Chapter 12: Angelus of the Valkyrie

  

  Her wings seemed larger from the shadows they cast on the ground. Had

  Craft never known her, he would probably be resigned to die right

  here.

  But once upon a time, she hadn’t been anyone’s angel.

  ***

  Every legend was once a child.

  The carriage jolted. Amacus rubbed shoulders with other children. Men

  barked orders outside. The carriage had been covered, and it was too

  dark to see. She wanted things to end.

  She, and the other children, had been marked with a curse. Soon,

  their flesh would melt away, and they would be left as a sentient pile

  of meat and bones taking no definite form. They would only feel pain,

  they’d been told, so they might as well be sacrificed for the greater

  good.

  The carriage lurched and stopped. Men shouted and gurgled blood.

  Swords rang as they were drawn. Liquids splashed against the side of the

  carriage, and things dropped to the ground in dull thuds.

  Soon, the back of the carriage opened. Amacus came face to face with

  women in dark bodysuits — elves, straight out of a fairy tale. “It’s

  alright now,” the frontmost one said.

  Amacus and the children were let off the carriage. Some of them

  already had teeth and hair falling out, while others didn’t stop crying

  for their arms had turned into noodles. There was no way they could be

  saved, she’d thought, and that went for herself, too.

  A man emerged from the shadows, however, spreading his hands forward

  and letting out a magical light. It felt warm, soothing, and a knot she

  didn’t know was in her chest was straightened out. Her curse, along with

  the weakness of her heartbeat, had evaporated and gone with the wind.

  She looked upon their savior: clad in black and an icy cold glare, he

  was more of an assassin than a hero. She was still a child, however, and

  she felt afraid of him. Despite that, he had still saved them. Who

  was this man?

  “These people gave you the curse, lied to you, told you it was your

  fault for being born,” the man said. “Now, you have a choice. Run, hide,

  and live freely, or join us. Revenge, justice, or fun, I don’t care what

  your reason is. If the cult is your target, then you can become our

  weapon.”

  Born as a Valkyrie, Amacus found her calling in that moment. It

  possessed her, drove her mad like her parents had warned her:

  because Valkyries flock to wars like moths to a flame.

  Tears dripped from her eyes. She could smell the battles this man had

  been through. She knew following him might kill her, and if it didn’t,

  then a road of suffering was waiting for her.

  None of that mattered. Perhaps it was a mix of joy and bittersweet

  relief, but whatever it was, she knew she’d found the man who would be

  her general and master. She decided, against her mother and father’s

  wishes, to walk the Valkyrie’s paradox: to be a servant who lived to

  die.

  ***

  Her master had become a god. She had always believed he was a god,

  but it had taken a literal turn, and now that she was here, she wasn’t

  sure how to act around him anymore.

  She stood behind him, ready to cut down the goddess on the other side

  of the table at the first sign of bloodlust. They were in an all-shadow

  space, save for herself, her master, the goddess, and the chairs and

  table the two forces used.

  “I can’t leave Amatoria for this long,” the goddess said. “I need to

  go back, but once I do, I can’t return.”

  Her healing and support powers had been valuable during the war, and

  if she’d continue to stay, it would be over in short order — about 3,000

  years.

  “I accept,” her master said. Huh, that easily? She knew her

  master to be more cunning and merciless than this. With his infinite

  wisdom and strength, why couldn’t he just make her an offer she couldn’t

  refuse?

  “On one condition,” he continued. Oh, there it is. Her

  master was as amazing as always — “Take Amacus with you.”

  She took a step back. Her hands, once crossed behind her back like a

  proper soldier, spread out in dismay. “Master?!”

  She couldn’t understand what was happening. She had always been a

  proper soldier, throwing herself against the shadows they hunted in the

  vague hopes of exchaging her life for a victory in her master’s name.

  Victory upon victory she’d racked up, but no matter how hard she tried,

  she was just too tough to die. What a terrible pawn she made.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Her strength, of course, couldn’t be compared to her master’s. If he

  was so strong…maybe he simply didn’t need her anymore. In that

  case…

  She took a knee. “If I am so worthless, then take my life.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  She drew her sword partway, offering the hilt to him. “If I may be so

  bold, please do it with my favorite sword. My blood is a rust

  protectant, and I wish for my legacy to be enshrined in the armory of

  heroes.”

  Her master ignored her, facing the goddess. “As you can see, she

  doesn’t know how to take a break. We are the shadows who hunt shadows,

  but I don’t run a black company, so if you can take her off my hands for

  a while, that’d be great.”

  The goddess paused and stared at him for a second. “You do realize I

  have restrictions” —

  “I think that’s no problem. You can appraise her right now.”

  “Is that alright?”

  He gestured to Amacus. “Go ahead.”

  Amacus didn’t understand what was going on. All she knew was the

  goddess had looked at her, said ‘okay,’ and she watched her master

  stand, turn, and leave — not even sparing a glance towards her.

  Just like that, the faithful Valkyrie was ‘abandoned’ by her master.

