Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land

by Alex Rey

  “Get out of here! I won’t let you hurt my family!” the enslaved creature yelled. Even though he talked of family, however, no sight of any other human caught Molar’s attention.

  Unlike most human slaves, this one had no fur on his head—but plenty of blond fur on his chin. In Molar’s presence, the man’s brow wrinkled as he tightly clenched his two fists. What mystified Molar the most, however, was how most of this human’s skin was apricot. The only part of the human which didn’t give off an apricot color was his left arm—which was mostly dark-gray with some spots of dark pink showing.

  “What?” asked Molar, trying not to glance at the hideously-displayed arm.

  “Your kind isn’t welcome here!”

  “My kind is welcome anywhere!” the griffin growled. Feeling a flash of ferocity surge through his bones, Molar pounced on the small human. This must be what that bear felt like when she was faced against me!

  His front paws pressing onto each of the man’s arms, Molar took sensation of the roughness placed into the human’s gray left arm. It made him shudder when he wondered what had happened to this slave’s arm to have caused so much of its skin to die.

  Waking himself up from the thoughts of the gray-encrusted arm, Molar noticed how the man’s face showed no sign of fear or sorrow. “Why are you not afraid?” he demanded harshly.

  “Don’t you know what will happen to me once I’m dead?” the human slave sneered with a smirk of inferior contempt.

  Slowly and confusedly, Molar shook his head, relieving pressure on the small human’s arms. His beak almost halfway open, he stared into the human’s face as a sudden coldness formed in his gaze. With a growl, he drew himself up to the human—a beak only a tiny length away from the slave’s nose. Growling and snorting, Molar wrapped the sharp edges of his beak as well as he could around the human’s neck.

  Not even flinching, blinking, or crying for help, the human sat back as the coldness of Molar’s beak pressed up against the sides of his neck. The chill Molar’s bones had created soon turned into an urging pain as the little griffin’s beak began to crush his neck. The urging pain quickly turned into a searing pain as the human felt Molar’s beak seep into his skin.

  Slitting his eyelids over his gaze, the last thing this human felt was searing pain—in addition to a touch of moisture near the top of his chest. Within heartbeats, he found his neck slit open, removing the ability to breathe. His last sight was the sight of a small griffin with its beak’s edges stained scarlet.

  Lifting his head away from the nearly beheaded human, Molar was nearly dumbfounded at the hideous sight upon him. Why any creature would need such a complex and disgusting body was beyond his knowing.

  Turning his path away from the deceased slave, Molar wiped his bloodied beak with the back of one of his large, lion-like paws. I can’t believe I have a part of that disgusting slave’s body on me! he shuddered, worried simply wiping the blood away wouldn’t stop the infectious particles from taking over his body.

  Lifting his wings into the air, Molar gave a sniff just before launching himself from the ground. He hoped not to run into any more slaves—creatures which would physically harm him for running into where they believed he had no right to be. Such was a thought that dared to bring his thoughts of Mocrano upside-down.

  The young griffin decided to enjoy the cool breeze as it brushed past his bones and cloak. Still holding a fear for randomly-appearing slaves, Molar began to feel slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge of how badly he must have stuck out while flying through the sky.

  It was while in the midst of this troublesome flight when he realized there were very few Mocranians who had ever even been given a chance to reach such intense heights—as was his current milieu. Am I making people jealous? Worse than that, he was worried these jealous minds would wish to finish what the human slave had already started. Slightly concerned for his privacy, Molar decided to fly into a shadowed alley once he had caught the sight of what he believed would hide him from all eyes.

  Landing into what he believed was an empty area, Molar folded his wings back and allowed elation to cloud his thoughts. Believing himself to be alone, he made out a cacophonous, suckling noise creeping out from the corner of another nearby alley.

  Peeping his gaze through the alleys’ intersection, Molar took sight of a family of small, feline slaves. A couple of the slaves were grooming their selves with their own tongues—licking their paws and wiping them on their ears. His bones surged with curiosity of what these creatures were, and what they were doing.

