“I refuse to leave dame Rilwen’s side! Not until I know she’s safe.” He responded with tears in his eyes. He was holding her tight in his arms, as if to protect her from harm’s way.
Erik was flustered and annoyed that no one was listening to him.
“I’ll go with him.” said Joachim, standing up from the ground. He had a deep wound around his right elbow and he could barely move that hand. He wrapped it with a piece of cloth and followed Atheol through the woods. Erik decided to wait for them some time and if they didn’t return to proceed with the plan of returning to camp.
They were all in terrible shape, some more than others. Time passed very slowly for the defeated squad. They acquired wounds both physical and emotional, wounds that might never fully heal. Erik sensed something suspicious about the herald sent by Élerion. Dwarves have an excellent memory and yet he’d never seen his visage. Even the way he moved and talked seemed slightly off from that of a normal person’s, but he attributed it to fear and exhaustion. After they were all bandaged, they gathered around Rilwen, forming a defensive circle in case the worst came to happen. The forest was silent and all that disturbed the peace was the pouring rain and the occasional thunders, roaring far from there. From where they stood, they had somewhat of a vantage point over the rest of the area and could even gaze far into the distance. Clouds as black as tar were gathered in the direction of the enemy citadel and thunder seemed to be coming from there. A foul stench could reach all the way from there, invading their nostrils. Their wait would soon come to an end, but they were roused by suspicious movement in their direction, hurried steps. Judging by the sound of the footsteps, they could discern it was coming from something humanoid and not a demon. Not long, Joachim appeared in view, running wild and breathing heavily. Erik and Sebastian came to intercept him and he stopped in an attempt to catch his breath.
“What happened?” Where’s Atheol?” asked the dwarf with an inquisitive gaze.
“Y-You will… not believe… what happened.” His panting made his words almost incomprehensible. He took a deep breath and continued. “Atheol stayed behind to mourn for his brother, but there’s something everyone must see at once. The area is safe too.” Sebastian ran back to the others to impart the news.
“How do we know you’re not a disguised demon?” continued Erik, with his hands ready to grab the warhammer.
“I’m Joachim of Aysel, second after you to be picked by Rilwen herself. I never once drank but I do enjoy fine food and women. My gear of choice is a shield because I want to be able to protect those dear to me and atone for my past. Shall I go on?”
“I’m glad to see you’re back in one piece.”
The squad departed at once, and Rousseau as small in stature as he was, refused to let anyone else carry Rilwen along. Even though Joachim assured them of the safety of the road, they cautiously moved parallel to it, advancing slowly. It took them some time to reach their destination through the muddy ground, but as soon as they got there, the rain seemed to have stopped and the clouds parted, letting down a single ray of light.
Atop a grim, towering mountain of corpses stood two bodies, leaning on their battered swords. The light shone down upon them and the two knights looked like heroes of legend. They did not win the fight without losses for their bodies were brimming with wounds and bruises.
“Their warrior spirit was so strong that they fell unconscious still standing and with their swords in hand. Behold our saviors, Liam and Anvalth.” said Joachim with pride in his heart.
Everyone was left astonished, starring in awe at the two battered knights. It took them some time to realize they were standing in a lake of blood which formed in the aftermath of the fight. Not far from the massive piles of bodies stood Atheol, holding someone tight to his chest. Unknown to the group and even Rousseau, Rilwen finally woke up and the first thing she saw was Anvalth’s scarred body engulfed in divine light, standing tall above the conquered foes and vanquished allies. Her heart throbbed and a sense of admiration awakened within her.
As disgusting as it was, Erik climbed up the corpses and grabbed the two on his back. They were indeed unconscious yet alive. He carefully returned to the ground and laid them down. That was when Rilwen made her first movement. She wanted to get down from Rousseau’s back. She let out silent whimpering while trying to move. Everyone turned to her even more astonished and Rousseau helped her off, but still held her carefully so that she wouldn’t collapse. There was no strength left in her feet and as soon as she touched the ground, she would’ve fallen had it not been for Rousseau. Aided by him, she walked towards the two and stood down beside them.
