[ WP ] You are a god that hunts other gods

*Once there was a god of all. * 
 
 *Of everything and nothing, in an instant, in an eternity. That god did shatter to pieces. * 
 
 *We are but fragments of those great shards, once again seeking their whole. * 
 
 *~ Passage of the Church, Creed of the faithful* 
 
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 In the dim light, the shadow crept with the dagger, moving through the thin light of the silver moon shifting through the stained glass of kings and scripture. With the cold of winter upon the lands of *Thorbes*, there was only pale silver beyond those colors of crystal. 
 
 He had been blessed, as some were in recent times. Given the gift of knowledge man should not possess, lest they tarnish their blissful ignorance and hollowed places between the feet of giants. 
 
 The blessing of a *god*: The gift of shadows. He was but a specter to stand beside the world with a single silver fang. 
 
 A privileged life, to be sure; but that alone would not fill his belly. 
 
 Gods might not need bread and drink, or heat from hearth- but the man himself did so. Especially in these cold and desperate times. Days and years where demons roamed the untamed lands, the rivers froze, and the *Great Cities* passed to grave and rust one by one. 
 
 The Far western cities had fallen, it was said. The *Far North* and the royal line of blood was all but cinders now. Only one inheritor remained, summoned and ignorant to the deep currents that circled their pale blue flame and staff. A price upon their head only shielded by the Loyal, and the unaware. 
 
 The last flicker of hope in this dying lands. 
 
 King of *Thorbes* might shield by way of wall and stone, and the guards might stand and watch: With sword, and shield, and spear. Honor might still persist however barely and savage it might come to pass, but the ways of man alone, can only fight the ways of man. The ways of the gods and magics... Aye, such is the same. 
 
 Only a god, can truly kill another god. 
 
 The blessed man crept on, thoughts of red and black mingling beneath the silver of the stone's pale glow beyond his careful steps. This would be the first time he had killed another blessed. This would be the first time he took away something such as this. A life was insignificant compared to the magnitude his prey now housed. 
 
 In that *blue flame* was a torch of the North. Knowledge of the blind fumbling through the pitch of black between the roils and horrors of reality that man can not know, and can not see. A true torch, in every essence. Passed along since the first birth of magics in the cold of these frozen grounds of man. Generations of magic and kings, passed down by the rites of blood and sacrifice, to create something of power. 
 
 *A fire he would snuff out. * 
 
 The blessed man of shadows grew still as he came upon the doorway, a single guard watching from ready stance. Those eyes stared ahead from beneath a visor slit of steel, with sword in sheath and halberd bared: Attentive to those who might trespass on this late hour. The brands upon his iron and steel were of a master, and the rank was of no small significance. 
 
 But the trained and knowing soldier did not see the silver fang as it left the shadows. For all his mastery of the weapons in his reach, he did not scream as it passed through the passage of his vision, to drive deep into the mind behind. 
 
 Only sounds of steel and mail falling to the press of stone below, gave evidence of the event. A chorus and song of death alone, and nothing more. The guard was still. 
 
 Blessed was the God of Shadows. 
 
 In the dim light of a lit candle and oil lantern, he felt the warmth greet him as his hands curled on doors of wood to press them inward. The silver moon shown powerful beyond the image of red and blue, black glass mingled with the solder to hold above the flame of Northern lands and long passed kings. Through this lens, the blessed man was certain the untamed gods did watch as he drew his fang. 
 
 *It was time. * 
 
 From the beside the bed, a motion was seen, a lantern thrown- crashing with sudden violence against the stone floor of the room's keep. Tranquility of silver light was lost to the roar of orange and yellow- licking with hungry tongues as they touched his flesh. 
 
 The shadows fled, and the blessed man screamed in pain- flinging his dagger in a wide swipe at the ambush's culprit. A woman's cry of pain greeted him, but that was not his prey. 
 
 Eyes, wild and desperate now, sought to fight through the flashing burns and roiled smoke of heat and energy. The prey! The inheritor of the blue fire! Where was the man? 
 
 As the fire burn his flesh, the Blessed man pressed forward leaping upon the figure- only just rising from his bed. The shadows screaming in the corners of his mind- demanding their tribute as his fist clenched tightly against the cold metal of the reddened grip. 
 
 It struck nothing but feather and down, silk sheets and cloth, as a blow smashed against his face. Impacting, with such force, so that his ears rang and his vision flashed and swayed in agony as he fell to the flames upon the floor beneath. 
 
 Only as the glow of heat overtook those sparks of white and yellow to cross beyond through heat of deep gemstone, did the blessed man realize it was over. As the god tried to flee his flesh- to escape along the shades and darkness it longed to cross- but finding nothing but fire. 
 
 The hunter had become the prey and the shadows screamed as much as he, until all was silent beneath the hungry tongues of blue and cinder. 
 
... 
 
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