Fallen Ambitions

by Vann, Eric J.

  Nelik laughed, and Emily gritted her teeth at the sight of the pure joy on display before her.

  “Four cuts,” he said, as he wiped the bloody blade on his clothes, leaving two long bright red streaks on his once-pristine white robes. “My personal record is forty-eight. That was one of the best days of my life.” His eyes grew distant, his expression dreamy. “My robes were completely red afterward,” he added, then his eyes refocused on her. “But I digress. Emily, was it? Do you confess to your crimes?”

  Emily took a deep breath as she tried to ignore the stinging pain in her thigh. “Fuck you,” she blurted, trying her best to stop the tears which gathered in her one good eye from falling.

  “Good, good!” Nelik exclaimed, as he passed the knife to his other hand. “Four is never enough.” He grinned as his eyes moved up and down her body. He then reached up for her other thigh. “Let’s go straight for ten, shall we?”

  * * *

  Emily did not know how long she had been dangling there; the pain was constant and overwhelming now. After every few cuts, Nelik would ask her to confess before resuming his grisly work. He whistled a tune as he did. Emily couldn’t even see from her one good eye any longer thanks to the blood dripping from her many open wounds onto her face.

  “Stop…” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Hm?” Nelik asked brightly, interrupting his insistent whistling. “Do you wish to confess?”

  “No…” Emily replied. “I…” She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She had buried this so deeply; a past life she didn’t want to be known, had left behind. But it was likely the only thing that could save her now from the pain.

  “I can’t hear you, little bird,” Nelik crooned in a singsong voice.

  “My… my name is Emilia Fermont, daughter of Grendale Fermont, the Satrap. Just stop, please,” she begged, her voice cracking.

  “Hmm,” she heard him say before he let out another laugh. “Never bled a noble lady before.” His voice was light, as if her suffering was a joke to him.

  “Stop! My father would never have allowed this, he is loyal to the Emperor! Just… just send me back to him,” Emily pleaded. Anything was better than this, even her father.

  The man sighed. “You were Inspected, and are only Emily. No Fermont family name. Even if I believed you, which I don’t, his Lordship the Satrap of Fermont was informed of our presence in Arna and the surrounding territory by His Excellency the Imperial Crown Prince and Bright Lord of the Eastern Provinces.”

  Emily swore, remembering her Hidden Identity skill—a skill available to anyone who took part in espionage or any of the less legal professions, and which protected her from low to medium level Inspections. But then the rest of what this man had said sunk in. Her father knew of this? No… it couldn’t be; he would never have agreed to a purge of Arna. It was too valuable a port.

  The now-familiar sensation of cold steel against her skin snapped her out her thoughts. “You’re at thirty-eight, almost a new record,” the man said happily as he dragged the flat side of the blade across her skin, before settling on the space just under her breast. “I’ve always found this area to be the most satisfying to cut with women.”

  Emily cried out for help and tried with all her remaining strength to bend away from him, but he didn’t even give her effort a thought. He simply gripped her firmly, then slashed at her again. Emily screamed, her voice already hoarse.

  She felt her naked body go limp then, as she accepted at last that there was no hope… no escape. Not even her true name had helped her. Let him carve her up like meat at the butcher’s house, she thought dully. She was dead now anyway.

  She hung there, numb and only half-conscious, waiting for it to continue. But nothing came. Was he leering at her, enjoying his work? Emily slowly turned her head and forced her one eye open, despite the dried blood that caked it. She was expecting to see that horrific smirk still plastered on his face.

  Instead, she saw the tip of a bloodied blade sticking out through his right eye.

  Emily stared as blood bubbled up around the metal and trickled down his cheek before it dripped slowly to the ground. Her mind struggled to grasp what she was seeing. Then the air behind the man shimmered like a mirage in the deep golden desert, and another man, his face and body fully concealed under a green cloak, stood where there had been nothing a moment before.

