The Vaid Empire

Vaid Empire: Conquest

Chapter 121

26th of Silla, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Deep Desert. 

“The world is full of ugly things, yet this one stands above them all,” Hesin said as they stood around the foul corpse. 

As the sun hung high above the deep desert, The God Emperor and his advisors beheld the latest abomination to crawl from beneath the black sands. A gargantuan creature, the dead beast was taller than two men. Carried by ten legs, its sharp claws rested limply in the sand. 

After months of traveling across the dunes, they had almost grown accustomed to the horrifying creatures that attacked each night. The bones of humans and abominations lay scattered in their wake, left behind as their march continued on. 

“This was but a beast acting upon mere instinct,” Dominax said as he placed a hand upon Hesin’s shoulder. “We both know the deeds of calculating men may be far uglier.” 

They had made their camp where the dunes gave way to dark mesas rising from the sand. The dead beast rested in the shadow of a sandy cliffside. The many guides and scouts provided by Torakeom had ample experience surviving in such harsh lands, yet though they ignited a ring of torches around the camp perimeter each time they settled in for the night, the legion was vast. Creatures rose in the center of their city of tents wherever it was dark enough. 

The desert was truly infested. 

The blood of the great beast lay dried upon the sand. So too was the blood of those unlucky enough to have been nearby when it crawled from its hidden burrow. Even hours later, Vixin and her Healers were away tending to dead and dying men. 

Behind The God Emperor, Lalian and Arinax marveled at the beast, whispering together about the prospect of documenting its anatomy. There was little else that could be done. With the sun high above and the threat of night long fled, Dominax took his leave. 

As he walked through the vast camp, legionaries all around bowed at his approach. He passed dirty men and women that had long been hardened by the desert. The rot that had spoken up in Fask was little more than a memory, carved away by Truthseeker blades. In their absence stood a legion marching behind their living deity to war. They suffered, they bled, though they hacked down all that the desert sought to place in their way. Slaves were lost, legionaries perished, yet they endured with hardened blades ready to serve their holy ruler. 

Dominax left the flat sands behind and began to climb the sloped face of a nearby mesa. Having placed his command tent atop the flat surface far above, he paused to gaze down at the camp stretching out across the sand below. 

In truth, the vast camp was split in two, half human, half Arkos. Though old King Torakeom had remained in Arkos-Nu, his armies had knelt to The God Emperor, as promised. Beneath the command of several of the king’s sons, the warriors of Narok were all too willing to fight with the promise of coin and the destruction of their ancient enemies, though hardly were they willing to mingle with their new ‘brothers’. When occasional reports reached Dominax of individuals crossing the unofficial line that separated their two species, he offered no punishments. Every man and woman that snuck into the other side of the camp, human or Arkos, served only to unify them. Already could he sense hybrids in the wombs of slaves and warriors from nightly dalliances throughout the camp. 

Their losses were heavy, though no worse than any other army that had sought to march against Arkos-Tul. Torakeom’s guides more than proved their worth each day. They were a deadly storm marching across the desert, a worthy threat against The Holy Kromak, yet a troubling thought remained. Hadn’t those ancient armies considered themselves just as deadly of a threat, only to vanish? 

Turning his back to those beneath his command, a temporary city with tens of thousands of warriors deep in the desert, The God Emperor ascended the rocky landscape. Near the edge of the camp, the flat top of the mesa was covered with the tents of the most important royals among the legion. With the sloped side heavily guarded, the rest of the high mesa was flanked on all sides by steep cliffs that dropped sharply to the sands below. 

Marching through the grand tents of his advisors and other royals, Dominax reached his command tent. Already could he sense her waiting inside. Above all the rest at the very edge of the mesa, he stormed inside his palace of fabric. 

Very few were permitted inside his sleeping quarters without his presence. His firstborn, his Goddess of War, was always welcome. 

As he stepped inside the bedchamber of his tent, he found her lounging upon his bed. Atop the silky sheets, nude and waiting, Cendra looked up from the cup she held. Stirring the liquid, she licked her finger as their silver eyes met. 

“My flower.” Dominax’s gaze traced over the body of his naked daughter as she waited for him. Resting on her side, her feminine curves rose and fell like the dunes outside. 

