Part XV: The Coming of The Myz
Chapter 3: Creation of The Myz
Timeline: AO 320-321
Still transfixed by The Ghast and not wanting to miss any of the action on the battlefields below – no matter how frustrating it was for him to watch – Gwar didn’t immediately answer when he received my summons to visit me at The Cauldron. Watching from high on his mountaintop perch on Kagor Island, Gwar divine eyes, sharp as a falcon’s, scanned the carnage, his gaze shifting between the crumbling lines of soldiers and the rising pillars of smoke. The fields of Gor were bathed in the blood of thousands, a spectacle that should have thrilled him, but instead, it gnawed at his insides. He was used to commanding victories, orchestrating chaos, and feasting on the spoils. But this war—The War of the Ghast—was different – and that infuriated him.
He watched as the Ghast, the object of his obsession, cleaved through armies, wielded by a mortal who didn’t deserve it. Gwar knew Hacktor was nothing but a pawn, and watching him with the divine power of the gods in his hands was the ultimate insult. Gwar’s iron grip tightened on the edge of the rock where he stood, the stone crumbling beneath his fingers.
Eventually, however, The God of War could no longer stomach the debacle that was The War of the Ghast, and he reconsidered my invitation. He’d dismissed it before – not because he feared me—oh no, Gwar feared nothing, or so he liked to tell himself—but because leaving the battlefield, even for a moment, felt like abandoning the one thing he still had control over. But watching Hacktor had become so frustrating that Gwar, despite his pride, knew he needed something more if he was to reclaim victory again.
Nektar’s Cauldron was a place of shadows and secrets, nestled within the volcano that marked the very northern end of The Rhokki’s. It was a location so dangerous and remote that it was a realm hidden from the prying eyes of gods and men alike – just like I preferred.
The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and old magic, swirling around in the dimly lit chamber where I received Gwar. The walls, carved from black stone, seemed to pulse with a life of their own, faint whispers echoing through the corridors. I had chosen this place not for its comfort, but for its power—a nexus of dark energy that fueled my experiments and ambitions.
When Gwar arrived, he was a sight to behold. Appearing in his usual form, he was a towering figure, nearly seven feet tall, with a mane of raven-black hair and eyes that burned like molten iron. He strode into my chamber with an air of barely contained fury. Yet his hands gave away the game – large and calloused from centuries of wielding weapons, they trembled slightly as he stood before me. It was a rare sight—to see the God of War so visibly shaken.
“Azazel,” he rumbled, his voice low and grating, like the grinding of stone, “you said you had something for me?”
I couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of him. “Ah, Gwar, always so eager. You’ve been watching my little toy, haven’t you? The Ghast is quite something, isn’t it?”
Gwar’s response was a grunt, his patience already wearing thin. “Spare me your taunts, Azazel. You know the weapon should be mine. What do you want in return?”
“Straight to the point, as always. Very well.” I leaned back, crossing my robed arms over my chest. “The Ghast is a marvel, but it’s not just about the weapon itself. It’s about who wields it, how they wield it. Hacktor may have it now, but he’s a merely my pawn—but you already knew that, right? I’ve already planned for him to lose it. The question is, who will take it from him?”
Gwar’s eyes narrowed, the embers within them flaring. “I will.”
“Ah, but how?” I asked, tilting my skeletal head within the cowl the covered it. “Let me be blunt—you’re afraid, Gwar.” And before he could protest, I waved a hand to silence him. “Look, I get it. You’ve seen what the Ghast can do. It can kill anything—that includes Sindra, me, and, whether you want to admit it or not, even you.”
His pride stung, I could see the anger boiling just beneath the surface of his face. But instead of lashing out, he gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. “What’s your point?”
I chuckled softly, savoring the moment. “My point, dear Gwar, is that you need help. You need me. I can guide you, show you how to claim the Ghast without losing your head in the process. There is a method, certain tools, things I can provide you. But… there is a price.”
“Of course there is.” His voice was bitter, but he nodded. “Name it.”
“I want a favor,” I said, smiling. “A small one, really. You see, there’s a little… project I’ve been working on. A tool that I need—something that could tip the balance of power in my favor. But I need time, and I need resources. If you help me with this, I’ll help you get the Ghast.”
Gwar’s eyes flashed with suspicion. “What kind of project? Are you still fixated on getting Dagaal?”
“What I want is nothing that concerns you, I assure you.” I probably said that a bit too quickly but he’d hit too close to the mark. I tried to play it off, “Think of it as a mutual exchange. I help you, you help me. Simple, really.”
He pondered this for a moment, his fiery gaze never leaving mine. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. But if you betray me, Azazel…”
I raised a hand to stop him. “No need for threats, Gwar. We’re both gods here. We understand the rules of the game. Now, shall we begin?”
And so, with Gwar’s reluctant agreement, our little alliance was formed. It was, of course, temporary – as all alliances between gods are – but it was enough to set the wheels in motion. Gwar would get his Ghast – in time – but he would also unknowingly set the stage for my grand design. And furthermore, while I’d promised to help him acquire Hacktor’s blade, that didn’t mean I promised to let Gwar keep it – he was just too stupid to see through the ruse.
“Well,” Gwar salivated, “where is it? Do you have it here?”
“What – The Ghast?” I laughed. “Certainly not. But I’m going to give you the tools to get it.”
