Vaid Empire: Conquest
Chapter 117
3rd of Senin, 20 AVE.
Kingdom of Wonakaros, Holy City of Arkos-Tul.
“Go in safety and peace, child of The Holy Kromak! May the gods spare the spawn of their divine champion, that she may return to us unharmed!”
The morning sunlight bled across the black dunes, warming the air as The Elder of Desert Crossings offered his prayers loudly. Among the cluster of Arkos elders, Saros yawned and rubbed the lingering remnants of sleep from her eyes as she stood beside her father.
Naram saw the endless sand stretching out before her as she and the Tolkarik assassins under her command partook in drinking the ceremonial wine. A mere sip, she tasted the harsh liquid before passing the ancient stone chalice to the next Arkos in line. Glancing back, she saw the rest of the gathered group as they waited to see her go.
They stood just beyond the edge of the holy city. Dark buildings gave way to black sand as the streets bled into the desert. Rather than walls, massive braziers were placed in a ring around the entire city, carved from towering stone and spaced evenly to keep the nocturnal monstrosities at bay during the night. Now, with the light of a new day pouring across the shifting dunes, they stood extinguished.
The Holy Kromak watched the scene with a calm smirk, though his jaw tightened with unseen impatience. The ceremony had begun at the first hint of sunlight, a simple ritual to honor his departing assassins. Only now did the prayers of the elders seem to approach their conclusion.
“It is not the will of us mortals to decide your fates, of course! Let us see if the gods favor your journey!” The Elder of Desert Crossings gestured to another old Arkos. Known as The Keeper of The Bones, the elderly man knelt before the group with cupped hands, letting the finger bones of his predecessors spill into the sand.
Permitted to stand near her father for the ceremony, young Karak struggled to see what was happening through the bodies of the assassins. She looked to Naram with hope, holding her hands nervously to her chest as they all awaited the old man’s assessment.
“Ah…” The Keeper of The Bones tilted his head as he studied the pattern of how the bones landed. “Oh dear. That does not bode well.” He looked through the group to offer The Kromak an apologetic expression. “Your holiness, it may be best if…ah, perhaps we could try tomorrow instead. A new day may bring better omens.”
The assassins glanced at each other while the group of elders behind them broke into hushed whispers. Krom, however, merely leaned over to whisper into the ear of the man at his side. Okaros, as he was called, the short old man held the title of The Kromak’s Voice, his most trusted advisor.
Okaros nodded and made his way to The Keeper of The Bones. He spoke in a hushed whisper the others could not hear as they continued to mutter among themselves. At last, The Kromak’s Voice stepped aside.
“Ah, forgive me! Forgive me! It seems I was mistaken!” The Keeper of The Bones held up his hands to draw the attention of them all. “These old eyes of mine. A second glance has made it quite obvious to me that the gods are in favor of today’s departure! The pattern of the bones speaks of their blessings!”
“Very well. The bones never lie,” Krom replied in an unamused tone. “Send them on their way, and quickly. Best not to keep the gods waiting.”
The Elder of Desert Crossings nodded and began his final prayer. When it ended, Naram turned around and offered a final bow to her father with her gaze cast towards the ground.
For the first time in perhaps years, Naram softly gasped when The Holy Kromak touched her, his fingers seizing her chin. Guiding her to look up, he forced her to meet his gaze. Gone was the magnanimous ruler, if only for a moment, for he peered down at her with the cold gaze of a demanding father.
“Go forth and tear The God Emperor from his throne. Ensure he never lays his eyes upon this city,” he said in the Dril tongue so only she may understand. “Do not fail like those who came before you, else thousands will fall.”
She had learned not to expect fatherly affection long ago. He wouldn’t offer her an embrace or words of her hopeful return. Still, she would play the part of a dutiful daughter. “Yes, your holiness.” She nodded respectfully when he released her chin. “It shall be done.”
The concerns of an entire kingdom rested within his orange gaze as he loomed before her. He did not see his daughter, his own flesh and blood, but a dagger that may end his worries before they truly began.
“Naram!” A small voice came from her side. Turning, she chuckled as Karak hugged her waist. “Do you really have to go? Is there no other way?”
“Yes, little one.” She returned the embrace, daring to smile before the sight of her serious companions.
The distraught girl tightened her hold. “But I’ll miss you.”
Naram’s smile withered. In her absence, she knew no one but occasional slaves would bother to speak to the lonely girl. “You’ve endured this before, Karak. I’ll return before you even notice my absence.”
“This isn’t like before.” The girl shook her head. “Promise you’ll come back.”
A chill ran up her spine. The girl was right. She wasn’t merely departing to meet with Dril agents, but to join them in hunting their enemies. Her father had placed the weight of her people’s fate upon her shoulders, and as she looked down at her young sister, the danger ahead suddenly felt real. “I promise.”
