Born of Gods

Chapter 4—Heads Off

Phil couldn't explain why he hadn't run like a gazelle to call the neighbours, the town constable, everyone and anyone. He didn't understand and wasn't really interested in understanding anything, he couldn't even if he wanted to. He was trembling in such a way he had never seen, even in the movies. Every part of him felt bad like he was inflicted with leprosy from the inside, if that made any sense. Then he concluded, he didn't have a heart, that thing that never failed to beat in the left part of his chest was something else, maybe just his breathing or something but definitely not a heart. If he had a heart he would have had a heart attract, or at the very least, faint—which he really hoped that that was what Mike was doing.

Instead, Phil sat on a sofa, in people who had taken as his own parent's room, staring at them.

It took about a quarter of an hour before Mike regained consciousness and lazily stood, staggering like a drunk. Then immediately started sobbing, and Phil thought he knew what shaking was, Mike was shaking like a septuagenarian having chronic epilepsy, Phil could see that Mike so much wanted to yell as he gasped air almost hysterically and gritted his teeth. Phil could also see that Mike had peed his trousers, as a large patch of liquid was present just below Mike's crotch of his jean trousers. But hell, you couldn't blame the guy, not many people would maintain character when seeing both your parent lying naked on their bed unmoving. With both their heads placed on the dressing table in their room. Like mannequins displaying tiaras.

“We are—we have to tell someone, we have to. We have to alert someone, Phil. We have to, right now.” Mike said still immobile and weeping in his hands cupped around his face. They were in such a mood that nothing made any sense, and the expected thing for them to do, of course, would be to call the neighbours who then will get the police. And then what? Mike's parents' heads would be reattached, and like sci-fi movies, Mr and Mrs Patterway would be brought back to life. That wasn't happening, that much was clear.

Phil embraced Mike who was still weeping non-stop, shaking even more and saying Phil, “What's happening, what's just happening" over and over again. Phil stretched his hand to drink water from a glass cup in Mrs Patterway bedroom. It was always her favourite cup, having a handle like a big C that seemed too big for the cup. Phil had liked the cup too only because Mrs Patterway loved it, and he had really loved her. Almost as he loved his own mother. No wonder his heart hurt badly as he stared at her very dead face, sitting next to her life partner who left life exactly when she left. Phil would love to know who died first, he hoped it was Mrs Patterway—she would have suffered worse seeing her husband she often called “water balloon” headless. What a pity.

Phil had to give it to the people who killed his aunt and her husband, they must be experienced. He didn't want to think it was only one psycho who pulled this unthinkable act, no, definitely, this must have involved at least three hell-driven psychos. No doubt. As he checked the corpses, he noticed that there wasn't even one sign of stabbing or gunshot. So it seemed apparent that they were alive as their heads were removed and put as decoration on the dressing table.

“What are you doing, Phil? Are you crazy, have some decency for the dead and—wait—why the hell have we not called anyone?" Mike said as the still annoying Phil perused his parent's naked body like a bookie does a new book.

“Ok, let's go call Mr Simons. Come with me, I don't want you committing suicide as I call the neighbours. Come, come on, get on your feet." Phil tightened his lips as he aided the staggering Mike to his feet.

Before they could even get to the stairs, they heard their entranced door smashed open, and a voice quite familiar saying, “Sons of Incendus, come to me, hurry! Time does waste. Sons of Incendus? Do you live here?"

“Oh no, not that creepy old man. Not that demon." Mike muttered to himself and then screamed. So damn loud that Phil had to put a hand over Mike's mouth.

She had snuck through the back door, her parents knew she was having a “sleepover” with friends but they expected her to be back the next morning. Well, it was few minutes after one in the morning, so it was morning anyway. Praise God for her old habits of almost always having spare keys with her, so she had gained entry and found her way to her room as the light was turned off. She had heard a loud and well, a familiar sound from Josh, her fourteen-year-old brother. The guy doesn't read and was whatsoever he was watching emanated a lady screaming weirdly, and she could hear him making a similar sound. She knew exactly what was going on but she thought to herself, “Why can't this i***t use a headphone.” Boys! She could never understand them even if she lived a millennium. What she had once read was proving to be nothing short of true, boys were dumb.

