“The time has come,” she breathed, her voice scarcely a whisper in the wake of the power that flowed unfettered through her body.
“Excellent,” Aurax replied.
Aleksandra opened her eyes into slits and could just make out Aurax rubbing his thin hands together in anticipation. The chaos bunched within her heart, begging to be released. There was so much of the Goddess’s love trapped within her body now. Should she take in much more, it could have been dangerous. She was momentarily seized with a greedy desire to keep it all inside, to ensure that it would be hers forever, but Aleksandra was not so weak as to lose sight of her mission. Her eyes shot open, erupting in the crimson light of the Goddess, and released the chaos back into the blackened throne.
She could sense the tidal wave of magical energy sailing back through floor and walls, flooding through the mystical canals built into the fortress. She felt power erupt within the black stone, and the haze of crimson that shone across the landscape beyond the throne room’s long balcony told her that the spell had been an overwhelming success. The spike atop her home was now shining a deep, foreboding shade of red, which echoed along the planes of her eyes. She could sense the tendrils of chaos reaching out into the world from her seat of power and looked down at Aurax with a gaze of triumph.
The cleric’s face shone with malicious glee, his fangs bared in victory as he nodded to the mighty empress, silently urging her on. She closed her eyes slowly and opened herself up to the pathways of power. The gleaming crimson spike responded to her instantly, flooding her with its energy. The sorceress could feel the sensation of movement as her essence was pulled out from the shell of her body. Her indomitable spirit flowed through the waves of chaos that reverberated throughout her kingdom. She could sense every Skirlack demon in the whole of her city, their heartbeats in sync now with her own. These creatures formed of the Goddess’s heavenly might were now as much a part of her as the cells that flowed through her arteries and veins.
Her attention bore down upon a platoon of soldiers who had cornered a small group of humans. These intended victims huddled in an alleyway, three men and two women dressed in rags and begging, pleading with the demons for mercy. Aleksandra found the largest of her servants in the grouping and set her will upon him. Instantly, the soldier rose into the air, its red skin alight as lightning the color of blood coursed over its burly form. Aleksandra could feel the creature’s simple mind, and she pressed upon it, instantly extinguishing its consciousness as she commandeered its form.
The demon grew nearly half a meter, its skin cracking and splintering in several locations, under which a pulsating red light began to glow. Aleksandra felt the stone street beneath her feet and the cool evening air against her new flesh. Gazing down at the creature’s meaty hands, she clenched her new taloned fingers. She locked her sight down upon the frightened humans; their terror had only grown as they watched the horrifying transformation take place. Their hands were raised in a pleading, begging gesture. All ten fingers were in place, which told her all she needed to know.
“Heretics.” Her voice came from the demon’s mouth, sounding essentially the same, only harsher, as though the sound of scraping gravel accompanied her words. The heathens before her gaped open-mouthed, having never heard a Skirlack demon speak. “You stand accused of affronts to the Empire of Aleksandrya and the one true faith of Terra.” Once the momentary astonishment over the sound of her voice emanating from the mouth of a Skirlack had expired, she watched grim defiance fall across the face of one of the females as she glared at the demon with icy resolve.
“Long live Kackritta! Long live the Ice Queen!”
The words brought an explosion of fury to light within the demon’s commandeered mind. Aleksandra felt the burning rush of rage spread throughout the beast’s flesh, and she raised its arm, sword in hand, and swung down with the full strength of the demon coupled with an added boost of might gained from her essence. The blade carved down into the woman’s flesh, splitting her open like a piece of old fruit. Aleksandra could feel the hot spray of blood pepper the demon’s skin and delighted in the sensation as it dripped down its stolen face and chest.
This had been the first life she had ever taken with a weapon. Throughout the course of her training with Aurax as a young girl, she had invoked death upon many but always with magic or the unnatural strength the Goddess’s gifts granted her. It was odd to murder with a sword. There was something delightfully common about it, and Aleksandra’s mind came alight with a fury born of desire.
She set upon the four remaining heretics, hacking and slashing amidst their screaming pleas for mercy. The goopy heat of fresh blood washed over her again and again as she lashed out with sharpened fury, cleaving limbs, rending flesh, and splintering bone. The demon’s natural propensity toward murder matched with her own glee. After continuing to hammer at the twitching bodies for several seconds, she hurled the blade aside and roared up into the night sky. Aleksandra let go of the magic that connected her to the demon, and instantly, its body was vaporized by the escaping chaos of her essence. As the soldier crumbled to ash, Aleksandra’s spirit soared back through the air, the world a blur of nothingness until she crashed back into her own body, eyes flying open, once more alight with the crimson might of the Goddess.
Her hands dug into the charred bones of the throne’s armrests, the humming power contained within vibrating against her palms. Aurax approached her slowly.
“Mistress, are you well?”
“That…was…glorious,” she breathed with a hissing exhale as the world once more settled around her. The might of her own empowered body returned to her, and she slowly stood upon shaking legs. “The ability to assume control over the Goddess’s children… It was beyond description.”
“You have harnessed a power that, until now, was reserved only for the most revered and Holy Mother. She has shone Her blessings upon you once again, Mistress.”