Their moment together was brief, for the elders guided Karak away. Naram watched her reluctantly step back, silently vowing to do all she could to uphold her promise.
As was expected of her, Saros stepped forward to say her goodbyes. She offered a smirk, placing her hand upon her hip. “Forced to mingle with the snow dwellers once more, are you? Poor Naram.” She glanced over at the Onaks, seeing the long-necked mounts waiting nearby. Her expression softened. “Don’t be a fool among the outsiders. We expect you to return without a dagger in your back.”
Naram could almost laugh, though without humor. The pampered daughter dared to warn her about the dangers of a world she had never ventured into? She was about to spit back a harsh reply, yet something in her sister’s gaze stopped her, something real. Instead, her scowl eased as she nodded. “Farewell, Saros.”
When all was said and done, the elders offered a final prayer before the assassins ventured to climb atop their mounts. Naram granted her kin a final glance, feeling her heart beginning to ache as Karak started to quietly cry. When her gaze turned to her father, however, her lips tightened. He offered no emotion, standing like a statue with cold eyes.
Carrying the weight of the duty before her, Naram set her focus ahead and flicked her reins, leading her assassins across the dark dunes. Clinging only to the thought of Karak, she left her home behind.
The Holy Kromak watched her go. In truth, a small part of him hoped she would return, successful or not. After all, she had been important to someone he once knew.
Leaving the sands behind, the group ventured as one into the holy city. They followed the deserted streets back to The Great Temple.
“Shall you be joining me in the throne room, father? Your new concubine is quite the beauty,” Saros asked as the group splintered, stepping through the doors of her home. Walking arm in arm with The Kromak, she rested her head against his powerful form and peered up at him with pouty eyes. “Oh, please fill her belly with another of my siblings, your holiness.”
The sight of her pretty face threatened to melt his resolve, as always, though he shook his head. “In a moment. There is much on my mind, my sweet Tascavi flower.” He glanced at the white flower he had placed in her hair before the ceremony, a rare beauty that grew only in the darkest caves of the desert.
Seeing a hint of sorrow in his gaze, knowing where he always went during such moods, she quickly parted from his side. “Ah, in a moment, then.”
He knew she wouldn’t come. He couldn’t blame her. Some things were best left to be consumed by the sands, though never could he let go.
Alone, he followed the dark halls of The Great Temple. Heavy steps carried his powerful body, striding with a calm smirk. The guards bowed as he passed, none taller than his shoulders.
A living deity roamed the halls of his temple, the divine champion of the gods. He reached the top of a staircase, curving down beneath the structure. When he reached the entrance to the chamber below, his lie shattered. Powerful arms hung at his side, uttering a sigh as he shoved his way through the heavy doors.
The chamber sat directly beneath his throne room. The same curved walls above continued below, an identical copy in shape and size, yet the chamber’s interior was anything but. There was no throne to find among the dark shadows, nor concubines, nor life. The circular chamber he stepped into was a dead place, an empty void save for the stone slab in the center.
Retrieving a torch beside the doors, he began to light up the room, igniting the candles resting within small alcoves carved into the walls. The darkness was pushed back, yet a shadow lingered within him as he extinguished the torch and approached the slab.
There, atop the stone carved in intricate patterns, awaited his sorrow. A violet shroud lay draped over a corpse, little more than a skeleton beneath. He could see the outline of her bones through the fabric.
“Sarak…”
He knelt beside her, hanging his head low.
It was customary to leave the dead upon the dunes, allowing the desert to consume what remained. It had been years since she had died, yet the thought of giving her up was too horrid to permit, even now.
“Oh, Sarak…” He touched the stone of the slab, cool and lifeless. She had been so warm. “Naram departed this morning.”
The bones were silent beneath her shroud. He knew she wouldn’t answer. He hadn’t lost himself to such madness quite yet.
“Once more, you prove your wisdom in keeping her, though I know that wasn’t why you begged me to.” He sighed. His favorite concubine, his love, his light, she had tried desperately to give him children of her own. Many stillbirths resulted only in Saros, the last piece of her that still lived. Never had she been bitter. Oh no, Sarak had only ever been kind. She had pleaded with him to acknowledge the daughters he sired with other concubines after Saros, loving Naram and Karak as her own.
Still she had tried to uphold her duty. They should have stopped. The last failed birth took her as well.
“She holds our fate in her hands. Her dagger shall save our people, or war cannot be stopped,” he said quietly. The words tasted unpleasant.
‘Our people.’
They had never been his people. Not truly. The Dril had spread their prophesy of a four-armed champion sent from the gods, snatching him the moment they heard tales of his birth. Raised in The Shai Domani, trained and mentored by Dril upon snow rather than sand, he had been taught to become their puppet.