  “Well, I was wondering how long you were going to just stay there, Emi,” the hooded man said, a hint of sadistic enjoyment in his tone. “I must say, though, you’re looking quite delicious, all bloody and accepting like that. Did you perhaps want him to keep going?”

  “Ness…?” Emily said, her voice cracked and uncertain. She must have been hallucinating.

  “In the flesh, love. Now, how about we get out of here before the rest of camp notices the lack of your pretty screams and sweet moans escaping this tent, hmm?” Ness quickly pulled his blade out of the torturer’s head, and in one swift movement cut the ropes that held her up and dropped the knife. It sank blade first into the soft soil as she crumpled to the ground beside it. Emily moaned as the pain from the many cuts on her legs and thighs flared. “The others are waiting for us at Gent,” Ness continued, paying her anguish no mind.

  Emily did not respond; her whole body was now mercifully numb again. She reached out and gripped the hilt of the knife, then cut the ropes binding her hands and ankles before forcing herself unsteadily to her feet. Silently, she proceeded to undress her torturer and painfully put on his robes, which were soaked in her own blood.

  “Jaz is dead,” she said as she handed the blade back to Ness, her eyes never leaving the ground between them.

  “I know,” Ness replied, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I met one of the gang who escaped the purge; he told me what happened. I suppose I made it back just in time.”

  Emily shook her head as she continued to fight the tears which pricked her eyes. She fell forward against Ness’s chest and put her arms around him as the tears finally began to fall. Her body felt so heavy, drained of all strength.

  Ness stood there for a moment before he wrapped his own arms tightly around her, his cloak hiding her from the world as she whimpered into his chest. They stayed that way for what felt like a long time, until Ness leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Come now, love. I know seeing me again is a truly joyous occasion, but maybe we can continue this when we get to the Eastern Capital. I can give you all the hugs and embraces you want then.”

  Emily took a step back, untangling herself from him. One hand smacked his shoulder while the other wiped the tears from her good eye. “You’re an ass,” she said, her voice straining before she laughed, which was immediately followed by a fit of coughing as her body reminded her of the terrible state it was in. Ness didn’t seem to mind, he just laughed along—though she could not imagine what it cost him to pretend he wasn’t grieving, just as she was.

  “Alright, I’m alright. Let’s get out of here,” Emily said. She quietly opened the tent-flap and took a quick look outside.

  This didn’t appear to be the main camp. It was far too small, for a start, and there were no guards patrolling that she could see—just a huddle of yellow tents exactly like the one she was in, illuminated by a few torches. But there was a lot of noise, awful noise: cries mixed with laughter from within the surrounding tents. There was no mistaking what was happening in there.

  She scowled then bit her lip until she again tasted the metallic flavor of her own blood. “Why in the Abyss is this happening?” she spat, her eyes turning to Ness again.

  He shrugged sadly. “No idea. Maybe the Imperial Crown Prince got spooked by the Curse? All I know is that Arna is not alone—three other cities were purged before Helis of all people came storming in to put a stop to it. A lot of influential people were caught up in the bloodbath, including foreigners… powerful ones, I reckon, if even His Brightness the Emperor took notice. I suppose it doesn’t matter to us. What’s
done is done. Come on, let’s move, the Green Threads needs to meet their new leader.”

  Emily blinked. “There’s a new leader? Already?”

  “What? Acting humble now, are we?” Ness rolled his eyes.

  Emily stared, her mouth agape. “Wait, I’m the new leader?”

  “Yes… Syndicate Lord,” Ness said, dragging the word out. “Think I’d go through this much trouble to save a grunt?”

  Emily kept staring at him with her one good eye, her heart thumping. She had thought their long history together was the reason he had come to her rescue—but then again, this was Ness she was talking about. “Why you came for me is not the point,” she protested. “You’re his son! You’re supposed to take his place as Head of the Green Threads.”