  A majority of these slaves—four out of five—appeared to be underfed while a much larger feline protected them. It was strange, Molar thought, to witness how four of the creatures remained puny—which was a much different case than what had been apparent of the fifth feline. Such a thought baffled the griffin’s mind, to say the least.

  “Mrrow?” Molar heard one of the felines cry. At the sound of this noise, the larger of the slaves lay herself on her side—after which the others slowly crawled up to her chest. Upon making it to the largest feline, they began to suckle on her breasts.

  At this sight, Molar nearly laughed out loud, wondering why any creature would ever need to perform such a vulgar task. Are they being forced to do this? This thought in mind, he began to think back to Carpla’s lessons. Hasn’t he told me something about this?

  With a few heartbeats of thought, Molar suddenly realized, That creature must be a mother! And those littler ones are her children! The mother’s pelt was a silvery-gray, as did two of the babies—one’s pelt slightly darker than the other. A maple-colored pelt accompanied one of the other babies—while the smallest and final baby’s pelt gave off a dark orange color.

  Feeling adoration for the baby slaves, Molar gradually drew himself closer to the felines.

  It was at that moment when the mother suddenly removed her gaze from her babies and lifted her nose into the air. Ears pricked, she began to sniff the air surrounding her, finding something out of place. Slowly did she turn her head toward Molar, alert flashing in her eyes at the sight of him.

  Picking herself up on her four legs, the feline let out a hiss—her back arched, nose wrinkled, and claws unsheathed. A pause occurred as the only present noises were drawn forth from the kittens’ mouths. The feline hissed again—this time much fiercer than before, driving Molar away.

  Not this one, too! Molar rose into the air, looking back at the angry mother one last time. He watched as she sauntered back over to her offspring, allowing them to suckle once again. I still don’t get it.

  It was then when he took hearing a voice in his head—a voice which made him feel more pathetic than he had ever felt in his life. Did I just retreat from a slave? These words echoed about in his head for the longest time. Thankfully, however, he was able to lay waste to such words with time.

  Although he was able to keep the words from reentering his head again, he was not able to keep himself from feeling inferior. It seemed only normal to him that a slave would begin to shake at the sight of a Mocranian ruler. Apparently, that creature is much braver than I am.

  Molar took a glimpse down at Mocrano once again. He took a glance behind his shoulder to notice the Mapharaux seemed to share the shape of a writing utensil. Still glancing behind his shoulder, Molar took one of his rear paws and gave himself an illusion; with such an illusion did he make it look like he were holding the Mapharaux. Mildly laughing, he removed his paw and quickly returned his gaze back to his front.

  Hopefully this time there will be no more interruptions. Much to Molar’s disappointment, however, he’d only spend a few moments flying when he came across yet another lake of malid. At such a sight did the griffin’s statement evolve into: Hopefully I can finally catch a fish this time!

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Molar plummeted to the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation did he make his abrupt landing. Upon doing so did he peer over the malid’s horizon.

  Within the pool’s
grasp swim many fish: creatures of which he had caught sight of only a few times before in his life. Crawling over to the pool of malid, Molar tried his best not to scare any of the fish away. He could only imagine the amount of vibration his feet sent to the nearby liquid.

  Moving his paws as slowly and stealthily as he could, he took sight of a whiskered fish flying through the malid. Watching the fish closely, a new fishing tactic suddenly popped into his head. Such a tactic was to pierce the fish’s eyes using one of the many nails equipped onto his large paws. To him, it seemed an ingenious plan—so he decided to try it out.

  Stalking the fish while still remaining dry, Molar gave a low crouch to the ground. He kept his head just below his shoulders as the bones in his neck curled, giving him a somewhat short appearance. All the while did he wait patiently for one of the whiskered fish to come his way.