He rubbed his hands, enduring memories from decades ago. He had known the falsehood of his divine purpose from the moment he could understand. He had grown to resent his Dril mentors, captors, until the day he reached manhood. Only then had they released him back into the desert to be swiftly accepted by Arkos ignorant to the truth, hailed as their promised champion.
Within a year, he had been accepted by all the tribes of Wonakaros as their Holy Kromak, the first man to unite them all. He had ruled over a homeland he felt no connection to, raised by a distant population he resented. Neither Arkos nor Dril, not entirely, he had felt severed from the world itself.
Then, she had arrived.
A mere concubine, an offering to their divine champion, Sarak had been his light among dark dunes. He felt nothing for his own kind, yet her love had been limitless. This land, the people, their traditions, she had loved every aspect of The Wandering Desert. Never had he been able to feel the same, yet he honored her by ruling the people she so cared for, and ruling well.
Then she was gone, and once more he was surrounded by strangers.
“I will not let the lands you so loved be destroyed,” he vowed. The deep voice of The Holy Kromak became little more than a soft whisper. “I’ll fight for it. I’ll defend it against the humans with everything I have.”
Yet what did he have?
Once more, he looked at his hands, callused from decades of training each day. His body bore many scars, yet all had been accidentally earned while dueling loyal slaves that would all rather die than take the life of their master. He had seen no battles, no war. Looking down at his powerful body, the unavoidable signs of age were subtle, but all too real. After decades upon his throne, he possessed no victories, no triumphs. Only a lifetime of secrets was upon his back.
He was a colossus towering above all those beneath him, yet his foundations stood upon sand and lies.
Aside from settling petty squabbles between rival tribes, he had never faced a crisis. He had never faced death. He had never been forced to peer into his soul in battle to discover what kind of man he truly was.
He had never been tested.
Who was he?
He peered at the shrouded bones. “When I’m finally tested, shall I remain standing? Or shall I crumble to dust upon the dunes?”
No answer came. He doubted she could hear him.
Mere bones rested before him, silent and dead. What would his devout followers think if they knew their gods were false? The Dril mentors that had raised him had possessed their own gods, though who was to say they too weren’t being manipulated?
He wanted to believe he had a soul, that some small part of their beliefs was real, yet he felt nothing inside. He had no gods to fight for. He walked like a giant among men, calm and assured, though inside he stood for nothing.
His purpose, his life, his legend, all had been a lie forged by Dril whispers.
A sigh seeped through the silence. He dared to peer over at the far wall. On the opposite side of the chamber from where he had entered, another staircase descended deeper into the darkness.
There were other ways to test himself. His jaw tightened.
He carefully rested a heavy hand upon Sarak’s shrouded skull, bowing his head in sorrow. Could he keep his vow to her, no matter the cost?
“My love.” There was no need to say goodbye. He would return tomorrow, as he did every day.
Rising from his knees, he faced the descending steps, standing in silence. He stood in a chamber of his sorrow, all he had lost. Below rested all he feared to lose.
With a hard expression, he used a candle to reignite his torch. The heavy steps of The Holy Kromak began to echo as he slowly descended the curved staircase. Venturing down into the oldest part of The Grand Temple, ancient steps were blanketed in shadows.
The door at the bottom was carved from dark sandstone, far older than any elder still alive. For generations it had guarded the foulest secret of Arkos-Tul.
Strong hands hauled it open. Torchlight bled through the darkness trapped inside. He took a step, feeling sand he hadn’t touched in decades.
Inside, under a grand dome of black sandstone, a piece of the desert lay hidden beneath The Great Temple. Black sand stood frozen in silence, untouched by wind for countless generations.
It would be a simple thing to turn back. Krom steeled his nerves. He pressed further into the darkness, knowing what awaited ahead.
In the center of the circular chamber stood an ancient well rising from the dead sand. Legends claimed it was the oldest part of Arkos-Tul, though he cared little for if they spoke the truth. He had come only for what dwelled inside. Coming to a stop, he waited.
“The Holy Kromak. The false champion.”
From within the well, bizarre words were uttered in a tongue none could speak, yet still he understood their meaning. The words echoed harshly through the chamber, unknown to him, yet knowable, feeling as if they brushed against his mind.
He stood firm, watching as strange black slime began to drip over the edge of the well. The slime bubbled, gurgling, pouring forth as a figure began to rise. From the well came a horror, its body reaching up.
For the first time in decades, Krom beheld The Oracle.
A serpent body rose to match his height, protruding from the well. As thick as his torso, it oozed black slime, covering every inch of its surface. He wasn’t certain where the slime ended and the creature’s skin began, if indeed it possessed skin.
