“Would you believe if we said we came from Mol’do?” Fia asked. “That be a long trip,” the troll replied with surprise, “but I can tell there be an odd lot about da two of ya.” “What’s your name?” Sahja asked. “I go by Kosho,” the troll replied. “I’m Fiaria; this is Sahja,” Fia replied. Kosho leaned forward and shook both their hands. “Sorry to interfere with ya mating. I can wait outside if ya need?” he asked.
By now, both the humans were putting on some clothes without revealing their nakedness. “Don’t worry about it,” Sahja grinned, “this isn’t the first time.” Fia punched Sahja in his arm at the twisted joke. The troll pointed out the matching tattoos on Sahja and Fia’s necks. “I like da pattern. I haven’t seen dat one before,” he remarked.
Neither human could come up with a response, noticeably taken aback by the comment. The troll could tell it was a sensitive subject at the least and offered his rum to the two. “Dis stuff could powa a tank. Perfect for rainy nights!” he exclaimed happily. Sahja took a swig with relative ease, but Fia couldn’t help but cough as the burn went down her chest.
“What’s with all the battles down there?” Sahja asked. “Clans killing clans; men killing men,” Kosho replied. “They fight as formal armies?” Sahja followed up curiously. “Aye,” Kosho responded, “but, formalities be an exploited weakness here, at least from our foe’s perspective. Trolls be creatures of honor, so armies still meet each other on formal battlegrounds.”
“They’re foolish to think they can defeat Dom’rel like that,” Fia remarked. Kosho shrugged. “I doubt many of dem actually know what they be fightin’ for anymore.” “You belong to a clan?” Sahja asked. “Aye,” Kosho replied confidently, “thunder troll, true and true!”
Sahja and Fia didn’t need to ask anything about this heritage. As far as they were concerned, this man and his kin could be considered allies. “You two look like quite da fit pair,” Kosho said. “You could come wit me to Kitz? It be a lot better dan dis cave. And dey need fighters.” Fia and Sahja knew by now that they couldn’t set foot in a city that was trying to rebuild itself. The mark they bore would never allow for peace to blossom among the people in such a place. “Maybe some miles outside of Kitz?” Sahja bargained.
Kosho seemed confused by the reply. “Of course, but why you wouldn’t just take one of da nice houses?” he asked. “Der be plenty of space.” “Consider us country folk,” Fiaria answered with her pleasant smile. Again, the troll shrugged. “We’ll get ya a nice cottage,” he said. “Dema be full of great farm land and pastures.”
“I have a bit of an in wit a guy in Dema, a solid hero, good cat,” Kosho continued. “I bet ya’ all could be of use to each other. Would you meet wit him?” “Of course,” Sahja replied respectfully. Kosho smiled. “I can tell you got some powa! He’d like to meet ya. My caravan be meetin’ not long afta dawn; it be safe,” the lanky troll explained.
CHAPTER TWO
Factions
The northeast state of Zuhetta, Uhr’Erra, was essentially sandwiched between the two necrotic fronts. The state’s population had already been decimated for the most part--millions dead and millions taken. The civil war had already divided much of this particular territory; but now, greater death had altogether consumed their petty conflicts.
The capital fortress of Chesil had been overrun a couple days before. The ruling family had been brutally dispatched while the queen’s corpse still served as a battered toy of pleasure among the execution blocks. The king hung upside down from the palace ramparts with wretched symbols carved all over his body. Their children and servants were slaughtered by hellish rituals, leaving the ivory and golden palace halls red from top to bottom.
The fate of surviving combatants and civilians alike was not any better. These necromancers had remarkable armies at their disposal, so what was required of mortal flesh beyond slavery and spare parts? The pit hordes at their command conquered with pure, inhuman brutality.
One soldier in particular had managed to save two younger lassies from the carnage, though one had sustained a barrage of life-threating injuries. The older of the ladies was an alchemist by profession but had no formal medicinal or healer’s training in the field. The other, barely hanging to life, was a prostitute.
