by LJ Davies
The phoenix peered at them curiously, waiting until the very last moment until opening its beak and dowsing them in a plume of fire. The flames seared the cold air as it flew up to dive over the edge of the tower. Pained cries met my ears as one orkin flailed, while the remaining brute looked more eager to take the bird’s head off.
I seized the momentary distraction, and with the full force of my coiled legs and bladed wings, I leapt out toward the smallest of the creatures. Instantly sinking my burning talons deep into his pale hide, scorching the withered flesh into black ash. The runt gave a painful howl, thrashing violently as he tried to bat me off with several wild swings of his hammer. His futile retaliation did nothing to spare him, as I sliced off his right arm with one sweep of my wing, leaving a cauterised stump.
He gave another animalistic cry as he staggered forward, swiping at me with his left. I bit down hard on the back of his neck and twisted firmly, snapping his spine with one swift crack. He fell against the snow, twitching violently, as with another fearsome growl, the larger orkin appeared above me.
"It's the demon! Kills the demon, brings me its head!" another called out, making my renowned reputation known to all.
As well as the angry brute beside me, several guards charged down from the tower. Without hesitation, the closest slammed into my side, stone body striking with the force of a rockslide. My armour tightened, absorbing most of the impact as I was sent skidding across the cracked stone, claws melting a steaming trail through the snow as I steadied myself.
He charged again and a chorus of hungry roars and fearsome insults followed as I lowered myself against the ground, my wings spread and tail coiled, before launching like a bolt of golden lightning at his head. The brute flailed wildly, his bladed limbs swiping at my back as I fought to maintain my grip. The more he struggled, the deeper my white-hot claw blades sank, searing flesh and melting rock. He screamed as I cut across the back of his knees with my magical tail blade. Until, with a twist of my molten claws, a loud crack and a shower of rocky splinters, he was gone.
His body fell to the ground. I'd no remorse – all orkin were just acceptable tallies upon the dark canvas of my mind. Cutting a bloody swathe through the others, I took special care not to allow any to escape and potentially warn their brethren. Mordrakk's molten reckoning confirmed nine in total, adding the number to the numerous others for which I no longer cared.
As I reached the top, I made my way to the roof. One final door sat between me and the spire’s interior. I paused for a moment, the wind whipping at my scales and snow biting at my wings. I could hear a deep chorus from the depths of the fortress, a thousand voices chanting at once. I ignored it and raised a forepaw to the door, melting away its crude lock with one strike. Suddenly, something else caught my attention – perched on another spiked rail, the phoenix stared at me.
Our eyes met for the briefest of moments, and with a light coo it took off again, the feathers of its wings glowing with fire as it flapped toward the high ridges further inland.
What does it really want? I'm about to break the orkin, cut the head off the snake? Is that not enough?
I watched as it disappeared into the smoke-strewn blizzard, before switching my attention back to the door.
What does it matter, it's the best I can do if I want to keep the world safe?
The shabby metal door swung open, and I crept into a dim corridor. It continued straight ahead, before turning sharply toward a set of stairs leading out onto a series of wooden walkways hanging high above a larger chamber. A succession of glowing torches cast orkin shadows, as at last, I realised I'd found my targets.
Chapter 2
Ebon Wings
Weaving among a series of hanging chains, I made my way out onto a walkway. More cages and open crates full of munitions littered the floor, while flaming caldrons and swaying pens hung either side of me. I'd learned to be wary of the large, spiked-metal spheres that often accompanied orkin artillery, for their violently explosive tendencies.
I'd also seen enough of the foul and loathsome beasts in Valcador to identify the cages’ inhabitants. Most were manticores, their scarred and pestilent hides as putrid as their orkin masters, as were their chitinous tails, each one wielding a venomous bulb and a sharp stinger at its tip. As fearsome as they were, these ones were smaller than those I'd seen elsewhere.
So long as I don't get stuck dealing with a flock of manticore riders, I'll be fine.