Aleksandra’s heart fluttered at the comment. It was in her that the one true deity had placed Her power and trust. “And this is only the beginning,” she replied, her voice hardly containing her excitement. “Once my control over the fortress grows, there will be no corner of Aleksandrya where my fool sister can hide from me. We will be an impenetrable force. We will dominate the whole of Terra and present it to the Goddess, untitled in worship. We will burn the non-believers from the festering wounds of this world like the infection that they are.”
“And the first step in your glorious plan begins now, Mistress.”
“Indeed. Tomorrow, the mage city topples amidst a conflagration of faith.”
McNeil stalked the empty halls of the emperor’s private residential wing, excitement bursting within his chest. It had finally happened. The rule of madness had ended, and now he could take his rightful place atop the throne, to lead his empire into a new and prosperous direction—where the exaltation of the strong would lead to their victories, not the sponge-brained whims of a mad tyrant.
For years, McNeil had walked a step behind his elder brother, watching with disgust as he enacted law and policy meant to further his own warped perceptions of reality, while he stood silently by, imagining what he would do given the chance. Now, he would rule with strength, with power, with the unshakable resolve of a warrior. He had all the power he had ever dreamt of sitting right at his fingertips. For his entire life, he thought that should he ever become emperor, he would be the most powerful man on Terra. That had always stirred a primal pleasure deep within his spirit.
But he was not the most powerful man on Terra. Not even close. Even with the mightiest empire in the history of the world at his immediate disposal, his power paled before that of the Dragon-Lord. He was a power beyond power, and as he watched him burn his way through the Gorram, McNeil felt as helpless within the wake of his power as he had always felt beside Tek. He was the emperor, or would be once coronated the following day, and he still found himself looking up at someone else. It was maddening.
The power of monarchs was circumstantial. He ruled for as long as his rule was accepted. He commanded the armies of Karminia for as long as they chose to obey him. But that kind of power as displayed by the Dragon-Lord within the confines of the Imperial Arena…that transcended circumstance. That kind of power was absolute, undeniable, and unbeatable. McNeil lusted for it; he needed it. To shed the flesh of mortality and be reborn as a god—unshakable, unbeatable, and fit to rule his empire for all eternity.
“Your Highness,” came a crisp voice from behind him. He turned from his silent musings and saw the statuesque and stunning form of General Belladon, the supreme commander of the Imperial Army, approaching. The clank of her knee-high armored boots hadn’t been audible prior to her speaking. The dim torchlight of the hallway was reflected in the sparse armor she wore on her torso, ending at the thigh. Her gauntleted left hand rested on the hilt of a serrated broadsword sheathed at her side. McNeil had to look up to meet her emerald-eyed gaze, just shy of two meters high. Her stare pierced him, two green dots surrounded by ebony flesh and framed by long, dark hair. She was a magnificent, perfect specimen of the female form, and McNeil had secretly lusted after her for years. She, however, preferred the company of women even against a male of McNeil’s nearly flawless features. It had always been a sore spot upon his pride.
“General,” he said with a short nod.
“It is my understanding that you have foregone your right as our future ruler to have a guard detail accompany you.”
“That is correct.”
Her eyes shone with aghast disbelief. “May I inquire as to why?”
“Because I do not require attention.”
“Our emperor was just murdered by an inhuman monster, and you are the last remaining blood heir.”
“General,” he said, holding up a hand to silence her concerns, “I am mightier than an entire platoon of your finest soldiers, and you know this. Also, if the Dragon-Lord were to target my life, what good will your soldiers be? He will scatter them like insects and burn them to ash.”
Belladon remained quiet for a moment until McNeil turned to leave. She followed at his heels.
“Even so, we should be formulating a plan on how to counteract this menace before it strikes once more.”
“That won’t be necessary, General,” McNeil said without turning around.
Belladon’s steps immediately came to a halt. “Why not?”
McNeil turned to see the general staring at him with incredulous shock. He was within spitting distance of the emperor’s chambers that now belonged to him, and he wanted nothing more than solitude to take his mind off the day’s sobering events.
“Because there would be no point in it. The Dragon-Lord can upend the entirety of the Imperial Army. There is no sense in further incurring his wrath.”
“So, you plan to simply lie down?”
“I plan to govern this empire.”
“But the emperor—”
“I am the emperor now!” McNeil roared in the face off his general. “I dictate who our friends are, who our enemies are, and I will say when vengeance is to be doled out.”
She kept her face stoic in wake of his outburst, remaining still. “Your will be done, Your Majesty,” she replied.
McNeil turned and threw open the door to his new chambers. He was met with the familiar arid stench of the emperor’s quarters and crinkled his nose at the rawness of it. The room always reeked of stale sweat and hookah smoke, and McNeil was looking forward to expunging all remnants of his brother from his new private abode.
As he crossed the threshold, his thoughts stopped, and he stutter-stepped to a full halt. Sitting there on the windowsill, casually staring at him as he walked through the door, was Valentean Burai. A gasp that resounded behind him told the soon-to-be emperor that Belladon had seen him as well. Before he could say anything, she was past him, rushing into the room with her sword drawn.