The head of The Oracle appeared like a massive worm, a single dark eye looking back at him. Its surface began to peel back to reveal a mouth just below the eye, presenting white teeth that were stretched into a foul grin, the only hint of color among its black form.
“He seeks to wake the desert.”
Legends deep from the past spoke of the horrid creature. Some claimed it had come from the moon Fonic hundreds of years ago, fleeing a dead civilization. Others claimed it had been placed below Arkos-Tul by their gods, a final protection against the monstrosities of the deep desert. Whatever the truth, perhaps a mix of both, or none, The Oracle was far older than any Arkos still living.
Every ounce of Krom’s strength was required to keep himself from recoiling. He stood firmly. “The humans seek to claim the desert. I’d see their armies consumed.”
The serpent swayed, its unnatural grin taunting him. “The Holy Kromak knows the price.”
He looked down at the sand beside the well, seeing a Tascavi flower growing in the darkness. The slime slowly buried it. He gritted his teeth. “You would let the humans destroy us all? You would do nothing to shatter their coming invasion?”
“The false champion must make his sacrifice.” The dark eye never stopped staring at him. The same had been asked of all those that had come before to seek assistance.
“I can bring you a thousand of my followers. They would gladly cut their throats for your pleasure,” he offered, already knowing the answer. “Two thousand. Three. Name the number, and I shall see them sacrificed before you.”
“Foolish Arkos. I seek only one.”
His blood ran cold. Clenching his hands into fists, he shook his head. “The price is too high.”
“Such is the only price you may pay, for such is the only thing you truly care to lose.”
Baring his teeth, he wanted to spit upon the cruel creature. His tone dropped to a deadly whisper. “I’d see ten thousand Arkos fall in battle before I’d give you that.”
The horrid grin of The Oracle chuckled, its teeth clicking as its jaws tapped together. “The Holy Kromak shall give, else the desert shall not wake.”
Behind his hard expression, Krom heard the memory of his vow to Sarak echo inside his head. “I’ll fight for it. I’ll defend it against the humans with everything I have.” Now the words seemed hollow.
He would give everything he had, except for that.
Never would The Oracle be swayed. If such was the price, he would have to face the humans alone.
With a harsh scowl, he turned his back to the creature, hearing the clicking sound of The Oracle’s foul chuckle.
“The false champion shall return. Sweet purpose, sweet loss. Which does a Kromak most fear?”
He walked away, hearing the bubbling slime as it slid back into the well. Casting the torch furiously into the sand, he stormed from the chamber.
“Father?” Saro’s soft voice caught him by surprise, shattering his torment as her words echoed down the stairs.
Heart quickening, he sprinted up the ancient steps and found his daughter halfway down the staircase, nearly crashing into her. “Never come down here!” He grabbed her by the arm, hauling her roughly to the top of the stairs. “Never. Do you understand?”
Rubbing her arm where his fingers had left bruises, she nodded. “Yes, your holiness. I…I’m sorry. You were gone for longer than usual.”
Seeing her fear, his chest heaving with every furious breath, he calmed himself as guilt flooded him. He sighed heavily, rubbing his weary eyes. “I told you long ago. What’s below is too dangerous for you to see.”
“I wasn’t going to venture inside.” She looked away. “I was merely worried.”
After a long silence, he sighed once more. Reaching out, he caressed her soft skin where he had grabbed her. “Forgive me.” No other would ever hear such words from their Holy Kromak. He glanced at her, watching as she took a nervous glance at Sarak’s slab. “Would you like to see her?”
Saros shook her head swiftly. “I came only for you.”
Though disappointed, he nodded. Offering his arm, she gently took it before he led her out of the chamber. When they reached the top, he looked down at her beautiful face.
She was the last living piece of Sarak. She was all that remained of the woman he loved. He held no doubt that he would gladly give his life to protect her.
As he studied her features, seeing her confusion at his silence, he released her arm. His decision had been made.
“Father?” she asked as he stormed off toward the throne room.
He marched with swift, powerful steps, driven by purpose. There would be no swaying The Oracle. He would never pay the horrid creature’s price. The desert would not wake without it, and thus, he’d have to face the humans himself.
Shoving through the doors, he burst into the throne room. Seeing Okaros, he pointed a meaty finger towards the old man. “Summon them!”
“Your holiness?” the elder asked, stepping away from a concubine he was permitted to watch pleasure herself, though forbidden to touch.
Narok had failed. Only the blades and blood of his people would stop the humans from consuming all they knew. Krom would rise. He would face his only true test. He would forge an army and seize his first triumph or fall fighting to protect all Sarak had cared for.
He would discover what kind of man he truly was.