The soldier had the younger lady over his shoulder, holding his side from the sheer feeling of bodily acids pumping through his system after running so far. The alchemist was just as weary. The other girl, Enysa, was barely breathing. Enysa had been brutalized. Bruises littered her body, and many bones had been broken. To say the least, it was a simple miracle that she still had all of her teeth. “A’mi,” the soldier panted, referring to the alchemist. “Can you keep her alive? Or no?” he asked, readying his rifle.
A’mi frantically and carefully inspected Enysa’s battered body. “Not with what I have here. There has to be tremendous internal damage,” she explained in a scared and sorrowful tone. “The best I could do is manage her pain, but I mean, look at her!” The soldier simply felt sick and defeated, knowing that at their pace, at best, they’d be prey within a couple hours.
“Treat her as best you can,” he said, forcing his words through exhaustion. “We have to make it to Asheya.” “THAT’S OVER 300 MILES IN A STRAIGHT SHOT!” A’mi cried. “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT WE MAKE THAT TRIP, EVEN IF THIS GIRL WAS DEAD AND LEFT BEHIND?” The soldier remained surprisingly calm but clearly understood A’mi’s response. He finished the few sips of water he had left, preparing himself for another run.
A terrifying roar came over the rocks where they’d taken shelter. A spiked pit drake leapt before them. Its fangs were dripping with blood and its eyes were fresh with death. The monster grumbled and huffed at its cornered prey, slowly approaching the hopeless bodies. The soldier quickly took up his rifle. Standing between the two girls and the monster, he cocked the rifle, knowing he didn’t have anywhere near enough firepower to lower such an abomination. “FFFFFFUCK YOOOOU!” he yelled as he unloaded the remainder of his ammunition.
The bullets ricocheted off some of the beast’s boney spines; others simply lodged in the natural, thick armor. As the monster leapt towards him, it was halted in midair. A rather beautiful streak of prismatic light passed through it, and a phantasmal sabre could be seen plunging through its core. The blade had no wielder, but it cut the beast in twain. The two conscious humans watched through wide eyes as black blood splattered around them.
Miri’el had performed her first kill in eons! HAHAH! WONDERFUL!
Miri’el retained her full angelic form, a testament to how impulsive the girl can be. Well done, sister! The soldier and A’mi were utterly speechless and understandably too tired to immediately recognize what had just happened. As the angel motioned her hand ever so gracefully, the ornate sabre returned to its sheath.
The angel went directly to Enysa, breathed into her light-filled hands, and passed them along the battered girl’s body. The girl’s breath returned violently, and she awakened as if from a horrific nightmare. She lacked any indication of fatal pain, meaning the angel had miraculously healed her. Miri’el laid her hand on the girl’s forehead, putting her into a restful stasis.
Before anyone could even think to ask a question, a fallen angel landed on the ground before them, as if an artillery shell had struck the place. “Omey’el,” Miri’el uttered. “You know the price of protecting these creatures with such a heretical act,” the fallen angel replied with bloodlust. Miri’el, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade, took a deep breath. She stood between her fallen kin and the humans with her pearlescent-azure wing spread wide.
“I don’t think you totally thought how risky it is, for you in particular,” the fallen angel maliciously uttered. Miri’el, assuming a stance I haven’t seen her use since our early days, maintained the firm grip on the hilt of her sabre. “You dare speak of heresy,” she said calmly. The fallen angel scoffed and spat on the ground. “I can th
ink of a few names that would prefer your live body, Dom’rel being one of them. Perhaps you and Vil’el could catch up as well.”
Miri’el didn’t acknowledge her oponent’s taunts. Rather, she simply readied herself for Omey’el’s inevitable attack.
The fallen angel charged with the speed of a thousand horses. His heavy glaive easily met by Miri’el’s sabre. The two exchanged parries, slashes, and thrusts with incredible precision and speed. Lightning sparked with each meeting of the weapons, and every airborne movement was complimented by gusts of powerful wind and shifting netherstreams. GLORIOUS!
The fallen angel never came close to striking Miri’el, a surprise to that son of a bitch, especially as Miri’el’s sabre found its mark through his mutated armor. Strike after strike, Miri’el broke her aggressor down. That poor fool, becoming blinded by rage, was driven to sloppy combat. The boy could take some damage. I’ll give him that!
