A fiery furnace blazed untamed. Within the fire, animated lumps of bubbling streams started forming, which tore themselves away from the walls with horrendous wrenching sounds. They trundled together brightly raging. The kiln door was now an obscenely flapping mouth opening and closing. The blaze rolled, licked, and coalesced.
The sounds of shrieking blasted from the grate, and the heat became unbearable. A form resembling a woman tumbled out into a puddle from the inferno, tearing free from her clay umbilical. She flailed her naked limbs. She flipped over onto her breast and crawled towards a tall woman in black. She moved with erratic jerks trying to stand as clay and mud dripped from her naked form.
Waves of nausea rushed through her from all sides. Everything felt open and scary. She screamed a frightful ear-splitting wail, gagging as she fought to control her body. The clay monstrosity tried to stand like a newborn deer. She drug herself closer and reached out for the tall woman's feet crying with great, horrible intensity--
Queen Seseh Diddymous awoke sweating, the familiar noise of flames still echoing in her ears. Warm fire crackled from a nearby fireplace. She squinted. It was dark. A soft bed encompassed her. Looming so high was the overhanging canopy of her beautiful, lavish four-poster bed. The bed was covered with the finest white silk quilts and pillows. A tangy scent of perspiration drifted in the air. Seseh laid still fear-stricken, worried for her husband and son.
Her chest ached.
"Do you feel that?" A voice asked Seseh. She couldn't figure where it came from. At first, she thought it was beneath the floorboards under her bed.
A pain ran through every muscle as she tried to wipe the crust from her eyes. It was at this point that she realized the voice was coming from her own ears. Her breathing was very shallow. Seseh moaned deeply with a voice that was not her own.
"That's the pain you'll feel if you don't do everything your Goddess commands!"
Seseh grabbed the pillow from her husband's side of the bed, smelling his scent. Her skin turned pale.
"He isn't coming to save you, thrall. Don't you remember that I made you, dear for him and for this very purpose."
Then she felt herself being forced to sit up, dropping the pillow. Seseh could feel an uncontrollable energy push her to jump from the bed.
Seseh was in her and Tullious's bedchambers.
Her eyes darkened with an overlay of someone's eyes, blue eyes. A painting of the Westerian couple hung over a fireplace.
She felt different, thought different. Seseh started to remember. She was mud, she was clay, she was created as a golem, a thrall for the Queen of the North to use. She would allow the witch to control her, for to Seseh, she was Goddess. It was all a lie. The nymph of the North never wanted anything less than the status of a deity. She'd pose as one, real or not to indulge her vices but the form of queen would have to do. Seseh saw that King Tullious Diddymous was not there and what the voice had said, now dawned on her. A feeling of ilk passed over her. She knew they were gone and Seseh wept.
Light filtered through two large, colourful windows. They both had white curtains. Beyond them, slowly blackening the glass, from the North they flocked. The creatures passed the mountain village of Chestme. They swam through the shimmering moonlight, past Seaside Alchov, and settled on Cardamon Castle, where they painted the protective walls with their plume.
Seseh saw flocks of blackbirds and ravens buzzing about, climbing the parapet walkways and the curtain wall outside her window.
Some were settling on the turrets of the barbican and cackled shamelessly. She witnessed a guardsman slap a feathered fowl away only to have more fly in overhead.
Past the arrow loops and battlements, quarry flew. The guardsmen striding along the posts of the Cardamon Gatehouse were swarmed. They fluttered through the ancient masonry of the outer ward, to the keep of the castle, which loomed bold and magnificent.
They were collecting like flies, slapping and flapping against the glass with caws and screeches of rapture.
Seseh hurried to the double doors, for she was ushered there by no will of her own.
"Don't worry, I'll make this look good."
She heard the voice again.
She opened the doors.
"Where's my husband!" She heard herself. But her voice was different, slightly scratchier yet smoother. It was hers but mingled with her mistress's speech.
She felt the fury, falsely brought upon her as she marched through the halls.
Seseh stomped through the corridor toward the barracks for the guardsmen. Her golden crown, perched on her head, became tilted precariously. She almost resembled some menacing monster come to life - as fierce and seductive as a siren - not the regal queen people knew her to be.
The guardsmen in the barracks slept soundly, awaiting their day shift and grueling duties. Some snored deep in their dreams, oblivious to the terrifying plight and cruel fury of their queen.
Seseh's rage was fully directed at the metal-framed door. She violently pushed it open. If eyes could burn through metal, the entrance would have melted.
A guard was asleep on a chair next to the door. She kicked the leg out from under him and he fell back to the floor.
"Get up and wake the men."
"Right away, my lady!" He shook and hesitated. The guardsman didn't fully recognize Seseh's voice. He heard a deeper tone.
The guardsman stood up quick. He immediately fell into a deep bow.
"Your Highness." He rallied the men from their beds.
The whole room stood at attention and looked to their queen. 'Who was this woman?' they thought.
The guardsmen squinted. Oh yes, it was Queen Seseh Diddymous, but her eyes, her stance. Everything seemed off.
"Where is my husband?" she demanded.
"The king is at Hilltop in Southern Mountain Range, my lady."
A guardsman in metal clothing spoke and bowed to her.
"It is long overdue that he return to me. Send out Draik and Tallik at once to fetch my king and son."
