War of Men

by Rhett C. Bruno

  A snarl was Kazimir’s only warning before a dire wolf bit down hard on his arm. The leather armor he wore curbed the brunt of the bite, but the pressure was intense. He punched once, then snatched a small dagger designed to fit between his knuckles and punched again. This time, the blade pieced fur, skin, and bone, and sent a steady stream of blood pouring from the already dead wolf’s forehead.

  Vines, summoned by the warlock, rose from the rock and entangled Skryabin. They were not able to harm her but held her still. Even with all the Dom Nohzi Imperios working together, they were overwhelmed by mystics and Drav Cra, but Kazimir couldn’t afford to offer his assistance.

  He fought his own war against goblins and wolves throwing themselves at him from every direction. Sigrid could fend off any immediate attack on Whitney, but she wouldn’t be able to hold her ground alone for long. So, Kazimir had to do his part quickly.

  He was fast—all upyr were—but there were so many beasts, even his speed didn’t account for it. It had to be every wicked creature throughout Pantego here thanks to Nesilia’s power. He thrust one knife while throwing another. Both hit their marks, but a goblin landed on Kazimir’s back, wrapping an arm loosely around his neck and punching with the other.

  Goblin blood tasted awful—like maggot-infested, rotting corpse—but Kazimir bit down hard and cringed as the goblin screeched in his ear. It afforded him the opportunity to reach back and remove it from its perch. It screeched again when he tossed it aside and into another approaching beast. He spat, careful not to drink any of the putrid ichor.

  Poison-laced darts zoomed through the air all around him, but their toxin would have no effect on any of the upyr since there was no blood flowing through their veins. That didn’t mean Kazimir wouldn’t feel the sting, though, and if one hit Whitney, or the Lightmancer, it would spell disaster.

  Sigrid stowed her crossbow and now had her short swords out, cutting down a pack of dire wolves with speed and precision.

  Wings flapped, and Kazimir looked up to see a murder of grimaurs sweeping in, staying high to dive-bomb Whitney, being strategic—something Kazimir knew they were incapable of on their own. Nesilia had a deep hold on these creatures.

  “Sigrid! Focus on the grimaurs!” Kazimir shouted.

  She did, dropping her swords and drawing her crossbow again. As she made short work of the flock, Kazimir filled the gap she’d left in the ranks of land beasts. A goblin charged him, a female this time. Her sagging, shriveled breasts flapped as she ran, mouth wide to reveal jagged and crooked teeth. Pulling one of his longer blades, he took the first blow with the flat of it and rolled the goblin’s spear away with ease.

  Normally, goblins and grimaurs offered very little thought behind their raids, and dire wolves only hunted for food. They were senseless, unthinking beasts, but as two more goblins came at his front, and then another wolf came at him from behind, Kazimir wondered just how manipulated these creatures were by Nesilia to act with such strategy.

  He didn’t have time to concern himself with the thought. With upyr reflexes, Kazimir took out the wolf first, then took seconds to turn the goblin blades against their owners, and finally, brought up his own weapon and cleaved the first one through the jaw and the second in the gut.

  Moving forward with ruthless efficiency, he cut through the throngs, hacking at spines, daggers eating through their armor-like skin. Aquira swooped down, protecting his right side with a blast of fire. Soon, after retrieving several of his thrown blades, he was by Sigrid’s side, gutting a row of Drav Cra warrior’s before they killed Tum Tum.

  “I owe ye…” the dwarf huffed, struggling to keep his hammer up.

  Whitney and the Lightmancer were behind them. Bodies, strewn haplessly throughout the cavern poured out rivers of blood and ichor which coalesced to form a pool in the center, then streamed out toward the sea.

  The tips of wianu tentacles continually stretched over the cliff’s edge, grasping like they themselves were bloodthirsty upyr.

  A sound like thunder reverberated the Sanctum and fire erupted from the warlock, who’d now drawn a great deal of her own blood. The pillar of flame torched a few of the upyr. Kazimir saw Skryabin within the inferno, unable to escape thanks to the warlock’s restraining vines. Her body wasn’t given the chance to heal as the magical blaze burned without fuel, searing through the layers of her flesh all the way to her cursed heart, which was left charred.

