by K R Leikvoll
“I don’t understand,” she muttered, too scared to hold eye contact. I tilted her face back to mine and frowned. It would take mortals more than words to make them see the gift I was sharing with the universe. With a sigh, I removed my dagger and dragged it across my hand.
“My methods might seem brutal, but rebirth is always painful.”
I pressed my palm to her forehead, calling on Lord Nakarius to bless me with his gifts.
“Aeterne Inanis,” I declared, channeling the powers of Heresy into the woman. She shrieked, but her pain was momentary. Her body began to transform into one of the demons in the Void eager to take her spot in the third dimension.
Luckily for the final guard, I was hit once more by a wave of love for my newly summoned child. It smothered the fire and calmed me when I stared at the tall, bat-like monster in my presence. The rage of the dark God inside was nearly insatiable, and I thought it might not end, even after killing those that had inspired it. I wrapped my arms around the demon’s giant arm and lost myself for a moment in relieved sobs.
Peace was not easily obtained. It had to be fought for. Sacrificed for. Mortals would never understand what I did – such is the fate of being a prophet.
I dismissed my sweet child so I could deal with the last member of my audience.
“I never sided with them!” he stated alarmed with both of his hands up. “I ask for mercy, Warden.”
I waited for any sign he might attempt to attack me or flee, but he was too sure of his fate if he dared to do any nonsense like that. After I was positive he was harmless, I grabbed the chorta at the mouth of the cave by the horns and moved it deeper in before it could be desecrated by my playing infants.
“What are you going to tell the others when they ask where your companions are?” I inquired as I cut into the chorta’s thick fur. The guard stuttered and fumbled with his words, unsure of what the correct answer was.
“I won’t say anything. I swear it.”
“Wrong,” I replied sharply. He jumped as if my words were a bolt of electricity shot in his direction. He looked at the mess of bodies at the entrance once more. All of the color drained from his face.
“I will tell them what I saw?” he tested, lowering his hands.
“Correct.”
Varnoc met me before I reached the rest of our forces. It was the first time I had seen proof that he felt the fullness of our bond, as he could not bear to wait for me with everyone else. The duration spent together before we left for the war had been brief and only a few days from each other was enough to wear on our minds. Varnoc was not an emotionally expressive man, but I could see the relief and longing written on his face when I dismounted from Morgan.
“Master,” he stated respectfully, kneeling at my feet. His lips brushed my hand. “I trust your plans with Lord Raven went as expected?”
I wiped his cheek with my thumb before I motioned for him to rise. He engulfed me in an embrace, not giving me the chance to respond immediately. The guard I had allowed to live for the sake of keeping others in line was likely surprised by our intimacy and closeness. I do not think many mortals were able to understand how anyone was capable of loving me. In truth… I don’t either.
The ground shook with the steps of my darlings. They had been traveling somewhat staggered behind us to explore all of the new sights and smells of Praetis. Varnoc parted from me, clearly alarmed by their presence. He had mild visions during his Dark Sacrament, but we had not traveled to the Void together. He had never witnessed the heretics. It was only the beginning of their entrance and there would be many more to cross the threshold to our world. I cared for each of them as much as I cared for Varnoc; they were a small piece connecting me to my sweet, lost paradise.
“I don’t think Uxe stands a chance against us,” Varnoc said somewhat hesitantly. “Especially now.”
“You disapprove? Why?” I asked in response, knowing better than to trust his words. I could feel his emotions, as slight as they were in comparison to the tidal waves of mine.
We started toward our encampment below the rolling hills. Uxe was still weeks off, but just as before, we remained far enough away to leave them without any sort of warning. Surely some of the survivors from the assault on Diam would make it to the capital and caution them of our existence. Though, there was also the possibility they would be executed when they reached Uxe for being rebels loyal to Morein.
“I always imagined that when my homeland fell, it would be in a storm of honor and glory. With these beasts, it’s a simple slaughter.”