  It had taken a while, but with time one of the fish he had been waiting for finally swam over to an area of shallow malid—an area which coincidentally had been sitting right in front of him. Once the fish came in sight, Molar’s neck stretched outwards, his beak wide open so that he could get a tight grip on his slippery prey.

  A rush of excitement flew through the air as Molar’s head splashed into the malid. Its moisture rushed onto his face until it almost came into his eye sockets. He gave a pull of his head once he felt something come into his beak’s trap, assuming he had caught a fish at last!

  Upon pulling his head out of the malid, Molar felt something flapping in his beak. I caught the fish! he silently exclaimed in triumph. Just as the thought came into mind, he turned his head while opening his beak, throwing his prey onto the sandy ground far away from the lake.

  Padding up to his suffocating prey, Molar placed one of his paws over the fish. Just before his meal could escape from his grasp, he lurched one of his toes forward and allowed it to impale through the fish’s eyes. The next thing he knew was finding his deceased fish under his paw.

  It worked! Molar exclaimed silently just before lying down with the fish in his beak. Flying through Mocrano for the first time was an exciting, yet exhausting experience for anybody that had been flying as long as he had. I deserve this.

  It had taken a while for Molar to finish his fish, but he eventually found himself overwhelmed with the energy his meal had given. Before taking any use of the energy did he decide to rest his skeletal rib cage on the sandy ground.

  As he lay among the millions of particles of sand, Molar’s cloak acted much like a blanket. It easily protected him from whatever breezes lie in his way, preventing the incoming drafts from causing a chill to run through his bones.

  It had not taken much resting for him to regain the strength to fly. Lifting his wings into the air once again, Molar allowed the fish’s energy to blast him off into the sky. He felt at peace using fish for the way it was intended rather than for a selfish cause—such as for decoration. Why anybody would want to make such useless use for such a useless product was beyond his knowledge.

  At the peace of his flight, Molar noticed what appeared to be four large and beautifully sculpted legs tipped off with a lion’s paws. Just below the paws was a plaque in which the sculptures were connected. Surrounding this plaque was a group of busy slaves who had only one purpose at this moment: to finish their carved figure. He was well aware that these slaves were building a statue of something—but what?

  We are actually letting those low-ranked slaves build such an important statue? Molar thought contemptuously. It was then when he realized, But we let those filthy mongrels touch everything we have; why?

  Drawing his mind off the subject of the slaves, Molar noticed a small, white castle—a castle which he decided to land next to without a moment’s second thought. He took a listen to what was going on in the castle by pressing the side of his skull next to the door. This way, he hoped to pick up on what was going on inside.

  What’s going on in there? Unfortunately for him, Molar hadn’t known that the door had already been opened just a crack. Because of this, his body flung itself into the white castle as its door came flying open.

  Once his body came into the castle, Molar tumbled onto a welcoming carpet—all the while placing a frozen expression on his face. Oops! Nearly half of all those in the castle turned their gaze toward the small griffin, slightly confused at first.

  However, nothing could have matched the confusion placed into Molar’s head at that moment. Each of the Mocranians in this castle gave the appearance of slaves. Skin clambered over their bones with such a natural look, bringing Molar to believe these were slaves.

  Without hesitation did Molar come to his feet, explaining all the while, “You’re slaves!” A growl formed in the back of his dry throat when he asked, “What are you doing here! Shouldn’t you be working on that plaque out there?”

  Silence.

  “Get back to work!”

  Silence again. What was going on here?

  Before another single word could have sprouted from Molar’s beak, the sound of “Molar!” was heard from the back of the castle.

  What?

  “Molar!” the voice called out once again. Fearing for his life, Molar hastily flapped his wings and brushed his way through what seemed like millions of slaves before coming to the source of the voice. Such a source was his father. How does he keep finding me in the worst of places?

