《Lost Concord》


 Prologue: Fear and Betrayal

    "T-They don''t understand..."


    He muttered under his breath, fearfully speaking in a hushed tone as his chest heaved to desperately bring air into his tired lungs. Cold hands clawed against the tattered cloak that shielded him from the elements. Blood dripped from the tip of his armored fingers as his head turned to look behind him.


    "I am not.. I am not the traitor.."


    He saw lights in the distance, followed by the baying of hounds. But he knew it was not hounds, and it forced his tired legs to move and bring him to a sprint, passing by trees that dwarfed his height and loomed over menacingly as the cold of winter howled against his frail body. The rush of heat went through him, yet he shivered still at the cold.


    The snow covered ground crunched with each rapid step he took. His sprint was anything but fast and he could hear the thumps of heavy armor and the contact of hooves to the frozen earth beneath them. It pushed him to run faster, to flee far from here but his pace was hampered by his frail body, and as a resort he suddenly turned to the right, going deeper into the forest in hopes they would lose track of him.


    ¡°We are nothing to them!... Only death waits for us in their service..¡±


    His voice was a low rumble, unnatural for a young man such as him. Yet despite that, it was shaky and fearful, nearly hushed in tone as he breathed heavily. In that moment, reasons as to why he was fleeing ceased to matter. The primal desire to simply live overpowered him, driving himself to ignore the limitations of his body.


    Everything around him as he ran seemed blurry, and all he could see now as he continued to run, was the trees in front of him. They passed by easily, as snow rained from above. It was only when he reached the edge of a cliff that he stopped abruptly. Nearly falling over as he saw what was below the cliff, a rushing river leading to somewhere. To fall into it was certain death yet his mind registered it slowly as he backed away slightly, turning to face the forest he came from.


    There was a few metres that separated him from the forest, a small field of grass was there. And he could see the lights getting closer. Almost he could hear the baying of the hounds again, the sound of clanking of metal on metal with frozen water being disturbed as they came for him.


    ¡°Damn it, damn it..¡±


    He cursed, his shaky and still bloody hands almost combed his hair in habit, but at the sight of the blood on the gauntlets stopped him, and he lowered them. But as he did so he couldn¡¯t help but stare at them, at the red splatters around the steel of his gauntlets and the way they dripped down to the snow covered ground beneath his feet. His eyes focused on the dripping blood, and all he could see was them. The way they fell from his fingertips, turning into circular droplets till they hit the snow on the ground, tainting them with the remaining life they had in them.


    This was all he focused on, even the sounds of the hounds, their barks and howling did not register to his ears. Even when they passed through the trees finally, he stared at his hands and the blood that dripped. After a moment he closed his eyes and frowned, barring his teeth as he curled his bloodied fingers into fists.


    ¡°Benedict, please do not run anymore.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.Then a voice came, a kind feminine one. One that made everyone that hear it associate such a voice to a princess of sorts, one that embodied everything that was good about humanity, mind and body. Benedict opened his eyes, his brown eyes looking to its source as he finally fully lowered his hands. What he saw saw was the armored form of a female, an elven warrior. She was beautiful, pale skin that glowed under the moonlight, sharp features that matched her silk-like hair. Her eyes looked on with determination, those silver orbs staring at him as she crossed her arms, looking at him with disapproval and sadness.


    Benedict only moved backwards slowly as he looked to her sides. It was the other Summoned, people like him. People from Earth summoned to this world they were in. They varied in ethnicity, but all seemed to have been highschool students. And some of them were here, looking at him with extreme hate as they held their weapons tightly. There was one in particular that looked at him with contempt, as if he was the lowest of all, a blonde-haired kid chosen by one of the Gods of Light.


    He didn¡¯t care for that individual, as he returned to look at the elf. She raised a hand, and the summoned seem to lower their guard. The hounds were nowhere to be seen, but he could see glowing eyes deep in the forest. He wondered as to how he could understand her, he never listened to the lessons given to the people that summoned them, and he doubted that she spoke english. It had to be magic, but the situation now didn¡¯t allow him to ponder on the matter.


    ¡°It is all I can do now, the King has sent you and them to hunt me down.. I c-can¡¯t go back.. That crime, it was not my doing!¡±


    He yelled, not deluding himself that they would believe him. Already he could see that blonde boy grin in amusement, as the others looked at him as if they were insulted by his ¡®lie¡¯. Benedict gritted his teeth at this, he couldn¡¯t escape them, and returning to the castle was a death sentence waiting to happen. So he chose another choice, a choice that scares him deeply.


    ¡°Benedict, we have been tasked to bring you back. Not to hunt you down like a dog. Please, surrender, so this may end without blood. Unlike that scene from which you fled from.¡±


    The elf spoke as if she was neutral on the matter. She had a by the book attitude as she waited for him to surrender, it seemed she did expect for this to end without blood. As her sword, a broadsword from what he could see, was still sheathed in its scabbard. But Benedict did not want to surrender at all, so he turned around and ran.


    And at that moment he could hear gasps as they saw where he was heading. With a fatalistic need, he sped up until he was near enough to leap from the cliff, and into the rushing rapids below. His eyes looking upwards as the silhouette was seen above, looking down on him with others following suit.


    Then he had hit the raging waters below. The freezing temperatures instantly chilling him as he desperately tried to stay afloat. But never having the knowledge on how to swim, he easily sank. And a cold blue illuminated by the bright moon was all he could see, until darkness took over and his consciousness slipped away.


    --------


    Thoughts of the Carmine King (AN)


    --------


    Hello! I am Lictor, or Fallen. I am a bit nervous and rather excited to actually post this story you see. As I have said in the description, this is a re-write of a story with a similar name and plot, which was cringe worthy as it held so much cliche and plot-holes. Though it was made by a request of a friend, this one will be a re-write so that request may at least be fulfilled.


    As I love many things that are fantasy and sci-fi, many such things will influence this story. I can only trust that it shall not ruin this story. If I have any mistakes, please do tell me as I do not have anyone to proof-read my work. And doing it myself may be a bit, innefective? Ehehe. Anyways, do join me in this tale!

 Chapter One: I am (not) Human

    ¡°Benedict, the deadlines for our Projects is getting closer. Why did they give our clearance three days before the exams?!¡±


    Benedict opened his eyes slowly, blinking as a yawn escaped his lips. His mind was a bit under the water, being woken so abruptly from his nap had made him look daze for several minutes, followed by him replying with another yawn.


    ¡°Jio, this is the norm in our school.¡±


    He drooled a bit as he spoke that, quickly wiping it off with the sleeve of his jacket with little to no care at all. Shaking his head as a strange nagging feeling entered his mind, as if voices were there. Idly he could identify them as strange chants, he would turn to look at the one known to him as Jio. His friend looking confused.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡±


    Jio asked, his voice childish and immature accompanied by an accent all too common to those not fluent in English. Jio resembled a typical filipino teenager from Luzon, a part of the archipelago of the Philippines. He had hints of chinese ethnicity and the mix-blood of the Filipino people, however his unkempt hairstyle which comically resembled a standing paintbrush painted a clear picture of his character. As did his obvious carefree attitude and taste in fashion.


    He was one that could be considered an avid gamer. With thick eye bags and a posture that suggested constant use of a computer. With a mischievous grin that is nearly present at all times that turns into a mocking one, whenever he begins belittling their other friends during their MOBA sessions.


    ¡°Hear what?¡±


    A much serious voice asked. Coming from a tall lanky male, nearly a pale complexion with similar chinese features. He wasn¡¯t taller than Benedict, but seemed to be much more composed and silent as he looked at the two in confusion. His eyes were naturally squinted with a hint of intelligence beneath them, followed by a neutral expression that was nearly present on his face at every single moment.


    ¡°Carleon, that chanting?¡±


    Benedict motioned with his hand to the general area of the empty classroom. But Carleon looked at him and Jio with confusion, before Benedict just waved his hand to signal that he didn¡¯t want to pursue this conversation. He assumed it was just someone¡¯s phone ringing in the class, and given the eccentric nature of many of their classmates it wasn¡¯t an impossibility.


    ¡°So.¡±


    Benedict spoke again, as Carleon returned to what he was doing, which was writing up a research paper of sorts for one of their subjects. Benedict shook his head at this sight and turned to Jio with a mirthless grin.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably some ringtone or from another class. So, about our projects. Have you finished yours?¡±


    Jio returned a confident smile, crossing his arms as he adjusted his posture slightly to puff out his chest. Benedict leaned slightly on the armrest of his chair, staring at Jio expectantly. As if he was waiting for a surprise to come from whatever answer he chose to say.


    ¡°You know me Benedict. I haven¡¯t finish anything, at all.¡±


    Then he bursts into laughter, as did Benedict. Even Carleon had a slight smile on his lips as he tried his best to focus on his paper. Benedict shook his head as what Jio said nearly brought him to tears.


    ¡°Damn it Jio, please don¡¯t look so serious when you haven¡¯t done anything at all.¡±


    He asked as Carleon couldn¡¯t take it anymore and laugh out loud himself, nearly crumpling the paper on his armrest. Jio shrugged as he remained smiling, tapping on his own arm rest as he pointed to Benedict¡¯s.


    ¡°You too, you look so lax and all yet you haven¡¯t done anything too! Don¡¯t make excuses Benedict, all of us here haven¡¯t done anything yet!¡±


    Benedict¡¯s smile remained, though only for a while as it turned back to a natural grimace. He shook his head and simply turned to rest his head on his arms again, positioning his arms on the armrest so he may return to his nap. His phone idly rumbled in alert of something, but he paid it no heed as he rested his head on his arms, tilting it slightly so he may have one eye looking at Jio and Carleon.


    Carleon then suddenly frowned just as he was furiously jotting down letters on his paper. Looking around in confusion and irritation before turning to Benedict, looking at him accusingly as that chanting returned.


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­ latin.¡±


    Benedict breathed a sigh as he took out his phone from his left pocket, quickly tapping the screen of the phone and drawing the symbol to gain access. With a more confused look, he showed his phone to them, where not a single song was playing. What was strange was the fact that the time was stuck on ¡®0000¡¯ including the dates. Each one glitching out as the chanting grew louder, and the world outside through their windows became blurry.


    ¡°What the hell?¡±


    Carleon cursed as he stood up, looking around for any sort of source for the chantings they heard. Jio did the same, as did Benedict as they started to search the room for the source of the chanting. The two assumed Benedict was the source initially, as he was the only one in the room that had something similar, as he had expressed interest on Roman Catholic Chants due to his faith.


    He held his phone tightly before putting it back on his pocket. He looked around like the others, trying to follow the sound of the chants. They were indescribable, similar to Latin, but with Latin he could identify it was language from earth. But this was not, and it was too eerie, ghostly even. And the source came from all over them.


    ¡°Benedict, are you sure that it¡¯s not one of your chants?¡±


    Jio asked as he tried to open a window, finding that the covered window wouldn¡¯t budge. Carleon would meet the same fate with the door, as Benedict took out another phone and confirmed with a confused grunt.


    ¡°I only have two chants, Da Pacem Domine and Salve Regina. Whatever this is, it¡¯s not Latin. Or anything I have!¡±


    He retorted as he walked to a chair to sit down again. But as he tried to do so, a sudden weight was pushed upon his body. Instantly he fell to his knees, with his palms supporting his body. The others experienced the same thing, with Jio hitting the floor flatly on his face, as Carleon had hit his back. Both were groaning in pain as the chanting became almost deafening to their ears.


    ¡°Shit.. what¡¯s happening?¡±


    Then everything was engulfed in a bright light, as they felt their bodies being pulled by something so harshly that all of them screamed.


    -


    Groaning in pain, he opened his eyes. Blinking them tiredly as pain slowly registered in his mind Benedict groaned. He could feel wounds upon his body, and his mind swam in between the waking world, and that of dreams.Vaguely he was aware of a dream, or rather a memory. It was cut short, but he knew at the very least it was how they were transported to this world, or rather how it all began.


    But the reason why he was here in this world, was pushed aside as he curled into a fetal position. His thoughts focused on what happened to him before this, and he realised he was supposed to be dead. He could not have swam, nor could he have held his breath for long to reach what place he laid upon. And wherever he was, it was not the snow covered land of Isalabi.


    The sound of a flowing river was to his left, and the chirping of some sort to his right. Slowly his eyes registered his surroundings, strangely as if his body was having a hard time even functioning. But he was supposed to be dead, that was what he thought, and he understood that his survival had a cost to it.


    ¡®What is this..¡¯


    Though as his eyes finally functioned, he noticed that he was facing a forest. Similar to the one he ran into, hoping to lose his pursuers. But unlike the ones he saw, these were normal in a sense. Oak trees, or something similar from earth, and not like the towering trees of Isalabi. Their brown bark and green leaves was comforting his mind, but he couldn¡¯t stare for too long as he needed to move.


    His pursuers could still be chasing after him, looking for a body to confirm that he was dead. So he sat up, groaning in pain as he felt how sore his body was. He had exerted himself, that he knew.


    It made him regret being unfit, and was pleasantly surprised that he managed to run for more than a few minutes. But in the end he was cornered, and he had resorted to jumping off of a cliff. He winced at the memory and sighed, opting to examine his body for any wounds on it, as he was not wholly convinced he actually survived the jump. Perhaps he was dead and this was some sort of purgatory, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised, but he wanted to live.


    His eyes could not find any wound on his body, only that his attire was tattered. The attire of his, was composed of rusty second-hand equipment, made from some sort of steel. It wasn¡¯t that dependable, but it was free so he kept it. And he felt strangely in tune to the shoddy armor. It was nearly a full-plate of armor, with parts of it chipped and broken, alongside the chainmail underneath showing signs of rapid degradation. Even the cloak he had on showed tears, at least from what he could see.


    Beneath the armor was normal clothing, or as normal as it could get. His original attire from earth had been long discarded in favor of this one, as it was much more ¡®resilient¡¯. It was a simple black shirt alongside leather pants, a utilitarian set of clothing. Even the underwear he wore was one such thing. It was a good thing, as this world he was in was seemingly stuck in a medieval age. But there had been inventions that shouldn¡¯t be in this world, yet they exist.


    ¡°I seem.. To be.. Fine? This, this is impossible.¡±


    Benedict muttered in disbelief, his eyes nearly bulging out, as he confirmed he was not wounded. He felt sore in almost every part of his body, but there wasn¡¯t anything that caused him pain, or indicated that he was dying. He was briefly relieved, until he looked over his person again. And realised something was missing. Several items was missing. First among them was his sword, followed by his necklace and his small bag of coins.


    It wasn¡¯t that surprising, but that made him curse in anger. As without his sword or bag of coins, he had little to no chance at all in properly surviving on his own. Perhaps as he was drag by the rushing rapids his items were flung off of him. But that couldn¡¯t explain as to why his necklace was missing. It may have fallen off like the rest, and he wasn¡¯t willing to find them again.


    ¡°No, no.. I shouldn¡¯t worry about my necklace, even if it has value to me.. Where the hell am I anyway?¡±


    His priorities shouldn¡¯t be on his necklace, it was to be on the situation at the moment. He turned his head to face the sound of moving water, and he widened his eyes at what he saw. There was a large lake, and to the further back was a waterfall. And he could see mountains from the furthest parts of the area, with snowy backdrops that may just be the place he came from.


    Then he lowered his gaze to the edges of the lake, and he saw what could only be drag marks. Where the ground was disturbed by something, or someone was being dragged to. They lead directly to him, and it meant that someone had deliberately dragged him from the water, yet they did not stay or even bother waking him.


    This was a confusing thing to know, but perhaps the person that found him thought he was dead? Of course he should be dead, that was a matter that he himself could not dispute. Even then if he was alive, if the person had left him here, that would mean death would come for him as he had no survival skills at all. Which he was only starting to regret now.


    ¡°Shit, shit, shit. I¡¯m gonna die here, on this stupid world. On a world where heretical GODS run around as if it¡¯s some fucking game!¡±


    Suddenly anger went into his mind, as the entire situation was brought about by the Gods of this world. Gods that, he himself, would never desire to worship. As there is only the One True God of humanity, and these were to him, are entities that deserved to be put to the torch. For it was them that had caused him, and several others to be teleported to this world. Breaking everything he knew about reality, and thrusting him to one where he would die alone.


    This anger was only intensified when he realized that, he may in fact have been robbed. As his necklace was suddenly gone alongside two other things. Certainly an opportunistic individual would have robbed him, or looted him rather. But for them to not show respect to his body, was unacceptable and it drove him further to an animalistic rage. Then with a sickening snap, a crunch of both flesh and bone something had hit the floor near him.


    ¡°What the hell?!¡±


    He was taken aback, quickly jumping back in surprise and fear. But something prevented him from doing so, and it was in the form of what could only be described as two spider legs. They were an ashy grey of color, made from a material that eerily resembled bones with muscles showing in their joints, with some outright coating parts of it. It was nearly twice as long as his entire height. And the way they looked made him remember of some sci-fi beings, primarily those that devour.


    ¡°Good God!¡±


    He screamed, partially in fear. As the sight of those two spider legs scared him, as they seem to have been fully embedded into the ground itself. Their tips clearly having punctured the earth with little to no effort. This only served to make him move away, but when he tried to turn and run, he would feel a tug at his shoulder blades and fall down. He yelped at that, hitting the ground face first was not something he wanted to ever experience.


    ¡°Fuck, that hurt..¡±


    Groaning as he looked up, pushing against the ground with his hands, he noticed a chilling fact. Those very spider legs, were in fact, connected to him. And only now he started to feel sensations coming from it. Like how a limb would feel, and it caused him to scream again. It caused his heart to beat rapidly as his head tried to explain why it was connected to him.


    ¡°Oh shit, I am a host for a fucking parasite?! Oh God no!¡±


    The last thing he ever wanted, was to be a host for a parasite. And he remembered from a particular souls game, that there were enemies that had been humans being used by spiders. This made him reach out to pat his back, desperately trying to feel the parasite that he thought would be on his back. But to his dismay and surprise, there was nothing that indicated such a being. He would touch his shoulders then, initially feeling nothing out of place.


    All he could feel from touching his back or shoulder, was the cloak and the metal of his armor. And occasionally the leather on some parts of his armor. Then he felt something on his shoulder blade, where a part of the armor was rent and torn. He nearly had cut himself, if not for the metal gauntlets he wore. He could vaguely feel the sharp parts of the damage, and there was indeed a hole on that particular part of the cloak he wore. Then he had gripped something hard. Akin to bone, but he could feel his touch upon. Feel the grip he had on it. And it startled him, causing him to desperately let go and stand up.


    The two spider limbs lifted up, scattering dirt as the part that was stuck in it was taken out. To his shock and horror, the tip of the spider limbs was not what one would expect. They were, scythes. Shaped like the blade of scythes. Bone-like growth forming into a natural scythe, with flesh connecting it to the rest of the limb. The edges of the scythe itself had some muscles wrapping around them, and on the base of it was a pulsating organ of sorts. Clearly pumping out a nearly clear substance that dripped from the tip of the scythe.


    The sight was utterly terrifying. If he was in a much better frame of mind, he would find them fascinating. And utterly ¡®cool¡¯ so to speak, but now in this situation, the sheer unnatural biological weapon before him was terrifying. Something so inhuman and unnatural being a part of him, was a thing he could not comprehend properly.


    ¡°Oh no no no no. This can¡¯t be real.. This cannot be real.¡±


    He voiced his thoughts in disbelief, staring at the two new limbs he had. Fluidly as if it was not unnatural, they would be reeled in and fold on his back. It wasn¡¯t a full folding as the limbs drooped down from his shoulder, especially the scythes which was near his chest. The large scythe-blade could be said to be the claw of these spider legs he had, but to his knowledge spiders had multiple tiny claws. Not just a single one.


    And this very blade reminded him of undead abominations from a survival horror game. Something about the dead being in space. He was slowly calming down at the realization that this were his limbs, but it was unnerving for him and made him wish this was just a dream. But it was no dream, as everything was clear, and the limbs felt like a part of him. Something numb, but still a part of him.


    ¡°This is real.. God, this is real. Why! Of all the things I could have gotten, from diseases to an arrow to the heel! Why this!¡±


    Hesitantly, he tried to calm down. His hands holding his head as he combed his hair a bit. The cool sensation of the gauntlets giving him a short reprieve from the situation. Try as he might, the shock of the situation was too great. One he had managed to survive a jump from a cliff, ending up on a place he knew not of. Two he had lost three things, one of which contained the currency of this world. And three, he had these new limbs.


    ¡°No, think Benedict. You just have to calm down.. You just have to calm down. You have some rather¡­ awesome limbs now! Limbs that scream ¡®I¡¯M A GOD DAMNED ABOMINATION PLEASE BURN ME ON A CROSS¡¯. Certainly you can return to civilization and live a normal life!¡±


    There were many downsides to having these two new limbs. And it almost made him wish to chip them off, but the good thing about them which were simply too few, made him reconsider. He was unarmed, and certainly lost. There isn¡¯t even a guarantee that he would find civilization again anytime soon.


    Reluctantly, he had forced himself to accept the situation. It wasn¡¯t that hard, and it worried him the first time. But ever since had been forcefully thrown into this world, he had just accepted everything. Most of the time it worked, and he at least had given himself a false sense of normality from what he saw. But this was one of the times he couldn¡¯t fully bring himself to accept a thing he saw, especially when it is a part of him now.


    ¡°Alright. Perhaps this isn¡¯t as bad as my previous situation.¡±


    Even then if he would accept these new limbs. And quite possibly use them for their intended purpose from their look, how would he even move them? His brain is wired to only have two arms, how is he to gain the ability to move these new limbs when he could barely feel them at all? Certainly just thinking about it wouldn¡¯t be that useful.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well.. How do people with more than two arms move their arms? I¡¯m pretty sure those stuck-up Nobles said something about other races.. Aside from Humans, Elves and several other races that will certainly be happy to kill me! Glorious!¡±


    He sighed, dejected that his situation won¡¯t truly improve. Not when he was spending nearly all his time at the moment complaining.


    ¡°You know what. I¡¯m going to try and make these new limbs work.. I don¡¯t have anything else that could act as a weapon. These sharp scythe-like.. Scythe.. Scything claws seem to be perfect for defending myself. Or obviously killing something.¡±


    He was also curious as to why he had these new limbs. There was real magic in this world, allowing individuals to just defy the laws of reality and setting their own. It was mind boggling at first, then it turned to be particularly heretical for him, as it made some individuals act as if they were god-incarnate due to it. If magic could defy reality, it could also forcefully induce rapid mutation to an individual. That line of thought didn¡¯t comfort him, as he wondered if it also caused someone to have literal cancer.


    ¡°Now that I have closer look at them.. They don¡¯t really resemble spider legs properly? They are not separated into four segments, but rather three from what I can see..¡±


    Regardless of what they are, Benedict had decided to use them. Certainly if it grew out of him, due to some ungodly reason, it was a good thing? There may have been worse things happening to the denizens of this world, and this may just be a great boon for his current situation. He was only human, in a world where Gods walk among men, and races thought to be seen fantasy to actually exist.


    It was a baffling concept that he had only dreamed of, in lonely days and during class lectures. But now that it is real, he had wished he was never in this situation. As the reality of such a world, was far cruel than the one he came from. With deep breaths, Benedict would carefully try to will his new limbs to work. Using thoughts to try and feel them, which did nothing for a few tries.


    It was a frustrating experience for Benedict, whose erratic temperament caused him to begin yelling in frustration. But when his anger began to creep in, he would feel the limbs react. Unfurling slowly as if they were ready to strike out, Benedict looked at them in surprise. His anger nearly fading, until he idly thought for one of the limbs to lash out on the ground.


    Without the sickening snap and sound of flesh, one of the limbs quickly slashed at the ground. Cleanly cutting through the earth and leaving some of that strange liquid coating its blade on it. It quickly returned to its original position alongside the other, similar to how a praying mantis may prepare to strike. With another thought, a simple desire to destroy something, both scything-blades lash out again on the ground. Repeating the same result as the first strike, cleanly cutting through the earth.


    Then, as if in response to this discovery. A surge of hunger came to him, his stomach growling as an indescribable desire to feast on food manifested itself. He remembered then, that as he ran from Isalabi, the kingdom or city he was summoned to, he had not ate at all. He was starting to feel the hunger, the need to eat. It was a strange desire though, as it wasn¡¯t truly natural. It urged him to seek out something to feast upon, something to sink his scything-blades into.


    And he nearly gave into that desire, as he turned around to where the sounds of birds chirping was. It came from a forest, a thick swathe of forest. Several metres away from him, with trees that look as if they had been standing in this very land for millennia. They were towering giants, far larger than the trees he had ever seen from Isalabi, or earth for that matter.


    There were smaller trees below them, sized normally as one might expect. But Benedict couldn¡¯t help but gawk at the large trees. Their trunks varied in thickness, but the most common thickness was the length of a small truck. If their size and thickness was any indication at all, they were glorious. And this implied only one thing to Benedict. With all the knowledge he had amassed from cartoons, novels, games and the ramblings from Jio, he could only come to one conclusion.


    ¡°This is a holy ground.¡±


    What else might explain the sheer size of the trees? And the large body of water behind him was also unnaturally blue. Almost clear enough to be drinkable. Assuming that there was nothing in there that may kill him, or poison him.


    He was almost reluctant to walk to that forest and enter it, walking under the shade of its large branches and seeking out a way to survive. It was like a grand adventure, where he was the hero of his very own story. In a quest to clear his name, and find his friends. But he was not that optimistic, and chances are he would be killed by any sapient thing he would encounter.


    Still despite that, he would resort to trekking through the field of grass and into the large forests. He dubbed them ¡®Forests of Giants¡¯, as it was a fitting name. And would obviously hold beings that had specifically adapted to the large trees, meaning that they may as well be titanic monstrosities.


    His scything-claws as he now called them, had returned to their ¡®inert¡¯ position. Strangely feeling weightless and natural. And as time went on, he felt more in tune with them. Feeling a connection slowly establish itself with these new limbs of his. Barring the hunger he felt, he felt great. Even in his rather unfit state, he wasn¡¯t feeling particularly tired or bad.


    The trek towards the forest was a long one, as he had to cover a particularly large clearing. Not enough that it would take an hour for him to cross, but large enough that running would be a better option to cross it. But there was something that caught his attention, making him slowly walk.


    ¡°Are those¡­¡±


    Dotting the grassy clearing, was what seemed to be stone obelisks. It was ancient, and they numbered in at least dozens. Each one in a varying state of ruin. With moss or vines growing over them, hiding away the features of the obelisks. This convinced him further that this place was indeed a holy site, or at least some place of great importance.


    From what he could see, each obelisk was placed in a pattern. A pattern he could not deduce. The most prominent of these obelisks was near the forest. In what he could only be described as an entrance, due to the ground there looking as if it was a road, with the soil being beaten down to look even and be capable of allowing wagons to move on its surface.