  More vines trapped an upyr, though Kazimir couldn't tell who. The vision was too obscured by the dire wolves feasting on their ancient flesh. Drav Cra warriors surrounded another, giving their lives to his quick strikes before grimaurs held him in place, talons tearing into his chest, aiming for the heart.

  It was not a normal thing to see an upyr meet eternity in such a way. Their bodies were eternal, but none of them knew where their spirits would wind up. The mystics—so closely related to the upyr, were spirits by choice, still roaming Pantego. The humans, regardless of race, each had their own belief as to what happened to them. From the Gate of Light to the Eternal Current, everyone believed in some grand adventure after this life fled them. But Kazimir knew different.

  It was said that the eyes were the window into the soul, and upyr windows were nothing more than darkness and the void.

  Kazimir spoke a few words in near silence for his fallen brothers and sisters while he continued his assault on Nesilia’s vile forces. Then, he looked up to the remaining Imperios.

  Teryngal, who was still holding his own, used a short sword and a simple staff for blocking. It was a masterful dance in a forgotten style of fighting, as he swiped and stabbed, putting down Drav Cra attackers.

  “This is still just the beginning,” Kazimir said to himself more than to Sigrid.

  “Let them come,” she said, still firing bolts. Of all the upyr, only she appeared to be having fun.

  “Just hold on a little longer,” Tum Tum said to Whitney, wheezing in exhaustion.

  As if in response to Kazimir, another legion of Drav Cra charged through the breach in the Sanctum's walls. They were shirtless, Drav Cra berserkers, on enough manaroot to punch through a wall and feel nothing. The tips of their weapons shined, though, Kazimir wasn’t sure why.

  “Aquira, stay with Whitney,” Kazimir looked up and said. “Nothing gets near.”

  The wyvern screeched in response, then burned a cluster of grimaurs to ashes.

  By now, the beasts and Drav Cra swarmed the Imperios, who’d fanned out into their ranks, each a one-man army. There were still plenty for Kazimir to kill. A dire wolf came at him, straight on. He couldn’t believe how stupid the thing could be until he realized two goblins were closing in on him from either side and a grimaur was in mid-dive above.

  Reaching for his bandolier, Kazimir pulled four daggers, two with each hand. He dropped low, spun once, and then rolled forward, releasing all four blades. Each one found their target.

  Kazimir then weaved through the battle. Slice. Cut. Stab. Cut. Stab. His muscles didn’t tire. He’d fight for eternity if he had to.

  One of the Drav Cra berserkers bum-rushed him, whirling his great axe like a tornado. The man’s eyes were red from manaroot. The drug had him raging with relentless power.

  Kazimir sidestepped, but the warrior recovered and wheeled back around, swinging his weapon in a wide arc. Kazimir took a slice to his arm and expected it to heal, but his skin bubbled as the blade made contact. A thin cut that should have been nothing more burned like sunlight.

  Silver, Kazimir realized. The blades of the berserkers were coated in silver dust. Meant to defeat the upyr, the metal was long ago imbued with sunlight and summoned by ancient mystics into veins of iron ore around Pantego. And now that the initial wave of attackers had the upyr spread out, they were all exposed to it.

  “She thought of everything, dead man,” the Drav Cra taunted. “We will purge this world!”

  Kazimir heard the whizzing, saw the bolt sticking out of the warrior’s eye before he went down. Kazimir
turned to thank Sigrid, but she was already firing in the opposite direction. Metal clanged. Grimaurs screeched as the last of them fell to Sigrid’s bolts.

  The dwarf was caught up in a battle with another Drav Cra warrior at least two times his height. For what it was worth, he held his own.

  The female warlock battled Zlata, dodging her attacks, and using vines to pull back her arms and slow her. Teryngal engaged another group of Drav Cra berserkers, mowing through them with masterful grace, but occasionally a silver-tipped weapon sliced him, earning a wince, weakening him. Other upyr weren’t so lucky.

  Kazimir turned aside, ignoring the roars of rage, and the dying being done all around him. His focus was singular—the beautiful Panpingese woman now standing in the breach and looking out over the battlefield.

  She looked momentarily distracted, which meant Lucindur’s spell was working. She barely seemed like the young woman Kazimir had captured in Winde Port. Even from such a distance, Kazimir could see her eyes, so bright yellow they were almost white, and he feared that for her to look upon him would be no different from standing naked in daylight.

