Damned

by K R Leikvoll

  “When I took the shard, I had the choice of any –” she paused and chuckled. “— Besides Death, that is. Did I want War, the wrath of the Void? Pestilence, the bringer of plagues? Or would I settle with Famine the insatiable? My dear prophet, I chose Famine because it was superior.

  “Let me explain before you take offense. War is commendable and unstoppable in the hands of someone like you, but I am not a warrior, Queen Lazarus. I do not fight with stamina and fast reflexes. Magic has always been my talent, and the darker the magic, the more it calls to me.

  “I had already started my research into disease spellwork before I took up the mantle of an Essentia shard. I did not need the boost provided from Pestilence. I sought a weapon that would aid me the best instead with a field misunderstood in our realm: necromancy.

  “There is something beautiful about the dead, as there is something beautiful about the hunger of Famine. Every ability I conjure from this evil weapon is ten times stronger than it would be with another shard. It has taught me how to combine the fields of disease and necromancy. The Naadean plague will kill off the living and transform them into the undead. No other weapon is capable of such a thing, and it will be responsible for eliminating more of the population than all of your demon masses. You did not expect me to return home as anything less than a conqueror, did you?”

  I recall laughing in response, though I felt bitter. I wished she could stay by my side until the very end. She was more devoted than any other of our kin and she deserved to be seen above her elder brother. It was a disappointment. With her and Raven’s aid, I could have destroyed Praetis in a short decade. Vince was a thorn in our collective sides that would have never allowed us to work that fast.

  “Where do you wish to go… when it is your time?” I asked, referring to the Void. She mulled over my question for a while in silence before letting out a dark chuckle.

  “Well, I still wish to see Earth before I return home, but I would like to reside in Heresy. Dys is a delightful place.”

  “Then by the will of Naazvaba, it is done.” I nipped a cut on my thumb and marked her forehead. I mentally relayed my wishes to Lord Nakarius. I would assure her spot as a gift for her loyalty. She inhaled and held her breath, a smile growing on her face. Shadowy wisps from my being transferred to her.

  Before I could move away, she took my hand in her grasp tightly and gave me a serious look. I glanced at our surrounding posse of children, taking note that she wished for privacy. We walked ahead of the others through the brush. Lydris was the only one I was worried about prying, but his glowing silhouette was in the back resting.

  “There is something I must say before we part,” she started, moving effortlessly over the treacherous, colorful terrain like a ghost. “I fear my brother has reached true sickness. His long life has finally driven him to madness. When he destroyed his laboratories – I don’t believe in the slightest that he did it because he is done with his experiments. He is much too dedicated to give up after all this time.”

  “What do you believe his next move is then, without his research?”

  “He didn’t need it anymore. I think he has finally figured out how to create the Nephilim,” Sendrys replied with a regretful tone in her voice. “He is dangerous. Being in the presence of the prophet will not stay his hand when he decides we have served out our usefulness.”

  “Are you suggesting we put him down?”

  Sendrys’ eyes responded for her. It was the same situation as it was with Raven – neither wished to say out loud what they were thinking lest they be heard and tortured for treason. We had all witnessed how my Master treated Guinevere for mild disobedience. The last thing anyone wanted was to be ousted to him and marked as an adversary. We knew very well how he treated his enemies.

  “Fret not – Naazvaba marked him nearly three and a half years ago. I have been biding my time… waiting for his back to be turned while I’m in the shadows.”

  Sendrys seemed somewhat shocked, but I knew she understood why I kept our Gods’ wishes secret. It was suicidal to give anyone a hint as to what I was up to. Sendrys was due to depart to Naadea as soon as we reactivated the plague. Her ship would be awaiting her on the Kaz’moran shores while I prepared to attack Evya. Even if she wished to betray me – though she never would – I had plenty of time before she returned to Duskwraith to plan out a potential counter attack.

  “If what you say is to happen, then heed my words: my brother is deadly and smarter than you think. If you believe at any moment you have gained the upper hand, you are wrong. Never let your guard down.”