  “I am, aren’t I? And yet you were his favorite, so in honor of his memory,” he continued, placing his right hand over his heart, “I proclaim you Head of the Green Threads, a Syndicate Lord.”

  Emily blinked, unable to absorb this. Was this a joke?

  “You know, if you keep looking at me like that I might just think you’re truly interested in me again,” Ness said with a smirk.

  Emily shook her head, letting out a deep breath. She then took another glance outside to make sure all was clear. Gesturing for Ness to follow her, she bent double and hurried forward between the tents, avoiding an all-out run so as not to aggravate her wounds as she increased the distance between herself and the atrocities unfolding behind her.

  “There aren’t any lookouts,” she observed.

  Ness shrugged. “I took care of it.”

  Emily looked over her shoulder at him. “You killed them?”

  “They were in my way. And don’t worry, it will take some time for their bodies to be found.”

  Emily scoffed—she wasn’t going to argue against killing Gold Serpents any time soon. Instead, her thoughts were focused on what to do next. If this wasn’t some sort of crazy and long-winded joke of Ness’s, and she was in fact the new Head of the Green Threads, then she would make the Ejani pay for what they had done to her and to Arna. This she swore to herself.

  “Ness,” she said, once they cleared the camp and were deep enough into the woods. They had relaxed their pace now, no longer afraid of any guards raising the alarm.

  “Hm?” he replied, his arms behind his back as he followed her.

  “Go back to the Eastern Capital and tell the rest of the Threads to meet me in Firma.”

  Ness let out a dark chuckle. “Oh dear. Little noble going home?”

  Emily spun on her heels to stare at him. “You knew?” Then she caught herself, swearing. “Of course you knew.”

  Ness laughed. “The old man couldn’t keep it to himself. A pile of gold had fallen into his lap, he kept saying. ‘Can you imagine how much we could ransom her for?’” It was an awful impression of his father, and Ness let out another chuckle. Then his expression turned suddenly serious. “That was before you melted the ice around that giant heart of his.”

  Emily smiled at the flash of memories she had shared with the grumpy old man, quickly followed by the pain of losing him. But she had to be strong now. Ness hadn’t always been around, as Jaz had sent him on the more dangerous missions. Missions that needed a more open and willing mind. Despite his quirks and their history together, Ness would be useful now for what she needed done.

  She knew the Green Threads alone wouldn’t be enough, however; they were too few. Thankfully, the events in Arna would have dealt the other Syndicate Lords a huge blow, and nothing riled the Syndicate more than lost profits. She supposed they wouldn’t be too happy that the Empire was trying to use them as scapegoats either. Many would want revenge. Emily felt a coldness envelop her, a coldness she had developed living for years amongst murderers, thieves, and rapists.

  She would mobilize both the people and the Syndicate to bring a long-overdue wave of death down upon the Ejani. But first, she needed to visit her dear father, the Satrap of Fermont.

  He had a lot to answer for, and his blood would be the grease that started things rolling.

  Chapter 3

  Sounds of crackling fires and distant explosions filled the air. The scent of burning wood and flesh surrounded him as ash continued to fall from the darkened sky. Purple lightning followed by the loud boom of thunder drowned the screams. So many screams: for help, for mercy.

  “Why?” a voice asked from behind him. Aziel turned to see a human woman covered in gruesome burns standing there, her leather armor melting, melding into her skin, one finger pointed directly at him. “You did this,” she said, her voice raspy and strained. “Why?”

  “I had to,” Aziel said, as he diverted his gaze away from her wounds. “It was the only way.”

  “You’re a monster,” another voice said, in a much more accusatory tone. Aziel looked up, and this time the princess of Maiv was there. She also pointed at him, her flowing dress, her beauty, and perfectly healthy skin in stark contrast to the girl she stood beside. Soon she was joined by another burned man, then another. A crowd of disfigured, seared humans formed around him and collectively took a step closer, shouting at him from all sides as they did.

  “Slaughterer!”

  “Destroyer!”

  “Monster!”

