Vaid Empire: Conquest
Chapter 124
24th of Senin, 21 AVE.
Kingdom of Wonakaros, Near The Holy City of Arkos-Tul.
“If only you could sense him as I do, Anthara. You’d be very pleased with his power,” Vixin said, watching Lalian The Younger play. Lounging in her tent, she sat with the Lanthian couple.
Anthara watched her son with satisfaction. The little Lanthian hybrid mingled with the younger members of House Vaid as they settled into their temporary home. After all that had occurred upon the Wonak, Vixin didn’t intend to let even one of them out of her sight until the battle had begun and ended. Placed at the center of the camp, her tent was a fortress.
“You. Hybrid boy. Come with me,” Jinilya commanded, beckoning Lalian The Younger to assist her as she prepared her own corner of the grand tent. Though he could do little to help at his age, it was clear she merely savored the fact that she could order him around. Much younger, and commanded by an imperial princess, the boy obeyed. Anthara and Lalian shared a glance.
Vixin straightened as she sensed her sister’s approach. As the guards announced Cendra’s arrival, she rose to greet her.
“It’s time,” Cendra announced before the others could utter a word. With Salduin at her side, she gripped the hilt of her sheathed blade. “The Arkos are moving.”
“Ah.” Vixin felt her stomach tighten. Waiting for the result of a battle was never a pleasant experience, and once more, she’d have to tend to the children while the others fought.
Anthara shot to her feet and seized her spear. “I’m ready, your majesty. I’ve been ready to see these Arkos fall.”
“Just so.” Cendra granted her a nod of respect as Salduin moved to embrace his daughter.
“Daddy!” Jinilya leapt into his strong arms. “Crush grandfather’s enemies!”
Salduin disapproved of her words, yet he held her tightly. “Goodbye, Jin, though only for now.”
Cendra turned to Vixin, hardly able to meet her gaze. They both knew the large man could have delivered the announcement himself, yet still she had come. “I suppose this is goodbye for us as well.”
Vixin hesitated, only to wrap her sister in her arms. “Return to us, and be cautious.”
She stood stiffly as she endured Vixin’s affection. Caution was the furthest thing from her intentions. With a silent sigh, she dared to return her embrace, holding the sister she had wronged more times than she cared to remember. Daughter of the traitor, spawn of her mother’s murderer, the feeling of her warmth was a pleasant sensation she didn’t deserve. Knowing very well that such words could be the last they’d share, a whisper escaped the cracks of her facade. “You’ve shown me great mercy, Vixin. Should I fall, know that the kindness you’ve granted me never went unnoticed.”
“You won’t fall today,” Vixin shot back. Despite the certainty of her words, she tightened her hold. When Cendra could endure no further affection, she finally released her.
Anthara knelt as she beckoned her son to come to her. With one hand upon her spear, she caressed the boy’s cheek. A perfect hybrid, her legacy, she beheld him with pride. “Behave, or your mother shall be very displeased.” She waited for him to nod before a smile snuck upon her lips. “Good boy.”
She rose to meet Lalian’s lips, tasting her bondmate. Two Lanthians in the horrid desert, among a sea of humans, he blushed as she aggressively grabbed the back of his head and held him close.
When at last their lips parted, he pressed his forehead to hers. “B…be safe, my love.”
They shared a silent moment before she turned to Vixin. The woman that had sealed their love, she couldn’t help but offer the princess a deep kiss of her own.
With their temporary goodbyes settled as battle loomed before them, Cendra, Salduin, and Anthara prepared to depart. Knowing she may never get another chance, Vixin’s lips parted to stop her sister. Clin’s message lingered in her memory, final words that she deserved to hear. She could retrieve the cylinder from where she had stashed it inside her tent, always keeping it close. She could confess all she had done, a truth that would forever be trapped within her if Cendra fell. As she thought of their embrace, remembering her sister’s warmth, the words remained seized in her throat. With a silent agony, her silent lips closed.
Anthara lingered at the entrance while her companions marched forth. Glancing back, she saw Lalian pick up their son. Her family, her life, she couldn’t help but regard them with pride. For her son, as much as for her people, she would spill the blood of her ancestors’ ancient enemies. With a final nod to her love, she flapped her wings and took to the air to catch up with Cendra.
Lalian watched through the open entrance as she flew away. Envy was never a rare sensation for him. As he watched her fly, he was reminded of the scars decorating his back in place of his lost wings. He smothered such thoughts with the memory of their shared promise to fly together, cradling their son as his heart yearned for her safe return.
***
The dunes ahead called to The Holy Kromak. They’d be his crucible.
Atop his Onak, he closed his eyes, abandoning the army gathered behind him. Perhaps other men in his place would search within their souls and pray they found the strength to meet the coming bloodshed. He found nothing but an empty void.
Who was he?
He opened his eyes. With the wind growing ever stronger beneath the gathering clouds, he could delay no longer. Readying his blades, he shouted the command to charge. At long last, he would find out what kind of man he truly was.
Tens of thousands of Arkos loosed roars that threatened to shatter the clouds concealing the sky. Like a raging storm, they carried the fate of their people across the dunes and towards their enemies.
Riding, charging, Krom watched his enemies grow ever closer. The human legion remained in place, gathered at the back of The God Emperor just beyond the edge of the human camp with their Narok allies reinforcing their flanks. The Conqueror sought to force his foe to come to him, and thus he did.
Like a screaming wave, the Arkos army crashed against white blades and shields. The humans met the patchwork of Arkos warriors with a disciplined unity beneath their God Emperor’s command. Their inevitable battle arrived with the clashing of steel upon steel, purple and red blood alike spilling upon the dunes.
The blade of Carkanos tore through the neck of a human as The Kromak swung his holy axe from atop his mount. Claiming the first life he had taken in battle, he watched crimson blood flick from the sharp golden edge of his gilded weapon. He did not shatter. As his Onak smashed into his enemies, he felt the quickening of his heart at his deed, yet still he stood high atop his mount.