“I’ve been waiting,” she muttered, her words slurred just enough to be noticeable. 

Approaching the bed, The God Emperor regarded her cup with disapproval. “Moderation, child. There is much to be done in these harsh lands, and I require you to keep a clear head.” He reached down to remove it from her grasp, able to smell the Zilrinian wine inside. 

She grabbed his wrist as he took the cup. Peering up at The God Emperor as he loomed before her, she meekly released his hand. “Join me, father.” 

There was desperation in her gaze, a naked need for something to replace the distraction her wine had offered. Though his lips tightened sternly, the sight of her proved too tempting. 

Dominax discarded the wine and began to undress, removing his armor and one-suit. Joining his daughter’s nudity, he mounted the bed and claimed her in his arms. 

He could smell the wine upon her lips, drunk silver eyes yearning for his touch. Shaded from the desert heat in the confines of his luxurious tent, his fingers traced over the ultra-soft skin of his daughter’s elegant curves. 

She savored his touch, craving more. It was clear that she had long anticipated his return, yet still he regarded her intoxication with displeasure. Hardly was this the first time he had found her drinking in his bed since their long march had begun. 

Cendra clung to him, drinking in his fatherly presence. As his hand found the wetness waiting between her smooth thighs, she basked in the pleasure his fingers offered. The sensation was her sanctuary, a momentary oasis. 

“There is no room for error in this place, my flower,” he began. His lips brushed against her ear, feeling her soft hand brushing his hardening cock. Already reports had arrived from his scouts of a Wonak mere days ahead. “I shall permit you to lead my left flank against The Kromak, as you did before the gates of Arkos-Nu, yet you must keep your senses sharp.” 

She uttered a quiet moan, fingers wrapping firmly around her father’s cock. Loins aching, she began to stroke him. 

Despite her drunken gaze, uncertain if his words reached her fully, he met her lips and guided her onto her back. Powerful thighs offered no resistance. As he claimed his rightful place between her legs, he gritted his teeth as he savored the pleasure of sliding inside her tight sex. 

Cendra’s eyes rolled back, feeling his cock beginning to thrust inside her. With a slow, deep rhythm, The God Emperor made love to his firstborn. 

“I want you at my side…ahh…when I make the desert kneel,” he continued, enduring the ecstasy gripping his manhood. No feeling was more pure, more clean, than a father’s cock pushing deep inside the tight vagina of his beautiful daughter. Their shared blood called for each other, incestuous instincts driving his thrusts. “All Arkos shall bow to your son…ahh…and they shall call him…Archon.” 

“Archon?” Cendra muttered, lost within the depths of her bliss. 

“My grandson shall be…ahh…an emperor in all but name as we discussed,” Dominax explained, his words dripping with satisfaction. He felt her royal sex clench around his cock. “An Archon, master…ahh…of all Arkos Kings, overlord…ahh…of all Arkos kingdoms beneath my throne.” 

Her drunken gaze fluttered, though she understood. “They call you the…ahh…king of kings, emperor of mankind.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. “May they call you…ahh…the emperor of emperors.” 

He could hear the ambition in her intoxicated tone. Her passion, her desire, all bled through the sound of her moans. As she continued to cling to him, however, her desperation remained. 

“Your bloodline…ahh…shall guide the fate of these lands, my flower.” Dominax slowed his thrusts, pressing hard against her cervix with every movement. As he broke from her hold, he lifted himself to peer into her silver gaze. “If only your mother could witness her descendants at our side.” 

His words brought momentary clarity to her gaze. “I hardly…ahh…knew her.” 

Dominax touched his silver beard, his face hardening despite his pleasure. Would Briza even recognize him? “Yet you…ahh…are her legacy, my flower.” 

Cendra looked away, only to moan as his fingers glided through her silky black hair. 

“Never could the Arkos have known that, thousands of miles away, on the night before the fall of Nitri, the simple act of a cock meeting a vagina would seal their fates decades later.” Dominax drove his manhood hard against her deepest limit, forcing his daughter to utter a cry of pleasure. 

Drunk with incestuous bliss, whatever clarity she possessed was drowned in her ecstasy. As she surrendered to The God Emperor’s passion, savoring every hard slam between her smooth thighs, Cendra closed her eyes. 