“Summon every tribe beneath my throne! Let us fill this city with an army worthy of facing a false god!”
4th of Senin, 20 AVE.
Kingdom of Narok, Arkos-Nu.
The throne room of Narok was silent, save for the crackling of the burning braziers. Deep into the night, The God Emperor found no rest as he sat perched atop the throne.
Lost in thought, he pondered all that Hesin had told him of the masked Dril he had chased. The description matched what Cendra had reported following the battle for Lian’s Capital, for she too had witnessed a masked Dril observing her at a distance.
A Dril had watched them in the jungle and the desert. The seclusive species never departed from their snowy homeland without ample reason, yet their kind had been spotted thousands of miles from The Shai Domani.
His expression hardened with displeasure. In the days following the celebration, his Truthseekers had set to work searching every inch of the city for hints of the Dril. Still they found nothing.
The God Emperor’s vision stretched across his empire, seeing every secret, hearing every whisper. His Truthseekers were in the courts of every vassal beneath his throne. He drank the information they presented their ruler, yet in this he felt blind, a feeling he utterly despised.
Leaning back upon the throne, he stroked his silver beard. The homeland of the Dril was a blind spot, to be sure, though it was one of many. They knew nothing of what occurred within The Endless Crimson, the swampy homeland of the Lish. They knew little about what occurred to the far north, deep within the desert of the Taziks. His enemies were countless, dark shadows upon the horizon, and it seemed they had merely glimpsed another. Yet lacking anything more than two accounts of strange sightings, there was little that could be done.
Letting Hesin and Cendra’s reports fall to the back of his mind, unforgotten, though far from his priority, he turned his attention to the coming war in The West. A moment later, his thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the throne room doors sliding open.
When Vixin strolled into the circular chamber, his lips tightened.
Sealed inside when the doors closed, she stood alone beneath her father’s gaze. Glowing silver eyes regarded her from atop the high throne. “You summoned me, your holiness?”
Looming before her, Dominax nodded. He beckoned for her to approach. “Come, child.”
Hesitating, Vixin swallowed before obeying. She climbed the many steps up to the throne, stopping halfway. “The hour is quite late.”
“None shall disturb us.” He gripped the armrests of the throne. “There is much I would discuss with you, Vaid to Vaid, father to daughter. No outsider deserves to hear such words.”
She shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet his glowing eyes. “I’ve done all you’ve asked of me. I’ve looked after the children. I’ve endured a horrid march across horrid lands. Now, I’ve spent each day indoctrinating the Arkos population.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “Is there more?”
Though disliking her tone, he permitted it. “Indeed, you’ve done much, though your absence hasn’t escaped my notice.”
“I’ve been at your side since you returned from Domani,” she replied plainly.
“No.” He shook his head. “Not truly.”
At last, he gave voice to the unspoken distance that had settled between them. A thousand words threatened to burst from Vixin’s lips, yet she held them back with a grimace.
“You have nothing to say?” He waited. When she merely turned her head away, he rose from the throne. Though she flinched when he descended the steps to meet her, she didn’t resist when he seized her chin and forced her to look at him. Silver meeting silver, he saw the anguish in her gaze. With a knowing nod he released her. “Very well. We’ll handle this another way.”
“Father?” she asked when he moved past her. He stopped only when he reached the doors, silently summoning her to follow with a glance.
Uncertain of his intentions, Vixin caught up with long strides. She followed him through the palace, emerging into the gardens outside. There, two lixidions waited. Whatever his plan, he had come prepared.
Together they mounted the reptilian beasts and ventured through the underground city. With the curfew in effect, the streets were dead and silent, save for occasional groups of patrolling legionaries.
They crossed the city without a word, as if a wide chasm separated them. She wanted to ask where they were going, feeling her heart subtly quickening with every second of ignorance, yet she refused to speak. Whatever his plans, she’d face them without complaint.
The colossal gates of Arkos-Nu thundered ahead as they began to part, for the guards saw their approach. Already Truthseekers waited on mounts of their own, making Vixin’s lips tighten. They knew far more than she did.
Venturing outside, they were flanked by the masked assassins as they rode out across the sand. Beneath the night sky the desert was a black sea, its waves frozen in time as the winds blew gently across the dunes. Only the light of Senin shimmered upon the black sand, just enough to guide their way.
Questions burned inside her, threatening to burst free, yet she held them back. She endured the ride, awkwardly handling her lixidion while thinking of Yisi. No doubt her love would have adored riding during such a night. She, however, could find no joy as she glanced over at her silent father.
The lixidions carried their masters across the dunes, traveling for an hour before The God Emperor forcefully brought his mount to a stop. Requiring no commands, the Truthseekers began to spread out far around them, forming a circle wide enough until they were unseen in the dark. Only Vixin’s senses allowed her to feel their presence, distant guardians ready to strike down any that approached.
