That One Time I Married A Crazy Goddess

The sky was bleeding fire. 

Gorran stood at the edge of the first village, his Xenith Blade resting against his shoulder, its spiraling shadows and pulsing red eyes darting in erratic, watchful patterns. The air was heavy, thick with the metallic tang of death and the lingering heat of the Sun-Drake's influence. The soft murmurs of the blindfolded villagers reached his ears—low prayers or hopeless cries from those too afraid to flee. He didn't care for their words. He only cared for the task ahead.

Or did he really care?

The first Berserker descended from the blackened sky, its warped body snapping and jerking unnaturally as it landed on the cobblestone street with a sickening crunch. Its hollow, glowing eyes fixed on a blindfolded woman clutching a child to her chest. Her scream rang out as the creature lunged, its clawed hand glowing with the lethal radiance of condensed sunlight. 

Gorran moved. 

The Xenith Blade shifted in his grip, its shadows rippling as if alive. He stepped forward with swift, fluid precision, his blade snapping outward in a downward arc. The air around the Berserker twisted violently as his spiral slash erupted, the distortion bending space itself. The creature froze mid-lunge, its body caught in the twisting force. 

The Berserker didn't just die—it was unmade. Its torso stretched and warped, its limbs spiraling into impossible shapes before tearing apart in a grotesque explosion of molten black ichor. 

'They're as strong as those damn Griffin's from Gabriel's Ladder. But from that experience, I've learned a lot.'

Without a word, Gorran turned to the woman. Her sobs filled the silence, but he didn't linger. He never did. 

Another Berserker landed behind him, its jagged form flickering like a broken shadow. Gorran didn't glance back. His blade swung in a reverse crescent as he pivoted, the motion smooth and deliberate. The spiral distortion that followed sent the creature hurtling backward, its body twisting unnaturally in midair before slamming into a stone wall with a wet crunch. 

'Don't rush in too much….don't be slow, but not too fast.'

Three more Berserkers appeared, their bodies flickering as they closed in from opposite sides. Gorran rolled his shoulders, his grip tightening on the Xenith Blade. The spiraling red eyes along its length blinked rapidly, almost eagerly. 

He charged. 

'Take them down. Analyze the targets..weaknesses? Like a human target: they die like them. Because they are them.'

His first strike was a feint—a low, sweeping slash that forced the closest Berserker to leap back. Gorran used the momentum to pivot, bringing his blade up in a brutal, vertical slash. A spiral vortex erupted from the tip of his sword, warping the air around the second Berserker. The creature's body twisted violently, its head snapping backward before the vortex tore it into pieces. 

The remaining two lunged at him in unison. Gorran ducked beneath their attacks, his movements sharp and calculated. His blade swung upward, carving a spiraling arc between them. The distortion didn't just kill—it bent the space around them, pulling their bodies together mid-motion before they exploded in a shower of molten blood and ash. 

The fight was over in moments, but the village was scarred. The corpses of the Berserkers oozed searing black ichor into the streets, their twisted forms still radiating faint heat. The villagers whispered their thanks, but Gorran didn't acknowledge them. He sheathed his blade with a low grunt, the shadows around it dimming as the spiraling red eyes blinked closed. 

He didn't stay to hear their gratitude. 

He knew if he did, his ego would boost, like it did when he was a child. Usually he would boast in it, but something kept him from acknowledging it.

What the hell was it?

The next village was already under siege by the time Gorran arrived. 

The blindfolded villagers screamed as the Berserkers descended on them like carrion birds, their glowing hands outstretched. One of the creatures grabbed a man by the arm, and the explosion was instant. The man's body erupted in a burst of golden light, his blood and flesh disintegrating into molten fragments that rained down around the terrified survivors. 

"No!" Gorran exclaimed.

'I screamed for someone…? Me..?'