She had other things to think about, like um, how she saw a man, probably in his late seventies or eighties, who knows, walked out of the cave wall in a very unusual outfit—not like his outfit was of any relevance to her. It had made her go crazy, no, she was still crazy and would remain crazy for as long as humanly possible. That was the most unrealistic thing she had ever seen, she couldn't still believe she saw an old man walk out of the wall, that was the kind of stuff people loved seeing in the movies, that kind of thing never happened in real life.

That kind of stuff wasn't ever expected to happen, she corrected herself.

She felt a bit relieved as she cuddled her pillows and hid under her blanket, but the thought of that man standing up and looking for the teenagers who he wanted was a little too stubborn. If he could only leave her alone and bother the boys, by the way, he said he was looking for the “sons of incendus.” She was very much a girl, she had never been happier of being born a girl, and cursed those childish days of wishing otherwise. At least for today, she was proudly feminine.

Lunatics generally scared her a lot more than she'd like to show, but there was something about that old man that scared her to her spine, a sort of confidence, intelligence, and kindness that had choked her as he spoke to her and even held her shoulder! She was happy she hit his face so hard, so damn hard that she had felt his nose break as she hit him, as he fell she had stumped her foot with a lot more force to his face even as he clutched and groaned in pain. For some reason, she felt bad for him, he seemed so sincere and friendly and spoke in such a friendly manner that Cynthia thought many octogenarians, especially her grandfather, have many things to learn from him. No doubt his voice was calm and respectful even when he yelled, but also he walked out of a wall and was probably a killer spirit—whatever that was—so her conscience was clear and calm.

She contemplated knocking on her parents’ door and spilling her guts on all she saw today, but she immediately cautioned herself knowing it would be waste of time. The best she would get from her parents is a “you must have drunk something strong, have a good sleep and tomorrow you won't talk crazy anymore." And that was the last thing she needed, she knew that. She hummed under her breath and hoped sleep would slip into her eyes and make her forget this crazy incident. And then a stubborn thought ran through her mind, If the old man could walk through the cave wall, what was stopping him from walking straight into her room. Or tomorrow while she was in the bathroom. Oh, God.

Then she heard the scream, loud and terrifying, and just one scream. She had heard a similar scream but she hadn't given it a thought, she had had a lot on her mind. But the second scream had come about twenty minutes after the first, and it was a lot louder and scarier than the first. Though she knew it was the screamer who was scared, and she knew the screamer’s voice too well, it was Mike. And something had definitely made him scream that way, oh s**t, that old psycho. Just to think what he would do to them, or had done already.

She didn't even think it twice as she knew going to wake her parents was a no-no, so she picks her grandmother's wooden cane that she had forgotten when she came for a visit and strode down the stairs. But then fear gripped her heart, where was she going? And what did she think she would do when she got there? Her mother's voice that always seemed to be in her head, seemed to tell her to go back to bed and be a good girl. Anyway, Mr Patterway was at home and he was well built, a thief would do well by staying away from his home, she had seen the size of the weight Mr Patterway lifted during the weekends; let's just say her Dad would die in an attempt to even lift such a weight halfway up. But then how that scream sounded, Cynthia looked at herself as she stood in indecision. Then she made one.

“Get the hell up and come with. Josh, this is the worst time to feign sleep." Cynthia said as she pushed open Josh's room door.

“What the hell, Cyn. I was sleeping and,"—he saw she wasn't buying it—“okay I was busy doing something. But then what are doing awake at this time anyway, and I know you read during the day so don't even play that card on me.” Josh shot back.

“God! You are pathetic, just come with me, please, please!”

Josh looked at her funnily, wanting to protest, but then decided against it. He hurriedly put on a blue shirt and in a minute they were in the Patterway’s compound. It felt beyond crazy seeing what they saw, they hadn't any idea of what crazy meant. But soon they would.