The brute suspected a trick, “Don’t play games, Skull Man. I know all about your tools – those goblins you gave me for an army are pitiful. What does Baal-Zebub expect me to do with trash like that?”
“Funny you should mention your army. You see, that’s part of the plan.”
As we spoke, Sindra chose to make her entrance. She was a sight to behold, a vile seductress with a beauty so wicked it could bring a god to his knees – which was exactly my plan. Her skin was as pale as the moon, her hair a cascade of midnight, and her eyes—those damned eyes—glimmered with a malice that could freeze the sun. [I made sure to NOT look at them…this time].
She slinked into the room, her movements graceful and deliberate, and Gwar’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of her. He tried to resist, of course. The God of War was no stranger to temptation and he’d shared Sindra’s ‘pleasures’ in the past, but that only made him even more susceptible to Sindra’s allure. In fact, he never had a chance.
Before Gwar could utter a word of protest, Sindra was upon him, her hands sliding up his chest, her lips brushing against his ear. “Gwar,” she whispered, her voice a silken purr, “why resist what you want?”
His resolve faltered, and I watched with amusement as the mighty God of War, the terror of battlefields, was reduced to a trembling mass of desire. Sindra had him, just as I had planned. [I paid a dreadful price for Sindra’s help, but it couldn’t be avoided so I didn’t dwell on the matter]. Sindra played her part and led Gwar away so they could continue their escapades in private…
The coupling was completed and the effects were immediate. What you need to understand is that this was all part of another one of my genetic experiments. As you’ll recall, I’d created all the other races on this flat earth and now I was about to do it again. As my direction then, Sindra had previously seduced a Drokka dwarf and then an Amorosi elf, and now, with Gwar’s seed, she was ready to fulfill the purpose I’d commissioned her for.
But first I had to get rid of Gwar. I could see the exhaustion in Gwar’s eyes after the ordeal, the realization of what had just happened dawning on him.
“Azazel,” he growled, his voice laced with anger, “what have you done?”
I smiled, stepping forward. “Oh, nothing too sinister, Gwar. Just a little… experiment. You see, with your generous contribution, our gal Sindra is about to give she birth something truly remarkable.”
Yet before Gwar could react, I cast a spell, sending him back to Kagor. As for Sindra, given her godlike powers, her period of gestation was as fast as she preferred it to be – since she didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted her to, she quickly gave birth to the creation she carried – a massive humanoid killing drone.
As soon as I’d harvested it from her, I thanked her for her time, paid her off with our agreed form of compensation [more on that another time] and then happily cast a spell to send her on her way back to the jungles of Ramos.
And so, I had what I needed – now it was time to get to work, so I took the creature to my Life Labs and immediately set about cloning it.
By the end of the year, I’d created a veritable army of these warriors.
They were an impressive sight: towering giants, each standing over seven feet tall, with broad, muscular bodies that weighed more than 20 stones. Their skin was rough and scaly, a dusky gray that seemed to absorb the darkness around them. Their eyes were completely black, voids of endless night, and their teeth were razor-sharp, ready to rend flesh from bone.
I called them “The Myz” – not because it was an homage to that stupid conspiracy plot of the Drokka and Derkka elite that had succeeded in taking down The Siq and murdering Kon-Herr Baldur in the process – thus setting the stage for my pawn Hacktor Derkillez to take the throne. Well, ok, maybe it was a bit of a shout-out – since after all, that plan only worked because I’d set it into motion. But really I called the “The Myz” just because I thought the name fit – these warriors were like razors – sharp and dangerous.
Regardless of their name, the Myz were the culmination of my vile designs when it came to killing machines – a genetic fusion of Drokka strength, Amorosi agility, and Gwar’s own savage power. They were the ultimate warriors—intelligent, fearsome, and physically unmatched. But perhaps most importantly, they were nearly unkillable. Decapitation, dismemberment, or crushing were the only ways to stop them that I knew of. [I tried to eliminate these little shortcomings too but alas, even a god has limits, right?]
Now that I had them ready, I could return to Gwar – he’d been hounding me for months, demanding I answer for insulting him. It was time to show him what it was all for…
Gwar, still fuming from his earlier encounter with Sindra, initially threatened to destroy both her and me for using him in my experiment. But when I finally convinced him to share a vision with me and showcased a band of the new Myz warriors, his anger was quickly replaced with delight.
The God of War smiled, a sinister grin that revealed the black saliva of his own blood spilling from his lips. “Why, Nektar, you shouldn’t have,” he sneered sarcastically.
“Yes, I thought you might like them,” I replied, my form hidden beneath my flowing ebon robes. “Well, don’t just stand there, you big lummox. Do the duty which our master created you to do.” I pointed a bony finger at him. “Come to The Cauldron and train them. Then destroy the cursed Drokka!”
For a short time, Gwar trained his Myz within the confines of my Cauldron, instructing them day and night in the gruesome art of killing. He repeatedly forced them to fight with one another to hone their skills, and thereby did they learn to live to fight (and fight to live) — reaping destruction with little regard for their own safety – for any who did not develop their skills fast enough quickly perished as a result of my colleague’s merciless training exercises.
Then, at the start of the war of AO321 Gwar released his star pupils out onto the killing fields of Kra, on a mission to overcome the Drokka and restore his dignity.
He was not disappointed.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 