Another had died during the night. May looked at the unmoving heap, that made three so far this week. They were rapidly running out of cattle, and the last of the dogs had run away several weeks ago. The scant crops, already producing foul-smelling, bitter tasting fruit, were now little more than withered remains.
Things had been like this ever since the arrival of the Deathlord, the Mask of Winters. It had been nearly a year since the shrouded, enigmatic figure had laid siege to the city of Thorns. Though 'siege' was an inaccurate term. The Juggernaught, the Deathlord's mobile fortress, had simply smashed its way into the city, swatting aside its Dragon-Blooded defenders like flies and killing anyone who resisted.
May's mother had been one of those to speak out against this. They lived in a farmhouse on the farthest outskirts of town, and could have avoided the worst of the siege. But mother had been raised to follow the Immaculate Philosophy to the letter. She could not let such blasphemies go unremarked. Then she and hundreds of others were made an example of once the town had been broken. Marched in front of the Juggernaught and extensively tortured before being ground under one of the reanimated giant's building-sized fists in one massive sacrifice.
That was the day the land started changing. The screams of the tortured never seemed to die down. Chill winds that never fully died, eternally shifting back and forth across the lands, carried faint, half-heard echoes of those cries. People claimed to be haunted and harassed by the ghosts of those slain in the battle. Livestock began dying, crops rotted away, and people took ill. Days became dimmer, and nights turned into dark nightmares, claiming the souls of anyone who ventured too far from safety. New laws were put into place, announced by the ghostly emissaries of the Deathlord. The Immaculate Temple was torn to the ground, its priests flayed and beheaded. The populace was told to pay homage and sacrifice to their fallen ancestors or suffer the same fate. They would be rewarded after death, given eternal life in return for this, the mouthpieces of the Deathlord proclaimed.
“Another one dead?” a phlegmy voice behind her rumbled.
May turned with a start to see Joson, her elder brother, standing behind her. Red-rimmed eyes stared from a lesion-marked face. “I found it this way, when I went to feed them,” she said.
“Did you then?” Joson grimaced, “You know? Things ain't goin' too well here.”
“I know,” May said. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and grabbed for the pitchfork, intending to continue her errand of feeding the remaining, boney livestock. Joson grabbed her wrist before it could reach the tool, itself buried in a pile of wet, moldy hay.
“Master Pelan has taken t'bed with fever,” he said abruptly.
“What?” May asked. A solitary tear of shock slipped down her cheek. She had always loved Master Pelan, he was kinder to her than most.
“Ev'ryone's takin' ill,” Joson said, a dull fire building behind his bloodshot eyes as he leaned closer to May. She smelled something rancid on his breath, soured mead, “Pelan's sick, Ma's died, Pa can barely walk, Brell and Tey have caught fever, an' lookit' my face!”
May tried to extract her hand from her brother's grip. It hurt, and there was something in his eyes that frightened her, something she had noticed more and more as the month's under the Deathlord's rule dragged on, and his habit of drinking heavily worsened. But his grip was as effective as steel. His voice continued to rise, “The crops are gone, the dogs is missin', the cattle are dyin'. In fact, the only one who ain't taken ill would be... you.”
“Please, let me go, I have to finish the chores,” May pleaded, continued to struggle.
Joson ignored her, “Why ain't ye sick like th'rest of us? 'S your hair, innit? He likes that dark hair o' yours, that's why he spared you, innit?!” His voice had raised to slurred shout now.
May cringed backwards, “Who? What are you talking about?”
“Him! The Deathlord!” Joson glanced over his shoulder nervously, as if afraid the mere mention would bring him here. He turned back towards May, pushing her viciously to the ground, “What did ye give him t'spare ye, eh? Did ye give him... that?”
May realized what was happening a second too late to escape. She cried out as a dirt stained finger roughly forced its way between her legs. “Ah, so he din't take that...” Joson's voice dropped to a growling mutter, “Then mebbe I should take it, so's he never has the chance.”
May tried to escape, tried to call for help as her brother positioned himself over her in drunken lust. The larger man's bulk rendered her immobile, and her screams of pain and terror elicited no response. She engaged in a writhing dance of agony as a lance of fire rent her midsection in half. A sweating, grunting beast that stank of cheap, rotten liquor pawed and bit hungrily at her pale, exposed breasts and forced it's grotesquely flavoured tongue down her throat.
At last the monster gave a loud groan, and May felt a hot, sticky poison injected deep inside her. For a few moments her brother Joson lay atop her , slowly crushing the sobbing breath from her with his flabby but muscular girth. May no longer struggled or protested. Her mind and will temporarily shattered by the violent rape. She meekly lay and waited for whatever came next, mute save for her strained, whistling sobs.
Abruptly Joson stood up, looking down at his undone breeches and flaccid, dripping member. “Wh...what have you done?”
May looked up with broken, red-rimmed eyes, not comprehending. “Look what you've made me do! Ye made me do this, ye put a curse on me, din't you?!”
A boot lodged itself under May's ribcage, driving the wind from her in one hoarse bark. “Yer a witch! Yer a cursed witch!”
Blows and kicks rained down on the girl as she feebly tried to crawl away. Finally, Joson stomped down hard on her back. He did so a second time. The third time a dull crack could be heard. Joson bent down, trying to catch his breath. “Fucking witch, this is all your fault!” Joson spat on her before doing up his pants and leaving.
May tried to crawl into a corner, her own wish to escape from everything, to get away from the pain. Her legs refused to respond. The burning pain in her torn, destroyed midsection had been overwhelmed by cold, icy fingers extending from her back, right where Joson's boot had found its mark. Below this point, May could not move anything. Cold gravel bit into her already bruised and torn chest as she unsuccessfully tried to drag herself forward by her weakened arms.