The boy was at his feet crying despite Rogin’s pleadings, the boy kept crying and just wouldn't stop. He was fat and was among the five children he met in the cave. His broken nose made him feel like teaching them all great lessons but his Annabelle in South Camp was about their age, and good luck to whosoever nose that called her a child, she was so tough. But this boy was particular a deep crier and didn't see any shame in crying his eyes out. Again, in South Camp, no, the whole of Nothumbra, and beyond, no boy older than twelve would shed so many tears in the presence of anyone. Do that and no girl in the whole of Nothumbra would look at you twice. This clearly wasn't Nothumbra, Rogin could see that.

“What are your friends’ names, call them out or take me elsewhere,” Rogin said firmly to the still crying boy.

Rogin was getting confused it was never as complicated as this, and this was annoying as things got. He was supposed to be in South Camp already, trans-universal travels weren't to be joked with, they were taken with utmost care and only the few that have travelled and survived could testify. Incendus had left a portal for him, and gods don't make mistakes, at least not cheap ones like this. If Incendus portal had taken him to where the five children were, then his two sons had to be here.

Rogin was getting too weak, every moment he stayed in the dominant realm was killing him slowly. That wasn't too good for an eighty-six year old.

“Shame on you, Incendus. I come here, risk my life to get you your own sons, and you can't get your tricks right. I'm not close to a god and I rarely mess up a spell, shame on you.”

Then he saw a boy, probably one that had been in that cave earlier, he wasn't sure, wasn't ever good with faces. This boy wasn't happy, that much was clear and what stunned Rogin a little was the look on the boy's face, one of pure fury. Another hid up the stairs, and cried too, Rogin noticed.

What was wrong with boys and crying in the dominant realm, Rogin pondered.

“You killed my aunt and uncle, didn't you? Didn't you?" The boy said and then charged at him with a rage Rogin had never seen, maybe in buffaloes, but never in humans."

Rogin smiled as the lad floated in the air as the old man wiggled his fingers. And then left him stuck in the air.

“I'm not hurting you, if I wanted to, you'd all be dead. I could destroy your whole world in minutes if I wanted to." The last part was clearly an exaggeration but he had a point which was: I don't want to hurt any of you.

Rogin sat on the floor and released a sigh of disappointment and frowned. “I'll probably die casting this spell but it's the least I can't do. It's actually the only thing I can do to make sure the greatest risk I've taken in years is not in vain. Only that I can die doing it.” He said to himself again and started chanting some words loudly. And in a moment a closed-door appeared in the living room and the old disappointed man opened it walked through it alone.

And the mother of all stubborn winds just couldn't stop whirling around after.

The teenager, at least that was what he looked like, smiled widely. He was impressed with the woman and knowing himself, that meant a lot. She was brave, too brave for a woman who seemed to move around, and didn't ever stay in one place for too long. To Layton, anyone who didn't have a home and moved around was a coward, definitely such a person ran from something. Whether it was running from enemies, the past, or running to increase or improve personal finance, it made no difference to the laws of the world. Okay, no, the laws of Layton's world. But this woman wasn't a coward she was probably the bravest human he had met. Human, mind you.

His partner, Darcose, had called him and told him that the job was done, so quickly Darcose had murdered one of the twins that gave birth to the newly discovered sons of gods. Darcose wasn't ever one to waste time, he did what he had to and when he had to, though mostly before, but no complaints. He had done his job too, the dark king couldn't be less satisfied as he didn't sound too confident when he ordered Layton in a “nap” just a few hours ago. But the job was done, and it was just a matter of time before the boys would die as Darcose hadn't found them when he killed Joyce Patterway and her dummy husband. Layton believed the woman's husband was a dummy, come on, he couldn't protect his wife nor himself. He just foolishly died not knowing what would become of his family; useless man.

“What in God's name are you? I mean that's what you should say, you should be terrified and that's annoying. Too bad I wasn't told to kill you, I would have really relished the moment.”

“Thanks for noticing that, hun. I'm not scared, I have a son about your age and he had the same eyes as you do. So get out as quickly as you came.” The woman said as she took off her leather jacket and sat on her bed. Totally unafraid.

