Damned

by K R Leikvoll

  Despite my separation from my past homeland, I was still struck by his words. Faera must have fully perished during my time spent underground. I tensed my grip and pointed a hooked blade of War at him across the open space.

  “I am not a pathetic Evyan,” I declared. “I am the Warden and Queen of Duskwraith. The prophet of Naazvaba – or in other words… your death, old man.”

  That caused a murmur of laughter among his closest allies. They truly thought I was weak. It did not break my morale; rather, it caused me to spit out the blood of his fallen soldiers in the direction of his feet.

  “Then I suppose I will have to take your head as a trophy to prove I have finally slaughtered royalty,” Morein said snidely with an uncaring shrug. We both were mutually unthreatened by one another. A relief for me, as I hardly wished to have an easy victory.

  The brutish warriors surrounding us began to chant and slam their weapons on the ground. Morein held his empty left hand over the soil and allowed the last of his blood to coat the dark earth at his feet. Dense, crimson-colored magic swirled around his form, enveloping him wholly. He could summon whatever abilities he wanted; his fate was sealed the moment he chose not to surrender.

  Morein let out a furious growl of rage and ran to meet me head on. I was patient, waiting for his first heavy swing. He slashed at my left side and could have easily taken my arm off if I had not been prepared. I sidestepped his blade, bringing War toward his ribs, hoping I might get a quick strike against him. As my weapon threatened to rip his body in half, spikes shot from the ground beneath me.

  They were not formed of rock as one might expect. Instead, they were deep red and incredibly sharp, scraping into parts of my armor and nearly piercing it as I jumped backward out of harm’s way. The spikes did not stop at simply growing from the ground in our dueling space. The blood magic surrounding Morein changed shape, decorating his exposed skin with similar barbs of red. It would be nearly impossible to get a decent hit in with how protected he appeared. The least guarded portions of his body were those covered by his armor versus the blood shards. It was a clever idea, as his most vital organs were protected by something stronger than his other attire.

  He tore one protruding from his shoulder and threw it at me, to which I dodged, naturally. Only, it was not intended to hit me. It flew over my shoulder and staked the ground near Varnoc. Decaying, gray arms burst from the soil, grabbing at my ankles in an attempt to trap us. I was forced to channel the demonic power within me to burn them away and dodge Morein’s oncoming slash. Varnoc, on the other hand, was not so fortunate.

  They pulled my companion off of his feet. I was not fast enough to parry Morein’s blade that continued from its swing into Varnoc’s humerus, severing his arm nearly to the point of dangling off. The pain was not felt by just him; I could feel the muscle and bone that seceded to Morein’s weapon as if I had been the one hit instead. Pain was something unavoidable when it came to demonic bonds. I would experience both of my demonic children’s agony no matter how hard I tried to find a way to deaden the effect. As debilitating as it was, it was also a curse that saved my life. Vincent could not hurt me without hurting himself in the process.

  Despite his arm, Varnoc fought with the hands pinning him to the ground while I rushed to parry Morein’s next strike. Had I been a moment slower, Varnoc would have been beheaded. I had to use both of my fiery blades to trap his weapon. I could not call out to Varnoc to do the obvious and get to his feet. The strength of the bond could have caused me to lose my own life with how distracted I was for his safety.

  War evaporated into shadows as I relied on my agility alone to avoid another swing of his javelin. Morein could have finished off Varnoc when I darted away from his side, but my quick decision to try to draw his attention away worked in my favor. He let out a war cry and summoned red magic around his left arm, punching the air between us. An invisible wave was sent my direction with enough force to peel the skin from my bones. It felt as though a million microscopic needles were sent sailing through my armor and flesh.

  It caused me to freeze in my tracks. I was unable to react as he brought his blade to my throat. Fighting the rigid effects seizing me was an impossible task. I closed my eyes for a mere moment to take a deep breath. Lord Nakarius was within me, granting me his limitless power. Skirmishing with tactics was senseless in comparison to the freedom of chaos.