    It was also particularly strange, that there were no signs of animals in the clearing. But he could clearly hear the sounds of birds chirping from the forest, despite it being relatively far. And without those chirping, the very area he treaded upon would be silent.


    ¡°I like this.¡±


    He said, breathing in crisp air that reminded him of home. Or parts of his home that did not reek in pollution. Complain as he might, he had to admit secretly that he was deeply fascinated with this world. But now, he had to reel in that fascination as he was approaching the very obelisk near the path. It was a large thing, easily dwarfing the normal sized trees that it stood near to.


    Unlike the other obelisks, it was clean. Not in the sense it was new, but in the sense that it was being tended to. As one might expect, it had ¡®runes¡¯ engraved into its surface. It was not similar to the nordic rune present in earth, but rather closely resembling egyptian hieroglyphics combined with something else. He was no linguist, but there was something about these runes that evoked a sense of peace.


    ¡°Whatever this is, it seems truly important.¡±


    He nodded to that, as his eyes went down to observe the base of the obelisk. He wouldn¡¯t spend much time staring at the runes or letters engraved on its surface, as he couldn¡¯t read it, nor even comprehend their purpose. But at the base, he would see several wooden bowls. Each filled with something, and near them, around the base of the obelisk was a variety of items. As if they were offerings.


    ¡°Is this supposed to be.. An altar?¡±


    He crouched and examined one of the bowls, not daring to touch it. One of them contained coins, similar in shape to the ones he had. But obviously not belonging to the country he recently escaped from. The coins were, gold, silver and copper. Each one having a face of some humanoid thing, with the same runes circling the faces. There was even food in the other bowls. Fruits, pieces of meat, even bottles of liquid. They all looked so tempting to take and eat.


    ¡°No no no no. They may be poisoned.¡±


    He swallowed his saliva, which threatened to slip out of his half opened mouth. He reached out to gently touch one of the bottles of liquid, but only going that far before taking his hand back.


    ¡°I am hungry, I am lost, and I may aswell be a monster. But I am no thief.¡±


    He was hungry, very much so that it was nearly painful to be in such a state. But Benedict, knowing that this was a world of true fantasy, was reluctant and fearful of taking these apparent offerings to this obelisk. It was like a shrine, a shrine to something. And with that fact, he did not want to risk anything. Instead, he would stand up and laugh.


    ¡°Stupid, stupid..¡±


    He was not the most honorable person in the world, nor was he even one of the people considered to be good. But there was just something, about this obelisk, that made him not dare to steal from it. It was not that he feared a curse, but rather it felt wrong for him to steal from something like a religious altar. Shakily his fingers curled to a fist, his legs bringing him away from the obelisks and its offerings, and into the beaten dirt road to the forest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll regret this soon, very.. Very soon.¡±


    He looked back as he walked away from the obelisk. His brows furrowing as his eyes looked upon the food on the bowls, then to the runes on the obelisk itself. A sense of regret, anger and strangely, pride welling up inside of him, alongside his hunger. The hunger, it was there, that urge. His mouth opened, watering at the memory of the fresh food he just turned his back on.


    A low growl, not unlike the ones he constantly does when he is frustrated, escaped his mouth. It was primal and human, but something one would not expect from an individual such as Benedict. He walked under the shade of the large trees, his mind slowly growing strangely clearer as he observed his surroundings.


    He was alone, that much was certain. The chirping he had heard minutes ago still rang out, but as he went further into the forest, it seemed to grow distant. As if the source was not within the forest, but somewhere outside it, near the lake. The silence that followed next allowed him to feel how clear his mind was, but that clearness was disturbed by the hunger he felt again.


    ¡°Shit.. I really should have eaten those offerings..¡±


    Not wanting to turn back, Benedict continued to walk. He was no stranger to hunger, as it was a natural thing to feel. Especially when he had missed several times to eat in his old world, partially due to his unhealthy sleeping habits, and total immersion to gaming. This hunger was something innately different, it was a result of him needing to eat, that one was obvious. But it had another layer to it, something he could not describe or properly understand.


    ¡°Considering I have been passed out for who knows how long.. It is natural I would be.. This hungry.¡±


    He sighed, rubbing his mouth with the palm of his armored hand. The sensation of the cool metal on his rugged skin sending a short shiver down his spine. Idly he gently bit down on that armored hand of his, not doing any damage, as he would nom on it to pass the time. It didn¡¯t help that he felt hungry, if his hunger was entirely something else he would have started biting down on his own hand. But the taste of the metal was not to his liking, and even then he disliked cannibalism. Not only was the thought of such an act disgusting to him, it was quite detrimental to him in many ways.


    He would walk aimlessly for what felt like minutes, barely noticing the world around him. The feeling of clarity was still there, and yet it was overshadowed by the hunger he felt. It reminded him of something, something he had heard from this world. He could not recall it properly, causing him to hit the side of his head with his left palm, angrily grunting as he stopped munching on his right hand.


    Narrowing his eyes in irritation, Benedict would be broken out of his thoughts by the sound of grass being rustled. And right before his eyes, a herd of something passed by. They resembled large stags, though their form was far different from that of the ones found in earth. Their necks was much longer, and they lack any sort of horns, and their hide was of a black hue alongside their head being without eyes. Not only that, their heads were strangely skull-like, with them sporting large ears constantly twitching here and there for the sound of an incoming predator.


    It was an eerie sight as they passed him, going deeper into the forest. Though instead of simply allowing them to pass, marveling at just how strange and creepy they were. Benedict salivated at the sight.


    ¡°Meat..¡±


    A chance to feed the hunger he felt, with the flesh of these strange creatures before him. It was a prospect that he could not deny, as that very desire to feed came and filled his mind. Without him realising it, he had began to sprint after them, his scything-blades raised high as he grinned with hungry eyes. The strange beasts reacted almost instantly at the first instance of his foot hitting the floor towards them, the sound of rattling armor alerting them of something.


    They fled away from him quickly, though maintaining their herd formation. Strange cries akin to a pained moan and a grunt from a human came from the creatures, which served to further encourage him to give chase.


    -


    ¡°Child, where did you find this?¡±


    An aged voice prattled in the air, kind and soothing like wind blowing through the hollow trunks of ancient trees. It came from a hunched figure, human-like with features resembling closely to that of the ones found on humanity. Yet this hunched figure was no human, as his skin was unnaturally pale. His eyes glowing blue, with no hints of the true nature of his eyes being shown beneath. Curving horns extended out from his temple, black in color and its surface carved by runes.


    His wrinkled face looked onto an object on his thin hands. He furrowed his brows as his other hand stroked the long flowing beard he had, as he pondered on about the object he held. He looked up briefly, to a person in front of him. A young girl belonging to his own kind, nearly far taller than him in his hunched state.


    ¡°Elder..¡±


    The girl started, bowing respectfully before the old man. She was similar to the hunched figure, but different enough that one would think they were not related by blood. Her voice was like silk, echoing forth with gentle ease that it was not supposed to be possible in reality. She had tanned skin, a beautiful face that evoked a sense of nobility and kindness. Reminding one of tales relating to priestesses that were the embodiments of their Gods.


    She had ivory horns, four of them jutting out and curving back, each one decorated with both runes and circlets. Unlike the elder before her, her eyes were not glowing. And one would be able to see her yellow irises. Faintly glowing blue in the dim room she was in.


    ¡°I found it on a human body, floating on the lake of cleansing within the fields of altars. From the smell alone, the body has been dead for at least a week.¡±


    She looked at the item on the Elder¡¯s hand. It was a necklace, unlike anything she had seen in this world. It was reminiscent of human necklaces, but far different. As it was completely made from some manner of metal that was quite resilient. It was bead-like and had several trinkets hanging from it, one was a strange ring that had a blue crystal on its middle, a once golden and rusting key, and another key that looked small and strange. There was also a wooden statue, small and strangely shaped in some form of a lion.


    But there was another, a symbol. It was engraved on a small slab of metal that hanged in the middle among all the others. At the front, some sort of dragon was engraved, it did not have any hindlegs and resembled no living dragon in this world, be it true or mythical ones. Behind strange words were marked upon it, letters belonging to a language that her people had never encountered.


    ¡°Clearly this belongs to some sort of noble. What did you do to the body? Did you bury it within the field Salia?¡±


    The Elder asked, his voice expressing worry and curiosity. It was natural, as for a human body to be found on that lake, it meant that it came from up north, further north into the lonely frost.


    ¡°No Elder, I do not know the customs of how to bury the dead belonging to humanity.. ¡°


    She lowered her head in shame, causing a gentle smile to come from the Elder as he offered the necklace to her.


    ¡°Describe the body to me. I am certain that I at the very least would know from which land this human came from.¡±


    Salia tilted her head in confusion as he took the necklace in her hands, gently holding onto it as she feels a strange thing from it. Something primal. But she shook it off as she nodded, quickly trying to describe the body, even when she expected to be scolded for just leaving the body there and not honoring it.


    ¡°It was a male, a young man to be exact, no older than eighteen summers from what I could see. His skin was utterly pale, Elder, as if he had been submerged in chilling water for quite sometime before he had reached the lake. He wore a cloak over his incomplete set of plate-mail, there were no indications on the armor if he belonged to any Knight Order or Mercenary Company, or even an adventuring guild.¡±


    The Elder nodded, trying to straighten his posture as he leaned back on the chair he sat on. He looked slightly confused, as it was unusual for an armored individual to have any sort of marking. Perhaps it was the necklace he wore was the marking, relating to a noble house he had yet to know of.


    ¡°Continue Salia, what did his armor look like? And what of his facial features? Was there anything that set him apart from the humans we have seen?¡±


    Salia looked thoughtful for a moment. It was as if she was looking for the words to describe the looks of the young male she saw. Opening her full lips and showing her slightly sharp but pearly white teeth, she spoke slowly as a small blush crossed her face.


    ¡°He was, strangely handsome Elder. Unlike many of the young humans I have seen, noble and peasant alike.. He was different. His skin was brown, was before it became pale from his chilling death. And yet, his face held a sort of enduring nobility even in death. He could be described with a near gaunt-like face, his sharp nose, thin eyebrows and frowning face painted him as a noble. One that rarely smiled it seems.. I couldn¡¯t see his eyes however, as it was disrespectful to open the closed eyes of the deceased.¡±


    The Elder stared blankly at her, not too familiar with the qualities Salia had said. Regardless it caused him to stand, shaking his head as he motioned for the girl to follow him.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t truly helpful. But regardless, we must go to the body. We cannot let it rot in our holy ground. Plus, we need to return that to its body, as we may earn the ire of its spirit. Humans are particularly possessive, even more so than dragons at times.¡±


    Salia widened her eyes at his, looking a bit fearful as she followed the Elder. She looked down on her hand for a moment, staring at the strange writings on the slab with the dragon on it. Unknown to her, the writings said this.


    No hope, only faith. As we endure through this life to earn absolution through suffering, may we earn forgiveness for our mistakes once we stand with our lord.


    To: Benedict Ligare


    From: Jio Seighart, Carleon Krieger. Your greatest friends.

 Chapter Two: Gory Realization

    ¡°You are among the many summoned. Chosen by the will of the many Gods within our humble world. We beseech thee, stand with us and aid us in preparing for a coming evil. One that has never graced our lands before!¡±


    - King Asairos Basalos; Eve of Summoning


    Panic ran across the forest, as a herd of strange beasts fled from an unseen predator. The eyeless things galloped in desperation, as their large ears twitched constantly for the sound of grass being disturbed. Their unnatural bodies, lithe in almost every way possible showed their speed, displaying it with unerring steps. With the black color of their skin, they nearly seamlessly disappeared into the shade of the forests, but the deep blackness of their pelts gave away their position.


    Despite moving like living shadows, letting out shrieks in strange intervals, their pursuer was nowhere to be seen. Yet they still ran, fearful of what chased them. They were docile animals, ones that rarely disturbed anyone as they lived peacefully within the forest, barely being hunted by anything within their home. And yet now their peaceful lives were threatened by something.


    Breaking the silence with a guttural roar, a figure came hurtling through the bushes with inhuman savagery. The rattling of metal rang out, further terrifying the poor beasts that pushed themselves to run further. The figure chased after them, a strange gait lent its cloaked form an eerie feel. From its back disturbing limbs protruded out of its cloak, bony spider-like limbs wrapped in flesh, ending with a cruel scythe-like blade made from bone.


    They hit the ground almost silently, only making a soft ¡®thud¡¯ as they acted as another set of legs. It was a twisted thing, clawing against the ground as the entity chased after the beings. It could not hope to catch them, as his speed was far slower than the animals he chased after. Yet with feral determination it continued to give chase.


    The hood that nearly covered the entire of the figure¡¯s face shifted slightly, revealing the frowning face of Benedict. His features showing a rage barely held back, as his brown eyes seemed to gleam with a murderous need. Such a need was obviously that to devour, and as the chase continued it grew maddening. To the point that he did not know if it was whether his desire, or something else, regardless he was consumed by this, egging him on to continue running.


    He was akin to a beast, shaped in the form of a human but clearly something else now. The beasts he chased knew the land very well, despite their lack of sight. In contrast he fumbled around like a mindless monster, passing through bushes in a violent flurry of rage. Quite literally lashing out at them as if they would simply be destroyed. Yet such a reaction proved less effective on fallen trees, requiring him to vault over them or find a new route entirely.


    Without a semblance of self, he followed them deeper into the forest. The light that passed through the canopy slowly dimmed, the area slowly being engulfed in a gentle dark. This did not deter the maddened boy, his eyes perpetually glancing towards the many beasts of the herd, waiting for a chance to take one of them. Soon however, something else began to light the forest as he continued his chase.


    Hanging plants, almost like typical orchids set the darkening forest in luminescent light. Their form wrapped around the trunk of the trees, or even covering the entirety of it. They were beautiful as their strange bodies was covered with flowers, varying in both size and design. But all emitting a gentle glow that helped shine the way for Benedict, who did not even notice the strange plants.


    Their glow was natural in this world, far greater than that found in the plants and animals of earth. Most likely in thanks to the thick mana present around this forest, which Benedict cared not for. He vaulted another fallen tree, almost tripping over as his scything-blades worked to keep him balance in that savage slouch of his. He growled in frustration, he could not properly keep in pace with the things he hunted.


    A chance to feed would then present itself, as he witnessed one of the beasts start to slow. It was a barely noticeable thing to see, underneath the gloom of the forest. Even when the glow of the hanging plants lit the path, the panicked creatures prove to hard targets under the dark. Their close formation did not allow Benedict to properly see them as individual entities, but more akin to a mass of moving dark, desperately fleeing from him.


    But as the chase went on, deeper into the forest where new plants showed itself, that the slowing beast became more obvious. Until it was joined by three others, eventually slowing down to the point that he could possibly leap at one of them. His eyes widened in unmistakable glee, his steps almost gaining more speed as he prepared to strike one of them down.


    He continued the chase for a little bit more, looking around for anything that may hinder him for a moment. There was nothing that could properly stop him, as long as he wasn¡¯t careless in this chase of his. Taking his chance, just as the lagging animals tried to catch up to the main herd, Benedict raised his scything-blades.


    With a leap, alongside with his scything-blades quickly slamming down on the ground to aid him in that, he tackled one of the beasts. Slamming against its hindquarters with such force that he groaned in pain, with the creature he had hit buckling under the force. Almost instantly they crashed on the ground, with the sound of terrified squeals coming from the creature.


    It begun to struggle as Benedict held onto it. His body being near it when they had crashed, his hands darting out to grab on one of its hindlegs. He looked to it, as it tried to kick his hand away. He roared at the beast, sending out spittle as he pulled it roughly towards him. His scything-limbs pushed him up as his other hand grabbed its other leg.


    The beast whined and started to struggle, the poor thing trying to escape the clutches of the hungry Benedict. It was a futile act as he held onto its hind legs tightly, his armored fingers wrapped around tightly on it. With startling ease, Benedict suddenly lifted the beast up, allowing it to yelp in surprise. Before slamming it back down, making its particularly large torso hit the ground.


    It yelped again, letting out a distressed cry. Trying to call for its kind to come back and help it, yet none would dare come back. As their kind had not evolved to deal with any predators, not even in the thousands of years they had existed. This was a glaring mistake in their part, and a strange thing. But it was a great boon to Benedict, as this animal was an easy meal now.


    For a moment, he looked at the animal. His eyes looking on with fascination and unmistakable confusion, as if the previous display of rabid hunger, was not of his own accord. The animal¡¯s whines was unnervingly human to his ears, its constant struggling and attempt to escape his clutches implied it was more than some strange beast. But that fascination and confusion on his eyes would only last for a solid minute, quickly being replaced with that unnatural intensity of a hungry beast.


    Without hesitation, his scything-blades lifted up high. Before it was slammed down to the poor animal, hitting it right in its chest, effortlessly piercing through its thick skin and into the organs within. The animal screamed then, only for the scything-blades to sink deeper as Benedict let its legs go. Clearly he had pierced through its ribcage, but he felt as if it was not enough.


    The scything-blades lifted themselves up, allowing him to see clearly the two puncture wounds he had inflicted on the beast. One was located on its belly, the other near its chest. Thick red blood would come bleeding out after, as a momentary flash of amusement came across his face.


    He looked up to the scything-blades of his, and found them covered in the blood of the creature. Gently the blood dripped down from it, splattering all over the ground. He turned his attention back to the animal, and found it to be still alive. Hanging on despite the deep wounds he had given to it. It had even stopped bleeding, an occurrence he could not accept and one that made him angry.


    With another inhuman roar, he brought down his scything-blades. At first they would hit the same point, into its middle. Before he lifted them again, and slammed them back down to its lower belly and neck. Slowly he began hacking away at the body, splattering blood all over the ground he was in. Painting nearly everything that was near in red.


    Pieces of the animal was flung around the area, hitting the trees and plants with a sickening splat. As the scything-blades themselves worked not to kill the animal, but to feed an anger that urged them tear the animal apart.


    He then would stop, when the animal was barely whole. Where its entrails pooled disgustingly on the ground, alongside the rest of its blood. Pieces of its ribcage littered the same place, and its lungs, heart and other organs was almost fully intact. With its head being left whole, whilst the neck that connected it was torn into many pieces.


    Following that, his hands picked up some pieces of the creature. The smell of fresh blood and viscera permeated the place, surely drawing in other hungry beasts that would smell it. But Benedict was occupied with his kill, the aroma of its rich bloodied parts sent him to a frenzy. Without any hesitation he shoveled them into his mouth, greedily munching on them as he swallowed them into his gullet.


    The flesh he ate was delicious to him, making him desire more. Its taste being like that of typically raw venison, but with a sweet after-taste to it, most likely due to its blood, or simply due to his hunger. For a time he just sat there on his knees, shoving pieces of his kill into his mouth.


    His mind was slowly becoming clear as he continued to eat. Each consumption of flesh was reinvigorating, as if the very being of the beast was fueling him. To Benedict, this would seem be just the effect of finally filling his hunger. But it was another thing, as he was directly consuming the mana within the beast, mana which soaked the entire body of every single living thing in this world. He was in essence, devouring what made a being unique in this world.


    ¡°I¡­ need.. More..¡±


    On his knees he allowed himself to relish in the feeling of being full. It was a peaceful moment for him, amongst the bloodied earth and plants, he was there, basking in the afterglow of what he had just committed. It felt as if he was at home, sitting within the white painted walls of his home, enjoying the sheer monotony of his life. Even going as far as to close his eyes, smiling contentedly


    Then he opened them slowly, the look of hunger to them was truly fading now. Slowly the hunger that overtook him faded, and with it his sanity returned. First he blankly stared at the scene he had just caused. He did not feel anything from it, aside form a sense of happiness and pride, alongside a desire to taste more of the creature. It is as if it was a casual thing to him, similar to eating a normal meal in his old life.


    ¡°It.. can¡¯t be..¡±


    He chuckled, bringing his bloodied hands to cover his face. He could smell the blood clearly, more clearly than before. It was like a sweet perfume to him, that led him to almost drool. He could remember everything that happened, from the moment he had seen the herd of strange creatures, to the act of devouring one of them.


    But he could not feel anything negative from what he had done. He did not feel disgust, shock or even fear from that. It was simply as if the very thing was just right, a normal thing for him. But Benedict could not even bring himself to rationalise what he had just done, and yet here he was, slowly laughing as blood dripped from his hands and scything-blades.


    ¡°Am I¡­¡±


    He parted his fingers slightly, letting him see through and witness the scene he had wrought. It was something done by him, and he could not deny it. He was sure that if he was consumed by anger, he would do this. He was confident in that, knowing that he had an irrational well of rage within him, that he could easily tap in and unleash towards the most inane of reasons.


    ¡°No longer¡­ human?¡±


    It was strange, everything now he accepted. When he knew that he wouldn¡¯t have believed it normally. He felt no shock, no disgust, no fear, or even anger over this. As if those emotions simply refused to register in his mind. When it should have, as any normal human would feel those. And he was no insane being, he was simply a normal student, wanting to live.


    So, what then could he do? What could he do, when this very act showed how he was slowly becoming less human. How animalistic he could be, if he would give in. But he didn¡¯t give in, in truth he felt as if what he did was the right thing. The most logical thing he could do. But it wasn¡¯t, if he in the right state of mind, he would have killed the beast, yes he would, but not needlessly hacking it to pieces.


    He then would have attempted to create a fire, and then cook it. But he didn¡¯t, he did what he had done, and he felt pride from it. Unable to stop his mouth from curling into a smile, causing him to laugh now. Laughing as if he had simply witnessed or heard the most funniest thing ever.


    ¡°God.. This day is just getting worse..¡±


    Worse still he couldn¡¯t even shed a tear, even when started to feel the need to cry. It had began to unnerved him as he realised this would become a problem. Making him begin to feel fear for what he could possibly become in the future. Then as he was just about to begin fearing himself, that very feeling faded. It was not like as if his emotions were being limited, or was being forcefully stopped should it reach a certain point.


    But simply because he felt this was right. It was not of his own accord. This feeling of being in the right, it was not him consciously wanting it to be right, it was being put into him by something. He turned his head, to the scything-blades he had, and he noticed now that their blades were mostly clean. Mostly, as if they had absorbed the blood and flesh that presumably stuck to them.


    He assumed that it was because of these scything-blades. But he could not confirm if they were parasitic, forcing him to sate their need for flesh. It had to be something else, and still it was tied to this new limbs. But more in relation to his obvious descent into inhumanity. He had witnessed this, in a way it mirrored the many alien and infected transformations he had seen in his life. And how closely this limb paralleled one of those aliens, and even the hunger was like those typical infecteds.


    This surely was no coincidence, as it was all too specific for this behaviour he showed to be just some random side-effect. But how could he fight this, when it made him feel that it was normal.


    As he would begin to think deeper into his situation, on how he could possibly deal with this creeping change that was inevitably tied to his own survival. He realised that if he would stay here, he would be drawn into a fight. Quickly, he pushed aside the thought about his growing change, in favor of finding a better place to stay in.


    He looked up then, noticing the luminescent plants for the first time. Though as beautiful as they are, he did not continue staring at them, but to something beyond them. The thick canopy that crossed together was a strange thing to him, there had to be hundreds of connecting branches for a part of this forest to be covered in dark, and nearly as far as he could see, everything was dark. Save for the light these plants offered.


    This would make his desire to find a better place to hole up in, to be quite a hard thing to achieve. But without any other choice, he would simply sigh as he pushed himself up to stand. With him then walking pass the devoured corpse of the creature he ate. His scything-blades once more acted like another set of limbs, fluidly letting him walk in his usual slouched state.


    ¡°At least this¡­ this.. Situation is far better than the time I was first pulled to this world.. Or being in that stupid kingdom.¡±


    He could remember the kingdom, the city of it. Isalabi it was called, a strange name to him. Its white walls was what greeted him and his two friends, surrounded by not only armored knights, but other students. As if they were taken for a very specific reason. He knew then, as quickly as anyone in the situation could guess, that it was reality and not some trick. But the shock of being pulled from your world to another, remained.


    He held that shock for a good week or so, whilst the others slowly accepted their situation. He saw it clearly, even his two friends accepting the situation. The way they bowed to the excuses given by the King, the oracle, even by the princesses and nobility that ¡®supported¡¯ them. But he, and a few others knew that it was a lie. Or some of it were.


    Without finding the real reason behind the motivations of the individuals that supported them, Benedict and the few others that had doubts couldn¡¯t voice their thoughts. In fear that they may be persecuted for it, or to fall under the shadow and be left behind. Of course it was only logical for them to fear that, as he recalled what one of the princesses told them.


    ¡°There are a multitude of Gods within Jasolem. Humanity has nearly about thirty-five, with twelve being considered to belong to the main pantheon of our kingdom. Of course other races have their own gods, for example our elven allies have twenty.


    But nonetheless, among those many gods. You summoned will find some of them vying for your.. Attention so to speak, trying to convince you to be their champions. It is one of the reasons as to why you were summoned, to allow their powers to be used against the dark that lurks. We know not what this.. Dark that lurks, but we know one thing.


    It is beyond this world.¡±


    Who would pass up a chance to be the champion of a God? Certainly not the majority of the summoned, as one of them, Damien, the blonde-kid that persecuted him with great fervor during that chase, was chosen by a God of Light. It was both hilarious and distasteful for Benedict, as these individuals wholeheartedly gave themselves to the possibility of becoming something greater.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.He was glad however, that Carleon and Jio had listened to him. When he began to ramble that this was too convenient, and that they should not just easily accept the offers of the Gods of this world. It was surprisingly easy to convince them, as they had shared his doubts after a week within this world. But it also offered another problem, as they were ¡®Godless¡¯, summoned without the blessings of a God. To the eyes of the nobility, and their fellow summoned, they were a liability.


    For they did not have the enhanced capabilities of the other summoned. Benedict could bear that discrimination, but he could not bear it when his very friends were subject to the same treatment. But they were firm in their choice, as they slowly realized that there was a deeper reason within their situation. In that reasoning of theirs, they had promised to him that they would only bow to a god only if it was necessary.


    Yet the blessing of a God was necessary. As Benedict had told them that the very world they live in, was more than likely to contain beasts that no normal man could beat. He had also said that it was unlikely that any of them had any mana within them, barring those blessed by the Gods. If they remained Godless as the other summoned had called them, they would be dead in two months, assuming they would still persevere in fulfilling their ¡®goal¡¯. The goal which was given to them by the ones that summoned them.


    Benedict would scoff at that, the thought of willingly giving his life for this cause that was not of his own. It was as laughable as the choice of bowing to another God. He had abandoned the teachings of his religion, the religion that had been within his homeland since the Spaniards took hold of it, and yet he still believed firmly in the one true God.