One questing hand found something she wasn't expecting to find. The toe of an exquisitely crafted leather boot. May looked up, then realized she didn't have the strength to do so. With a sobbing cry, May rolled onto her back, causing lances of icy pain to rip through her. It didn't matter though, as now she could see who wore those boots.
He stood above her, looking down at her without emotion. In May's half-mad eyes, he was an angel. Hair as pure and white as new-fallen snow framed a face unblemished by scar or stain. He wore a long overcoat that extended nearly to his ankles. It was done up with ornate gold buckles, fitting around a slim, perfectly muscled physique, and was dyed a rich, deep blue. Slung at his side was a long thin blade.
“You're dying,” he said. A simple, declarative statement, “Your back is broken, and your blood leaks out within your body. Within a few minutes you will die here. Alone, unremembered, uncared for.” The figure looked away, seemingly uninterested with all this, allowing the statement to sink in for May. He looked back down, “Or at least that's the way it would be for any common mortal. It doesn't have to be this way for you.”
May looked up, uncomprehending. One hand reached weakly, plaintively upwards, attracted to the physical perfection leaning over her. “Wh... Who are you?”
“You would know me best by the title your people have given me: The Mask of Winters. I came to the city of Thorns and offered it the choice between death, and eternal life. Now I offer the same choice to you, mortal. You can either die here, alone and forgotten. Or you can give yourself, your name, to me, and live on eternally. In return you shall know power and strength that you have never even conceived of. You will have the power to punish those that transgress against you. You will have the strength to deny others the ability to hurt you, the way you've just been hurt.”
May coughed, choking on blood from a torn lip. The Mask of Winters looked down at her, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips, “What was that? The offer is yours to reject or accept, mortal, but you do not have much to left with which to make the choice, and there are others who could take your place should indecision stay your tongue.”
“I... I accept...” May's voice came in hitches and gasps now, as internal bleeding from several shattered ribs further weakened her, “I... will be yours... so long as... I can kill... him... Joson... for this...”
The hints fell away, replaced by a cold smile, devout of love or affection. “The cold lust for vengeance burns in you like a beacon, that's why I chose you. Mark this moment in time, for it is the last seconds you shall remain bound to the form of a mortal, the last seconds you will be tied to the name you were born with.”The gravestone was crudely done. It wasn't even a stone, merely a small block of wood with a name scrawled hastily across it with a knife. Joson leaned on the shovel and wiped cold sweat from his brow. One eye was covered in bandages, claimed by the spreading lesions. He had worked shirtless, the labour difficult enough to raise a sweat even in the now eternally chilled air of this land. A dimmed sun poured watery light over the freshly packed grave. Pa had passed away yesterday. Sis had disappeared several months ago, good riddance to the witch, Joson thought. So it was down to him and his increasingly ill pair of brothers.
Ribs showed plainly through dirt-stained skin. Even a steady stream of liquor failed to give his own failing body anything more than the slightest hint of a gut.
“Was that father? I always liked him, he didn't rape me.”
Joson's heart stopped for a moment at the voice. He recognized it immediately, but couldn't believe that was his missing sister's voice, or that it could speak with such a disdainful, confident eloquence. He turned and saw her, and was rendered speechless. She stood behind him, wrapped in an aura of confidence. Her pale skin had grown paler, taking on a flawless ivory sheen. Her already black hair now seemed to completely absorb what little light was in the air. She was clad in form-fitting plate armor made from some sort of black steel. Though buffed to an almost mirrorlike quality, everything reflected in that dark metal appeared twisted and dark, almost like painfully twisted faces.
“M...Ma...” Joson started.
“No,” One of the girl's eyes twitched, “That person died a while ago. By your own hands, right after you raped her.”
At that point Joson felt the cudgel impact the back of his skull.Consciousness was slow and confused in its return. Memory came back even more uncertainly, not sure whether it was a dream or not. It must have been a dream, or a nightmare, what else could explain the fact that Pa was now standing above him, face still bloated with fever?
“You're finally awake? Oh good, it took you long enough.”
Strong leather thongs bound around his wrists and ankles prevented Joson from moving. His mouth was stuffed full of something damp and wretched tasting. A dull ache with pinpoints of agony resonated through the back of his head.
“Your head must hurt quite a bit Joson. My friends do get a little... eager, sometimes,” the girl in black, who looked so much like his sister, gave a shrill giggle.
“Oh Joson, it's been so long, and I've been waiting, hoping for the moment I'd get to see you again!” Joson's eyes had gone wide with terror. He saw that his father was not the only one there. Half a dozen other figures stood around him. All had sickness and rot plainly visible. None of them were breathing.
“Oh yeah, these are my new friends, Joson. I really like them. They're a little slow, and they smell, and they don't know how to talk real well. They're a lot like you, actually, except for one thing.”
The woman leaned over Joson, who could only stare mutely up at her. Her armor showed off every curve of her body. A single lithe hand ran slowly up Joson's leg, “Am I as pretty to you today as the day you raped me, big brother?” A lone finger with a long, jet black nail circled Joson's crotch, bringing a muffled groan from the restrained moan.
“What's that? Would you like to do it again with me? Right here by the open grave of your father? Take my pale, perfectly shaped body for yourself, and explore all its secrets?”
Joson's entire attention was focused on the girl's finger, he didn't see the thin, black blade until it was plunged through his crotch. Even muffled by the gag, his scream was loud and piercing. “The only real difference between you two,” the woman had to speak over the screaming as she sawed the blade back and forth, removing torn strips of cloth and flesh in the process, “The only difference is the undead are less repulsive.”