  “I will not strike until I will win, Sendrys. You have my word.”

  She studied me for a while, deciding if she felt I would listen to her advice. I would, for I trusted her immensely, but there was something about her expression that worried me. It had grown somewhat morose.

  “There is one more thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Yuelle. Devith saw her sneaking away when we last made camp. Mortals are flighty… well, those that aren’t Typhlon.”

  Instantly, I felt empty. I had not noticed her leaving. I had far too much on my mind as of late. I had been mildly paranoid with my decision when I decided to let her come. Her attitude had been convincing; she talked about returning home to get her desired revenge. We had spent a somewhat romantic evening discussing how beautiful it would be to watch the capital Ambryss perish in flames. She asked to accompany me with such vigor and dedication to her hatred, I felt I could not refuse. I cared more for her presence than Varnoc or Lydris – especially after their recent betrayals.

  I am exposing my heart, so I have no reason to hide that I desired to turn her. I wished for her to be my third demonic child – so I could follow in the footsteps of my powerful kin before me. She had the anger – and I thought – the loyalty. Yuelle was a precious flower… a reminder of the real world. The one in which I was not the prophet, so safe and full of comforts. I wanted her beside me for eons to come so I could spend it in some semblance of mental peace.

  Petty love could no longer blind me, however. As convincing as her wishes were, I knew without a doubt that returning to the proximity of Evya while she was mortal was a risk. Sendrys was correct, mortals were flighty. If I were still Nyzara, preparing to march once more into my homeland, I think in the right circumstances I would have betrayed Duskwraith. Before I became a demon, the deadened land had nothing to offer me. As the Queen, however, I no longer cared for the fate of Evya, or at least that was what I told myself.

  We continued onward for another league or so in collective silence beyond the screeching of demons. The forest grew denser as the evening descended upon us, but it was still barren of life, or so it seemed.

  I heard the humming of the plague device before I saw it. It was a soft choir of whispers that were so faint at first, I could not make out the words. Since it was retaining whatever magical energy it had within itself, Sendrys was the only one with the ability to sense it, as she was its creator. I halted the army, calling on Varnoc and Typhlon to accompany us while we searched in the darkened marsh. The light of the stars had been repelled by the thick, pink tree canopy. Even with demonic sight, I was unable to locate it as Sendrys was.

  “This way,” she muttered more to herself than the rest of us. She had her eyes closed and her arms outstretched in front of her. We paused in our frantic search. The whispers sounded so near, one could swear it was at their feet until it was rummaged for.

  Famine formed in her grasp and she swiped at a dense layer of grayed thorn bushes to the west. A spectral shadow, glowing slightly with an eerie hint of orchid, cut through the air until it collided with the barricade. The shadows ignited into black flames of nothingness, disintegrating it before us.

  Just as we were about to proceed onward – the whispers had turned to screams and deafening heartbeats were overwhelming us all – Sendrys’ eyes opened with shock. Immediately, I drew Misery and nocked one of my Azmordian arr
ows.

  After I had returned home from Zaar, I had more private lessons with Raven, as one is never truly finished learning. In that case, I was educated on the properties of various magic. Life magic – mainly used by the Kaz’moran – and Light magic – used by the Evyans and Luxians – were not affected by the abilities of Misery or disease spells. Magic users were easily my greatest weakness and what I needed to overcome. The best way to do that was with poison.

  Raven was a talented apothecary among many other things. “The trick to poisons –” he had told me, “— is keeping your enemies on their feet. Make it as exotic as you can, but always have an antidote, lest it be used on you. It cannot be easily obtained, though, otherwise it would defeat the purpose.”

  My antidote was shadowblooms. I had all of those remaining in the courtyard of the Uxian castle removed and transported back to Duskwraith. At the time, I had no notion I would be using them to aid my journey into poison crafting, I simply wanted them near for the sake of nostalgia. Now, they would serve a greater purpose. They would be more than a stupid memento from a long passed era of false-love.