Gorran unsheathed the Xenith Blade as he stepped into the chaos. The weapon's shadows rippled like living smoke, the red eyes snapping open as if sensing the carnage around them. 

The first Berserker to notice him charged, its elegant body flickering as it moved. Gorran sidestepped its lunge, his movements fluid and precise. His blade swung low, slicing clean through the creature's knees. The Berserker crumpled, its body twisting unnaturally as the spiral distortion from the strike pulled it apart. 

"RAGHHH!" Gorran roared.

Another Berserker leapt at him from above. Gorran planted his foot and slashed upward, his blade carving a spiraling slash through the air. The distortion expanded outward like a shockwave, catching the creature midair. Its body warped violently, its limbs stretching into grotesque shapes before it disintegrated into a spray of molten ichor. 

Two more Berserkers came at him from opposite sides. Gorran exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade. He slammed the Xenith Blade into the ground, and a massive spiral zone erupted around him. The ground itself twisted and distorted, the cobblestones warping into jagged, spiraling patterns. The Berserkers were caught in the vortex, their bodies contorting unnaturally as they were pulled inward and shredded into pieces. 

But the Berserkers were endless. Some reacted almost instantly, dodging the spirals, avoiding them instantly.

'So some of them are stronger than others…faster! I expected this.'

One of them managed to grab his arm, its glowing hand burning into his flesh. The explosion sent him staggering, his shoulder seared and bleeding. Another came from behind, its punch raking across his back. Gorran growled in pain, his teeth clenched as he spun and drove his blade into the creature's chest. The spiral distortion tore through its body, ripping it apart in an instant. 

'This is bad…some of them are stronger and faster than others…making this fight unpredictable!'

By the time the last Berserker fell, Gorran was battered and bleeding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He glanced at the villagers huddled in the ruins of their homes, their blindfolded faces turned toward him in silent gratitude. 

Gorran, on his knees covered in a blanket of blood, breathing heavily, turned to them, saying, "Follow the path…to the caves. It's safe.."

"A-Are You sure?"

"Don't make me ask you again. All of you go!"

'These new Berserkers don't move unless provoked. Bastards are pretty busy praying to the sun. The ones escaping to the ruins will be safe for now. But I trust Xyenn and Yuuna, they're in the sun I see. Battle going on, they better fucking win.'

He moved into the next area.

Gorran arrived too late. The Berserkers had already torn through most of the population, their glowing hands leaving trails of destruction in their wake. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and molten blood, the streets littered with the charred remains of those who hadn't escaped in time. 

Gorran's jaw tightened as he stepped into the carnage, his Xenith Blade already drawn. The red eyes along its length blinked erratically, their spiraling patterns reflecting the chaos around him. 

The first Berserker turned towards him, sending his hostility, charged him, its body flickering as it moved. Gorran met it head-on, his blade carving a spiraling slash through its torso. The distortion bent the creature's form, twisting it into an unnatural shape before it exploded into molten ichor. 

But there were too many. 

The Berserkers swarmed him, their glowing hands reaching for his flesh. Gorran fought with everything he had, his blade moving in a blur of spiraling slashes. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the air, the **spiral distortions** tearing through the Berserkers with brutal efficiency. 

But for every one he killed, another took its place. 

One of them grabbed his leg, the explosion ripping through his armor and leaving a deep, bloody gash. Another raked its claws across his chest, its touch searing his flesh. Gorran growled in pain, his movements slowing as the Berserkers overwhelmed him. 

He fought harder, his blade carving through their ranks with desperate ferocity. The Xenith Blade's spirals warped the battlefield, the distortions twisting the ground and bodies of his enemies into grotesque shapes. But it wasn't enough. 

By the time the last Berserker fell, the village was silent. Gorran stood amidst the carnage, his body battered and bleeding. The corpses of the villagers surrounded him, their blindfolds still tied tightly over their empty eyes. 

He clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on the bodies. The memories came unbidden—his clan, the Xenith, lying dead around him. The weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders, but he didn't let it show. He couldn't. 

