Soulseeker’s Descent Read online

  Soulseeker’s Descent

  (Fallen Gods Book 5)

  Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  Synopsis:

  The dragons of old have arisen, some reincarnated from the dead, others awakened from slumber. Blood has been spilled on the fields of war; prairies have become marshes riddled with decomposing corpses. Amidst the chaos a dark seed has grown and conquered the soul of a human. The God of Chaos has been reincarnated.

  The God of Light has risen from the chasm of hopelessness and survived his first encounter with evil. With the aid of a powerful ally, he will embrace the legendary quest set upon him—to find the God of Chaos and defeat him once and for all!

  Love has flourished and the God of Light’s soul has found joy beyond imagination. Reuniting with his family has given him the strength needed to push onwards in his search to confront Mórgomiel. Will it be enough?

  © 2021 Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla . All rights reserved.

  It is absolutely forbidden to reproduce this text without the explicit permission of the author.

  All the characters in this work are products of the imagination.

  Prologue

  The planet Mortis Depthos received the God of Chaos as the human being it had reincarnated in to. The antimatter first ate his face and skin, which turned to smoke on contact with the ground. The body of the God of Chaos, still bruised from the fight with the God of Light, writhed like a snake. In an instant, the shadows conquered his human flesh and his internal organs began to fail. His innards burst and the air filled with gusts of blood, diluted in the hostile atmosphere of that world. At the same time, Argbralius was not suffering; his body no longer belonged to him.

  The God of Chaos felt whole now that he was back at the point where it had all begun, back in his own home. Here, he had developed his ambitions and had found one of his first creations, Górgometh.

  All around was Chaos in its raw state. The volcanoes belched their toxic gases, the dark lava eroded the surface. Mórgomiel closed his eyes. The eyelids of his human body began to burn, as did his lips. The god eagerly tore off the last of his skin; underneath was a hazy body made of shadows. He now had no face, only a pair of grey eyes that could see through dimensions.

  His new body lengthened like a trail of smoke, so much so that in the Meridian, he would be considered a giant. His muscles swelled and rounded as he willed his body to solidify. Two black wings of enormous span and power emerged from his back. He moved them to feel the divine force he had enjoyed long ago.

  He could generate his armor from nothing, but in that way, he would not regain all his essence that was implanted in each piece. Only with his essence complete could he unite all his power and renew the conquest of the universe.

  “Górgometh,” he called, his voice echoing through the fabric of spacetime.

  The earth began to crack and the antimatter began to fluctuate. Titanic forces echoed and pulverized the surface of the world. The explosion was a blast of sound that would have deafened any living creature.

  After a colossal explosion, a sinuous body materialized. It was a dragon of shadows and antimatter that enveloped the God of Chaos in a spiral of black smoke.

  “Who dares wake me from my eternal sorrow?” it said in a cavernous voice.

  “Mórgomiel, your lord and creator. I have come back.”

  The shadows of the dragon now took the form of scales that mirrored the lava, the world of destruction, and the red sun around which Mortis Depthos orbited.

  “I can perceive your weakness, Mórgomiel, God of Chaos, bringer of misfortune. With a powerful spell, I could kill you.”

  “That is true,” the God of Chaos conceded. “I lack the pieces of my armor, but with your help, I will be able to find them. Together we could conquer the universe, make our dreams into the reality we promised ourselves so many millennia ago. Join me in my mission, my dear creature. Let me climb on to your back, and then take me through the seas of time and infinite space. Without me, you are nothing but a vile serpent and that you well know.”

  The dragon’s red irises flamed. “Arrogant vermin,” it said.

  It prostrated himself before its creator. On its hind legs, it was several dozen strides taller than its master. It extended its impressive wings.

  “You are no coward, Mórgomiel. You have just been reincarnated into a filthy human, however. I can already feel the deep evil that flows from your shriveled soul. You are pure, I am in awe of your power, but I must have proof of your prowess. I challenge you to a duel.”

  The dragon shot out a mouthful of fire and black smoke and enveloped its master in a shower of destruction that would have destroyed any other living creature. When the cloud dissolved, the God of Chaos remained in place, intact.

  Mórgomiel raised his sword. “Was that not sufficient proof?” he asked with contempt.

  “Even incomplete, you are more powerful than I thought.” The dragon lowered its head to bring itself down to its master’s level. “You shall fly on my back, Lord of Chaos, and together we shall renew the conquest of the universe. So it shall be.”

  The dragon lay down on the ground to allow its master to climb up its scales and reach its neck. Now, the God of Chaos felt that he needed no saddle to fly on the beast’s back; his will and the power of the Black Arts were sufficient.

  Where to, Lord of Chaos? the dragon asked through his thoughts.

  To a world called Eorta, a planet we conquered during the Times of Chaos. I charged Évulath the Chimera to take care of my breastplate.

  So be it, my lord.

  With a leap, the dragon took flight and vanished into the stream of space and time.

  The God of Chaos willed his sword to vanish, and it simply turned into smoke and remained insubstantial, ready to be summoned upon command.