Valentean’s eyes came alight with the crimson glow of death as he dashed toward the oncoming general, ducking under a swipe from her sword and sweeping her legs out from beneath her. The general crashed to the floor and rose again, stabbing at the red-clad animus warrior, who sidestepped her assault and, with a flick of his wrist, disarmed her, sending the blade careening across the room before embedding itself in the headboard of the massive bed.
Belladon would not be deterred and continued to strike out at her foe with punches, knees, and kicks thrown at every conceivable angle at a speed that nearly matched McNeil’s own. But the Dragon-Lord intercepted or avoided every blow, finally ducking beneath a punch meant to cave in his face and toppling the general with a well-placed elbow between the shoulder blades. She crumpled, and he placed his boot upon the back of her neck, holding her in place while a ball of orange flame erupted to life upon his palm.
“Valentean,” McNeil exclaimed, holding up a hand toward his co-conspirator, “she is not a threat.” He watched the hazy rage evaporate from the Dragon-Lord’s eyes until the crimson light faded and he appeared human once more. The young man quickly removed his boot from Belladon’s neck and quenched the fireball in his palm. The general leapt back to her feet. “Stand down, Bella. He means us no harm.”
The statuesque woman turned and affixed her gaze upon the new monarch, with a look of confusion darkening her eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked with a dangerous edge to her voice.
McNeil paid her no mind and instead moved toward his uninvited guest. Valentean regarded him with a slow nod.
“Congratulations are in order, Your Majesty,” he said, eyes narrowing at McNeil, his stare filled with accusatory mistrust.
“I thank you,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level as though he were speaking to a wild animal that he did not want to startle.
“I trust you have not forgotten our arrangement.”
“Indeed, I have not, Lord Burai.”
“Good. Mobilize your armies. I will send a message when the time to strike at Aleksandrya comes. Until then, begin to prepare.”
McNeil nodded as Valentean turned from him, wordlessly leaping from the window out into the night air. Silence settled around the room, and he could feel Bella’s eyes boring holes in his back. He turned to meet her accusatory stare with the same stoic gaze that had served him well on the battlefield. He need not justify himself, and should she make a move against him, he was confident that she would fall before his martial prowess, especially in her disarmed state.
“If you have something to say, General, I suggest you say it.”
“You…” she said, her voice a nearly silent whisper of accusation.
McNeil’s hand moved to the hilt of the curved blade that rested at his side. He was in no mood to suffer her scorn. The way the Dragon-Lord had barged in and ordered him to comply with their arrangement had made his blood boil in rage. It was just another example of how his power dwarfed McNeil’s own.
“You conspired with the Dragon-Lord…to murder Emperor Tek.”
McNeil affixed the general in his gaze, the skin around his eyes tightening in anticipation of the fight that could very well break out. He had worked long and hard to get to this point; he would not let anyone take it from him now.
“I did,” he replied simply, trying and failing to read the mighty woman’s expression. He was taken aback when her lips moved into the form of a smirk.
“Good,” she replied. “There’s hope for you, Your Majesty.” She turned on her heel and walked back out into the hall.
McNeil relaxed the grip on his blade and gave a short laugh at the level of disdain his brother had left in the hearts and minds of those who served him. He turned and walked slowly to the window, looking down at the incredible vantage point his chamber sat upon. It was a fall of thousands of meters, and the Dragon-Lord had leapt through with no fear, no hesitation. That was the definition of power. That was what he wanted, what he needed, what he craved above all else.
Aleksandra found it difficult to move from her seat u
pon the Skeletal Throne. While her already insurmountable power made her feel mighty in every second of every day, it was a whole new sensation to be flooded with the energy of the fortress. With every second she sat there, she could feel the mighty abode’s power growing. Soon she would be so in sync with its energies that she would be able to see any darkened corner of her city just by willing it. She could find anyone by simply envisioning their face, and she could command hordes of Skirlack at a time from anywhere in the world.
“Mistress,” came the voice of Aurax, breaking her concentration.
Her eyes fluttered open as her most trusted advisor materialized before her. “Aurax,” she said in way of greeting. She slowly stood from the throne, feeling the deflating sense of breaking her connection to the chaos flow contained within. “How fares our general?”
Aurax’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He heals,” the demon replied dryly. “He has spoken not one word since we collected him from Karminian territory.”
“He is soaking in his believed failure, but he served precisely the purpose we had intended him for.”
“Indeed, Mistress. The Shogai has lost all semblance of control. He thrashed the general, sparing him not out of compassion but out of cruelty. He wanted him to bask in his failure, to live with the shame.”
“If I did not hate his sacrilegious arrogance as I do, I would almost respect the action.”
“Yes, quite,” Aurax replied. “He continues to act in accordance with the High and Holy Mother’s will.”
“Soon, he will come to me.”
“Yes, he will.”
“And when he does, I shall give him that final push. He will die or unleash his power. Then, the Goddess shall cross into this realm, she will gaze with love at the united children I present to her, and she will exact her holy vengeance upon the non-believers.”
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