He heard crying from children, hovering over their wounded father.

Gorran winced at the crying, gripping his Xenith.

'Let the dead rest, leave them behind in silence.'

Is what his father always told him. A man once ambushed by his own morality and innocence at a young age, turned assassin with no care for morality once so ever. Leave the dead behind, he said. Leave the wounded behind, they have no value if their own value is fading from them.

Gorran turned around to the children and their father, and he instantly picked up the father, saying to the children, "Follow me. Now. No questions. Nothing. Stop that crying shit."

The children replied: "Please save him.."

"Mm."

For the first time, he felt something stir deep within him. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. He didn't know.

But he didn't look back. He never did. 

'Leave the dead behind. Leave those who are close to it. They hold no importance in silence. It was embedded in me, changed me. Ruled my conscience. Why leave helpless children behind…? Yuuna saw my state when I was a child…but she didn't leave me. I'm not born to be a hero. Wasn't crafted that way. Xyenn…fighting to reshape his ability to handle everything at once, Yuuna is fighting to keep from going back to being a monster, trying to help people more and be better, all because of Xyenn. Even Mertha, not being the leader she thought she was with her clan and ended up losing them all alongside her family, stays trying to give orders to us, to make up for what she thinks was her fault. What about me? The old me would've left that wounded man back there. Why the hell…do I feel satisfied for helping a weak man?!'

The screams of the villagers were deafening, a desperate cacophony that pierced through the chaos. Fires raged all around, consuming homes, marketplaces, and fields alike, while the blinding, oppressive light of the sun above seemed to grow darker and more unbearable with each passing second. The Berserkers hovered in the skies above, their immense forms locked in their eternal prayer. Their heads tilted back, hands pressed together in reverence toward the burning sun. 

Their haunting stillness belied their destructive power. Each pulse of radiant sunlight that emanated from them brought devastation—waves of heat and light distorted the air, warping the earth below into molten ruin. But it wasn't just their radiant energy that was the true danger. If their hands made contact with anything—buildings, trees, or people—it erupted in a massive explosion of dark sunlight, obliterating everything in its wake. 

Mertha's boots pounded against the dirt as she ran toward a group of villagers trapped in the center of the town square. Her body ached from the earlier battles, her dark pink and black flaming gauntlets crackling against her bloodied arms. She felt the heat of the destruction around her, sweat streaming down her face, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. 

"Run! Get to the northern passage!" she screamed, her voice hoarse, her lungs burning. "Don't stop for anything! Stay together!"

The villagers hesitated, frozen in fear as one of the Berserkers floated closer, its massive praying hands glowing faintly with dark sunlight. The pressure of its radiant energy alone was enough to make the ground beneath it crumble and glow red-hot, threatening to explode at any moment. 

"Go!" Mertha bellowed, shoving one of the villagers forward as the Berserker descended lower, its hands tilting slightly as if reaching for the group. "Get moving, or you're all dead! To the cliffs! They only attack if they feel threatened!"

'It's like they attack those who are trying to disturb their prayer. That means I can't hang too close to the group I'm trying to lead out of here, I have to hang back sometimes.'

Finally, the villagers obeyed, their terrified faces streaked with soot and tears as they scrambled toward the passage she had pointed out. But Mertha didn't follow. She planted herself between them and the Berserker, her fists igniting with an intense flame as she glared up at the massive creature. 

She grinned, "Come at me then!"

Her heart pounded in her chest, fear clawing at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it down. She couldn't afford to be afraid. There were people counting on her—innocent lives that would be snuffed out if she faltered for even a second. She clenched her fists tighter, the flames on her gauntlets flaring brighter. 

"You're not touching them," she growled, her voice low and filled with venom. "Not while I'm still fucking breathing. Weirdos."