Eventually, Miri’el found her mark in forsaken’s heart. She soared upward with the impaled fallen and then sent him to the ground like a comet, as fallen blood dripped from her sword. The mortals couldn’t help but to brace during the impact. They watched through the dust in awe of what they’d just witnessed.
Miri’el gently landed on the ground and was a bit “put-off” at first, due to the violence. Looking at the pathetic corpse of her challenger, Miriel fixed her hair and brushed off her gorgeous regalia. Regardless of how futile it was, Miri’el still offered a prayer for the fallen angel.
The angel conjured water for the thirsty mortals. Her eyes locked with the soldier, and she embraced him. A’mi bowed with her face to the dirt, fearing the angel would pass judgment on her. Disabled by a torrent of spiritual activity within her, A’mi was shaking as her fists clenched the dirt.
“Thank you, majesty,” the soldier said quietly. Miri’el smiled and said, “You’re welcome, Roju.” A’mi crawled over to feel the angel’s garments. The flowing water of the resplendent robes slipped through her fingers, cleaning and cooling her hands. A’mi looked up at Miri’el with converted eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. Miri’el sat before the young lady and took her in her arms in kind, saying, “So am I.”
The soldier threw his weapon aside, removing excess pieces of his combat gear in kind. He sat with his back against the rocks, looking up into a dark and fire-reflecting sky. The angel whispered into A’mi’s ear. Then the angel stood and gave a sharp whistle as she looked to the sky. A spot of dark clouds slowly swirled; lightning flashes peeked through the smoke and haze. Then a haunting roar seemed to reply to the angel’s summon; and a glistening stormdrake burst forth, punching a hole in the darkness above. The colorful dragon sped towards the ground, creating a miniature hurricane as it came to an impressive landing among the ruin.
The mighty beast laid down before the group, positioning one of its lightning-filled wings like a ramp to its back. “We…we’re supposed to ride that thing?” A’mi asked nervously. Miri’el pet the enormous dragon’s snout. “These are the servants of Kush’hera,” she replied kindly. “I promise, you won’t even feel the wind sheers.”
“You aren’t coming with us?” Roju asked. Miri’el motioned to the fallen angel’s corpse. “I’m sure I have a few questions and siblings to answer to; besides, I’m not usually this much fun,” she said with a grin. “You three were so alone. I couldn’t just stand by when I was so close.” The soldier gently took Enysa in his arms and began to board the massive creature. The alchemist gave Miri’el a fierce hug--then unnecessarily, but cautiously, joined the others on the stormdrake. Miri’el watched the mighty dragon ascend into the air as the dust and debris from its takeoff parted around her. The angel kissed her hands and raised them up.
Storm clouds surrounded the dragon as it flew across the sky--its own natural camoflogue, you could say. A’mi, terrified by the power and heights in which they found themselves, dug her fingers into Roju’s arms. “Ow owowow owow!” Roju exclaimed. “Let go of me, cat woman!” “NO!” A’mi replied in kind.”
The riders had no idea where they were being taken, nor could they see the ground below them. But in just a couple hours, they could tell that the dragon was descending. The storm clouds began to dissipate, and Roju could see the beautiful tributary shores of Dema. The stormdrake was heading straight for Kitz, causing quite a frenzy of activity in and around the capital fortress.
The dragon glided in a circular pattern, decreasing its speed as it got lower and lower. The stormdrake landed not far outside the northern gates, as those of all types came rushing to see the marvelous creature. The true-blood thunder trolls among them bowed low, knowing full well that this was a servant of the Celestial of Storms.
The stormdrake was as docile as before, assuming the same landing position it had in Uhr’Erra. A’mi finally released her grip on Roju. The soldier sighed in great relief. Kitz’s troops took Enysa into their care, getting her into a vehicle bound for the city. Otherwise, there was a bit of confusion as to the very common and weathered nature of the people riding a very uncommon creature.