I crept onto the foremost of the beams, pressing myself close to the blackened material. From the higher rafters I could see the faint image of my mind’s avatar watching, his glowing eyes judging patiently, as if waiting for some inevitable slip up. I ignored his devious smirk, focusing on the chamber below instead. The far wall was completely open to the snowy sky, forming a huge entrance through which the orkins’ winged mounts could enter.
It also exposed the chamber to a very long drop into the ice canyons far below, where I could just about see the endless expanse of foundries spanning the keep's far side. More barrels of black powder, together with defensive cannons, greeted the tower’s visitors as they loomed either side of the spiked breach like brutish guards.
"Don't forget what you promised me, Brother. I'd hate for something unfortunate to befall you, should you not," a sly, grisly voice growled, accompanied by the rattling of armour and a distasteful grunt from its recipient.
"You's do wells to watch your mouth, Maragoth. I's gives you's what you's owed when I's done, and don'ts threatens me's neither!" another, immediately recognisable voice responded.
I looked directly below me to see two warlords engaged in crass conversation. The smaller of the two sat atop a gigantic, maroon-furred manticore, exceeding the ferocity and power of those locked up around me tenfold. Its charismatic rider sat with more nobility than most, despite the dark stone completely corrupting his body. Trophy-bones adorned his spines and long chains covered his back, as did a scruffy hide cloak. His horned face had elongated into a large, fanged muzzle, hidden beneath a dragon skull that he wore as an extension of his crude armour. One of his clawed arms bore a great axe, and it took me a moment to identify the hulk of dark metal that had replaced his left; the limb was some kind of miniature cannon.
That must be Maragoth? I'd heard less about the lord of Shadow Fen, the second of the orkin realms after Valcador.
A spark of deep hatred cut short my observations, for the orkin warlord whom he addressed was less of a mystery.
If any carried the title of Brazen Warlord, it was Balgore. He and his wyvern were both heavily scarred and battered, their wounds crudely hidden under grafted and dulled golden armour. The material appeared worryingly familiar, and in all this time, I'd never considered the fact he could have survived Taldran.
That's etherium gold? How in the creators’ name did he get that?
As imperfect as his advanced apparel was, I concluded that if the centurion we'd awoken from under the city had eventually fallen, as Apollo had suggested, Balgore and his rabble would surely have made use of all the free resources.
That's not good, as far as I know no mortal weapons can even cut through that stuff! I thought, my very immortal claws twitching restlessly. I have to stop him while I can.
"Don't lecture me, Brother, you'd be dead long ago if not for me. Remember, I was the one to grant you all of this, and there are plenty more who would take it from you," Maragoth retorted, gesturing to the shadowed walls about them.
Balgore snorted while his mount gave a hiss and rattled its spiny frill. Meanwhile, the lord of Shadow Fen grunted, yanking the reigns of his manticore toward a long wooden table, taking his place beside several more warlords. It wasn't hard to imagine they would tear each other apart at the chance to inherit each other’s titles, a fact on which I was all too eager to capitalise.
Even so, Balgore put their loyalties to the test with a firm grunt as he forced his wyvern forward. I watched carefully as he began to bellow demands, claws and wings rea
dy to rip them to pieces as soon as the perfect opportunity presented itself. I had them all exactly where I needed them, and yet something felt wrong – they weren't as animalistic or aggressive as I'd come to expect.
It's as though they’re on edge. And not in the way they usually are, all wanting to back stab each other.
My intuition was confirmed when a sharp hiss cut through the tension and something slithered from the darkness.
"It is good to see that you can at least be civilised when you wish," a feminine voice purred, her words seeping out like dripping venom.
When I saw the black dragoness uncoil from the shadows like a spectre, I cursed my perception. Her body bore the faintest hint of once being a cloudy grey, as did her streamline features and smooth horns.
As she dribbled to the floor like liquid gloom, my eagerness to kill the orkin diminished, and the urge to retreat into the cover of the tunnels became overwhelmingly strong.
She's an ebon wing, what in the creators’ name is she doing here?