The Berserker's hands began to move, slow and deliberate, as though drawn by her defiance. The air around it vibrated with energy, the intense heat causing the very stones beneath its hovering form to melt and drip like wax. Mertha knew what was coming. If those hands touched the ground, the entire square would erupt in a blast of dark sunlight that would kill everyone within a hundred yards—including her. 

Without waiting for it to make the first move, Mertha charged. 

Her boots slammed against the ground as she leapt onto a fallen wagon, using it as a springboard to launch herself toward the Berserker. Her gauntlets flared, the flames trailing behind her like a comet as she swung her fist toward its glowing hands. The moment her punch connected, an explosion of sparks and flames erupted from the impact, forcing the Berserker to jerk backward. 

But the creature didn't falter. Its praying hands remained pressed together, its head tilting slightly as though it barely registered her attack. Mertha didn't let up. She landed on the ground and immediately launched herself forward again, her fists blazing as she pounded them into the Berserker's hands, chest, and head. Each blow sent waves of molten sparks flying, but the creature refused to break its formation. 

"Come on!" Mertha snarled, slamming her fists into its body with all her strength. "Fight me, you bastard! Stop praying and fight me!"

The Berserker's head tilted slightly, its glowing form pulsing as if in response to her taunts. Then, without warning, its hands began to descend. Mertha's eyes widened as she realized what was happening. It wasn't trying to fight her—it was trying to grab her.

"Shit!" she hissed, throwing herself backward just as the Berserker's hands slammed into the ground where she had been standing. The resulting explosion was deafening, a massive shockwave of dark sunlight tearing through the square and sending chunks of molten stone flying in every direction. Mertha barely managed to roll out of the way as one of the fragments crashed into the ground beside her, the heat searing her exposed skin. 

'Tch! They fight so weirdly!'

She scrambled to her feet, her chest heaving as she glared up at the Berserker. Her gauntlets flared again, the flames burning hotter as she prepared to charge once more. But before she could move, she heard a scream. 

Her head snapped toward the sound, her blood running cold as she saw a young boy trapped beneath a fallen beam. The villagers she had sent toward the northern passage were still fleeing, unaware of the child's plight. 

"Is she gonna be okay?!"

"She's fighting pretty good, but I don't think she can go on for so long!"

"Trust her! We can't doubt anyone right now! This might be the end of Soulcaris, we might be free."

"Free…from the god of the sun…please let it be true…"

Without hesitation, Mertha sprinted toward the Berserker, dodging the molten debris and radiant energy that littered the square. She dropped to her knees beside the boy, gripping the beam with both hands as her gauntlets flared. 

"Hold on, kid," she said through gritted teeth, her muscles straining as she lifted the burning beam off his leg. The flames from her gauntlets melted through the wood, turning it to ash as she tossed it aside. "Can you walk?"

The boy nodded, tears streaming down his soot-streaked face. Mertha grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet and shoving him toward the passage. 

"Go! Don't stop until you reach the others!" she shouted. "Scream to get their attention!"

"I'm scared…"

"Don't be fucking scared! This is life or death! One false move…and it's over. Please go!"

"…Okay…"

The boy hesitated for only a second before running as fast as his injured leg would allow. Mertha watched him go, relief flooding through her—until she felt the air around her shift. 

She turned just in time to see another Berserker descending toward her, its massive hands glowing with dark sunlight. Before she could react, a massive lance of radiant energy shot from the sky, hurtling toward her like a falling star. 

It struck her with devastating force, piercing through her abdomen and pinning her to the ground. 

"AGHHH! Dammit!"

The pain was immediate and excruciating, her vision swimming as she struggled to catch her breath. Around her, the villagers who hadn't yet escaped screamed in horror, their faces pale as they watched her fall. 

For a moment, Mertha's vision blurred, the edges of her world darkening. Memories of her past flooded her mind—her tribe, her failures, the people she couldn't save. The guilt, the shame, the constant feeling of abandonment. She had abandoned her role as a leader. She had abandoned the people who had once looked to her for guidance. 

