Damned

by K R Leikvoll

  Leora kicked me into the cell and bolted the lock with the same sort of nullifying metal as my cuffs they did not bother to remove. I collapsed into the disgusting, cold mud flooring like I was about to expire.

  “I will see you early for your execution. Until then, enjoy the amenities Uxe has to offer,” she said coldly before turning on her heels to leave me in darkness.

  Or rather, us, I should say.

  The moment I thought I was left alone, the prisoner two cells down moved against their chains toward the bars of the cage next to them. I could still see through the shadows and the walls despite the cuffs on my wrist, though they kept me from summoning War.

  “What is happening out there?” the other prisoner asked in a scared tone of voice. It was a woman – skin and bones. Her foul scent of dying was familiar. I wished to sit up to examine her closer, but I was incapable of moving. I felt rather numb, perhaps on the edge of death, but such a thing was not frightening in the least to me.

  “They removed all of the Zaarian prisoners to fight. I can tell they were sieged based on the crashes. Is it the Evyan army, finally finished with their aggression?” she continued. I did not have the energy to respond to her. I rolled onto my side facing the stone wall.

  Lydris had scratched writings on it while he was imprisoned for just shy of a year. Like Varnoc, he must have found keeping his thoughts organized to be one of the few things that helped him hang on to his sanity. Perhaps I should have started doing it sooner, but during that time, I was hardly capable of organizing my thoughts.

  “Did we lose?” the prisoner asked, shaking the bars slightly to rouse my attention. She must have been too blind to realize I was choking on my own blood and struggling to breathe. Not that I would have returned answers to her questions anyway.

  Instead, I focused on Lydris’ writings. They were of Evya, a far-off dream from the disgusting prison I was being held in. It was soothing in a way, despite being his words. I did not believe I was going to die, but at the same time, the amount of fluid in my lungs and stomach felt like a death sentence. Even if I did not perish from those wounds, as demon bodies were resilient, I would die in the morning, for I told Varnoc not to return.

  Lydris began with a simple sentence halfway up the wall. It started simply with, “I hate my father –”

  “The stench of this awful jail makes me miss my home outside of Ambryss. It was near the Alderbrook, one of the finest places to live in all of Evya. My father gave it to me as a gift, which is why he felt so keen on taking it from me when I decided I didn’t want to slave away to the light anymore.

  “Those damned Divine-lovers are so blind to the real world, and my father is the worst. Just because I am not ‘light blessed’ as he is, does not mean that my life holds any less value. They whine about selflessness while being the most selfish group of people Praetis has ever seen!

  “Of course they would banish me for my writings on the corrupt Divinus Evelynn. She participated in removing nearly all of the priestesses from our land for nothing more than the desire for a more powerful court. She did not care about the impact it had on our country, nor the responsibilities it placed on my shoulders.

  “I hated Vya and his court of imbeciles. They made me an errand boy because they adored my family name. While I would want no other, it was sinful on their oligarch tongues. I was forced to live away from the beauty of nature because some part of me might turn out to be special and of use. They stole years of my freedom… exiling me for merely speaking the truth!

  “I am special, though they were blind to what makes it so! The light has no power over me and never has, like the pathetic population of Evya. Once I find a way to make use of my clarity, they will all pay.”

  Lydris and I had more in common than I was willing to admit. Our lives were mirrored in an odd fashion; the only difference was that I lived poorly while he had the luxury of courts and wealth. Nonetheless, we were still slaves to the light against our own desires. He had broken out of their brainwashing without the aid of black magic. My Master’s blood was the only substance capable of ridding mine.

  My shaking, new arm reached out and brushed the marking of the word, “Evya.” I ached for my paradise in the Void, not my real homeland, but it hurt just the same. I wouldn’t have it if I did not fulfill my Gods’ desires. Even as the prophet I was at risk of going to Treachery if I did not succeed. No… I could not perish in hopes to escape to nirvana. If I wanted to go back, I had to win. I had to tear Uxe to the ground and raze its citizens from the planet. That I could not do from a cage.