His axes carved through his foes as his allies fell at his sides. A human spear was driven deep into his Onak, piercing the base of its long neck. It fell with a gurgling roar as Krom was thrown to the sand below. Rising to his feet, a colossus surrounded by mortal men, his axes hacked at all those around him.
Crimson blood rained at his feet. Gold blades met the gaps between white armor and carved through human flesh. Gilded horns glimmered in the dying light as the sun was suffocated behind vengeful clouds, Krom faced death all around.
The humans did not seek to spar. Krom did not face mere slaves serving to train him. All around were blades hungry for his blood and faces twisted with hate. White swords crashed off his armor and against his axes. Pain erupted through his side when a lucky spear found a gap between his gilded plates, opening a gash that spilled the purple blood of a false deity.
Krom bled. He roared, heaving his axes and slaughtering every man that sought to bring him down. With every swing of his powerful arms, he claimed a new life, finding that his own hadn’t yet ended.
A lesser man would flee in fear, only to be cut down from behind. The lowest of men would drop their swords and beg for mercy. Death surrounded him, yet Krom found himself standing, fighting, meeting the fury of his enemies with his own. He would not crumble.
Retreating step by careful step while his axes worked, he found allies at his sides once more. Arkos men and women threw themselves wildly against the organized legion.
Never had Wonakaros forged an army as large as the one at his back. The God Emperor’s ambition alone had coaxed them into one force for the first time. They held no experience, no knowledge of battle tactics. They held only a furious will to meet their conquerors with their blades, with their roars, with countless voices that screamed their defiance. Around him were men and women that would not kneel, and as he fought at their sides, he felt a tiny flicker of pride.
Perhaps Sarak had been right to love them after all.
Her memory drove his axes against the humans. His will alone sought to crush them.
With hot blood pumping through his veins, he had hardly been aware of the thunder echoing at either side. The wind tore through the clashing armies beneath the looming clouds, yet he found himself dry, for no rain fell. To his horror, he realized that lightning did not come from the sky, but his foe. Atop his lixidion, bolts of electricity erupted from the burning sword of The God Emperor nearby.
The legends were true. The first hints of something real, something divine flashed before his eyes. Hardly did Krom have time to dwell upon all he saw, for The God Emperor’s lightning was not alone. Spread across the front line of battle, Privictis Knights hurled their flames into the Arkos masses at either side of The Kromak. Lips parted, his awe gave way to gritted teeth. With the screams of burning men all around, he swung his axes with every ounce of his great strength.
Their gods were false, yet the courage of his warriors was not. His own divinity was a Dril lie, yet the burning and dying men and women around him were real. The people Sarak had loved stained the dunes with their blood and the air with their screams.
As he fought against the crushing tide of fate, against the imperial throne that sought to break them, The Kromak discovered exactly what kind of man he truly was.
***
The raging light of hurled fire all around tore through the gathering darkness as the winds ripped across the dunes. Black sand was carried through the air, pelting armor as white cloaks fluttered wildly all around.
Cendra’s burning sword carved through the sandy haze as she led those around her. The Goddess of War, the firstborn of The God Emperor, she met the Arkos hordes with glowing silver eyes.
She wanted the dunes themselves to burn as she hurled her flames. The blades of her enemies sought to cut her down, yet she carved through their flesh with the white steel of her sword.
Tens of thousands of Arkos stood between her and the future throne of her son. Her legacy, her purpose, she could see the shadow of all she sought to be through the gathering sandstorm. With every slash, with every burning burst of her power, she sought to force her way towards her fate.
Privictis Knights fought at her side, brothers and sisters pushing back the endless waves of Arkos warriors together. Their battle seemed unending. For every screaming grey man they burned, another charged forward to take his place. For every half-naked Arkos woman they cut down, countless others shouted their fury ahead. An endless sea of enemies stood in their path, yet still they fought. Still they pushed back their foes, stepping over mangled and burning corpses.
Hardly did Cendra hear their screams. Hardly did she smell the stench of charred flesh or feel the sand pelting her skin. She drove her blade through the stomach of an Arkos woman, lifting her off her feet with gritted teeth. Hot rage burned in her glowing gaze, yet it was Clin’s face she saw, not the agony of her opponent. In her thoughts he turned away, leaving her behind.
Hands trembling as she squeezed the hilt of her sword, she remembered Irith’s corpse. She felt Briza’s long absence like a lonely chill despite the flames all around her.
A spear was thrown towards her with the hope of striking down a vengeful goddess. She waited until the last moment to turn, letting it pass an inch from her flesh. An enemy’s sword cut through the air. Her own stopped it, letting the blade open a tiny cut upon her shoulder.
It’d be a simple thing to surrender, to stand still and let them cut her down. Hazia’s memory forced her to move. She cleaved through her enemies, offering no mercy, waiting for a lucky Arkos to drive his sword through her.
She waited. She hoped.
Flames spilled from her blade as she tore through all that stood in her path, yet she felt a wetness beginning to trickle from her vengeful eyes. She tried to drown in the blades of her enemies.
Suffocated by her tearful rage, she didn’t sense the lucky Arkos sword she sought. It carved through the air at her right side, a slash that aimed for her delicate neck. She turned her head to see it, though it was far too late. Wet silver eyes glimpsed the promise of her death. For an instant, she tasted a hint of peace.
A white blade blocked the sword just before it could meet her flesh. Redirecting the slash of her attacker, the sword of a Knight opened the chest of her lucky Arkos. “Your majesty!”
She turned to see her savior, a familiar face at her side. Knight Nomax, a brother, a companion, he offered her a nod as he continued to fight. He was but one of many, for fellow Knights flanked her at either side. Kunir, Izria, she saw those she had trained beside.
They fought for their empire, yet so too did they fight for her, facing death beside their chosen High Peacekeeper.