  Carpla sat in a room at what seemed like the back of the castle on top of a flight of stairs. Upon finally finding Molar sitting in front of him—tired and confused—Carpla released a sigh of disdain. “Molar—”

  “Did I do something wrong?” he wondered contemptuously. “Because—I couldn’t have done something wrong! Those were all slaves!”

  “They were not slaves!” exclaimed his father. “Did you see the golden jewelry hanging from their necks?”

  It was then when Molar realized they all had been wearing jewelry! But why they had done so only caused wonder to fill his mind. A pause came into play before he finally asked, “That jewelry—what was it?”

  Another sigh released itself from Carpla’s dust-filled maw before he continued, “There are some nobles out there—rich, powerful Mocranians—who will wear skin on their bodies.”

  “But why?” his son interrupted. “Everybody will think they’re slaves—like me!”

  “That’s why they’re wearing necklaces,” stated Carpla. “If somebody has the skin of a slave but they also have that kind of necklace, they’re a noble Mocranian.”

  Another moment of silence came between the father and son before Molar simply mumbled, “Oh.”

  “Just go back out there—and don’t leave the castle!”

  “Why?” wondered Molar at the room’s exit.

  “Later we’re going to hold a ceremony down here,” Carpla explained, “So make sure you stay down here.”

  With a nod of approval, Molar rushed back into the castle’s front room and witnessed all the slave-like nobles he’d witnessed earlier. Just beside him was a human male with his arm around a female human. Both of the nobles held brown hair on their heads, with red and purple robes covering much of their skin. Each of them kept their glances on Molar until the embarrassed and slightly remorseful griffin walked out of their sight.

  I wonder what we’re all going to do in here, Molar thought as he walked by the many disguised nobles in his way.

  It was while still trotting through the castle when a new excitement rushed through him. He realized how he now had many stories to tell his friends from one single flying trip, and it was likely that so would also be the case with them. But where could they possibly be now that they had all learned how to fly?

  They could be anywhere! It was troublesome enough as it was for Molar to try to find his friends before they could fly. Now they could either be travelling on the ground or by the air; his friends could either be on the ground or in the sky!

  But I have to stay here, he remembered with a sigh. How could he find them now?


  “Hey Molar,” a voice called from behind.

  A spark of surprise lighting up in his head, Molar turned around to see all three of his friends. They stood there without another single word, waiting for Molar’s response.

  “Hi everybody!” Molar greeted to Toakld, Caeo, and Mesd.

  “Hello, Molar,” Toakld responded. “How was your first flight?”

  “It was great!” Molar didn’t know what to say after that, since there was so much to talk about. Before anything could have sprouted from his beak, however, the others started speaking of their experiences during the past day.

  Molar’s words were not very different compared to his friends. They talked mostly about the creatures and wonders they’d come to see—but apart from Molar’s experience, they hadn’t been hurt physically or emotionally by any of the slaves they had seen.

  Molar began to think about the moment when he had killed the strange human—whether or not it was the right thing to do. But why would the human—or any creature, for that matter—offend the great empire in which Molar would someday rule over?

  Such thoughts came to their end when the sound of a whistle echoed throughout the castle.

  “Molar!” Carpla called out from the same room Molar had last seen him in.

  “I have to go!” Molar quickly exclaimed to his friends before rushing back up the stairs.

  Much to his surprise, Carpla came walking out the room’s exit—causing Molar to nearly bump into his father. It was after preventing such an accident when he listened as his father explained, “It’s time for us to drink from the Iofinad.”

  Without asking a single question, Molar responded nervously, “Oh—well—okay!” and followed Carpla to another room. This room sat underneath the flight of stairs Molar had taken to meet his father—in it sat an enormous cup.

  “Is that the Iofinad?” wondered Molar.

  “Yes.”

  Now in the midst of this strange cup, Molar peered into its core. From what he could understand, it contained red liquid made up from many things he had clearly never before laid eyes on. I hope I don’t have to drink from this, he resented as thoughts of revulsion entered his mind.