But with each new order, with each new brutality and sin done by his hand, Ash began to feel something that he did not yet understand. It was something that made him wake up in the middle of the night and stay up until dawn. It made his hands tremble and his heart race. Chest pains were common, as was nausea. Perhaps it was because of this that he didn’t let the scouts kill a young steed they had found, but instead gave it to the wolves to be raised as one of their own. Was he sick? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he needed to forget about it and occupy his mind with something else.
Ash rode in front of his troops. Two thousand warriors, hardened by the most terrible battles stared back at him. Ferocious, skilled, merciless, and bloodthirsty. This was the Foul Legion.
“Ernesto,” he said to one of the men in the front row. “Only the most respected and skilled men are put at the front... I remember when you broke through the enemy line at the battle of Zelts. Unarmed at that! I hope that you’ll be just as courageous today.”
“I serve the legion!” the man replied, striking his chest with his hand.
“Greb’dek, after each battle, your spear looks more like a skewer than a weapon. How many enemies will you kill today?”
“All of them, general! All but one! I left him alive for you!”
The legion burst out laughing.
Followed by Racker who held the legion’s banner adorned with a head of one of their enemies, Ash rode onward. The banner bore the picture of a demon devouring a screaming child. They couldn’t have picked better imagery to depict the Seventh Legion.
Myristal appeared in the east, heralding the beginning of the young night. The wind rushed to bring the travelers the long-awaited coolness from the Seven Seas. It would all be calm for a moment, but then everything would change. Zadastra would soon be hotter than any pit of Hell.
“Men,” Ash barked. “What do you see ahead?!”
“Nothing!”
“That’s right! Nothing! Just a whole bunch of cowards! Twenty days... For twenty days, they hid behind their walls while we watered their crops with blood! If nothing else, at least the harvest will be bountiful this year!”
The men burst out laughing like a pack of hyenas. There was nothing human in their voices, only madness, and bloodlust.
“Today, we’ll either become immortal heroes or food for the vultures! Some of you, perhaps all of us, will never again grab the bosom of a wanton wench or see how good the local gentry is at dice! Some will return home with a couple of their limbs missing! But will any of that make us back down?!”
“No!”
“Are we afraid of these cowards?! These weaklings who hide behind their walls?! These nobodies that don’t even deserve to taste our steel?!”
“No!”
“That’s right! Tonight, men, we’ll dye the walls of Zadastra crimson. There’ll be no mercy! Kill everyone who stands in your way! Cut, burn, rip, tear, and rob! For tomorrow, you’ll be free and the law will forbid you from doing whatever you please! I have only one question left for you men... What are we going to do?!”
“Kill!” The soldiers roared.
“That’s right!” Ash nodded. “Blow the horns! Shout till your throats hurt! Today is our last feast so let’s make it a good one!!”
Horns and drums sounded in the distance. The legion’s hearts beat in time with their march. Putting on his helmet, Ash turned his horse and snapped the visor shut. Gripping the staff, he raised his hand high in the air and uttered a battle cry.
The light of torches flickered on Zadastra’s walls, ready to bring the flame to the wicks of the cannons. Steam was rising from the cauldrons filled with bubbling oil just waiting to be dropped on the heads of the assailants. Golden lights adorned the staffs and wands of the mages, casting a shimmer on the steel of muskets and arrowheads.
But the Foul Legion stood still, beating their shields with their blades to the sound of the war drums.
“General,” Racker exclaimed, adjusting his mask. “In case we die today and are reunited in Hell... This was one hell of a ride.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
“You’re in a good mood.” Racker grinned. “Good, that’s a sign of victory.”
Ash had no idea what his friend had meant by “one hell of a ride,” but it wasn’t like it mattered right now.
The young mage raised his hand. He stood in front of his men so that everyone could see him. It didn’t suit a general to sit in a tent, or a mage to fear a fight.
Clenching his hand into a fist, he yelled, “Charge!”