She withdrew the dagger and wiped it off on the pale grass. Almost as an afterthought, she curled one hand into a tight fist and punched Joson in the center of his face. There was a wet crack as bone and cartilage splintered. With a sign from the girl, the zombies began to drag the now-sobbing Joson towards the exhumed grave.
“Maybe I should thank you for what you did,” she said, wiping her soiled hand off in disgusted, “If it weren't for the pain you put me through, I never would have been chosen. Never given the chance to see the world beyond this pathetic farm. Never given the chance to meet... him.”
For a moment she seemed lost in reverie. The sound of Joson's feebly struggling body being heaved into his father's open casket brought her back to the moment. She walked over leisurely and looked down at Joson, disdain radiating from her, “You're the last one alive who knows my former name, I killed the other two just before I visited you.
“The girl you raped so long ago on a filthy barn floor died that day. She gave her name to Oblivion and was remade to better serve death's cause. I've journeyed to the depths of the Labyrinth. I've peered into the mouth of the Void. My home lies in the Underworld and my companions are the dead. I have seen things your tiny little mind can't even begin to comprehend.
“The girl you knew, in the most disgusting way imaginable, is no more. I am Death of Gleeful Madness, servant of the Mask of Winters.”
Two of the zombies placed the lid on the coffin. Death of Gleeful Madness' voice could be heard clearly, even as dirt began to patter on the lid, “We're going to play a game, Joson, the last game you'll ever get to play. It's called 'How Will Joson Die?' Will you suffocate under the earth? Maybe you will bleed to death, right out of the shredded hole where your disgusting, sickly little cock used to be. Kind of ironic if I do say so myself. Or maybe you'll just choke to death on your own blood. Isn't this fun?”
Death of Gleeful Madness watched as the last of the earth was tamped down. She knew her former brother could conceivably stay alive down there for several more hours, before the air became too stale to breathe. She was prepared to wait that long. Until she felt the already guttering flame of life down there go out, she would stay and make sure no one interfered with her work. The Mask of Winters, her master, was nice enough to let her take this diversion before she left on her very first extended mission.
Death of Gleeful Madness smiled as she thought of her master. He was the first and only person she had ever fallen in love with. Over the past several months he had taught her more about both herself, her limits and capabilities, and the world around her, than she had learned in all her preceding years. She had been at his service, ready to do whatever he asked. And he never demanded anything of her. He only asked, in that steady, irresistible voice. And she readily assented each time, just like she assented to his very first request, to give herself completely to him. And why not? He had given her everything she had wished for. Power she never dreamed of. Pleasure which exceeded anything she had thought possible. And now, retribution against the one who had hurt her like no other. He had given her life, not just a new life, but life itself, in the realm of death. For as long as she still existed, she would belong to him, body, heart and soul.The Mask of Winters watched the surface of the pool, his face inscrutable. The still water did not reflect the interior of the Juggernaught, where he currently resided, but rather showed Death of Gleeful Madness as she waited for her former brother to die. She had given herself so eagerly to him, in a manner that could only be termed 'foolhardy'. But she was proving to have the potential to be an incredibly useful tool. Perhaps not as skilled as his other Deathknights, for she was only one of nine, but she had something the rest lacked: Complete and utter, if naïve, loyalty.
A deathly thin finger, cold and gray, touched the surface of the pool, shattering the image of the smiling girl. The image reformed to a long road, currently empty. The Mask of Winters knew that within a few nights, there would be a caravan traveling down this road, and there, the next test of Death of Gleeful Madness' loyalty would take place. Of all the Deathknights under the Mask of Winter's control, she was the only one who wasn't plotting against him while wearing the thin mask of loyalty. Likely it was just her inexperience, with more knowledge of the world around her, she would fall the same way they did. But that would only be proven or disproven through tests such as these.
Not that that was the only reason he would be sending her there. Everything she did advanced the Mask of Winter's own goals in some fashion. Even this 'personal' diversion of hers had use to him. She had given up her name to Oblivion, to the Neverborn, his own masters. Anyone who called her by her former name, any time she reacted as if that name were her own, she risked invoking the displeasure of the Neverborn. And while their dark miracles had a habit of scourging life from the land, they also threw unneeded complications into the Mask of Winter's own plans. The death of anyone who knew of Death of Gleeful Madness' past life was necessary, a way of minimizing the risk that such an event would ever occur.
And now that that was completed, she would be sent away on her first mission away from the city of Thorns. Through his vast and expanding network of spies and informants, the Mask of Winters had received news of a potential threat. A Sidereal, chosen of the Five Maidens, young and brash, had managed to find documents concerning the actions of the Mask of Winters. Even now he traveled towards the city of Nexus, intending to expand his research on the Deathlord. Though a minimal threat at the moment, the Mask of Winters made a habit of not leaving too obvious a trail for others to follow, this had the potential to become troublesome if left alone.
Plus it would make a great test of how well the girl's loyalty would hold up away from home, far from the shielding embrace of her Deathlord. So she would travel to the little-used roads, far outside Nexus. Her mission would be to confront this upstart Sidereal, either to bring him to the Mask of Winters for personal interrogation and possible conversion to his cause, or to merely kill him if that proved too difficult.
Haru Jade-Splintering Fangs spurred her mount onward, trying to coerce a little more speed from the already exhausted horse. She could hear the sound of steadily gaining hoofbeats behind her. The Dragon-Blooded were nearly upon her. That was okay, let them come. She humiliated and defeated them once, she could do it again. All she needed to do was keep ahead of them until she could get to the canyon mouth.
She had to give credit to the Wyld Hunt. After her stunt in the Immaculate temple, they had pursued her more ruthlessly and obsessively than any other hunter she had known. For the past four months, all her actions were based around a timetable, determined by how long she could stay in one location before the Dragons and their toy armies showed up. Without fail, within a few weeks the Immaculates would arrive, mobilizing the local militia and bringing word of the presence of one of the dreaded Anathema.