  It wasn’t the case, but it didn’t matter if she didn’t understand it

  herself.

  ***

  The two of them were left alone in the shadow realm. Silence has its

  way, but only for so long. The goddess greeted her: “Nice to make your

  acquaintance.”

  Amacus appraised her. There wasn’t even a speck of danger about her;

  she was a pacifist, a softie, and fatally vulnerable to even the enemy’s

  plight. Nothing about her made her a respectable leader — the

  complete opposite of Amacus’ former master.

  Nevertheless, she had nowhere left to go. If she just pretended to be

  a hitchhiker tagging along with some random goddess heading in the same

  direction, perhaps life after abandonment would still be bearable.

  She followed the goddess through a portal, emerging to an all-white

  space. It was so different from the shadow realm that Amacus thought the

  goddess had revealed her talons and attacked with a flashbang.

  A mere flashbang wouldn’t get past her defenses, however. She planted

  her feet and prepared for the attack. Astute and unwavering, cool and

  collected — she wondered why the flashbang lasted over a minute.

  It wasn’t until the portal closed and the goddess dropped to her

  knees that she lowered her guard. Her eyes adjusted, and she found

  cracks in the sky and the ground: proof that the agents of the God of

  Despair had reached even until here. When the goddess pulled up images

  of her world in a panic, she found all three realms a shadow of their

  former selves.

  Amacus’ former master often complimented the ‘chill atmosphere’ of

  the goddess’s world — whatever his odd and wise words meant — but they

  were now anything but. Regardless of how weak this goddess was, Amacus

  was no stranger to the feeling of having something precious be torn

  away.

  The goddess fell to her arms. She started to sob and hit the floor

  with her fist. “Not again!” The cracks in the floor widened with her

  every tantrum. “Going through this! Again and again! What’s the

  point!”

  Amacus had also heard about prior invasions, and that was exactly why

  her former master had forged a defense pact with this goddess, whose

  world was better-equipped to hide than to fight. What’s the use of

  hiding if you know you’ll be found anyway? Her former master’s

  fondness for the goddess made even less sense now, but whatever the

  case, they couldn’t expect any help. With the war still raging, her

  former master wouldn’t be able to send any sort of reinforcement.

  Wait. What if I’m the reinforcement? Things started to

  (incorrectly) fall into place for her. That’s…that’s right! I must

  have been disavowed so I could undertake this special operation without

  any restraint! I wasn’t abandoned after all!

  Her entire life’s outlook had changed in the blink of an eye. She

  hadn’t been thrown away, but given a wonderful opportunity to grow — to

  become not just a soldier who would take orders and die, but to become a

  true warrior who would stand alone and decide for which cause

  and faith she would wield her strength.

  Suffice to say, her interpretations were absolutely

  wrong…but the intentions were roughly aligned, so it should be

  fine.

  She looked upon the goddess weeping on the ground. What a pitiful

  sight. So weak, so frail, all Amacus saw of this lump of

  divinity…was a child: just like what Amacus had been, just like all

  those others she had been crammed into a carriage with, this

  goddess-child was weak, confused, and quick to give up.

  “No, no, I can do this,” the goddess muttered to herself and began to

  get up. Maybe not quick to give up, then — but it still hurt

  Amacus to stand by and watch. She had taken up the sword for her master,

  wielding justice in his name, and just like how he had given mere

  children the strength to fight, what more could she do right now for a

  goddess who only needed courage and force of arms?

  She approached the goddess, laying a hand on her shoulder. Divine

  energies thrummed through the contact between Amacus’ hand and the

  goddess’s skin, reminding her that this was still a being of

  few equals: a true goddess whose title was no lie.

  But that goddess turned around and looked at her with pleading eyes,

  wiping away the tears to appear alright.

  It was too late to cover up any lies like “I’m okay”; Amacus had

  already seen those tears.

  “Goddess,” she said. “Entrust the defense of your world to me.”

  The goddess’s eyes widened, but she snapped out of it and nodded

  shyly. “Please.”

  Such a tiny whisper awoke something new in Amacus. Had this been what

  her master had also seen? In the palm of her hand was such a tiny

  existence, so small that she felt like she could crush it, and yet, she

  found herself wanting to see it grow. Every child — no matter if it was

  an actual child or an ancient being who knew little of the world — had

  the potential to sprout and become a wonder.

  Perhaps that was why her master could not abandon her. In his eyes,

  she was still just a child, and it was his will to see her grow, even if

  it meant forcing her to leave the nest. You can be much more,

  she imagined her master telling her. It was delusional, but it was

  positive, and at least to her, it was real.

  For herself to grow, she ought to make others grow as well, and the

  first order of business was to give this goddess — this problem child —

  her missing courage.

  “Goddess, I implore you to summon a few choice heroes,” she advised

  her. “As long as we do not fight alone, everything is far easier.”

  ***

  Now, Amacus stood on the summoning platform, facing down her latest

  problem child: a man who knew a lot, but also not enough.

  I place my backstory face-down and end my turn.

  (I don't know how to play card games.)