"We will send for them, my lady."
"Without haste, guardsmen."
Seseh stared out a nearby window at the Westerian border. The spirit inside her was stirring the pot and planting a seed of fear and rage. It frightened Seseh. She was hesitant for the spirit's plan. Yet, she knew it was time and she would let it happen. She was only a Thrall after all.
The queen was saddened she wouldn't see the men she loved ever again and frightened her world was turning upside down.
She knew the meeting at Hilltop was only scheduled for a Twelfth Night, and the king and prince were rarely late or broke promises. But sadly, this was all part of the plan.
Seseh emitted a loud, guttural growl, still looking out the window, birds clamoring around the lattice.
"You will not bring them home," she whispered sadly, and the guardsman she was talking to froze in fear, for he felt the cold air around Queen Seseh and worried for his life.
"My plans draw nye."
She gritted her teeth and suppressed a grin, hiding the joy in her now shimmering blue eyes.
"A queen never shows emotion," She heard the voice say. A voice no-one around Seseh heard.
"...and now I am the queen." She said out loud, but Queen Seseh didn't.
***
"Sister Elda!" roared Dante angrily.
Elda turned and saw the Clan Master enter Lisa's hut and hurry toward her.
His face was sweaty and pale, a chill ran down his spine as he approached the old woman.
His countenance was stern as stone. "Sister Elda, what curse has you played?"
A queasy feeling ran through Elda, for she knew exactly what she had done.
Dante was able to read her body language. Elda was hiding in female form and was not even of elven descent.
At this point, Dante confronted her with a spell she had cast over Eddipus and Hilda. He would beat the truth out of the woman if he had to. She wasn't even a woman. He felt it.
"Master Dante?" Elda gasped, taken aback by his fierce attack.
"How has you entrapped them, and who are you?" demanded Dante.
Lisa sat quietly in a chair while Elda fretted about being attacked.
"You barge in here and insult me--"
Dante spoke up.
"You, I command you reveal your true form. Tell me who you are!"
Elda took a few steps toward Lisa's head and patted it.
"How could you do this? I did not do anything to you, master."
Elda ignored him and put her hands around Lisa's shoulders.
"I command you to be truthful and reveal yourself!"
Elda's body began to tremble.
"I... am Elda..." she stammered.
Dante slapped Elda hard across the mouth. Elda staggered back and looked dazed.
She began to stammer even more.
"Speak to me, witch!"
Elda refused. She continued her twitching.
Sister Elda's skin began to stretch and tear at her neck as an extra piece of skin seemed to form another neck, and another, and another, until four grotesque fleshy scrag extended from Elda's own. Faces formed from her branching skin appendages, like fruit on a tree. One face was Elven. Another was a Manticora. One formed a Reem and the face of a Ziz transformed on another neck.
"A TetraHuldra!" Master Dante gasped. She looked hideous.
Everything went blank. There were only pictures on Dante's walls. The walls of his spiritual cave covered with candles and sages of all kinds.
He struggled to maintain coherence while she fought telepathically. It was an unusual magic.
There was a hint of searing heat in the air. He raised his hands.
She sucked the energy and emotion out of the room.
"Endur!!! ENDUR SAMUEL!!!"
His mind opened.
"I has a greater being on my side, Mistress of the Forest."
"I curse you, Clan Master Dante! Forget everything! Endur, Endur Samuel!"
The master's head ached from her bombardment. He reached for her mind.
"You had some time with Lisa, witch. But your time with their child is over. You are not a sister, Elda! She has endured your lies long enough!"
"Of course I am. Elda is sister. I--" She stopped for only a moment. "I will not say goodbye, I will not leave. You will forget many things like Lisa, Eddipus, and your precious priestess Hilda of the grove!"
"What is your real name, witch? I has seen your true form, the air you breathe. You can no longer disguise yourself or use Sister Lisa as a conduit of energy anymore!"
"FORGET, ENDUR SAMUELL, ENDUR SAMUELL, ENDUR SAMUELL, ENDUR SAMUELL--" She panicked, enraged. "My name is Angelita!"
"Tell me more now!"
"I belong to a pack of TetraHuldra! We roam theborders outside Cardda and Cardamon in Westerian. It is our hunting grounds. Yet, we were driven out by a young man named Tallik. We can disguise ourselves as Man or elve. We instill fear, death, and pain. We set out to increase our own wealth and our insatiable lust for power!"
"Why has you come?"
"I needed a conduit. The child of a warrior and a priestess seemed perfect for my needs."
"I has banished you, Mistress of the forest. Away with you, Angelita."
"Do you believe that?"
"Go now or die standing."
She screamed.
"I do not believe in your master!"
She leaped toward Master Dante. One of her four heads reared up, baring teeth and biting at the old elven mage.
With each screech, Dante's head grew weary and weak. Dante was not safe. He struggled for control, fighting the vicious monster that had fooled all of them. He was in pain, his muscles bruised and battered from the power of the creature's attacks. It radiated pure energy: he shot out a power. It was a last desperate attempt to cast away Angelita. Even as it kept calling out to bring King Abbadoth, she was chanting the threatening incantation of Endur Samuel. Behind Dante was an ultimate being directing his power.
Angelita saw this. A bright being, tall and blinding stood behind Dante and worked through him like an artist with a brush.