This time they had shown up in a matter of days, rather than weeks, forcing Haru to make an undignified, hasty exit from the city of Chiascuro. Perhaps she could have stayed and fought, she had spent the mortal years of her life surviving in the streets. But that would involve delaying her mission. The glory of slaughtering a couple Dragon-Blooded would have to wait.
Her mission was simple: Spread the word throughout the southern Threshold that a great T'Lak was being called by none other than the legendary Ma-Ha-Suchi. Since she was already on the run from the Wyld Hunter, the elders of the Silver Pact decided she was a good candidate for a mission that involved covering a lot of ground in a short period of time. She kept mostly to the Songlines, paths whose markings were invisible and meaningless to all but a few barbarian shamans, and the Chosen of Luna.
The yawning mouth of the canyon sped towards her. Perfect. She could fight better in the confined rocky passages, but she knew one of her Terrestrial pursuers to have an affinity with the element of Earth. She'd rather not have a rockslide called down on her head if she could avoid it. Better to fight at the canyon's mouth, where she could better avoid the Dragon's earth charms, but still use the canyon wall to stop them from flanking her. Haru smiled at her plan. Then she saw the horsemen waiting for her outside the canyon, all clad in Imperial armor.
Leave it to an Earth Dragon to figure out the only exit to an uncharted canyon and redirect their forces there.
Haru burst from the canyon and wheeled her exhausted steed around. The Imperial soldiers made no move to attack, simply continuing to block her escape. The Dragons intended to take her on themselves. Haru would respect their courage, but she knew that the Imperial soldiers would join in at the first sign of trouble. Cowardice and insecurity under a cheaply made mask of valor. Time to see how much effort it would take to dislodge that mask.
Haru jumped off the horse and sent it away with a slap. No point in risking its life in her battle. If she somehow survived this, she could pick it up later. If she survived. Haru reminded herself that she had a mission to do, one that couldn't be done if she were dead. She unslung her klaive, a gift from her mentor, a long, straight moonsilver blade named Frostmourne. With a deep growl, Haru changed skins. As glowing wisps of essence radiated from her body, she transformed into a giant blend of human and wolf, coated in iridescent silver fur. A deep, unearthly howl echoed off the canyon walls. The four Dragons stopped their advance for a second, taking into account the now towering monster they faced.
There was no reply to Haru's call. She hadn't really expected any help anyways. From what little she heard about the regions south of Chiascuro, all that was out in these mountain-abutted deserts were a few nomadic tribes, and the occasional reports of monsters with the bodies of scaled men and the heads and tails of monstrous snakes.. She was on her own then. With another howl she charged the Terrestrials. She'd go down fighting, the way a Full Moon should.
Frostmourne bit only empty air as the Dragon-Blooded arced gracefully over Haru's head, his longsword leaving a thin red line up her shoulder. Damn Air aspects. Haru whirled around and charged him again, deliberately giving the appearance of a mindlessly enraged beast. Predictably, the Terrestrial gave a mocking grin and jumped over Haru's blade. He'd fallen for her ruse, idiot. Essence crackled around the Lunar as her other arm swung around at an impossible angle. The Dragon's smile turned to shock as the Anathema's claws wrapped around his ankle and slammed him to the ground with bone-shattering force. The other Dragons joined in the battle.
Haru collapsed against the wall, coughing up blood. The three remaining Dragon-Blooded had made short work of her, making up in teamwork and martial training what they lacked in brute strength. The Earth aspected gave a loud cry and slung his jade greatclub against the canyon wall with a powerful crack. Haru looked up to see massive boulders falling down towards her. Looks like that was to be her fate after all.
Without warning, the wall exploded outward. Haru was sent sprawling, and the lethal boulders went careening through the mass of Imperial troops, scattering them like leaves. Haru's last sight as unconsciousness closed in was the deliciously priceless look of utter shock on the Dragon-Blooded faces as a literal dragon, ivory scaled and larger than the greatest tyrant-lizards, devoured one of their numbers.Haru awoke in a tent of stretched oxen skin, on bedding made from several different furs. Rubbing her head, she sat up and tried to get her bearings. She must have been out for a few hours, as she could see stars in a night sky outside the flap of the tent, as well as the reflected light of a small fire. Her wounds seemed to have mostly knit already, nothing worse than a few broken ribs and other assorted bruises gained at the hands of the Immaculates. Someone had bandaged her up. Haru peeled them away, examining the already-healed skin beneath, she had no need for them anymore.
The rugged, utilitarian design of the tent, combined with the profusion of scrawlings, symbols, and symbolic decorations led her to suspect that she was in a barbarian encampment. The food left out for her verified it. The meats and soup were crude, but obviously made only from the choicest bits, an offering for something seen to them as a higher being. They, at the very least, knew what she was, if not who she was. No normal mortal would get this sort of treatment from barbarians.
Intermittent fires provided the only light as Haru left the tent, taking along some of the tastier morsels. People bowed and scraped, moving hurriedly from her path, clearing space for the Beast God that now walked among them. Only one remained in her presence, bowing and scraping as he addressed her in a quavering voice, “O esteemed of Luna, O divine walker in the cunning guise of man, O great and-”
“Yeah yeah, can the appeasement,” Haru said irritably, “Look, you know what I am, I know what I am, let's move on. Who brought me here?”
The barbarian, probably this tribe's shaman, judging from the more intricate pain and half-mad eyes bowed fearfully, “Of course mistress of the moon, my deepest apologies. The White Wyrm, our patron god, had brought you here, after doing battle with the tyrannical forces of the Realm in a glorio-”
“The White Wyrm?” Haru interrupted, “Never heard of it, does he wear the form of a dragon?”
