They forged blades made in blasphemy, quenched in blood,
To slay beasts born from blasphemy, weaned on blood.
-Old inscription on a storehouse in Saefel Aedhin, owner who had reportedly gone mad.
***
Those who hadn't run and screamed after Laidu stabbed Kazalibad ran and screamed after Kazalibad burst from the skin of that woman. It was better that way. People wouldn't get in the way.
"You think I'm a myth?" Kazalibad demanded to the scholar, who had fallen and was trying to scurry back away, like some sort of crab. "You think I'm unreal?"
"N...no!" the scholar said.
"Good. Now, let's have a demonstration, shall we?" Kazalibad said. Indra had ran with the rest of the crowd, now she stood behind Laidu, yanking her headscarf over her eyes. Thaen and Laidu stood, transfixed. What was he to do?
"What do the legends say about me?" Kazalibad asked. "Please! It's been a few hundred years since I caught up on the gossip." He rolled all the eyes all over his body. "Come now, speak."
"They say you drank the blood of an entire nation!" the scholar finally sputtered out, in a quavering voice that was much more shrill.
"Do they now?" Kazalibad said. "Strange, that was Yazhara's claim to fame. But you're lucky. You get to see what precisely happened. You see, I've been a bit tired lately, and this should...ah, what's the word... invigorate me a bit." He smiled with that eel-like mouth on his head.
And then, stretching one hand, stubby claws stained yellowish-grey, he killed him. "Rejuvenate me. Surrender your vitality to me," he commanded.
The scholar convulsed when he finished, and Laidu backed away, drawing the shamshir at his side. A faintly glowing cloud of light burst from the scholar's lips, convulsing and warping in midair. Breathing out for the last time, the scholar looked like he was at peace, before his body dissolved into a fine ash.
The glowing gas -the scholar's vitality- sped through the air, encircling Kazalibad, before sinking into an open lamprey mouth. "Much better," the thing said. It didn't look too much better, thought. Wherever the vitality had touched Kazalibad's skin, the grey hide had erupted into angry, scarlet hot blisters and boils. It seemed caustic to him.
"Now that that demonstration is over," Kazalibad said, turning to Laidu, "shall we begin with the rest of it?"
Laidu was about to answer before he felt something shoved into his hand. A vial. Indra stepped back, away from Laidu. A haemosurger, most likely. "What do you want?"
"The girl," Kazalibad said. "Dead, preferrably, but I could take her alive."
That's good, Rhaem said. He said he could keep Kyra alive!
No, you dunce, Paradox snapped. He'll kill her himself. To Laidu, the voice paused. Drink the haemosurger. I have an idea, but if you don't replenish blood, you'll pass out.
Laidu paused, as if he was thinking. He shook his head. "Afraid I can't do that."
"Shame," Kazalibad said, "because, you see, that means we'd have to-" He stopped. "What did you just drink?"
"Something to calm nerves," Laidu said. Paradox smiled -if such a thing was possible for a disembodied voice of insanity- and began to sing.
He could hear the song of Fever Blood, a fast paced melody heard in his mind. Paradox's song was the same melody, but richer, fuller. If Fever Blood was a fast, frenzied violin, this song was a vast, furiously paced orchestra. If anything, it was the full realization of the melody of Fever Blood.
"Don't lie, whelp," Kazalibad snapped.
"Don't lie?" Laidu spat back. "How about don't murder? Don't be upset over a lie when you just killed someone!"
"Killed someone?" Kazalibad chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe not. See, I am enlightened to the truth, that there is no truth. All we see is filtered through organs, organs of faulty flesh. All we know is bound in here, in our brains. And yet that is flawed as well." Kazalibad gestured to the ash stain behind him. "You cannot say he is dead. For since truth doesn't exist, we all mold our own truth, and in mine, he didn't die."
Laidu paused. "You're mad," he said in disbelief.
"Madness is simply the name given to enlightenment by the dirty, ignorant masses." Kazalibad growled, the sound emanating out of his entire body. "Now, tell me what you drank!"
"Nothing," Laidu said calmly.
Kazalibad roared, each and every one of the lamprey-like mouths opening wide, and took one step forward. "Don't lie to me!"
Laidu didn't even comprehend the thing's speed. One moment, it was barreling towards him, the next it had grabbed him with a grasp like iron, lifting him into the air. Laidu's sword fell from his hand, clattering too far away to be reached. Panic surged in him, like a caged, cornered beast biting at the bars that imprisoned it. He had to control it!
One thing people rarely realized was that choking hurt. It wasn't a pleasant experience, not by any means; trying to breathe while someone wrung your neck out like a vise, trying to squeeze every last puff of life-giving breath from you, was bloody hard! Unconsciousness followed relatively quickly, but you had to choke someone for a lot longer to kill them.