The new breed of dragon had once been no different from those I knew. Mordrakk's will and the work of his demonic servants had corrupted them, twisting them into shadowy fiends bent on hatred. One of them in particular held a firm grip over my conscience, the very first dragon I'd seen fall to the dark lure of oblivion.
Let's hope he's not here too. Ebon wings I can deal with, just not him, not again.
It seemed the first dark-scale was not alone, and moments later, another emerged from the shadows, taking his place alongside the first. His pristine scales shimmered like dark stars in the light of the orkin torches, retaining a hint of their former sky-blue lustre as well as the tattered sail that had once adorned the tip of his tail. Furthermore, with the exception of Balgore and Maragoth, all of the orkin appeared wary of the intrusion.
"But you would all do very well to remember who it is that truly allows you to survive," the female ebon wing pressed, as if mildly offended.
"Do not offer them such liberties, Omisha, they know little more than battle and savagery," the dragon beside her added.
"Spares me's your words, wyrms. I's in charge of these boys, not you's," Balgore challenged, prompting a narrowing of the dragonesse’s eyes.
"And does the Great Master not control you all?" she asked, as if daring him to voice any answer other than ‘yes’.
He shifted uneasily, anger and rage boiling inside him, before the threat of something far greater than himself forced him to back down.
"I trust your army stands ready?" the male asked, passing his satisfied companion a smug glance.
"The horde is ready, I's just hopes you's wyrms keeps to your end of our bargain," he grunted, and the dragonesse's smirk only grew.
"The Great Master does not lie. As promised, with the exception of Dardien, all of the lands north of Mordrin will be yours," she confirmed.
"Good, so longs as the hanging city burns, I's don't care," Balgore declared.
"Of course," the dragon assured him with a low bow.
Balgore's wicked grin grew as he turned to his warlords.
"Go, get to your hordes, we's leaving," he instructed.
All responded immediately, directing their various winged steeds to the balcony and taking to the air. Balgore was the last orkin to leave, glaring at the ebon wings with a hint of mistrust.
"You's better not think of stabbing me's in the back, or it's gonna be your heads on my wall," he warned.
It wasn't hard to miss the arrogant twitch in the ebon wings’ glowing purple eyes, as if their wicked facades could shatter like glass.
"On the contrary, this should be a good way to test your faith in the Great Master, should it not?" another voice stated bluntly.
It came as the sound of beating wings heralded a third ebon dragon’s arrival on the balcony, his claws tapping on the floor like obsidian daggers. His tattered wings blew snow aside as they folded to reveal deep scars of glowing purple across his face, and ragged burns slicing his scales.
No, not him, not here! I inwardly cursed myself for sitting idle while most of the orkin moved on. I should have just dropped down and killed them all the moment I saw them!
"And then what? You'd have been captured by those who you did not see?" my mind’s dark avatar commented as he nodded to the third ebon wing.
The whole building seemed to tremble at his touch, and I really had to fight to keep my composure. His black scales shimmered with a hint of blood-red, while a layer of sleek-black armour, similar to that of orkin hide but smoother and more regal, covered his toned body. Several plates shifted silently as a blade-tipped tail coiled behind him, ready to strike like a manticore's sting.
More armour shifted around his scarred chest, revealing ebon plates encasing chipped red gems. A grafted mask covered the left side of his face, forged and moulded into what remained of his mangled skull as it glowed with fiery-red runes.
The same dark metal wrapped around his lower jaw and fangs before curling up about his broken horns, leaving nothing more than a ball of purple flame within his gaping left eye socket. Most chilling of all was his right foreleg, or lack thereof. An arcane pillar of black metal replaced scales, muscle and bone, forming an artificial limb that radiated more purple cinders.
Pyro. I could see my avatar smile wickedly as my mind smouldered with trepidation.
My former friend's fellow ebon wings bowed upon his approach. While Balgore merely glared at him with as much distaste as he did the others.
"So you's finally come to sees me yourself?" the warlord mocked.
"Why, are you not satisfied with any other?" Pyro mused, his once proud voice twisted and cruel, yet Balgore didn't answer.