  I rolled over toward my cell door and kicked it as much as I could muster. It hurt enough to make me feel as if I were drowning in blood again. The door was blocked against magic, but it begged the question if force alone could cause it to buckle. I tried once more. Immediately, I succumbed to coughing up blood and had to rest.

  “Do you speak Evyan?” the woman asked in our native tongue. When I did not respond, she switched, asking, “Zaarian?”

  My eyes flickered to where she sat, desperately pressed through her cage and reaching out to me. Apart from the stink of the dungeon, I could smell her fear in the air. She had been left to rot underneath the palace as a prisoner of war. It was almost impossible to speak, but I had to escape.

  “Yuelle,” my voice rasped. I saw her sit up sharply, shocked. I was correct – it was the prisoner I had spent time with on the voyage to Uxe on my trials. I pulled myself to the bars, trying to keep my groaning to a minimum.

  “Lazarus?” Yuelle did not know how to respond. I spied a tear rolling down her cheek, and she drew her arm back. She could not see me through the shadows, but it was clear she could sense there was something different about me. Beyond dying, naturally.

  “Blood,” I said as clearly as I could manage.

  “Blood? What do you mean?”

  I did not have the energy to explain. I rested my forehead against the bars and closed my eyes in deliberation. If I was still alive in the morning, I would not be able to get away with my wounds.

  “Regenerate.”

  “Blood… regenerate,” Yuelle tried to comprehend. It was too dark for her to see any gestures or nonverbal forms of communication.

  I began to scan the cells, first mine, then the other two. I required something able to hold her blood, even if it was a mere drop at a time. My cell had plenty of stones, but no vials or flasks had been left behind.

  By the time Yuelle finally figured out my words, I was close to losing consciousness. I had been listening to the distant sounds of water – presumably Zaarians choosing to stay behind to douse the flames. As much as I despise admitting it, I thought of Vincent. I missed him and I loathed how much sway he had over me. The distance was always enough for me to forget his dramatics and cruelty. When we were apart, he was the best lover one could ask for.

  “Blood… will help you regenerate?” Yuelle guessed. She had been babbling nonsense trying to figure out if I was speaking of our Zaarian enemies using blood magic to heal themselves. My lack of focus made me miss her words at first, for I was lost, dreaming of my paradise. I sat up, harming myself in the process when it registered.

  “That’s it!” she cried out, hearing my quick movements. “You can use blood to heal!”

  “Release… you,” I mumbled weakly, wishing she could understand me. Thankfully, that time she did.

  “If I give you my blood, you will release me,” Yuelle repeated back. I let out a pained grunt and relaxed. She began scraping the ground trying to pull up a shard of stone sharp enough to break her skin. Her frantic pounds to the flooring succeeded after a torturous few minutes. The blows scraped her skin enough to draw blood in the process. The scent and sight made me react unnaturally.

  “Please,” I begged her, feeling War scream for sustenance. I was far from caring about any judgments one might have about the Warden pleading a prisoner for help. I remembered James’ words about being particular with my choices and what conflicts I
involved myself with. I could spare one life if it meant I could escape and bring an end to those cursed Zaarians.

  Giving herself a proper wound was not the difficult part of Yuelle’s task. Without something to hold her blood, we were left with only one option.

  “I’m sorry I have to use these means,” she apologized. Using one hand, she applied pressure to the slash on her forearm. When enough had bubbled at the surface, she waved her arm around as much as possible to fling drops in my direction.

  It was agonizing to watch it hit the stone just out of my reach. The first drop accessible landed on the bars. I did not care Lydris likely spent days running his disgusting hands on them as I licked it away. A slight hissing noise came from my flesh. It was not enough to come close to repairing the damage I endured from the spear, but it was a start.