“Rilwen, yer in no shape to use your Telaar. Ya should prioritize healing yourself if possible.” pleaded Erik, trying to pull her away from them. She slowly turned her head towards him, staring at him with eyes as cold as winter. Erik was shook and frightened by her stare and so he let go of her. He’d never seen her like that in all the time they fought together. “Let us give Atheol a helping hand to bury his brother. Rousseau, watch over her.” Rousseau nodded and sat down, slightly farther away from Rilwen, admiring her. He couldn’t exactly tell why he cared so much for her other than the fact she was his superior and mentor. It was more than a simple platonic or friendly relationship, or at least he desired for more.
Rilwen reached out with her shaking hands towards the two and faint light spiraled down her arms, focusing into her palms and expanding forward over their scars. As soon as she started using her Telaar, the cloth wrapped around her head was changing color. The simple brown was turning into crimson red, and streams of blood flowed through the folds. Rousseau jumped from his place, grabbing her away from them despite her opposition. She started to cry but no one else but Rousseau could hear her. What could he do in that situation? What was he supposed to do? He pulled her away nonetheless and looked at the two with disgust and envy.
“If I were in their place would she have done the same thing?” He thought as he clenched his fists in anger, unable to find an answer to his question. “Why did it have to be you to get her attention? Both of you who are useless, undeserving trash; leeches trying to survive off of others.” He hesitated in place, his fingers gripping the hilt of his scimitar. “I would do them a favor if I ended their suffering. They have no chance of surviving with such brutal wounds.” He had his entire hand over the handle, shaking in anticipation. Just the thought of chopping off their heads made him shiver with happiness. “Would she hate me if I did that? What does it matter if I can’t have her for myself otherwise?” He looked towards where the rest of the squad previously was. There was no sight of them in their vicinity. He let go of the hilt, turning towards Rilwen. With small, calculated steps he approached her. She was lying on the ground, drenched in mud and demon gore. Rousseau threw away his buckler and scimitar and leaned over her. He forced her down, ripping apart her clothes with anger. She didn’t have the strength to yell nor could she understand what was going on, but she cried and cried. He forced himself upon her, taking away every ounce of sanity she had left. His animalistic act was driven by terrible feelings of envy and frustration, built up for so long. Every single nice act towards anyone was a masquerade in attempt for Rilwen to notice him and his kindness, but she never did. He was just… another guy. But not anymore, he feasted on her virgin body, pleasuring himself to the fullest.
Her wailing didn’t go unnoticed. Something unconscious inside of Anvalth was telling him to wake up. He was reliving the nightmare with his sister being raped by the bandits before his very eyes. He had the impression he had woken up, but all he saw before his eyes was that horrible, disgusting scene fixed in his memory. He struggled to stand up from the ground with only one hand and he grabbed his rapier from the ground as if he knew its location. His steps were guided by the wailing of his sister, crying for help. He would come to her rescue this time. He had the power and the ability to control it. There was a sole silhouette of a bandit pleasuring himself with the poo
r, helpless girl. Anvalth tried his hardest to control his anger as he stabbed the grey silhouette, over and over again. He slashed and thrust with his rapier until there was no more movement and the crying stopped. The vision faded away and all he could see was emptiness. A horrifying veil of black was his view of the world. As soon as he joined Liam in that battle which he knew would be the end of him, he willingly gave up anything to a higher power, only to save at least one person. The cost of that action was his sight. He knew not what was lying in front of him, but he could smell the repulsive stench surrounding him from all sides. His bare feet were covered in something slimy and cold and he leaned down to take some on his finger and smell it. It somehow resembled blood but combined with a stench of putrid or rotten. It made him cough and he could feel his insides swelling. Anvalth was surprised with how calm he was about his state. It was slightly creepy and terrifying to be devoid of all colors and lights, but at the same time he was content with himself for some unknown reason.