Finally, she fell. Angelita stomped past Dante and the being, out the door, and ran toward the Forest of the Red.
The TetraHuldra had gone. Dante rushed across the room to comfort Sister Lisa.
"Are you all right, Sister?"
He asked her to speak, but all she heard were the scurrilous tones of Nyxith haunting her brain.
***
The two had moved from their camp near the pike.
They'd wandered a good distance through Crenith when Val and Eddipus came upon a beastly "dog". It wasn't a hound at all, but a form similar to the animal. It was grotesque and bloody. It ran at them with a loud growl. No one would recognize it as a canine. Most of its hair had fallen out and it had gnarled, burnt patches of diseased flesh.
The creature was so emaciated that it appeared to be little more than dry skin draped over a bag of jagged, monstrous bones. To make matters worse, its eyes glowed red in the darkness; ichor eyes that were filled with insane hunger.
Val fired the arrows from his bow in rapid succession, to no avail. It sounded like a squealing rat. It leapt in the air next to Eddipus. Teylavere was ready, and he unsheathed her in an open stance, beckoning the beast. The creature dropped to the ground at his feet, and Val kept his bow aimed at it.
Drool dripped onto the path.
The monster's lips twisted into a snarl, revealing its yellow fangs. It emitted a deep, murderous growl that filled the air with the stench of its foul breath. It was so strong and smelled like sulfur.
"Come onto me!" taunted Eddipus, extending one arm while brandishing his claymore in the other hand.
Eddipus turned to Val for a split second. "Let your arrows fly." The moment Val reached back to retrieve an arrow from his quiver, the "dog" shot forward. He heard a sharp crack as he fired the arrow, and it bounced off the gravel and up away.
The beast lunged at Eddipus's outstretched arm and bared more teeth. It would have taken a piece of his flesh in its disease-ridden jaws. Eddipus withdrew his arm fast enough for the teeth to meet the sleeve of his tunic.
He raised his sword, bashing the creature. The more Eddipus hit, the more furiously it sank its teeth into the fabric. He quickly dropped the pommel onto its head. The creature ripped off a piece of cloth as it fell to the ground. Val's arrows weren't enough to shake his attacker.
The beast tumbled away. It was unscathed, fabric still clenched in its teeth while Eddipus swung his clamore. It connected and the dog let out a cry of pain. The tip of Teylavere caught a piece of soft abdomen, causing it to drop the cloth.
It cried out and ran.
Val couldn't look away, try as he might. He had seen enough in his life that this wouldn't shake him. A whimper or false puppy cry wouldn't cause Val to waver. This was no gentle-natured mountain cur and Val knew that. Still, Val shook off any feeling of self doubt when he saw the animal coming back. Quickly, he aimed his bow and fired. Once, twice, three times ... he carefully released again and again. The brute charged on. He kept shooting until the fifteenth arrow flew and hit the mongrel dead on.
The hound lay twitching in the way on the road spreading pools of blood.
The beast was still breathing heavily. Eddipus brought down his sword, killing it. He pulled out his weapon and he sheathed it. They dragged the stiff brute away from the road.
However, their great relief vanished instantly when they heard a growl from the figure on the ground. The monster, thought dead, began to struggle and rise. Despite its near-fatal injuries, it seemed to be alive in the waking world.
This place truly was like Abbadoth. They were reminded all too well that Crenith was a wasteland Hel. It was a kingdom that was struck by a blast.
Eddipus ignored the sickening, squelching sensation under his boot, and kept stomping until the thing lay still. Eddipus breathed and turned to Val.
Its skull was crushed in two and its body reduced to a bloody pulp. It flattened out like goo. Val had been hardened and prepared. He had seen things, and experienced life. Nothing would have sold him on this. As they walked on, thoughts of what lay ahead tormented Eddipus's tired mind. Val remained headstrong but he'd never forget.
****
"Acknowledge me!"
The voice was deafening and rattled inside Lisa's skull.
"Defeat Valaria!" Nyxith spoke. The rotten seed would not be silent. Lisa was as blank as a slate. Her eyes were distant, far from the gaze of the kindly Master Dante.
She heard only his muffled voice, much duller than the speech that choked her brain.
"Come back to us, sister. The Tetra can no longer use you as a conduit to Abbadoth. I and the Master has banished her from our site."
Lisa shook herself. She ignored Nyxith. Finally, she answered. "Where is Sister Elda? She took care of me."
"She used you."
He looked deeper into Lisa's eyes. He searched until he saw something moving fluidly like ink in a well. It was wet yet tendril-like behind her beautiful elven eyes. A smoky, formless thing full of life resided. It had many faces. For a moment Dante thought he saw Hilda, then he saw Lisa and another face. It was the face of a temptress who visited his hut.
Among all the faces and the dark clouds, it was one face that he longed for. He shook it off. Between the shadows moving facets, he saw a living being. He had not seen her in a long time.
"Fala!?"
"That was once my name. No, I'm not the same. I am Myriad, I'm Nyxith. Reduced to shame. I swear vengeance on Valaria!"
The voice came from Lisa. It was not her own. It kept changing from one sound to that of a bell tone.