  Overcome with rage, I opened my mouth to release a scream. Using my voice as a weapon was not something I would have ever guessed I would be capable of. If someone had mentioned that it would be one of my most relied on utensils, I would have scoffed in their faces. In truth, the calls of the Vast Dark did not feel like a vocalization. Rather, it felt as though the demonic power was being channeled through my lips, screaming the truth of the abyss.

  Every soldier – ally or enemy – surrounding me could not help instantly covering their ears. Even Morein’s blood blessed weapon could not withstand my screech of viciousness. The base of his javelin formed of bone cracked and crumbled, leaving only warped metal to fall to the ground. Morein’s shock allowed me to break through his strange spellwork. I felt my movement restored, once more flooding me with the wrath of Lord Nakarius.

  War formed into my hands in the stillness, allowing me to spring back into a fast-powered assault against the Zaarian leader. He seemed to come back sooner than my other foes, throwing his shoulder in the direction of my blades rather than allowing himself to get caught through his chest armor. My agility helped me from losing my wrists, but it did not prevent the cuts that caused my black blood to spray against his crimson, armored growths. His legs were quick, kicking me hard in the gut and sending me backward into the wall of warriors watching our feud.

  They shoved me instead of allowing me to fall. It propelled me into the direction of the two spikes he had torn from his body to use as makeshift weapons. He swiped at me repeatedly, giving me no openings. I only had enough time to dodge his ruthless advancement by pure willpower alone. It was an odd sensation, as I had spent so much time in the arena thinking out clever, well-placed attacks. In a battle against someone well versed with both combat ability and magic, it was harder to plan more than a moment ahead.

  With nothing more than hope that I would be able to keep up, I channeled flames through War again. The fire sprayed from the edge of my blades, searing into his armor and crimson shell like it had been discharged from the maw of a dragon. The temperature must have been immense as it caused parts of the shards covering him to boil and melt into his skin. I thought I may have gained an advantage until Morein brought his arms tightly across his chest and swung them back out causing the blood spikes to detach and fly in every way, regardless of ally or foe.

  Somehow, I managed to leap into the air to avoid them. My companion and Morein’s allied soldiers were not spared or lucky. Many of the Zaarian warriors fell as the shards impaled them through their chests. Varnoc had been struck by two in the flurry – I could feel the pain crashing down on me, though I was nearly unscathed. Even though Varnoc was hit, I assumed that Morein would be disadvantaged by his friendly fire.

  Instead, his blood magic poured from where each shard struck, no matter its source. It flowed into the air from all directions, channeling into my foe who seemed to be growing in size with every passing moment. The bodies of the fallen and dying were being drained with whatever magic Morein was summoning. Their pleas and cries of anguish were as meaningless to their leader as they were to me.

  Morein’s eyes changed, becoming just as bloody as mine. He let out a roar as he became unable to control the powers he sought to wield. When we met once more in the center of corpses, I did not dare attempt to parry any of his blows. He moved impossibly fast with his shard covered fists, giving me no choice but to dodge and wait for an opening.

  I could hear others approaching in the background, though I could not give them more than a moment’s thought. As Morein’s massive fist barely missed my face, I caught sight of the
wildfire wreaking havoc on everything flammable. I took the next hit from Morein in the gut in exchange for calling to the fire for aid. I was sent flying to my back, but I did not mind the pain from my armor cracking my bones.

  The flames trailed in a sharp line over the corpses and engulfed my foe’s form. It stopped him in his tracks, causing him to fall to his knees. I allowed my weapons to disperse as I stood, exhausted, and walked to his side while he wailed. He wanted to use blood magic and false necromancy, which were formidable weapons, but I preferred fire. I channeled my demonic energies, watching the remaining and regrown shards melt onto his skin. It was likely a good defense against those that could not destroy them. I was hoping for a more skillful opponent.

  “Your disgusting Zaarian plague on this world has come to an end,” I said, allowing the blaze to disperse and extinguish. The fallen warrior squinted at me through his agony.