“You have a continental mindset. This war is not about making the boy Emperor pay reparations for the damage Zaar has caused Kaeda. This is the start of a universal change. One that your people have so humbly volunteered for.”
“Praetis is to perish then? Truly?” Varnoc whispered low enough for our other company not to hear. I had long forgotten the dread I felt when I asked Raven the same question.
“Fear has kept this planet rooted in place. No progression – just an endless cycle of corruption. It has been weeping for someone to save it from the perverse light. Everyone should have heeded the world when it warned them of my accession.”
After my time underneath the earth, I had meditated much on the depraved essence of Vynir. At first, even after I had been stripped of my connection and sold to my Gods, it did not make sense how something regarded as pure could fall from such heights. The conclusion that Azotl guided me to was simply: the more there was to lose, the further into madness one could descend. The clearest, oldest example of that was the first Divinus and the Master of Vincent, Sendrys and Guinevere – Lilith Ashena.
The world changed abruptly when the daughter of the small island’s wealthiest noble was given the divine gift of the “ring” from the stars. Lux bowed before the grace of the light, believing it to be the one answer to every conceivable question in existence. Lilith brought prosperity and wealth to a nation being torn asunder from the war with its neighbors. To those blind fools and Evyans alike, the pale-haired priestess deserved absolute power.
And what happens when the light has absolute power? It corrupts. There is no alternative shown to that. The darkness may never turn to light from abundance, but it is stable and more flexible. One cannot break what is already broken.
When Lilith Ashena gave birth to her biological child, Lianne Ash, her magical ability, essence, and connection to the Imperium was stripped from her. All that Lilith thought she deserved was funneled straight into the child she bore from her political marriage. Eventually, so went the piece of her soul that was bound to the ring. It refused to respond to her; it singed her flesh if she wore it. The very life was being drained from her in the process now commonly known as reincarnation. In her desperation to stay alive or to regain her power, she sought to kill her holy child. It was a desire so blasphemous even Lord Baelarius could not ignore it.
The once holy Queen Divinus of Naadea had fallen with the loss of her power. Her husk agreed to my Gods’ demands of siring the first generation of demons in exchange for immortality. The giant corrupted demon she became is the result of trusting in the light. All gifts and blessings from it are false – merely a token to win favor.
The light as a whole is a source teeming with targets and vulnerability. If it was the truth and absolute, why was there so much chaos, pain, and politics involved with it? The Vast Dark and Azotl were far more sensible. Nothingness is bleak to small-minded individuals, but they lack the insight to understand peace. The light has always been just as bloodthirsty as I am. If it wasn’t, I doubt we would have been forever locked in conflict.
Typhlon met us near our temporary encampment with tired, weary eyes. I had not seen him disheveled once; it was obvious that he was exhausted from managing most of the regime on his own without my presence. He was less cautious than Varnoc toward my new children, only giving them a passing glance before accepting their existence.
“Warden,” he said politely with a nod befo
re addressing me. “All of the villages we have encountered so far have been emptied. It wasn’t clear what the nature of their departure was, but it is safe to say that they are anticipating our attack.”
I nodded with little worry for his words. It was foolish of me – I had grown cocky from my first victory. I did not care what the wise warrior’s ideas were for taking the capital because I felt I knew better than he did.
“We can divert their focus.” I gestured to my monstrous creations. “If they attack the west and the Zaarians rush to defend, it will leave the southern entrance open. I need the Emperor’s head to call it a victory.”
“Leora and Gradelkine both wait at Aresius’ defense. Are you confident a simple plan like that will be enough to give us an edge?” Varnoc asked gently as not to try my patience or temper.
“Do you think mortals stand a chance against our Gods and the Void? All fall before Lord Nakarius’ wrath – never forget that,” I snapped. Typhlon was more reasonable than Varnoc, it seemed. I had not done the proper amount of reconnaissance on the western side of Uxe, but I doubted any of their warriors would be strong enough to kill my new allies.