Wiping away her tears, she steeled herself. They required her strength. If they sought to make her their leader, she would lead. If they looked to her for guidance, she would guide them through the battle and ensure they lived to see the next sunrise.
She craved death, yet death would have to wait.
***
Salduin heaved his hammer, crushing the chestplate of the man before him. Hardly did he have an instant before another came at him with a ready blade.
The roar of The God Emperor’s power tore through the sky nearby. Commanding a portion of the legion’s center, Salduin had a full view of the devastation inflicted each time his holy ruler unleashed his lightning.
Once more, he raised his hammer. Once more, he brought it down upon the head of another foe. His gritted teeth hid his remorse as he watched the man’s skull collapse, for yet another sacred life was lost by his hand.
Such was war. He would gladly fight until his last breath for his beliefs. Every burst of Dominax’s power proved his claims about The Creator to be true, yet the Arkos hordes fought for their false gods. Their beliefs would clash until a single victor stood atop the corpses of the others, and Salduin would not allow himself, or Dominax, or Vixin, or…Jin to be among those corpses.
Though he heaved his hammer without mercy, every life he claimed was a tragedy. Their gods were false, yet he would have gladly sat down and discussed such things with the Arkos instead. He would have vastly preferred to teach instead of fight, yet such was not the era in which he had been born into. His entire life had been spent fighting, yet every death he caused offered the promise that his daughter would not have to do the same.
Perhaps Jinilya would be able to teach during Dominax’s Eternal Peace. Until then, Salduin would continue to fight.
The endless hordes crashed relentlessly against the legion, yet white blades cut them down. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of Arkos fell, yet the legion continued to stand.
Cendra and Prince Fonax led their flanks, reinforced by their Narok allies as the legion marched, pushing their enemies back step by grueling step. Through the howling winds and blinding haze of sand, they strode towards their victory, crushing all that stood in their way.
With the screams of burning and bleeding Arkos men and women roaring across the dunes, the defenders of Wonakaros fell in droves. The patchwork of tribes began to gradually fracture, splintering the great army while the legion stood united.
***
“Hold together!” Krom shouted above the roar of the wind.
Their courage drove their blades against their conquerors, yet courage alone could not save them. Outmatched, the best men and women among them fell to their enemies. The lowest among them turned to flee.
“Your holiness!” a voice shouted from behind. Krom turned, seeing a warrior approaching. “Chiefs Garok, Barcaros, Warnos and Frokeom have retreated! They’ve taken their warriors with them!”
The announcement offered four daggers into his heart, four names he silently cursed. Turning back to face the humans, he paused, glancing over at the lightning hurling into the Arkos masses all around.
Ahead, The God Emperor withdrew from the front and rode his lixidion to mount a tall dune. High above the battle, surrounded by the legion, he sheathed his blade and offered outstretched fingers that poured forth webs of lightning. Krom saw the glow of his maddened silver eyes through the sandstorm, the wind swirling all around as a blinding haze of sand cut through the battle.
Beholding The God Emperor’s power, Krom lowered his axes. Among burning men, standing atop the corpses of his fallen warriors, he stood still as those around him continued to fight and die.
“Chief Quaros’s people are retreating!” another voice called out hopelessly.
Krom looked at the warriors around him, seeing their courage turn to desperation. They had been fools to believe they ever stood a chance. As Knights continued to hurl their flames and human blades continued to cut down those around him, he peered down at his gilded weapons.
He had sought his test. He had chosen his battlefield, and he had failed. With his promise to Sarak lingering in his memory, he hung his blades from his belt.
Once more he looked up to find the glowing gaze of The God Emperor. If the human saw him among the Arkos masses, he offered no acknowledgment as his power continued to pour forth. His fingers sent webs of electricity against the defenders of Wonakaros, human hands reaching to seize the desert in his conquering grasp.
The Holy Kromak glared, his face a statue of hard hate. He could call the bloodshed around him his test, his crucible, yet he knew the truth. Sending thousands to their deaths had been an easy act when faced with the alternative. To remain now and fight until his final breath would be a coward’s escape from his true fear.
“Care for them when I’m gone,” the memory of his love’s final words echoed in his head. He remembered kneeling at Sarak’s side. He remembered her blood. “This land may never become your true home, though it’s filled with good and honorable people. Protect them, Krom. Don’t let your duty to them die with me.”
There were no further alternatives. The Oracle had set its price. A single choice remained, to stay and fall, or to face his deepest fear.
The Holy Kromak turned his back to the battle. A giant among mortals, he shoved his way through doomed men.
“Your holiness? Where are you-” A warrior lowered his blade at his approach, only to be pushed aside. Stunned, he watched their holy leader march past. “By the gods…The Holy Kromak is abandoning us!”
He hardly heard the man’s shouts echoing through the storm. He didn’t care when others began to add their horrified voices.
“The gods themselves are abandoning us!” another shouted.
Krom was silent as he made his way to the Onaks waiting at the rear of the army. He offered no commands. Those who saw his retreat fled as well, seizing mounts of their own. Hardly able to see through the raging sandstorm, the rest continued to fight as confusion slowly poisoned the remaining army.
The beasts were terrified by the roaring wind. Krom seized the nearest Onak by its reins and forced it to obey him, climbing onto its back. He drove his heels into the sides of the creature, riding it hard towards the festival city.
False gods would not save them. A fractured army could not protect them. There was but one choice that could save the lands Sarak so loved.
As he rode towards the city, every frantic step of his mount driving him towards the inevitable, he gritted his teeth. He had stared into the face of death and remained standing, yet it wasn’t his own death that filled him with dread.
***
The howling wind sought to bury The Great Temple in sand, yet Saros did not fear. Protected by thick and ancient walls, she lounged in her father’s throne room.
She could almost forget the raging sandstorm outside while she rested atop one of the many cushions decorating the circular chamber. On her back, she studied the white petals of the Tascavi flower in her grasp.