“He has awakened,” the shaman said excitedly, nearly falling over in his hurry to bow ever deeper, “He has come back to lead us once again against th-”
“Shut up,” Haru said, rolling her eyes, “Where is he? I want to see him.”
“Yes, yes, a thousand more apologies dread goddess, the White Wyrm had requested that you seek counsel with him once you had awakened and fed.”
“Well I've done both, so where the hell is he? If I have to ask again, I might just start finding you tasty and nourishing,” Haru gave a dangerous glare.
“Er... he's... just south of this camp, oh mighty one, in the sacred valley.”
“Fine, thanks already,” Haru said, waving her hand vaguely, “You're, um, forgiven and blessed, or whatever. Just go away you annoying thing. Don't, er, go killing yourself because you're worried you offended me or something.”
Haru ignored the other bowing and prostrated barbarians as she walked out of the camp. It was something she hadn't gotten used to yet, all the worship. She was raised in the city before Luna chose to grant her the Exaltation. Even the Dragon-Blooded who occasionally made appearances in her home city were given little more than lip service and the most superficial of worship and supplication as the supposed demigods they were. Now she was either feared or revered, often both, often at the same time. Maybe it was different for the Lunars who grew up here, raised and taught that the Exalted were to be treated as gods. But she was a city-girl, and all this worship and fear was just plain annoying and embarrassing.
It turned out that 'just south' meant 'about ten miles'. The encampment was located somewhere deeper in the mountains than she had been when the Wyld Hunt had finally caught up to her. The way was rocky and treacherous. Even so, she found her way easily, assuming the same of a small, lean wolf. The creature whose heart's blood she had tasted shortly after her Exaltation, whose shape she had learned to assume as naturally as the one she grew up with. She eventually found what she was looking for. A steep mountain path led down to a large, almost jungle-like oasis. Lunar runes were carved on the rocks around this area. Skulls, both human and animal, also were placed liberally about. The bones made clear the meaning of the runes for those unable to read them: Interlopers were not welcome here.
Haru walked down the path, once again taking human form. It would have been nearly impossible for any mortal human to make it down this steep scree without aid. Haru easily jumped from point to miniscule point with superhuman balance and agility. At the bottom, among the encroaching forest, she found a pair of large tyrant-lizards. They paid her little heed, preferring to play with something between them. Haru's calm exterior was only slightly rattled when she realized the creatures were fighting over the eviscerated remains of one of the Dragon-Blooded she had faced earlier that day.
There was a temple at the far end of the oasis. It was small, but Haru could easily see the telltale signs that this was a First Age construction. She realized that this entire valley was likely protected and preserved by its magic. From inside came the sound of a scream. Overcoming the awe that had briefly come over her, Haru ran into the temple.
She was well beyond the main portal before she realized what she was doing and skidded to a halt. “Stupid, stupid girl!” she muttered to herself, wondering what traps she had set off, or First Age guardians and demons she had woken up with her foolhardy rush in here. She hesitated, trying to hear the clank of any machinery she might have set off, or the whispering crackle of essence as any mystical traps she set off were brought to bear on her.
Instead, one side of the corridor, about twenty feet ahead of her, exploded. She saw the feebly sobbing form of a Dragon-Blood in the rubble. Two empty holes gaped where his eyes should have been. Haru gasped when she saw that it was the Air aspect she had gotten the better of before his companions had jumped her. She gasped again at the figure that strode calmly through the hole in the wall.
He walked up to the fallen Dragon and nudged him with a bare foot, “Get up, Terrestrial.”
The fallen figure didn't move, clutching feebly at his empty eye-sockets. With no further warning, the man lifted the Dragon-Blooded by his neck and held him against the wall. He wore nothing but a torn, white robe. In his right hand he held a great moonsilver spear. His left arm, holding up the blinded, maimed Dragon, ended in a large, twisted, reptilian claw. His hair was long and white, extending nearly to his knees. Belted to his side was a long, curved, moonsilver scimitar.
“I won't ask again, either stand, or I will rip the rest of your face off.”
Haru noticed there were patches of scales on the man's lithe body. Pale, iridescent. “The White Wyrm,” she breathed in amazement.
The man's head jerked around and he regarded her with cold, reptilian eyes. “Oh, you're here. Did you have any great desire to kill this Dragon-Blooded waste?”
Haru realized she was gaping, “Er...” she tried to compose herself, noting that the form-fixing tattoos on the White Wyrm's skin were more prevalent and intricate, indicating a higher rank and longer history, than anything she had ever seen before, “Er... No, actually. I mean, he's been defeated, humiliated, and has his eyes ripped out. Umm... what glory is there in ending his life? It would require no effort now, and slaughtering such a pathetic opponent would be no challenge, would it?”
She realized she was babbling, she shut up.
The White Wyrm nodded, “Did you hear that? She's decided to spare your life, why don't you thank her?”
There was a moment of silence before the White Wyrm slammed the Dragon's head against the wall,
“Thank her, you honourless meatsack.”
“Th...Thank you,” came the choked reply.
The Terrestrial was released. He staggered, but did not fall, keeping on his feet by sheer willpower alone. “Get off my lands. Tell the Realm, the Empress, and your vile little Wyld Hunt... tell them whatever you want, it makes no difference to me. You have one day to leave these lands before I set my people on you.”
Haru watched as the terrified Dragon stumbled blindly out the temple, into a night that would never again lift for his missing eyes, and disappeared into the darkness.
“Do you think he'll survive?” Haru asked.
“Should I care?” came the reply.
“Well, I-”
“You enter my lands without permission or invitation. Not only that, you drag the Wyld Hunt with you, pitifully small as it may have been. I'm hoping for your sake there is a good reason for this insult.”
