Resist
Page 37
“You know, I’ll be watching closely, Patriarch.” The man pouted and pushed out his lips. “Although,” he said softly, “You haven’t done anything worth watching.” Porras somehow turned the last statement into a question, and Mors ground his teeth. He couldn’t let the High Lord see that he was getting underneath his skin. Instead of replying, he turned back to the bound captives. A Vallyr guard stood behind each one so that they wouldn’t have the chance to run away. Off to the side, there was a long line of more captives. They were chained together with iron mangles around their wrists and ankles. The Cult enchanted the chains themselves. Like all of their slave bindings, the chains actively drained their occupants of will via their souls. Occasionally, a Vallyr soldier would use the whip they frequently held at their waste to strike a slave and draw blood. The pain and the fear were sustenance to their kind.
“You’ll see how the Lord of Darkness has blessed me, High Lord.” Mors held his dagger up to the fading light and let the fiery sunset reflect upon its length. The evening was symbolic to the Lord of Night, his greatest enemy, Lucidus had chosen a flaming star for her sigil. Naturally, it’s fall increased the power of his rituals. The shadow-colored blade glowed with internal violet illumination. A rune—the same rune that was present in the Collective’s sigil—was giving off a sinister light. Mors smiled as he felt the presence of Nocturnus settling over him. The Patriarch was gifted with unique powers. It was a type of sacrificial power that helped to keep the Patriarch in control over the rest of the Scourge. All of the Vallyr could use magic to various degrees. Some were willing to sacrifice much in the pursuit of power, and some weren’t willing to make deals with the Lord of Consuming Darkness. However, there was a sacrifice that was made at the very beginning of the first Immortal War. Mors’ ancestors had sacrificed the strength of their followers to ensure their power. Every other Vallyr in the Scourge could create soul-forged creatures, but their lives were circumscribed. The entropy that affected their creations was in exchange for the life that the Patriarch could create. When Mors wanted to create an army of soul-forged, he could produce them in higher numbers, for less cost, and they didn’t have the same short lifespan that the others used.
Sensing that it was time, he walked to the first captive. He took the blade and sliced the throat from side to the other. From either side of the crimson smile, blood spurted from the severed arteries. He didn’t waste more time on the prisoner of war. He merely watched as the man’s feet kicked, and he struggled in the grasp of the Vallyr behind him. He moved on to the next, and the next, and the next, until he had cut perfect smiles in the dozen that had been presented to him. The next part was the exciting part. He strode back to his prior position, riding the high of the death and pain he had caused. He watched as even Porras quivered at the sudden flux of emotion in the air. For their kind, their deaths were the equivalent of a twelve-course meal. Each person’s pain and fear in the last moment of their lives was a delicious morsel to the Vallyr. Mors smiled evilly at the High Lord, barely containing himself at the sudden glut of food. The man could scarcely restrain himself from moving forward and feasting on them.
Mors didn’t say anything to Porras; he didn’t need to. They both knew that Mors had won this particular round. “Now time for my next trick, I do hope you’re watching closely.” Mors mocked the high lord. Mors needed to show his superiority as he had spent far too much time away from the border. It was clear that the border lords were growing wild in their distance from the capital. It was interesting, to say the least, that they had chosen Porras to represent them at all. Their excuses for not arriving outside of Koral to help him reclaim it were token excuses at best, and indications of betrayal at worst. It’s okay, Mors thought to himself. This little display will remind them why I continue to rule over them and their petty politics.
Mors faced the twelve cooling corpses and raised the dagger overhead. The rune along its length glowed like a beacon, and the wail of souls could be heard from the Between. Mors was using the power of his Lord to bring them back to the land of the living. They would even get to return to their bodies but not quite in the fashion that they remembered. Orbs of violet energy burst from his dagger. They looked like purple meteors with small tails of grey-colored smoke. If one looked closely, they would see the faces of the dead in their depths. They screamed in eternal pain as Mors ripped them violently from the afterlife. They were automatically drawn to their prior bodies, and in sequence, they returned to the mortal forms they used to possess. When they arrived, the flesh began to slough from the manacles that held them as they became slime-like versions of themselves. Twelve liquid forms started to collect in a single point. Many Vallyr had their monsters they liked to create. It was easier to meld bodies into monsters that had been created before. Mors wanted to be a bit more…creative. He wanted a creature that would terrify the Empire. He would make their nightmares manifest into reality.
Mors began to chant in the old tongue. The language said to be from the time before the Vallyr had ever been brought to Somnium. The corpses of his victims responded to his commands. They flowed together, and he directed them with his will. First, he melded the bodies together, even now, mouths would appear sporadically from the biological morass to scream before being subsumed by other kinds of flesh. He created eight legs made from the twisted limbs of humanoids. They were tipped with spikes of bone that would be used to spear and rend the enemy. Unsatisfied, he took the front two limbs and lengthened until they became colossal piercing claws. The legs were connected to the main body made in a radial pattern from the ribcages and the dense, pliable flesh between them. Next, a gaping mouth was created in the front. Mors filled it with the jagged teeth of a handful of different species. The gaping mouth opened wide, and a violet glow emanated from its core and seeped from behind the teeth like fog. This would be used by the monster to consume the enemy and replenish its own body. Twenty-four eyes popped into existence above the maw. They looked wildly in all directions. It was clear that something remained of the victims behind its tortured gaze. The flesh that he couldn’t use in the structure of the monster, he morphed it into a long tail. He filled the tail with the stomach acid of its makers. The end of the long tail was tipped with sharpened femur bones that had been melted together in one twisted stinger.
The life faded from Mors’ dagger, and he lowered it slowly. “I like it,” he said while turning to the High Lord that had accompanied him for this particular event. “I think I’m going to call it a Devourer.” As if the name had given it life, the monster wailed with twelve voices wound together in an unholy choir. Mors smiled broadly at the sound as the Devourer moved forward and positioned itself over the two Vallyr. The Patriarch looked into the eyes of the High Lord, “I trust that it won’t be difficult to rally the border lords to assist me in pushing back the Empire?” Mors asked the question like he didn’t care much about the answer. In truth, he didn’t. Both of the men knew how this had to end. The Devourer wouldn’t die from entropy like the other Vally creations, and there was still an extended line of captives awaiting Mors’ ministrations.
“Of course, Patriarch.” High Lord Porras responded effeminately. He tossed his black hair behind his shoulder as he considered the weapon of war towering over him. “I’ll make sure they’ve been informed immediately, the Vallyr ride to war once again.” Porras quirked a smile as he bowed to the Patriarch. The politics never ended.
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