One of many women lounging around the chamber, Saros was surrounded by her father’s concubines. The bare bodies of The Holy Kromak’s harem enjoyed the luxury of their surroundings, mingling among the hanging silks that decorated the throne room. One of the younger women approached, offering Saros a thin pipe topped with several tiny vials. She gladly inhaled, feeling a warmth spreading through her chest before she at last released her breath. Smoke poured from her pretty lips to join the gentle haze lingering within the chamber.
She returned the flower to its place in her hair, sliding the stem beneath her long strands to fix it into place. No doubt her father would return any hour now, and she intended to look her best when he announced his victory against the humans.
Her longing to be the center of his world again when he was no longer consumed by thoughts of war was joined by another yearning, a need that grew more persistent with every passing moment. She turned her head to meet the gaze of her favorite concubine among her father’s harem, a young woman that rested nearby. Gazes meeting, Saros’s wordless command drew her closer. With swaying hips, the girl cradled her pregnant belly, the natural result of serving The Holy Kromak.
Saros drank in the sight of her pregnancy with a hungry smirk. She ran a hand over the girl’s smooth grey skin when she was near, savoring her gentle swell.
The girl knew her purpose. As she had countless times before, she touched Saros’s leg. Thick thighs parted, inviting her to serve, and thus her fingers obeyed.
Only her long loincloth protected Saros’s sex. Laying draped between her parted legs, the transparent silk grew wet from her juices as the girl’s fingers brushed her lower lips. Delicate petals twitched, feeling her fingers tracing her yearning labia.
Saros closed her eyes as the girl knelt at her side, surrendering to her touch. A soft gasp escaped her parted lips as the concubine’s fingers slipped beneath her loincloth, sliding inside her virgin tightness.
Never had she experienced the touch of a male. Perhaps her father would at last select a mate for her when he returned. She thought of the future, of a strong, virile warrior worthy of impregnating her. Delighting in the skilled touch of the concubine, she imagined her belly swelling with a pregnancy of her own, knowing she would gladly fill The Great Temple with little heirs to her father’s legacy. Chuckling to herself, she could only imagine Naram’s reaction when she would inevitably be commanded to do the same. No doubt her sister would protest.
As amusing as the thought was, it couldn’t help but dampen her joy. No word had come from her serious sister since her departure. With the distant humans within view of the city, it was clear that Naram’s mission had failed, though did she still live?
Biting her lip as the concubine’s fingers explored her tightness, Saros’s smirk eased. Always had she and Naram bickered. Always had they fought, yet still they were sisters. Never would Saros confess that she had prayed for her safe return, yet perhaps if she did indeed return, Saros knew she could be a little kinder to her.
The concubine’s thumb lovingly brushed her clit, coaxing a moan. With her thick thighs quivering, Saros did her best to shut out her worries. Surely the gods would see Naram return home safely, just as they would see her father crush the humans. The Holy Kromak, the divine champion of the gods, her father would slaughter all those that sought to conquer them. Of that, she had no doubt.
Subtly moving her hips in reaction to the concubine’s touch, Saros caressed the girl’s pregnant swell. Her fingers dragged over her smooth skin, worshiping, obsessing over the child within. Her unborn sibling shared her divine blood, a gift from The Holy Kromak.
She turned her head to savor the sight of the girl, the result of her father’s lust clear to see. It would be a foul thing to crave the touch of her own kin, she knew. Never had such forbidden thoughts entered her desires, yet it was perfectly natural among her people to find pride in being sired by such a worthy male. A warrior, a champion of the gods, her father was a giant among mortals. The pregnancy before her was further evidence of his power, his domination.
The humans stood no chance. Their strange crimson blood would spill upon the dunes
She pulled the concubine closer. The girl offered seductive eyes, knowing precisely what the daughter of her master craved. She moved her belly closer, allowing Saros to lick at her pregnant swell.
Her body quivered with arousal as she worshiped the pregnancy. Her father’s seed had utterly claimed the girl before her. The Holy Kromak’s domination over his concubine’s womb was the same domination he held over the hearts and souls of his followers. It was the reason Saros was permitted to enjoy such luxury, the reason she too was worshiped as the holy spawn of their ruler.
Trembling, Saros kissed the girl’s belly just before she was seized in the grasp of a powerful orgasm. With her body clenching, drowning in pleasure, her vaginal juices began to squirt onto the ancient stone floor.
The concubine chuckled, running her fingers through Saros’s long hair as she watched her climax slowly ease. When at last she broke from her pleasure, Saros was left panting.
Sharing a kiss with the girl, she dismissed her. Basking in the aftermath of her pleasure, she rested a hand upon her own midriff as she returned to her thoughts of the future.
Wherever Naram was, if she was still out there, if the gods brought her home safely as she had prayed for, Saros would indeed treat her better. Such was her vow.
As she rested, she heard the faint beginnings of distant shouts outside. She sat up when they grew louder, clearly coming from inside The Great Temple. When at last the doors to the throne room burst open, a breath of joy filled her lungs as she jumped to her feet.
Looming in the doorway, The Holy Kromak lingered. When he sealed the doors, he left the guards scrambling behind him outside the chamber.
Saros rushed to greet him. Caring little about the remnants of her satisfaction still dripping down her virgin thighs, she hurried to embrace him. When she felt his powerful body against her own, stiff and straight, she looked up. Seeing his grim features, cold and hard, her joy faltered. “Father? Tell me, did the humans…fall?”
A shake of his head shattered her hopes. A single glance at his concubines sent the women away, for they hurried to grant him a moment with his daughter. Only when they were alone did he speak. “I failed.”
Two words were enough to shake her, his tone low and deep. “Yet the gods-”
The Kromak’s harsh grimace silenced her. Seeing her fear, he sighed and lowered himself to one knee, taking her hands in his. “Saros, my child. My Tascavi flower.” Agony was clear in his eyes, yet his features hardened. “I need you to be brave.”