Even though he couldn’t see a thing, he could sense motion around him to some degree. There was something squirming in the blood, right in front of him. He cautiously put one foot forward and he was almost about to trip. It was dizzying to walk around without a sense of your surroundings. His foot reached something hard and it felt like flesh. What he touched with his toes moved violently and startled him. Anvalth lost balance and fell forward. He could now feel beneath his weight, someone else’s body. Between the two was full skin contact and the shapes of the body resembled that of a woman. He couldn’t process what was going on as he was flustered and confused but he could feel her struggling and trying to push him away. He felt really awkward because he couldn’t tell what was going on or who it was. And were it not for the splashing of blood around him he would’ve thought he lost his hearing as well. He got off of her, moving to the right. As he did so, he could feel the presence of skin again, but also something harder. He pressed his hand against what he thought was the ground to get up already, but his hand entered through something like a cavity and his fingers grabbed something’s intestines. He jumped up in fear and disgust, cutting his arm on that harder part. If he was to make a wild guess, he would’ve said that was a corpse.
Anvalth could hear incomprehensible shouts from somewhere far behind him and a multitude of footsteps heading his way. He had a terrible feeling about what was soon to happen and his body moved on its own. He was running as fast as he could, tripping and falling yet getting back up and dashing again. The ones seeing this revolting spectacle were none others than the other members of the squad. Before they could even reach their friends, Anvalth was gone in the woods and all that was left was a gruesome scene.
Liam was lying on the ground as before, but Rilwen had her clothes ravaged and her body full of bruises. The sight which made a few throw up immediately was Rousseau’s body slashed mercilessly, with a hole through his upper abdomen and intestines spilling out.
“That damned bastard Anvalth must’ve been possessed by the most horrid and vile demon that ever lived. To slaughter the ever friendly and trust worthy Rousseau and to rape our pure maiden, desecrating her sacred body. Erik, let me pursue and end that demon!” Sebastian was full of hatred and his eyes were red. Erik was just as revolted and angered as he was but they weren’t in any shape to fight.
“Cover her body and bury poor Rousseau. We’re leaving immediately for the camp.” Sebastian took off his shirt and covered Rilwen in it, picking her off the muddy ground. All the others buried Rousseau and Erik grabbed Liam on his back. The utterly defeated, humiliated and shattered squad of the maiden moved forward past the mountain of bodies, the grim monument to the heroic deed of Liam and Anvalth, and pursued the camp.
Chapter 3 - Epitaph to damnation
H is feet wandered the dark, cold and shivering. He, who always followed someone stronger, wiser or brighter was left weak, foolish and darkened, orphaned of all he had. Now, the gentlest blow of wind was like a ravaging storm impeding his way, and even the softest, most enchanting song of birds was a haunting tune, meant to drive him mad and terrify him. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat or drink, yet his feet carried him forward. It was a never ending nightmare. All he knew was that he held his rapier in his left hand, but not even that brought him much reassurance. To him, it felt like months had passed since he shambled through the vast, black forest. At one point, he started hearing voices inside his head, shunning and mocking him. The voices all sounded familiar but he just couldn’t place them.
As he continued to put step after step, in a hopeless attempt to strive through another lifeless day, a gentle soothing sound flowed farther ahead. He recognized that sound, he could almost imagine it in his mind… a river with cold, invigorating water. His heart jolted in what seemed like years, at the thought of it. Only then he realized how exhausted and drained he truly was. He must’ve imagined walking before, for now he could barely even raise his leg for another step. He stumbled and fell forward, still clutching the hilt of the rapier tightly in his hand. He began to crawl forward like a worm, over the grassy field. He grasped every patch of grass, pulling himself forward with just his left arm. It was a tedious struggle, but it wasn’t in vain because he could hear the river closer and closer. As he reached once more, his knuckles hit on something solid and rough. It was the bark of a tree, standing in his way. He slowly moved sideways to the right of the tree, proceeding to pull himself on the trunk afterwards. Now that he was so close, it felt harder to pull forward… it was frustrating. Anvalth was running out of breath and he finally felt the pain in his wounds, all at once. He didn’t even have the strength to scream in agony, to writhe in torment. His pain wasn’t bearable or unbearable, it just was there, present and bothering him. It was so horrible he would’ve wanted to be killed off on the spot, but he had not that luxury.