“I...” Haru fumbled about for words, realizing suddenly that her own life may now be on the line. She was dealing with something a lot more powerful than she was.
“You can start by explaining why you came here, young one.”
“Are you... are you one of the First Age survivors?” Haru asked, awe once again overcoming her fear.
“Yes, now answer the question,” came the blunt reply.
“I... I was fleeing the Wyld Hunt...” she began.
“Let's skip to the parts that aren't obvious, why did you feel the need to enter my territory?”
“Hey,” Haru got defensive, “The Songlines said this was open land! I was on a mission, spreading word of the Great T'Lak.”
“Great T'Lak?” the White Wyrm's eyes showed momentary interest, “Tell me, what year is this?”
Haru told him.
“I see,” the elder Lunar seemed to be talking more to himself for a moment, “Woken a century earlier than expected... and preceded by dreams of her...”
He looked back up, “What's your name, young one?”
“Haru,” she replied hesitantly, “Haru with Jade-Splintering Fangs.”
He nodded, “I'm Nathan, the White Wyrm. You've probably not heard of me, as I had been sleeping for the past... two hundred years. To be honest, you're the first person to see me in human form in over a millenia and survive... so far.”
“Why did you kill them here?” Haru asked, referring to the slain Terrestrials, “Please forgive my ignorance, but it seems a bit of a hassle to drag them all the way back just to kill or maim them.”
“The blood of the Dragons is a poor substitute to the lost magic that once fueled the machinery of this temple,” Nathan explained, looking away with disinterest, “but it does in a pinch. Tell me, young one, how is it that you have attracted so little attention from the Wyld Hunt? Only four Terrestrials and but a single phalanx of Imperial troops?”
“Only?” Haru said incredulously, “I've been on the run from those bastards for nearly half a year now. Just because things have been a little less controlled since the Scarlet Empress disappeared doesn't mean-”
“Disappeared?” Nathan chuckled, “That's amusing, I didn't expect her futile reign to be that short.”
“Short? She ruled for over a thousand years,” Haru said with disbelief.
“And I've slept for half as much,” Nathan pointed out, “Civilizations rise and fall. I've long ceased to care for them. Only for the few strong that lie within them, waiting to be freed from its bonds.”
“You'd get along great with Ma-Ha-Suchi, maybe you should join in his crusade,” Haru said bitterly.
“Ma-Ha-Suchi, is he still alive?”
“Yeah, he's the one that called the Great T'Lak,” Haru said.
“Hmm, I was wondering who could have the influence to do such a thing. I thought his hatred of civilization would be the death of him by now.”
“Yeah, well, with the Empress gone, and the Solars returning, he wants to get everyone together to talk about overthrowing the Realm.”
The White Wyrm regarded her, “The Children of the Sun are back?”
“Oh, right, you've been asleep, yeah, they're coming back, a lot. No one knows why either. And no one knows what to do with them.”
“So things really are changing,” Nathan smiled, “I wonder if I'll finally be able to find her...”
“Find who?”
“Nothing. It seems your arrival here is rather fortuitous, young Lunar. Since you trespassed on my lands, and deliberately lead the Wyld Hunt onto my territory, you owe me quite a debt. I charge you, then, with this mission. When you-”
“Hey!” Haru was defiant, “I didn't know it was your territory, alright?”
The White Wyrm's eyes flashed dangerously. All pretense at social niceties fell away as a single twisted reptilian claw was raised threateningly, “Do not mistake my openness for complacency, whelp. If you insist on being stupidly arrogant, I will settle your debt right here.”
“No no, that's okay,” Haru quickly said, taking a few steps backwards.
“A wise choice,” the elder smiled. Haru saw that like so much else about him, it was a reptilian thing, devoid of warmth or actual care, “Continue on your mission, but as you do, spread word that the White Wyrm has reawakened, and will be in attendance. In return, I shall let them know of your stand against the Wyld Hunt. The Silver Pact will give great honours upon a youngling who did a feat like that.”
The White Wyrm watched the sleek wolf bolt away into the night. So the Empress was gone, the Realm was in disarray, and the Wyld Hunt faltered. Perhaps now was the time of opportunity he had been waiting for. The young girl was wrong about one thing: He was not like the fearsome and legendary Ma-Ha-Suchi. He didn't care if civilization endured or fell, so long as it didn't seek to entrap him in its restraining grip.
No, his venom was directed towards one thing only: The Wyld Hunt. The ones that had taken from him the one he loved and cared for, just as he had redeemed her from what many believed to be an irreversible fall. Each time her soul, her essence had found its way into a new body, the hunt had again and again ruthlessly tracked her down and slaughtered her. He was forced to watch her die over and over again, always at the hands of the Dragon-Blooded.
Now, though. Perhaps now was the chance to finally save her, in whatever incarnation she was in. The Wyld Hunt faltered. And once he knew she was safe from them, he would rip them to pieces for what they had done.
Trees and grass. So very miniscule, unimportant and easily overlooked. Yet each and every one having to be recorded, categorized, tracked. It wasn't Kaoru's job to do so, thankfully. That was the purview of the Celestial Bureaucracy, which he was not officially a part of yet. Still, it was amusing to think that each and every thing he passed had its place in the world, and that he was to help make sure that continued to be the case.
The caravan slowly rumbled to a stop, offering the road-sore occupants a chance to pass the evening in a nearby roadside in, as opposed to under the stars. The Guild was merciless, brutally efficient and completely callous. But it had a vested interest in keeping those it held power over in some semblance of contentment, thus the tolerable travel schedule. Kaoru watched as others walked by his spot on the cart. Eyes fell upon him, then slid off just as quickly. Remembering no details, affixing no great importance to the figure.