Dismounting, she looked around, finding nothing but empty desert in every direction. The night air brushed sand gently over her feet, isolated in the desert of Narok.
“None shall find us here,” Dominax said as he stepped down from his own lixidion. His boots met the sand with a heavy thud before he waved the beasts away, sending their mounts scurrying. No doubt a Truthseeker would intercept them.
Vixin watched him stroll across the sand, studying her, circling her slowly. At last, she spoke. “What is this?”
He came to a stop. Facing her, he tilted his crowned head. “My flower. Shall I still call you that?” His words bled through the desert air, his tone harsh, though offering no resentment. “I’ve allowed a distance to linger between us for too long. You’ve done all you can to avoid me, and whenever such a thing is impossible, you hardly dare to look at me.”
“I-” Vixin started, though she cut herself off. There was no point in lying.
“You cannot stand to look into the eyes of the man who killed your stepmother.”
She felt her lips twitch. Despite his deep voice, despite his proud appearance beneath his armor and crown, she heard the pain in his voice, a pain that echoed within her all the same. She wanted to step closer, though she held back with a cold expression.
“You hate me. So be it.” The God Emperor shrugged. “I despise myself for what occurred, though there is no undoing it. I’ve lost her forever, yet I won’t lose you.”
Grimacing, Vixin felt her stomach tighten as his words threatened to drag forth all she had worked to bury. “I don’t hate you, father.”
“When I peer into your eyes, I see the truth.” He gestured to the sand between them. “I’ve allowed you to slip away. It’s time to rectify that mistake.”
She bit her lip, wanting more than anything to forget. “How?”
A spark flashed in The God Emperor’s hand. His eyes glowed brighter. “I would take your rage and see it spent, here and now. Upon these dunes, I’d see us duel.”
“What?” Momentarily stunned, she watched as electricity began to dance in her father’s grasp.
“I’ve taught you much, and you’ve only continued to grow stronger.” For the first time since their ride, he offered the faintest smirk. “I would taste your power. I would have you unleash all you can against me, pouring forth every ounce of your rage so that it may die upon the sand.” He held up a finger, lightning flashing in his grasp as his tone lowered further. “When it’s done, I’d see you return to my side, truly.”
Vixin felt her rage, alive and well, yet it was a subtle thing, long buried. “Father…I don’t want to fight you.”
“Ah, I don’t believe that.” He shook his head, though gestured back in the direction they had come. “Yet if you refuse to stand against me, we shall return to the city. We shall find another way, for I will not lose you.”
She saw him wait for a reply, knowing he was testing her. They both knew she could never hope to win, yet such wasn’t the point. She looked down at her hands, feeling her power bubbling in her veins.
Dominax let her ponder. He sensed her conflicting emotions, knowing the damage he had wrought.
Vixin turned away. The thought of trying to harm him sickened her, yet the memory of Irith’s corpse remained ever-present, never far from her mind. She rubbed her eyes with a sigh, recalling all she had felt as she watched Irith’s mummy sink into the Saitha. A sigh turned into a grimace, then a scowl, her expression hardening as her emotions were coaxed anew.
He watched her turn around, seeing electricity flicker between her fingers. Her silver eyes began to glow, holding back tears as sorrow was replaced with rage. Gathering her power into her grasp, she finally nodded.
“Good.” His faint smirk fell away as he let his own power pour from his fingertips into the sand at his sides. “Let’s begin.”
Instincts screaming for her to hold back, she gritted her teeth as she forced herself to attack. The night air shattered as electricity leapt from her hands, illuminating the dunes around them.
The power of a Vaid met its creator, flashing brightly. Wrapping the fabric of reality like a protective shield around himself, her lightning crackled over Dominax’s body, unable to touch him. A flick of his wrists sent his own power against her, thundering through the air.
Long had it been since she had dueled, yet instincts drove Vixin into a roll. She leapt to her feet and hurled burst after burst of lightning towards her father, watching as he countered every strike.
Electricity came together between them, the powers of their shared blood crashing together each time. Webs of lightning erupted as their blasts slammed into each other, the intensity instantly turning the sand into glass wherever they struck.
Power flowing from her fingers, Vixin felt a dampess gathering in her gaze with every furious attack. He was her father, yet he had murdered Irith. She loved him, yet he had ripped two mothers from her grasp.
Dominax avoided her bursts of power with ease, stepping out of the way or meeting them with his own. He swept his hand before him, sending a wave of flame to scorch the sand.
Vixin leapt through the air, feeling the heat of his fire tear through the air where she had been standing an instant before. Landing clumsily, she planted herself firmly in place and threw both of her hands forward at once, unleashing all she could muster.
