by Rob J. Hayes
The light of our lanterns illuminated the closest of the bodies, and they did look dead. Lifeless and colourless. I noticed something different about them right away. The lack of tails, the smaller heads. Patchy hair where the imps were completely bald. I didn't say anything. Isen was near enough to panic already. I think the truth would have pushed him over the edge.
We picked our way through the bodies, trying not to disturb any, while the howling wind tugged at us. It had a bitter chill to it, and I found myself feeling frozen inside and out. It is an unfortunate fact that patchy rags do little to keep a body warm. I clutched at the little leather pouch hanging from my belt, thinking that if it was a Pyromancy Source I would be able to light a fire inside that could keep my body warm through even the most frigid of winds. But I couldn't risk it. I have often harboured thoughts of ending my life, and never so often as when I was trapped underground, but I have always known I would never willingly act on them. I wanted to live. I wanted to escape. I wanted to see the sky again and then exact bloody vengeance on every one of the bastards who had put me in the Pit, and everyone who had kept me there. Anger works almost as well as Pyromancy for keeping a body warm.
We were so close to the stairs when the howl turned to a scream above us. I looked up to see a creature clinging to one of the pillars just a few feet above. Its flesh was the same grey as the others, but it was certainly not dead. It had two arms and two legs, five digits on each. Its teeth were yellow but I could see they were mostly flat with just a couple of canines, and the creature had a nose. I knew then what we were up against. They weren't imps. They were terrans.
Chapter 31
The grey bodies littering the ground moved. They were not as dead as we believed. Dozens upon dozens of the things stretched out their arms and legs and slowly began to rise. Our group backed towards the stairs; Yorin, Isen, and Tamura spreading out as Hardt pushed me behind them. As though I was a child who needed protecting.
"Die, beast!" Isen shouted and stabbed his sword through the back of one of the bodies. Blood welled up and the creature let out a howl of pain before darting away, almost ripping Isen's sword from his hands. It collapsed a short distance away and some of the other beasts moved towards their fallen comrade. A wave of nausea washed over me as I watched them fell upon the downed one, tearing it apart with teeth and nail. Eating their own wounded.
"I knew we couldn't trust those scum-sniffing monsters!" Isen continued, pointing his bloody sword towards the group of cannibals. I thought about correcting him, but I doubted it would do much good for any of them to know the things we were about to be eaten by were terran. Or at least far closer to a terran than an imp.
The first of the cannibals looked up at us, blood ringing its mouth, bright blue eyes staring at us. Eyes that glowed in the gloom. The gaze was as piercing as my own, but there was no intelligence there, only hunger. It screamed, a shriek that made me cringe. The others looked up from their gruesome meal and joined in and soon the howl of the wind was drowned out by dozens of screaming voices.
They were terran, or had been once, maybe. I'm not sure what we should call them after so long trapped underground, feeding on rats and imps and breeding only with each other. I certainly wasn't about to stop one and ask for details on their culture. I have come to refer to them as the Damned. The tallest of them was shorter than even I, and they wore no clothes, not even rags. The females had grey breasts hanging low, while the males had shrivelled balls between their legs. It appeared modesty was the least of their concerns. They were primitive and savage, and they wanted to eat us. None of us was about to let that fucking happen.
They came on at a run, little legs pumping and hands outstretched as though they had no regard for their own safety. Isen screamed something, but there was already so much screaming I couldn't make out the words. The first few of the creatures went down, running headlong onto Isen and Yorin's steel. Tamura stepped into one of them, grabbing its arms and twisting them about with a crack before shoving the creature into some of its comrades. They were a bit more cautious after that, circling us and keeping their distance, pulling away the wounded to tear apart and devour. There seemed to be no question about whether or not to treat their injured.
I struggled to pull my little sword free and Hardt's arm fell across me, forcing me backwards towards the stairs.
"Stay behind me," the big man rumbled. In truth it was wise advice, but I bristled all the same. I didn't like the idea of needing anyone to protect me. I had a sword and the barest knowledge of how to use it. I wasn't about to let others fight and die while I cowered behind them just because I was younger than them, and a woman.
