The effort and energy that claimed the simple operation of opening the eyes if only a few millimeters raised you an idea of the state of deterioration that was. The fuzzy, blurry and incomprehensible images that appeared before his eyes, too. I felt a huge, deep freeze, even though I had the feeling of lying on your back on something warm and gooey. We invaded a general paralysis embracing his whole body, making the movement was an impossible trivial all ...
I did not feel anything ...
All his awareness of what was happening in their environment was reduced to packages indecipherable seemed to pass over him ... chaotic, frenetic, dizzying. Otherwise impossible, remembered absolutely nothing of what had led him to that state, as if his short-term memory had been disconnected. Into his mind came only remnants of a past more remote ...
But I felt nothing ...
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Khala was setting behind the mountains of Ataharya, that of the high peaks of eternal ice. His last rays reflected off the snow adjacent to the high mountains forming colored fans, painting colors in the East Valley. On the other side of the imposing mountain range, the West Valley extended its day sheltered from the shadows of the mountains.
The figure on the edge of the ledge of the cliff was alien to the beauty of the landscape. His thoughts wandered more devious ways and worldly. He was born into a tribe of farmers, simple people and simple habits rough hands who smelled of dirt and sweat that went hungry in the dry season and fed on grain and bread when the great god Sila them but still smiling save for when he did not. The Valle Del Este was thus living on their work, oblivious to what was happening across Ataharya. Shuala not. He cursed to be born on this side, so wanted to be on the other, the place of the great adventures, the cradle of conquerors and armies bloodthirsty. Where the junk, divine precious metal, adorned the necks of females with beautiful gems and Morbia Daseral. There the children grew up alongside the soldiers, and war, conquest, were subjects of daily and routine treatment. There no one planted and worked the field, that were slaves, tens of thousands of slaves collected in the many heroic military campaigns, dying by the hundreds every day of fatigue and hunger by giving the perfect excuse for another raid, another adventure , another massacre. Once, as a boy, had crossed the mountains in a tortuous and terrible journey to join, joining those who so admired. They had laughed at him and had put to death. It would never be accepted because it was a mistake. It was neither one thing nor the other. He was a warrior born among peasants. But he had not resigned to their fate, had somehow partially corrected that mistake. He had traveled widely, bustling about the most dangerous roads, where life was worth little and lived only marginalized and renegades. In that underworld was found in his element and he tempted death in all its facets. But besides luck. A legendary renegade soldier taught him the arts of war and fighting and Shuala showed great interest and talent to become unbeatable. He fought on all fronts in endless bloody raids along with his mentor and his horde of unmentionables. The huge collection of scars that covered their body from tip to tip gave mute testimony to the ferocity and courage. His disfigured face, parted in the middle diagonally by a failed coup d'ax, only inspired horror and it was not long before his own mentor began to fear. Fadish, it was called, was a full warrior but Shuala was a murderer and he finished awareness had been killed and his small but terrible bind of marginal. Thus he embarked on the most atrocious and bloody massacres against defenseless tribes could hardly offer a feeble resistance.
And they were going months and years and his name began to deliver in the valley, whispered, as preventing a demonic invocation. The number of his followers grew in number and quality, which was once a disorganized and brutal horde was gradually taking military aspect and soon became a large army, disciplined and lethal. But, of course, already bored Shuala massacring defenseless poor, wanted to prove his potential against a true militia. Sometimes his gaze pierced the mountains to the west, and thought of those who rejected it, despised it ... but I knew that was far from done even against smaller squads on the other side ... And that depressed him. And was depressed when he lifted one thing: kill.
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His vision was slowly gaining clarity, now saw a wooden masts very close to him, just twenty or thirty feet, a very perpendicular, others more likely, some close, others more distant. In total six accounting thought. Gradually the noise and initial agitation was going to still give way to sedate shouts orders issued in the form of isolated, weary. He saw standing figures walking slowly, swords and spears in hand. They were soldiers ... red blood ... maybe injured but with the position of victory. Then he remembered ...
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The years had been passed and Shuala was already a general, with the difference that had no military ethics prevailing at the time. For him, a dead were defeated and matching issues. His troops amounted to several thousand and as all the East Valley belonged, was forced to live a forced peace and could not fight against himself. Still time to time organized some carnage to break the monotony sacrificing a few hundred innocent as bloody massacres as unnecessary but receiving a frequency higher and higher, blame and rejection of his staff who did not share his taste for fun. In any such activities becoming less and distracted him, really, and everything was bored. Everyone knew how dangerous it was Shuala boring. Over time I take the habit of going for long walks in the interior valleys of the mountains on the back of his horse, he absented work weeks, to everyone's relief. When organizing a raid again generally lower against a hidden tribe hidden in the mountains and returned with some dozens of slaves to swell his already bulging collection. Of course, for every ten people enslaved another hundred were killed, that was his method. But it was one of those rides that fortune smiled and very good way.
I had heard of them but had never seen. Known to exist throughout the world was said of its existence and many said if any Shuala sighted but no. Fortunately I was well away when he saw because he knew of his legendary danger. The first thing he saw was the silver bird, in fact reflected glare of Khala that transcended the treetops. Immediately dropped to the ground and walked the next thousand feet dragging. When he found nearly two hundred meters was frozen, paralyzed and only turned to listen and spy. Supposed to detect the distance but not a dozen feet and would probably be fatal. The silver bird was no more than five hundred meters thick but he could not see over the top denying the vision of what was happening below. That was a couple of hours, barely moving to avoid detection. Another had fled at the first sighting but Shuala not. But what happened then froze the blood.