Spurring his horse, he rushed forward.
“Charge!” the soldiers shouted and followed their general.
Ash held his staff in front of him like a lance. The wood glew with an unbearably bright flame that soon engulfed him. His men shouted, their voices mixing with the sound of drums and horns, creating a grotesque composition that became the voice of death itself.
Zadastra’s defenders stood silent, staring at the fiery figure rushing at them. Ringing in their ears was the laughter of demons torn out of Hell itself. They nervously clutched their weapons and fearfully put their shields to their torsos. Their leader raised his hand. Some began to pray; others cursed the day they pledged their loyalty to their King.
“Attack!” their commander roared and sent his men to meet their fate.
Flames caressed the horse’s sides, reaching all the way to its hooves. Ash’s power was so great that even the staff couldn’t contain it. The flames seemed to pour out of it, greedily consuming the grass and the edges of its cloak. The horse neighed in fright as if it knew that if its rider got off it, it’d be reduced to a pile of ash.
Zadastra’s defenders formed a wedge, at the point of which stood a giant man clutching an even bigger ax. Wrapped in flames, with a cracked staff made of molten lava, Ash left decay in his wake as he rushed to meet his opponent.
The giant learned what it felt like when your heart skipped a beat. Just before the collision, he swung his ax and brought it down on his enemy’s head with an enraged shout.
Ash ignored the blade that cut through his helmet and drew a long line from his temple to his neck. Drops of scarlet fell on the obsidian cloak, but the young man raced on, eyes focused at the gates — the weak point of this impenetrable fortress. They haven’t yet been fully closed so he still had a chance to break through.
The sounds of battle echoed behind him. The two armies collided like two sea currents in a bloody maelstrom. The screams of the dying summoned the scavengers, attracting more and more crows and vultures.
The cannons thundered, but there were no cannonballs. Debris and burned bodies of the enemy mages fell off the walls. Last night, the Foul Legion’s assassins had disabled the cannons, causing them to malfunction. Battering rams and fireballs hit the thick stone. Smoke lifted into the sky, putting out the stars and obscuring the moon.
Ash raced on. Faces flickered before him, forever frozen in grimaces of horror. Dying gasps escaped their lips. The very armor that was supposed to save them turned to be their doom. Steel melted shut, boiling them alive. The horse, sensing that its life was nearing its end, raced with the speed of a bird of prey. Ash could hear Racker yelling behind him, cutting and burning through his enemies.
A terrible whistle reached the young man’s ears. The sky glittered with steel and the crows flew in fright toward the forest. Thousands of arrows and lead balls cut through the smoke. Ash outstretched his hand and sent a wave of fire at the sky, melting the lead and steel. A few stray bullets broke through the wall of flame and took a dozen lives with them. They, unlike people, didn’t distinguish between friend or foe.
Chapter 31
T he gates were very close. Ash spurred his horse, now covered in flames, making it leap. Like a shooting star, it soared through the sky and landed at the gate. The battle continued to rage behind the young man. Screams and maniacal laughter mixed with the clashing steel and the war song of the horns and drums, announcing the arri
val of the flaming demon.
Some dropped their weapons, others screamed for help. The demon, whose torn and scorched cloak resembled a pall, struck the ground with his staff, deafening the people with a terrifying roar. A wall of flame shot forth from the cracked earth, covering the wall, the gate, and all those who stood in its way. Flesh burned. Masonry cracked and crumbled.
The mages tried to hold the fire, but not even their golden shields could withstand the power of one of the most destructive elements. However, despite their losses, the people of Zadastra still hoped for a miracle. The gates were about to close, which would buy them some time. Bullets would join the shower of arrows. Mages would enchant every piece of steel and lead, with which they’d cut through the sea of demons to their victory.