  The next passing hours, Yuelle did all she could to send blood my direction. I pressed my tongue to the dirt repeatedly, sometimes out of impulse, just for a taste. It was an awful process, but it resulted in healing enough to stave off death and think clearly. I finally held my hand up for her to stop when the hues of dawn peeked through a tiny gap near the stairwell. I had to come up with a plan before Leora retrieved me.

  “How do you intend on getting out?” Yuelle asked. She was binding her arm with scraps of her dirty linen gown to stop the bleeding. I relaxed against the stone wall and meditated.

  I thought deeply of my Dark Essentia-wielding kin. The distance would be too great for Vince to save me – though it is debatable if he would ever do such a thing. Raven, however, was not impossible to sense. He was far closer, I could tell in comparison to the feeling binding me to our Master. In my silent pleas, I asked for anyone that could hear me to answer my call. There was too much that needed to be finished before I could die peacefully.

  “I don’t believe I am,” I replied finally, shattering the stillness.

  “But you said –”

  “I will free you if I survive. Anything else is without guarantee and I do not lie.”

  Leora came for me in the later part of the morning. I had been communing with War, debating on plans of attack. I was still unsure of what to do when my cell was opened. The blades wanted me to butcher everyone – an obvious, nonsense desire that was not going to aid me with ideas.

  I was forcefully ripped to my feet and pulled out of the dungeons. Yuelle had a fearful expression on her face when I passed her, but I gave her a small smile. It was not meant to reassure her at all. Rather, I was at peace. If I found a way to live, my crusade continued. If I failed, I would return to the beautiful Void. My time debating my existence and purpose as I sat in Lydris’ filth brought me a conclusion: I did not care if I suffered for eternity.

  Why?

  Being near Lord Baelarius and the entrance to the Vast Dark was better than losing it altogether. That is what made me the prophet and continues to – I want nothing more than to serve my Gods, even if it does not benefit me personally. Out of all the chaos I was – I produced – it was my one instilled blessing. I would never betray Naazvaba.

  I would spill blood until I was impaled by a million blades in Azotl’s holy name.

  The first thing to greet me as I walked down the palace steps was the ruin of the city. All of the wooden buildings in the western quarter were reduced to rubble. The stone bazaar was demolished and reeked of smoke. A few hundred citizens and soldiers stayed behind to recover as much as they could before the Duskwraith forces returned to loot the city. It meant the majority had fled north with Gradelkine. They may have had the numbers in Remula, but they were perfectly cornered against Femora and the sea.

  A massive wooden stake had been erected in the place of where Ortos’ statue once stood. It was surrounded by all manners of foliage they had managed to scrape together to produce a flame. I sighed with relief in secrecy. I felt no despair at the idea of burning alive, for I controlled fire as it belonged to me alone.

  Instead, I focused on the number of people throwing stones and mud in my direction with jeers. I was weakened, but if I could sacrifice quickly enough, perhaps I could fight my way out. The biggest threat to my escape was Leora. She lacked most magical ability in lieu of being commendable with her whip. I was not sure of her age, but I was willing to bet she spent over hundreds of years mastering her specific art of combat.

  “On this morning of Ekkos, we sacrifice the usurper and bring her to justice before our celestial, Ortos!” Leora called to the crowd whilst the guards lit torches on either of my sides. “May her corrupted blood appease our God and bring us prosperity. In the name of the Emperor and the Empire of Zaar!”

  The crowd saluted and bellowed their various war cries, as they were all from different tribes. It was quaint how my simple intrusion had caused them to rally together and let go of their past differences. It did not matter in the end, anyhow, for they would all be brothers and sisters in Heresy soon enough.

  I closed my eyes while they lit the nickets at my feet.

  Lord Nakarius… I ask for your blessing once more.

  “You still have not satisfied your debt, prophet.”

  I will return your powers with interest, Master.

  “Fail not again, Lazarus. I have little patience.”

  The sound of crashing and snarling startled me from my conversation. I was welcomed with a sight that caused intense emotions to wash over me. My precious demons were destroying everything in their path to make it to my side. It caused instant panic.