And, more importantly, you needed hands and arms to choke them.
Laidu attuned to the other blood, to the fuller melody. He felt a strange pressure build, and then, with a sharp crack, the steel-hard grip around his neck vanished. There was a blinding flash of light, and the stench of burnt flesh, and Laidu dropped to the ground, breathing in deeply, as the giant grey beast reeled back, screaming.
Laidu rose. Kazalibad stumbled back, bright red, blistered stumps where his arms used to be. "You...you've been learning, prince," Kazalibad said. White shards of bones burst from charred flesh, strings of red muscle wrapping themselves around them, as if they were stringing a bow. "Solar Heart. I thought it was a fluke last time I saw it." The dozens of bones in his hand spun into place, knit together by sinew and muscle. It was wrong, sickening to watch. There was a reason that God had made life to be covered in hide, scale, or skin.
"You're a monster," Laidu said. "An abomination. Blasphemy on earth."
"Blasphemy?" Kazalibad asked. He laughed again. "Blasphemy is the name the deluded give to words they don't like." He chuckled. "Now, tell me where that girl is."
"I've heard enough," Skaria said, reaching behind her back. "I'm sick of your bloody voice."
"Oh, really?" Kazalibad said, turning towards her.
And, while the beast was turned away, Laidu backed up. He stepped back, looking at Indra and Thaen. "Go find Kyra and Karik'ar," he told them. "Go!" They nodded and ran down an alley, away from the fight. Away from the danger.
Two warriors remained,
"Please," Kazalibad snarled, "tell me how you intend on doing that."
"I figure cutting your tongue out would be a good place to start," Skaria snarled. She yanked out the alchemically-toughened viper blade. Holding that in her left hand, she grabbed the other sword, the old relic. She grimaced, but with one tug, she yanked it free.
A scream filled the air, the howls of agony, the roar of rage, the wail of sorrow, and the cry of fear all rolled into one. Skaria grimaced, staring at the sword. Was the blade screaming? Its image was fuzzy, as if it was vibrating faster and faster. Her face twisted in pain, as if the sword itself was hurting her.
If her reaction was bad, Kazalibad's reaction to the sword was cataclysmic.
Every mouth on the beast screamed, every eye stretching wide open. "That...blasphemy," the monster snarled, "doesn't belong here." He screamed, an even higher-pitched sound than the scream of the sword. "Monster!" he growled, completely unironically.
Skaria stepped back into a combat stance as hundreds of pounds of evil, twisted flesh barreled down at her. For holding a screaming blade with a monster charging her with the strength of an enraged bull, she was handling the stress quite well.
Of course, he never expected her to do as well as she did.
Kazalibad swiped at her, but Skaria ducked, and as his momentum carried him past her, she spun on the ball of her foot, keeping the center of her mass low to the ground. With that spin, she whipped out the magic blade, spinning it a deadly, sickly green arc, biting into Kazalibad's knee.
She didn't draw blood.
The leg came off, a perfect cut, bounced once, before collapsing and deforming as it disintegrated into fine ash. Kazalibad howled as brilliant white light -the same vitality he had drained from the scholar- poured from the stump. It pooled, glowing hot like molten metal. "Cursed blade," the monster spat.
"I wonder what happens if I cut off your head?" Skaria asked, raising the sword. Of course, that was when Kazalibad chose to strike.
Give it to me! One of the voices shoved Laidu's will aside. Pain erupted across his body, burning like thorns made of burning metal.
A gust of wind deflected Skaria, so instead of slamming into a hard stone building, she hit the crate next to it. Slightly softer, yes, but still painful. She groaned, but rose, unsteady, to her feet.
"You keep rising. Have you not learned?" Kazalibad said, standing on a skinless leg, slowly being masked with grey hide. "You won't be knocked down if you refuse to rise." He easily sidestepped Skaria's uncoordinated swing and grabbed her by the neck, knocking the blades from her hand. "Feisty little sow, your vitality," he said. "Reju-"
He never finished the word.
Skaria slammed a dagger into Kazalibad's bottom jaw, nailing his mouth shut and severing his tongue. With a howl screamed through a forcibly closed mouth, he dropped Skaria and stumbled away.
Laidu charged forward, the triumphant melody of Solar Heart blazing in his chest. His hands didn't glow cherry red; they shone white-hot, the light of the sun. "His legs!" he shouted to Skaria.
She yanked the glowing sword out of the wooden scraps, and with renewed clarity, she struck. One arcing swing sent one giant, meaty leg dissolving into ash as it flew to the side. Another blow, falling down with the finality of an executioner's axe, sent the other leg collapsing as flesh and bone became powder. Kazalibad looked up, every eye widened, every mouth (save for the one pinned shut by Skaria's dagger) opened in a scream, as Skaria shoved the sword into the fallen being's chest.