"Now you hear me, too. I see another one follows you. I fear him the most. He is more powerful. Do not try to vanquish me. Allow Lisa to leave. I will go from her in due time. Valaria will be mine."
"Why has you chosen Lisa?"
Dante knew he should not speak directly to her. He was lost at that moment, feeling desperate. He knew Lisa's parents, yet what was important about her?
"The TetraHuldra used her as a conduit. Now she's even more powerful. Not more so as your friend. But powerful enough. With my powers and hers together, we could destroy her."
He heard a voice in the room. It wasn't Lisa's nor Nyxith's, but a soothing thunder, like gentle harps and trumpets. Rising above Master Dante was a powerful being. He wore shimmering red armor. The brightness around him blinded forming around his cloak. It was a cloak of lapis, hung around him made of velvet. The hair on his head was white, like snow. His eyes were red, and they too glowed. He wore boots of burnished bronze. It was the Master. It was one who had appointed Dante. The voice chased his fears like calming waters. It worked through him, giving him the words he needed.
The Master was neither Elven, Rapha nor Westerian, but an ultimate, self-aware, self-determined, intelligent being full of emotion and will. He was self-existent, immutable.
"Do not look directly upon me or you will be blinded. Listen. Fear not. I am the being you speak of as Master, far more powerful than any walking Fonde-SSique. Let them go forth on their journey. Although vengeance is mine, Lisa must be freed from her bonds. She suffers from mental anguish. Many voices, one body. But she will find her way."
Dante fell on his face in front of him. "Master, I understand."
Lisa had the blood of a warrior and of a priestess flowing in her veins. Her mind had been altered by a seed planted long ago and now transformed into a conduit. Who knew exactly what talents Sister Lisa possessed?
Dante only knew that she was important. The Master deemed her so.
***
They came in the cover of darkness, two men in black leather armor.
They worked for Cardamon, one with a darker purpose.
Draik and Tallik hid behind a longhouse, the moonlight on their backs. They had a good view of Hilltop Village and crept from one corner to another.
"What's the hour?" Tallik leaned on Draik's shoulder and spoke in a low tone. He was careful not to give away their position. Tallik was bald, had dark brown eyes, and sported thick sideburns connected to a mustache. They walked past the corners of a longhouse, moving closer to a prickly bush.
"Look at the moon," Draik growled sarcastically. His thick, greasy, unkempt black hair blew back in the breeze. His full beard had hints of grey.
"Come on, Draik."
"Just shut up. I need to find the Maiden's Cauldron Inn. So hush." Draik squinted his dark, red eyes scanning the area. He was an ugly assassin, gaunt and as hairy as a Minotaur. A torchlight reflected off a round, silver stud in his right earlobe.
Tallik was of average height with average looks. His intelligence was above minimal. His thin lips curled as he began to spit, grimacing like a wolf. He stared past Draik's broad shoulders.
The elves had already gone to their homes. Most hadn't bothered to breathe the night air.
"The Maiden's Cauldron inn is just over there, Tallik. I'll pose as a traveler and eavesdrop on the clientele."
Draik loosened his leather armor and dropped his tight clothing, revealing another layer of lighter garments. Tallik unclasped a pack and handed it to him. Slipping it over his shoulders, Draik the royal scout became Draik the nomad traveler. He left the bushes when everything seemed clear and made his way to the inn.
Draik entered a musky room. Chairs squeaked on the wood floor, glasses clinked, and there weren't too many around.
'Remember, Draik. Do as your queen commands you. Cause a scene. Kill someone if you have to. I don't care what you do as long as you bring me chaos.' He heard this commandment in his head. Ran it through over and over. 'Don't reveal my orders to TalIik. As far as he's concerned, you both are on a scouting mission to find my husband and son.'
It was all nonsensical to him and uncharacteristic. There was always a reason for a kill order issued by the royal family. Draik was all for it. Set up the board only to knock the pieces down. It was fun for him.
He sat down at the bar. A bard began to play his lute by the fire.
Draik turned away and propped up his long arm.
"Hello traveler, welcome to the Maidens Cauldron. Make yourself comfortable." He spoke like a homeowner welcoming friends into a warm house.
There were six elves, four of them around the fire. The keeper was cheerful and wore a wrinkled sackcloth of patched dark brown. He was a short, stocky man who cleaned the beer glasses with a thick, dirty rag.
His lumpy fingers ran over the tall, thin glasses. His face was hairless, his arms were huge.
Over the ornate, gilded wall hung a loose woolen coat that a guest had hung.
"A new guy, huh?" The innkeeper spoke. "Well, rooms are one a night, drinks are two a pint, and a meal is four."
"Just information."
"Information? Well, that costs extra, stranger. Is there anything, in particular, you want to know?" The innkeeper said thickly, "I don't know much right now. We're reopening the bazaar. The elven boys are still causing trouble and a few days ago a warrior named Eddipus went adventuring. The cave tree is dying. They say a witch poisoned it long ago during the battle of the Red. Real doom and gloom stuff."
"You mean the symbol of peace between our kind?" Draik frowned. He took a deep breath, stared at the innkeeper, and exhaled. His gaze darted from the elve to the other patrons in the raspberry-scented, smoky tavern.
"If it weren't for that cave tree, as you so beautifully put it, lad, we'd still be at war."
Draik turned back to the keep, who yawned rudely and scratched his long nose.