    Why would he quickly adopt the another God? Worse yet, become its champion? He could not lie that it was tempting, that he had dreamed to be adventuring in a land of fantasy, saving the world and being in good terms with Gods. But when it had become reality however, the very offer was too convenient, too easy in a sense.


    Of course in exchange was for them to fight against a coming dark. Which surely would spell doom to this world, and them if they failed. But how could they, a gathering of nearly forty-five students even be the hope against a coming dark? A dark which he assumes to be some evil entity, or even an alien race. What difference could they make?


    But with magic existing, he had an inkling that their nature as beings from another world plays right into it. As he could remember, this world was called Jasolem. A large world filled with a multitude of races, with numerous lands that dot the world itself. The Lonely Frost, was one such land, the very land in which the city of Isalabi was located, the capital of the Ivory Union.


    The land was a lonely place, as its name was any indication. But it held many secrets, alongside the fact that the entire region was surprisingly protected by a wall of mountains that couldn¡¯t be natural, as if it was keeping something from getting out. Not only that, the Snow Elves lived within there too, alongside the humans of that place, forming the Ivory Union.


    They had a four-way monarch system, which to him did not make sense at all. Since it was essentially just a king and queen from both races, acting under the behest of their people. Which was simply an alliance, one that lasted far longer than usual, and was more intimate than any other he had ever seen. This had the strange effect of making their two cultures merge in a way, with both Snow Elf and Humans interacting with little to no conflict at all.


    But he doubted that it was all that, he had to consider the political aspect of this. How did politics work within the Ivory Union? As there was obviously numerous nobility among them, enough that there had been some ¡®gifts¡¯ given to summoned who had displayed exemplary actions. Some even openly sent tutors to nurture the growing power of those summoned.


    He had also heard about Adventuring Guilds, and even other similar guilds that focused on much more darker business. Though there was the Merchant Guild, Mage Guild alongside the Adventuring Guild, with different names of course, but known to the locals as these for simplicity¡¯s sake. They offered a variety of jobs, which individuals like Benedict could earn money from, and even acquire equipment.


    Though he only knew of these from the Lonely Frost, and he could remember that he was near the town of Plorty when he was running away from the summoned, and that elf. Aniara La¡¯Rissa Malteris, that was the name of that Elf. He remembered that she was assigned to be the ¡®survival¡¯ instructor of the summoned, being a rather cold individual to many males that tried to hit on her.


    ¡°Cold beauty..¡±


    That was what he could describe her, though she wasn¡¯t like those typical cold beauties he saw in those animes, but rather something he couldn¡¯t describe properly. It was as if she was simply just too dedicated in her work, which he could perfectly understand. For it was an honorable thing to do.


    Passing over a particularly strange plant, which resembled a mix of a venus fly-trap and a large mass of thorny tentacles, Benedict would notice light further away from where he was. Unlike the light the luminescent plants gave, this new source of light was clearly different. And he slightly sped up to reach it as quickly as possible, even though he still had a lot of ground to cover.


    -


    ¡°This is a problem..¡±


    The Elder said as he crouched down to where the dead body of Benedict was supposed to be. His eyes squinted as he held his hand out, bringing it just above the cleaved earth as if he could sense something from it. Faint signs of energy crackled around his body, all moving to his outstretched arm then to his palm. Next to him, Salia stood wide-eyed, pacing around nervously as a look of fear crossed her beautiful face.


    ¡°E-Elder¡­ H-Has the human turned to a Revenant? I d-didn¡¯t mean to take his necklace! C-Certainly i-it didn¡¯t l-look that important.. M-Maybe something took his body and cleaved at the earth?¡±


    The Elder turned to Salia, a gentle smile crossing his face for a moment. He shook his head as he continued what he did, trying to sense something from the earth that was so cleanly cleaved by something. He parted his lips after a few minutes, speaking as his free hand rubbed the back of his head.


    ¡°No.. It is not a Revenant. Whatever the Human has become, it certainly is not undead. The earth sings about something, something far different than a human.¡±


    Revenants. Once living beings raised by another force, one that did not relate to any magical art, but rather to a certain thing. Wrath, and vengeance. These undead rise back only for a single reason, and it is vengeance regarding something that has wronged them, which engulfed them with so much hate that they rise with broken bodies. Essentially becoming avatars for the sin of Wrath.


    ¡°A-Are you sure? I t-took his necklace.. I felt something from it.. It has to be important to that human! What do I do Elder? I m-may have unleashed something to our land..¡±


    Salia was shaking, her eyes looking as if she would start crying any moment now. Those yellow irises of hers conveying panic as she looked around, seeing not the body of the human she found hours ago, but only signs of something violently clawing and cleaving at the sacred-soil. She was afraid of what she might have unleashed, and feared that she might just be hated by her own people.


    ¡°Hush child. Do not panic or cry yet, this situation may be resolved without the death of one of our own. Whatever the human has become, we have the duty to put it to rest.¡±


    The Elder would widen his eyes as if he finally saw something. And he did as he stared at a particular part of the earth that was cleaved at, and deep within barely seen by him is a writhing mass of flesh. As if some sort of burrowing creature was hit by whatever cleaved the dirt, and subsequently changed as the mass of flesh was slowly gaining size. Quickly in response, the Elder set the mass of flesh ablaze with a mere flick of his hand.


    ¡°Whatever it is.. It is something I cannot properly sense. But what I can feel from it, is something primal. A concentrated bundle of a desire to.. Survive.¡±


    He furrowed his brows as he stood up. The crackling energy around his body would slowly disappear as he turned his gaze to the forest. A look of concern was written all over his face, and the elderly man seemed to be uneasy as if he had seen something he thought would not exist.


    ¡°Elder.. W-What do we do now?¡±


    Salia looked at the small burning thing within one of the cleaved ground, then to the Elder. Her right hand clutching the necklace tight, as she noticed the primal power within. Related to its owner, and seemingly yearning to be returned to him.


    ¡°There is little we could do now at the moment. Even if we call for the Seekers, we cannot truly find it until a few days later. He may as well be delving deep into the heart of our home. Seeking sustenance, like some primal beast.¡±


    Salia shook her head, she visualised the thought of that human being some sort of monster. Similar to some werewolf or even devourer roaming the ancient soil of her people, hunting the docile animals within and feasting upon their mana-rich blood. Normally this concern wouldn¡¯t be considered, as not only was the mana-rich blood too potent for normal humanoids, there were deadly plants and animals within the forest.


    Alongside an area called the veil of darkness, which only the holy beasts know. Certainly the changed human could not find it, and possibly disturb the sleeping beasts within? Or worse yet actually eat one of the holy beasts that called it home.


    ¡°B-But Elder..¡±


    She started, clutching the necklace on her hand and showing it. The glow within her eyes intensified, overshadowing the yellow of her eye. Magical power came out of her hand, crackling with gentle ease as it tries to wrap around the necklace.


    ¡°T-This is my fault.. If only I had buried the body.. It may not have risen!¡±


    The Elder looked surprised at what she was doing. To him this was unexpected as she, Salia, was one said to be his successor, but to him the girl was not yet ready. As she was driven by emotion and felt as if she had to bear responsibility for all she did.


    ¡°But Salia, you need not do this. The Seekers and even the Choir can deal with this. I know you are said to be the one destined to succeed me, but you are not pushed to become like me.¡±


    The Elder shook his head, bringing a hand to caress one of his horns. Such an idle touch caused a crackle of energy to spark from the horn and to course to his hand, passing over to other parts harmlessly. But it implied that the Elder was filled with such magical energy, that he was essentially a living conduit of it.


    He was hesitant on allowing anyone to succeed him, as it meant that they would be like him. Bearers of great power, power in which could be used for many things. And in the wrong hands may as well damn their entire race to one of the evil ancients.


    ¡°Even still Elder.. I need to take responsibility for it.. And we cannot waste any time. I have the gift, and it would be a waste if I don¡¯t use it..¡±


    Salia smiled sadly, her eyes nearly being engulfed by that blue glow. The necklace in her hands was engulfed then by her power, but something fought back. It was no magical enchantment, or some remnant of great power, but something relating to a specific desire.


    ¡°With this necklace.. I feel it.. The desire to survive.¡±


    As she said that, she would feel that raw desire. Though she had felt that desire, this was another thing entirely. What she was trying to do, was something called ¡®Divining¡¯ in the tongue of her people. It was not wholly unrelated to the similarly named magical art used by the other races, but theirs was primal. It went against what many thought to be the laws upon magic, for it threaded not only upon the laws of reality, but also that of time.


    The Elder was what her people called a Delver. Gifted few that held the power to delve deep into the weave between worlds, allowing them the power to see or do what they wish. Though each Delver focused on a specific path, the Elder focused on the path of Divining, to see both the future and past to aid his people. And for their long-lived race, this was a dangerous path, as it can easily lead one to madness, or even the clutches of the ancient ones.


    The way they Divined things, was not like how the other races did so. Theirs was their own power, not granted to them by gods or some otherworldly being. Simply due to the power that lay within their race, being quite literally born from this land they lived in. Without the will of some God, and due to it, they held some primal power that could be used for wondrous things. Though Salia was a ¡®gifted¡¯ individual as her people said, she had only began training very recently and could not compare to the Elder in divining.


    Yet still she tried, and what vision she saw was peculiar. As first it shows her something akin to a prophetic vision, with a distinct chant being echoed out within her ears. The tone of the chant was somber in a way, with it relating heavily to a God of sorts, and yet the feel was something that did not come from this world. With the chant she saw him, the human male that was supposed to be dead.


    This vision was both in the now and the future, fluctuating with both instances showing itself in a prophetic vision. Where the human male was shown in a way,that made it look as if this world did not agree with his being. The male did not show discomfort in that fact, a fact in which he did not know.


    He was changed, with two spider-like limbs sprouting out of his shoulder-blades. They were segmented into three parts, four if one would consider the cruel scythe of a blade made out of bone. It was unlike anything she had seen in life, but she saw that these new limbs were natural in a way. As it curved outward and acted like weapons and additional limbs to walk upon.


    They pulsated with energy, far different from that of traditional mana found within the living. Where it would be blue for most uninitiated to any sort of magical art, they pulsated with a dull red glow. Contrary to what many people of this world would say, red was not the color of evil. In truth it was simply that of passionate emotions such as rage, alongside that of faith.


    But yet the limbs of this human shouldn¡¯t have this color, not when they did not know or even show any magical potential. This was strange, made more when the vision showed the male covered in blood, walking forward in an all too familiar forest towards a path of light. She widened her eyes at this, knowing full well where he was.


    Then the vision shifted, showing the human twitching slightly. His face though obscured in the hood, she could see his eyes. They were brown, and they glowed with the same dull red glow that pulsated around his body, slowly shifting as if he was constantly thinking of something.


    But suddenly the vision was cut off. And all she could see was darkness that could not be pierced by her divining skill. She thought of it as if the vision has ended, and that she could delve no longer deeper into the necklace she held. But she was wrong, and within that dark six eyes glowed a dull red. Eyes that looked as if they belonged to a large Cephalopod. A voice then boomed, a slow unnatural tone that rang as if it was both sang and whispered by thousands of mouths.


    Apex my Apex, fear not thy self, but fear.. Stagnancy¡­.


    Apex¡­ why do you not dream of I?


    Dream of me.. As I gave you a path.. To ascension..


    Apex.. dream of a dreamless nightmare..


    She could nearly see what it was, what was speaking. Though whatever language it used, she could not understand, and to her it sounded almost like the chantings she heard when she delved to find the human. The darkness shifted, and gaved way to what could only be described as a large catacomb complex. Lit by statues of faceless warriors, holding burning blades.


    They illuminated the chamber she saw, and before she could see the source of the six eyes. The vision faded, faded after she felt a tug at her body.


    She found herself kneeling, clutching the necklace tight with both hands. The Elder looks at her with a knowing gaze, sighing as he held a hand out to aid her rise. She takes it, holding the necklace in one hand, strangely fearful of losing it.


    ¡°I take it that you saw him?¡±


    She looked up, seeing his wrinkled face look on with worry but disapproving still. From the way he looked at her, it was clear that he had delved even further. And what she did was unnecessary, but she wanted to do it, for it was her fault.


    ¡°Y-Yes.. I saw him.. He is within the forest, Elder. Covered in the blood of one of the animals.. I presume.¡±


    She shook her head as she looks to the forest. Her eyes returning to that normal dim glow they had, as the Elder simply nods before walking past her, forcing her to follow him. She kept quiet about the strange thing she saw after the one with the human, finding it something that shouldn¡¯t be shared. A sudden compulsion to hide it, one which she hasn¡¯t felt before.


    ¡°He is covered in the blood of a Jaelir. He has devoured one.¡±


    He said as he continued walking, his pace becoming brisk as Salia looked shocked. As the Jaelier are docile animals, mostly found on the dark veil of the forest, capable of eluding even the most deadly of beasts within their home. And not only that, they were very poisonous to humanoids. To find out that the human had devoured one, made her fear for the worse.


    ¡°Though you tried to delve and see his exact location, yours is.. Incomplete. The boy is not heading to any direction he knows, but he is nearing a part of the the forest that holds the many predators of our home.¡±


    This was in a way good. Salia thought, surely the beasts would kill him? Strangely however, she felt as if she did not want that. Indeed she did not want that, for he wanted for him to rest as she still assumed that he is, a variant of a revenant. Or something similar. She was also curious about him, about what she saw in that delving of hers. Without her truly meaning it, she had resolved herself to try and save him.


    ¡°Elder.. We must save him.¡±


    At that, the Elder only looked back. Smiling knowingly, as if he foresaw this. She wondered if he also saw what she saw, that strange catacomb complex. But regardless, she was thankful that the Elder did not object to this.

 Chapter Three: Horror that lurks within

    ¡°No no no.. Do not look beyond the realm of the gods.. Do not look to the void.. The void is not empty.. It is not.. It must not be seen. For like the abyss¡­ it stares back.. But unlike it.. The void¡­ The void is many..¡±


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Scriptures of the Damned; The Void that must not be seen</li>


    </ul>


    To the many denizens of Jasolem, from the humans to even the goblinoids, this land was ancient. To many it was called the forest of beginnings, said to be the first patch of earth to bear life. In many ways this was truth, as even the Elves who originated from their so called ¡®Tree of Life¡¯, they themselves could not remember a time without this large swathe of forest. This large land was directly below the area known as ¡®Lonely Frost¡¯, only separated by it due to the unnatural nature of the land and the mountains that acted as a natural wall.


    Despite this, the outside world clearly knew barely anything about this land. None had enough knowledge to aptly deduce what this ancient forest was, except for the fact it was the oldest forest in the world, much more than the forest the Elves originated from. And as such, with its age, came beings as ancient as the Old Dragons where. Said to have come not from the will of the Gods, but purely out of the womb of the world itself.


    These beings, since the dawn of the sapient beings made by the Gods, had barely changed in the millennia they had existed. Some of these creatures, though old and unchanged, are deadly in their own right. As a majority of them were prized by the people outside of the forest, often making a single individual rich just for a single carcass of a docile creature from the forest. Due to this, there had been many attempts at capturing some of the creatures of the forest, most were denied by the guardian race of the forest.


    They were called ¡®Ancients¡¯, as it was a fitting name. These Ancients denied most attempts, but some they allowed, for these attempts focused on the subjugation of a particularly dangerous beast. All in the name of saving someone, something or to create a weapon that may serve the prophesied heroes centuries later. Most of these attempts succeeded, while some failed horribly. Either due to gross underestimation of the beast, or through treachery.


    One such failure, rested on where a forlorn hero of the Lonely Frost died. His name had faded in time, even the tribe he came was forgotten, but a fact remained that this failure was when the Ivory Concord was first established.


    The legend of the failure was told many times, each re-telling growing more extravagant and grand. Masking the grand betrayal that it was. And yet, there is still a single reminder of that tragedy. What it was, only hushed tales was heard, and the ¡®Ancients¡¯ themselves say that there lays a malevolent thing within. Whatever it was, some say that it is the Revenant of an adventurer, betrayed by his party. Another speaks of a grand a warrior, sacrificing himself to damnation so that the evil beast he had slain would be at rest for eternity.


    -


    Abruptly he slowed down, the gentle sound his scything-blades effortlessly echoing out, until they stopped altogether. His face, still bloodied from the feast he had partaken in mere minutes ago, looked confused. His eyes blinked rapidly as a strange sensation overcame him. It caused him to begin twitching as this sensation spread all over his body, as if dozens of worms writhed within him.


    It felt utterly strange, with it making him feel a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Similar to what he felt then after he devoured that deer, it felt as if this was right. A natural thing that his body was going through, which he would have believed if the sensation of writhing worms wasn¡¯t so vivid. It was a feeling of change, a disturbing change akin to those writhing worms eating his flesh within, but with him unable to actually feel pain from it.


    ¡°What the fuck¡­ Shit.. Oh no no no..¡±


    Assuming for the worse to occur, Benedict would feel a surge of fear crawl into his mind. Thoughts of actually being a host for some parasitic entity clawing their way into his mind, followed by the despair that he was most likely going to die. But it was overruled by that feeling of rightness, pushed away so quickly as if his own emotions were being toyed by a parasite. For some inexplicable reason he could not grasp, he chose to trust this feeling.


    ¡®No parasite controls me.. This is¡­ simply a chance gift..¡¯


    The writhing that he felt soon settled, but leaving the sensation of his flesh trying to settle around his body. Attempting to shift and create something utterly new, which was more intense on his chest. Where he could feel something wrong within his chest cavity. This wrongness intensified when he felt his breath slow, the beating of his heart growing faster as his lungs struggled to function. With his organs being forcibly changed by a force that shouldn¡¯t be possible.


    ¡®¡°Ahhh...h¡­.¡±


    Wheezing out, he nearly fell to his hands if not for his scything-blades. This moment stretched on for what seemed to be twenty-minutes for him. With his senses growing keen as he struggled to even live at that point. His reprieve would come in the form of the writhing return, with his breath being returned as he felt those worm-like movements crawl underneath his flesh. He could feel them moving further in, moving up towards his skull.


    Without even letting him voice his reaction to this, or even think of something witty, a jolt would hit him. Causing him to twitch again, Benedict held his head then, feeling the worm-like things clawing their way slowly up into his head. The sensation of those worm-like things was so vivid, that the very horrific experienced probed to be a peculiar event that he strangely enjoyed.


    Then he felt them disappear. When they seemed to have finally reached his throat and was about to go further up. They disappeared, as if they weren¡¯t invasive parasitic worms but something else entirely. He could not contemplate what they were, or even make a guess as to what it was as he noticed a peculiar development.


    ¡°What in the nine hells..¡±


    Before him he saw an ominous arching of trees. Forming something oddly similar to a multitude of Tori, but not crafted by the hands of some sapient thing, but something that by sheer chance, had formed naturally. This area was not lit by anything, unlike the path behind him which was lit by the luminescent plants that hanged from the branches.


    There were sconces on the sides of the Tori like trees. Obviously for some sort of torch or candle, but centuries of neglect seemed to have rendered these sconces empty and rusting. But the placements of these natural Tori, or archways if one would look at them differently, was directly leading towards the light he was heading to.


    It was a foreboding sight, as along the path the Tori had formed, there were small obelisks near their base. Like the ones he saw in that clearing, they had those strange letters covering them. But unlike their larger variations, the letters were written vertically directly going down. It reminded him of warning signs from his own world, with this one being blatantly obvious as the letters glowed red.


    But their glow was dim, as if it was ancient. That was a sign one should turn back, but for Benedict he felt curious about them. For regardless of how wary he was of this world, and how paranoid he could get ever since he had been brought here, there was a single constant within his mind. A deep rooted curiosity of the unknown, the desire to explore and know whatever may catch his eye.


    And so he tried to straighten his posture, only to slouch again as his scything-blades started to move alongside his legs. Unbeknownst to him, his body had already began to rapidly change. The first sign being the strange writhing of what he assumed to worms, followed by the strange shift in the organs within his chest. This in his old world, would not be possible as a mutation or adaptation would take decades, or even millennia to properly achieve.


    Even then some of these mutations or adaptations are barely notable, and are more of than not, simple additions to the individual. But to Benedict, his change was one that defied the laws set in stone in his world, with his flesh being changed underneath the armor he wore. But it was also strangely based around necessity, with his scything-blades one such mutation from his normal form.


    What would be obvious to him in the future, was that his body was stronger. With his bones and muscles slowly being altered to support a much more feral approach to his body. One which was focused on being an apex to the already adapted human genome.


    What he felt on his chest, was a rearrangement of the organs already present within. His sense of pain was dulled, with his tolerance for it slowly being raised alongside with it. This facilitated the growth an additional organ, a second heart in which to pump more blood to his body. At the moment the necessity of such a growth was not readily seen, as his body was still humanoid and normal.


    But it was obvious that his change was still beginning, and with him not noticing it at all, his flesh was slowly changing too, which had allowed him to lift that beast and slam it down. Anything too radical in his change would not be obvious, not with him still wearing his armor. It was a peculiar thing that he wasn¡¯t too worried about the obvious signs of him changing, which could be explained with his own brain being changed too.


    Completely oblivious of that, he walked ever forward. Not necessarily walking without a care, but simply keeping his thoughts as positive as he could make them. A hand would be brought to caress his throat, armored fingers gently touching the bare flesh before moving up to touch the side of his head. His thoughts were that of gentle assumptions, in that what he felt was only some sort of change.


    And that whatever change he was undergoing would not warrant a rash reaction. In that thought he would find a little bit of solace, as he assumed too that his change would not radically turn him into a horrific mutant, or much more horrific than he already is. As he, even though being one for games that allowed an individual to play as something other than a human, prefered to keep his humanity.


    But a part of him also was happy about this growing inhumanity of his. Feeling that it was awesome in a way, with it being a way to fulfill the many fantasies he had. One of which involved bloodshed, of letting loose and not have any sort of accountability for any of his actions at all. This world offered that, and he realized then that perhaps that is why the others so readily accepted their situation, even when it had just been days after their summoning.


    He nodded to that, as it was an acceptable thing seeing it under this context. But he could not allow himself to accept that, as the way he was raised dictated that he must not let himself fall to his desires. Even when he wanted to do so. And more than ever he needed discipline, as without it he would find himself getting cursed or killed by simply letting his desires take hold.


    However, the chance of looting something rather useful, was well worth the risks involved. As he had no idea how currency even worked in the other regions of this world. It was painfully obvious that there were other cities aside from those in the Lonely Frost, and this area he was in may perhaps be a private site. With that possibility, he would be thrown in prison should the locals find his presence undesirable, and summarily executed soon after.


    Him following the obviously ¡®unnatural¡¯ Tori would possibly lead to that, as it was clear that this would not have existed naturally. It may be the entrance to some village, city, monastery even. It held so many possibilities that it outweighed the dangers it could give.


    ¡®Better than having to sleep in.. this place.¡¯


    His eyes would then see something strange, even when the area he was walking upon was already strange. Snow, that was what he saw. Snow alone could not be strange, as he had already seen them for the first time on the city of Isalabi. But it was strange now as it completely covered the path before him, with patches of the earth looking as if they had been frozen for quite some time now.


    It was evident then that something was wrong, as he passed by another of the Tori before the following to become something else, stone archways with sconces filled with still burning torches. Alongside faded signs of battle upon their surface, where the markings of swords, claws and magic could still be seen.


    Though there was no signs of footsteps in the path he was taking. Further away, past several of the archways was a clearing of snow. Where a strange blizzard was brewing, contained within and not pushing towards him. As if something was being kept within.


    A person from this world, would have done two things when presented with this. Either to turn around and completely assume that there is nothing of import in that area, or to approach that clearing armed to the teeth in hopes of defeating whatever was within.


    Benedict was no local, and his thoughts on such a sight was rather simple.


    ¡®That is obviously something akin to a boss battle..¡¯


    With that, he continued to walk towards the clearing. Heedless of the fact that it may in fact contain some great beast. But deep within, as one who had played numerous RPGs in his life, he couldn¡¯t truly turn back. As he felt the need to prove himself against whatever was within that blizzard. Still he would try to quell that sudden desire, as it would lead to something horrible.


    He was unprepared to fight anything within that blizzard. So he would try to turn around, but as he did so something shocking would happen then as he looked behind him.


    ¡°What the fuck-¡±


    The path he took, underneath all that Tori, had lengthened. Quite literally spreading out to infinity without end.


    ¡°Magic¡­ Yes. It has to be Magic.¡±


    Facing forward he blinked his eyes in surprise, as he now stood before the clearing. There was no clear indication that he was moved by any force, and when he turned around he could see the same. But now with the stone archways stretching on.


    He had inevitably dragged himself forward, as it was obvious that the small obelisks he saw was a glaring warning. A warning he should have heeded. All he could do now was to walk forward, and walked he did. But with the first step he took after such a bizarre occurrence, the sound of his leather boots hitting something hard reached his ears.


    ¡°What now..¡±


    He grumbled, though before he could be displeased, he found something that instantly made him open his mouth in shock.


    ¡°A shield!¡±


    He exclaimed, quickly taking a step backwards as his scything-blades lifted themselves and placed themselves further, allowing him to crouch down and see the shield. The shield which was covered in snow was barely noticeable. But quickly his armored hands would begin moving the snow that covered it, trying to find an edge to lift it up. As he did so, he could see some of the designs on the shield, surprisingly looking new and unfaded.


    He could partially see upon its metal surface, something akin to nordic designs. With it surrounding what seems to be a dragon. They were engraved to its surface, colored with melted bronze that gave the design a grand finish. The designs that surrounded the dragon was a mix of flowing lines, and small detailed serpents chasing something.


    ¡°Bakunawa¡­¡±


    He uttered that when he pulled the shield free from the snow. Revealing that it was a flat-topped kite shield, far larger than him that it was like a great-shield. With it being freed from the snow, the design of a dragon he saw was further revealed, showing that it was in actuality something else.


    ¡°Bakunawa.. Have mercy.. Have mercy, please.. Return our moon.¡±


    That saying followed his words, for what he saw upon the shield was a large serpentine creature. A leviathan of sorts, with its maw wide open around a large circular thing. It was akin to a sea-serpent, but with rough fins on its neck and with it having six eyes. On its left side there was large wing, whilst below near the end of its body was a far smaller wing to the right.There was only one thing from his world that resembled this, and it was Bakunawa.


    ¡°Moon eater..¡±


    Bakunawa, father of serpents, the old snake of Bathala, eater of the seven moons. His existence among the Filipinos was obscure at best, as he was primarily known to the people of Visayas and Mindanao. He had read about this peculiar entity, a grand leviathan that was said to have eaten seven of the eight moons the Earth used to have.


    There were other versions of him, ranging from Minokawa a gigantic bird to Buwaya or Nono, which was an alligator of sorts from what he could remember. But this depiction of a dragon serpent, was not Bakunawa. That he was sure of, he only resembled the grand Moon Eater. And the Moon Eater did not have six eyes. This had to be a god of this world, or a monster of sorts.