The voices were howling, begging, cursing, as Laidu charged, hands blazing, eyes burning, mind screaming. His clothing was holding up well from the heat, the heat that bent and warped light around his arms like a heat mirage. He was screaming, overtaken by the rage of battle, yet from the music of the Solar Heart, he heard nothing as he hammered his fists down onto the grey thing's back. One moment, the beast struggled as flames consumed him.
The next moment, he was ash.
Skaria was breathing heavy, and Laidu suddenly felt his limbs grow heavy. A fight took a lot of energy. That battle with Kazalibad was the equivalent of five fights. It was a miracle he was still standing.
Skaria exhaled loudly in the sudden silence. No animals barked, no people shouted. The sword had stopped screaming. This silence felt...unnatural. Unreal.
"We should go," Skaria said through her exhausted breath. She took one step forward, before her leg gave out. Laidu barely caught her in time. "Blood and thorns. My leg...I think I fractured my leg."
"How can you even stand?" Laidu asked. He had broken his arm; the pain had debilitated him. And she was standing on a broken leg? How in the world?
"Adrenaline, probably. Karik'ar can help once we meet up with them," Skaria said. The mercenary gritted her teeth. "Get your sword," she said, easing herself down onto the ground. Laidu walked forward and picked up the fallen shamshir; there were a few nicks, and the blade looked a bit dented, but otherwise intact.
He rushed back over to Skaria. "Hold still," he said, wrapping an arm underneath her arms, lifting her up slowly, gingerly. "Can you walk?"
"If I lean on you, maybe," Skaria said. She held onto his pack, pulling him down slightly. "Come on. They're probably setting up camp for us."
***
It took four hours for the two of them to traverse what should have taken an hour and a half. Oftentimes, Skaria had to sit down, lest the pain completely overtake her. Her face was beaded in sweat. Laidu had offered to carry her, but Skaria refused. Stubborn pride, probably.
The light had faded, and only the eerie yellow-blue of the twilight sky that filtered through the dark trees left them any light to see the path. Skaria leaned in, close to Laidu. "Sorry," she said, "but I'm cold. Could you do that thing? Except...well, don't incinerate me." Laidu nodded, willing the Fever Blood alight in his veins. Skaria sighed contentedly, before cutting it short with a grunt of pain. "How did you know how to do that?"
"The voices," Laidu said, trying to ignore their mumbling. "I don't think they're just insanity. They've given me new powers. They know of these things. They know things I don't know, know things I couldn't know."
Skaria hissed in pain, right next to Laidu's earhole. "Sorry. But I get what you're saying." She stared ahead. "Do you see light?"
Laidu squinted, looking through the trees. There was a faint glow, shielded by the forest, and Laidu swore he could hear voices. Not voices in his head, but real, not-insane voices!
The most agonizing part was the slow pace they had to go. Skaria held in as much pain as she could, but Laidu knew she was almost near her limit. "I'm going to carry you," Laidu warned. "Ready?" Skaria bit her lip, but nodded. "Okay," he said, leaning down, making sure his arms supported her and didn't let her fractured leg bear any weight. "One, two, three." He lifted.
To her credit, Skaria didn't scream. Her face turned red, she half-grunted, half-hissed, and every tendon of her neck stood out in bold, stark detail. Her hands dug into his back, grip as strong as Kazalibad's.
He rushed forward, following the path, trying not to hurt Skaria. Carrying her, her weapons, her pack, and his was a lot. He could do it, but the muscles of his arms, his chest, and his back began to burn with the strain. It started with a deep-seated ache, a faint glow, before the raging fire of pain flared as his muscles were stressed, pulled, and twisted by the weight of the wounded warrior.
"I wonder if Skaria's alright," Laidu heard Thaen say.
"She will be," Karik'ar said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. "She's been through worse."
A groan from Skaria instantly alerted them. Laidu had only a moment to take in the scene. Indra huddled down by the fire, pulling her cloak closer. Thaen had gotten up, eyes wide, reflective like miniature lanterns in the firelight, like a wild predator. Karik'ar twisted as he was ready to rise.
And Kyra...
She was beautiful. The firelight made her skin luminous, with hair soft like silk. Her eyes stared at him, as, for seemingly the first time in life, Laidu saw something truly beautiful, saw something truly wonderful. He knew that God had made mountains, had crafted rivers. And he had seen the labors of His love, the majesty of nature. And she was as beautiful. A work of art.
She is glorious, Rhaem sighed dreamily.
Charming, strong, resourceful, the Warden said.