He shrugged and looked at Draik with sleepy eyes.
"Some friends of mine disappeared while ago. They haven't returned home. They're--"
"The king and Prince Diddymous?"
"Yes. Any information would be very helpful. What room are they in?"
"Well, I'm sorry to tell ye stranger, but your king is dead. We had to clear out the room. The prince was killed out in the street."
"Treason and lies!"
"Whats that now?"
"You heard me. Betrayal and lies. The elven people have always hated us Man, now your time has come and no amount of magic will save you!"
It was beyond any command for chaos at this point. He was bloodthirsty and looking for someone to blame.
Draik never forgave them for starting it, and even though he wasn't born during the war, he was fired up at what his father's father and the fathers before them had gone through. The magic tree fruit that the children gave to the leaders of Cardamon was the basis for their peace. A tribunal ruled Cardamon in those years. Two were brothers ruling beside a woman respectively. It was the royal committee. Leadership was handed down and over time Diddymous took royal ownership.
Draik jumped up on the counter, pulled out a knife, and lunged at the Innkeeper with a somersault, slashing his neck.
The other elves approached and the bard stopped playing. Draik put away his knife and drew two scimitars. He cut through them like butter.
He ran to the door, leaving a trail of bloodshed, and out to Tallik behind the bush.
No one followed him.
"The elves have killed King Tullious and Prince Vinan and are desecrating the magic Tree of Peace. They poisoned it. Our war has begun." Draik spoke.
"We must go back to Cardamon Castle. They'll all pay for this."
***
A spiraling staircase appeared by way of flapping birds swirling down, while a murder of crows flew behind the train of Queen Seseh's royal gown. Or rather this was a queen, but not the one Cardamon expected. She reached the end of the bird staircase and placed a foot on the flat surface. The birds fluttered away and flew out the windows on all sides.
She awaited her assassins, Draik and Tallik, scouts she sent to spy on Hilltop in Southern Mountain Range. She had to sow the seeds and started with Tallik.
For certain, this was the queen. She had been a thrall made of clay and prepared for this very moment. She had experienced an awakening and felt the witch speak and move through her supple body. Seseh had become a common husk.
She peered out of a nearby open stained glass window. Birds parted, showing her a spectacle. She watched as the temptress's birds collided with Westerian Cardamon. Next in line was the destruction and control of the Mountain Range territory, perhaps even Crenith, and beyond the Crystal Sea. Fonde Ssique was her mistress's fortune, and she would take it or die trying.
The castle had become shrouded in a plum of night. This was her Goddesses realm now, fit for a dark Queen and any who spoke differently would be put down beneath her boot-heals. Everyone was beneath her. Everyone.
***
Crenith felt humid and hotter the more Val and Eddipus walked.
The dead city of Kuyun seemed more barren moments ago. The air became heavy and carried a humidity that made them shed some of their heavier clothes. Light attire, even with the more excessive items they left, could barely sate the heated gloom. It was as if they had wandered through a portal into Abbadoth.
What they found in the middle of the courtyard only seemed to confirm this thought. Beneath their feet were red-searing pebbles adhered to the ground. They could feel their boots melting and sticking to the coal-like terrain.
Their gaze wandered over to a marching Draugen. He had continued walking as if guarding his home from approaching strange wanderers.
Val felt dizzy. His head throbbed from within, far worse than anything he had ever experienced. The truth was as real as the blood that had stained their clothes. He wanted to run far away, to give up and leave this state, to liberate Seaside Alchov with fleets of arrows. He desperately wished to wake up from the nightmare, but he was far from the comfort of his inner revenge.
There would be time for Galith later. This thought was the only thing that willed Val's tired body.
The houses were in complete disrepair, cracks had formed in the foundations, and signs of fire showed in every dark, burnt corner.
Just as they had finished searching the outskirts of the city and were about to set off, a groan sounded from several creatures approaching. Eddipus readied Teylavere and Val quickly drew his bow. They stood firm and were ready.
"Veileen?..." Val froze at the sound of that familiar voice.
"Help us!"
"Mother!" replied Val.
"Father is here too."
"I am here! I am right here! Veil, liberate the Alchovians."
In a second their voices went silent. The army of the dead faced them and Val stood parallelized, bow in hand. His heart pounded as wild thoughts flashed through his mind. His parents were dead. But who did those voices belong to?
'Those monsters... they were imitating them.' he thought. Could the voices have come from them? Had they ensnared Val?
Val's chest felt as if it would burst. Eddipus patted his friend's arm but he could not feel it, could not be calmed. Val's fears, his anger, his thoughts ran rampant. The creatures were pretending to be people he cared about undoubtedly and it made his blood boil. He snapped. bolt after bolt. A triple shot at a time.
Arrows flew and struck true to each shuffling beast. He hastily hurled arrows and stained them with red Draugen blood. He kicked aside every downed carcass, firing his bow incessantly as he ran through the horde. The only thing that disturbed him more than the gruesome sight was the inescapable sounds they made as they were slain in battle.
Eddipus ran after his friend. He struck at anyone who approached from Val's back and slashed his mighty blade.
Although Eddipus saw him in another world at that moment, attacking like a madman, Eddipus stayed close to him. Eddipus could not remember Val firing arrows so fast he couldn't see his arms.