  ***

  The Evulathan Empire shone bright with glory on the red planet. In the arid earth grew an abundance of a plant of the same color that served as food for the inhabitants of that planet.

  The Evulathan Empire has done quite well, Górgometh said. It has flourished.

  The black dragon was flying over the earth, leaving a wake of shadows behind it. Other beings flew too, their riders dressed in bright sky-blue armor and helmets with long spikes like the horns of unicorns. Mórgomiel was calm. That armor protected the soft, almost amorphous bodies of a kind of demon he named amaranth. Their skeleton was slight, unlike their abundant flesh. He had given them two arms and two legs with three fingers on each hand and foot. Their heads were pointed with several protuberances like a Meridian cactus, but black and with three eyes set vertically. Their armor was made of evurintha, a red mineral typical of red planets. The beasts that carried the amaranth were like spiders with eight legs and a pair of bird wings. They had several eyes and ferocious jaws.

  But not even an army of those demons on their beasts could stand up to Górgometh, the firstborn of the God of Chaos.

  Six sentinels surrounded Górgometh to force him to descend. With one swipe of his claw, he trapped two of them; on contact with his body of antimatter, the demons dissolved. At two others, he launched a blast of black energy that dismembered them. The remaining sentinels moved back in terror.

  Stop, little beasts. I am Górgometh, Dragon of the Shadows, and I carry on my back the God of Chaos Mórgomiel, your generous creator. Take us to King Évulath the Chimera. We have a few matters of business to sort out.

  The sentinels looked at one another. They were not going to defy this beast. They turned and flew off, guiding the God of Chaos and his dragon.

  ***

  The Empire was immense. It had grown uncontrollably over thousands of years and by now, its buildings
covered most of the planet. Its nerve center was filled with structures so tall that they seemed to want to pierce the sky, made of a dull red material that absorbed the light of the sun.

  As Górgometh approached and descended, the individuals below fled in terror at the fearful figure hovering above them like a storm of shadows. The dragon landed in a large square, exactly in the center. Its weight destroyed the monument that had stood there. With a snort, it blew out smoke and burnt up the guards who had run to stop the intruder.

  Those who had been some distance from the deadly breath took off their helmets and prostrated themselves, their heads on the ground in a sign of absolute submission. They could not remember any demonstration of strength like this.

  Mórgomiel got down from the beast’s back and went toward the stone steps of the building where the sovereign must live. Nobody stopped him. Everybody around was paralyzed in the face of his casual advance. Whispers spread the rumor that a prophecy was being fulfilled. The men of faith knelt and began to recite unintelligible words.

  The God of Chaos advanced without armor, showing his vaguely-outlined and faceless body with those deep eyes that seemed to have room in them for the entire universe. The guards at the palace doors fled, dropping their sharp spears. With a bolt of black energy, Mórgomiel broke down the doors and went in.

  A platoon of soldiers in red armor prepared to attack, breaking into a run quickly and decisively. With a mere six strokes, Wrath the Godslayer reduced the platoon by more than half, consumed their flesh, and left a trail of shadows.

  “Stop!”

  Mórgomiel understood the message in the language of those creatures which emitted high-frequency sounds.

  “Évulath the Chimera,” Mórgomiel said. “I wish to see him.”

  The soldiers took off their helmets and bent their heads in obeisance.

  Évulath the Chimera was a hybrid between dragon and orc, a mixture that had produced a horrifying beast with a flat snout, small jaw, and sharp teeth. The arms were those of a bat and the thighs were those of a dragon. The chimera was one of Mórgomiel’s creations, the result of the crossing of species during his distant epoch of experimentation. He had granted Évulath the Chimera a throne and the government of that planet as his representative, just as Legionaer had in the Meridian; and like Legionaer, after such a long time he had forgotten that his purpose was to watch over the possessions of the God of Chaos, not the conquest and foundation of his own empire.

  The chimera presented himself with a long sword which was shaped from red stone. He wore colorful clothes without armor.

  It cannot be, Évulath said using telepathy. My lord of Chaos has returned.

  “Are you surprised?”

  The god’s voice echoed through the palace, which frightened everybody. In this world, a voice had never before been heard.

  Not at all, Lord of Chaos. Just that your visit is highly unexpected…

  “I have returned for what is mine.”

  With poised steps, Mórgomiel went up to the beast. The guards and the curious observers were paralyzed when they became aware of their leader’s fear.

  But the Empire has begun to flourish, and we are even preparing to invade the neighboring empire and conquer it, Lord of Chaos. The result should please you, for it is evil that is spreading.

  “Be quiet, you little maggot,” Mórgomiel interrupted him. “You are as simple and foolish as Legionaer, another of my offspring. But you have nothing to do in my presence. I have come back, and I want my armor.”

  The god was only a few steps away now, as tall as the chimera. Évulath was ten times wider. The chimera was trembling visibly, aware of his end. The precious pieces of armor Mórgomiel had put under his skin formed part of the skeleton that protected his internal organs.

  But— the monster protested, begging for mercy.

  “On your knees, my dear vassal.”

  Yes, Lord of Chaos.