    This was made more evident when below the depiction of this creature, was massive amounts of tentacles sprouting out from some sort of abyss. Following the large creature and intertwining with the nordic designs on the shield.


    His head swam then, with the sensation of writhing worms suddenly returning.


    Dream of me, dream of me, my apex, my apex.. Test yourself.


    A strange voice came next, drilling into his mind, sang out in a chant by dozens of voices. Varying in tempo, but with one strong voice following behind. Speaking the English words in a slow, unnatural voice akin to the rumbling of volcanoes.


    The writhing of worms ended, with blood starting to drip from his eyes. There was no pain, but he felt particularly strange after that strange voice spoke. He shook his head after that strangeness of a feeling left him, he was sure he had hear that. It was familiar, as if it was once heard by him. But he could not recall where or when he had heard of it.


    He flipped the kite-shield then, finding that it had an enarmes for his arm, two straps that would keep it in place even when he would relax it. It was a particularly good find, a useful defensive tool for him, as the shield itself seemed to be entirely made of metal. A particularly light one he would note as he placed his left arm into the enarmes, finding that it was just about the right size to hold tightly upon his forearm.


    ¡°Test myself.. Test myself for what?¡±


    He uttered that as he stood up, not noticing that what dripped from his eyes moments ago was actually blood. He would delve deeper into assumptions soon after this he thought, for what was that voice and why did it occur just after that writhing sensation?


    And did it trigger in reaction to his assurance that the depiction on the shield, was in no way Bakunawa? No matter the answer, it could wait. As he stood up, feeling the weight of the kite-shield as he raised it to defend his chest. It was large enough that he could use it entirely as a bashing weapon, with the material that was used in it construction largely helping with that.


    Before him was the large snowy clearing. Circular and surrounded by both the towering trees of this forest, and strange trees that should only be found on the lonesome north. The blizzard was strong, as the cold would send chills down his skin as it blew cold winds towards him. He could not see pass the blizzard, but there was a vague silhouette of a standing individual within it, completely still as if it was a statue.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    If he had learned anything from video-games and various fictional things, is that this was not a statue. And that this could aptly be lumped down to a bossfight. One which he was ill prepared for. But pushing that thought aside, against better judgment Benedict resolved himself in taking that thing down.


    As it was obvious that he could not turn back without killing it, or finding the cause of that strange phenomena. Which he assumed to be the creature within, or something that it carried.


    He briefly looked down on the shield he carried, wondering if the creature within owned it. Technically he was stealing it, or looting it rather, but after this, he was quite confident that it would soon be classified as ¡®looting¡¯.


    ¡°This it Benedict.. Your first actual fight! Or.. second one rather. With a higher chance of dying rather than being humiliated by some.. Posh fucking blond white guy..¡±


    He gritted his teeth as he remembered the first battle he had. It was a spar, but the way Damien fought against him made it a battle. A battle which he lost, as Damien showed a natural skill with the blade, compared to his clumsy attempts at wielding a sword. He was humiliated soon after his lost, which had tarnished his perceived honor.


    ¡°I either die now. Or I win.. Loot that thing, and then get out of here..¡±


    Mustering the courage that was within all of humanity, Benedict moved forward, raising the shield properly as he was thought by Aniara, to protect his torso. His scything-blades lifting up to rest on his shoulders, with the third segment being raised up alongside the blade in preparation for battle. It was strange that they seem to react to the situation naturally, with him influencing them with unconscious thoughts. He had to find more ways to use them, as they would be with him for a long time.


    He took his steps into the snow covered clearing, into the blizzard that hid the figure. First he felt cold, a chilling cold like none other. What little clothing he had underneath his armor doing no good at all, making him shiver and chatter his teeth in regret. But he pushed on still, towards the silhouette of the figure, not making any attempts to even take on a stealthier approach, as the snow muffled his steps.


    ¡®Fuck... I need a fur-cloak.. I should have gotten one..¡¯


    Each step that brought him ever closer to the silhouette, he could hear a voice. A rasping voice that bear a power, which refused to let go of something. The voice grew louder, and he could hear wheezing alongside it. Yet it spoke in a language he did not know, but could clearly hear it.


    [I¡­ I have given¡­ everything¡­]


    It was of despair mixed with anger, an anger towards a betrayal of sorts. That he could deduce, it came from something human, and as he grew ever closer it became more obvious.


    [Left me to¡­ die.. Gaagh¡­ Why.. I have.. Saved the North..]


    He would pass the blizzard then, with the entire feeling of utter cold disappearing quickly. And his sight being obscured by nothing, letting him see the source of the voice.


    [Traitorous¡­ Traitorous.. Elves¡­]


    First of what he saw was a large dead body, that of an obvious dragon. Preserved thanks to the unnatural frost that had seemingly surround this particularly clearing, it was so large that he could only see its front, with it seemingly curling and the rest of its body obscured by the blizzard that raged around them. It resembled a Frost Wyrm, with its scales being a darker white due to its death. Dried blood covered its neck and head, with large gaping wounds caused by some weapon scattered throughout its body.


    [I.. killed it.. Killed the vile Dragon.. I deserveth.. Glory¡­ peace¡­For her..]


    Then standing near it, near its head, was a large warrior. It was a grand thing to behold, as it resembled a mixture of both ancient viking warriors and fantasy knights molded into one. It was not heavily armored, nor was it only wearing the most utilitarian of wears, but it wore items that one could truly associate with the ¡®adventurer¡¯ classification.


    It was grand in the sense that it was a true warrior, not any sort of warrior that wore extravagant apparel or unnecessary ornamentations, but one geared solely for battle alone. Benedict was in awe as he stood witness to this warrior. As it turned its head, revealing that it wore a dull gun-metal grey barbute, with horns protruding out from the sides near its forehead.


    It had a fine but worn down fur-cloak around its body, covering the majority of its body and giving it an air of mystery. But when he saw Benedict, the warrior shifted its posture as it moved its cloak with a single arm, revealing it to be holding a particularly ornate two-headed axe. The entire length of it, save for the blades of the axe itself, had obvious tentacle designs wrapping around it, with the upper portion near the beginning of the blades had the same leviathan curling around it, with its head resting itself on the very tip with a cracked gem on its mouth.


    [...Hnn...Another?... No..No.. An aspirant?]


    Benedict could hear it speak, but he could not understand or even comprehend the language it used. It was a rough but flowing language, with a huge focus on ¡®bleeding¡¯ the emotion of the speaker into the word itself. It allowed him to at least partially deduce the feeling of the warrior.


    [I¡­ see.. I have been.. Restless.. Human.. Twisted human? Nonetheless.. Aspirant..]


    Benedict tensed then as he saw the warrior shift its posture, pointing its axe towards him as his eyes stared at him. This allowed him to see the face of the warrior properly, which showed him something he did not really expect.


    ¡®An undead¡­ viking?¡¯


    It was undead, but not in the way one might expect. It was no skeletal or mummified warrior, but rather a spirit inhabiting the armor it once wore in life. He could discern a human face despite the ethereal nature of the warrior, finding that in life the man used to be a particularly young warrior. Grizzled through untold battles and scarred either ritually or through those very battles he had participated.


    His ghostly eyes glowed red, making Benedict narrow his eyes as he expects this battle to be quite hard.


    [Bearer of my shield.. Aspirant to my.. Legacy. Prove yourself.]


    With that, the ghostly warrior went silent. The rasping of his voice faded and it was replaced with utter silence, save for the roaring blizzard that surrounded them. Then surprisingly, the warrior slashed at the air, before his other arm would be revealed to suddenly slam his fist into its chest. Akin to a ceremonial greeting of sorts.


    Benedict unconsciously returned the gesture, by using his scything-blades to slam three times into the snow covered ground before the raised them again. In response the ghostly warrior seemed to smile, before nodding as he took a combat stance. It was a stance that looked strange to Benedict, as it looked like it was supposed to be used with a shield.


    With the ghostly warrior slouching slightly, his right arm held back with the axe pointing at him, whilst the left stayed close to its chest, gripping some non-existent shield. Benedict looked down briefly to the shield he now held, and at that brief moment of vulnerability, the ghostly warrior sprang his attack.


    Kicking the snow covered ground, the warrior sprinted towards Benedict with surprising speed. Causing a momentary shock of disbelief to take hold of Benedict, which allowed the warrior to purposely slam its axe against his shield. This sent a loud clang to ring out in the area, even ringing out much more than the blizzard that roared around them.


    ¡®Holy shit-¡¯


    He thought as his left arm felt utterly numb from the impact. Without letting him react, the warrior slammed his fist into Benedict¡¯s armored side. The sound of metal crumpling from the hit reached his ears, followed by a stinging pain soon after. Quickly retaliating, Benedict brought down both of his scything-blades towards the warrior while he was close.


    But to his dismay, the warrior grabbed his right scything-blade while his axe was brought up to deflect the other blade. He forcefully flicked the hand that held one of his scything-blades as the other quickly intercepted an incoming strike from the warrior¡¯s axe which was heading for his neck.


    [Unrefined.. Savaged.. Young. Amusing..]


    Benedict would then use his free scything-blade, as the other was clashing with the warrior¡¯s axe, to strike at its torso, confident that it would hit. But the warrior deftly rushed to the right, completely dodging his strike as he followed it up by backing away, and then bringing about his axe once more to a vertical swing. Benedict met this strike with the shield on his left arm, causing a large clang to ring out with him grunting as he felt the sheer force of the strike.


    Unlike the armor around his side, the shield held fairly well against the axe, even causing sparks to fly out as they made contact. He assumed that both items were made from the same metal, as they canceled each other out rather perfectly. This made Benedict grin as he pushed on, taking the offensive role in this deadly dance of theirs.


    His scything-blades lashed out, jabbing in quick succession in an attempt to at least land a single strike. It was partly successful, but with the warrior deflecting and blocking most of it, his strikes did not hit any vitals. Though with his enemy being undead, he was trying to hit any sort of part he could get to. With his strikes hitting the shoulders.


    This wasn¡¯t good enough for Benedict, as he soon was brought to the brink of a berserk rage as the warrior began to laugh. His attacks were not showing any sort of effect, side from clearly causing the warrior to laugh at his feeble attempts. It reminded him of his duel with damien, at how helpless he was, and how his ego was back up by nothing more than delusional beliefs.


    Compared to Damien, a chosen of the Gods of Light, his ego was backed up by strength and natural skills. Benedict could not deny that he was jealous of him, to the point that he had began to avoid any attempts at even attending the lessons given by Aniara and the other trainers. That brief memory caused anger to rapidly well up within him, and it egged him on to push himself further.


    Like a beast fighting against a well trained hunter, Benedict would parry an incoming blow from the warrior, with his scything-blades darting out to target the warrior¡¯s right shoulder and belly in quick succession. But again the warrior dealt with it, using his obvious undead nature to his advantage. His strikes were allowed to hit, and it dug dip, surprisingly piercing through the armor of the warrior.


    It would have brought a smile to Benedict¡¯s face, but he had an inkling that the warrior wanted this. And so before the warrior could even do anything else in response, Benedict would kick the warrior away. With his kick pushing the warrior further away than what his body would allow. He had no time to gawk at the sight, as the warrior who was kicked away continued to chuckle, wobbling a bit before charging at him again.


    With his axed raised, the warrior held it with two hands now, bringing his axe in well timed flourishes that Benedict clumsily met with his scything-blades. He was trying to gain any sort of advantage, but the ghostly nature of the warrior did not allow him to gain any at all. But he had a slight hope, that this warrior was possessing the armor that he once wore in life, and if he could damage it further, it may be his key to victory.


    Of course, the warrior could be a wraith of sorts, and his armor capable of becoming ethereal like the body it protects. Either way he had decided to keep fighting, as it was obvious that this was the only way he could get out of here. And for a brief second, it oddly felt like he was fighting a boss battle.


    [You need more practice.. Your weapons are.. Reacting solely on instinct..]


    Ignoring the rasping voice of the warrior, Benedict resorted to another tactic. Which was him charging at the warrior, raising his scything-blades to strike down in a single point. His foe met him head on, charging and preparing himself for a clash.


    [Passionate¡­ willful.. Primal.. Show me more!]


    The warrior brought his axe to a strike first, swinging it upwards towards where he thought his scything-blades would have surely struck down to hit him square on the face. But no scything blade was there, instead the warrior would look on in amusement as Benedict slammed against him using his shield, This staggered the warrior, but Benedict did not stop with a single shield bash, he did another which pushed the undead back.


    Then following it with a surprising punch to the face with his right hand. The warrior looked in disbelief, but Benedict had an irate look on his face, as if the very fight was making him angry. But his lips curled to a smile, one that showed excitement and desire, lust, lust for battle. The warrior grinned then at this, with him bringing his left arm upwards in a strike, hitting nothing at all.


    But below Benedict, a pillar of skulls rose up and hit him squarely on the stomach, flinging him away to the blizzard. But instead of passing through it, he hit it as if it was a solid wall. The wind was knocked out of him, and he wheezed out as he started to feel pain, his mutating body not expecting to be tested mere hours after he had began to change.


    ¡®Good God- That.. that fucking HURTS.¡¯


    He then hit the ground, with his arms quickly trying to push himself up alongside his scything-blades. The laughter of the ghostly warrior rang out, and he could hear it talking happily. As if his actions, or struggle rather, meant something to the ancient thing.


    [You have survived.. Marvelous! Marvelous! Show me more, show me more of your.. Anger!]


    Whatever it was saying to him, he could feel that it was mocking him. And unnaturally, he reacted to it with irrational anger, as if the ghost was insulting not only him, but his religion and everything he stood for. Allowing him to grow truly angry, with a rage that matched his past self. This rage coupled with his change, proved to be deadly as he unleashed a guttural roar.


    ¡°SHUT THE FUCK UP!¡±


    His mind swam in rage, with his consciousness drifting to a similar state when he was hunting those blind animals. Unlike that time, he was not filled with the desire to devour, or to sate a hunger that was like none other. Right now, he was simply angry, utterly furious towards the undead for that strike which had hit him. He wanted to return the favor tenfold, and his body started to writhe again. Those worm-like sensations coalescing into something he could not see, but could clearly feel.


    Strangely enough, he could not move his body. Just when the warrior looked towards him, eyes wide in surprise as if he was seeing something that he could not see. This caused the warrior to smile, to shake in joy as the blizzard around them intensified.


    [You have¡­ the gift.]


    It spoke again, this time as it walked casually towards him. Before suddenly appearing right before him, smiling happily like a master to its apprentice.


    [Oh how I pity you.. My aspirant.. You are cursed and blessed.. Just like me. I see now.. I see..]


    Slowly Benedict felt tired, his body going numb in pain as his mind yearned for sleep. He refused to do so, thinking that it was the will of the warrior before him that willed him to sleep, so that he may be killed easily. But right before his eyes, the warrior took off its helm, reverently looking at it before staring at him.


    [Take my blessing¡­ Apex.. Take my equipment, take all that I have left.. And ascend. You have passed your test. Let wrath be your song.]


    Then unexpectedly, despite the actions of the warrior making no sense at all to Benedict, he placed the helm he held on Benedict¡¯s head. With his axe being placed near his right arm.


    [These will help you.. But in exchange.. In exchange¡­ You shall.. Be.. Vengeful.. For me.. Ahaha..]


    With that, the blizzard suddenly stopped, with the ghostly warrior backing away into the halting torrent of snow. He could not understand what just happened, as it did not make any sense at all. But it felt as if he simply need not to think deeply into it, and simply himself to sleep. Which he did not allow himself to succumb to.


    ¡°This.. has to be a stupid trap.. This helm is cursed alongside its.. Axe.. must.. Get rid of them..¡±


    Though even he said that, his body refused to cooperate. With voices starting to flood his ears once more, he blinked his eyes several times as he noticed his surroundings to have changed. Or rather the way he was facing had changed, and he saw the stone archways and the path of Tori, this time not stretching to infinity.


    But a group was running towards him, they looked human from afar, and he smiled at that. But when they got close enough, he saw their horns and he quickly assumed for the worse. As when they had reached him, passing by the path of Tori and archways, they had a look of horror to them. One of them in particular simply looked tearfully at him, a brown-skinned female, one that could be called beautiful with her exotic features.


    But to Benedict, she and the people around her looked like entities that would kill him. As his mind in this moment was slowly falling to the clutches of sleep, and right before he had surrendered himself to it, he saw the female rush towards him with an elderly man following close behind.


    [By the Ancestors.. W-What has happened to him Elder?]


    With her voice ringing out, he fell to a dreamless sleep.


    -


    They looked at the body of the human. The gathered individuals had mixed reactions to what they were seeing. This creature before them clearly looked human, that was fact they could not refute. But many races in Jasolem looked like humans but were not related to them at all. But he had this unmistakable aura about him, but much more focused on a simple will to survive.


    This wouldn¡¯t warrant the reactions they were having, but the human before them was clearly different. As he had two strange spider-like limbs protruding out of his back, ending in a cruel scythe of bone that was constantly infused with magic, most likely without the knowledge of its owner. But there was another feature alongside those two spider-like limbs that marked him as a different thing, one being the helmet he wore, and the shield alongside the axe that came with it.


    ¡°Elder.. Could it.. Could it be?¡±


    Salia, among the gathered individuals spoke as she knelt next to the sleeping boy. Her hands trembled as she caressed the horns on the barbute helm he wore, which caused a crackle of malevolent energy to burst out and dance around her fingers, but without harming her at all. The others, people who are part of the Choir, individuals who excelled in directing the beasts and plants of their ancient home with voice alone, gasped in disbelief.


    The Elder, standing directly next to Salia had a frown on his face. As if this was not supposed to be the case. Staying silent for a minute, he looked to the clearing just beyond the body of the sleeping boy, grimacing at what he saw.


    ¡°Yes, it is¡­ The Forlorn Guardian has been succeeded.. Fate¡¯s tapestry cannot be unwoven anymore..It has begun.¡±


    The frozen corpse of a helmless warrior without his weapons, and the ravaged body of a grand dragon, he saw those. As it was to be expected, but there was an addition to them, which was just before him. The boy. The boy who wore the helm of the Forlorn Guardian, carrying both its axe and shield.


    And at that, he smiled.

 Chapter Four: Troublesome Dreams

    ¡°Magic comes from the soul, just as does Miracles do. But it also comes from the mind, which the soul is deeply connected to. A mind that has purpose can weave magic truly, but if it is too constrained by dogma, then one will find their growth stifled. It is obvious to the practitioners of the Miracles, but they blindly cling to their beliefs. That is not our way, our way is of experimentation and discovery, and no dogma shall ever halt this.¡±


    - The Arcane Songs; Magus Lagromatus the Accursed


    Within the city of Isalabi, the seat of power of the Basalos line, three individuals gathered to speak. Three important figures within the weave of nobility and royalty of the Ivory Concord, and one of the many that had a keen mind to constantly keep an eye on the newly summoned ¡®champions¡¯. First among them was Asairos Basalos, King of Isalabi and half of the Lonely Frost, then his daughter Leila Basalos the youngest among his daughters. Third was Aniara, one of the ¡®trainers¡¯ for the summoned champions.


    ¡°My Liege, the reports have come in. Both for the summoned that are within the walls of Isalabi.. And the, other two that have chosen to leave early on.¡±


    Aniara spoke first as she sat on a chair, before her was several parchments she had prepared beforehand for her liege. Most detailed the growth of the summoned, what they have been up to, and even the skills they have been developing. Though below those would be a black notebook, unlike anything that has been seen in this world, which was clearly from a summoned.


    ¡°Oh? You work fast Ania, considering that the other nobility are also keeping tabs on the summoned. But nonetheless, excellent work. I wish to know how our hope is faring, especially when we are forcing them to be our weapons against a foe we do not know.¡±


    Asairos smiled mockingly at the end of his statement, he as the King of Isalabi and father of three beautiful daughters could not accept the summoned. It was not because he saw them as needless individuals. The reason was a simple one, and it was that he found the forced summoning of children from another world to be disgusting. More so when they are ¡®convincing¡¯ them to fight for their world, a world they had no prior attachment to, against a foe they themselves did not truly know.


    ¡°As you wish my liege. First among the summoned is Damien, chosen by Aurolos Sovereign God of Light and Justice. He has shown startling growth in the art of Miracles, or ¡®Holy Magic¡¯ as he and the rest of the summoned calls it. He has a particular ¡®quality¡¯ that makes him out as the cream of the crop, so to speak.


    Bearing much qualities that would match his ¡®heroic¡¯ role, others have come to regard him as a leading figure for the summoned. Making him quickly earn the respect of his peers, and allowing him to learn to be a better leader in the joint exercises they partake in.


    For now, weeks after he had officially received the blessing of Aurolos he has gained.. Wings. Or rather is growing two wings, at the moment they are too small for anything useful. Other than to serve as a reminder that he is the chosen of Aurolos. Surprisingly he hasn¡¯t allowed this to get into his head, instead making him seem more humble and helpful.


    As for the others, they have gained considerable skill in their chosen weapons.. Swords, Axes, Polearms the list goes on.


    Aside from Damien himself, there are four others that show a similar level of promising results. They have earned nicknames, like how Damien is referred to be the ¡®hero¡¯ of the group. They spend a majority of their time helping the others alongside Damien, barring a few who do not wish for their help to salvage their pride.


    These are Harold, Jasmine, Erica and Bobby. Though they are promising, they have not shown any radical development like that of Damien, who as I have said is growing wings. Which some say are reminiscent of those ¡®angelic¡¯ entities to the far west.¡±


    Aniara looked bored as he began her report, her beautiful features conveying them in a manner that would entrance any male. She was a cold beauty as many would put it, but to those that knew her she was simply a dutiful warrior. One that had silver eyes and slightly dark grey hair that framed her pale skin.


    But to Asairos, and her daughter, it looked particularly hilarious as they knew her to the point she was a part of their family.


    Asairos was a man that came into the world to be a warrior, either through fate or the way his parents raised him. It matched his looks, as he was a bear of a man, with scars running throughout his muscled body. In the lands outside of the Lonely Frost he would have been thought to be a hybrid, a mix between beastmen and human. But he was simply a man that had dedicated himself in the art of physical enhancement, a variation of enchanting. This allowed him to maintain a large physique and a fierce look, alongside a lustrous mane of golden hair and a particularly long braided beard.


    Much of his qualities was inherited by his daughters, especially an innate need to battle. Though unlike his, theirs was quite manageable, and it allowed Leila who was near him to find Aniara¡¯s boredom to be hilarious.


    ¡°This seems to be boring you Ania. I thought you loved testing the skills and will of warriors, especially these summoned that are to be our hope and weapon?¡±


    Asairos turned to his daughter, Leila who spoke teasingly towards Aniara. She and Aniara, alongside her sisters essentially saw Aniara as their sister, getting along well and teasing each other from time to time. It wouldn¡¯t even surprise anyone within the Ivory Union that the four would engage in spars. This made Asairos proud, as it was clear that his daughters were not just some helpless damsels for some heroes to save, but rather particularly willful girls that could break several limbs.


    But their physical prowess aside, the summoned clearly did not view his daughters as individuals to fear, but rather to admire and to protect. He could not blame them, as they exhibited strange quirks and have been raised this way in their world. The way his daughters look did not help.


    Leila in particular looked liked the sheltered princess, just waiting for some knight to show her the world beyond the walls of Isalabi. This was enforced by the pallor of her, which surprisingly matched her long silver hair, inherited from her mother. She resembled the Aniara in a way, in the fact that she looked like one of the snow elves.


    But she wasn¡¯t one, and her golden hued eyes signified this. Which allowed her to be quickly identified among the masses as one of the Royals. She however was more inclined in partaking in sparring sessions, whilst still being able to act in a manner befitting of a princess. This she did not properly show to the summoned, save for a certain individual.


    ¡°You have been sparring with them, no? Testing their skills with the aid of our Royal Guard, trying to find out their limits and attempting to make them better? If so, why are you so unenthusiastic with this report?¡±


    At that Aniara would sigh as she would stop her report. She was simply doing this because her liege, the father of her dearest friend asked. And she was sure that he simply asked her to do this for his amusement, as he himself had some knowledge of the progress of the summoned.


    ¡°It is not that I am not enthusiastic with this, it is simply that I find no reason to be impressed with the summoned. Certainly a few, such as Damien, Harold, Jasmine, Erica and Bobby show great promise. As all the summoned, barring three, are blessed by Gods, allowing them to rapidly grow in strength and skill. But that did not mean they had proper experience as they are yet to truly fight against sapient creatures.


    Before you even say it, I do not consider the Goblinoids or the other beast-men dregs that live to the north-east of the Frozen Wastes to be sapient. They barely are. But the nobility and their own trainers are impressed by this, as if the slaying of lowly beasts would allow the summoned ¡®they¡¯ sponsor to be able to ascend higher.


    Their actions four weeks ago shows how easily they are lead by emotions, in the pursuit for what they think is right. With that mindset, they may aswell be easily swayed to the side of our unknown enemy, or enemies should the Oracles be wrong.¡±


    With her own personal experience, and that of the Royal Guards themselves, what she was saying was not truly biased. As the summoned, who were only summoned two months ago, couldn¡¯t truly be the ¡®hope¡¯ the Gods had told them about. She certainly had been happy about them, willing to help, but a particular event involving one of the summoned had made her spirits a bit more grim than usual.


    ¡°Wait, has.. Benedict¡¯s death affected you that much?¡±


    Leila would ask a bit hesitantly, knowing full well about the demise of that summoned, and how he died for a crime he himself did not even commit. To be chased by the other summoned like some petty criminals for an entire day, hounded as if he had committed treason even though her father only asked for him to be brought back. At this Asairos would sigh, as Aniara did not reply for several minutes.


    ¡°In a way, yes. I do not know why, but his death, if we can call it that, was untimely. As at that time, when I received orders to accompany the summoned in capturing Benedict, I fully believed that there was a simple misunderstanding. As one of the summoned told me that he, that boy, had killed. Stabbing a Squirein the neck, and then fleeing the town of Plorty afterwards.¡±


    Asairos would nod, as he had not actually heard Aniara voice her thoughts about the death of Benedict. He did not know the full story, as it was reported by one of the summoned. He did not truly know this particular summoned, only that he was among the three that denied any sort of blessings from the gods. Many of the nobility, elves and humans alike, even the other summoned found this action of theirs arrogant, and foolish. Asairos on the other hand, found this to be respectable, as he thought they had some sort of martial pride that made them not want to believe in other gods.


    ¡°But he didn¡¯t kill that person, did he? I read the reports sent to father, the person he supposedly killed was a squire of sorts. It didn¡¯t mention which Knight Order he came from, but it is strange he could actually have died to Benedict.. Considering that¡­¡±


    Leila looked a bit unsure as she looked through what she knew of Benedict. Of course, she knew little about him. But she had seen him and the two other godless in spars, far away from the other summoned. He was not skilled in battle, he had too many holes in his defense, and his techniques in utilizing weaponry, be it sharp or blunted, was to go in a sudden frenzied rage. Which should have made him a prime candidate to be chosen by the Gods related to bloodshed.