Once more he reached out, grasping a patch of grass and moved ahead. A sudden splash of water hit his face and he abruptly fell forward into a tumultuous mass of water. First his head, then his torso and at last his legs were all immersed in water. He had a general notion of movement but his body was completely numb, save for his left hand still holding onto the rapier. He was drove by the current into rocks and he had no power of opposition. The rapid stream of water was flowing by his ears, giving him an awkward sensation. He was still half conscious in that lethargic, exhausted state until he felt an intense bump to the head and he blacked out completely.
Overlooking the stream was a cloaked figure, slender in shape. With swift steps, it approached the river side and a pale, feminine hand emerged from underneath the cloak, grabbing the unconscious human from the river’s currents. He was pulled out with ease for he was scrawny. Upon laying him on the ground, the eyes beneath the hood glinted as the other hand emerged as well. One hand touched the dull of the blade while the other, the chest of the scarred man. The hooded being tried to take out the silver rapier but to no avail. His hand was clenched so tightly around the handle that it looked as if they were merged together. The being chanted silently and from the earth emerged entangled roots which raised him above the ground. It stood up and walked forward slowly, while in the rhythm of its steps, the roots swirled along, undulating in and out of the ground, moving the unconscious human. The rapier was scratching the ground with its tip, leaving behind a black, scorched trail.
The two went deeper into the forest and the vegetation was growing wild and out of control, like a barrier to stop any intruders. A hand emerged from the cloak, and with a circular motion, the wall of thorns and vines opened a hole in the center, allowing passage. They continued forward and a stone path covered in moss led them towards an oak tree towering over all the others. Around the large trunk was built a mystical manor, perhaps home to the being guiding the human. The vines were slowed once they walked down the paved path and the being took its time, looking left and right at the sprouting, colorful flowers in the trees. Somewhere farther to the right, a single deer raised its head, looking at
the two. Squirrels came down from all around, either climbing on the being’s shoulders or following the scarred man, inspecting him carefully. To their left, a pack of wolves was sleeping soundly while a lone male was overlooking the surroundings. Unlike the others, he had beautiful white fur and was a few times larger in size. He was in fact so large in size that he alone could carry multiple people on his back. The white wolf dashed towards the two and the being turned to him, revealing both its hands. The large beast sat down and the two slender hands caressed his fur vigorously, as a show of friendship. As if through a telepathic communion, the wolf moved towards the human and the being mounted him on his back. Some of the wounds were still bleeding, tainting the pristine, silver fur with crimson spots of blood. The vines turned back to the ground and accompanied by the wolf, the hooded figure continued towards the mansion.
When Anvalth gained consciousness, he wanted to open his eyes but darkness was his only reminder of the past. His memories were somewhere in the back of his mind, forgotten. He wanted to stand up but he had no physical strength left in him, and not even sheer will power would’ve made a difference in his condition. That was when he realized he had slept on a soft, warm surface while surrounded by a gentle, cold breeze which took the pain in his wounds away. He could feel a presence, a gaze staring at him from somewhere. The utter, pressing silence was terrifying but he did not feel stressed at all. There was some sort of assurance which gave him peace of mind for the time being. He felt his dry mouth open but no words came out. He sighed, accepting his own powerlessness.
A sudden shift in the mood caught his attention. Even though there could be heard no movement, he sensed it as if he could clearly see. The creature which stood in silence all that time was finally approaching him, slowly. He heard a voice.
“It must be frightening; to be robbed of sight.” It was so close to him that he did not know if the person was right next to him or he could hear it in his head. “You are now under my protection. No harm will come to you, son of man.” The voice was soothing and sweet, reminding him of something.
A World Beyond the Dark Page 6