Val had been a fierce archer in their travels, but this was different. Val was usually calm, calculating, and cool in battle. He had become berserkr, in a trance-like fury with an ursine aspect.
His quiver was close to empty. Eddipus raised his claymore in a careful defensive stance. More claw-armoured Draugen and dogs came, not slowing their monstrous, clapping steps. The Draugen attacked them with their weapons. None seemed a match for Val.
In all his confusion, Val saw a black figure emerge from behind the army. It was familiar to him. He was tall and carried a long, heavy bronze spear. Val's vengeful attitude and speed melted away in an instant, bad memories quickly erasing his anger. Val edged away until his back hit the hot, stone surface of a wall. He was clearly trapped. There were only a few arrows left.
The giant lumbered around the creatures, a glow of fire revealing his true form: a Rapha with a bronze helmet and a cloak of bearskin. He wore scale armour and bronze pauldrons with greaves. It looked like Galith and Val shook uncontrollably; his face contorted into a hateful expression.
Galith, glistening with a slimy layer of goo as if born moments ago stomped towards him. His eyes were empty caverns of black, emotionless pits. Galith's clunky, trunk-like legs trudged through the Draugen soldiers. Fortunately for Val, he seemed very slow and awkward.
Val ran towards the giant, circling the monsters, an arrow in his hand. He wielded it like a knife, slicing every Draugen in his path with a bloodlust for the lumbering creature. The Draugen blurred the horizon along with the Rapha. Val was running on fumes from his past. His strength would not abate, nor would the memories of Seaside.
He gathered all his courage, memories, and hate and ran toward the approaching monster. He fixed his target's forehead and jumped. Two hands gripped the arrow tight. Val was sure he had Galith in his sights. The monstrous Rapha looked at him without even batting an eye.
Val did not look back into the past, he lunged at it, pushing, cursing, striking the giant. He fell. Alone.
Whirling through the air in a kaleidoscopic burst of memories. The groans of Draugen monsters and dogs echoed near him. The memories beat him down, over and over again as he fell, fell shoulder first to the ground. He rolled away from the tumbling monstrosity and landed in the hordes of Draugen.
But revenge had not been good enough for Val. His parents were dead. His father impaled. His body frozen in a painful contortion through a spear.
Val faltered. Night fell and the stars encompassed the entirety of Crenith's reddened sky.
In an instant, the space in front of Val became pitch black. A horn sounded as he realized he was staring directly into the gaping mouth of a Rapha hound.
His fear outweighed his amazement; the creature growled and the blackness lightened, revealing rain-soaked Seaside Alchov. The dog's mouth was large enough to swallow him whole. Its breath was foul, like rotting rubbish, and was held back by a Rapha. Being crushed between those jaws and choking on that vile smell was surely the worst death he could imagine.
Desperate, he scrambled back to put distance between himself and the creature's gaping maw. He ran and looked down at his knees; his quiver was gone and he found himself mentally transported back. He was a boy again and ran on.
'Governor's hall.' he thought.
A feeling of hope came over him; Val could save them, but he was only a boy.
'Calm down. I just need to calm down.'
The words of revenge clung fiercely to his anger clouded mind. He stood waiting for the Rapha to open the huge doors to the Governor's Hall. They opened and Val hurriedly ran inside.
But when he met his opponent, he stayed back and sneered, "Come here, Galith, Rapha scum."
Galith laughed out loud. He turned and faced the boy in front of him.
The Rapha chortled. "I'll crush your bones, you little pup!"
Val stepped closer to the big man.
The huge creature attacked, slamming his fist. That was what Val needed now.
He jumped out of the way, pulled off his long-sleeved shirt, and wrapped it around Galith's thick, hairy wrist. He reached for it with his other hand to try and untie the fabric. Val tied the other wrist to his hand. Galith fell, his hands cuffed with Val's shirt and the boy jumped off of him.
He ran to his parents, his father still kneeling and his mother still tied. As he tried to free his mother, she disintegrated in his hands and his father fell into a heap of dust. The room crackled and swirled around him as everything fell to dirt on Crenith Kuyun's ground.
Val looked around. Eddipus was in shock. Val scanned the area but Galith was nowhere to be seen and the area was littered with dead Draugen and monster dogs.
"Val, Kuyun shows us our inner soul. Tortures us. Challenges us to our very core. Like with the Mental Chasm. We must continue."
Val howled to the heavens and fell to his knees for he knew he had failed the challenge. He battled with his very soul and lost.
"You killed them. You killed them all. You became Berserkr. An altered beast." Eddipus clasped his hand onto Vals shoulder. He knew he needed to unsheathe his burdens at least for a little while. Vals emotions had built up to the pinnacle of this very moment. Still, he stood firm against his raving mind.
***
The Master was still in the hut. Dante looked at Lisa with concern.
"I must take my leave. I'll have words with Jezzaul. The Master says you both may journey forth. You have my blessing"
Sister Lisa hugged a pillow, cradling herself. She remained silent.
Master Dante turned to leave Lisa's hut and made his way to Jezzaul's longhouse.
Lisa now sat alone, pondering.
'Leave! He said we could leave!'
Lisa contemplated further. She hated the voice plaguing her soul. She wanted to rid Nyxith from her forever. Her will was her own and she wasn't going to allow somebody else to control her. Not again.