Layton was furious, and he contemplated killing her but for very strong reasons, he decided against it. He whispered a spell, and night night, the woman was asleep. He preferred it that way, that way her confident stare could not get to him. He was told to come to kidnap the woman because Darcose could never deliver anything safe and alive, at best Madam Brave would be brutally maimed. But Layton sort of liked the woman, though her fearlessness disgusted him, he liked her anyway. Even as she saw him appear in her hotel room she hadn't been scared, didn't even break a sweat.

As he thought about the sleeping woman and how he would carry her to his sedan without getting too much attention, or being stopped, Darcose called.

“Hey man, I really don't think I'd meet my flight, you know. The Dark Lord just communicated, and I'm to wait for a letter.”

A letter!

“Letter? What letter? When did this happen?” Layton said, sounding like he was speaking to someone five feet away from him.

“When did what happen? The Lord speaking to me directly isn't a weird thing, you know. It doesn't always have to be you, I work for him too, for as long as you have.”

Darcose had always found Layton as a threat though he was eleven years older than Layton, and was almost as strong as he was. Okay, that's praising Darcose way too much—he was strong but no one was nearly as powerful as Layton. At least that was how Layton saw himself; the strongest black wizard breathing.

“So what was in the letter? Anything he couldn't tell us directly, that's disturbing, isn't it?”

The black lord could speak to anyone at any point in time—yes, the man was that powerful. And why would the lord waste time writing a letter when he could communicate before the letter would reach its recipient, no matter how fast a transportation spell could go.

“Um, I haven't opened the envelope now, I might need your help understanding it, you know."

“Yes, I know you are daft, no surprise,” Layton said in whispers.

“You said? Anyway, I only called to tell you that a letter would be sent to you too." Darcose said with disgust and hate in his voice, clearly, he had heard Layton whispering. He cut the call before Layton could even react.

What was happening? Layton asked himself. He knew this was way too weird, and one thing he never did was disregard his guts, they had saved him from so much trouble in the past. Why telepathically communicate with Darcose to tell him that you would send him and me a message. Now a message each, that confirmed Layton suspicion, one message each! Why? They worked together! Layton and Darcose had always worked together, always together, why send two messages when one would be sufficient. And now, why speak to Darcose? It had always been Layton, Darcose had the brain of an ostrich, maybe a squirrel.

And then they appeared.

They were dressed in pure brown, both top and trousers, all three of them. A tall lady was amongst them, she was very not, well, feminine. Her chest was very much like that of a guy, and her eyes as creepy as that of an owl. The other two had masks on, the lady didn't, she was the captain. It was obvious she was a very powerful black magician, mostly called Full-star due to the level of training combat experience gotten, and the guys were either Halfstars or Quarters, definitely not novices.

“Any last words, little Layton?.” The captain said, smiling almost sincerely.

Layton chuckled, the Dark Lord was always so thorough, Layton knew that as the instructions that the Dark Lord had always given them were never anything short of precise and efficient.

“Yes, do you have any family you'd like me to contact?” Layton replied.

That made all three of them laugh hard, the captain even holding her stomach and clapping awkwardly.

“You don't stand a chance, you know right. I'm a Full-star if you haven't noticed. You and I know you don't stand a chance, not even if I let you strike me first.”

“Trust me, you speak the truth but for yourself, lady." Layton chuckled looking the captain in her eyes.

“Now this i***t is beginning to annoy me too much, I've always found handsome boys daft. Should we end this fool or are you going to kill him yourself?" One of the Half-stars, as Layton had discovered, said loudly, trying to make Layton shiver before he was killed. Black magic truly made people wicked as hell. Their darkened eyes said it all.

“Fine, have at it, get on with it. Don't have too much fun with this fool." The captain smiled and smacked her lips loudly and locked her eyes on his. “High Lord Shiake sends his greeting.”

“I would say tell him to get a stroke or have a nanny goat give him a...but hell, none of you would ever report back. I brag, yes, but I deliver. Trust me, there's no shame in running, yes I'll laugh, but I assure you it'd be the best decision you all would ever make in your despicable lives.”

Immediately one of the Half-stars shot a fireball at him, it was the other one, the one who hadn't said anything; he seemed to be more action than words. Too bad for him. Especially as the fireball dissolved into thin air as quickly as it came to Layton.