  “You are not fooling anyone, Demon Queen,” Morein replied in a raspy voice. “My nephew and Uxe will not fall without a fight. I pray to Ortos that he stops you and your demonic lords soon.”

  I was emotionless toward his words. What he saw as murder or chaos, I saw as mercy. It was far better to die and serve the Vast Dark than it was to struggle and betray so-called morals to avoid suffering. The absence of suffering and death were one and the same. Those that clung to life were the unhappiest – the most anguished. I pitied them.

  “Your pleas will never reach your god,” I whispered. His eyes grew wide with the confusion caused by my statement. I invoked all of Naazvaba, declaring mentally that Morein was the first of many gifts I would give to them. A crimson light appeared in my palm. Without hesitation, I pressed my hand against Morein’s chest, watching the triangular seal of the Void brand him as a sacrifice.

  I summoned a blade of War into my grasp. Flames ignited off of my weapon’s edge, eagerly waiting to taste more blood. I brought it across his throat, burning through the melted shell and cutting into his flesh. Rather than bleeding out like a butchered animal, he began to solidify and turn to stone. When the slight wind that ushered the smoke through our battlefield hit his form, it turned to ash in the breeze, leaving only his bone headdress behind.

  The remaining Zaarian warriors that had not died or fled immediately kneeled before me in surrender, dropping their weapons. The soldiers fighting for Duskwraith let out pleased cries of victory.

  “You are brilliant, Warden,” I heard Raven’s somewhat tired voice say over my shoulder.

  I turned around and glimpsed at the chaos. My chaos. It was hard to tell whether the majority of our dead soldiers fell before my might or our foes, though if I had to guess my damage was likely equal.

  Raven was by my side as I pulled Varnoc’s bloodied form in my arms. I did not need to instruct Raven to help me; he held his limbs still while I pressed my bleeding wrist to Varnoc’s mouth. Thankfully, he was conscious enough to swallow. My divine and empowered gift was potent, causing his injuries to heal rapidly – perhaps even slightly faster than what I was used to. Though after he was finished, he hardly had the energy to stand without our help. My momentary worry for his wellbeing distracted me from my beaten body.

  “Have Typhlon order a temporary encampment built while we decide what to do with the survivors,” I ordered to my brother, who nodded in agreement. I reached my hand out toward the burning ruins of the tribal city, demanding that the flames submit to my will. With a spark of red light, I doused the flames, forcing it to stop its destruction of the city. I would never tire or get over how awestruck it made me feel to use dark magic.

  With a sigh of relief, I finally relaxed back on my knees, surrounded by the corpses of both ally and foe. War sustained me. War brought me the freedom I always thought was out of reach. When I fought with the cursed blades and blessings of Naazvaba, I felt untouchable.

  I removed the skull headdress from the pile of ashes, dusting it off and studying the runic engravings. Ortos was not so powerful after all. I doubted the rest of Zaar would surpass my low expectations.

  Following the siege of Diam, most of our forces were set to march onward to Uxe. Varnoc was correct about there not being enough food or land resources to take care of our newly adopted city. The fire had made some of the structures unusable, and the ground had been burned to decimation. I was mildly surprised at how much damage the blaze had done. The marsh and the cold seemed like the biggest hindrance to the flames, but I doubted it was regular fire. If their traitorous chieftain could use blood magic, there was no reason to think the fire was not imbued in nature.

  As a result, Morein got what he wanted. He left me an unusable city and selfishly allowed his people to pay the price for his desires. I suppose we weren’t so different. Though I am sure he thought that the survivors of the onslaught would be executed honorably, or sold as slaves, I was not feeling merciful.

  I had taken refuge in the singular stone spire that managed to survive, unscathed beyond smoke damage. The floor of the plain room was saturated with the blood of a few sacrifices Raven did to satisfy his debt. I could have given him mine to assist, but he preferred to sacrifice in his own method – one that involved playing with his food, so to speak. He liked to watch them fight, and I liked to observe. After they bored him, as they were bound to when they ran out of energy, they would perish from blood loss while he ate pieces of them. It was riveting and horrifying, but it was entertainment I hadn’t thought I would enjoy. He had always appeared so collected and sane to outsiders. In reality, he was just as devoted to his nature as I was. The Dark Essentia awoke urges that could not be quieted; Vince, Sendrys, and Raven were subjected to it as much as I was.