In her intoxication, she offered no hint of resistance. As Dominax caressed his drunk daughter’s body, he doubted that she would even care if he finished inside. She merely moaned, abandoning reality, her duty, for a moment of bliss. Hardly would she care if he impregnated her until she was sober. 

Loins aching with temptation, every natural instinct demanding him to get his daughter pregnant a second time, Dominax peered down at her. As he studied her elegant face, his beautiful firstborn, he held back. 

Seeing hints of Briza mixing with himself in their daughter’s features, his lips tightened. 

Pulling his cock free of her tight sex, he unleashed his seed where it would not harm her. 

Moaning as she felt her father’s sperm painting her body, Cendra caressed her own perky breasts. Eyes closed, utterly lost, she lightly rubbed her firm buds while enjoying his warmth. 

Straightening up, Dominax beheld the result of their passion. His seed coated her toned midriff, dripping down her flawless skin to soak the sheets beneath her. 

Fingers idly teasing herself, slowing, Cendra gradually surrendered to her intoxication in the aftermath. “I…need you…” she muttered, slurring her words. “Clin…” 

*** 

Silver eyes opened, faintly glowing in the darkness of her father’s tent. Feeling the silky sheets upon her naked body, Cendra groaned as she touched her head. As if a hammer was tapping inside her skull, she struggled to sit up. 

Glancing through the darkness, she found herself alone. 

Rubbing her brow, she tried to recall all that had occurred. She touched her belly, finding that her father’s seed had been cleaned away. No doubt slaves had tended to her upon The God Emperor’s command. 

With hazy memories drifting through her pounding head, Cendra focused, coaxing her powers to limit her pain. Still it lingered, reduced to a shadow of what it had been. 

She managed to rise, bare in the darkness. Hardly was she surprised by The God Emperor’s absence from his grand bed. Slaves had hauled it across the desert without complaint, suffering to show their devotion to their holy master, yet he rarely slept. 

Finding a thin shroud waiting for her, Cendra donned the nearly transparent sheet. It flowed down her bare curves as she stumbled from her father’s tent. 

Outside in the darkness of a quiet night, she found a pair of Privictis Knights guarding the entrance. Nomax and Izria, Vaidspawns that had trained and fought beside her for nearly as long as she had been a part of Clin’s Order, she knew them well. She granted her illegitimate kin a nod of mutual respect. Her brother, her sister, two of her trusted companions, it was clear they were aware of what had occurred. 

Blushing wordlessly, Cendra wrapped the shroud tighter around her body and walked through the night. A cool breeze dragged across the mesa’s top to tug at the thin fabric, making it flutter as it hugged her curves. 

Walking to the edge of the mesa, she gazed out at the black desert stretching into the distance. With a thought of her son, she picked up a handful of sand. Her legacy was within her grasp. The firstborn of The God Emperor would determine the fate of all she could see. 

Peering out across the desert, Cendra saw patches of charom clusters glowing purple in the distance. A mist blanketed the sands, settling into the lowest parts of the landscape and appearing like a river flowing gently between the dunes and rocks from afar. 

Looming over her future legacy at the very edge of the cliff, she beheld the beauty below, her shroud flowing around her. Thoughts of the future began to crumble as she gazed upon the landscape. Did Clin still wander the desert? 

She faintly sensed that he still lived, though nothing else. “Curse you.” 

The sand began to pour through her fingers. Carried over the edge of the cliff, it was scattered to the wind. 

34th of Silla, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Deep Desert. 

Tens of thousands of men and women came to a halt at the command of The God Emperor. Standing beneath the hot morning sun, they waited in neat lines as their ruler assessed their target. 

Across the dunes, far in the distance, Dominax beheld a Wonak for the first time. The great beast lumbered towards the horizon, carrying a village upon its back. 

“Fascinating.” Atop his lixidion, he marveled at the distant creature. Long had he remembered speaking to Wros about the great beasts of the desert all those years ago. Now, in every way, he understood her longing to encounter one once more. 

A moving village of nomadic Arkos attempted to scurry away. A single command brought the end of their freedom. 