But at the moment when it seemed that Zadastra’s three dozen mages would be able to tame this fiery beast, another maddened demon joined the fray. Drenched in blood from head to toe and clad in armor made of dragon scales, he stopped next to the devil and struck the ground with his spear. Flames roared like a dying animal, taking the shape of a giant bird for a moment. Shield’s cracked under its shrill cry and blood dripped from the noses of everyone present. Despite the best efforts of Zadastra’s mages, the golden barrier cracked and the flame began to seep in.
“Hold it!” someone shouted.
But how could mere mortals hold against the fury of two demons? In a heartbeat, the flames burst through the shield and began to devour the fortress, turning the screaming mages into living torches. The gates fell, crumbling like firewood. Like a river through a dam, the Foul Legion burst into the city of Zadastra, sweeping away barricades and outposts on their way to the second wall. A new fight awaited them there. New prey and new loot. With thundering roars, they marched through the streets wet with blood, killing anyone who dared stand in their way. Flames danced around their general, devouring all that his men would leave behind.
The second wall emerged in front of them. Ignoring the falling rocks and boiling oil, they began to traverse the ladders. Some went up the main avenue, carving a path through the gates with their blades.
People parted to make way for the general without even realizing it. They couldn’t ignore the power that he exuded. The lieutenant walked calmly beside him. No one could say which of the two was stronger, but what they knew was that the two were so powerful that they could bring down the Gods if they so pleased.
Having reached the hacked and burning gates, the two put their hands onto the burning iron ornament. The flames died away and the wood exploded, crushing all who had stood behind it and making way for the legion.
“Haha!!” Racker laughed, mad eyes searching for his next victim.
Ash looked down at his staff and let out a sigh full of sadness. The weapon that had been faithfully serving him for a year now had been reduced to cinders. Ignoring the sound of battle raging all around him, he turned toward the temple. This was the first time that he had experienced something that could be called distress and guilt. The staff had been a gift, after all.
The people of Zadastra ignored Ash like a hare would a wolf when it saw it in the forest. After all, what were people if not sophisticated animals? If he wanted to, Ash could’ve incinerated a hundred soldiers and leveled the town hall with the ground, but he still didn’t know what it meant to want something. Racker, on the other hand, knew that he wanted to enrich his collection of enemy heads.
At the steps of the temple of the Goddess of Fire, Sheirai, patron of wandering acrobats, Ash cast his gaze toward the sky. A dome of crimson loomed above them, adorned with heavy clouds of fire and smoke. Ignoring the soot that stuck to his sweaty face, he entered the temple.
Fearful eyes stared at the demon who dared trespass in the domain of the Gods. Women hid their children, elders muttered prayers, and the priests cast protective spells. What was the point, Ash wondered, of keeping them so far from the battlefield?
“What do you want?!” the high priest shouted. He was an old man dressed in a white cassock, clutching an ornate wand made of adamantium. It was said that one ounce of this magic metal could cost a hundred gold, if not more. It was difficult to imagine how much an entire wand made out of it could cost. But Ash cared little about gold. All that he cared about was the order given to him by the king.
“Not even soldiers dare invade the house of a God!” one of the younger priests yelled.
And although that was true, there was no word of God or law that’d stop Ash.
“I’m not a soldier,” he replied immediately
“You’re something even worse. A general,” the high priests said calmly, enveloping the people and the altar with the golden shield. “Leave, or you shall feel the wrath of Sheirai.”
“Is that her?” Ash asked, looking at the golden statue of a dancing maiden clad in fluttering ribbons that stood by the door. She, like all other goddesses, was extremely beautiful. Then again, if they weren’t, people wouldn’t pray to them.
The priest nodded. “It is,” he said and then gasped in horror as flames engulfed the statue, melting it partially. Sheirai’s torso rolled across the floor and stopped by Ash’s foot. With a kick, he turned it around and spat on her face.
“The first form –Incarnation!”
“Heretic!” the priest yelled.
Ignoring the screams, Ash took a leather pouch from his belt and threw it at the foot of the altar.