She never knew as he had seen but the fact was he was there, twenty yards of his position. The silver God was moving slowly with "the rod of fire" that lethal weapon that charred a hundred while in his right hand. He walked a few steps and sat on a fallen log, leaving the rod resting on it. Shuala not understand how it was not only detected but his eyes focused on the weapon of God, if I could conquer the world possess. His intellect murderer dictated that if it had not been detected then had the advantage of surprise and the possibility of attack with a good chance of success. He felt his short sword and was approaching slowly, inch by inch, while the God performed, still sitting on the trunk, some incomprehensible tasks. Only when he was ten feet Shuala stood and raised his sword against the back of God, which provided generous. All his muscles tensed brutal and every art of attack surfaced at the time, being six feet, jumped up and vented his arm against the exact middle of the back of God ... But nothing happened, or rather, no what Shuala expected to pass. There was no blood or the delicious feeling of metal going into the flesh and of the falling body waiting to be finished, no, no, nothing like that. Instead of all this, the blade of the sword broke as if it were wood and God warned, stood before him. Shuala was a tall, very tall, but his opponent took him at least two heads. He stood watching the silver body looked as astonished some object hanging from his belt, with the hilt of his sword harmless in hand. But the pause was brief. The God react and release a tremendous punch in his face with a speed and speed such that neither could Shuala cat-like reflexes to avoid. Literally flew through the air and completely stunned, as God saw approaching him again to finish the job but leaving the rod back over the trunk. Drawing strength Shuala who knows where it pushed back, and an acrobatic movement, hung on a nearby branch and jumped behind the God ended, less than one meter from the rod. He took his hands and said to God, a stream of fire burst from the gun and calcined with everything he had in fifty meter radius. Breathless the Barbarian watching the outcome of their actions and not believe his eyes. How had left the gun fire?. Agitated whispers coming from the side where the bird was perched silver. Likely to see the smoke of the fire killed some fellow would come to the site. Should go for that quick and Shuala was very good. His athletic body quickly put meters between him and the scene and jumped his horse climbed and sped away. As he rode, when his breath was still agitated, his mind refused to believe the feat performed: "He had killed a god and had stolen his rod of fire." His euphoria hysterical laughter made him throw, I was at the height images of conquest, slaughter and destruction paraded through his mind as slides, apocalyptic evil. Soon the whole world is desperate prostrate at his feet.
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He saw his hand still holding the sword but his arm was no longer attached to his body. I saw the masts were spears stuck in his chest and abdomen. His breathing became heavy bubbling impossible. Out of his mouth was bleeding with increasing abundance. I knew I was having a terrible agony but that was what galled him what little life was left but the inability to stand up and keep killing those who had defeated him for good. They came and went from his hand, even over his body, until sometimes I stepped or kicked by subtracting all importance. Sometimes some soldiers spent her sly smiles and derogatory comments. They returned to despise, died in failure, could not make them swallow their pride, their arrogance with his blood. But what really drove him crazy was to ignore what had happened, he had failed. It had everything perfectly planned, adjusted and tested. That thought was with him slowly and painfully to death.
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While Shuala was a sick murderer what he lacked was not intelligence, and possessed in great quantities. Did not take much to understand how it worked the rod of fire. Whether you want to burn a mountain like an ant just had to want it, think about it ... and stick it incinerated. Clear that the practice of this instrument took the lives of hundreds of individuals but Shuala did not stop until he was absolutely sure it was a full operator of the rod and, incidentally, had fun as ever in his life. He spent days, weeks, burning everything that crossed his path and made heavy use, abuse, of the rod. Only when he got bored of killing harmless people stopped to plan the next steps and these were oriented across the range. I knew a few thousand soldiers and the staff could defeat tens of thousands and with a little planning in a few days savoring the liquor would be true of the West Valley. Anxiety and tortured him in a week brought together some two thousand men and with his staff rushed to the mountains. I knew the journey would be long and painful and would lose most of his legionaries but that did not care, with seven hundred had plenty. And a rod, of course. So, leaning on a rock at the edge of a precipice, with the night in the making, arrived with five hundred men to deal with the ten thousand legionaries of the West Valley that alerted his imminent arrival, waited perfectly formed one hundred meters below, at the beginning of the valley. Shuala drew a feline smile on his face deformed and horrible, stood up, took the rod and pointed it down ...
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The rod ... The rod. Why had not worked?. The Legionnaires enemies scaled the cliff and caught up. It was useless to Shuala ordered the leak, a second army, hidden in the thicket, they waylaid and cut off their retreat. Shuala fought like a demon and killed dozens of soldiers but they were too. His own troops were killed cowardly in full flight ... No one was left. The rod ... In a last glimpse of her eyes that went out to see her run up to their knees. Why had not worked?. ¿Would die in ignorance?.
And just with him the bodies of his men as the enemy had taken themselves, which were very few. Only then the silver figure appeared before her and limited field of vision. He smiled contemplatively, perhaps with some indulgence. He raised his wand and set fire to his face, a faint red light flickered wanly. The silver God pointed his index finger. Shuala could see a series of incomprehensible recorded under the little red light. It was then he died, knowing that God wanted to tell. But even if the god would have explained, could not understand Shuala meant the phrase "BATTERY EXHAUSTED".
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