And you're the monster that imprisons her. Those were the only words Kasran needed to say to rip away the sense of wonder.
He had one second to soak it all in before Karik'ar was right there. "What happened?" he asked as he took some of Skaria's weight.
"Kazalibad threw her into a crate," Laidu said. "I think she fractured her leg." Karik'ar nodded. "Let's get her down. Skaria, you alright?"
"My leg's fractured, and the adrenaline's worn off," Skaria growled. They set her down, and she lay back, hurting, the pain obvious to anyone around. "Heal me, Karik'ar."
"It'll hurt," Karik'ar warned.
"Karik'ar," Skaria snapped, "if you don't heal me right now, I'll beat the ever loving sheike out of you. You understand?" Karik'ar nodded. "Good. Now do it."
He exhaled out the cloud of glowing green essence. The smoky emerald gas spun and warped into the shape of the young, thin lady that never existed, crouched by Skaria's outstretched leg. Panacea. "Again?" she said.
"Her leg. Fix it," Karik'ar said simply.
"Fine, fine," Panacea said, before laying her hand on Skaria's leg. The mercenary gasped in pain as Panacea's hands danced in the space over the leg. A nexus of iridescent gases spun around it.
"Bloody thorns!" Skaria hissed. "Are you trying to hurt me?"
"You have three hairline fractures, close enough to nearly shatter the bone," Panacea said. "And regrafting is very difficult to get right. So yes, I'm not trying to avoid causing pain." She paused, checking over the nexus. "There, that should do it."
And then she slapped her hand down on Skaria's leg.
This time, the woman did scream. Skaria's back arched, her hands clenched into fists. Every tendon in her neck stood out in stark relief.
She stopped screaming. Her breath ragged, she sat up. "It...doesn't hurt as much." She rose, unsteadily, keeping most of the weight off of her leg. Slowly, grimacing in advance, expecting pain, she leaned on her leg. "It feels good."
"Good for you," Panacea said, sounding absolutely drained. "I don't feel so..." she began, before falling over, drifting apart into a cloud of smoke, a darker, more gloomy green.
Karik'ar extended his arm, touching the cloud, embracing it, his massive hand cupping the gas gently. It responded sluggishly, slowly swirling up towards his mouth. "You must have done a number on yourself," he said to Skaria. "She nearly exhausted all of herself."
"So, no healing for a while?" Skaria asked.
"A good week should heal her back up," Karik'ar said. "Until then, no one heals with her, alright?" Laidu, Thaen, and Skaria nodded. Indra stared at the Kai'Draen, and Kyra gave him one look, before staring into the fire.
Karik'ar stalked over to the fire. "There's still some stew left. Get some of that down, and do you mind taking first watch?" Laidu shook his head. "Good."
The soup went down quickly -Laidu was ravenously hungry- and everyone had unrolled their sleeping rolls. Thaen had set up his bedroll right next to Laidu, who sat on his, stretching his feet out. That was one of the stranger things about his body. The rest of him was simply a scale-covered human, save for his claws, but they could be attributed to excessive fingernail growth. His feet had changed. The ball of the foot and heel had extra padding, and the toes seemed slightly too long and too big. That may have been the talons adding to that, but the results were the same; to accommodate the toes, Laidu got boots that didn't fit the rest of his foot.
Everyone else lay down and quickly were fast asleep. There hadn't been much talk around the fire. Laidu's head was a different matter. Now is the greatest time, the perfect time, to kill them. Kasran, of course. Feel the life squeeze out of them. Feel them writhe under your strength. Except for the big one. Kill him outright.
No no no! You, go back down to the dark where you belong! The Warden snapped. Sadden. That name frightened him a bit. Names had power, and he, by naming that voice such, had implied that his mind was a prison.
A prison. A free, shapeless world. Both, yet none. The font of will, the graveyard of hope. Both, yet none. We all are many, intricate, with the multiplicity that the Creator had given us. Paradox gave him a reassuring, albeit cryptic answer.
The voices faded away as Laidu stared around the camp. His eyes, naturally, fell on her. Kyra. She seemed so peaceful, so tranquil, lying there, and what Laidu wanted to do was to wrap her in his arms, to hold her close, to keep her safe and shield her from the monsters in the world.
Fool, Kasran snapped. You are the monster she needs protection from! That was right, he realized, and the warmth and euphoria that had warmed his chest was replaced with cold melancholia.
It was a curious thing, really. All the settings for a fairy story were in place save one. The damsel was kidnapped. The monster was threatening. All that was left was for the knight in shining armor to swoop in, save the lady, and slay the beast. But this story had one major deviation from that. One place where it broke from the formula.
He, the monster, had fallen in love with the lady. He, Laidu Tsung, was in love with Kyra.