White cloaks spilled across the dunes as the legion charged forth. At the back of their ruler, tens of thousands of humans and Arkos alike stormed towards their enemy, their steps thundering as they pounded into the sand. 

Dominax led them forth atop his mount, easily catching up with the slow giant. Long had he discussed the deep desert inhabitants with Torakeom, however, and as his legion approached with ready blades, they merely encircled the moving village. Hopelessly surrounded, the beast was brought to a complete stop. 

The nomads were no fools. No arrows pierced the air to prod at their foes. No warriors spilled from the beast to meet their deaths upon the sand. A minor Wonak, a small village, every Arkos man, woman, and child could fight until their deaths, yet it would not save them. Utterly outnumbered, resistance would change nothing. The village atop the great beast stood in silence as the small population waited to be swallowed by the sea of legionaries surrounding their home. 

Standing before the Wonak, Dominax regarded the creature. Massive eyes stared out from either side of the beast’s head, holding no malice. Its colossal hooked jaw could crush dozens of his warriors at once, plated with natural armor, yet it merely hung in the air. Thoughtless, free, it sought only to roam the desert. 

With Cendra joining his side, he saw her glance up at the beast’s looming head in absolute awe. Never had any human witnessed a creature of such size. Utterly dwarfed, the blade in her grip seemed insignificant. 

“Come,” he commanded, snapping Cendra from her thoughts. Though tiny in comparison, they had brought it to heel. They stood in its way. Never was a Vaid insignificant. 

Torakeom’s archives had offered much, and thus he knew to ride his mount to the rear of the beast. Passing underneath, its great reptilian body hung high above his head. Oval in shape, it was supported by six powerful legs, each with claws far larger than his lixidion. 

The other commanding royals joined him at the rear. There, laying in the sand, the Wonak’s massive tail hung limply. Thick and covered in grey scales, it was the only path to reach its back. 

Dominax dismounted and led them forth. Poles had been driven into the flesh of the beast’s tail, linked by chains at either side of the path leading upward. Large bony plates served as natural steps as he began to ascend. When he reached the top, he readied his burning blade as he was met by the waiting warriors of the village. 

The village was a patchwork of black and pale bricks. With limited space, their structures were tall and sturdy, pressed close. Buildings were constructed with mismatched masonry, damaged, repaired, destroyed, and rebuilt countless times over centuries. Fabric sheets offered shade as they were hung between buildings and supported by poles atop each flat rooftop. 

Having gathered to fill the narrow pathways between the structures, Arkos warriors waited with their spears ready. They were large men, the strongest placed at the front, ready to die the moment their conqueror sought to slay their kin. 

Eyeing the windows and seeing children peering down with fear, Dominax’s attention was caught by Cendra’s whisper. “Father.” 

The word had slipped from her stern lips before she could stop herself. When The God Emperor turned to regard her, she swallowed and straightened. There was no going back. It had been an abrupt urge to act, yet as she stood before the people her descendants would one day rule over, she stepped forward. 

As she waited for his permission, her silver gaze silently pleading, he nodded with subtle pride. She desired a chance to prove herself. He permitted her to make them kneel. 

She opened her mouth, only to pause and start again as she considered her words. “I am Princess Cendra of House Vaid, the firstborn daughter of The God Emperor!” she shouted, raising her blade. At her side, Quinla translated her words. “Tales speak of the strength and prowess of your people, yet what is the worth of your strength if your lives are needlessly ended without purpose? We intend to inflict no harm upon your people or your village, yet should you choose to fight us, we shall match blood for blood, death for death! Kneel before The God Emperor, and no blood shall be spilled!” 

Dominax listened to her speech. Though clumsy, her stern voice carried the strength of a conqueror. 

The warriors continued to stand with their weapons ready. Pondering, knowing The Empire would easily slaughter them all, they remained still. Just as Cendra’s firm expression was about to falter, the first Arkos lowered himself to his knees. The others gradually followed his lead, choosing the lives of their families and kin above their own pride. With a silent breath of relief, Cendra dared to smirk. 

*** 

When the population was under their control, when legionaries lined the narrow paths and held the captive village in their grasp, a permanent curfew was enforced. Only then, as the morning turned to midday, then deep into the evening, did The God Emperor permit the rest of his advisors and family into the village. He merely had to think of his old scars to distrust the Arkos population. 