  Aziel stood silent in the face of their accusations, their rage. He covered his ears with his hands, trying to block their voices as crimson flames reached for the skies and roared around them. But no matter what he did, the voices reached him. He fell to his knees and screamed as the first girl gripped his shoulder, her hand sizzling against his skin. More of them followed as they all jostled to reach out and grab him—

  * * *

  “Stop!” Aziel jolted up from his bed, then groaned at the soreness which enveloped him. Slowly, he swiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed himself forward to sit at the edge of the bed. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart which was attempting to beat its way out of his chest.

  That dream again.

  The nightmares had started just weeks before, and Aziel did not know what to make of them. Was he suffering from a guilty conscience? No… his actions that day had been born of necessity. Or perhaps that was just an excuse. He no longer knew.

  A little over a month had passed since the events of Whiteridge, when he had laid waste to an entire town, and he was still suffering from the after-effects of draining his vessel. It wasn’t that he had no mana; his vessel was in fact now full. Rather, it was the wounded state his vessel had been left in due to the World Seed’s deliberate decision to change the rules, and give his opponents a way to counter his rightfully-earned claim to the Central Wilds.

  If not for Celia’s quick action in bringing him back to his place of power, the shock of the drain’s sudden return in full force would have killed him. His mark, one of the two on Aziel’s right wrist, began to heat up as he willed his personal log to appear, which included the condition he now suffered from.

  * * *

  Name: Aziel

  Race: Hidden

  Rank: Ascended

  Mana: 10,300/10,300

  Level: 91

  * * *

  Attributes:

  Strength: 28

  Reflex: 25

  Mind: 35

  Vessel: 206

  * * *

  Skills:

  Soul Rejuvenation (Level 10)

  All-Seeing Eye (Level 10)

  Long Blades (Level 10)

  Soul Link

  20 Skill points available to spend

  * * *

  Traits:

  Soul Weaving

  Ancient Being

  Soul Infused

  Ascended’s Domain

  Mark of the Succubi

  King of the Grauda

  * * *

  Warning, you are suffering from a condition: Wounded Vessel. Mana cost of all spells and skills increased by 100%. Condition will remain until Vessel has been given sufficient time to rest.

&nbs
p; Aziel took another deep breath. Though the pain which accompanied his condition had lessened over time, only resurfacing when he weaved a spell, he had assumed he would be fully recovered by now. Especially with his Soul Rejuvenation skill helping to heal his injuries. But that was not the case.

  He had underestimated the amount of damage his body and his vessel had incurred from the strain he had subjected it to at Whiteridge. Not only was he limited in his ability to weave, but he was slower now, and weaker in general. He had no idea how long this condition would last, but he hoped it would not be for much longer.

  “Master?” a sweet yet groggy voice asked from behind him.

  Aziel looked over his shoulder to where a female figure lay sleepily stretched out on the bed. He had done his best to keep the nightmares a secret from the others, but he was certain both Celia and Astrel had noticed—it would be difficult for them not to, given the time they spent together. Aziel smiled at the woman currently occupying his bed: Celia was naked, but had one of the bedsheets wrapped around her. Somehow, being partially covered by the smooth, thin fabric as it wrapped around her figure and curves made the already irresistible Succubus even more alluring.

  Celia fluttered her eyes and let out a small yawn. Then her golden eyes studied him for a moment and a knowing grin spread across her face. She narrowed her eyes, bit her lower lip, and slowly wriggled toward him.

  “Where are you going?” she purred, her hands reaching out to stroke his back.

  Aziel could only chuckle at that, as he stood to escape her reach. His beautiful Succubus and Champion had taken full advantage of his weakened and somewhat immobile state, and Aziel had found that she was even more insatiable than he had ever imagined. Oddly, even given the current state of his vessel, the damage her Siphon inflicted upon him while they coupled was negligible, but Aziel wondered if their almost nightly activities were partly to blame for the length of time it was taking him to recover.