    ¡°He has little to no formal skill in wielding weapons. And he was alone at the time, with the two other godless, Carleon and Jio already parting ways with him, heading to the other towns within our domain. He couldn¡¯t possibly even stand a chance against a Knight Squire, especially one that has more training than he has. He himself had stated that he only knows how to fight based on what he had observed, and not practiced.¡±


    Leila sighed as she relayed this, Asairos and Aniara looking at her with a raised brow as they wondered how she knew of that. Seeing their looks, Leila would realize her mistake and nervously chuckle as her father spoke, his eyes narrowing as he leaned slightly closer to the table. He knew most of what she said, but not the part where Benedict admits he does not know how to fight properly.


    ¡°Interesting. We will have to talk about this later. Aniara, is there anything else that you wish to report? I can read through these later, as the growth of each summoned at their current levels, is not significant enough for us to consider.¡±


    Leila would look down for a moment, before shaking her head, she hoped that her father wouldn¡¯t be mad should she tell her what she knew. Aniara then would nod, picking up the strange notebook below all the reports, and giving it to Asairos, who would take the strange thing in confusion.


    ¡°That is one of Benedict¡¯s belongings. We found it on the room he stayed on in Plorty, alongside his bag. Initially, it was of no import. As it contains what seems to be his writings, with it being a journal for him. This is not uncommon for adventurers who wish to keep their thoughts penned, for future reference.


    But as we would have remembered, Benedict left exactly after he lost to Damien. Which was a month after they were summoned. The two do not see eye to eye, and with Benedict being anti-social and untrusting, it is not a surprise that he would leave. This would have been of little consequence, as we have eyes on each summoned.


    Coincidentally, his two friends, Carleon and Jio left for other towns as you have said Leila. This would be strange as they would do better in a group, but it seemed they were searching for something. I believe their goal is found in that notebook, and perhaps the reason why Benedict was running away from me and the other summoned in extreme distress.


    Alas we cannot read it, as it is written in not only one language, but two. The first being ¡®English¡¯, which many of the summoned knows of. The other, we cannot identify at the moment, which also uses the same alphabet as the English Language.


    But even if we could not read it, it shows something disturbing.¡±


    Aniara¡¯s tone would turn grim as she spoke, Asairos who had been listening was turning the pages of the notebook. It contained a staggering amount of pages, nearly three hundred in total. This was highly unusual for a notebook, but he assumed this was the norm for the world the summoned originated from. The pages he had skimmed through looked trivial, being filled with what he assumed to be writings of Benedict¡¯s experience. It was worth noting that it was written in the most horrible hand-writing he had ever seen, like the scribbling of a madman that had a shaky hand.


    He would thoughtlessly turn the pages as he couldn¡¯t read them, and he would simply send it to the linguists of his empire for translation. But after skipping several dozen pages, he would encounter something utterly disturbing. Drawings. There was drawings, many of them carefully drawn while others were scribbled hastily.


    The drawings that were drawn carefully was that of skeletons. Various parts of the human skeleton. It wouldn¡¯t be surprising that Benedict was an aspiring surgeon, but the skeletons were accompanied by armor. As if they were undead. It would become more elaborate, showing skulls with dots for eyes, howling out as the others carried weapons.


    These were clearly undead, but nothing he had ever seen in his life. It surprised him that a summoned would be drawing these, as Necromancy didn¡¯t seem to interest them. Then he saw the drawings scribbled hastily, and it caused him to open his eyes wide in surprise as they were disturbing.


    ¡°He was being followed by something..¡±


    It showed various humanoid figures, all depicted to be either shadowy or winged. It was accompanied by writing, clearly showing he was unnerved or fearful. Each figure was clearly something else, and as he turned a few more pages, he realized what they were.


    ¡°These are.. Heralds.¡±


    Heralds of the Gods. Beings who serve under specific Gods, doing their will which either is to watch things, or to pick out interesting individuals. The sight of them was not strange, and in fact they are present in Isalabi, watching over the summoned who became champions for their Gods. But they rarely take their ¡®true¡¯ form, often times taking on a much more human approach, which makes them look as if they are normal people.


    But the ones depicted here did not match any description of Heralds he knew of. And what was peculiar, was that he did not see them within the walls of Isalabi, suggesting they were not related to the Gods their people worshipped.


    ¡°Yes my liege. But they are not just any Herald for the Gods we do not worship. They are related to the Dark Pantheon, who we assumed to have either been destroyed, or have dissolved. It seems they have returned, and I think I know why.¡±


    Asairos furrowed his brows at this. There was nothing wrong about the Dark Pantheon, in fact the dark arts are generally accepted by the people of the Lonesome Frost. As any sort of magic, whether or not its roots is evil or good, was considered to be acceptable. It was only the worshippers of the Gods of Light that did not like the dark arts, and with them being a large majority, it was rare to see a worshipper or user of the dark arts. More so when the Dark Pantheon was presumed to have faded decades ago.


    ¡°Turn to the page after that. It is presumably written before the murder he was accused of to have occurred. We cannot confirm if that is so, but what is drawn there could be a clue as to why the murder occurred, or if he even committed it.¡±


    Asairos would do as she says, his finger turning the page to the next. What greeted his sight was another drawing, accompanied by more writing. This drawing was special in a way, as Asairos instantly recognized it. The drawing was depicting a large gate, a stone gate that seems to be ancient. At the center was the locking mechanism of it, but to others it would simply look like a large skull grinning madly surrounded by a circle of magical runes.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°This is the Gate of Martolem. Said to be one of the many Ancient Gates that lead to grand libraries, or to an army like none other. This one in particular is related to the undead, specifically to the ¡®God¡¯ Laktori the Sufferer. Any who search for the Gates rarely seek this one out, as it leads one to ¡®suffering¡¯ and ¡®sacrifice¡¯, in exchange for the power over the dead.¡±


    There was many that sought power over the dead, either to extend their own life or to gain power. Many have achieved this through various means, commonly using dark magic to achieve it. But the Gate of Martolem was something no one would wish to willingly choose, as it was one that promised suffering and sacrifice in exchange for power. If compared to the existing dark arts, and even Gods that offered the same power, this Gate was an idiotic choice. But it was clear Benedict was searching for this. And he could not fathom as to why.


    ¡°It is peculiar as to why he would want this. There is a far easier route one might take for the power over the dead. But perhaps this is why those Heralds was attracted to them, and maybe it was not he who had killed that squire, but rather someone or something else.¡±


    Asairos would close the notebook, giving it back to Aniara as his daughter remained silent at this. Her eyes showed confusion and conflict within them, and it was clear she knew of something. But he did not ask, and simply turned to Aniara.


    ¡°That is a possibility. Though I suggest we keep this information away from the other summoned. This might make it look as if he was planning something malign, and we cannot expose to them to this as of now. I believe we should let his friends know of this first.¡±


    Leila would nod at this. Looking at her father with her golden eyes, this was a good idea. As they would need to know of his fate, for they seemed to be the only people Benedict had trusted, and they obviously were friends even before they were transported to their world. Asairos would nod, giving his approval as the two would begin to speak of the other summoned.


    Unbeknownst to them, there was something they had overlooked. Specifically on the depiction of the Gate of Martolem. The skull had a strange look to it, which was a slit on its forehead that showed dozens upon dozens of eyes. This was a minor detail at best, a mistake or artistic addition.


    -


    Benedict did not like to dream. He never had a proper sleep ever since he was summoned to this world. There was something about the dreams he would experience that made him dislike them. They were visions in a way, visions that would relate more to nightmares than any casual dream. He could not explain these, and he did not seek help from others as he found this to be some problem he needed to solve himself. Though there was no proper way of solving them, as they come and go at some strange leisure, leaving him baffled and reluctant to sleep each day.


    These dreams or nightmares depending on how one views it, did not truly affect him. But each one grew more elaborate, with more creatures being added. It would convince him to draw them in his ¡®journal¡¯, which was more like a blank book that a notebook, with him buying it for some sort of project in his original world. Like each day before this, ever since he had stated he would not serve any God of this world, the dreams would begin.


    Each time he fell into a slumber, they came crawling out. Disturbing the usual nothingness he would have. First the blackness would disappear, as he would be given a false sense of reality. It was like a lucid dream, but he had no control over it. Then he would feel himself to be lowered on a field of sorts, a field made entirely out of skulls.


    The first time he experienced this, there was a lot of screaming from him. A hysterical reaction surely, but one that was not unwarranted. It was made more stranger that each time he was deposited into this strange dream, all he had on was some boxers. It meant that aside from that, he wore nothing else. But now, he had new additions, his scything-blades.


    They would roughly hit the ground of skulls, piercing through some of them as he shrugged at the sight of it. He then looked up, only to be greeted by a beautiful starry night, accompanied by one large moon. It was nothing too peculiar, but the land of skulls he was in was a little more than disconcerting the first time he came here.


    ¡°Great.. This dream again.¡±


    He whined as he began to walk, heading to no specific direction at all. It did not matter, as the direction he would head to mattered not. The outcome was all the same, he would wake in cold sweat. Wishing to not have this sort of dream again.


    As he walked, the vast expanse of skulls would reveal some other oddities. Oddities that had slowly popped up as he continued to visit this twisted dream world. First it was skull-crabs, or hermit crabs that used the skulls as shells. They were adorable in a way, as they would peek out with their large glowing eyes, snipping at the air in acknowledgement to his presence before following him, and stopping after a few minutes.


    As he would continue to walk, there would be skeletal individuals appearing. Initially they would be simple skeletons, mindless things that would either follow or stare, with parts of them missing or covered in rags. They would grow elaborate however, slowly appearing with pieces of armor here and there, trudging around aimlessly in some vague manner of sapience. Those that follow him would do so dutifully, silently following with every single step as their eyes began to glow with some sort of red energy.


    Benedict however would briefly look back, eyes widening in surprise as he would began to briskly walk. It was vain however, as the slowly growing horde of skeletons would follow without a hint of stopping at all. He had seen this in past dreams, but they would only number in the dozens, but now they steadily went beyond that. With that strange glow to their hollow eye sockets, almost as if they were following their lord.


    It would have been flattering, but the sheer clarity of this dream was on another level. Making him assume that he was in some other astral plane, a land where the forlorn dead was and he was an oddity, an oddity that many of the dead began to notice. He had to admit to himself, that deep within he was happy about this in a way, as he had found necromancy to be something desirable. Even if he would have just used it for the mastery of magics that would cause the living to fade.


    He knew that this world was magical, but there was little to no mentions about Necromancy. There was some dark arts, but they did not dabble into Necromancy, but rather the summoning of daemonic entities. This was peculiar to him, but it wasn¡¯t surprising. No one would tolerate such a ghastly art, especially since it desecrates the sanctity of the dead.


    If anyone else would have seen this, they would be shocked and terrified. But he had gotten used to this by now, yet he could not expect everything to stay the same. As it is shown now, there was new additions to the land and the behaviour of the undead. With each step he took forward, the undead became more armored, more strange.


    They would rise from the ground of skulls, letting out a silent voice that he couldn¡¯t hear. But they would do it nonetheless, followed by their bodies slowly rising up, revealing their attires. Some looked like Knights, Vikings, Monks, Saracens, Crusaders and other medieval-like individuals. Even some clearly came from this world, wearing glorious armors wrought in gold, or ones made from stone. Those that would follow him would gain glowing eyes, staring at him and following dutifully.


    But those that did not, would begin to form their own groups. Following figures that showed more intelligence than the rest, and having the aura of authority. One was an ancient King of sorts, those that followed him were Knights that had similar emblems to the one found on his armor. Behind were peasants, following the safety of the Knights.


    Another was what could be a religious figure. Its attire was that of a black robe, with a veil that barely hid its skeletal face. Those that followed it were flagellants and crusaders, the flagellants themselves would flog themselves with modified floggers. Ones that had sharp blades at the tip of each tail. This was a stupid thing as they shed no blood, but they did it still, in the name for some religion.


    Regardless of how many groups that were forming, Benedict moved forward. He regarded the leaders of the group with nods of respect each time they looked at him, and in turn they returned the gesture. This was the first time they had actually done this, and it spooked him. If they would utter a word, surely he would be screaming obscenities right now.


    Even then the strangeness of this plane or situation did not stop. First the undead that came was clearly humanlike, nothing too strange. Aside from being utterly skeletal and coming from different walks of life. Then the appearances of skeletal constructs changed that, undead composed of more than one skeleton came out of the ground.


    They ranged from conjoined skeletons, to an entire amalgam of skeletons forming an even larger skeleton. Each growing more insane than the last, and slowly becoming more malevolent in design than practicality. They made no sense at all, but they had an impact on one¡¯s sanity. But for Benedict, one that had been playing games that had similar or even much more worse equivalents, they looked fascinating in person.


    He would allow himself to gaze at them, examining their looks as he still moved onwards. Seemingly walking forward eternally in a land of eternal bones, with a moonlit sky with nary a wind to caress their bare forms. Many would question the need to even walk, but to Benedict it was better than nothing. And he wanted to see if this dream would remain the same, or rather would end the same way it had always did.


    There was nothing more fascinating for him here, than trying to understand this dream, or world. But it was hard to understand, when the beings that inhabited this place could not talk at all. And initially, they were oblivious to his presence, acting as if he was a ghost. Now however, they actively followed him, or even formed their own groups and matched his pace.


    He remembered clearly the first time he began to walk. The undead that existed was of a simpler form, the skull-crabs. Yet each dream, each fall into this many came, rising from the skulls. Growing elaborate as he continued to walk. He could not find an explanation for this, but he doubted that it wasn¡¯t connected to him in some way.


    ¡°Spooky. Utterly spooky..¡±


    He sighed as he continued on, there was nothing really great happening. All that happened now, was them following him. Nothing exciting or anything like that, it was more like a solemn march. A solemn march for something he did not know. It would have been interesting at the very least if one of the skeletons had a trumpet, dooting around and breaking the creepy atmosphere already set.


    But that would just alleviate the boredom he was slowly feeling. There was no goal to this dream, not one that he could perceive or comprehend. If this dream even had a point, he was losing sight of it, or was blind to it. At least that was what he thought for now.


    ¡°Is there any point to this?¡±


    He asked, motioning out to the vast expanse of skulls and to the growing gather of skeletons. He was the only living thing here, and those that followed him was clearly different. But he did not want to think deeper, it was a dream, that was what he wanted to assume. A dream, a representation of sorts, or something else entirely.


    And so, doing the only logical thing he could do in this place, was like always walk forward. This would span on for what seemed to be hours to him, the endless sea of skulls always being there. With undead rising, feeding the ever growing hordes with new members, as without him noticing it, they would have formed some manner of congregation. With two strange undead, armored and covered in black robes, which had embers upon them, holding thuribles. Modified in a way that the censer itself was also a flail, but still able to serve its original religious purpose.


    The thuribles swayed in their hands as they raised it, letting it hang just low enough that it was in the same level of their waists. They allowed it to swing to the sides, letting out a smoke of incense that induced a strange calm to Benedict. He himself did not notice as all he saw was the growing expanse of skulls. However, there would be new things to see.


    Actual pillars of skulls rising through the floor, with braziers burning brightly above. Whilst whole structures dotted the area now. Made not only from bones, but a dark stone that let out such dark feelings. There above them would be figures, not undead, but something akin to living beings. He looked at them, recognising them as the figures that he would briefly see in the waking world following him.


    They were covered in strange attires, wearing masks or having no face at all. They looked at him with obvious interest, as they stood tall and high, examining him like some prized blade. They made no move however, as they only watched him and nodding at the amount of undead following him. If this was some sort of test, then he would be surprised that whatever he was doing was acceptable.


    ¡°Hey! Stop stalking me you bastards!¡±


    He would yell, as he felt a momentary sort of anger towards them. They unnerved him greatly in the past, making him feel as if he was going insane. It even made him question if he was doing the right thing by secluding himself away from the others, searching for a way to make himself stronger. While just adventuring around the Lonesome frost.


    They made no proper reply at that. Instead they would shake their heads, as if what he asked could not be done. This only made him angry, but his anger would only be stopped when he noticed something. Something that he always saw when his dream was about to end. It was a large gate, rising from the sea of skulls alongside a large series of walls that span into eternity.


    It was a large gate, something that could have been built by giants. As it was as talls a building, with its designs being meticulous and utterly alien. At its center was a symbol of sorts, a large skull surrounded by a circle of runes, unlike the ones he saw on that clearing he was on. Each one seemed to move, to be fluid, but they remained the same as he stared.


    There at its forehead would be a crack of sorts, a slit into it. It contained hundreds of eyes, aimlessly looking outwards, until they would see him approach. In an instant all eyes would move to stare at him. With the wet noise of flesh squelching and bubbling echoing out. It would continue, becoming more gross by the minute.


    It was trying to communicate, like always. As if it was trapped behind the gate, wanting a way out. But still he could not understand why it was locked away, or why he should help it. And so like always, he just stared at it, as hundreds of eyes stared back. It was like that saying, that if you stare into the abyss, it would stare back.


    As he stared, he would notice that the undead that gathered would be kneeling now. All looking down in reverence towards the gate as if they did not notice the strange thing behind the crack. That thing, would stare at him, like some sort of abomination beyond the stars. It would do this for minutes, before it would close it eyes. But this time it did not, instead tentacles would come out of the crack, attempting to cause more to occur. But it couldn¡¯t do so, making it unleash a high pitched whine, before its eyes would close and its tentacles returning to its side.


    Usually in this moment he would be pulled to a dark abyss. His mind being wrenched into a state of unfocused cold. However, he would instead feel pain to start enveloping his body. As if he was slowly being set on fire, or rather being torn apart from the side. Naturally he would start to scream, as he did so he would open his eyes and brought to the waking world.


    In a daze and still feeling the pain, by pure instinct his scything-blades would try to lash out. But to his dismay they couldn¡¯t move, as the sound of metal being strained reached his ears. With unfocused eyes he would look around, only to see that he was in some sort of wooden home. Light would illuminate the room he was in, passing through glass windows which allowed him to see that he was alone. At least that was what he thought.


    To his side he would hear a voice speak, a voice of a female. This would startle him as he would try to move, trying to push himself away from the source. But like his scything-blades, his arms and legs were bound. It was made worse with the pain he was feeling now.


    [Ah- You¡¯re awake! You shouldn¡¯t be awake.. Oh no no.. Elder! Elder! He is awake!]


    He would see that he was bound in chains, and it caused him to struggle more. But it was in vain, as he noticed that the source was a familiar girl. A tanned horned girl, with what seems to be black hair. The first thing that his mind thought was that she was a demon of sorts, one that would most likely use him as a sacrifice for their dark gods. But he couldn¡¯t think any further, as he felt that pain again. Pain that coursed through his body, but mostly being located on his sides. In this he screamed, as he couldn¡¯t do anything else.

 Chapter Five: Terrible Creatures

    ¡°There is always something new that will happen. Some new reaction or some new discovery. Either that of an ancient magic or creature being rediscovered, or an entirely new entity being made. This is the power of magic, or rather mana itself. It is something we cannot properly comprehend, and yet we foolishly thinker with it without caution at all.¡±


    - Lagromatus the Accursed regarding the Flesh Changers of Varai


    Howling in pain, Benedict felt the suffering he felt on his side slowly move up. It was like that of the worm-like crawlings of his skin hours back, in a way that it was clawing its way to his mind, like tendrils of strange entities trying to know how he thinked. It was anguish in the highest form he could ever feel, made worse by the bindings that restricted him from attempting to bash his head in.


    Visions flashed into his mind, forced by some otherworldly force. Or it was simply the sheer amount pain he was feeling that caused it, regardless he would see the wooden ceiling begin to crumble away. Showing a deep void lit by dying stars, and yet the void was unnatural. Yet he could see figures quite literally swimming in the vacuum of it, as if they had evolved to live in a place that no living thing should ever exist in. It was akin to a vision of madness, like the tales of ¡®gods¡¯ of madness in his own world, spoken and written upon only in the fiction of several writers.


    The things that swam in the cold void was, in a way beautiful to him. But to others, especially to the natives of this world, they were a sight that would surely cause insanity. But not all of them would cause simple insanity with their forms, as most resembled creatures of myth made into primal variations for the cold void. Some resembled a mixture of ancient earth aquatic entities, with a multitude of eyes that glowed with obvious energy that some could deduce to be as old as the dying stars around them.


    But Benedict did not focus on these creatures, the pain he felt was amplified ten-fold whenever he looked at them. As if he was not meant to examine them, as if some entity jealously wanted his attention. The vision intensified then, his screams becoming a distant whisper to his ears as he had lost sight of the room he was in.


    His eyes darted out desperately, trying to see more, trying to escape the pain he felt. As he did so he would notice a particular group of void-swimming entities, entities similar to the thing he saw trapped behind the gate in his dream. They had a multitude of tentacles, but most had arms akin to that of octopuses with strange suckers upon them. They however did not swim like the others, instead they drifted with each other¡¯s company.


    Among them, there was a particularly large specimen. If it could be described by him, it resembled a large bulbous mass, having a hundred or so ¡®arms¡¯ and tentacles alike around its body, though it had seem to be keeping them into a tight drill-like hold as it drifted. It had a singular eye, nearly as large as its entire body, and this very eye was looking at him. It was very similar to the thing behind the gate, but it only held one eye.


    It looked at him with obvious interest, but it would shake its ¡®head¡¯ as if now was not the time. Strangely enough, as he looked towards this thing, Benedict felt the pain recede, almost disappearing. But it remained like a buzzing behind his head. In that moment he noticed that his screams was silent, it was no surprise because what he saw now was a void. Sound could not travel in a vacuum, that he knew. But he wasn¡¯t there physically, so why could he only hear damning silence?


    The answer would come quickly then, as the dying stars began to fade alongside the creatures, it was followed by the cold void fading too. With the previous ceiling returning, reforming again as the screams of his started to ring out again. This time however, his screams would slowly quiet down as the pain he felt receded, replaced by a burning sensation within his body. It was followed by the feeling of his mind being opened up, as if there was another level of complexity added to it, another purpose than what is normally found on a human mind.


    [Peculiar, his body is rapidly gathering mana and integrating it within his body. He is not actively fueling any sort of spell, but rather it seems to be a natural process that is meant to feed some sort of change.. And yet it is obviously bringing him great pain. Salia, continue on numbing the pain he feels, I fear that the bindings won¡¯t hold if he keeps struggling.]


    Piercing through his dying screams, voices could be heard. The language unknown to him, and being strangely song-like despite it obviously not meant to be any sort of song. With his screams turning into moans and groans of pain, he would struggle against his bindings once again. The rattling of metal would add into the growing noise of the room they were in, he could feel the metals of the chain strained to keep him bound.


    [I can only do so much to numb the pain he feels Elder.. He is experiencing something akin to mana-burn, but it is brought about by him.. By him absorbing the raw mana of our home.. It shouldn¡¯t be possible for humans to do that Elder!]


    With one final grunt, Benedict would cease his struggling entirely. Opting to lay still on the bed he was on, noticing that it was surprisingly comfortable and soft. He could feel the urge to close his eyes and sleep, but he refused that as he would focus his attention to the sources of the voices he heard. As expected he would see the girl, her hands outstretched and holding his right hand. From her touch he could clearly feel a gentle warmth, something born from some sort of magical spell she was doing.


    To his left he would see an elderly male. He was horned like the girl, but his eyes glowed brightly in a blue color, suggesting that powerful energies coursed within his very body. He had about six horns, ornate and marked with runes that he could see to be dimly glowing too. He looked particularly weak, and yet something told him that this old man could do him harm before he would be killed.


    ¡°Where.. Am I¡­Why am I chained..¡±


    He would manage to say with a pained grunt as he would try to relax his body. The pain was there, but not like before where he wanted to bash his head in. He would assume that they were at the very least friendly, seeing as how the female was clearly doing something that did not harm him. But with him being bound, it clearly spoke of how they were wary of him. Which was understandable given the fact he has two deadly limbs.


    [Strange. That is not the Northern Tongue,or any of the human languages I have heard. Salia, continue to alleviate his pain. It is best we calm him, before he does anything rash.]


    Given the tone of their song-like language they seemed to sound worried, either for him or for their own well being.His fingers would twitch a bit, slowly curling inwards to let him ball his hands into fists. The female on his right took this as a sign of agitation, and he expected for her to back away. Instead she would speak soothingly, that song-like language somewhat compelling him to relax.


    [Please, calm down. We mean you no harm.. We will not scorn you for what you are, or what you have become. Though, you are in pain.. Try not to move.]


    Reluctantly he would relax, letting his hand unfurl. With his fingers touching the soft sheets of the bed, he would finally realize that he did not have his gauntlets on. In fact, he was wearing an entirely new set of clothing. It wasn¡¯t anything particularly special, just a grey shirt and black pants, but what it implied caused him to feel slightly embarrassed.


    [I believe he cannot understand our language. Though despite that, he clearly understands the tone of what we are saying. A good sign for certain, as it means that whatever he has become, he is not a Revenant. So you can rest easy and can safely return what belongs to him. But I suggest doing it after we establish a spell to speak with him.]


    With the assumption that they were truly friendly by the tone of their voice, Benedict would examine their clothing. Trying to find out if what they wore was familiar, as the lessons he actually remembered from Isalabi spoke of some races that they should expect within and outside the Lonesome Frost. The best way to find out what race, or civilization they came from was based on their attire as one of the instructors said. Even going as far as to cite that some of the races wore what seemed to opulent dresses, but is in actuality everyday clothing to their culture.


    And yet their attires, did not match anything he had heard. Though they were familiar in way, as they largely resembled ancient clothing of past human civilizations. But they had their own take on it, with it being a sort of mixture from similar clothings he had seen in the past. As far as he could described it, their attire was a mixture of silken cloaks and fitting leather bindings that almost looked as if it was meant to be armor. There was no clear way to describe it, aside from calling it an elegant mixture of practical and aesthetic designs.


    [He is utterly strange Elder.. I feel it, that primal need to simply survive. There is wrath underneath, boiling and roiling purposely kept in check, yet steadily building up.. The mana around him is being siphoned within, under some instinct that is wholly not human.]


    To Benedict their conversation was that of two songs intertwining, with each participant relaying the words of their language in varying pronunciation that he could barely comprehend. But it felt magical, like their words were laced with mana like how spells are chanted out. And yet they did not actively do it. It was peculiar as how he could feel such a thing, when a month ago he couldn¡¯t feel mana itself. Certainly he could feel the effects of magic, that vague tingling in the air or certain smells or even taste depending on the spell. But never mana itself. This would have been an interesting thing for him to take not of, but he was more keen on listening to the tone of the two before him.