I redirected my attention to the Commander and pointed at the mountain pass on the horizon – the same one that shielded Uxe from most dangers. Most. “Put the archers in every crevice they will fit. When we begin the siege, they will focus on setting the residential quarters afire from above. The more blocking their exit routes, the faster we can finish this.”
“As you say,” Typhlon replied respectfully. He was eager to be through with the entire conflict – it was obvious when he rushed off immediately to get everyone ready to move the next day. I was already in love with the sensation of War; it was impossible to fathom why he was not enjoying slaughtering our foes as well. That is just how mortals behave, I suppose.
After commanding my monsters to attack and otherwise disrupt the west, I sat in the barren field outside of our encampment. I watched the sky while I brooded over the idea of having a bigger demonic army. I am not sure why it roused a thought of the small Zaarian girl I had met in Spinewood. I still carried her ba’yan Ortos carving from my belt out of habit, though it was blasphemous as I thought of destroying her homeland in the same moment. Becoming a demon had dehumanized me in such a way that not even the strong emotions of Nyzara could pull on my heartstrings for my victims. All of them, including the Zaarian orphan, would perish and the universe would be better for it. It was awful and I loved it. I was the harbinger of peace and justice – the world hadn’t noticed yet, but it would soon enough.
My life had drastically changed in a manner I had not perceived since my last visit. I left Zaar as an aspiring fighter, desperate to be reunited with my beloved. I returned as a vanquisher with righteous intention and no desire to see my Master again. Something about being in endless conflict surrounded by enemies made my situation feel more justified. Even if it was unjustified, they still would have fallen at my feet. I did not have to think about right or wrong. My past ceased to be. Only the present existed and it was easier to handle than fretting over what could not be changed.
Varnoc returned when I finally retired to my tent. I hated sleeping, as I felt it was a waste of time. I had been warned, however, about its role in demon life. I did not need it for now, but the longer one lives, the more necessary it would become. My demonic brothers could go long spans without sleeping, but they did so at least a few times a month. My Master had lived close to ten thousand years, thus he required sleep almost every night. Without James’ presence, Vince would deny himself rest and drive himself to near madness. I used that to my benefit, of course. Even now, I still do not depend upon it regularly. I find it to be a weakness.
So naturally, it was a difficult task to rest. I remember finding the small privacy relieving, as it was much easier to deal with the whispering words that plagued my mind after using War in Diam.
Varnoc was braiding his russet beard that had grown considerably since we first met. Though he looked nothing like my partner from my previous life, the action made my heart ache from how much it reminded me of him.
Did I miss Illyswen? Perhaps. It is hard to tell.
“What’s wrong? You have been in an unusual mood since the battle,” Varnoc said suddenly over his shoulder, staring at me where I lie on the mountain of delicately made blankets I brought from the palace. It startled me from my overwhelming thoughts.
“I am disappointed. Diam fades from my mind more with each passing day and I had expected Morein to be a worthier adversary.” My eyes flickered to his headdress sitting near the end of my bed.
“Diam was crumbling under its own weight and Morein was a weak leader. The capital will give you the rush you seek.”
“Tell me… why are you content to murder your own kind? To betray your Emperor?”
My question caused him to look at his hands for a few moments in deliberation. If I had to guess, he was contemplating his actions. After our gaze met again, his expression grew fixed. He sat by my side and ran his fingers over my skin to soothe whatever thoughts he was having.
“My life in Zaar was no different than what it was in the Everglade,” he began, letting his memories take him far away. “I was a slave like my parents before me. Not all tribes are equal, and I was from the region Bulle to the south. We had been fighting the Faeran forces endlessly for access to the channel and it left us poor and starving while those in the main cities lived comfortably. Morein annexed Bulle to add to Diam, and we were removed from our homes and distributed to his city as bullero, which they claimed to be workers from Bulle. It became obvious to my mother when she was lashed for speaking out against his injustice what bullero really were.