That was the way it was for him, ever since his Exaltation, when the Maiden, Saturn, chose him as one of her representatives in Creation. The path of any Sidereal was that of silent, unobserved manipulation. The careful maintenance of the very fabric of reality, to prevent it from getting too frayed or tight, to prevent everything from crashing down into chaos and Oblivion.
But for now, his tasks were of a more worldly bent. Instead of observing all and sending others to fine-tune reality, he was one of those sent to troubleshoot, to fix problems too great for mere Terrestrials to confront. Kaoru didn't mind. He admitted, if only to himself, that he was not fully certain of his role in things yet, and was willing to take things slowly. Once confident in the path he should take, of course, none would stand in his way. But until then, he could tolerate following orders, occasionally something interesting came of it.
Such as this little trip. Normally he would be nestled deep in the Imperial City, where he was born and raised. But his Exaltation, and the rapid course in the history and role of the Sidereals he was given afterward had made this trip a necessity. Along with the power to directly manipulate the threads of fate came memories of a past life also associated with this particular flavour of power. This life had ended in exile, at the blades of those who didn't see things the way Kaoru did, at least that was what his confused and incomplete memories of this life had told him.
Records showed that his past incarnation had been buried deep in a tomb, well-guarded by summon demons and wards. The tomb lay in the great trade city of Nexus, deep in the heart of the Scavenger Lands. A dangerous place for any citizen of the Realm who wasn't well-guarded. Banditry and barbarian raids were the rule here, rather than the exception. Kaoru wasn't that concerned though. Even if he didn't already have a power that made him far outclass almost any mere mortal on a martial scale, his carefully set astrological charts had shown him there was only one direct threat coming in his direction.
That threat would arrive tonight, something from a past life, just as unsure of its position as he was. The reasons for the confrontation was unclear, something had happened between him and this other entity sometime in millennia past, and no true sense of resolution had been achieved. But the time and location had been pretty well narrowed down by Kaoru's growing adeptness with the great charts.
He jumped down from the trade-cart and walked off. Not towards the inn, but rather in the opposite direction. Anyone who saw him, garbed as richly as he was, immediately dismissed him as possible some rich merchant's son, or maybe a lesser-known scion to a Dragon-Blooded line, and forgot about him shortly afterward.
Kaoru found an acceptably large clearing in the trees and sat down to meditate. Like the reasons for the confrontation, the resolution of the confrontation was also in doubt. There were still too many unknown factors to take into account, not to mention the fact that Kaoru was a little distracted when he cast this horoscope. His purpose in coming to Nexus was to gain entry to the tomb of his past incarnation. The Imperial Records showed that his past self had been buried with a tool, a weapon of no small power. As the reincarnated form of this long-dead figure, Kaoru felt that this weapon was his by birthright.
The flows of essence around him, always forming a barely acknowledged background to his senses, altered slightly. Kaoru allowed himself a half smirk, about damn time.Hikaru's approach had gone unnoticed, he was certain of it. Yeah, by all rights he could simply swoop in in a great blaze of absolute glory, stunning any onlookers by his mere presence alone. But for once the situation demanded subtlety and discretion. Yeah, he could do discretion. If he were a lesser man, he'd say things had been pretty unfair as of late.
Yeah, things had been tough, but tolerable growing up. Then came the day he received a visit from the sun. It was one thing to be sure that you're completely amazing. It's another to be told by a god that yeah, you are simply that amazing. Ever since he had been chosen for Exaltation, though, things had been on a steady downward spiral. Seems his neighbors didn't take too kindly to demigods living nearby. He had been forced to leave township after township, village after village. Called 'Anathema' and 'Forsaken' by all. Trying to avoid the notice of the Wyld Hunt. Yeah, things sort of sucked like that.
And then this had to happen. Simply walking down one of the main roads away from Nexus, trying to figure out where the hell he should go next, he catches view of a Guild caravan at the nearest crossroads. He then caught sight of one of the figures sitting on a carriage, looking disinterestedly at the sunset.
Even if that person didn't look almost exactly like Hikaru, the flood of half-memories would have still hit him like a brick. He had known that person, sometime long ago. There was something involving betrayal and death, and that person certainly wasn't on the happy end of it. For two days Hikaru had trailed the caravan, waiting for a chance to confront the bastard without incurring the wrath of several dozen Guild mercenaries.
Now the chance had presented itself beautifully as the stupid kid had wandered off on his own, into the forest. Hikaru waited until he was sure no one from the caravan was going to follow, then attacked. He hadn't meant to do that. Initially he only wanted to talk. But just as he was the kid sitting in the clearing, meditating, something snapped in him. Some half-remembered wrong that demanded vengeance right then and there spoke out to him, causing him to dash out at the helpless figure, curved sword upraised.
Steel clashed on steel. Hikaru's eyes widened in disbelief. The kid was sitting crosslegged, eyes still closed. Yet one hand had deftly unsheathed a wickedly sharp short-sword and, without the aid of sight, positioned it perfectly to intercept his own blade. The kid's head turned and eyes opened. Black hair with a single white streak framed pale skin and light blue eyes, “I was wondering when you'd decide to show up.”
Hikaru backed off several steps, blade still at the ready, “I don't know everything about you, but I know enough to know that you'd have to give me a really good reason not to kill you right now, you know?”
Kaoru sniffed, “Okay, how about this: Because you can't kill me.”
Essence burned off of Hikaru as he darted forward, moving with supernatural speed and power. His blade bit eagerly through empty air, but found no purchase. Where he aim, the other simply wasn't any more.
Burning pain bit into Hikaru's side as a thin blade flashed by, leaving a red gash behind. “Were you really this stupid in our old life as well? Maybe that's what happened, I killed you as a favour to the world.”