“Sceptre," continued Pyro. "See that everything is in order," he commanded, and the male ebon wing nodded before flying away. "And you, Omisha, are to escort our friend here," he ordered, and the black dragoness responded with an eager bow.
"I’s don't need some wyrm at my's side," Balgore protested, but Pyro's cold eyes demanded he listen.
"Think of it as a way to ensure you do as the Great Master decrees; I’d hate for you to make a mistake."
Balgore grunted but said nothing more.
"What about our guest?" Omisha asked deviously, and Pyro turned, inspecting his metal foreclaw.
"All in good time, sister," he purred, shifting each of his sharp talons like knife blades.
What are they talking about, surely they don't know...?
My heart almost stopped as the dark image in my mind looked at me smugly and I sprung up.
I have to go now! I never should have come here!
In the very same moment, I was wrenched from my perch by a set of impossibly-cold talons and dragged away in a plume of shadow. Before I knew it, my assailant threw me to the floor and swooped back into the rafters with a dreadful shriek. There was a bolt of pain and a hard metallic thud as I hit the cold stone, clattering to a halt. Fortunately, my armour absorbed most of the impact. Unfortunately, I now lay right before a set of black claws.
"Hello, Blaze," Pyro announced casually, glaring down his mutilated muzzle at me.
I bolted back, wings flaring as my arcane weaponry flashed to life like fiery lightning. He was unfazed; in fact, he even looked amused.
"Did you really think you could hide forever?" he cooed, levelling his glowing eyes with mine.
"No, but if you took any longer to find me, I may have started to believe it," I countered swiftly.
Purple flames snorted from his muzzle; even as I could sense him twitch with frustration.
"I'll admit, you are a tricky one, and yet it is your foolish pursuit of revenge that betrays you," he mused, a somewhat proud expression forming upon his scarred muzzle as he glanced about at the tower.
Beside him Balgore rumbled a low growl, watching me with the same vengeful scorn.
"You's caused my boys a lot of trouble, demon," he snorted, his wyvern hissing in agreement.
I didn't even spare him a gla
nce as I assessed my surroundings for any means of escape. Mentally cursing my poor observations when I saw the shadowy vulpomancer that had snatched me stalking across the beams above.
Curse them and their tricks!
All the while Pyro perused the snowy world outside like it was a crop ripe for harvest. I stepped forward, carefully tracking his every movement as I challenged.
"I thought you were above dealing with such lowly things?"
Both of his accomplices seemed slightly concerned by that statement, and it was no secret to me that pride was one of their greatest weaknesses. My former friend snorted, his teeth flashing beneath his mask.
"I do what my master demands, whereas you are simply a means to an end," he retorted sharply.
"Am I really the one who's a means to an end?"
He gave no verbal response; instead, with one unnaturally swift sweep of his metal paw, he swatted me to the floor.
"I'm done with this futile endeavour. I will have a future greater than any wyrm in Dardien could have offered me. I'm the leader of the first unbound ebon wings since the days of Lamia herself," he boasted proudly, motioning to Balgore and Omisha for them to leave.
"Go, show this pathetic hatchling your might," he commanded.
Balgore growled, forcing his wyvern over to the edge of the tower. Lifting his mighty golden hammer high as he bellowed.
"To war!"
His deep voice echoed from the walls of the tower and out through the frozen wasteland. The mighty boom of a drum and a great horn bellowed like thunder in response.
Meanwhile, Pyro lifted me up in his talons, throwing me like a rag to the edge of the balcony before following with one beat of his wings and pinning me there. I looked down into the great ravine, at the enormous gates of the orkin citadel opening with a symphony of painful squeals and metallic groans. The bitter wind carried the din of orkin voices, all chanting as the weight of their warped stone feet trundled across the ice. Hundreds upon thousands of armed and armoured monsters marched forward from the mighty fortress’s flaming depths. The blazing lights of their torches and brazen banners becoming more apparent as they turned the canyon into a fiery river of stone bodies, sharp spines and rusted metal.