The nomad village was FAR too small to house the legion and their Arkos allies, and thus the vast majority of those under The God Emperor’s command set up camp upon the sands around and beneath the stationary Wonak. The great beast became an island in the center of a sea of humans and Narok warriors, surrounded on all sides. 

Only the royals and commanders would have the privilege of leaving the sands behind to make their temporary quarters within the village. Their stay would not be long. Though Dominax intended to keep the Wonak secured to ensure they had a stronghold to fall back to if necessary, the bulk of the legion would resume their march in mere days after they resupplied. 

“All is secure, your majesty,” Hesin reported. Standing with Dominax outside the largest building, the home of the village’s ruler, his single eye squinted behind his mask. “Yet we found a corpse. Seems to belong to the Chief of these wretched people.” 

“Oh?” Dominax’s silver gaze demanded more. He watched Vixin usher the children down a guarded pathway towards them, seeing Zela gawk at the messy structures in awe as she held her brother’s hand. 

“He made a mess of himself.” Hesin dragged his thumb across his own neck. “As far as I can tell, his death came by his own hand. Perhaps he sought to escape the shame of kneeling.” 

Dominax’s features hardened in thought, halting Vixin with a gesture. 

“My Truthseekers have secured these buildings, your majesty. They’ll continue to guard them for however long we must endure this place, alongside Cendra’s Knights.” His metallic voice offered his certainty. Unable to escape the memory of the Dril, he had placed his assassins to ensure that every entrance, every window, and every corridor would be watched at all times. “You have my word.” 

Meeting his gaze, Dominax nodded. “Very well, old friend.” 

Never had Hesin failed him. He would not fail him now. As the children of House Vaid were divided and escorted to their new chambers for the approaching night, he watched the rooftops, ready to strike at the first hint of danger. 

*** 

As the last remnant of sunlight faded from the sky, blanketing the landscape in utter darkness, Hesin peered down at the village as he stood perched atop the highest tower. 

His position near the edge of the Wonak’s back allowed him to see the legion camp far below. A ring of torches held back the consuming darkness while others illuminated the sand between the countless tents, attempting to dissuade whatever abominations that slumbered beneath the sand from rising. 

The village was quiet as he shifted his attention. Looming in the shadows above a conquered population, his cloak fluttered around him in the breeze. 

Nearby, he saw the buildings that the royals had claimed as their own. Further away, the former residence of the dead Chief stood near the great beast’s neck, now the lair of The God Emperor. 

Much required the attention of his single eye, yet his gaze fell upon the nearest royal residence. The members of House Vaid had been granted the most secure and luxurious chambers available, of course, though there was no palace to be found atop the modest Wonak to house them all. Hesin knew Dominax’s concerns well, and thus he divided the youngest members of The God Emperor’s family into small groups, placing them in separate bedchambers that possessed only a single entrance each. Should the worst occur, here, among their enemies, the entire future of House Vaid could not be cut down at once. Their holy ruler would not lose everything. 

His Truthseekers watched every rooftop. They guarded every royal bedchamber. He didn’t neglect his duty, yet as he peered down at the entrance to the nearest royal dwelling, his bias was clear. He knew his legacy slumbered within. 

“You should rest, master.” 

Though he hadn’t heard her approach, he wasn’t startled by the sound of Nafalya’s smooth voice from behind. Hardly did he turn as she joined his side. “I’ll sleep when we’re free of this place. Savage blades do little to ease my worries.” 

She knew he hated the Arkos no more than any other species. Her mentor was a harsh man, yet as they peered down at the entrance together, she knew there was something he didn’t scorn. “May he rest if we cannot.” 

Having recently checked on Atrix, she knew their son was asleep inside the chamber nearby. As her elder sister had insisted upon leading her Knights to patrol the village herself until morning, Cliax became Atrix’s only companion for the night. The two princes rested peacefully inside the structure below, guarded tightly. 

Nafalya leaned against the crude stone barrier outlining the tower’s top, removing her mask. Holding it with reverence, she smirked to herself. “I heard more intriguing whispers. If you insist upon lingering here, perhaps you’d like to hear them,” she said quietly. When he granted her a curious nod, she continued. “Oh, I’ve already told you much about the fate of our son, yet there’s more. My father intends to name Cliax as The Archon of the Arkos, an emperor beneath his throne. So too shall Jinilya hold a similar fate, yet Atrix?” 

