The Theomancer

Krimson hated the way the masked snowmen were looking at him. Each of them were lined up on either side of the Frigid Highlands with skeletal masks that glowed an eerie shade of purple. The red ninja balled up his cannonball fist and knocked one of the snowmen’s block off. Underneath the shattered head revealed the dead body of one of his brethren. Members of the proud Raven Strike Society were buried underneath the guise of snowmen. The thought made Krimson sick to his stomach.

This was no time for such a weak reaction. With his red ninja gear, steel boots and gloves, demonic mask, and straw triangle hat, Krimson was dressed for battle. He stomped his way up the snowy hill, glaring with electrified eyes at each of the snowmen. Such disrespectful desecration, Krimson thought to himself. His blue-skinned muscles and bright green aura brought out his deathly side, which he would need for this upcoming battle.

The top of the hill was book-ended by the tallest snowman of all with his bladed mouth, cross-decorated black pope’s hat, and purple cloak that blew in the frosty winds. Krimson folded his arms like he was the true giant and spoke callously to the creature before him. “You must be the one they call The Theomancer. Seven is obviously to cowardly to come greet me himself, so he sends this popsicle to do his bidding. Seven is just like any other god: too afraid to come out of hiding when he’s needed the most. I intend to beat the answers I want out of him and you’re in my way, Theomancer. Are you ready to get your skull cracked in?” That last line was accented with Krimson cracking his bumpy knuckles.

The snowman’s eyes glowed with each piece of dialogue. “You claim followers of Sevenism are delusional, yet here you are thinking you can simply beat answers out of our lord and prophet. Even if you were to somehow have contact with him, the foundation of our religion has already been laid. No money-hungry king or bloodthirsty queen will ever give up their faith just because you’re foolish enough to venture to these sacred lands looking for a fight. Each of these snowmen contains the spirits of those who were even stupider than you. What makes you so special, human?”

“You want to talk about deities? You’re looking at one. I am Krimson, the God of Vengeance. I associate with the Raven Strike Society not because of their heretical beliefs, but because a world under their leadership will thrive while a world under Sevenism will crumble into dust. You’re standing in the way of that goal and for that you will pay.” Krimson held his steel fists up in a boxing stance while electrical and fiery energy flowed through them.

“If you want to complete your kamikaze mission so badly, be my guest. But know this: you’re not fighting with any mere mortal. You’re not even fighting with the Theomancer. Yeti is what I’m called. With Seven as my witness, I shall rip your heart from your chest and feast on it like a barbaric meal!” Cracks began to form in Yeti’s snowy shell, each of them glowing with a brilliant yellow light. The shell continued to crack until an explosive storm of ice and snow showered upon Krimson, who kept his arms in his face to block the assaulting weather.

No more was the Theomancer. In his place was a seven-foot tall mummy with slimy green skin, glowing yellow eyes, and razor-sharp fangs with maggots crawling around them. Yeti flexed his muscles and cracked his own neck before getting in a defensive stance and waving for Krimson to come at him.

“Let’s do this!” roared the God of Vengeance, whose chilling glare never erased from his face. Krimson rushed into battle with a flying kick that sent an aftershock of pain throughout Yeti’s body, yet the mighty mummy never moved. The red ninja continued throwing rapid fire punches and kicks around Yeti’s legs while the hulking creature tried swatting around the smaller opponent’s head.

Krimson dodged every swipe by ducking and rolling on the frostbitten ground. He could not avoid having both of Yeti’s hands grab his throat and hoist him in the air. Yeti glared at the God of Vengeance with a piercing gaze and rancid shit breath. Krimson broke free from the chokehold by placing a hard knee into Yeti’s elbow. The mummy growled in pain as his arm bent in a direction it wasn’t supposed to go. He grabbed himself by the wrist and popped it back into place, much to the disgust of Krimson, who had a hard time catching his breath.

While the red ninja was on the ground clutching his chest and wheezing, Yeti threw a hard soccer kick only to have Krimson cartwheel out of the way. The God of Vengeance launched his thick head into Yeti’s knee before throwing an uppercut to the giant’s groin. Yeti hauled back and screamed to the sky in unbearable pain, but only for a short while. He ducked his head down to meet Krimson’s gaze.

The red ninja felt queasy after smelling his opponent’s breath so many times in this fight. He clutched his stomach and resisted the urge to puke his guts out all over the snow. This time Yeti threw a kick and knocked the ninja backwards, rolling him down the hill and causing him to lose his lunch along the way. He sprayed a few snowmen with his stomach acids and melted their faces.