"Why the fuck should I?" I shouted back at Hardt. "I'm more use than you. Or are you going to put those big bloody fists to use for once?" It hurt him, I could see that. Unfortunately, we didn't have time for me to cuddle his feelings, nor for him to hide behind the rest of us as we fought for our lives. If we were going to survive, we needed to use our greatest weapon. We needed to unleash the monster within Hardt.
I stepped forwards, planning to fight alongside Yorin, but Hardt dragged me back again. His strength has always been legendary and I had no chance to resist it. "Stay out of this," he said. "You'll only get in the way."
He was right, of course, but it stung all the same. I wasn't trained to fight. Isen had barely finished telling me how to hold a sword properly before I ruined that for us both. Fighting is like any skill, it requires knowledge and practice, and I had neither. Still, I drew my sword and waited behind the others, my back to the stairs, as they held off the horde.
For all his flaws, and all his damned cowardice, Isen could fight. I watched him, thinking how slow his sword work had been while we played at training. Side by side, he and Yorin looked untouchable. Nothing breeds trust quite like the mutual threat of being eaten alive. It's a lesson I've learned to be true more than twice over.
The creatures darted in again and again, baring teeth and sharpened nails. The others held a semi-circle of protection with me at the rear, driving them back and dealing wounds wherever possible. Even Hardt threw the odd punch, though I could see he was more trying to deter our foes than kill them. Tamura proved his mastery time and time again. Whatever martial art he knew, it resulted in a lot of broken limbs.
The battle stretched on forever. Hardt tells me it was quick, but then his judgement of time is as skewed as my own. He lost track of almost everything in the bloody mess he created in that hall. I think maybe it was because I was forced to watch that time dragged so.
Again, I felt my hand drop to the pouch at my belt. Again, I wished it to be a Pyromancy Source. I have always had an affinity to fire. I'd wager it's because fire is so destructive, and I am far better as destroying things than creating. Evidenced by the fact that I have a lot more dead enemies, than living friends. With a Pyromancy Source I could have sent a wave of flame through the hall searing flesh from bone. I could have ended the fight in moments. I could have fucking killed all of them!
I felt a prickle between my shoulder, a feeling, like knowing that someone is watching, and looked up. One of the Damned was crouching on the stairs behind me. It leapt and we went down together, rolling on the ground and scrabbling for purchase. I felt hot, rancid breath on my face and heard the snap of teeth so close to my neck. Sharp nails dug into my arms and the pain was intense.
Luckily for me, I was scared, terrified even. Up close the things looked even more terran, and also strangely less. Its grey skin was dry and cracked in places, oozing a yellow fluid. Its eyes were a bright blue and bloodshot. I didn't have time to consider what had made them that way, and neither did I understand where the new strength flooding into my limbs came from. Ssserakis was feeding off my terror and, linked as we were, that gave me power.
"I am the weapon!" I screamed at the thing, a guttural sound torn from my lips as I rose up and shoved it hard against the stairs. I held it in place with a hand around its neck, ignoring the flailing arms
and tearing nails. And I drove my little sword into its gut over and over again. The thick blood that dripped out of its wounds looked more black than red.
I staggered away from the broken creature. It all felt more like a dream. Or a nightmare at least. Soldiers call it a battle haze. The world feels fuzzy around the edges, distant, almost. It is a place of raw emotion, easy to get lost in. I wasn't the only one in that hazy world.
When I turned back to the others, I saw Isen was down, bleeding from a gash down his leg. Yorin was close by, dancing back and forth as he stabbed at the creatures around him. Tamura stood over the downed brother, his legs apart and his hands ready to catch any attack that came. But Hardt... Hardt was violence incarnate.
He was solid muscle, tempered by skill, driven by blood lust, and topped with steel knuckles. Every punch broke bones and pulverised flesh, and he was throwing them out in generous helpings. My own haze broke as I watched the big man fight. I collapsed backwards on one of the stairs, caught between awe and disgust. I had done this. I had pushed so hard to unleash this. And now that it was free, I couldn't help but wonder… What had I done?