Hardly had she ever needed to be. After all, what did the daughter of The Holy Kromak need to fear? For the first time in her entire pampered life, she felt the grip of true terror tightening around her stomach at the sight of her father’s grim features. She found only the strength to nod.
“The humans are coming. The remnants of my army shall slow their march, though they’ll arrive before the hour ends.” He tightened his grip upon her hands. “There may be a way to stop them. One way.”
Saros found her voice. “How, father?”
He beheld his daughter, the light of his life, the center of his world. His grip grew painfully tight. “I’ll need your help.”
“Anything. Name it.” She offered no hesitation despite her fear. If only Sarak had known their daughter would show such courage.
It required every ounce of his strength to rise. He took his axes and discarded them to the floor before his throne. Their purpose was done, and they had failed him. Instead, he touched the hilt of the dagger concealed in his belt to ensure it remained in place, the final horrid hope of his doomed people.
Offering his arm, he led her forth with features of stone. Leaving the throne room behind, his heavy steps echoed through The Great Temple as he made his way to the stairs leading below.
Saros hesitated at the top, though obeyed as he led her down. Entering the chamber below, she lowered her eyes to avoid looking at the slab that held her mother’s bones.
Krom led her closer. Standing before the slab, he offered nothing but silence as he remembered his vow.
Who was he?
Stepping away from her bones, his doubts fell away. He was the man that would save all she had cared for. He was the man that would bear the terrible price.
Guiding his daughter to the top of the second descending staircase, he felt Saros freeze in place as she peered into the darkness waiting below.
“You said…” She cleared her throat. “You instructed me never to delve below.”
He wanted to release her. He tightened his hold instead. “Be brave for me.”
Peering up at his face, she saw the pleading in his eyes. Behind his hard features, her mountain of a father was held together merely by his will. At last, she nodded.
Claiming a torch, he led her below. Descending into the darkness step by step, the burning light guided their way. The ancient door waited at the end, his final chance to turn back. He heaved it open.
Saros stepped onto the hidden sands beneath The Great Temple for the first time. Peering into the darkness of the surrounding chamber, she was guided inside by her father. She bit back her terror when the light of his torch licked over the ancient well in the center, seeing the black slime inside.
“The false champion returns. The Holy Kromak brings his gift.”
The unknowable words echoed through the chamber, making Saros tremble at the bizarre sound. How did she understand them?
Black slime began to pour over the edge of the well, bubbling, gurgling. A figure rose from the sludge, a serpent utterly drenched in the dark liquid.
Saros screamed at the sight, covering her mouth. Watching the great worm emerge to match her father’s height, she fought to cling to the bravery he required. The darkest secret of her people regarded her with one eye above a grinning mouth, peeling open to reveal pristine white teeth.
The Oracle beneath Arkos-Tul loomed before her, dripping, waiting.
“F…father?” She turned to him, seeing his icy stare as he faced the slimy creature.
The weight of the desert was upon his shoulders. His vows, his love, he held a single choice, a single chance to fulfill them. He could run, or he could be the man Sarak knew he could be.
He dropped the torch. It continued to burn upon the sand, holding back the darkness. “Be brave, my Tascavi flower.” As he drew his dagger, his words were heavy enough to crush her. “There is no other way.”
Eyeing the blade, Saros slipped from his grasp. “Wh…what is this?”
Though she retreated a step, he put a hand upon her shoulder. Gaze dripping with regret, he allowed her to see his sorrow. “Forgive me. I tried to find another way. I failed, my child.”
The Oracle waited, watching with its mocking grin. Saros trembled as the blade touched her neck. “D…don’t do this. I’m your daughter…”
Every word was a dagger to his chest, yet he stood firm. “You are everything, Saros.” He turned his head to aim his agony at the vile Oracle. “The only thing worth losing.”
“The daughter. The desert. The false champion must choose.”
The creature’s bizarre words made her tremble harder. “No. No! Don’t do this, father! I’ll…I’ll serve you and your throne better. I’ll perform every duty you-”
“Enough.” His tone was a bitter thing as it echoed through the chamber. Offering his agonizing sorrow as he met her eyes, seeing her tears begin to fall, he held back his own. His strength withered with every passing second. He had to make his choice. “I need you to be brave, my Tascavi flower.”
“Wait…please, I-”
Her words were silenced by a single slash. With terror in her eyes, she fell into his arms.
Krom held her, letting the dagger fall as he lowered himself to his knees. Her body twitched as he cradled her, watching her strength drain away as her blood poured onto the sand beneath them.
“Forgive me. Forgive me, Sarak,” he whispered, holding his child, the last living piece of the woman he loved. Saros’s twitching movements slowed, and as she fell limp in his arms, he watched the life leave her eyes forever.
He remained still in the silence that followed. A living husk, he looked down at the discarded blade, tempted to join her. Instead, his gaze burned into The Oracle as he lifted his hand, displaying her blood as it dripped from his tainted fingers. “Wake. The. Desert.”
The creature’s mocking grin showed its amusement, its jaw clicking with a horrid chuckle. “The Holy Kromak pays the price. May the desert rise.”
Holding his daughter’s corpse, Krom watched the creature rise further from the well. It lifted its head towards the ceiling, its mouth stretching open wide. A silent cry sealed the fate of the humans. He could not hear the sound, seeing the serpent’s slimy body vibrating, though he knew the deed was done.
The last hope for the people and land Sarak had one loved rang through the air without a sound. He had served his duty. He had fulfilled his vows. Bowing his head, he endured his sorrow in silence.
***
Hardly could Cendra hear over the howling wind, yet their battle was all but done. The legion stood atop the corpses of thousands of fallen Arkos, cutting down those few that continued to stubbornly fight back. Dead, scattered, retreating, the once great Arkos army was utterly in ruins.
Warriors knelt by the hundreds, surrendering while the legion locked them in chains and confiscated their weapons. White cloaks billowed as they endured the harsh wind and pelting sand, hardly able to see their surroundings.