  I could feel an odd sensation against my legs – I was impervious to the flames as it tried to envelop me. It was not as unpleasant as burning alive should have been.

  “You should have killed me!” I yelled down at Leora. It was not my few chosen demons entering the city from the west – it was all of them. They were a smaller number than those that stayed behind, but even one demon was worth twenty men. When Leora looked up at me where I was bound, engulfed in flames, I laughed at her dismay. She was shaking as she removed her whip from her side and took off down the stairs to assist her people.

  Lord Nakarius heeded his word and granted me powers from the Void itself. War solidified in my grasp with an aura of crimson I hadn’t witnessed before. The metal around my wrists melted away like candle wax. The moment I absorbed the flames surrounding me, I thought I may have done the spell incorrectly.

  Pain, unlike anything I had experienced before, seared through my nerves. I could feel my very bones shifting underneath the gravity of War. Cracking in my shoulders brought me to my knees. I focused as much as I could in my agony to shift it to something I could use. When I held my blades out in front of me, my hands were as clawed and as vicious as the demons’ attacking the city. I had grown massive wings identical to that of Lord Nakarius. A sharp spine grew from my back, making the pain worth it when I stood up fully.

  I was flowing with demonic energy; so much I could hardly contain it. I threw myself in the direction of my enemies and the wings carried me effortlessly. It was as if I had been graced with them my entire life. The sensation of flying was unlike any other, and fighting from above gave me an immense advantage.

  Events in Uxe become somewhat blurry after I channeled War’s demonic form. With the goal of slaughtering any not a part of the Infernal Army, I lost myself in vengeance. My wings were deadlier than another set of arms; none were capable of fighting me off. The demons aiding me sought to move in my direction, trapping most of the remaining survivors between us.

  A flash of bone and the sprays of blood that followed near the demon’s front line drew my attention. I instantly recognized the painted-white skull on Raven’s face as he used Pestilence to end our foes. His demonic form resembled Lord Azmordius, with sharp wings of bone and the same shape oxen horns growing from his forehead.

  We both fought with more ferocity after spotting each other working to reduce their numbers. When there were fewer than a hundred remaining, Raven raised his scythe in the air. A crack of green light from the sky struck hi
s weapon and shocked the ground surrounding our foes. They were momentarily stunned. A cloud of bubbling, noxious smoke filled the area in an explosion. Our enemies were knocked either dead or unconscious by it at first glance.

  I was mentally commanding my demon legion to cease their attacks so we could convert some of the survivors when Raven flew into me across the bridge separating us. He bit into my throat and pulled us to the ground, overwhelmed by his need to sacrifice. Unlike me, he did not have a dark Titan in his soul providing almost limitless energy. I did not care – I simply cradled him in my arms and gave into his aggressive desires.

  “How did you know?” I asked him as he tried to relieve himself.

  He gasped for air when he finally had the strength to release my neck. His blood-soaked hands smoothed my hair out of my face and he grinned with mad eyes.

  “There was no reason to hold an empty city. I was not going to miss the fun. Though, now it seems I must murder Typhlon and Stonebreaker for abandoning their Queen,” Raven replied, pulling me up with him.

  “I called for the retreat,” I clarified with a raised brow. Despite my favoritism for Raven, Varnoc was still my demonic child and I would never allow death to take him. Raven noticed he overstepped his bounds and lowered his head.

  “As you say.”

  Those stunned on the ground not eaten by the demons were beginning to stir in a way that suggested I should give thought to what I should do with them. I paced between where they lie paralyzed until I reached Leora in the center. I picked her up by one of her horns and smiled. She was staring at me with wide eyes, but she was unable to move.

  “What did I tell you?” I asked her, with false anguish in my voice. “Time and time again, you and your fellow leaders choose death. I have run out of patience, Leora – Guardian of Uxe. The blood of every Zaarian is on your hands.”