“Bring me the thing shown on that scroll, and I’ll spare you and your flock. Refuse, and I’ll level the temple to the ground and take what I’ve come here for.”
As if to demonstrate that his threat wasn’t just empty words, he burned through the priest’s shield as if it was nothing more but mere cobweb. The king’s staff finally crumbled to ash, but that didn’t bother the young mage. He was far too close to his goal to care.
The high priest wiped the sweat off his brow and removed the scroll from the pouch. Having gazed at the parchment, he turned pale as a ghost.
“Never!” he protested. But before he could do or say anything else, his head rolled on the ground.
“Always thought that they were a bunch of charlatans,” Racker spat, leading the soldiers into the temple. Judging by the number of heads tied to his belt by their hair, he had been working hard.
“We’ve been looking for you, general. It’s not polite to plunder without approval.”
“Later,” Ash said in a flat tone.
He looked around the crowded room, wondering how many people were hiding in the darkness of the columns and pews. His estimate was about several hundred, if not more. All of them had hoped to find salvation in the temple, but little did they know that it’d turn into their funeral pyre. Children cried, clinging to their mothers who tried to hold back their screams and tears. Some were more successful than others. Both youth and the elders stared at the blood-soaked altar, seeking salvation. All the civilians seemed to have gathered here. They weren’t soldiers. Hell, most of them only ever saw weapons on pictures and on the belts of the city guards. They didn’t pose a threat.
“Kill,” Ash ordered.
“Should’ve said so right away!” Racker smirked.
Laughing and roaring, the soldiers dragged the mothers away from their children. They didn’t spare the little ones, no. They forced the mothers to watch them be hacked into pieces. One of the elders, a brave, but foolish soul, tried to stop them, but the soldiers pushed him aside, hoping that someone else would finish the pest off. He wasn’t worth their time.
As if slaughter wasn’t offensive enough, some soldiers defiled the women right where they caught them. They screamed and called for help, but little did they know that the heads of their husbands had already been placed on the banner of the legion.
“Racker, you’re with me.”
“But...” He turned around to protest, but the glare in the young man’s eyes made him change his mind. “All right,” he sighed and let go of the chestnut locks of some poor woman he had just caught. An
order was an order.
Stepping over the blood, guts, and corpses, the two made their way to the altar where the priests were already being slaughtered and offerings collected to be sold on the black market. Ash picked up the scroll that the high priest had dropped and went to the wall behind the altar. There had to be some secret mechanism that’d lead them to the cellars. But where was it?
“Are there any priests left?” Ash asked
Racker looked at the carnage.
“Yes.”
“Bring him here.”
Nodding, the lieutenant let out a sharp whistle and waved his arm. After a moment, the body of a young man was thrown at Ash’s feet. He was probably the same age as him, if not a little bit younger. Brown eyes stared fearfully through black locks damp with blood. He couldn’t believe that there was anyone evil enough to desecrate a temple in this manner.
“How do I get to the basement?”
“I don’t know,” the young man croaked and bent over in pain when Racker kicked him in the stomach.
“I have a little problem,” Ash said. “I have a lot of men. You see, they haven’t felt the warm embrace of a woman for a very long time... And it seems to me that there aren’t enough of them here for all of my hard-working soldiers. So, either you start talking or I’ll give you to those who like the embrace of young men, too.”
It took the acolyte just a moment to make his decision.
“The entrance is under the altar,” he muttered. Racker cut off his head before he could even plead to be spared.
Ash glanced at the heavy table and nodded to his friend. Surrounded in flame, he tried to push the altar away, but it didn’t budge.
“Hmmm,” he drawled, looking at the puzzled Racker. “Told you that beauty lies in simplicity.”
Stepping closer, he pressed his foot to the small ledge at the base of the altar. There was a creak, followed by the low rumble of gears turning. The altar slid aside, revealing a hole and a winding staircase.
Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Page 17