Xenia was dead. Irith was dead. Memories of all she had lost were dragged to the surface, fueling her fury. Both had earned their deaths, she knew, yet both had come by his hand.
Her power burned the air as she fought to maintain strings of lightning that arced from her fingertips. Dominax met them with his own, Vaid against Vaid, blood against blood, flickering in otherworldly webs of deadly light.
Sorrow fueled her fury as memories of Irith ran through her mind. She wanted to weep, to scream, to lash out. Everything she had withheld while tending to her family after her stepmother’s loss threatened to erupt to the surface, yet so did the memory of all Irith had fought for. She saw her father’s outline through the blinding light of their dueling power, seeing his glowing silver eyes blazing. He appeared like a monstrous deity, yet Irith had loved him. She loved him.
As the memory of all the years she had spent at his side flooded her mind, her power began to falter. Uncertainty was a poison. It weakened her concentration until her arcing webs of electricity shattered.
A burst of his lightning came too swiftly for her to avoid. Instead, she caught it in her hands, concentrating to contain it as the force of his power pushed her backwards. She sent it crashing into the sand before rolling forward, throwing a ball of fire towards him. Though weaker than her electricity, it burned with her rage all the same.
Dominax knocked it aside, shielding his hands with the fabric of reality. He watched her jump back to her feet, taking a defensive stance as he lifted his hands at his side. Fingers crackling with power, he began to circle her once more. “I’m not blind. I know I’ve failed you in many ways as a father. Hate me for it, yet never turn your back on me.”
She matched his pace, two Vaids circling each other upon scorched sand. “No matter your deeds, I’ve always remained at your side!” she spat back. Always had she looked after House Vaid, caring even for his countless bastards. Blood mattered, even if he had spilled Irith’s.
“You have.” He wouldn’t deny her dedication. “Yet still your hate remains. Come, Vixin. Burn it away until nothing is left.” The power of The God Emperor gathered in his grasp, two blazing storms of electricity and fire in each hand. His grim features were inhuman in the flashing light as his challenge lingered. “Do all you can to kill me, as I killed Irith.”
Baring her teeth with a dampness in her gaze, she hurled her power anew. Father against daughter, the light of their duel was visible FAR across the dunes, an otherworldly glow deep in the night.
The sand burned with every blast and eruption. The dunes suffered the wrath of dueling Vaids as power met power.
Vixin remembered the day she had wept alone while her treacherous mother was executed outside. She cried out with rage, her fury driving her movements as she fought against her father’s abilities.
Despite Xenia’s crimes, Irith had forgiven Vixin’s involvement and accepted her as a true daughter. Now she was dead, and only her memory remained.
Vixin roared as every ounce of her power flowed from her fingertips. He could lie to the world, yet she alone had tended to Irith’s corpse. She had seen where his dagger had pierced her back. The night was peeled away by the light of her lightning as it ripped through the air, shrieking as it slammed into The God Emperor.
Once more, Dominax held her attack at bay. Once more, he pushed it back with his own power, standing unharmed. His glowing gaze offered no satisfaction, witnessing his daughter’s suffering.
She saw him looming before her. Vixin swept her hand towards the man that had left her to weep alone, unleashing a wave of flame that cut through the air. She rolled to avoid a strike from the man that had used Yisi, the love of her life, as little more than a womb to be discarded. She shattered the sand between them by hitting it with a blast of lighting, sending an eruption of molten glass flying towards the man that had cut Irith down.
He moved swifter than she could keep up with, easily avoiding harm. Coming to a stop, he offered himself to her fury.
Once more planting herself firmly in place, she sent a final web of lightning towards him. Crackling through the air, he caught her power in his grasp, shielded by the fabric of reality. He resisted her as her web continued to flow from her fingertips and into his, doing all she could to destroy him. He merely watched with grim eyes as he caught her lightning.
Maintaining her flow of power, rage burning, she fought to unleash every ounce of electricity she could produce. Memories burned within her, turning to ash with every passing moment.
He had ruined her, yet he had made her. He had killed Irith, yet he was still her father.
Old resentments came forth, ripped from her deepest reaches, only to shatter against his outstretched hands. Tears fell from her eyes, only to dry, feeling her rage turn to sorrow, then to exhaustion.
Every second required ample concentration to maintain her power. It burned her strength away, flickering, faltering.
She knew his reasons for striking down Irith. She understood, yet the pain remained. Long had she wanted to scream at him. Now, her rage came wordlessly until she was left utterly depleted.
Irith wouldn’t want this. She didn’t want this.
No matter what he had done, she remained his daughter.
The lightning dissipated and vanished as she collapsed to her knees.