    [Indeed. The new limbs he has is certainly different, but the way it is positioned on his back implies that it grew naturally. But the time it took for it to have grown should have been far longer.. Perhaps this is why his body siphons mana? Is this only a part of the changes he is undergoing? I will have to consult one of the Choir and Menders.]


    Despite the obvious language barrier, it became truly clear they had no plans in doing him any harm. But the way the older man spoke implied he was talking about him, the tone of his voice holding curiosity but also being cautious. His instincts dictated that he must lay down, allow this to happen, and he followed that. As he felt he had a higher a chance to survive this ordeal without being violent at all.


    [The Choir and Menders had said he is.. Strange. The Lord of Hymn even said that the song of mana around him is like a chant, a low droning sound of voices joining in speaking in a tongue known not to them. Even the healers had said that his body acts as if it is trying to adapt to mana itself.. Is there any truth to this Elder? Is this why the Forlorn chose him?]


    They talked almost casually about him, that he could be sure of. The room he was in, as he would notice now actually looked quite furnished. As if it was some guest room of sorts, the room he was in didn¡¯t have any indication that someone own it as there was no pictures, or anything that could imply as such. It also looked utilitarian, with it just being the right size to accommodate a knight or two. This would put him at ease, as they were hospitable enough to let him rest in this room. Though at the cost of him being restrained, presumably for their own protection.


    [The Forlorn as far as I can remember, belonged to a particular clan of Northerners from the Lonesome Frost. They were among the few that looked to the empty void, and found a strange comfort to it. They created strange art from it, most notably their equipment. I know not what could have made him choose this boy, but I can assume it is because he had proven himself. Hence why he even spared the boy, leaving him with a few cracked ribs of course.]


    Seeing as how his options were limited, he would consider sleeping. But that would mean he would miss the things that would occur as he slept, and he wished not to dream of that dream again. There was nothing to gain from it, and he needed to be awake to deduce what it truly was.


    [We may ask him about his origins Elder..I know the Word spells of the Choirs, if you will allow it I will try the spell on him. And.. Has the Menders commented about the state of his¡­ hands? This isn¡¯t some effect of the Forlorn bequeathing his equipment to him, right?]


    Surprisingly he could feel the female caressing his hand as her tone became deeply worried, but the sensation was strangely numb in a way. Slowly he felt another surge of warmth followed by a coolness that would creep up to his body, it offered relief that fully removed the remaining traces of pain his body felt. He was thankful for this, but worried that should she remove her hand then the pain would return tenfold, and that was something he did not want.


    [The Menders are unsure what to make of his hands, but they say it is literally a sort of bone-growth. Its purpose seems to be that of defense, where it currently is growing around his fingers and assumingly would still allow him to move them. And yes, you can try it on him, it would be best that he would not get the wrong idea about his situation.]


    With a nod, the elderly male would take a few steps backwards as he directed his gaze towards Benedict. He looked intrigued and particularly lax, a front to make sure he would incite any false assumptions. But it only made it clear to Benedict that the old man was powerful, that or wherever he was in, the old man held some sort of position of power. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation after that, the female would let go of his hand, and just as he feared the pain returned.


    But it was not as worse the first time it happened, but nonetheless it was painful enough for him to begin straining on his shackles once again. However the female wouldn¡¯t let him feel it any further as she leaned in and touched the side of his temples, gently rubbing them as that familiar warmth came from her touch. It was quite the intimate sight as she was near him, with her face gently smiling upon him with those yellow irises of hers.


    He could feel a rush of heat on his face, a natural reaction to how close a girl was to him. But fortunately, or unfortunately he was incapable of actually blushing at all. And so he could only looked wide eyed at her, as heavy feeling would begin to gather around her hands, followed by her starting to gently massage his temple with her thumbs. The mana around him, one of the many things he couldn¡¯t describe at all, but was closely similar to a strange feeling of something being there but at the same time not being there, began to spread out.


    He could see her eyes starting to glow blue as she maintained her smile. His senses briefly was overtaken by a surge of fear and a desire to survive, with his thoughts thinking that she was about to steal his soul or enslave him to her will. He feared both outcomes, especially when they suddenly appeared as irrational thoughts in his mind.


    [Do not fear, you will not be harmed.]


    Without any warning at all, he would feel something similar to a mental invasion. It was not dissimilar to the feeling of those worm-like crawlings, with them moving like tendrils into his mind and making him feel as if he knew something, giving him knowledge that he could not grasp. It also strangely made him not hear anything at all, as if his hearing was shut off by the same force that gave him some sort of knowledge.


    He could see the girl speak, her lips moving almost hypnotically before she would pull back, her hands letting go of his head. Just like before the pain returned, but it was quickly doused when he felt her touch again on his right hand. With the return of the warmth, his hearing returned and strangely enough he could comprehend what they said. They still spoke in that song-like language, but he could understand it as if they were speaking in english.


    ¡°The spell should have taken effect now..¡±


    It was obvious that she had done a spell that would allow him to understand them, it was similar to the spell he had first witnessed when he came to this world. It was casted by the head mage of Isalabi, allowing the summoned to understand the language and speak them. But that one simply made it so that whatever language they heard would be directly translated to the language they were fluent in.


    ¡°He should understand us now. If you can understand us, tell me are you alright?¡±


    The old man smiled at him as he asked his question, nodding towards Benedict as if indicating that this was a place that would not harm him. He had already deduced as much from the way their voices sounded before he could comprehend them, but still he couldn¡¯t help but feel wary now.


    ¡°I.. I am alright.. Thank you for not harming me.¡±


    Hesitantly he replied, unsure how to speak towards the individuals that had saved him, individuals that he knew not of. To his surprise, his own voice came out not bearing the english language but that of the song-like language they spoke in. Unlike theirs his was a gathering of voices, chanting out in a strange order akin to three layers of chantings that lagged in the end. The two looked at him strangely, as if this was something they did not expect.


    ¡°The voice of yours.. Interesting, allow me to introduce myself. I am known as the Elder, my name matters not for my purpose is what defines me now. I bid you welcome to the forest of my people, and hope that you shall abide by the laws set about by those that came before us. Though you will not expect anything less than respect from the others, as you are the successor to the Forlorn.¡±


    At the mention of the Forlorn, flashes of memory revolving around that ghostly warrior would resurface quickly. Showing him exactly why the Elder called him the successor to the Forlorn, as he had inherited three items from that warrior. The image of those outstretched tentacles trying to grasp out towards the dragon on the weapon and shield, was shown clearly in his mind as he momentarily lost himself. His attention would be pulled back to the present by the voice of the female, who was still holding his hand.


    ¡°Are you by any chance well versed in the manipulation of mana?¡±


    Her question was sudden, but it had an edge of worry to it as she stared at him. It was a strange moment for Benedict, as a complete stranger showed worry for a person like him, a person with obvious monstrous qualities and who was also a stranger. He opted to reply, but hesitantly as the language he spoke in did not seem to be english.


    ¡°No.. I am not, I am incapable of manipulating mana. I have no skill in it, nor will I ever be able to do so.¡±


    There was a reason as to why he said that, he was Godless. And the Godless as the others have put it, cannot have abilities granted to them by Gods, as they do not or will not accept their gifts, and as such they will not be granted the ability to wield magic. It was logical as when they came to this world, they had no ability to even wield mana, and one of the mages even went as far as to say they were empty vessels that needed only to be filled.


    His answer would cause the female to look at him curiously, as if his reply did not make sense at all.It caused the Elder to chuckle, clearly amused by how his reply sounded so grim and accepting. Even when it came out as a chanting of voices. The Elder made no reply, instead it was the female that spoke as a small frown crossed her face.


    ¡°Well.. You are manipulating mana right now.. It¡¯s the source of your pain, the pure raw energy that is within the home of my people is being forcibly integrated into your body. Normally humans cannot do such a thing.. As only mages could do so! But you.. You¡¯re not a mage, and your body is changing because of it!¡°


    He would give her a confused look, unable to comprehend what she had just said to him. But slowly it made sense, the pain he felt, the scything-blades that grew from his back, and the worm-like writhing he had experienced. Before he had jumped, before he had woke near that lake in that clearing, there was nothing comparable like that happening to him. In fact as the others chose to accept Gods, and he and his friends were deemed Godless, he became aware of a sort of emptiness within him. He chalked it up as the usual emptiness, a lack of proper motivation of sorts, but now it seemed to be the emptiness of mana.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He couldn¡¯t feel the same emptiness now, instead he felt hunger. That strange hunger that drove him to devour that deer-like thing, and strangely enough he felt something similar to a smoldering flame within him. He tried to focus on it, but all he got was a sudden anger rising up, something wholly familiar to him. He did not dwell on it, instead he spoke as he raised his left hand, causing the shackle upon it to rattle.


    ¡°Where am I?¡±


    He would witness his left hand to have grown strange growths, highly reminiscent of bone and forming along the lines of his fingers and hand as if it was to form armor. They mainly formed around his fingers as if some force ossified something so specifically, allowing him still to be able to move them. His eyes widened momentarily at this, a surge of nervousness overcoming him before it being replaced with quick startling acceptance.


    ¡°You seem to be taking your situation quite well. I applaud that, as most humans by now would have struggled and spat in disgust at the sight of something that is not of their kind. Though the answer to your question would be ¡®Malvirek¡¯, or Forest of Ancients, the home of my people and many others. It is in a sense directly below the Lonesome Frost, though one must traverse great mountains and treacherous paths to find the one true path that leads within that place.


    And one must actually survive the many beasts of our home to find the homes of my people. Though you bypassed that, in a particularly creative way.¡±


    The Elder spoke as he began to draw symbols upon the air with one hand, it initially looked like the old man was simply playing tricks on him. But soon enough with one final stroke of his finger a blinding bolt would burst out from his palm, whizzing towards him as if it was set to kill him. Benedict did not have time to react before the the bolt would hit him squarely on his chest, but it did nothing, and all he could do was growl at the Elder.


    ¡°Aggressive, quick to retaliate and surely malevolent. And yet that holy bolt did nothing to you, simply going within you without any resistance in your part. Then your body simply devoured the bolt, like some sort of snack. Curious, you aren¡¯t undead as we have first assumed, since you arrived within our lands as a cold corpse.¡±


    The Elder nodded in satisfaction, his hands once again drawing symbols upon the air, and this time it simply caused the bindings that held him back to disintegrate. It was a blatant display of magic, and briefly he could feel the mana in the spell he did, even taste it to some extent. In response to that, his scything-blades would extend out for a moment, moving in a way that suggested that it was not limited to one set of movements, before it was reeled back in.


    ¡°I.. actually died?¡±


    He asked in disbelief, before he would let out a strange chuckle. It strangely felt amusing to him, as it truly made sense now. But what did not make sense was how he was even alive, that could not be explained at all.


    ¡°Yes! I well¡­ I found you dead and floating on the waters of cleansing. The holy lake had kept your body from actually decaying, letting me reach out to compel the water to let your body come to the earth of the altars. Though when I left to ask the Elder what to do with your.. Body, you were certainly dead! And when we came to bury you among our honored dead.. You were gone.¡±


    The girl spoke with a bit of hesitation, her eyes looking at his with a bit of shame in them. As if she had done something dishonorable. Benedict noticed this, but he would begin to think of what she said, and what it implied. It meant that just as she left, he had awoken with these new limbs. Even if there was a gap between the hours she left, and the time he woke up, it meant that these new limbs grew rapidly, and only when he was actually on solid ground.


    ¡°...God damn it...¡±


    He cursed as he would not know what to do. It was clear that the changes he was experiencing was advancing in a pace once deemed impossible, it was only a matter of time when the next big change would occur, as right now there was an obvious growth of bone on his hands. This was obviously a reaction to something, perhaps a way to make him survive? But it mean that he was something else now, a mutant, a changeling, an abberant of nature.


    ¡°I am no longer human¡­ I am an.. Aberration..¡±


    He muttered his thoughts, but at that the Elder would chuckle as he would go turn around.


    ¡°You¡¯re indeed an aberration. Something different, something new, something that has inherited the mantle of the Forlorn. No matter what you are, know that you have purpose. You are now titled Despot, an entity that shall be the beginning of a change like none other. For you will carry the will of the Forlorn, and it shall be sang forth in the voices of wrath, and with each beating of your heart you shall become this new being.


    That is what I have seen with my eyes, yours is a future carved not by the tapestry of fate, but guided by it. What it guides you to, is your choice alone. Your voice mimics this, a hymn or cacophony that follows what you say, almost discordant yet also pleasing. Salia has found you first, and as such her fate is tied to yours. A fate much better than what the Tapestry had set for her is in your hands.


    As you are¡­ Godless.¡±


    The Elder smiled as he uttered the word ¡®Godless¡¯, in a way it was not the word Godless he said. It was another word in their song-like tongue, which closely resembled the word Godless and its meaning to benedict. Zahliel, that was the word, he did not know its meaning but to him it was Godless. Godless in the context that one chose not to accept the Gods of this world, in blatant spite and defiance. Benedict could only nod in response, his mind trying to digest what the Elder just said.


    ¡°Now, would you tell us your name?¡±


    It was Salia that spoke, the female that held his hand. Her voice was steady, as if they had talked about this beforehand. It was overwhelming really, and for the Benedict who did not want any sort of obligation to this world he was forcibly brought upon, he could only sigh.


    ¡°Benedict.. I am.. Benedict Ligare.¡±


    But he would reply nonetheless, seeing as it was for the best. And with his reply, the Elder¡¯s smile returned and it widened to somewhat of a mad grin. And without even so much as letting his heart beat, the old man would clap his hands, his glowing eyes even getting brighter with visible excitement.


    ¡°Yes, another individual to fulfill what has been said in age old lore! An individual to finally succeed the Forlorn. Benedict, you shall be the one to fulfill what the Forlorn wanted in his undeath. Though it will be hard, it will be a purpose for you.¡±


    Salia could be heard sighing too, as if she had no say in this. It was obvious on her beautiful face on how she started to glare at the Elder, but the glare did not last long as she would held his hand tightly. It was peculiar before she would pull out a necklace from a pocket of hers, she then would open his hand and place the necklace on his palm. And instantly he recognized what the necklace was.


    ¡°I shall hope that you will have me.¡±


    She would say with a tinge of a blush on her face as she would bow her head. Benedict as this unfolded could only look on with a mixture of confusion and horror. He remembered one of the reasons why he even left Isalabi, aside from a petty desire to get better and bash Damien¡¯s skull in, he did not want any obligations to this world. A world that was not his own. But now, he was being forced into a purpose he had no say in.


    But there was something that confused him more. The Elder blatantly said that he was the first of his kind, what did he imply? Did he know that he was a Summoned? But why would he call him the first? It made him assume many things, but none was close enough to what the Elder actually meant.


    ¡°Now that you at least know your situation, allow me to leave the two of you alone. As I have other things to attend to. Salia, I suggest you teach him how to manage his ability in absorbing mana, or he shall never be able to sleep at all.¡±


    With that, the Elder left him alone with Salia. He didn¡¯t even notice the Elder leave, as Benedict would let out a frustrated sigh which was followed by him muttering a few curses, particularly directed to Asairos and the head mage that authorized the summoning. He had to wonder at least, if his friends were faring much better than him.


    --


    It had been a day and a half since Benedict had torn apart a Jaelir, eating most of the eviscerated creature whilst leaving most to rot. He didn¡¯t particularly leave any large chunks behind save for the head, as he had ravenously devoured a majority of the creature including its bones. He himself did not notice it in his hungry haze, and when he had left, there came scavengers looking for an easy meal. Of course being creatures of the Forest of Ancients, they were particularly strange in biology.


    Many tried to come for the scraps, but one in particular wont out due to its sheer size and managed to steal away the remains of the Jaelir. This entity was a Raemir, a distant cousin to the common wyverns of Jasolem. It was a young Raemir, nearly nine years in age and resembling something akin to serpentine formation of rocks. It also was strange as it had an exoskeleton of sorts, similar to a spine that grew on its upper plates that helped interlock the majority of its stone-like shells, whilst helping its helmet like head to seemingly look eyeless, whilst maintaining a large deadly maw.


    It was quite long, nearly capable of wrapping around ten adult humans and eating four of them whole,but curiously this great beast was not moving at all. Moments ago it had just finished eating several Jaelir and other creatures, a day after it had found the head of an already eaten Jaelir. Right now it was deathly still under the shade of the trees, not even the faintest tremor could be seen or heard from it that indicated breathing. It would lay still for nearly half an hour, before it would suddenly move and unleash a roar.


    It was a pained roar, one that caused the surroundings to shake. It tried to curl up before it would simply drop dead. It was an anticlimactic end for such a beast, and an undignified one at that. These creatures could be quite aptly compared to the ¡®World Eating Serpents¡¯ as they could, if given millennia to actually grow reach such a size, sadly some peculiar races did not allow them to reach such sizes. And this Raemir was barely even the size of a normal adult, and so its death was strange and sudden.


    It would simply lay still for minute after its last roar, being as dead as one could possibly be. Then its body would subtly twitch, visible only for a second. This would repeat over and over, with slow twitches that indicated life. But it was clear that it was not life from the Raemir, but some sort of parasite that was within its body.


    Slowly there seems to be movement within its length, slowly crawling up from its stomach and traversing upwards towards its mouth. From the outside the Raemir completely looked normal, as if it was asleep or generally dead. But unseen there was things crawling up its insides, savagely ripping and tearing and eating through. They did this because it was the only actual way to get out, as the other parts of this wyvern-like creature was particularly hard for them to pierce through.


    It took them roughly half an hour to actually reach the head, and once they did they would come out by lifting up the roof of the mouth of the creature, letting its maw open. And at that moment the clear smell of blood would waft around the area, obviously enticing carnivorous creatures to seek its source out. But what came out next would surely cause any creatures to back away at their sight.


    The first to come out was a human-like thing, covered from head to toe in the blood of the Raemir it came from. It was roughly the size of an adult man, but it was particularly thin as if its growth was accelerated, which it was. It clearly resembled a human, but its skin was unnaturally pale, and it being hairless and having no outward signs of a reproductive organ at all.


    It would let out a low growl, as it revealed more features aside from being sexless and truly unnatural. First was that it had sunken eyes, with the irises being brown and dimly glowing red in a way. Second its arms was unnaturally long, nearly as long as it was tall with its own hands being twice as large, with each finger tipped with a particularly long claw. And third it had no lips, or rather it had no skin covering the area around its mouth.


    This made it looks like it was grinning, showing off its sharp teeth whilst letting out a low throaty growl as it breathed in fresh air for the first time in its life. This was an entity that resembled a human, but mutated to suit a purpose, and in this world this being was an abomination. And it knew that, as it was connected to something.


    Behind it, the one that kept the maw of the Raemir opened came out, letting the maw close with a low thud. This thing that came out next was closely similar to the first, but compared to it it was bulkier and more brutish. It was also more human in a way than the other one. Unlike the first, it had lips but the side of its mouth had no skin at all, allowing one to see its muscles and tongue and surprisingly normal teeth.


    This one did not seem to have any claws or obvious deviations, but its legs were formed in a way that the feet only had two long toes that could dig into the ground, in a way it made it look like it had a y shaped foot. Its heel was also a tad bit longer, as if most of its changes focused on its legs.


    Instinctively these two knew what they were, they were the first of specific breeds that would be used for their kind. In some way they knew what their kind was called, through a link to a specific individual. Aberrations, that was what they were, and if they could articulate words they would be saying that very word over and over.


    Instead they would growl as their brains, one disturbingly similar to that of a human would begin to establish a link to their progenitor and to each other. To the world of Jasolem, this was the birth of a new race, but in actuality it was the birth of the very first Hive-Minded race in this magical world. And without anyone to order them as of now, they naturally focused on two instincts that their progenitor felt so keenly. First was survival, and the second was hunger. There was an addition to that, they sought out their progenitor.


    With two roars that barely echoed out, two Aberrations would begin their search for their master, or rather their search for flesh to devour. As it was obvious that they were barely complete at all.


    -


    Far away from the Forest of Ancients, another event was occurring. This one was less grand or surprising as it did not involve any monstrous entities, or battles. It was a convoy of caravans moving through the land of the Lonesome Frost, to the far east near the dens of the beastmen. This caravan was not uncommon, in fact it was very common to the humans of the Lonesome Frost.


    These caravans contained a wide assortment of individuals, from the Merchants that organized them to the adventurers that hitched a ride in exchange of guarding the caravan itself. In one particular caravan that contained preserved goods, there were two individuals that guarded the goods themselves. This was not strange, as there were usually guards within such a caravan while the rest would travel along the side should they have spare horses.


    These two however were obviously not natives of the Lonesome Frost. As they both had black hair, dark brown eyes and a youthful look to their yellowish complexion. They resembled the people of the far eastern lands, beyond that of the Lonesome Frost itself, but they were not from that place. As they were among the many summoned.


    These two were a bit different, as they looked particularly tired and obviously grim. These two were Carleon and Jio, and they had received a disturbing letter that had forced them to drop everything they were doing to simply return to Isalabi, the capital of the humans in this land. They did not look pleased at all, and instead they looked as if someone pulled a sort of trick that they did not appreciate at all.


    Carleon the most grim among the two, had a large two-handed hammer resting on his shoulder. This two-handed hammer, or war-hammer for many individuals was not at all fantasy like. It actually closely resembled an ancient maul, nearly similar to the modernday sledge hammer. Though the size of the head was only a bit bigger than the usual, whilst the entire shaft was made out of metal. It was very simple with little to no design at all, save for a cross highly reminiscent of that from the Knights Templars etched on both sides of the hammer.


    It was also peculiar that on the shaft of the hammer itself there was two chains welded to it, directly connecting to the right gauntlet Carleon wore, welded onto its surface like the hammer. Most of the length of the chains was wrapped around his arm, but the majority hanged and rattled in the air. It made for quite a sight, as Carleon wore a surcoat over a hauberk, the surcoat being made to be grey with a red stylized cross of the Templars at the front. On his head was a mail coif whilst the rest of his attire was simply that of leather armor.


    He had bag to the side of his seat, and to the side of it is a strange dusty old tome. As thick as Benedict¡¯s notebook, but obviously older and its pages made out of different paper.


    Jio on the other hand wore a simple leather set of armor, it was very fantasy-like and looking as if it was for thieves or assassins. But the dull coloration of it implied that it was not up to standard at all. Like Carelon, he had the marking of the Templar Cross on his chest in a bright red color, whilst both of his shoulders had the same mark. On his hand was a sword similar to the japanese ninjato, but thicker in a way and unbalanced as it seemed to rest heavily on the floor.


    Like Carleon¡¯s hammer, the hilt of the blade was also chained and connected to Jio¡¯s right gauntlet which was made out of metal unlike his other equipment. This was particularly ritualistic, and one might even assume that Jio and Carleon belonged to a specific faction of sorts. They looked on to the floor, not really speaking to one another for one reason or another.


    But after a minute or two, Jio would speak, a small smile on his face would appear that would quickly fade as the words left his mouth.


    ¡°Hey, maybe Benedict is just pranking us.. Trying to make us come back sooner because he wants us to see something. He can¡¯t be dead.. Right?¡±


    Carleon would look up towards Jio as he heard his sentence, and the boy would nod for a moment before taking a minute or two to reply.


    ¡°Maybe, but the letter was penned by Leila. The third princess of the Basalos line. I do not know what this means, but the contents of that letter was.. Suspicious. Though regardless of that.. Benedict is not dead.¡±


    He says with a dispassionate voice in the end, as if this entire thing was a waste of time. He was confident that his best friend was alive, that he was sure of, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel that following the request of Leila would lead to trouble.


    ¡°Oh.. Yeah. Remember what Benedict kept saying to us?¡±


    Jio asked as he shifted a bit, his face still looking grim. Carleon would quickly reply, as if he had been chanting the reply for the past few days, as his voice suddenly gained strength and passion behind them.


    ¡°In suffering there is absolution, in pain there is forgiveness.¡±


    At that both of them smiled, but they would return to their grim demeanor soon after.

 Chapter Six: Overt Development

    ¡°I see them, summoned by the Gods to aid us. Summoned to the Lonesome Frost to prepare for a dark like none other. They are champions of the gods, given gifts to be a light in an age of coming dark. And yet the light is not gentle, it is not warm, it is not comforting.. It burns.. It burns.. Oh Ancestors it burns!¡±


    - Oracle Jaxiron of House Hazim a week before the summoning.


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    He cursed as he would take the necklace on his right hand with his left, and he would raise it so that it would jingle as the various trinkets on its length would put its weight on it. Benedict stared at his necklace for a good few seconds, looking at each trinket that was there. There was a ring given to him by Jio, a key he acquired during one of his birthdays, a key to his room back on earth, a small wooden lion taken from a bracelet he owned, and a dog-tag like slab. These were very important to him as they were ¡®bookmarks¡¯ for his memories.


    He was one of many individuals that had a rather dodgy memory, and coupled with his fear and dislike of forgetting things and especially events, he had begun to collect these trinkets that corresponded to a specific event of sorts. Though he wasn¡¯t able to add another to commemorate his arrival on this world, as he felt that this summoning was not something to even celebrate.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for taking your necklace.. ¡°


    Salia would suddenly say in an ashamed voice, Benedict would notice that but he would be occupied with putting his necklace back on. As he placed it on, he felt a strange feeling of being complete only for a scant few moments before fading quickly. He assumed that it was a natural reaction, as he had worn his necklace every single day, except when he actually needed to sleep or take a bath. After that he would look to the female, his eyes looking contemplative before he would reply.


    ¡°Thank you for returning it, and for.. Seemingly trusting me.¡±


    Salia smiled at his reply, hand still clutching his. He wondered as to why she was this friendly, acting as if they were very close. He found this a bit foreboding as he felt that it was a trap of sorts, a way to bind him to the will and plots of another. But she was bringing him relief to him by touch alone, perhaps she was simply a kind person? And if so it wasn¡¯t really surprising that she would do this, but a question would rise in his mind. What was she exactly doing to remove the pain he felt?


    ¡°It is the least I can do Benedict.. Or should I say Despot? Which do you prefer?¡±


    She asked him casually, but there was a notable variation in the way she pronounced his name and the title he was suddenly given. With his name she pronounced it as the way the english word was said, not an equivalent to it. This was a bit surprising as the name Benedict was also used to describe a newly married man, especially one that was a bachelor for a long time. Perhaps there was no word similar to that on the tongue of her people.


    And the way she said Despot contained a strange connotation to it, as if the closest equivalent to the word she had said was Despot, and that whatever word she had actually said was something else entirely. It evoked a surge of pride within him. Compelling him to follow through on whatever instincts that fueled him and to see his purpose done.