Still Cendra stood. Still she lived. Surrounded by her fellow Knights, she had survived once more. Her lips hardened with a quiet acceptance as she lowered her blade.
Observing what little she could see of the aftermath through the sandstorm, she was lost in her thoughts when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stand up. She saw her Privictis brothers and sisters begin to look around, their senses as heightened as her own.
Something called through the wind. A silent vibration, none of the ordinary beings around her seemed to feel it. It offered her senses a subtle tingle, a warning that something was wrong.
Glancing around, she heard the first sounds of shifting sand. Through the raging storm, her eyes opened wide as she watched a creature emerge from the ground nearby. Claws reaching, it pulled itself from the desert, only to be struck down by a legionary blade.
Another stirred beneath the ground. A shout echoed nearby, followed by another.
As the silent vibration continued to echo, the nocturnal horrors resting beneath the desert began to emerge, pulling themselves from their hidden burrows and into the open. As the sunlight was suffocated in the grasp of the storm, the desert began to awaken beneath them.
Hearing screams erupt nearby, Cendra turned, only to feel the sand beneath her feet beginning to shift. She rolled away, turning to see a monstrosity rising from the sand where she had been standing. A dark humanoid, it hurled itself towards her, meeting her burning blade with its body.
Slaying the creature, Cendra watched in horror as they began to rise all around. Creatures of every shape and size, predators dragging themselves into the open, they began to attack as if driven into a wild frenzy.
“Stay together!” Cendra shouted above the roar of the desert and the shrieks of monstrosities. Her Knights obeyed, readying their blades and hacking at the creatures as the legion was slowly swarmed.
Humans and Arkos alike were pulled to the ground and slaughtered by the claws of the creatures as they were attacked from all sides. Screams and shouts of agony erupted throughout the masses as panic and terror spread across the awaking desert.
Cendra watched in horror as the legionaries beneath her command began to fall one by one. Her sword blazed in the storm as she sought to cut the creatures down, hacking, slashing, hurling her flames, yet the rising horrors were endless.
The desert was infested, and every living creature beneath their feet was stirred into a murderous frenzy.
A shout of agony rang out at her side. Whirling around, she saw Knight Nomax fall onto his back while a black humanoid mounted him, slashing at his chest and face. His armor protected his vital organs, yet its claws drew blood as they sliced through a gap near his shoulder.
Charging forth, Cendra drove her blade into the monstrosity and tore it from her fallen companion. Seizing his arm, she hauled him back to his feet. Moving into position, back-to-back, blades ready, they fought the dark hordes rising all around them together.
As she fought for the lives of those around her, a sudden realization struck her hard. Turning towards the rear of the legion, unable to see what was occurring further through the blinding sandstorm, her silver eyes glowed with panic.
“The camp!”
***
Vixin heard the wind against her tent, every gust threatening to tear away the fabric. Just behind the legion, she could hear the sounds of battle in the distance. The shouts had seemed to grow quiet for a long while, though now she heard screams echoing anew.
“Vixin?” Zela asked. Fearing the storm, she remained wrapped in her elder sister’s arms as they sat on the edge of her bed.
“There’s nothing to fear,” she said, keeping her tone firm despite her doubts. Her senses tingled. Glancing over at Arinax where he sat on the other side of his twin, holding his dagger, she shared a look with him. It was clear he sensed the same strange tingle as she did.
The other children remained gathered near her feet, pressing closer with every approaching scream. Yisi sat quietly at her other side, an emotionless statue as she concealed her concerns.
Vixin sensed Nafalya before her sister burst through the entrance, startling Zela and Lalian The Younger. The elder Lalian jumped to his feet, eager for news.
“Something’s wrong,” Nafalya said coldly. “We need to-”
Her words were cut off as black claws slashed through the fabric wall. The children screamed as the wind tore the gash open further, revealing a dark monstrosity that shrieked before trying to crawl inside.
Vixin and Nafalya hurled their power together, their lightning sending the creature flying backwards and reducing it to a charred heap. Screams erupted throughout the camp, and they watched through the gaping hole as dark creatures tore through the neighboring tents outside.
“Lalian. Yisi.” Nafalya’s command was harsh as she pulled spare blades from her belt and tossed them to the green man and her sister’s lover. Though they held them in shock, not knowing what to do with their new daggers, Nafalya merely turned towards her sister. “Vixin, come.”
The children screamed as she rose. With little time to delay, Vixin grabbed her brother’s shoulder and met his silver eyes. “Protect them, Arinax. I need you to be strong for them.”
Though terrified all the same, he nodded and squeezed the hilt of his dagger.
“Wait! Where are you-” Jinilya shouted before she was cut off when the claws of another horror carved through the wall. Nafalya electrocuted the beast before rushing outside to defend the tent’s exterior.
Vixin took a final glance at her daughter and Yisi before hurrying to join her sister. She hadn’t been permitted to fight in battle, yet as her eyes began to glow with power, she prepared herself to defend her family.
Bloodshed and chaos ruled the camp. Screams joined the howling wind as slaves and the families of royals scrambled for safety together. Tents were torn apart by the storm and the beasts rising from the ground, while guards and Truthseekers alike fought the beasts throughout the camp.
Seeing bodies strewn across the ground, Vixin’s fingers sparked to life with electricity. A monstrosity rose from the sand nearby, moving frantically as it hurled itself towards her tent. A burst of her lightning destroyed the creature, only to find it replaced with another.
She shared a glance with her sister before Nafalya rushed to defend the rear of the tent. Two Vaids fighting with a single aim, their power flashed through the camp in blinding arcs as they slaughtered any creature who approached.
Inside, Lalian and Arinax held their daggers ready as they saw the flashes through the gaping holes in the tent while Yisi stared down at her own blade. Surrounded by chaos, they could do little but muster the courage to offer the children support.
“Stay beside me!” the prince commanded, his voice quivering. Seeing that Zela was trembling, however, he seized his own fear and gripped her hand, fighting to be strong as Vixin had commanded. “We’ll be alright! I promise!”