In a way, it was an obvious answer why these three humans had received a helping hand by the highest order. (Regardless, they were received with open arms.) The stormdrake waited for the crowd to be farther away before it ascended into the atmosphere. Many watched the dragon rise until its camouflage blended in with the covered skies above.
A cruiser, accompanied by defense force officers and a bladedancer wearing shadowcraft attire, provided transport for the weary newcomers.“I guess Chesil is lost?” the bladedancer asked casually, taking a drag of a skunkweed cigarette. Roju had forgotten that he was still in fact in his official military gear; but he nodded, doing remarkably well to control the shock of recent events.
The respected bladedancer, pondering to himself, never really made eye contact with anyone. His general expression seemed emotionless and contemplative. Honestly, Roju couldn’t get a reading of the man. Then, Roju’s own preponderance was interrupted by a sharp and burning pain in his forearm. “Dammit, woman!” he shouted. A’mi had applied a reagent to the slight puncture wounds she’d caused.
The two necromancers, Bloodlord Y’neros and Bloodlord Ket’kia, met in Chesil once the last of the fighting had ceased. They were eager to observe their recent spoils, picking out young boys and girls to be their conduits and slaves. A lich commander came to the slave pens with the head of the fallen angel in his claw.
“First, Bloodlord Henrick? Now this?” Ket’kia scoffed. “Perhaps the weak are simply being sorted out,” Y’neros remarked coldly, motioning for the lich commander to toss the head aside. “We must remember that not all of our enemies are simply sheep to the slaughter,” he added. “Indeed,” Ket’kia agreed. “I suppose Omey’el was always a bit too confident, not to mention an utter lack of manners.”
Y’neros snapped his fingers, beckoning a demon that was dragging a beautiful young lady to one of the caravans. The lass wept as she was thrown before the necromancer. Y’neros wasn’t a bad-looking fellow, but his eyes spoke of only death and suffering. His skin was littered with demonic runes, and his armor was fashioned after the devil’s very own.
The young lady was relatively unscathed. What blood was on her wasn’t her own. She stood out in appearance, but even more so in less seen characteristics. “Unspoiled, unharmed, and unbroken,” Y’neros remarked, looking the girl over. “I do believe I’ve found my gem in this fetid treasure chest. This one can go to my quarters,” he declared, with a legitimately intrigued and malicious grin. The lich commander, saluting the necromancer and assuming to be the girl’s personal escort, spoke in a distorted and demonic tongue.
Ket’kia was a female Kuumashi troll, robed in black and laced with bone. She was far less picky about her share of the flesh, tending to directly syphon life force rather than keeping conduits. “I still worry that you’re too human, Y’neros,” she remarked. “You’ve already had t
wo conduits make attempts on your life.”
Y’neros chuckled. “I like for them to have that opportunity--that false hope.” Ket’kia shrugged. “As you wish,” she replied casually, “but, apparently one in Malene has become a voidmancer. She put her master down with his own art some time ago.” Y’neros seemed impressed by the news. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied.
“There certainly are a lot of survivors left over,” Ket’kia remarked hintingly. Y’neros smiled and said, “You’re the one they call the vampress, so feast.” Ket’kia agreed with sinister delight, overlooking thousands of civilians. Her eyes became black as she motioned with her hands in a pattern. Then she opened her palms to the crowds, immediately drawing agonizing screams from the masses as their life was drained away.
Their bodies shriveled and fell down lifeless while Ket’kia received great pleasure from their essence. “Feel better?” Y’neros said jokingly. “Always,” Ket’kia replied with a sensual sigh.
CHAPTER THREE
Marked
Sahja and Fia had passed into Dema with the worker caravan, somewhat nervously watching the people around them, praying that their own presence was not as compromising as they feared. But for now, the life around them seemed as normal as it could be.
“Why so gloomy?” Kosho asked cheerfully. “Expectin’ da devil to show up?” he joked. Fia laughed nervously; and Sahja bumped her with his elbow with a rather goofy expression, as if to say “hush.” “You’ll love da land out here!” Kosho exclaimed. “Deh say the guardian of pastures fashioned dem ‘imself.”
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