now was no time to be greedy. It was enough.