  The lifestealing, glass arrows cut from the trees of Azmordia were coated in a deadly poison that nobody – neither the southern Kaedans nor the far off Naadeans – would be able to cure. I searched through the darkness ready to pierce the heart of any foe, but still I couldn’t see through the lining of thorn bushes. Sendrys took the lead, while our other two companions drew their weapons. Cautiously, we blindly followed behind her.

  We entered a circular opening in the jungle. The thick, twisted vines receded into the earth, while the trees grew positioned outside of the clearing like they had been culled to keep the area secret and perfect. In the center, a tree stump grew shattered and fractured, covered in black decay that pulsed with the rhythm of beating drums. Where the tree was broken, a sacred artifact grew like a blackened, heart-shaped boil contributing to the rot around our feet.

  It was the plague device, naturally.

  Sendrys still seemed unsure as she allowed her weapon to fade away. The moment she took a step toward the pulsating creation, a blaring snap erupted in front of us and she was blown backward. Despite appearing a bit older than the rest of our kin, she was spry, never losing her balance.

  “You think I didn’t know you would return, witch,” a cool female’s voice echoed. An invisible wall contorted, morphing the area in front of us until it shimmered away, revealing the figures of a hundred Kaz’moran soldiers, but the voice was not Kaz’moran – it came from a woman standing in front of them all. An Evyan. Someone I knew particularly well.

  Cyndre Vakaya.

  She was considered beautiful by Evyan standards, like her brother, though she looked more like her late mother than my precious Illyswen. She was tall for our race, perhaps near six and a half feet. Her skin was thoroughly tanned from countless eras spent under the sky. At one time, her hair was golden, but the entirety of my life when I knew her, it was bleached to ash and tied up. Despite their differences, she had the same natural lavender eyes as her brother. They appeared rather abnormal in that moment, however. They seemed to glow with a layer of white as she raised her hands toward us with a familiar rage written on her face.

  Cyndre, or Cee as her family lovingly called her, was a wizard, a guardian, a healer, a mercenary, and a nuisance. My memories may have been faint, but I remembered enough to recall that I never liked her. I always knew her to be selfish, reckless and surly. She had tried, and succeeded, on many occasions to drag my old beloved away on her nonsense adventures. Though, as I stood facing her with an arrow pointed at her face while she kept guard over a Kaz’moran plague device, her adventures no longer seemed like nonsense. She had been out in the world accomplishing many feats, though I had not realized it in my old, secluded life.

  “I counted on it, Vakaya,” Sendrys replied with a sinister laugh.

  Outside of the rush I got from seeing someone from my past, I was on edge by the Kaz’moran in front of me, ready to cut us to bits. I mentally called for the rest of my children, greater or otherwise. They would be swept away by my forces easily, but only if they could get there before the Rel’dali removed our heads.

  There were at least ten of them, mounted on painted keeba bees. Their pets were adorned with silver barbs on their already deadly stingers. Though the Rel’dali wore leathers and furs, I did not doubt for a moment they would be difficult to kill. Those that chose leather over plated armor were typically fast enough for the lesser protection to be irrelevant.

  Cyndre was taken aback by her words. She thought we were cleverly and successfully ambushed. I did not expect to see her, despite Sendrys’ claims. Perhaps she thought it was a possibility, but she must have thought Cyndre wasn’t a threat. Either way, I was never forewarned that we could run into someone from my mortal past.

  Without any clear plan, Sendrys made the first move. She swiped at the air between herself and Cyndre, causing a crescent of purple to soar through the empty space. It was set to destroy everything in its path, giving our foes no choice but to jump out of the way. The magic continued onward until it hit the corrupted tree where the plague device hovered. A crash as loud as thunder rocked our surroundings. The energy of the magic was rerouted, shooting into the air and mimicking the shape of where the top half of the tree once existed. It was like a strange, ghostly memory of the past.

  Whatever ability it was, it caused the strange heart to beat faster. Thick sludge began to ooze from the corrupted roots. Everyone let out sounds of shock and jumped further away from us to avoid it. The smell was worse than the foul scent of death. Cyndre was about to call out orders or another attack, but she was just as distracted as we were by the few Kaz’moran that were too slow to get out of the way.