Dominax endured the power he had caught in his grasp, holding it tightly before unleashing it into the sky. The last of Vixin’s rage flashed above them, only to leave them in darkness.
Panting, feeling where tears had dried upon her cheeks, she felt utterly exhausted. As her father stepped closer to loom over her, she looked up, daring to meet his silver gaze. “I…won’t forgive you…”
Lips tightening, he offered his hand. She took it, rising unsteadily to be captured in his embrace. The warmth of his touch filled the void where her rage had been.
“You killed her…yet the family she fought for remains.” She regained control over her breaths, feeling the lingering adrenaline continuing to tingle in her veins in the aftermath. She dared to press closer to him. “Blood matters.”
Dominax’s hold on her tightened. “Long ago, I granted Irith a confession. I told her I fear that I do not possess the capacity to love my children as they deserve.” He peered down at her. “I have very few fears, Vixin.”
He hid it well, yet she saw the pain in his gaze. Adrenaline continuing to simmer, feeling his warmth, she pressed her lips to his. Having gone far too long without his taste, she melted into his grasp.
Blood boiling in the aftermath of their battle, surrounded by the wreckage of scorched sand, Dominax held his daughter as their lips dueled.
Vixin knew she was broken. She despised his deeds yet craved his fatherly touch. She needed him, as he needed her. Drained of rage, her resentment shattered.
Hands exploring, blood calling to blood, kin craving kin, the remnants of electricity tingled between them. Their power lingered in the aftermath as he guided her to the ground.
Beneath the night sky, she moaned as he bit her neck. Exhausted legs parted as she felt the sand beneath her, yearning for her father.
“I spoke the truth,” she said, feeling his hands exploring her with a burning lust. “I won’t forgive you, but I don’t hate you.”
Lips meeting hers, his hand ran up her thigh. When his fingers met her waiting sex, he brushed his lips against her ear with a whisper. “My flower.”
She moaned beneath his touch, her body aching for what she had long missed. Never could she escape him.
Dominax unfastened the groin slit of his one-suit, freeing his cock. Pulling aside her leotard, all that remained between them, neither father nor daughter could endure wasting a second more. He pushed into the tightness he had created, hearing her gasp in bliss.
Their bodies called out for each other, loins screaming in pleasure as they finally came together. Reunited after far too long, he began to rock his hips, making slow, deep love with his royal daughter.
“Never shall I endure your loss,” he said in her ear. “Never shall I permit you to fall from my side again, my flower.”
The obsession in his voice made her moan, utterly submitting. She needed him. Despite his horrid deeds, despite how long she had distanced herself, she knew there was no escape. Beneath the warmth of his fatherly protection, she would always melt.
As his cock rocked in and out of her, she knew Irith would approve. The thought both saddened and invigorated her, wiping her dried tears away. She would continue to protect all her stepmother had strived for, ensuring their family survived as one.
Dominax’s hand crept down Vixin’s body, feeling the perspiration wetting her smooth skin. He felt her flat belly, sensing her early pregnancy. His grandchild, an Arkos hybrid, slowly grew inside her. He chuckled through his pleasure, for despite what she may think of him, she truly was his daughter. So too did she crave to spread her bloodline beyond even humanity. “My good little breeder.”
She purred beneath his touch, savoring every thrust. The battle had left her empty. With every movement, he filled the void inside her with a deeper pleasure than she could hope to receive from any other.
Their shared blood tingled, father and daughter, sire and offspring. Their souls mingled, touching, connected, forging an ecstasy that felt more natural than any other sensation with every incestuous thrust. His cock slid deep into the vagina it had created, sensing her body yearning for his seed.
Fueled by lingering resentment, by need, by obsession, Vixin wrapped her legs around her father and clung to him as she found her orgasm, trembling beneath the moonlight of a desert night. She had lost two mothers. She needed her father.
Savoring the sensation of her twat squeezing around his cock, feeling her squirt as her climax shook her body, he drove himself deep inside and hilted her, unleashing his sperm.
Vixin’s eyes fluttered in bliss as his warmth filled her. She felt his seed oozing from her loins to touch the sand beneath her. Legs quivering, she gripped the silk of his cloak tightly as she endured her ecstasy.
Breathing in the aftermath, hearing the sounds of the desert night, they remained together long after their mutual finishes. Dominax’s fingers ran through her dark hair, holding her head firmly as he whispered into her ear. “We are surrounded by enemies, my flower. House Vaid must stand united to survive.”
Vixin nodded through her blissful haze.
Never would she forgive him. So be it, yet never would he permit her to fall.
Though he thought of The Holy Kromak and the coming war, so too did he think of the masked Dril. Enemies waited upon every horizon.
Never would he allow them to take what he cared for most.
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