Hardt's rags had torn free. He was topless, covered in little bleeding cuts, and I could see, for the first time, just how muscled he really was. I've seen the sight many times since, and I still marvel at the man's strength. I suppose he was fairly well built before being sentenced to the Pit, and day upon day of digging has a habit of making you stronger.
Eventually the remaining creatures turned and fled from the giant threatening to make them extinct. It wasn't that they couldn't get close, or even land a blow, but more that Hardt didn't seem to feel it. I know now he felt every cut, scrape, and bruise, but in that state, pain just drives him forward, makes him stronger. He was tearing them to pieces and even as primitive as the Damned are, they could see they were losing the fight.
I went to him once it was all over. He had knelt amidst a pile of corpses, drawing in ragged breath after ragged breath and staring at nothing. His eyes were wide and his face looked longer than normal. Unchecked tears ran down the lines of his face, dripping from his chin and mixing with the blood on the ground.
It's always the same for Hardt. When the rage takes him, he says it's almost like watching through someone else's eyes. But he sees it all. Feels it all. Afterwards the sadness strikes him hard. Unfortunately, we had neither the time, nor the alcohol to help him drown his sorrow. We needed to leave before the creatures regrouped and came back.
Sometimes a lie is worth a thousand truths, and I would tell a thousand lies to spare Hardt a single moment of pain. He's earned that and more for sticking with me through the years. I have a habit of turning people into monsters and Hardt is probably my greatest creation. Well, after my own daughter.
"They were imps," I said. "Mindless, soulless creatures from the Other World. I doubt they even felt it." Sometimes a lie can go too far, exposing it for what it is.
Hardt looked up at me and I felt tears well up in my own eyes. Emotion can be like that. It's contagious. Even without Empamancy I felt a little taste of Hardt's turmoil and it nearly broke me. It's a wonder to me he ever manages to come back from the depths of his despair.
"They felt it," he whispered. "I know pain. They fucking felt it." His voice broke on the words.
I gave him a moment with that grief. But only a moment. "Isen is hurt," I said. "And we need to leave, before they come back."
I heard the clang of metal hitting rock as Hardt let the steel knuckles drop from his hands. I could see blood and worse on those knuckles, on his hands too. He stood then and it looked a struggle to get his body moving. I collected the steel knuckles and followed, surprised by the weight of those weapons. But as heavy as they were to me, I knew for Hardt, they were much heavier.
Despite his anguish, Hardt saw to his brother's wounds. We had only one small pot of balm and he used it all, binding Isen's leg with the few bandages we had with us. There was no wood to use as a splint and no time to stitch it closed. We needed to escape, find a way above ground, and quickly.
Hardt's own wounds looked superficial and he refused to let anyone look at them. His arms and torso were covered in little scratches, but I could tell he was no stranger to scars. How had I slept next to him for weeks, often curled up in those arms, and not known about the old wounds? I think, perhaps, I was too busy staring at the younger brother to truly notice the older.
When we set off up the stairs it was with Tamura in the lead and Yorin protecting our backs. The two wounded brothers helped support each other up the stairs and I followed them. I don't know if the others could see it, but we were watched all the way.
Chapter 32
By the time the war came to Lanfall it was already lost. The Orran army was all but crushed while the Terrelans were busy supplementing their ranks with mercenaries from Polasia. Fort Vernan was the last real bastion of defence. The city of Lanfall didn't even have a wall to protect it. In strategic terms, they call it being fucked.
Most telling of all was the number of Sourcerers we had left. Prince Loran had fallen just a few days earlier. There were no reports, at least not any accurate ones, but they weren't needed. The Iron Legion marched to meet the Terrelans head on, a sizeable force of soldiers and even a few Sourcerers to back him up. Not one person returned, and the Terrelans marched on. That scared me far more than seeing the army surrounding Lanfall. The idea that the Terrelans had the power to defeat the Iron Legion was unthinkable.