'I've been doing well leading…I have more to do! I'm not a waste at all…'

With a guttural roar, she reached down and grabbed the lance, her gauntlets flaring with dark pink and black flames. The energy from the gauntlets surged into the lance, igniting it with the same fiery power. With a sickening sound, and scream, she ripped the lance out of her body, blood spraying from the wound as she stood, her legs trembling but unyielding. 

The Berserker that had thrown the lance hovered above her, its massive praying hands glowing faintly as if preparing to strike again. Mertha grinned, gripping the flaming lance tightly as she took a step forward. 

"My turn," she growled. 

She hurled the lance with all her strength, the weapon streaking through the air like a meteor. It struck the Berserker in the center, the force of the impact sending a ripple of dark sunlight through its form. The creature's body convulsed before erupting in a massive explosion, its radiant energy dissipating into the air. 

Mertha didn't stop. She turned toward the remaining Berserkers, her gauntlets blazing as she charged forward once more. 

As the battle raged on, Mertha came across a crumbling church at the edge of the village. The sound of chanting echoed from within, a haunting melody that sent a chill down her spine. She pushed open the shattered doors, her gauntlets casting eerie shadows on the walls as she stepped inside. 

A group of robed cultists stood in a circle around an altar, their voices raised in praise to the Sun-Drake. Bound and kneeling before them were several villagers, their faces pale with terror. 

"The Sun-Drake will spare us!" one of the cultists cried, raising his hands toward the altar. "We offer these souls in tribute! Praise the eternal flame!"

"That same cult!" Mertha's blood boiled. She stormed into the room, her gauntlets flaring as she slammed her fist into the nearest cultist. The force of the blow sent him flying into the wall, his body crumpling on impact, blood splattering from its body.

The chanting stopped abruptly as the remaining cultists turned toward her, their faces filled with fear and rage. 

"Release them!" Mertha roared, her voice echoing through the church. "Now!"

The cultists hesitated for only a moment before one of them lunged at her, a dagger in hand.

"Die! You won't stop our salvation! Muscle woman!"

Mertha sidestepped the attack, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the dagger fell from his grasp. She followed up with a punch to his chest, the flames from her gauntlets igniting his robes as he was bashed through a wall.

The remaining cultists scrambled to grab their weapons, but before they could attack, the ceiling above them exploded. A Berserker descended into the church, its massive form crashing through the roof. The cultists screamed, their prayers turning into desperate cries for mercy as the Berserker's radiant energy consumed them, burning them alive as they melted in brutal agony, their skin and blood oozing to the floor.

Mertha didn't wait to see what would happen next. She ran to the altar, tearing through the ropes that bound the villagers and pulling them to their feet. 

"Go! Head towards the northern passage! To the cliffs! Don't fuck around here any longer!"

"Thank you!" One woman bowed as she ran past Mertha.

The villagers fled, and Mertha followed close behind, dodging the explosions that erupted around them as the Berserker's energy tore through the church. 

Minutes later, they made it to the cliffs, and there were at least a few hundred people rushing inside of it.

"Don't push!"

"Where's my baby?!"

"Get out of the way!"

Gorran was there, saying, "Don't push each other! Be patient!"

By the time Mertha reached the cave at the edge of the forest, she was barely standing. Her body was covered in blood and soot, her gauntlets flickering weakly as the flames began to die. 

The villagers she had saved gathered around her, their faces filled with gratitude and awe. One by one, they murmured their thanks, their voices rising in a quiet chorus that filled the cave. 

A little girl ran up to her, throwing her arms around Mertha's waist. 

"Thank you," the girl whispered, her small voice trembling. 

Mertha froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. Then, slowly, she placed a bloodied hand on the girl's head, her lips twitching into a faint, weary smile. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Mertha felt something other than guilt or anger. 

She felt like a leader again.