Only her words could draw his attention from the structure below. In her glowing gaze he saw ambition, raw and burning to draw out his own. 

“Our little Atrix shall be granted power to match his cousins. When the day comes, when all of Magnius bows to The Empire, the Dril shall call Atrix their…” Her words drifted off as light from below caught her gaze. Turning, she heard shouts and screams beginning to echo in the distance, seeing a fire rising within the legionary camp below. 

They hurried to the opposite edge of the tower. Looking down, they watched as the fire raged to consume several nearby tents. For a moment it seemed possible that the fire was an accident, perhaps caused by a torch toppling over. When another fire erupted on the other side of the camp, however, Nafalya donned her mask. 

Chaos erupted below. Fires ignited throughout the legionary camp, far from the Wonak. They could see the distant figures of humans scrambling about as they searched from enemies they could not see. 

When Nafalya turned to rush down the stairs of the tower, Hesin grabbed her wrist to stop her. She whirled around. 

“Hold.” They could hear the legionaries rushing through the pathways towards the rear of the village as they hurried to join whatever fight was occurring below. “They’re drawing our attention away from the village.” 

She heard the suspicion in his metallic tone, yet every moment of delay risked catastrophe. Confusion raged below, spreading among the legion. “Master,” she said, her smooth voice barely concealing her urgency. 

A foul feeling seeped into his core. Decades of experience prodded at his awareness. “Our place is here, watching over your family and these spoiled royals.” 

Nafalya looked at the stairs, then back at him. Trusting his judgement, she sought a compromise. “Our eyes are required below. Our Truthseekers see more than mere legionaries.” A cold determination burned in her gaze. “You know our duty. I’ll lead only a small group of Truthseekers while the rest remain here.” 

Hearing distant shouts, he knew she was right. Grimacing behind his mask, he reluctantly nodded. “So be it, yet return the moment you are able to.” He released her wrist. “I’ll watch over the boy.” 

They lingered for a silent moment. She caressed the cold steel of his mask. “I’ll return, Hesin.” 

A moment later, she was gone, vanishing swiftly down the steps. He didn’t dwell upon her absence for long. He had his own purpose to serve. 

Descending the tower, his cloak billowed behind him as he moved. Silent hand signals summoned a pair of Truthseekers to join his side as he marched towards the nearby structure. Outside the only door stood three Privictis Knights guarding his legacy. They stood firm, their duty clear as the legionaries all around rushed through the village. 

They bowed their heads at his approach, yet he kept his gaze focused upon the rooftops until he reached them. As they swiftly parted, he unlocked the door. 

Hesin knew the other royals were just as well guarded. Hardly should a man in his position play favorites, yet as he stepped inside the spacious room, he saw all he stood to lose. Across the circular chamber, in a bed placed against the far curved wall near Cliax’s own, Atrix slumbered peacefully. 

Glancing about the chamber, Hesin only retreated when he was entirely certain that his son was secure. His legacy, his flesh and blood, the intended ancestor of future God Emperors, the boy was all Hesin had worked for. Never would he permit him to come to harm. 

“You five, listen carefully. We-” Hesin watched them abruptly turn towards the sealed door at once. All too aware of their strange senses, his blood froze in his veins. When he heard screams erupt inside the chamber, he kicked the door open and rushed inside. 

Blood-red eyes stared back at him. Looming in the shadows like a deadly statue, he was met by the specter of all he feared. The Dril in the dark helmet stood beside Cliax’s bed. 

Frozen in place, his hand on his dagger, the Dril’s hand on his own, they regarded each other in utter silence before Cliax’s scream rang out once more. The boy must have sensed the Dril’s approach, his cry awakening Atrix. 

The Knights and Truthseekers spilled into the room behind Hesin. The Dril wasn’t alone. At his side, an Arkos woman readied her own blades. 

Hands moving slowly, the Dril sheathed his dagger and drew forth two curved swords. Never taking his red eyes from Hesin, his gaze offered no mercy. 