    ¡°Either of those.. Though I prefer Benedict. Wait, what did you do to make me understand you? How are you making the pain I feel disappear with simply your touch?¡±


    He would reply, though he would suddenly continue it with questions. Questions that he felt needed to be answered now. Salia only looked at him with a gentle smile, as she would look thoughtful for a moment before answering his questions without hesitation at all. It was like she knew that whatever his intentions were behind his questions, it was of pure curiosity and nothing more.


    ¡°I simply gave the mana within you a voice. This voice translates into many conceivable languages in this world, but it is more effective in letting you talk with my people. As our language is a song to others, laced with mana that allows the evocation of feelings further than normal. Your voice, the way it sounds like a chant of sorts is.. A product of the way the mana within you behaves.


    This is also the reason for your pain as I have said, with your body forcibly manipulating the mana around you to be sucked within you. I cannot describe it, but it is akin to mana-burn, made worse by the fact that your body is making mana integrate with your flesh. I am simply nulling the pain by healing you, and regulating the mana that you absorb.


    Humans normally cannot survive a high intake of the mana of our home, as it is too.. Raw.¡±


    A bit surprised at her explanation, Benedict would nod as he understood what she did in a way. The way she allowed him to understand the language of her people, and to actually speak it, was radically different to the simple translation spells the mages of Isalabi casted upon the summoned. And the way she nulled his pain was fairly simple, she was healing him while presumably regulating the excess mana his body seemingly absorbed.


    This shed light to the strange changes he was experiencing. This was the most logical explanation as to how he even got his scything-blades, whilst experiencing all those physical changes that occurred beneath his skin. The question he had now, was he unconsciously doing this, or was it being led by some force he could not comprehend? Either way it meant that this changes were technically natural, and irreversible. Though he couldn¡¯t guess as to why his body integrating mana into his very flesh would bring pain, unless this was something that wasn¡¯t supposed to be done?


    ¡°I assume you will teach me how to.. Manage this?¡±


    Remembering what the Elder said before he mysteriously disappeared, Benedict would tentatively clutch her hand with his. He would feel the sensation of her skin, and it felt so soft, as if she had never wielded any weapon. This act of his would be seen as rather brazen, but he did not do it simply because he liked the feeling or he wanted to know how she would react. But rather because he wanted to see if the closer the contact of their skin was, the greater the effect of what she did would be.


    ¡°Yes, I w-will.. Try and teach you how to manage what your body is naturally doing.¡±


    A slight stutter would grace his ears as Salia replied to him, it seems his act of holding her hand tightly so suddenly was unexpected for her. And the way she blushed meant that she possibly felt embarrassed, how however he did not feel the same. Without noticing any differences, a sudden serious state would overcome him as he would begin to let go of her hand, trying to pull his out of her grasp. She reacted negatively to this however, with her hand suddenly holding his tightly, not letting it go.


    ¡°What are you doing, Benedict?¡±


    Her once gentle voice would turn suddenly angry as he tried to move his hand away. He looked at her face, and she was seemingly about to scold him with her face turning into a displeased one. It was as if she was witnessing the act of a particularly rebellious child that was trying to do something utterly harmful, even when he knew that it was harmful.


    ¡°Trying to feel that pain.¡±


    He replied readily, raising a brow as he would stroke her hand with his thumb. It would cause her to blush a bit more, but her displeased look would soften a bit as well. His sudden desire to feel the pain was irrational for her, especially when he was screaming in pain just minutes ago because of it, and each time it returned he seemed to have desperately wanted to break free and writhe on the bed. How could she willingly let him feel such a pain? Especially when it was obviously far more painful than anything she had seen.


    ¡°No, absolutely not! Your body is dangerously absorbing the raw mana of my home. If you do not know, raw mana is toxic to most entities! It is moreso dangerous towards humans, it is a miracle you are even alive right now in Malvirek!¡±


    He let out a low growl as he tried to forcefully pull away his hand. She would tighten her grip, glaring at him due to how stupid his action was. Benedict¡¯s sudden desire to feel the pain was not truly a spur of the moment thing, but rather he was curious as to what it exactly felt. He knew it was painful, but he didn¡¯t grasp how the pain was brought about.


    ¡°I need to know what the pain feels like. I will not die from this.¡±


    With one final tug, he would manage to get his hand away from hers. She would gasp in surprise as the moment he couldn¡¯t feel her touch anymore, the pain returned. If it could be described by him, it was like a fire raging beneath his flesh. Accompanied by a sensation akin to having your flesh being eaten by tiny things, whilst feeling the sensation of sore muscles. Unlike before with him being restrained, he would be able to begin writhing in pain.


    But unlike most individuals, he would find this pain to be beneficial. It matched one of sayings he believed in, one that he had constantly said to his friends ever since they had arrived in this world. It allowed him to keenly be aware that he was still alive, and that he was anything but dead. Then quickly he could feel Salia¡¯s hand holding his again, pulling it to lay on the bed as he could feel a sudden tingling sensation on his cheek.


    She had slapped him, and he wasn¡¯t able to notice it as he was focused on the pain. She glared at him as he would lay down properly again, that gentle warmth coming from her touch came again. He had to admit, willingly letting himself feel such a thing was stupid, but it was useful in letting him know what it felt like. This allowed him to assume one thing, the mana that his body was absorbing was fueling something. And that one something was rapid mutation of his body.


    ¡°You idiot! Don¡¯t bring pain to yourself!¡±


    She begins to scold him, going on a tirade about how such a reckless and unhealthy action could not be beneficial at all. She would cite that without her actions and touch, his body would most likely poison itself as time would go on rather quickly. But he questioned that, if it was true, then why was he not feeling pain during the course of his arrival on this forest?


    The only comparable event that could match it was the worm-like writhing on his body, which was now closely related to the change he was going through. If this forest was thoroughly soaked in this raw mana, then the thing he had ate surely should have killed him. And yet it did not, it only made him feel full and hungering for more flesh. And her sudden concern, and even affection was unnatural. He was a stranger as much as she was to him, and he found this too strange and convenient at all.


    It didn¡¯t help that he did not like being scolded, making him frown as his scything-blades would twitch as anger rose within him. But this anger would not last long, as he did not want to show a sudden show of hostility to a person that helped him.


    ¡°Fine, fine. Stop rambling, just teach me how to manage this then. So that you won¡¯t need to hold my hand as if I am a toddler.¡±


    She would stop her tirade, but would glare at him for a good few minutes. After a while she would sigh and nod, suddenly flicking his forehead with her left hand. He would wince as his forehead was flicked, the stinging pain lasting briefly as Salia would speak.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, but I can cast a spell that should null the pain to the point it is manageable. From there, I can teach you the basics.. Normally as a noble from the Lonesome Frost you should already know this.¡±


    At the mention of him being a noble, Benedict would raise an eyebrow in confusion. It was not the first time he was thought to be a noble, in fact this was most likely the fifth as far as he could remember. This was not truly a surprise, as the King of Isalabi, Asairos, with the support of hundreds of nobles and even the elves gave them the status of nobility. This was a way to cement their loyalty, and also an obvious attempt to drag them into the petty politics of the Lonesome Frost.


    But aside from a simple ¡®declaration¡¯ of their status as nobles, there was nothing else that came from it. At least that he knew not of, and yet many assumed that he was nobility and even the other summoned had experienced the same thing. Why did they treat them as such? Nobility, even when obviously that many of them in their original world was anything but nobles.


    If he could assume a cause, it had to be something within them. Or the way they carried themselves, but aside from four summoned, none truly moved like a noble. Benedict himself acted like a reclusive thing, showing little to no support at all for his brethren nor to the ones that summoned him, instead showing hate. It was a confusing thing, and now it was irritating him in a way.


    It should bring him gratification for being called a noble, but he was not one. He had done nothing to earn that right, and it felt so wrong for him to be called one. It was like ashes to his tongue, or a discordant melody to his ears. But he would go with it, unwilling to disclose his past to her, or even the fact he was summoned.


    ¡°Forgive me then, I do not pay attention to the lessons given by the instructors.¡±


    That was truth and lie at the same, a partial thing he gave to her. He was no fool to tell her everything about him, about what he knew, especially when she acted as if they were not strangers at all. Salia noticed the change in his tone, as it went from serious to a sudden mocking series of chants. She looked like she was about to let go of his hand, or about to flick his forehead for his audacity.


    ¡°Do not move after the spell is cast. I will need you to find the flow of mana within you. For my people the flow of our mana is carried to ¡®mana¡¯ veins. It is not a true series of veins, but rather something that develops immaterially as we grow old. I do not know how it goes with you humans, but it should be similar. Though you are different now..¡±


    Like what the Elder had done before, where he began to sign runes with his fingers, Salia did the same. This time she did it slowly with her left hand, and tracing it over his chest. She did it with a serious expression, with her eyes taking on the blue glow he saw previously. From what he saw, she was essentially forming and drawing a two layered magic circle over his chest. At the center of this circle was one large rune, whilst at the outside would be a long series of letters that had a space inbetween them.


    It was the same letters he found on the obelisks and the warning pillars. This was a magical art that he could classify as runic magic, but taken to a form that was indistinct. She looked to be utterly invested on it, her fingers expertly weaving to the point he could see blue strings of light connecting to the magic circle she drew. Though moments before she would be allowed to finish, Benedict¡¯s right scything-blade would reach out and tap her below her chin.


    ¡°If this is a trap, I wonder how long do I have to act?.¡±


    She would look at him strangely, as his tone turned menacing in the end. Benedict despite her show of kindness and concern, could not help but show hostility. This was in his part, a natural reaction. One not influenced by his slow change, but rather a part of his personality. But she did not notice the hostile nature of what he did, instead she only smiled a bit as she finished her spell.


    ¡°It depends, if you knew how to properly manipulate the mana within you.. You wouldn¡¯t have any problems reacting to the trap.¡±


    With a tap on his chest, her finger would ¡®break¡¯ the rune located on the center of the circle. With a cascade of light the circle would shatter, letting out a surprisingly beautiful melodic song. It sounded very similar to Salia¡¯s voice, and it evoked a disturbing feeling of safety. It did not compel him to feel such a thing, it quite literally made his body feel it. It was akin to a sort of forced calm, something he had felt already.


    The shattered pieces of the circle would make contact with his shirt and melt through, before hitting his skin and letting him feel a cold seeping through his flesh. It was a strange sensation, similar to cold droplets of water managing to pass through his flesh and trigger every single never within. Though aside from that there was no further effects that he could feel.


    ¡°Now, I shall let go of your hand. The pain shouldn¡¯t be that bad, and you should be able to find that flow. Though I have heard that for you humans, emotions are deeply connected to your flow of mana. Try thinking of an emotion that rings true within you, love, joy, hope. Anything that would fuel you.¡±


    Benedict would let out a mocking laugh at the mention of hope, Salia gave him another questioning look before she slowly let go of his hand. Like before the pain would return, but it was lessened now. This allowed Benedict to sit up properly, with his scything-blades retracting a bit and repositioning themselves. The way he did this was not entirely voluntarily, more like an unconscious habit that surprisingly developed quickly.


    He himself did not notice this, as his mind did not allow him to perceive it, though he would be able to if he would actively control the limb itself. With a shrug of his shoulders, and a bit of stretching with his arms Benedict would try what Salia suggested. It was not that hard for him to choose an emotion, in fact there was only one emotion that he could truly say that rang true within him.


    It was rage. Despite how simple it is, how barbaric it is, this is what he felt more keenly than anything else. With his forced arrival to this world, that rage rose further than it had ever been. Smoldering within him like ashes wishing to explode into a conflagration. He tapped onto it easily, similar to how one would find it easy to be amused based on certain memories.


    Slowly as he felt anger rise within him, he vaguely felt his blood begin to boil. It was not a figurative sensation, as it was a literal feeling within his veins. It was like his blood was being pumped with some additional quality, one that reacted with his rage. This would disturbingly be followed with excitement, a desire to cause harm.


    His thoughts, once focusing on what he felt would suddenly be dragged to thoughts of bloodshed. It was made increasingly disturbing when he felt the writhings again, followed by his hearing slowly fading into a high pitched buzzing. There he felt his heart slowly beat, but he became aware that the beatings were two, not a single systematic one.


    With a blink of his eyes, he would feel the blood within him to rapidly flow with heat as bloodlust overtook him. It was similar to arousal, but instead of the desire to mate his was the desire to shed blood, to bring pain and to kill. It burned within him, that desire, alongside the same sensation of being burned within when he first woke. This one was more manageable as he growled through it, his eyes losing focus for a moment before his head was grasped by hands.


    The hands felt cold like metal, they pulled his head to look up. And he saw that warrior, the one that almost killed him. Forlorn as the Elder called him. The dead warrior looked as ghostly as he last saw him, and behind his helm he grinned, his ghostly skin stretching around his mouth to show a disgusting grin. It did not speak, as it was seemingly more occupied in staring at his eyes.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Behind the Forlorn, Benedict saw a sight he only thought would exist in his dreams. The room he was in was replaced with the dream he had, the endless expanse of skulls and undead all staring at him. Behind them was that gate, looking far larger and oppressive than before. The crack on the skull having strangely been slightly fixed, with the eyes of the being within staring at him with obsession.


    From there as the Forlorn held onto his face, the Forlorn let out a twisted laugh as the undead stared at him. Their gaze moving to him, then to his side. He followed where they looked, and he would notice that he had two entities in either side of him that did not look undead at all. Both of these entities looked at him, their inhuman looks causing a strange surge of pride to well up within him.


    The one to his left was a tall pale thing, far taller than him even when it was squatting. It was due to its neck being severely long, as if it was meant to devour large chunks of meat in numerous quantities. Its hands rested on its knees, as the large hands tapped away at them with its large claws. Due to the way it looked, and particularly the length of its arms, Benedict would thought of it as a ¡®Venator.¡¯


    To his right was a much smaller thing, the skin of this thing was not as pale as the Venator¡¯s. As it looked to be a bit brown, indicating that it was slowly getting a tan of sorts. Unlike the Venator, this one looked particularly normal, aside from the obvious deformities around its mouth like the other, it generally resembled a bulky human. Save for the fact that much of its bulk came from its legs, which ended in strange feet where the majority of its toes were fused to the point they formed a y shape. Due to this, he would thought of it as a ¡®Gadator¡¯.


    They looked at him with intelligent eyes, and as he stared at them, he felt that he was staring at a mirror. It made him feel as if these creatures were him, a twisted version of him made for some other specific purpose. He would return his attention to the Forlorn that held his head, and to his surprise it would let out an unheard howl that splattered ghostly spittle at his face.


    With it came a cold from the hands of the Forlorn. It filled him with thoughts of despair, of sorrow and futility, where nothing matters in this world. It was as if this undead that defeated him wanted to feel it all, to give up on whatever he wanted to pursue. Seemingly wanting to insult him further by trying to extinguish the fire within him.


    But the anger that he felt, the boiling blood within his veins, only intensified at this as he felt only irritation after the spittle landed on his face. The fire within would intensify, letting him feel the heat slowly bring pain to him. It caused him to lash out with his scything-blades, the two heading clearly towards the shoulders of the ghostly undead to pierce through its shoulder. But as he did this, just as the tips of his blades would have made contact to the shoulders of the Forlorn, his limbs stopped.


    Halting completely without his consent. And with the blinking of his eyes, what he saw before him would disappear quickly. Instead replaced with the sight of the wooden room, and Salia who was the one that actually held his head. She was in fact hugging him, with her hands holding his head close to her bosom.


    His scything-blades was inches away from piercing her shoulders, and yet they had completely stopped. Confusion filled his head as to what lead to this, his eyes widening in a myriad of emotions as he saw that his blades was still carrying out what he willed, but they were completely stopped by some force. He did not know what to feel, as the rage within slowly died out alongside all other sensations. Finally then the buzzing disappeared from his ears, allowing him to hear her voice.


    ¡°Calm down.. I am here, there is nothing to hate. Nothing to direct your rage upon.. Calm.¡±


    Like before, her touch gave a gentle warmth. But this one was nothing like before, her close proximity brought security to him, a true calm that was so alien to his being. She spoke gently, her song-like voice bringing in a strange of rightness to the situation. This made his scything-blades rest themselves back on his shoulders, as the writhings settled.


    ¡°What are you doing to me?!.¡±


    He yelled in shock as he tried to push her away, but strength would not come to his arms. The thought of pushing her away was strangely muddled in his mind, and all attempts at even trying to do anything remotely harmful towards her faded in his mind. It was like someone or something had forcibly made it impossible for him to do any harm to Salia, and Benedict thought that it was done by her or the Elder.


    ¡°Calming you down! Please, don¡¯t let the rage take you, your mana is not where I thought it would have travelled¡­ It¡¯s within you, quite literally being pumped into your veins as your heart pumps blood. It is much more worse when you are angry, as your body not only continues absorbing mana, but it lets out excess into your veins for some inane reason! It would make you combust in flames!¡±


    Without even noticing where his head was laying upon, Salia went to explain what she saw. The way her voice held worry and affection was confusing to Benedict, but as she went on, he would realize that they were genuine. Though he was one to assume for the worse, and decided that there was something deeper to this.


    ¡°As you decided to think of rage, of allowing yourself to be held by anger. Your body not only intensified the absorption of mana in our surrounding, it resorted to letting the excess out into your blood. I do not know why it did that, or what could have compelled it do so, but it reacted to your anger then. It was closely becoming the mana that is used to invoke fire, supposedly about to cause you to burn from the inside!¡±


    He frowned at that however, finding it hard to believed that his body could even do that. Even when he was undergoing obvious mutation, he thought that it was impossible for his body to actively use mana to do spells. As he assumes that they were only being used as fuel, as a sort of food for what he was experiencing. But he could not think ill of her, instead he felt compelled to believe what she said.


    ¡°Can you.. Let go of my head now?¡±


    With no option available to him, he would look up to see her looking down at him with worry. Looking at her with eyes that glowed, and as seconds would pass, she would gently nuzzle his head before letting him go. He was taken aback by what she did, and she only had a faint blush on her face as she spoke. She did not even mind that a look of disbelief, and shock was on his face, with him backing away as if she was a monster of sorts.


    ¡°What ploy are you playing at, Salia?¡±


    He narrowed his eyes as anger boiled up within him, but like before it would be snuffed out by an unseen force. At the sight of his conflicted expression, Salia would briefly look surprised before she would smile at him as if his question was nothing of concern.


    ¡°None at all, the Elder simply ordered me to teach you. And.. before you woke, to make sure you do not die.¡±


    He briefly felt disgust at her words, but with a force manipulating what he felt he only sighed in reluctant acceptance. With a mental slap to himself, he decided not to think of this event as of now. Instead he would direct his attention to his body, and noticed that he felt his blood still boil. This caused his look of confusion to return and he looked then to Salia and once again she smiled.


    ¡°What¡¯s¡­ next?¡±


    -


    ¡°Unacceptable!¡±


    A chorus of murmurs would fill the once silent chamber. A low angry growl rang behind the noise of heated conversation and dictates of law. The room was made from ancient stone and yet there was parts of it that implied it was built within the trunk of a large tree. There were a total of twelve elevated platforms that spiralled upwards in the circular chamber, with individuals standing on top of each except for one. These were the source of the growing cacophony of sounds, and each wore a varying series of expressions.


    ¡°This is only a logical solution, as the successor to the Forlorn is not even fully human at all!¡±


    The beings that stood on the elevated platforms belonged to the Ancients, and a heated argument was riling up emotions on each one of them. They looked varied in how they look, but a consistent human-like form and horns growing out of their head made them look similar in a way. But at the moment, they looked ready to pounce at each other¡¯s necks


    ¡°So what if he is the successor to the Forlorn? What we have done is unethical and goes against our customs.. We are better than this.¡±


    Among them was the Elder, his face was a mask of restrained amusement. His hand stroked the long flowing beard of his, as a small chuckle escaped his lips. Energy crackled between his horns and it seemed he was not truly paying attention to what was occurring in the hall. The other ten did not notice this as they continued to bicker among themselves.


    ¡°Unethical? This is a sacrifice that we can accept. The needs of the many outweigh the feelings of the few! Do not tell me you forgot the concept of aggression? Humans are full of this, more so than even the Drameir! And you know those things are born from the Dragon of Calamity!¡±


    These beings aside from the Elder, looked like a disparate gathering of beliefs. Each one relating to either a specific art, or even clan of the Ancients. One of them, an entity that resembled a man that has been merged with a mass of plant-life spoke, his eyes glowing a dim green as his hands motioned for them to halt their arguing.


    ¡°Brothers and sisters, are we not dedicated to the preservation of our home and kind?¡±


    He asks as the noise would quiet down, each individual present staring at the speaker. Though the Elder briefly looked at the man, giving him a short nod before returning to what he was doing. The man would bow a bit as he noticed their arguments slowly ceased, before it was followed by murmurs of agreement.


    ¡°That may be so Lord Mender, but what the Elder of Delving has done is unethical, it goes against what we believe in. What we stand for, and what we endure for.¡±


    A female spoke up with a respectful tone. She resembled an older woman that cared for all, her attire being that of white robe and leather, with her horns numbering only in four with silver chains connecting them to her ears. Her eyes dimly glowed white, as if she was among the youngest present here.


    ¡°For us to survive, there must be change. You must know this, as you are a leader among the enclaves of our people. But you must not assume that all of us share the same beliefs, that is extremely narrow minded.¡±


    A cold voice would quickly interject with tinge of distaste. It came from an iron-clad figure, with most of the iron seemingly merged with the flesh of the person. Whatever their gender was, it could no longer be discerned as it looked more similar to an iron statue, than a living Ancient. But its helm was shaped in a way, that it resembled the face of a female Ancient, life-like and clearly beautiful. In its sockets a red light glowed, which also emanated from the various spaces of its effeminate armor and the runes on its chipped horns.


    ¡°Are you saying that you are alright with what the Elder of Delving had done, Warborn?¡±


    The woman asked with a displeased voice, her eyes glaring at the Warborn. The iron-clad being however, despite the fact its face was set in iron, managed to look playful as it shifted its posture, as if the lighting was helping it do so.


    ¡°No, not at all Caretaker. I find it a disgusting action, one that is far beyond treacherous. But I understand why it must be done, as I know conflict like no one else here. For I was born in it.¡±


    With what could be compared to pride, the Warborn raised its hand and curled it to a fist before doing a salute by slamming it to its chest. A distant sigh could be heard after this, causing the others to direct their attention to its source. It was a being of passion, a female of mind boggling beauty and sensuality. She wore an attire that gave nothing to the imagination, as the silken robe she wore had cuts on its design that allowed one to view her curvaceous body. Her eyes glowed a furious pink, evoking a sense of lust to those that would look at them.


    She bit her plump lips as she prepared to speak, her sensual beauty seemingly not affecting anyone within the room. With another sigh she spoke, her voice inhumanly sweet and compelling like music to one¡¯s ears, even in their own language.


    ¡°As much as I hate to admit it, but I agree to what the prune has said. She has a point, even when mine and his view differs from time to time. But in this situation, what the Elder dearest did is acceptable, as this is the successor of the Forlorn.


    You¡¯d be a fool to find this unacceptable. When even the Warborn agrees to this, a gal that wouldn¡¯t even back down when it comes to battle! Ask him if he disagrees, and she¡¯ll say it no in different ways! This is the Forlorn we are speaking of, a warrior of the ancient north before the Ivory Concord, one who has become a powerful Revenant through hate alone.¡±


    The Warborn looked to the sensual female and gave her a respectful bow. But soon after another voice would boom out, harshly ringing with the tone of a battle-hardened male.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you of all people would agree to this Mistress, you a person that reeks free-will and uncontrolled desire! There is no debate, no logical loophole to even assume, this is unacceptable! I do not see you disagreeing because you care not for the hundreds of bastards you birth, you whorish bitch.


    If it was my daughter that was forced into a Soul-Bind to a monstrous entity, I would have bled the fool responsible for it! No one must be forced into marriage to someone they do not know! Especially one so gifted as Salia!¡±


    The male was a towering being, a giant in every aspect. He wore an armor of stone, one intricately made to hide the bulging muscles beneath, and to give him an aura of ancient purpose. He had no horns, only four stumps as if he had grinded his off. His eyes glowed in mismatched colors, his left eye was glowing white whilst the other was brown.


    ¡°Oh? What would you know of caring for children? Wasn¡¯t it you who killed your wife because she decided to find another man, just because you were never there for her? You couldn¡¯t even keep your first wife from leaving you! Your opinion is null here Father of Giants, your unchanging ways is not needed here.¡±


    The Mistress harshly retorted, causing the Father to glare at her as if he wanted to go and kill her. What she said had obviously hit a delicate vein, but the Mistress did not look to be in the mood to take back what she said.


    ¡°Enough, let there be peace here. Even if you disagree now, it has been done. We have to focus on making this situation beneficial for us, as the Ivory Concord has no doubt ¡®summoned¡¯ entities from beyond our own to be their champions.


    No, champions to their selfish gods. Weapons to wage their petty wars and plots, a repeat of the drama that has unfolded millennia ago.


    But this being, this Despot, the one Salia was soul-bound to, is also bound to her. They are married in the soul, neither one can harm or think-ill of the other, and only the ancestors can break this bond. And I see no ancestor returning from their dream to say no to this. Even they know the benefits of this.


    This Despot is, as the Elder has said is the beginning of a new race. Aberrations as the Despot himself had dubbed them. Right now, in this very moment there are two aberrations that walk the soil of our home, emanating not a signature of mana, but leaving a trail of blood and absence of mana.


    The Elder of Devling has gave us a chance to pursue either two choices. One, to break the bond that has been set, and to lose any chance to have a leash of sorts on a patriarch of a new race. Or, we do whatever we can do to get it on our side, to help us protect and preserve our ancient home.¡±


    The Lord Mender finally spoke again, his voice calm and collected, effortlessly reaching out to the ears of all who would listen. Many that disagreed would grumble, shaking their heads in disapproval and anger. Those who agreed would nod, their faces a mask of contemplation.


    ¡°It is..best we do the latter. For in this bloody successor of the Forlorn son of the watchers of the void. We will find a new comrade, a new brother, a new family member.


    He has chosen this Despotic child from beyond the void of which his once glorious tribe has looked to. For his voice, now long gone, is flowing within the Despotic child, ringing out alongside a dozen more in a chant within the mana his body devours.


    It is a discordant tune, alien to us. But it carries within it faith, desire, hate, hunger.. And fear. We must not let it be directed to us, for that voice, that song, is like none other. For even the song that which once was sang by the daemonic lord of Kro¡¯Nakor through the suffering of all that lives, pales in comparison to the song which is slowly being sang by this child.¡±


    Interrupting the silence that was about to set in, another spoke. This time it came from a female that looked similar to the Mistress, but she was pale and wore an attire that resembled an overly intricate white dress. Her eyes were not seen, as she had an iron helmet that hid the upper portion of her head, but a lazy blue color would be seen glowing in the space of her helmet.