The floor of the tent began to move where Atrix sat. The boy scurried away a moment before a black claw cut through Vixin’s various decorative rugs to reach up from the ground, slashing wildly.
Lalian was no warrior. Every instinct told him to flee, yet the sight of the children hardened his trembling nerves. Acting on instinct alone, he leapt forward with a scream and drove his clumsy blade as deep as it would go into the back of the creature while it tried to drag itself from the sand beneath them. Even when it collapsed, limp and dead, he continued to stab until there was no doubt.
Another tried to climb through the hole in the wall, only to be killed by Vixin’s power from outside. Hardly could she and Nafalya be everywhere, however, and a smaller creature with six legs slipped beneath the tent’s edge and scurried towards Lalian The Younger.
Lalian rushed towards his son, yet he wasn’t fast enough. As the swift creature prepared to strike with fangs as large as knives, Arinax thrust his hand towards it. Flames instinctively leapt from his fingertips, burning the creature into little more than a smoldering mass. Lalian wrapped his son in his arms, offering a glance of gratitude to the prince.
“No…” Yisi muttered as she peered through one of the gaping holes. At the very edge of what she could see through the storm, she saw where the lixidions had been tied to posts. The sounds of royal mounts crying out in agony pierced the air. Seeing purple scales through the haze and wind, Yisi offered her first real hint of emotion. “Kixsi!”
Secured to ensure it could not wander, her lixidion was helpless. In utter horror, she watched as the reptilian mount struggled while it was swarmed by the creatures.
“KIXSI!” Yisi’s scream held more panic than she had ever revealed in her life. She moved to climb through the gap, only to be pulled back by Lalian. “Let me go! Kixsi!”
Lalian refused to release her, knowing death waited outside. She fought to escape, watching the creatures viciously tear into the purple scales of her lixidion.
She held her blade, preparing to cut the Lanthian’s arm to free herself, only for her desperation to turn to agony as she watched Kixsi utter a final cry before collapsing onto her side. The lixidion’s struggle died, as did Yisi’s.
Rare tears beginning to fall down her cheeks, she stumbled when Lalian released her at last. Falling to her knees, she stared hopelessly outside as the creatures ravaged the once beautiful beast.
“M…move!” Lalian shouted, seeing one of the dark creatures reach through the hole towards Yisi.
She didn’t move. Instead, fueled by despair, her sorrow boiled into hopeless rage as she slashed at the creature wildly. Carving through its dark skin, she unleashed every ounce of her hate into the abomination, freeing more of her trapped emotion than she had ever permitted herself to. Stabbing, hacking at the beast with her dagger until its corpse fell before her, she fell back at last. Panting, drenched in the creature’s blood, she didn’t bother to wipe away her tears. Peering through the hole at what was left of Vixin’s gift, her solemn features twisted with grief.
When they saw another claw beginning to rip through the rugs from the sand below, all three of them readied their daggers.
***
Every man and woman was forced to fight for themselves. Swarmed from every side, attacked from the ground itself, every legionary became an island among a stormy sea of black monstrosities. Claws and fangs tore through white cloaks. Pincers cut through limbs that weren’t protected by armor.
Fighting the Arkos hordes had been grueling work, though Anthara had fought them gladly with the thought of her ancestors. As she fought against the horrors rising from the sand, however, she struggled only for her own survival.
Hardly could she see through the blinding sandstorm. Arcs of flame and lightning tore across the desert, though they were chaotic bursts that offered her little direction.
Readying her spear, she drove it through the neck of a black beast, only to be knocked from her feet by a fleeing legionary. They fell together. Shoving his screaming body away, she saw that claw marks had been cut across his face where his eyes used to be.
Rising, seizing her spear, she bashed the shaft of her weapon against the jaws of a predator that sought to pounce onto her. She ended its life a moment before another slashed its claws at her.
Always moving, always fighting, she tripped over a corpse. She was surrounded by dead or dying men. Unable to see through the storm, uncertain where she was, she struggled to her feet.
A creature struck at her. Her instincts flared, flapping her wings hard to get away. Though she escaped its claws, she couldn’t escape the raging wind, for she was carried far before she was slammed back into the sand.
Groaning, she was grateful only to find that her grip remained upon her spear. Her wings were a liability. She couldn’t fly. Whenever they weren’t held tightly against her back, powerful gusts of wind tore at them to knock her off balance or throw her to the ground.
Fighting, her strikes clumsy as she fought against her own wings, Anthara roared as a pair of claws dragged across her thigh. She bled as she defended herself, Lanthian blood dripping upon the dunes.
Lost among the storm, a glow caught her gaze. Turning, she saw the burning flames and lightning erupting from The God Emperor’s sword far in the distance. Atop his lixidion as he hurled his power upwards, he was a beacon of light in the darkness.
Men and women blinded by the storm began to flock towards their holy ruler, joining together around him to fight as one. A moment later, another light emerged in the distance, for a Knight hurled his flames into the air to mirror their ruler, becoming another island for desperate legionaries to flock to. A third, a fourth, Knights all along the former front line of battle began to act as beacons.
Awed, Anthara watched as The God Emperor led them forth while the Knights followed his lead. Seeing them in the distance, however, she was dismayed to realize just how far the wind had blown her. They slowly marched in her general direction, cutting down every creature that stood in their way.
Turning, she saw flashes of lightning in the other direction. No doubt they were coming from the camp. Feeling fear grip her chest as she thought of Lalian and their son, she squeezed her spear.
Blown near the rear of the legion, between The God Emperor’s march and the camp just beyond the battlefield, she had to make her choice. The God Emperor and those around him rushed to defend the camp, carving through the swarm, though they were far in the distance.
With thoughts of her son, she turned her back to The God Emperor and fought her way towards the camp. If she waited, she risked death. If she tried to reach the camp, she risked death. She would not wait idly.