It had been a long and tiring roll to the bottom of the hill. Krimson laid there weak and helpless while Yeti was tromping down the hill looking to end this fight. The ninja’s vision was blurry at best and dark at worst. He was sure he’d join these snowmen in this blatant disrespect for the dead. And that was when he saw the faces of those he threw up on. The stomach acid ate the snow off their faces and caused the masks to drop.

Men, women, children, animals, all of them represented by these mummified snowmen. The markings on some of the adults’ uniforms suggested they were priests and took a vow of pacifism. They came to this sacred ground just to negotiate and bring peace to an otherwise violent world. They did nothing wrong. They were just innocents caught up in the crossfire. They were somebody’s son or daughter. They were somebody’s wife or husband. The dog corpses sickened Krimson to where he’d want to throw up again. The dogs had less at stake than the priests and they were viciously murdered and desecrated anyways.

Krimson felt a clawed hand reach for the back of his uniform and hold him up high. There it was again: that sewage-like smell. It was the feeling of eating rotten fruit that had been urinated on. It was the feeling of performing oral sex on a diseased phallus with open sores. That breath. That horrible Yeti’s breath. The red ninja didn’t think he had anymore food left in his stomach after smelling something like that. Instead he blew out naked stomach acid all over Yeti’s face.

The mummy’s eyes burned to where he had to release his grip of Krimson’s uniform. The red ninja plummeted on the soft snow below while his adversary danced around in pain like his face was on fire. Feeling weak himself, the red ninja didn’t think he could make it back to his feet. But slowly and with every last ounce of strength left, he was standing tall and striking his deadly pose yet again, renewed by the anger of his lost brethren.

“Seven! I’m coming for you, you sick son of a bitch!” shouted Krimson before throwing several haymakers and roundhouse kicks at Yeti’s breaking body. Cracks formed in his skin like broken pottery. Blood oozed out of him like spoiled fruit juice. Punches and kicks to the head, chest, arms, and legs, all of them with brutal speed and ursine strength. The assault ended when Yeti crumbled to the ground and bled all over the snow, his body nothing more than a pile of wrappings.

“Where are you, Seven?! Show yourself! Answer for your sins, you disgusting pig!” Krimson shouted to the sky, huffing and puffing after such an exhausting battle, not to mention the heavy vomiting that saved his life as well as weakened him. He dropped to one knee and glared harshly at the pile of wrappings. A victory well-earned, he thought to himself.

Out of the mummy bandages emerged a mere mortal of a man dressed in a black trench coat and black hat, both of which contrasted with his pasty white skin. Krimson stared at him in shock and then looked again at the mummy wrappings to see that the cracks and “blood” were all just part of a metal costume. “What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Krimson demanded.

“You called out the name of Seven. Now you’ve found him,” said the pasty individual with a wicked grin. “There was never any paradise. There was never any hope at salvation. Sevenism is a business model and nothing more. Just like any religion, it was a business model for controlling the masses. And they fell for it hook, line, and sinker. You can call me a prophet if you want, but I’m really just a salesman with too much time on his hands.”

Krimson pointed a nervous finger at Seven and said, “You…you son of a bitch…what have you done?! I’ll kill you!”

“Go ahead! Take your best shot!” dared Seven. “But what will killing me prove? Like I’ve told you before, the foundations of Sevenism are already in place. If you kill me, there will be another prophet slash salesman to represent my created religion. And another. And another. And another. Somebody is always willing to go down for the cause. And our cause is business! Business is booming!”

“This isn’t happening! No!” shouted Krimson.

“Oh, it is happening, my friend. I’m sure you’ll want to tell all of your friends about it, even those at the Raven Strike Society. Those atheistic fools are already set in their ways. But what about the rest of us who need Sevenism to get through our days? Will they be so trusting? Sure, why wouldn’t they trust the God of Vengeance? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re no god. You’re just a prophet like me and everyone who represents my religion.”

“You bastard!” shouted Krimson as he charged toward Seven, only to get a knife to his stomach by the false prophet. The ninja’s stomach was already aching from vomiting so much, and now his innards were spilling all over the snow as Seven gutted him alive. The ninja dropped to his knees and fell on his face in a slow and gory death.

Seven looked down at him, shook his head, and laughed like the super villain he was. “Time to make another snowman!” he said before licking the blood off of his knife in a lustful manner.