  The scorn of centuries was etched fully upon a face that was not hers, and an overbearing sense of terror washed over him.

  “Fear is such a funny thing, isn’t it?” she said, her voice carrying across the cavern.

  Kazimir fingered the bar guai in his pocket. “She’s here!” he shouted.

  Turning, Kazimir saw Aquira staring at her master… her friend, Sora, and he hoped the wyvern was bright enough to know this wasn’t truly her.

  “Aquira!” Kazimir called, and drawing out the word, soft but stern.

  “Come to me, pretty bird,” Nesilia countered, but Aquira heeded neither call. She landed on a stalagmite, frilled head low and growling.

  “Thief, if you can hear me,” Kazimir whispered, “it is now or never. Do something.”

  Kazimir took a step forward, hoping Sigrid and the dwarf could keep their companions safe without the wyvern, but he hadn’t expected Nesilia so soon—he had to draw her attention.

  Nesilia strode forward into the chaos, or rather, floated, studying it all. Mountain crumbling—the whole place was forever compromised. Imperio Urlar came at her from the side, but she didn’t even panic. A warrior flung his axe in front of her, the blade sinking into his chest, destroying his heart. Urlar burst into ash.

  “What a disappointment,” Nesilia said, her voice carrying. “This place holds such a revered place in all of creation, and it falls like a poorly stacked house of cards.”

  “Ye’ll do the same, witch!” the dwarf shouted across the plateau. He downed a dire wolf, then hefted his warhammer, as if it’d do anything against the goddess, and charged like a crazed zhulong.

  Nesilia stretched out her hand, showing him how little he mattered. The ground erupted beneath the dwarf, sending up a thick column of rock, and tossing him high. He landed with a resounding thud beside the entry statues towering over Whitney and Lucindur and didn’t move.

  “I must thank you for leading me here so easily,” Nesilia said. “I suppose Aihara Na’s failure in protecting the Well wasn’t a total loss.”

  Nesilia strode forward. Her monstrous horde still vastly outnumbered them but had suffered a great deal of loss. Kazimir took stock of his own forces. Many of the upyr had fallen, dispelled by both magic and silver, so they couldn’t heal.

  “You will pay for this!” Zlata shouted. She charged Nesilia next, unafraid, cutting through every beast and Drav Cra warrior in her path.

  “Freydis, be a doll, and take care of her, would you?” Nesilia asked, a playful edge to her tone.

  “With pleasure, my Lady,” the female warlock said, hopping in front of the Buried Goddess. She flung her hand forward, and droplets of blood sprayed out from the wound on her palm. Where they hit the rocky ground, huge vines burst up. With violent force, they gripped Zlata’s body, heaved her into the air, and pierced through her heart. Her mouth opened to scream, but the vines constricted her throat so tight, her head no longer communed with her neck.

  Kazimir had never seen masters of blood magic so skilled. It was as if Nesilia’s presence fueled them, or maybe with so many mystics and warlocks dead around the world, there was more magic available to them.

  The remaining foes all withdrew to Nesilia’s side—dozens of Drav Cra, with who-knows-how-many armed with silver. Dire wolves stalked around them, growling low. Kazimir couldn’t believe how many there still were. It was beginning to feel pointless with all the goblins and grimaurs squealing and swooping in from every direction, many falling off the cliff to feed the wianu, but they’d only been a distraction used to isolate and weaken the Imperios.

  The five remaining upyr formed a semi-circle to guard Whitney and Lucindur, along with Kazimir and Sigrid. Teryngal was among them, half his body bubbling from the touch of silver.

  Nesilia stopped by a crooked column at the Sanguine Lord’s altar and casually leaned against it, checking her nails.

  She sighed and looked up, directed at Kazimir. “Upyr…” She didn’t shout, but her voice carried as if the air itself were beholden to her. “I believe you may know this body? Have desired this body? Do what your fellows have failed to do, and you can have as much of it as you please. In whatever manner you wish.”

  Kazimir stepped forward. “Come up here, and I’ll show you what I’d like to do to you,” he snarled.

  “A pity. You’re so strong. So powerful. So… willful. You could be a god yourself, but instead, you squander it for that pesky Fierstown.”