Driving her spear into every beast that stood in her path, she ran in the direction of the wild webs of electricity. Every passing second risked her son’s life. Every moment was another chance for Lalian to fall victim to a monstrosity.
She fought her way towards her bondmate and son, using every ounce of her strength as she slaughtered horrors in the darkness of the raging storm.
Claws slashed at her, opening gashes upon her arms and legs. Roaring in agony, she fought with the strength of a true Lanthian warrior, her gilded loincloth wet with her own green blood.
“Lalian!” she screamed, fighting, falling. Struggling to her feet, she pushed through her pain, seeing the first tents through the swirling haze of sand. Naked slaves were cut down by monstrosities before the dark creatures met her spear.
The wind, her wings, her injuries, her limited sight, all hindered her skill. Another creature clawed at her left shoulder before she cut it down, leaving her arm limp and numb.
“Lalian! Lal…ian!” Only his name drove her through her pain. Only the thought of their son in danger maintained her strength. Fighting clumsily with one arm, she refused to surrender to her agony.
Through the tents she saw Vixin, seeing the princess tear through a trio of horrors with a burst of her power. Her lightning was blinding, hurled from the fingers of a true Vaid. She slaughtered all those that sought to attack the tent at her back, defending her family.
Stumbling towards her as fast as she could manage, her eyes widened as she saw a serpent with many tails leap from the ground and bite Vixin’s ankle. Screaming, the princess turned its head to ash with a burst of flame as she fell to her knees.
Poisoned, Vixin gasped in pain as she continued to fight. Struggling on her knees, the swarm of creatures threatened to overwhelm her. The guards and Truthseekers were scattered among the sandstorm, leaving her to fight alone.
Anthara rushed forward, driving her spear into the stomach of a dark humanoid that threatened to strike the princess down as several others held her attention.
Vixin’s lightning crackled as she met the Lanthian’s gaze. “Anthara?”
Side by side, they fought with what little strength remained to them. The powerful poison in Vixin’s veins burned, requiring her ample concentration as she willed her powers to slowly purge it from her body. Anthara fought beside her with a single good arm, both women defending those they loved.
While Nafalya’s lightning continued to flash on the other side of the tent, her battle just as all-consuming, Vixin saw her father’s approach in the distance. His power glowed, a beacon touching the sky while his men thundered across the dunes. On her knees, her own power began to wither, fighting the poison inside her.
Bleeding, stumbling as she fought, Anthara could hardly keep her spear steady with her good hand. Every strike drained her strength, staining the sand a dark green beneath her.
With a thought of her son, knowing who she fought for, she raised her spear to meet a black humanoid that rushed towards her. His claws were quicker. She uttered the shout of a true Lanthian warrior, only for her breath to seize in her lungs as she felt sharp claws cut across her stomach.
In an instant, she knew her fight was over.
She used the last of her strength to kill the creature before falling to her knees.
Peering over, Vixin forgot her pain as she watched her topple over. “LALIAN!” she screamed.
With blood staining his dagger, Lalian rushed outside with Yisi following a moment later, only to freeze when he saw his love. Dropping his blade, he rushed to her side.
“Get her out of here!” Vixin shouted, doing all she could to hold back the swarm.
Anthara’s arrival had bought her the time she required, just enough to keep fighting. Power withering, on her knees, she fought with everything she had left, knowing she just needed to hold out a little longer until her father reached them.
Wasting no time, Lalian began dragging Anthara across the sand. Yisi hurried to help as they pulled her into the tent together. Among shredded walls of fabric, they placed her in the center, rushing to find something to stop the blood.
“Lalian…” Anthara muttered weakly. She didn’t see the small corpses of abominations littered about the tent.
Grabbing the bedsheets, he hurried to press them against her wounds, though her blood merely soaked through. Arinax forced the others to step back and give them space.
Pulling away the sheet to assess her, Yisi took a single glance at the wound. She froze in place. A Sage, a healer, her lips tightened.
“Help her!” Lalian begged, trying to stop the endless flow of green blood pouring from her stomach. “H…hold on, my love…”
“Lalian…” Yisi met his eyes, the truth clear in her gaze.
“No. No…” Lalian struggled to hold the sheet against her. “No! Y…you’ll be alright, my love!”
Anthara shook her head. She knew there was no stopping it. “Wingless worm. Wretched…pet. S…seedless slave…”
Baffled by her words, feeling tears wetting his eyes as he held her wounds, Lalian met her green gaze. “M…my love?”
She inhaled softly, her breaths weakening. “How…could I have known back then…that you’d become my world when I uttered such…horrible things?” Her hand found the medallion hanging from her neck. “My little Lalian. I’m…so sorry…”
“No…” he whimpered, feeling his tears beginning to fall. “No, my love. Don’t apologize.”
Their son crept closer, daring to reach his mother’s side while Yisi moved back to grant him space. Anthara tried to take his hand, her fingers numb. Hardly did she hear the shouts of The God Emperor’s men when they finally arrived, nor did she hear the sounds of their blades cutting down the abominations outside.
Feeling a coldness seeping into her body, the same fear of death that had prevented her from taking her own life after her capture so long ago returned to seize her. Her other hand grabbed Lalian’s, her green gaze pleading. “Lalian…I don’t want to die in this place…”
He squeezed her hand. “Y…you’re not going to die.”
They both knew it was a lie.
Anthara’s own tears wetted her gaze, unable to keep the fear from her voice. “T…take me home. I…want to see the jungle…one more…time.”
“I will,” he vowed, his hands trembling. “W…we’ll go together. We’ll…” He watched her chest fall as she uttered a final breath, closing her eyes. “Anthara? Anthara!”
Her grasp loosened. She heard Lalian’s pleading shouts like a distant dream. As she slipped forever into darkness, she knew he could not keep his promise.
Never would they fly together.
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This is the longest (or possibly tied with the longest) chapter of the entire series! Considering all that occurred, and all that was lost, it truly needed the extra length.