At the sound of Atrix’s terrified cry, Hesin rushed forth. The Dril met his blades, steel meeting steel in the shadows. 

The nearest Truthseeker hurled a bolt of lightning. The Dril redirected Hesin’s blade and caught the electricity with his second sword, letting it dissipate harmlessly in an instant when it met the strange rubber material coating his hilt. Having fully expected her foe to fall, as all that had ever tasted her power had, the Truthseeker was taken utterly off guard when he rushed forth and opened her throat. 

He and the Arkos moved like dancing shadows as the Knights began to hurl their fire. The darkness bowed to their light, only for them to choke as the woman hurled a pouch of strange powder that filled the room with smoke. Disoriented, two fell to the pair’s blades in moments. 

A ball of fire hurled from a dying Knight’s fingertips ignited the rug beneath him. The light of the growing flames flickered through the smoke as Hesin and his allies found their enemies. Glancing over to see Atrix scurry to hide beneath his bed, Hesin cared little for the irritation of his lungs from the Arkos’s powder, fighting with every ounce of strength he possessed. 

The bloodshed stood between Cliax and the only door, blocking his escape. He remained upon his bed, watching in horror as the Dril’s blades carved through the smoke. 

Blocking the electricity of the Truthseeker with his unique swords, the Dril spun to avoid Hesin’s blade. A burst of fire from the Knight caught him in the chest, scorching his black bodysuit, yet the strange material protected the skin beneath. A swipe of his sword sent the man’s fingers scattering across the burning rug. 

The Dril had trained to deal with their kind, it was clear, yet the Arkos lacked his equipment. As vulnerable as anyone to their power, her sole purpose became to distract and divide their attention. She struck, retreated, and struck again, moving like a swift feline as she avoided bursts of electricity and fire. Another pouch of powder was hurled at the ground, erupting into smoke. While she utterly distracted the Knight, the Dril made short work of the last Truthseeker. 

Two against two, decades of experience drove Hesin’s blade as he dueled with the much younger man. Age had slowed him, his body aching from the exertion, yet still he fought. Still he met every slash and thrust, offering his own. Reds eyes regarded him intensely, a foe worthy of his skill. 

A cry echoed from his side. Hesin hardly had time to watch as the Arkos woman retreated, clutching her forearm where the Knight had opened a large gash. With purple Arkos blood gushing from her arm, her fingers numb, she switched her blade to her untrained hand. Knowing she was doomed, she grabbed Cliax by his golden hair and yanked him from his bed, pressing her blade against his throat. She shouted something in her native tongue, a threat, yet Hesin saw the truth of her. Her expression, her eyes, all told him she couldn’t murder the child in her grasp. Disregarding her threat, he continued to fight. 

The Dril’s swords were wet with human blood, flicking droplets each time he slashed at his foe. Hesin rolled away from his blades, yet the Knight was hardly accustomed to the assassin’s speed. Fighting with one uninjured hand, he stood no chance. The Dril carved through the thinning smoke and opened a gash between the armor plates protecting the man’s leg. Bleeding heavily, the Knight stumbled and fell, losing consciousness. 

Standing alone against the assassin, gazes meeting from behind his mask and the Dril’s helmet, Hesin prepared to rush forward. The Dril merely spun and yanked the boy from the grip of his companion. Hesin froze as a dark blade pressed against Cliax’s throat. Where the Arkos had been incapable, red eyes met him with deadly determination. He could kill the boy. 

Bleeding heavily, the Arkos did all she could to remain awake. She stumbled to her knees, clawing at the crude tiles of the floor until she found the right one, pulling it away to reveal the entrance to a tunnel. Unable to assist her companion any further, she sought to escape, only for her eyes to flutter as she slowly toppled over. Alive, though dying, she fell limp upon the floor. 

With the fire burning at his back, Hesin stood frozen. The Dril required no words to offer the promise of the prince’s death. The blade against Cliax’s throat drew a drop of royal blood. 

Two men, two assassins, regarded each other in silence. Both knew the other’s skill. In the Dril’s deadly gaze, Hesin thought he saw respect, an offer to let him live. 

Hesin watched his foe glance at the exposed tunnel. Cliax whimpered in his grasp. Without a word, the Dril offered a promise. 