  “It’s time for ye to die!” Sigrid broke their plan and loosed a flurry of bolts at Nesilia. With but a wave of her hand, Nesilia turned each to fizzling ash before hitting her.

  Nesilia’s attention snapped to Sigrid, and Kazimir cringed.

  The Goddess stretched out a hand, and as if caught upon wind, Sigrid soared through the air and slammed into the smooth but unforgiving stone wall behind her. Two other upyr were stirred to anger and charged her as well. They were impossibly fast, and Kazimir’s calls for them to stop fell on deaf ears. None of Nesilia’s followers moved to help her.

  They knew she needed none.

  The Goddess dodged their strikes, as fast as they were. Then, she cut the air with her open palm and a portion of the ground split. The upyr didn’t even register the action before they were falling, gone to the darkness. With Sigrid incapacitated, that left only Kazimir and Teryngal.

  “Kazimir,” Nesilia said, striding toward him, ahead of her forces, somehow knowing his name. “Where are your Lords? Did they run?”

  Kazimir swallowed, though he had no need to. He set his feet, clenching his fists tight.

  “I can’t feel them at all” Nesilia taunted. “Maybe they've finally decided to move on. A pity. I’ll have to find a new use for my creations.” She nodded toward the wianu-filled sea.

  “You lie!” Kazimir shouted, pulling a longer blade from the sheath at his waist.

  Teryngal stepped forward. He whispered, “If she tells the truth, the blood pact you made no longer matters… neither of them. Let us kill her now, and this will all end.”

  “He is right, you know,” Nesilia said. “Why not destroy this beautiful host for me. I tire of her resistance.”

  “No,” Kazimir growled.

  “You are treating food like friends, Kazimir,” Teryngal said. “We are the eldest. The Dom Nohzi is ours now. We can shape it how we like.”

  “Can’t you see? We are the only!” Kazimir screamed, wanting to snatch the man by the throat and tear him apart. “Stick to the plan.”

  “Ohhh, I do love plans,” Nesilia purred. “Was revealing this unholy Sanctum to me one of them?”

  “Let me slaughter them,” the female warlock said. “These abominations deserve their end.”

  “No, not yet,” Nesilia said. She looked to Kazimir and said, “Do it.”

  Kazimir gritted his teeth, his free hand still close to the bar guai in his pock
et.

  “Do it,” she repeated, moving toward Whitney. She staggered a bit.

  Keep going thief. She’s growing weaker, Kazimir thought to himself, willing it.

  “You think I won’t destroy him?” she asked.

  “I think you would have if you could,” Kazimir said. “But you’re not completely in control, are you? Her heart holds you back.”

  Nesilia smiled and turned to the wyvern, now flapping in front of her.

  “Aquira,” she cooed. “Come see me. You remember me—don’t you?”

  Aquira edged forward, head tilted. Then, she struck out to bite, and Nesilia swatted her away like nothing more than a pesky fly. She hit the wall hard and dropped down near Sigrid.

  There was swift movement at Kazimir’s side, and he felt a hand in his hair, jerking his head back. Then, something sharp pressed against his throat.

  “How does it feel, Imperio Kazimir,” Teryngal said. “To be betrayed by your own kind. To be offered up as a sacrifice?”

  “Teryngal, what are you doing?” Kazimir growled. He reached for the silver blade he’d always kept hidden, but it wasn’t there, now in Teryngal’s hand. “You fool.”

  “Traitor!” Sigrid roared, as she fought to rise, still recovering from the Goddess’ attack. She fired her crossbow. Teryngal’s speed allowed him to easily avoid the bolt.

  Vines burst forth from the cracks in the earth, enveloping Sigrid tight like chains. She continued to curse and spit until the vines forced themselves down her throat, and her words turned to gurgles. Nesilia didn’t even look at her.

  “You chose mortals over your brethren!” Teryngal barked, letting the dagger sear Kazimir’s flesh “Over us all! Now, we are all that remains of thousands of years of history.”

  “I wondered where the wisdom of the Dom Nohzi disappeared to,” Nesilia said. She approached the upyr, hips swaying, yellow eyes blazing. Again, she staggered ever so slightly. “Finally, someone with brains as well as brawn.”

  “Allow the Dom Nohzi to endure, and I, along with every remaining upyr across Pantego, are yours,” Teryngal said.