“Oh, sorry, half should be bigger than a quarter, right? I mean I should be smoking in fire. Try again, fellas. No harm.” Layton mocked them. In Taria, they ranked him as a Quarter. Their mistake, not his.

The two half held hands and shot another fireball at him, this time it was five times the size of the first one, sending most of the curtain in the hotel room ablaze. But when it got to Layton, it dissolved just as swiftly as the first.

“And to think you bunch of fools would boss me in North Camp is beyond annoying, but by all means come at me with all you got.” Layton teased, relishing this moment though he knew the consequence would be unlike anything he had faced.

The two Half-stars held hands and Layton knew just what they intended to do this time, they wanted to kill him. Of course they wanted to kill him, but now not by incarceration, directly pull the life from him. And that was a very dangerous spell, almost unstoppable. But still Layton held w wide smile on him, and watch them as they tried so hard, totally baffled that he wasn't cold and immobile. Layton stood, no longer smiling though, his eyes fixed on the Full-star who had linked hands with the Half-stars. Things were about to get messy.

“I'll give it you, you are strong, stronger than many Half-stars though you are a Quarter, but you have to go. I really hate killing people who have great potentials. High Lord has given the order, you understand it's nothing personal, I'm just following orders. Goodbye, Layton Clarke." The captain took a very deep as she put in absolute concentration as chanted some ancient words, her hands still linked with the Half-stars, forming a triangle. Layton just stood and stared speechlessly.

And then the splash came, it was a sort of gory explosion, the hotel room perfect painting seemed to have a little bit of design added. Blood made a huge stain on the hotel room wall as both Half-stars’ heads were blown off, half way. The Full-star still had her head on her neck, Layton knew she wasn't stupid enough to cast such a dangerous spell without protecting herself. But she was exactly in perfect health anymore, as blood trickled down her nose, and her hands shook violently as she wobbled—horizontal—on the floor, her blood forming a miniature pool on the floor. Yes, Layton knew things would get messy, not just for him.

“How, how—you how—did you do that, the Lord said—you are a Quarter, right? How could you? How?” The slowly dying captain said between deep gasps. She wasn't looking tough, and probably because she was dying and that compulsory humility had surfaced, Layton could see a scintilla of feminity in her now as she suffered.

Layton walked to where she laid, trembling, and her eyes begging him for mercy though her mouth wouldn't. Not like he would let her go if she begged, never! He was enjoying every single moment that she suffered and it didn't hurt him one bit. If he wasn't twenty times stronger than they expected, he would have been dead already.

“Goodbye, it would have done you great good to go, rogue, than to come to try to kill me. I'm untouchable, you learnt that far too late, didn't you?” He said as he placed his hands on her and she was dead in seconds, not in a gory manner like the Half-stars, she deserved more than that, she deserved the honourable death he gave her, a death where her whole body was intact. Layton felt that was too generous but he did it anyway.

Oh, no. Darcose, the letter! Hope he hadn't opened it. He tried calling Darcose, and on the first call it rang out with no response. Layton was freaking out on a maximum scale and shakingly called severally, and on the ninth trial, he got a response.

Darcose answered.

“Are you alright? The letter, don't open it, don't you dare open it, it's a curse, probably a curse spell, or an explosive spell.”

“Oh, I kind of figured that myself, it was really surprising that he wanted to send me a “letter”, what are we, pen friends?” Darcose said with a form of ridiculous pride as he chewed gum unusually loudly.

“Well don't open it, I'll portal my way to you and in a few minutes I'll be there.”

“And, um, I think it was the explosive spell you mentioned.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I'm human too, so I have hunches once in a while. So long story short, I got suspicious and bullied one ninety years old to open the letter, and things got untidy in her living room when she blew into pieces.”

“Oh, theat's sad, I'll meet you,Darcose.” Layton tightened his eyelids as he tried to remember something and he asked. “And how did you know the woman was ninety years old.”

Darcose chuckled loudly, and Layton begged him to stop. “Ninety? No, I was only joking, old people are very careful, stupid but careful, the girl that had her whole face blown off was seventeen, and kept reminding me how young she was as I broke into her home.”

“Darcose!”