The Gods Don’t Bleed—But They Will

They came with wings of light.

With robes woven from the essence of stars.

With voices that shattered clouds and shook mountains.

The Judges of the Divine Court had descended.

And their mission was simple:

Erase Coker Vale.

Not kill.

Not punish.

Erase.

It began at dawn.

The first Judge appeared above the ruined duchy, standing midair, barefoot upon sunlight.

He didn't speak.

He didn't threaten.

He simply raised a hand—

—and the earth screamed.

A dome of golden energy swept across the camp, silencing birds, splitting trees, and freezing every soldier in place.

Every soldier but one.

Coker stood, unshackled by the divine force, black veins crawling up his arms.

The curse was awake.

"Looks like they're sending angels now," he muttered.

Brax grabbed his spear. "Great. First nobles. Now flying candle freaks."

Kaela didn't joke. Not this time.

"That's not an angel. That's a Judge. A god's executioner."

"And how many of them are there?"

"Seven," she whispered. "Always seven."

The first Judge attacked.

It didn't move.

It just pointed.

And light struck the world like a hammer.

A beam the size of a castle fell from the sky, aimed at Coker.

But it never hit.

The curse flared.

The sky cracked.

And the light… bent.

It twisted mid-air, wrapped in black flame, and reversed—

Slamming back toward the Judge.

It didn't scream. Didn't flinch.

It simply raised a shield of truth.

The beam shattered against it like glass on stone.

Coker wiped his mouth. Blood.

"That all you got?"

The Judge finally spoke.

Its voice was law.

"Coker Vale. Mage of no rank. Cursed vessel. Flame of rebellion. You will cease."

He grinned.

"Make me."

The battle began.

Not like a normal fight.

Not like a war.

This was conceptual.

Every movement shattered the rules of reality.

The Judge bent time to halt Coker's breath.

Coker broke causality to punch the future.

Kaela and Brax tried to help.

But they couldn't touch the fight.

It was above mortals.

So instead, they held the line.

Dozens of divine shades rained down with the Judge—celestial warriors of light, sent to purge the rebellion.

And the camp?

It didn't run.

It fought.

Kaela burned skies with vines of red flame.

Brax became a thunderstorm with legs.

The children, the freed, even the scared—they stood up.

Because Coker had taught them one thing:

You don't need a rank to stand.

Still, the Judge was too strong.

Too fast.

Too endless.

Coker fought with everything.

With rage.

With power.

With the curse.

But the Judge could not be burned.

Until he remembered something—

"Hey, Kaela!" he yelled midair.

She turned, blood dripping from her mouth. "What!?"

"What's a god's weakness?"

She blinked.

Then smiled.

"They don't feel."

That was it.

That was the answer.

Coker stopped attacking.

He dropped his guard.

The Judge raised its hand, confused.

Then—

He opened his mind.

Not to the gods.

To the pain.

To every scar.

Every loss.

Every insult.

Every day he was told he was worthless.

And then—

He gave that pain to the curse.

And the curse screamed.

The world blacked out.

Even the sun dimmed.

The Judge faltered, taking a step back. Its face cracked. Not physically. Not visibly.

Spiritually.

A fracture.

Coker stepped forward, bleeding from every pore.

"Feel that?" he rasped.

The Judge didn't answer.

So he struck.

Not with fire.

Not with strength.

With grief.

And the Judge shattered.

A divine being. A creature of law and eternity—shattered by mortal sorrow.

The other Judges felt it.

Wherever they were hiding, watching, waiting—

They felt it.

One of them was gone.

And not just dead.

Broken.

The rebellion had changed.

Coker Vale had just committed the first divine murder in a thousand years.

After the battle, no one cheered.

Too many had died.

Too many were wounded.

But something else filled the camp.

Not silence.

Not celebration.

Something deeper.

Purpose.

Kaela sat beside Coker, who lay in a crater, barely breathing.

"You still alive?" she whispered.

"Depends," he croaked. "Is my nose still broken?"

"Extremely."

"Cool."

The rebellion moved again that night.

They couldn't stay. Not after killing a Judge.

Now the gods were coming.

Not avatars.

Not envoys.

The real ones.

Brax said it best.

"We're not running from them anymore."

Coker nodded, a fresh bandage around his chest.

"We're going to them."