“My first job as a small child was tending to a wealthier noble named Dumont in southern Diam. My father had died from one ailment or another – I don't remember his presence after I started laboring for Dumont… My mother was victim to my master’s demands and died soon after from being beaten to death while I watched. The entire time I debated stabbing him in the back, but I couldn’t – I was a small child that had never been taught to hold a spear and hunt chorta like a man.
“I served Dumont for years, harboring hatred for murdering my mother, though I hid it well. Eventually, my master declared I could be trained in the art of hunting in order to help his trade business. The night I returned from the Orozio ritual of becoming a warrior and killed my first chorta, I challenged Dumont to a duel. It was a duel that I won, but at a cost.
“I was taken as a prisoner, as none would regard a duel between a noble and a slave as one of any legitimacy. They carted me off to Uxe for a hasty, unfair trial and locked me away in the dungeons. The only thing I could do besides think about slaughtering everyone was draw on scraps of parchment we were usually allowed for periodic correspondence. I drew Bulle and Diam from memory by weak torchlight, making sure to destroy them at the end.
“After a few years of clinging to my purposeless life, I was taken before the late Emperor himself. A guardsman found one of my maps I had drawn from boredom and passed it around until someone decided it was worthy of attention. According to him, none he had known could replicate our country with such accuracy. Because I was a slave and declared criminal, I was told it was impossible to give me a position on his court. He would, however, buy me from Dumont’s family and allow me to live on the outskirts of Uxe as his slave. I would have to record all of Zaar as he requested to maintain my freedom from the dungeons.
“When I set out to complete his task, I was still young. Even though I was no longer in prison, I was still treated like a slave and prisoner among my fellow map makers. I ate last. I got to sleep the least. I did more scouting, hunting, and cartography than any other. They beat me if I talked out of line. Harassed me incessantly to the point that I murdered them all in their sleep on watch duty one fateful night.
“I could not return to Uxe; my crime was punishable by death. I burnt their bodies with all the maps
but one and fled to the south, on the border of Faera. When bounties started showing up for my head, I tried to run for A’roha. I was unsuccessful – Lord Vince’s forces were crossing into Evya and took me hostage. When they found my map and thought the same as the Zaarian Emperor, they sent me to the Everglade to rot until I could be of use.
“I would not say that I had near the suffering you endured in that awful place. I remember the first time I saw you lined up for rations. Many had placed wagers on how fast you would die, but when you began to train, I knew you were meant to survive. The craftsmanship of your blades kept me alive in many arena battles. I gambled away food just to get my hands on weapons with your initials. They never sundered or cracked, even after heaths of opponents.”
Varnoc brushed my lips with his thumb. I was so captivated by his words I hardly noticed anything else. “When I challenged you, I had reached a point of deadness. If I won, it meant I would be renowned enough to move out of the Everglade and return to having some sort of purpose again. If I lost, it would be to the only warrior I found worthy of spilling my blood. I never imagined what would happen that day. Your fervor for freedom echoes mine… I have never known anyone to feel the desire for something more from this life the way you do.”
He kissed my cheek. “To answer your question, Lazarus, I do it all for you and you alone,” he declared. “Vince may be the King, but you are my Queen. I believe in the new world you wish to build.”
I was startled into silence by how effortlessly he bared his heart to me. His emotions differed from all I had known since I arrived in Duskwraith. I did not feel like I was being used for games or gains by him. Though I have a difficult time recalling my mortal life in A’roha in detail, I believe that my love for Varnoc stemmed from my love for Illyswen. They vastly differed in appearance, but our intimacy reminded me of what I once had, as unclear as it was.
Vince cared not for me, only himself. Raven may have adored me, but the Void was more precious than anything else. Lydris was entirely displaced rage and lust.