She punched her pillow in frustration. She was innocent, not timid. Enough was enough!
"You listen, Nyxith! We'll go on this journey together but let me say one thing. We'll go when I'm good and ready!"
***
The midnight was gloomy. Jezzaul had been brooding and felt tired.
It had decayed and been forgotten, the giant rotting in the cellar. Jezzaul had almost fallen asleep in his armchair beside the embers of his hearth when there was a knock.
Jezzaul stood and readied himself for the one who came before.
"Mercenary? I am ready," he murmured, "I am armed!" Only the knocking came once more.
Without pausing, Jezzaul ran and opened the door to Darkness. He peered and pondered.
A lavender and vanilla incense wafted from outside. It was a familiar scent.
"Dante?" Jezzaul murmured as he put the blade back in his inside pocket.
Out of the dim light stepped a cloaked, stately elderly elve. He passed under a plaster bust of Jezzaul that stood over the edge of the doorframe.
Each dying ember from Jezzaul's dim hearth flew, casting the magi's shadow across the floor. He sat down with a sigh and tugged at his hood with sadness in his eyes.
"Reconsider with a sober mind, Jezzaul." He turned his gaze to him. Jezzaul stopped at the door. He closed the opening and walked closer to him. He sat beside a red table near the fireplace, its flame now extinguished. The room was lit only by a single sconce.
"Do not harden your heart."
"...and do not lecture me in my own house, Master Dante!"
The room darkened even more, not because there was a lack of light, but because an all-consuming rage and malice overpowered the sweet incense Dante carried. It all blew about and mingled with death.
"The Winds. The Master. They call to you, but you ignore them."
"Why do you confound me with riddles, elder?"
"...And why are you lying about my friend Eddipus."
"What lie?" Jezzaul scoffed. The light from the sconce flickered, revealing Jezzaul's searing anger. Jezzaul's foot inadvertently bumped against the wooden panel, opening a hidden tomb. Quick as a whip, Jezzaul hit the mantelpiece again to close the doorway but it was too late. The smell was pungent. Dante sneered. The Winds and the Master whispered to Dante.
'There was a sacrifice? The green archer had lost. Beneath your feet, Og rots.'
Dante's eyes darted from his seated position to the floor of the cellar. Flies had escaped the enclosure.
The Master sent an image of an upturned Rapha body, ten days old. The carcass had laid hidden away. He rose from the seat to meet with Jezzaul.
He straightened in defiance and grinned at Master Dante. At Jezzaul's feet, Dante saw a knife. The ivy on the outer handle glistened. The elve had pulled the embroidered weapon from a hidden inner pocket and failed to keep hold of it.
Jezzaul bent and clutched it. He tucked the weapon back in his tunic.
Dante remained unimpressed but saw the knife as a challenge from Jezzaul.
Jezzaul felt he should have been better prepared. He never saw himself as a modest mage and knew in his heart that he could take on any predatory foe - even if he'd never have to deal with such a refined magicka user as Dante.
Still, he believed that the Winds would protect him. Jezzaul was sorely mistaken.
They were ready to betray Jezzaul for his heart had fallen into chaos. Only a fool with a dark heart would trifle with the Winds. Only a fool would test the Master. By taking the laws into his own hands, Jezzaul had sealed his fate.
Both masters remained cool. They did not break, they did not sweat. Jezzaul smiled.
"You loudmouthed croaker. You face me with words, but will you also do what needs to be done?"
Channels of magic from the Winds coalesced. The channels, which had become a great funnel of dust surrounded them.
Jezzaul swung his feet off the ground. "Come to me, cave dweller." His voice was rough as he rose into the air.
The room was well furnished, not only with chairs but also with a large dining table and tall cupboard. Every piece of it flew around them, some breaking wildly.
"Speak to me now, Jezzaul," sparks flew from Dante's fingertips.
"I am not a dog, Dante." Jezzaul blocked the magical attack.
"Who is the dead Rapha in your fruit cellar?" he kicked towards him, flinging Jezzaul back, past the chairs and other flying debris. Jezzaul's feet reached a support beam.
"Abbadoth Samuel!" Jezzaul started to answer in an Endur chant and pushed off with his legs.
Like a mighty swarm, he flew forward and leapt out to avoid a spark.
"Die!" Jezzaul roared at his opponent as he hit him head-on. He flew, crashing into Dante's side until he knocked him to the floor.
"Engia' Sanghaft!" Jezzaul shouted, sending a magical blast towards Dante, who quickly rolled away. The spell blasted the floor.
Dante immediately rolled back into the air and floated. As a master magi, his powerful spells wouldn't come from him, but the Master. Jezzaul was a veteran of magicka but forgot where true miracles came from. When him and the others disbanded the Council of Lawbringers, it only spelled disorder for Jezzaul. They had walked away from him: The true Master. Thus, the power Jezzaul wielded was brought forth from the fiery spring of Abbadoth. He had never intended to be faithful, it was all a lie from the beginning when he first came to Hilltop.
Jezzaul sensed a creeping madness calling from the shallows. It called to him from the darker reaches of the bog waters of the sacred stronghold. The calling echoed out. The Hallow. The evil mage's eyes darkened as he lunged at Dante again. He chanted wildly, casting blasts of air.