Hikaru gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain and charging forward, “Then consider this my repayment, asshole.”
He hadn't struck again, but he still failed to land any blows on his opponent. “You don't get it, do you?” Kaoru taunted, “You can't hit me, you oaf. I am simply that much better than you.”
“I'll kill you or die trying!” Hikaru roared.
“Fine, have it your way,” Kaoru smirked and twisted.
Hikaru gasped, a strange numbness spreading through his midsection. He looked down in surprise at the blade buried hilt deep there. How could someone move like that? The bastard hadn't even moved with any supernatural speed, it was just as if he simply knew exactly where Hikaru's blade was going, and just made sure he wasn't there when it arrived.
“You should have left yourself for the Wyld Hunt,” Kaoru whispered in Hikaru's ear, leaning in close enough to touch foreheads, “Your death would have been less humiliating th-” Kaoru's eyes widened. He turned to look into the trees, an expression of surprise on his face, “What the hell-”
Hikaru's hand flashed out, essence giving it a speed and reaction time his confused mind and injured body would have been otherwise incapable of. A tightly curled fist smashed into Kaoru's face, knocking the Sidereal backwards. It was Hikaru's turn to twist. Kaoru's still maintained a tight grip on the thin sword buried in Hikaru's midsection, and the blade shattered halfway along the shaft.
Kaoru raised a hand protectively as razor-sharp shards of steel flew by him, several leaving small slices in his arms and one on his cheek. Hikaru, pressing the brief advantage for all it was worth, ripped the remainder of the blade out of his gut and stabbed Kaoru in the side. With a growl, Kaoru jumped backwards, immediately placing several meters between them. With a grimace, he removed the blade.
A high pitched giggle echoed through the clearing. The two combatants, who could have been twins to any casual onlooker, turned to face the shadows it emanated from. “Who's there? Show yourself,” Hikaru said, leaning against a tree and waiting for the bleeding to staunch itself.
A girl in form-fitting plate mail stood up, still giggling, “I only came to see one of you, but then you both had to go off and give me such a wonderful show. Don't stop now, keep going!”
“Who are you?” Kaoru said slowly, “And why did I not see you coming?”
“Maybe because I'm the quiet type?” the girl said with a shrug, “Or maybe you just have a huge blind spot. Name's Death of Gleeful Madness, by the way.”
“That's a mouthful,” Hikaru muttered.
“Blind? I can see everything that happens under the stars, you vermin,” Kaoru said.
Hikaru laughed, “Then isn't it obvious, you idiot? She doesn't come from anywhere the light of the stars or the sun touches. I mean look at her? Does that look like anything from the land of the living?”
“How did you escape my notice?” Kaoru persisted, “Why can't I see anything relating to you?”
Death of Gleeful Madness shrugged, “I don't know. Don't really care. I think you're the one I'm supposed to see, the other one looks kind of stupid-”
“Hey!”
“- so here's the deal,” she continued, ignoring Hikaru, “My Master wants to see you. Alive preferably. So you come on a little trip with me and I won't have to poke a bunch of new holes in you, okay?”
“I've got a better idea,” Kaoru said, balancing his broken weapon carefully, “I'll just remove the blind spot that you are from my vision, and solve all my problems.”
His charge was met by a flash of twin blades from Death of Gleeful Madness. A second later he collapsed against a nearby tree, blood streaming from two new wounds in his chest. Why couldn't he see where she was going? It was like a moving hole in the fabric of reality. Kaoru felt a helpless rage, for the first time ever since his Exaltation, he didn't know what was going to happen next. The uncertainty was a disgusting feeling, almost overshadowing the pain of his injuries.
“Last chance,” she said with a mad grin, “You're kind of cute right now. Maybe you'll be cuter when you're dead.”
Death of Gleeful Madness jumped back with an angry hiss. Hikaru's sword left a small line on her cheek just as one of her twin blades left a similar line on his cheek. “Forget about someone?”
A maddened giggle was all the reply he got, followed by an ear-splitting scream as Death of Gleeful Madness charged back at him. Essence now boiled off both of them as blades flashed past each other with unearthly speed. Hikaru was forced to take one step back, then another, and another. This time his foot hit an exposed root, and he fell over. Within a moment, Death of Gleeful Madness' blade was streaking towards his exposed throat.
The blade stopped, a half inch from Hikaru's skin. Kaoru held her arm in a secure lock. With a wrench, her stilleto was knocked from her hand. Death of Gleeful Madness growled, spun, and aimed the other blade at Kaoru's heart.
“Here!” Hikaru shouted, tossing his own sword up.
Kaoru caught the blade and deflected Death of Gleeful Madness' blow with a single smooth motion. The woman easily ducked Kaoru's counterstroke, and with an overjoyed laugh, backflipped neatly over Hikaru's attempt to trip her from his position on the ground. She landed gracefully several meters away.
“Well, that sort of sucks,” she said, pouting her lips, “You two were so much more entertaining when you were trying to kill each other.”
“Yeah, well, looks like we found some common ground,” Hikaru said, forcing himself to his feet.
“I remember you now,” Kaoru said, “you were involved, somehow, with us.”
“Oh good,” Hikaru rolled his eyes, “I was hoping I wasn't the only one who remembered that. More complications, that's all I need at the moment.”
“Oh dear,” Death of Gleeful Madness said, “I don't think I'm prepared to deal with all this. So... I'll just kill you a little later, when you're in a more agreeable mood, okay?”
Hikaru raised an arm, but the girl had already disappeared into the trees. “Well... that kind of sucks. Look, consider yourself lucky this time, but this isn't over yet, we've got-”
Hikaru looked around. The clearing was empty. “Well... screw you too.”