  The chimera bent his head, and the great mass of muscle and flesh knelt on the ground without any resistance. He had never thought this day would arrive; he had come to believe that the god had died. He took off his clothes to reveal a naked chest covered in soft scales like pigskin.

  The black sword came down on the chimera. It opened up a slit in the soft chest out of which spouted a fountain of blood. Mórgomiel fell on the fallen body and poked into the flesh, tearing muscles until he found a black plate. The dismembered body of the chimera lay in a pool of blood.

  The watchers would never forget what happened when the God of Chaos donned the breastplate. The union of the pieces of black armor on the black figure caused a detonation that shook the world. A spiral of energy surrounded it. Mórgomiel raised the sword, celebrating the recovery of his power.

  Mórgomiel pointed his sword at the soldiers in red armor. “Who will take the place of the fallen?” he roared. “Who will command the legions of Eorta when the time is ripe and we unleash a cosmic war?”

  “I will command the army of Evulathan the glorious—” one of them began, but another put a dagger in his back.

  “I will do it, my lord.”

  The soldier had shown courage and ambition and had had no qualms about murdering a fellow soldier. Also, none of the other soldiers dared say anything. This one, thought the God of Chaos, would be a good perpetrator of evil.

  “So be it. You shall be known as Évulath the Valiant. When the moment comes, you will follow me to war for the conquest of the universe. Until then, prepare the army of this Empire, and make sure to increase its numbers.”

  “It shall be as you say, Lord of Chaos,” said the new king of Evulathan.

  And with those words, the amaranth began to write down the events that had set in motion a new era in the Empire towards the path to glorious war.

  ***

  Górgometh took off with ease, and very soon they had left behind the atmosphere of the red planet.

  You have shown me your unbreakable will, Lord of Chaos. Where to now?

  To regain my helmet.

  To what world, my lord?

  To Quett, a world of ice.

  Part I – Arrogance

  Chapter I – Whispering Thoughts

  Manchego wiped the perspiration off his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed. He raised his face to the sky to receive the rays of the noonday sun. A smile lit up his eyes. The young shepherd spread his wings to air them on that hot day.

  “Lunch is ready!” he heard Lulita calling.

  Some way away, Tomasa was tilling the earth, untiring and unresting. She had to do everything quickly, even at the cost of quality. But that was the way she was, and he would not change her for the world.

  “Get back to work, little man!” Tomasa encouraged him, sweating profusely. “When it comes to working the land, even being the God of Light don’t give you no free pass!”

  “But lunch is ready!” the boy replied with a smile, grateful to be back home at the estate even if he was still treated like a little boy.

  Rufus was lying snoozing in the sun with his legs stretched out and his head on the fertile ground. The dog had returned to live the good life in the country, and very soon it would be his duty to do what he always liked to do: herd the animals. The estate was recovering and Lulita would soon be buying a lamb, a calf, and a hen. The new animals would never replace the old ones—Little Ounces, Bruno, Pancha, and Wholesome—who had died in the darkness and fire.

  The young man had taken some time to work on the land, but with the idea of resuming the search for help and controlling the spread of evil. His human side was steering him toward the estate and Luchy.

  “Come on, pal,” Manchego said to the dog. “Let’s go and eat!”

  Rufus woke up at once. He yawned, stretched his entire body, and wagged his tail happily, then set off at Manchego’s side. The boy had got rid of his old clothes. Lulita and Luchy had made new ones for him that fitted him well; the cotton shirts had two slits in the back to let him put his wings thro
ugh. Previously, he had been a thin, gawky boy. He did not look much better now because of the hump that bulked up his shirt and hid his folded wings. His hands were not those of a god either; working on the land had roughened and calloused them.

  “Good morning, Lulita! Hi there, my love,” he said as he kissed Luchy on the lips.

  “Take a seat, my dear,” Luciella said. “The tamales will soon be ready.”

  For six months, he had been enjoying the farmer’s life he had always dreamt of. He barely remembered the darkness now, or the threat that hung over the world. It was far away from him now, and with every day that passed, he was forgetting a little more of the need to find out how to stop the danger of a new war.

  He took his place at the table with an easy movement, stretching his legs and letting his arms fall to his sides. Farm work was tough. Now, more than ever, he felt close to Balthazar and to his grandfather Eromes.

  “The market’s back in the square again,” Lulita announced as she sat down.

  Luchy served Manchego and they began to eat. Rufus barked a couple of times, demanding his share. Manchego took a piece of corn tortilla cooked in Valpundia’s House. She was an immigrant from Moragald’Burg who had taken the opportunity to exchange the hustle of Háztatlon for the simple life in San San-Tera.

  “Two of the estates are going to start exporting,” the grandmother added.

  “Which ones?” Manchego asked with his mouth full.

  “Ah, my dear, speaking with your mouth full. I’m ashamed of you.”

  “Another one?” Luchy said, knowing her boyfriend’s insatiable appetite.

  “Yes, please,” the boy replied.

  He could not help but notice her womanly hips when she got up to go to the frying pan. The grandmother shot him a reproving look, and he blushed.

  “And Teitú?” she asked.

  Finally, somebody’s asking about me.