Dante dodged to the left to ward off each of his hurried attacks. He stopped short, snapped his fingers, and caused a slight tremor throughout the longhouse. That tremor caused Jezzaul to fall yet, he caught himself and leapt up at Dante. He set him back on his sandals.
Dante rushed up, shouting and using light, but not his light, not alone. The experienced magic user had his master whose power was brighter than any in Fonde. His light burned fast and burned faster.
Jezzaul backed away from the shining light that finally revealed itself. He blindly plucked the knife from his tunic and raised it high and above his head. He dropped back to his feet, squinting at Master Dante.
The Master's bright light had made him hesitate. Thats what Dante needed as the Master drew his terrifyingly fearsome sword.
The Master turned and deflected the knife, hitting Jezzaul's stomach as he tripped. The Master plunged the weapon into him.
"My sword shall be sated, Jezzaul. Behold, it will descend for judgment upon you. I have doomed thee to destruction." A booming voice echoed through the longhouse.
The magi's protective spells stopped as the Master's weapon stabbed again, the sting so close to his heart. It distracted him and Jezzaul was bound. The knife fell from his clutches. He knew he could not fight such power and gave in. Jezzaul felt overwhelmed. He tried to move but couldn't.
Those who knew of the Master's power feared it. But Jezzaul feared a little less each time old age crept upon him. He had not only forgotten but had become drunk with status. His past had crept up on him and he could no longer use anyone as a pawn.
The wounded mage staggered, fell to his knees, and then onto his face.
It was like the overwhelming fruit of a lotus tree, only stronger.
The Master sheathed his sword as Dante approached, but the light had dimmed once more. Enough still remained. Frightened, Jezzaul looked up.
"Control yourself!" he roared angrily at Jezzaul, but even as he shouted, the foolish elve was not listening
He blinked as Master Dante approached. Then he carefully moistened his lips before speaking.
"When you take the truth out of context to service your own needs, it ceases being the truth." His voice trembled.
"Please have mercy," Jezzaul pleaded.
"Haven't you tasted the fruits of my Master, or are you accustomed to feasting on the scraps of mongrels?" He retorted, calming himself. "Jezzaul! You're ruling over a dead religion that you've created."
"Speak comfort to me," Jezzaul said, nodding pitifully.
"Your thoughts have been an anchor for so long that they have drowned you." He continued. "Do you feel justified in harboring despondency?" Dante felt pity.
"You did this to me!" the prostrated former priest fumed.
"You did it to yourself! Confront your past or you will sit stagnant in madness. Bring your emotions to my Master."
"...and who exactly is your master, Dante?"
"Yours," Dante replied, sitting down on the floor in front of Jezzaul. His anger turned to sadness once more.
"Evil will take you further than you want to go and leave you alone in filth."
"I confess to you, Master Dante." He cried out and tore his robes. He was like an actor feigning forgiveness for his dirty deeds, and though he could barely move, Jezzaul did what he could to showcase false remorse.
Dante's anger crept back. "CONFESS TO HIM!" he cried.
"My religion, my laws have protected them!" Jezzaul yelled.
"Your laws will kill them in the end!" Dante replied dejectedly. "It is very simple. Instead of being a prisoner of righteousness, you has become a slave to your own greed."
"You dare judge me. You dare to forget the good I have done for the elvish community!"
"I judge you? No, Jezzaul, For one day you will stand before the great judgment seat," he added. "I won't be the one sitting there," Dante smiled warmly. "My Master will be." Then he rose from the floor and was walking towards the doors of the longhouse when-
Dante felt a slight warmth running down his back like water. A dull ache pulsed in his spine. "His kingdom is coming," Dante spoke in a daze and felt a tremor in his legs. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily and gasping each time. Dante tried to take deep breaths but could not. With each heavy breath, he felt unbearable, excruciating pain.
"For my daughter," Jezzaul said, standing over him.
"For yourself." Answered a weary Dante. "If you do not stop acting like a child. If you do not listen to your true heart and stop being a newborn, you will be swallowed by madness," he coughed. "...and no one will rally to find you."
"So you say." Jezzaul scoffed. "You may see a madman standing before you. But in the end who's laying on the floor like a beaten animal."
Dante heard nothing. His hearing had begun to fade. "What, Jezzaul?"
Jezzaul wiped away the blood from his knife, Dante's blood on his tattered and ruined robes. Jezzaul spoke again and this time Dante could hear, yet did not understand. Jezzaul's voice echoed like a distant speech bouncing off a great, rocky canyon wall. A dark, black circle surrounded Jezzaul in Dante's dimming field of vision.
The circle began to close. Everything was a blur. A ringing could be heard whilst all his pain subsided. A peaceful silence surrounded Dante at a rapid pace and he wanted to close his eyes. He reached out with his right hand and let it fall back. The quiet felt strangely beautiful. A small light in his field of vision scattered. It was tempting for him to give into sleep. Yet, his thoughts were elsewhere, seeking the mind of the mercenary archer called Val. His weakening heart fought hard to stay awake. "Val... hear my final words..." He spoke again. "I will penetrate to all the lower parts of Fonde SSique. I shall behold all that live down there and will free myself of the chains Abbadoth set abound my wrists." He closed his eyes and Dante descended...