Gritting his teeth, Hesin peered over at Atrix’s bed, knowing the boy hid beneath. It would be a simple thing to let the Dril escape. His legacy, his child, his son would be safe. 

He looked at Cliax’s terrified face. He could see hints of Clin in his royal features. 

Once more, the Dril glanced at the tunnel. He dared to take a step. Hesin remained in place. The Dril retreated a step, pressing the blade harder against the prince’s neck and drawing further drops of blood. 

The son of the man he hated whimpered. Was it not his right to leave the boy to his fate? To step aside and ensure the safety of his own son and himself? 

Clin had caused the slaughter of his tribe and family. Hesin’s brother was dead because of his actions, an injustice that had never been punished. Was this not a fitting punishment? Blood for blood, a son for a brother? 

The Dril would not wait much longer. 

It would be so easy to let the boy die. It would be easier to let the assassin drag him away to his doom. 

As Hesin took a final glance at Atrix’s bed, then at Cliax, he uttered a sigh. The choice was clear. 

Gripping the hilt of the dagger hidden in his sleeve, Hesin muttered under his breath. “Clin, you cunt.” 

He hurled the thin blade. It struck true, piercing the Dril’s hand. The sword fell from Cliax’s throat. 

As the Dril grimaced in agony, Hesin rushed forward. Cliax broke from the assassin’s injured grasp, scurrying away. The Dril was just as skilled with his other hand, however, and he met Hesin’s blade. 

A bleeding fist struck Hesin’s mask, knocking it from his head. Disoriented for only a second, it was all the assassin required. He slashed his sword, carving across Hesin’s stomach. 

Gasping, he knew in an instant that he was done. He stumbled back. The wound was too deep. 

The Dril watched him bleed in silence, a hint of regret in his gaze. He made no move to chase the boy outside, for Cliax was already beyond his reach. No doubt others heard his cries. Instead, he merely retrieved his fallen sword and sheathed both curved blades. 

Hesin’s blade fell from his limp fingers. He didn’t bother to hold his wound. There would be no stopping his spilling blood. 

Stumbling, losing his balance, he crashed to the floor. A bloody hand searched, fingers brushing against his fallen mask. He sought his true face, pulling it closer as he peered beneath the bed. He had collapsed beside it, his head rolling to see Atrix cowering beneath. 

The young prince was mere inches away from his dying father. Watching with wide eyes, he saw Hesin try to chuckle through his agony. Blood spilled from his lips, dripping down his cheek. 

Struggling to conceal his mangled features beneath his mask, Hesin peered through the eye hole at his son. His hand fell away, leaving a red print upon the white steel. The edges of his vision began to darken, his world fading, leaving only Atrix in sight. 

With his final breaths, he beheld his legacy, hoping his son would survive. 

Atrix watched the life leave his father’s eye. Too young to understand, the boy fainted beneath his bed. 

Salik stood beside his corpse, alone. He took a step towards the bed. 

“HESIN!” Nafalya’s voice called out through the doorway. 

Moving on instinct, he abandoned the boy and rolled towards the missing floor tile, slipping into the tunnel. A full Vaid, perhaps he could have faced her uninjured. With a single usable hand, he stood no chance. 

She watched him make his escape, stopped only from pursuing him by the sight of Hesin’s bloody corpse. She sensed his death lingering through the fabric of reality, a deep pain that stabbed at her soul. 

Unbelieving what she had felt, lost to denial, she threw herself to her knees and tore away his mask. “NO.” She tried to shake him awake, yet he was gone. 

Staining her hands with his blood, she felt a dampness in her gaze. Never could she weep. Her hands trembled, her sorrow turning to an agony that carved through the deepest pit of her stomach. 

Pulling herself from his side, she was about to chase his murderer, only to freeze as she glimpsed Atrix’s limp body beneath the bed. Panic driving her forth, she dragged him into her arms, finding him unharmed, though unconscious. 

She couldn’t leave him. The Truthseekers she had led poured into the chamber, rushing to fight against the dying fire consuming the rug. She shouted her commands, sending them into the tunnel as she cradled her son. 

Left alone, she picked up her master’s bloody mask and placed it carefully upon his face. He would want to display his true face. 

Beside his corpse, she knelt in silence.

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