  At one point in my life, I would have thought that lying in the arms of a cannibalistic monster was a conscious-rending nightmare. My evolution was clear in my change of mindset. I harbored the idea that I might feel empathy for the Zaarians once the war began, but I could not have been further from lenient.

  I was close to drifting into my first sleep since I had left home months previously when knocking roused us both. Typhlon opened the door after waiting for a moment, not remotely surprised by the scene he was met with. The victims’ bodies had been tossed out the window so he had likely seen them on his way up. Modesty was for mortals, and Typhlon had worked for demons for many, many years.

  “Have you made a decision on where we will send the remainder of the population, Warden?” he asked me politely. I sighed, realizing I had lost track of time and had not thought much about the future. I wrapped my only robe around myself and paced to look at the burned city below.

  Beyond the bodies at the base of the tower, it was clean of blood and battle remnants. The fire had kept the city from being the primary location of our fight, leaving most of the corpses outside the gates. The Zaarians that had surrendered were in lines, chained to one another to keep them from fleeing. They looked disheveled, but our forces had not harmed, tortured or otherwise brutalized them under my strict orders.

  “No,” I replied, still unsure. I could burn them as my Master instructed. Allowing them all to die in a mass fire is likely what he would have done in my situation.

  “We don’t have much time. I respectfully request an answer soon, when our scouting parties return. We need to move in the direction of Uxe before they have the opportunity to barricade the city,” the Commander informed us. I waved to dismiss him, which he did immediately at my request.

  “You know, we don’t necessarily have to execute them,” Raven whispered behind me. His arms wrapped around my form and he rested his head on my shoulder.

  “How are we supposed to manage that many without risking a coup?”

  I turned around and was met with a surprising, devious smile. He always had an idea he wanted to utilize in every situation. It interested me, as it usually did. He took my grasp into his hands and kneeled at my feet.

  “Tell me, wouldn’t it be beneficial to have your own army? One that obeys you and only you, for the purposes of Azotl i
tself? Imagine if you had a legion of warriors that would listen to you before our Master like the Duskwraith regime.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. He often started off his proposals as if he were trying to sell me wares. I did not need to ask the obvious: how could I possibly turn angry, irate prisoners into a loyal military force?

  “You could… convert the survivors to a more subservient state,” he suggested with hunger flashing in his fiery orchid eyes. I knew internally what he was suggesting, but I was unsure of how to respond.

  “Necromancy?” I asked, contemplating the idea.

  “Better. The demons of the Void could join our plane.”

  “How would we pull that much power from Heresy to create a portal big enough to teleport the Infernal Army?”

  “No,” Raven whispered with a quiet chuckle. “We will bring them here by using our enemies as hosts. Those that don’t survive the process can be returned as thralls. We wouldn’t be wasting a single drop of blood.”

  “And our Master?”

  “If he wishes to maintain that he is innocent of conspiring against Naazvaba, then he would not have room to argue. After all, if the world believes the Infernal Army is his as well, it will make it easier to incite chaos. We cannot give him an opportunity to avoid any of the responsibility in the eyes of the public. We must convince him that the demon ranks work for him. It shouldn’t be a hard task – he isn’t difficult when it comes to accepting free power and fear.”

  I studied him for a long time while I thought it over. It would solve many issues we were facing as Vincent’s secret resistance. The primary one was that we would struggle to fight for loyalty and respect from his regime that had served him over two thousand years. With a demonic army, I did not need to feed, pay or clothe them. I did not even need to have them maintained in any specific area. Demons running amok, slaughtering all they came in contact with was not a bad thing from my perspective. Every soul that fell before the might of the Void made my job easier in the end.