The bitch-whore was gone too. Lesray Alderson didn't die though, she never gave the Terrelans the chance to kill her. I think perhaps she was the smart one. Lesray knew to cut herself free from a dying empire and run. She was assigned to another unit, harassing the enemy approach to Lanfall. Two members of her unit made it back to tell us the bitch-whore had burned most of her soldiers alive, before fleeing through a portal. It was many years before anyone heard of Lesray Alderson again. Many years before she crowned herself the Queen of Fire and Ice.
Of my other classmates, Tammy, was dead, and Barrow never made it out of the academy. He was not the first, nor the last Sourcerer to be driven insane by a combination of Photomancy and Vibromancy. I'm told it's all about the strain both schools put on the senses. As for the academy itself… well, it was gone, looted and burned to the ground as the Terrelans advanced. The history books cover it up as well as they can, but I've heard first-hand accounts of that sacking. The tutors I had grown up learning from were slaughtered, every one of them. But they put up a fight and no mistake. The battlefield they created turned the city of Picarr into a ruin, forever haunted by the ghosts of all those who died there. Thousands of innocent Orran citizens who wanted nothing of the war. That is, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of war; the innocent always pay the highest price.
All in all, the Orrans had lost far too many Sourcerers in far too short a time. There were some left, of course, but only two attuned to more than three Sources. Only Josef and I. We carried the weight of an empire on our shoulders and we were both so young. It's probably no wonder we lost that battle and the war. Josef never wanted to fight it in the first place.
It was the only time I ever met Emperor Serazan Orran. While the Terrelans arranged their army outside the city and made their plans of assault, the emperor visited Josef and I on the top of the tallest tower of Fort Vernan. He told us we were the last hope. The last hope of the entire empire, and he assured us we could win. It was a rousing speech, and it certainly lit a fire underneath me, but it was nothing but damned lies. There was no hope and we had no chance of winning. They were pretty words though.
I remember watching the Terrelans approach. Fort Vernan was built with defending Sourcerers in mind, and we were placed on top of its highest tower. The wind whipped at my clothes, tugging at my hair. The bite of cold on my skin was refreshing and it went no deeper than that. I kept myself warm with magic from my Pyromancy. I sat on the edge of that large tower, dangling my legs over the side and feeling the nervo
us energy as I waited for the fight of my life to begin.
Josef paced behind me. I think he knew it was a lost cause. I think I knew it too, but I also knew I would fight even so. I believed in the Orran empire. And I believed I owed them for all they had given and done for me. I suppose it all boils down to one word; all they had done for or all they had done to. Josef would have quit the field there and then if not for me. The tutors were right to keep us together. I kept him loyal long past his tipping point.
The Terrelans weren't stupid; they would not have won the war if they were. Their spies knew Josef and I were the most powerful weapon the Orrans had left, and they knew where we would be. We were too valuable to risk down on the battlefield where a stray arrow could spell the end of the resistance. They knew we'd be up on the tower, the most commanding view of the battle for us to rain down death on our enemies. If only I knew how to use Sources then as I do now. That battle, and maybe even the war, might have turned out quite differently. But I only knew what I had been taught at the academy, and the tutors themselves were so ignorant of their true potential.
Before the first horns of battle even sounded, I heard a portal snap open behind us. There is a sound to a portal opening, like a whip cracking. Probably not surprising given that a portal is a tear in the fabric of the world.
We were not alone up on that tower top. The emperor had seen fit to give us twelve of his royal guard to protect us. They were trained in combat both against other soldiers and against Sourcerers. They wore enchanted armour to ward against Sourcery and wielded blades designed to dispel. I have seen one of those blades at work, it severs magical connections. Before the first of our guards could shut the portal, a Terrelan leapt through. Josef was always quite ruthless when his life, or mine, was at stake. That first soldier died screaming, hit with a psychokinetic blast that threw him off the tower to fall to his death. It's quite sickening what the ground can do to a person when gravity has its way.