  The sludge climbed up their bodies like a living creature while they screamed and tried to wipe it off. Cyndre seemed frozen in fear – maybe even traumatized. I cannot lie, though it would have been the perfect opportunity to kill her, I was captivated as well. When it finally reached their mouths and noses, it entered their body forcefully, causing them to fall to their knees where more of the sludge awaited them.

  “Get Typhlon out of here,” I commanded Varnoc, still unable to look away from their bodies rotting while they were alive. Typhlon was a commendable fighter, but he was mortal. Even as a demon I was somewhat cautious of going near whatever hazardous material it was. That sort of disease… somehow sentient, had no allegiance.

  Its only motive was to kill.

  Varnoc obeyed without question. I do not recall hearing Typhlon protesting my decision either. We were all silent, save the noises from the dying. Sendrys cared for nobodies’ well-being as she summoned Famine, stepping over the corruption, emotionless.

  “Baihe noro marata… Zaa, Naazvaba cai marata!” Sendrys called out, raising her scythe above her head. What starlight had shone through the canopy lit up with the forming lightning storm. It must have been premonition, or perhaps Lord Nakarius, but I dashed back toward the gap in the thorn bushes where we entered from. It was a call that spared me.

  The electricity struck the ground seemingly at nothing. Cyndre yelled for her allies to retreat, knowing better than I what was bound to happen. The bodies of the recently deceased swelled and burst in a spray of innards and black spores. It filled the air in the clearing with a deadly mist. The only two people that dared to remain were Sendrys and Cyndre.

  They were having a silent standoff. Sendrys had her blade upside-down while she rested against the shadowy staff. She was baiting Cyndre into making the first move, and it was the best way to fight while she had control over the increasingly toxic environment.

  My old sister was backed into a corner, so to speak. She could either risk her life and her allies by fighting over the device, or she could retreat and try to spare some. The spores were already beginning to rise to shoulder-height, toward the sky. I released my nocked arrow at Cyndre, wishing for her to make up her mind. I could trap
her and the Kaz’moran with the Infernal Army once they committed to a full retreat.

  Cyndre only noticed the arrow at the last moment. She dodged, but as it passed her, I raised my hand, commanding the glass to shatter into shrapnel. I had never seen her fight before, at least that I could remember, so I was rather surprised when she used a sheet of ice to block them without hesitation. The block only lasted for a moment, though.

  Sendrys followed up afterward with slashes across the distance. I was unsure what she was attempting to do as I had never seen Famine in action, either. A spectral imposter of the blade formed purely of shadow soared at Cyndre’s face after her ice spell. The ice melted immediately as if it were struck by flame. She vaulted backward and out of the way, sending frozen shards in Sendrys’ direction to give herself cover, but Sendrys did not care. It was never her intention to fight Cyndre or the Kaz’moran. She simply needed them to move out of the way.

  She ran with extraordinary agility, almost appearing to teleport to the side of the pulsing heart. Cyndre noticed too late, desperately sending more spells our way. A blue, runic circle lit up underneath Sendrys while she began to channel her magic into the device. It was no use calling out to her – she was beginning to morph into her demonic form and was beyond reaching with words.

  I moved as fast as I could back to her side, just a moment before the circle exploded into a shower of ice. I reflexively summoned War, holding the blades out and invoking fire; it was a somewhat successful attempt to protect us both from the worst of it. As the sharp, magical icicles formed from the earth and fired upward, flame and shadow erupted from my weapons, destroying most that would hit either me or Sendrys.

  I was impaled by one – Sendrys by three, but she came out less maimed than I did. Her demonic form was beautiful and unique. She was far taller than normal with two sets of ghostly purple wings. Her eyes were solid black – she had curved, spectral horns sitting on her forehead that dispersed electricity into the air around us. Famine grew in size as well. The shadowy counterpart trailing it felt like it had its own gravitational pull. Sendrys flourished her wings, casting a protective barrier around herself while she moved closer toward the device.