    She sang what she said, as if it was natural to do so. The gathered Ancients would nod to what she said, and the Lord Mender would give her a bow as the Elder finally directed his attention to the present. He did not stop himself from grinning, his horns slowly sparking with more energy as a low chuckle escaped his lips.


    ¡°If there is no more opposing opinions to this matter, then this case shall be settled in favor of the Elder of Delving.¡±


    Another would speak, this time it was of a figure whose sex could no truly be assumed. It stood in the highest platform, wearing a thick robe and a featureless mask beneath its hood. It held a staff tipped with a scale, which moved ever so slowly as if it was weighing an item that could not be seen through normal eyes. No one would say anything, instead they all bowed to the figure.


    ¡°As the Conduit of Order, I conclude this discussion. Let it be so that the Despot, Benedict Ligare and his Aberrations be recognized as a part of the Ancients. He shall be the youngest Lord, and shall succeed our ancient friend Centerious the Forlorn as the twelfth lord among us.


    With the right, honor and duty it entails, it shall be bestowed upon him. Let it be so, and let it be witnessed. And in extension to this, Salia, granddaughter of the Elder of Delving shall be no longer a candidate for the title of the Elder of Delving.


    As this is concluded, let us all take a moment of silence to manage our thoughts and give praise to our ancestors. Afterwhich, we shall discuss the matter about the Ivory Concord invoking a magic that breaks a law set and agreed by the nation''s three hundred years ago.


    Followed by the matter which concerns the growing war to the east, in the lands of the fae.¡±

 Chapter Seven: Baleful Legion

    ¡°Faith alone can be stronger than any magic or skill you earn. So think twice when you mock the Godless for not choosing to bear the blessings of the Gods, for they travel this land with a fanatical faith and fatalistic need without the aid of our Gods.¡±


    - Herald of Nerem the Goddess of Honor


    The eleven Ancient Lords continued their discussion after nearly half an hour of silence. Though the Elder himself seemed to not be interested in the following discussion as it went on without him, and the others noticed this. But none offered an objection to this, as they knew what the Elder of Delving was doing. The Elder, being the most gifted among all the Delvers of the Forest of Ancients was constantly having visions.


    It was a literal constant flood of what may occur in the future, every single possibility was relayed to him. It was a fate that only a very few Delvers had ever experienced, and most do not even reach the age to acquire the possibility to become an Elder of Delving. It was mostly due to the stress of such a gift forcing many to suppress their power, or become so enamored with a particular future that they fatalistically pursue it, leading to them dying as with each disregard for other possibilities they drag themselves to a darker one.


    The Elder was a victim of this, but he had the foresight, a quite literal one to heed the other visions he had been having. As the Elder of Delving he had the ability to completely null his power for a time, and this allowed him to live a normal life until his ability was needed. And when Benedict washed up on the lake of cleansing, and subsequently was found by his granddaughter, he had gotten a grand vision.


    It was grand in the sense that it was large, too big to be truly comprehended in a single vision that took several minutes. He had gotten a brief piece of that vision, and it was one that started in the beginning of a new race, and ended in bloodshed. Yet in that small piece he was able to discern that no matter what action he or any of his fellows would take, it will occur no matter what.


    For the Ancient Delvers, they called these visions ¡®Anchors¡¯ as they are a part of fate that could never be changed. Yet from these anchors different versions could occur, all having the same beginning and end, but to who they were directed, it remained unseen. Without even thinking of the consequence of his actions, he pursued it.


    And he could remember it clearly. With it beginning directly after they had finally found Benedict, moments after he was chosen by the Forlorn.


    ¡°The coming of the twelfth.. The one to finally succeed Centerious?¡±


    Salia asked as members of the Choir looked at the boy in confusion and shock. They began to gather behind them, their eyes looking at the boy in curiosity and fear. Their faces had twisted to that of a grimace, with most reaching out to cover their ears. It seemed to be a tune to be the cause of their expression, and whatever it was the Elder and Salia could not hear it.


    ¡°Another path for our bloodline.¡±


    He replied as he motioned his hand towards Benedict, whose horns was still being caressed. With the very sight of that, a continuation of the vision would take him. It was only for a few seconds, as he had tried his best to suppress his ability. It showed him the boy, surrounded by a dozen or so humanoid things rushing out and hatefully tearing away at unseen foes.


    ¡°Elder! You can¡¯t possibly consider-¡±


    Salia protested but the Elder turned towards her with a sudden scowl, his glowing blue eyes turning red just for a few moments before he sighed. Salia involuntarily tried to take a step back, but with her kneeling she could only look down. The peaceful face of the boy greeting her, whilst the strange appendages on his back twitched as if he knew they were there.


    ¡°I told you, this is for the betterment of our kind.¡±


    He replied as he signalled the Choir with a gesture of his hand. Moments later a song would be heard coming from one of them which quickly faded. This was a signal that indicated a messaged had been sent to the other members of the Choir within their city, and that the others had been alerted.


    ¡°But Elder.. Certainly there must be another way..¡±


    Salia voiced out her thoughts as she shot a conflicted glance to the Elder. But his face was resolute as a small manic smile crossed his aged features, this in turn was followed by the Elder rapidly drawing a magical circle on Benedict¡¯s chest. It was a six circled magical spell, with each stroke of his finger runes came to its surface, before causing the circles to begin rotating rapidly.


    ¡°No. There is no other way. I lost your Mother to this damned power, and I will not lose you to it. Now be a good child and accept this.. Even if you will hate me now, it is for the future of our kind, and it¡¯s a future for you.¡±


    Salia would frown at hearing the words of the Elder. She could not doubt him, as whatever he saw would come to pass. If he would even go as far as to do this, to quickly do a spell towards the supposed successor of Centerious the Forlorn, he must be so desperate in preventing a future he had seen. But what he was trying to enforce caused a blush to cross her face, as she couldn¡¯t help but find this situation to be embarrassing.


    ¡°E-Elder.. I want to be like you, to help guide our people to a better path!¡±


    She pleaded to the old man, but the Elder did not look moved as his face became truly serious with each additional stroke of his finger. The six circled magic circle was spinning rapidly, each layer having numerous runes that coincided with sentences and names of long dead ancients. This was a man willing to do anything to get what he wanted, all for the sake of his people and family.


    ¡°Then do what is right here, make sure that this successor of the Forlorn will not die. Nor will his blades ever be pointed towards our kind.¡±


    He nearly hissed towards her as the circles was completed. Without even stopping to say anything more he would go to look at Salia, his expression softening for only but a few seconds. With that Salia would reluctantly nod as she held her hand out, reaching towards the magical circle with a slight tremble. Growing impatient with her reluctance, the Elder pulled at her hand and forcefully made her touch it.


    In the instant that her fingers had hit the first outer circle, the magical circle would go deathly still. Before it would suddenly glow in a bright orange color, followed by the sound of a dozen voices piercing out to their ears. And before their eyes the six circles would split into three, three for Benedict and Salia. These circles would go and place themselves on specific parts of their body.


    One in their foreheads, another on their chest just above their hearts, and the third seemingly going inside their bodies and attaching itself to a part they could not see. The Elder however knew where the third of the circles went, and it made him nod as he let go of Salia¡¯s hand.


    Without anything else to say, he would stand up and look to his granddaughter. He saw her having a conflicted expression as the magical circle visible on her head slowly lost its glow and faded, followed by her letting out a groan of pain. Benedict who was unconscious also let out a similar response, this indicated his spell was successful despite it being utterly invasive.


    ¡°It is done, I shall have faith in you Salia. Make sure this rising Despot will be a sword of our people, and not against it.¡±


    With that the memory faded as the voices around him was strangely silent. He blinked his eyes in confusion as he turned to regard the other Lords. He found each one of them looking at him, as if expecting an answer from him. Instead they would receive a bow from him as he apologetically spoke.


    ¡°Forgive me brothers and sisters, a vision has overtaken me. What was the question directed to me?¡±


    The Conduit in response would speak, its hand motioning towards the others as it spoke. In particular the Mistress, the Lord Mender, the Master of Hymns and the Warborn was staring at him, waiting for his answer.


    ¡°The Lords wish to know if the Soul-Binding was thorough. For it seems that the Lord Mender has revealed that exactly an hour ago, just as our discussion began about the Soul-Binding of the Despot and Salia, two Aberrations had suddenly been born. Followed by that, these newborns, these Aberrations are sexless.


    The Lord Mender noted that as they were born, they came out of another creature. A Raemir to be exact. It suggests that they are either still underdeveloped and are initially propagated through parasitic means, or they are purely parasitic.


    However the Lord Mender also noted a bizarre quality to these newborns. As he is connected to Malvirek, our ancient home, he had tapped into one of the trees. There he witnessed these Aberrations of nature, and just as you had described them, they resembled human-like entities.


    But what was bizarre to them, is that they had no soul at all. And worse of all, they did not emanate mana, as if they are truly empty. It is further made strange by the fact that, like the Despot they ¡®devour¡¯ mana around them.


    Not only that, they show startling signs of sapience. Acting out in clear purposeful actions, as they are now as we speak, gathering several creatures and fruits to the place they had come to life in. This only means that they are but among the first to be born, and that the Raemir they came from contains more. The Warborn insists that should we make the proper choices, we will have a great ally to our forces.


    Moreso when even these newborns show intelligence akin to that of a mature human, or as mature as these strange beings could be.


    So would you kindly tell us if the binding was true?¡±


    The Elder nodded as he prepared his explanation. He himself knew what kind of soul-binding he had done, and he in particular felt utterly glad that he did so, even when nearly half of the present Lords did not truly agree to it.


    ¡°The binding was true, honorable Conduit of Order. I had personally done it, as the Anchors I have seen all pointed to this to be the true binding. I had done the six circles of Azameia and Zajal, their union re-created to bind the soul of my granddaughter, and that of the Despot.


    Six circles split into three, one side pertained to Azameia the first queen of our kind, and another to Zajal the warlord of clan Beramir. Like the ancient songs of old, and echoes of fate, each circle was moved to their respective places on each individual.


    One to the forehead, to render both unable to think ill of the other, or to even do anything harmful to each other. Another is on their chest, above their hearts, to ensure that whatever occurs, they will grow to love one another. And should the husband find it in himself to fall for another, the same circles will appear to the other female, binding them, and ensuring that no conflict among the lovers occur. Though the other female must truly love the husband.


    Lastly the third circle has placed itself upon their soul. With this ancient magic, their union is complete. A chain nearly as strong as the weave of fate binds them, letting both feel what the other experiences, should they choose to do so. In essence it allows them to never feel alone, letting them feel the presence of the other.


    Like the romance of Azameia and that of Zajal, they shall be intertwined in the tapestry of fate. And I daresay more so than our ancient ancestors were.¡°


    After his explanation, most of the Ancient Lords would nod with surprised expression. As they did not expect for this kind of a soul-bind to actually have been done, especially when it is so ancient and related to their ancestors. The Master of Hymns, the girl that sang would speak next, her voice relaying a mixture of excitement and surprise.


    ¡°Truly? You had bound the Despotic Child akin to how Zajal was bound to the first Queen? Unconscious, untamed, hateful and unbound? To recreate a romance like that of our forebears in a similar setting, to ensure that a rising twelfth would not bare its fangs upon us.


    Was the vision that you had seen so woeful, that you had to resort to this dearest Elder? Was such the Anchors associated with it so unchanging that all you could do was lead it to a path that would not cost us so dearly?¡±


    The Elder replied with a simple nod, this would cause a brief gasp of surprise from all the present Lords. As the romance between Azameia and Zajal was one that was initially born out of a forceful contract, their souls was bound together by a vengeful God, and they had to learn how to love one another to ensure that they would bring prosperity to their people. This was thousands of years ago, when the world was young, when the younger races did not even had a culture of their own.


    This was one of the first instances that their kind had united, even when the reason was a forced union. And for it to be reenacted akin to an echo of fate, was admirable though distasteful in a way too. Regardless, the gathered Lords would look satisfied with that knowledge, as the discussion moved on.


    ¡°Aye, I understand why you would do that. But I want to know something, which hand does the Despot kill with?¡±


    Rudely without any prior signal at all, a voice of an impatient male would boom out. It was like the sound of a hammer banging against metal on an anvil, breathed life by ancient forges from the Dwarven Halls hidden somewhere to the far west. The source was an Ancient, stockier and surprisingly shorter than the rest, almost as short as a dwarf.


    This Lord himself did not truly look special, as he had worn a simple leather overall made for forges, with him surprisingly being completely bald. But he had half of his head tattooed with tiny runic letters of their language, which extended down to his neck. His eyes was completely white, as if he was blind. His horns were also rather plain and covered in what seems to be ashes.


    ¡°I assume he kills with his right hand, Forge Brother. Though that remains to be seen.¡±


    The Elder replied with a smile, and the Forge Brother would let out a grunt as he continued to speak, directing his attention to the Conduit of Order.


    ¡°The way I see it, tis new Lord is an untested little bugger. But despite that, I¡¯ll tell my boys to begin their work on preparing materials for these Aberrations. Also as dictated by our customs, I will create an armor for the the young lord. But that stupid bug-arms he has growing on his back will be a bloody problem! Though I¡¯ll get around to preparing the items the Forlorn has bequeathed to the kid. Can¡¯t let him have some unsharpened axe or unpolished shield!


    I hope this is well worth the investment.¡±


    The Conduit would simply nod to the Forge Brother, its featureless mask showing not a sliver of emotion. Neither did its voice as it spoke, the scale on its staff leaning more to a certain side.


    ¡°Our new brother shall join us in the months to come. But the state he is in now, is anything but useful. He shall be trained and tested in the use of his gifts, and to see if he can control the Aberrations that now stalk the forests of our home.


    Warborn, Master of Hymns and Lord Mender, you three shall oversee the growth of our new brother alongside the progress of his rising kind. The situation regarding the Ivory Concord shall be further debated, but in this aspect this is more important.


    As the Forlorn once fulfilled the purpose of Hunter and Diplomat, what the Despot will be is his choice entirely. But from the title the Elder of Delving has given him, he shall most likely be one for violent confrontations, with this in mind we shall watch his steps.¡±


    With a slam of the butt of its staff, the Conduit would let out a surge of magical energy for a minute. Letting all others know that it was serious about this. Any rising opinions that was meant to question that ruling was quickly silenced, as the other lords opted not to voice them. Instead one of the Lords would direct a question to the Elder, his voice being akin to the whisper of shy librarian.


    ¡°Forgive me if this sounds insulting brother, but this Despot, this child. Consumes mana, as some sort of fuel to his change? This is of no particular concern mind you my honorable brothers and sisters, but I cannot help but find it fascinating.


    As you have told us an hour ago, you were late due to the Despot waking too early. The mana of our home, undiluted and truly raw with power was being absorbed by his body. Normally one would die due to such a thing, as they are not Ancients like us. But you said this boy.. Survived and most of all is actually only in pain because of it.


    If what the Lord Mender and you have said.. Is true, I believe we have an equivalent of a mana devourer among our ranks. If you would allow me, I shall try and tutor him in the manipulation of mana. But I fear Salia may have already done that. Though I wish to instead teach him magic, as it is obvious he does not know any.


    But regardless, I wish to help this rising brother of ours!¡±


    The lord that spoke resembled a thin male, wearing a strange robe that was covered in thousands of tiny elaborate runes. His head was covered in a helmet that had no holes for his eyes, and instead it had a fake eye at the center that was reminiscent to those of serpents.


    ¡°Your offer is much appreciated Weaver. But I have a hunch, a simple hunch mind you, that our new brother is averse to magic.¡±


    -


    ¡°This is nothing but a hassle.¡±


    Benedict scowled as he involuntarily extended out his scything-blades, letting his bony appendage scrape against the wooden floor as he looked down. His dark brown eyes expressed impatience and anger, his lips parting to allow one to see the surprisingly sharp rows of teeth he had, which he himself did not know. Behind him Salia would gently rub his back, gently tracing his spine.


    ¡°I cannot ¡®manipulate¡¯ mana, that is fucking obvious.¡±


    He had for the past hour and a half, followed Salia¡¯s instructions. She had said that he must will the mana within him to calm down, but there was no reaction at all with all his ¡®willing¡¯. Instead it made him frustrated, slowly feeling angry at his incapability to even do something so simple. He perceived it to be an easy task, as he had seen many of the other summoned do something similar.


    Which in turn fueled spells that came from their hands, or staves that acted as catalysts. Granted that these spells were for beginners, simplistic things such as creating a small flame, a spark or even a small glowing light that dissipated quickly. This made him assume that it was easy, as he could now feel his own flow of mana, but his assumption was wrong.


    ¡°Calm down, everyone has their own failings Benedict. Don¡¯t let the rage flow, it only excites the mana within you.¡±


    With Salia speaking next to him, he felt the urge to listen and let go of his rising anger. But with it not being directed towards her, and instead being simply directed to something that was intangible, it did not disappear like before. This further made him suspicious of Salia, but any other emotion that was purely negative could not be felt regarding her.


    So now he could only feel a sort of attraction towards her, one that was forced and entirely not of his will. It annoyed him greatly, as it obviously meant that there was something done to him. He assumed that it was the white bolt that the Elder fired towards him an hour ago, but there was no further effects due to it. Instead now he would grumble, directing his thoughts to his body.


    After the revelation that he could do no harm, or even think ill of Salia, Benedict had been able to feel true comfort just simply being next to her. It was like how it was described in the romance novels he had read, though he did not read them for the romance, it was mainly due to the fact most of those novels had fantasy with them.


    This situation he was in allowed him to remember something from his home. It was related to the alleged magical things that went on in Earth, in particular in his country, there was something called ¡®Gayuma¡¯. He did not know what the word truly translated to, but it is used to describe a magical spell or item, being used on an individual. Specifically when it is used to render the person in the receiving end, to fall in love with another. This love was irrational, transcending rational thought at all, making them feel only love to the individual that casted the spell, or the one that made the item.


    This caused them to not see anything negative about the one they had been forced to love, not realizing it themselves. When anything is said about this false love, the receiver would feel an irrational hostility towards other individuals, wholly in denial about the situation. It was sad that only the other mystic practitioners could break it.


    Gayuma was similar to what he is experiencing now, or at least something similar in nature. He was thankful that he at the very least was aware of what was happening, despite the fact that his emotions were truly manipulated by some unseen force. He had to assume that only he was the one affected, but Salia¡¯s strange show of affection and emotion made him doubt that.


    So either she was a great actor, or the Elder had done this to both of them. Which explains why she had glared at the old man in that one moment. With his assumptions seemingly hitting a dead end, he would once again direct his attention to his body. Specifically what he felt beneath his skin.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    There he felt the heat that coursed within his veins, it circulated with the blood that flowed with each beating of his heart. With his anger however, the heat as much more intense and he felt excited, with the primal desire to hunt and shed blood coming over to his mind. With each breath he took, he could truly feel the air around him grow hotter, as if he was a living furnace with his anger the flame of it.


    He had been trying to calm that anger, and that heat within him. But it was not working, as if he was looking at it in a far different way, to the point his body rebelled against it.


    ¡®So no zen thing.. No willful commands to stop this heat from within.. It¡¯s like some bullshit about getting angrier equates to getting stronger! But this time it¡¯s more like get angry and burn from the inside! What hogwash!¡¯


    Benedict had a brief monologue as he thought about his situation. First he was chased due to a crime he did not commit, obviously framed by someone within the Lonesome Frost. Someone that saw him as a threat, enough to actually frame him. Then he had actually died and woke with these two new limbs, alongside his body quite literally absorbing mana rapidly to the point it physically pained him.


    Now he was obviously affected by a spell, alongside the fact that he was like a living furnace. And with it the problem of his goals surfaced. What should he do now? He knew not where he was, nor if he could even return to the Lonesome Frost.


    His friends waited for him there, like how they promised to meet again after a month or so. But now that promise would be broken, and that thought pained him and angered him. To think that his friends would bear the weight of thought that he was dead, how could he allow that?


    If given the chance he would suffer for them, for Carleon and for Jio. As he knew they would do the same, surely now should they find out about his supposed demise, they would investigate it. But that would place them in needless danger and possible controversy.


    This made him sigh in defeat, his emotions shifting from regret, sadness, to anger and hate. At this Salia would speak out, her head gently laying itself on his right shoulder. It at least had somehow allowed those emotions to mellow down, as he felt sure and confident.


    ¡°Do not feel so dejected Benedict. It normally takes the young ones years to properly control the mana within them. This does not stop them from trying, or doing spells. How about this, try willing the mana within your veins outwards from a specific point? Your palms for example, and try thinking of something to materialize.


    With your apparent rage, why not a flame?¡±


    As she suggested that her right hand would be held out, allowing him to see it as she looked as if she was holding something. For a few seconds, he stared at her hand in confusion as there was nothing there, only that of her gentle looking hand. He wondered if he was supposed to touch it, and hold it with his own. But the answer would come quickly then, in the form of a sudden ball of light forming at the center of her palm.


    ¡°The mana within us and around us, can be manipulated by our mind. If you cannot convince the mana within you to settle down peacefully, perhaps.. You can use your anger?¡±


    Nodding at her suggestion as he stared at the ball of light, he would let out a small gasp of surprise as the ball would suddenly be replaced by a globe of water. Before it was quickly succeeded by a sudden freezing chill around her hand, which caused the globe of water to turn into ice. This further showed him how magic and mana seemingly imposed laws of their own, breaking the laws of reality he once knew.


    But with that in mind, just as the frozen globe would begin to melt and evaporate, Benedict would try to forcefully will his mana outwards. This was a brutish way of going about his problem, but it seems logical in this sense. And with her suggestions, he felt compelled to follow them, even when he did not want to truly do so.


    ¡°You make it sound as if I was an incompetent individual.¡±


    He frowned as he visualized his veins, or at least tried to. He thought of some other thing that flowed within his veins, something that traveled alongside the blood cells in him. Then he followed it with his anger, visualizing the representation of mana within him to be dispersed around his body, forcefully with his own will. He imagined them to be coming out of his body, to wrap around him in a sort of protective aura.


    For minutes there seemed to be no change, causing him to further be frustrated. But soon he felt the heat within him start to mellow down, it was still there, but not to the point that he felt like he was a metal being tempered in a forge. Salia as if being able to see mana, which she obviously could would let out a squeal of joy.


    ¡°You did it! Not in the way I expected it, but you did it my lo-.. Err.. Benedict.. A-Anyways, the mana within you is coming out, letting the heat within you disperse. But curiously it surrounds you, the heat, but not the mana. This is interesting!¡±


    He looked up to her face, seeing her smiling so happily at him. He felt the urge to blush, to smile back, but instead he would quickly look down. His fingers curling in uncertainty as the heat within him further mellowed down.


    ¡°I guess I won¡¯t be in constant pain then.. Hurray.¡±


    With one problem solved, he would turn to look to the door that led outside. It was open, which he did not initially notice. Outside he would be able to see bright rays of light, alongside the unmistakable trees that towered as tall as skyscrapers. It was obvious he would be spending a long time here.


    ¡°Ah, do you wish to explore the city beyond this room? The Elder has said that you can if you wish, I will accompany you if you choose to.¡±


    Salia¡¯s enthusiastic and benign voice seemed to be so caring, so loving. But despite that Benedict would deny her invitation with a shake of his head.


    ¡°No, not yet. Teach me more, teach me how to properly deal with this stupid mana flow inside me.¡±


    -


    It felt him, it felt the patriarch. It felt the Despot, their progenitor, their leader, their mind. Though despite that, despite their link to their Despot, they chose to haul still living creatures to where they had been birthed from. They clearly felt the need to eat, to kill, but these creatures were knocked out instead, and they opted to actually devouring fruits and plant-life to stave off their hunger.


    The Gadator, one that had earned the title for its genus through a shared vision with their progenitor stalked the forest. It was following a large buffalo-like creature, its body covered in grey fur as its horns curve out and crackled with obvious energy. But the Gadator continued to stalk it, being quite literally further behind it and squatting behind a bush.


    It didn¡¯t really see the creature with its own eyes, but instead it could see it through the mana it emanated. As everything around it emanated mana, the Aberrations that existed discovered they themselves had no mana, and this allowed them to lurk and chase these mana-filled beings. Like literal darkness snuffing out the light.


    With confirmation that the thing it stalked had halted, obviously moving to devour a mana-rich plant, the Gadator slowly began to stand up. Its posture shifting to that of one meant for sprinting, vaguely reminiscent of that used by people of Earth. With a low growl, one that went unheard, it would kick against the ground as it began to sprint.


    The beast did not notice the Gadator as it quickly rushed out of the bush it hid behind, and out into the dimly lit forest of Malvirek. With surprisingly silent steps, the Aberration neared the creature with increasing speed. As each step it took increased its momentum. But as it gained more speed, its steps began to cause the earth it step upon to crack, until it was like a rushing rhino headed towards the buffalo-like creature.


    Due to this, the creature would try to move away, to turn its body and run away. But it was too late, as the Gadator would move its shoulder a bit as if it was about to shoulder-charge the creature, and it did, hitting the side of the beast. The impact was unsurprisingly strong, augmented by the nature of the Gadator. With a loud pained groan, the beast had the air knocked out of its lungs, followed by it nearly toppling over.


    Unaffected by the shoulder-charge, the Gadator would leap back as if there was something that was about to happen. Most likely the beast would retaliate with rage or so, trying to defend itself. But what followed next did not allow it.


    As high above the creature, the second Aberration hanged from the tree branches. One of its large hands clung to one, as the other was twitching in anticipation. Its permanent grin looked malicious here, as it allowed itself to fall down. With that it would hold its hands together, intertwining its fingers just before it would reach the creature below.


    The Venator, without grace or remorse would slam its fists against the back of the creature just as it landed on its back. It caused a disgusting crunch to reach their ears, with the beast letting out another pained groan before suddenly slumping to the ground, unconscious. The Venator with this action had broken the spine of the beast, but due to the mana within its flesh, it had survived, though surely it could not walk anymore.


    With the beast disabled, the Venator would hop off, quickly walking towards the hind legs of the creature. With its arms he would reach out and grasp it. With a brutish tug it would begin to pull and drag the creature, heading towards the direction of the corpse they came from. The Gadator would follow, as he accompanied its brethren in bringing more bodies for their kind.


    -


    ¡°How long would it take for them to arrive?¡±


    Leila asked with a conflicted expression, her hands clutched the large journal of Benedict as she watched what was behind the window she stood next to. The large journal was open on a particular page, which was the twelfth page among the hundreds of others. The page was illuminated the ray of sunlight that passed through the glass window, and it allowed one to see what was written there. Though without the knowledge of the language it was written upon, all they would see was gibberish.


    I think it has been two weeks? Three maybe. But it has been that long since we have been summoned to this world. I don¡¯t like this world, this world of fantasy. But initially I was overjoyed, excited¡­ This world is too different from what I once knew. It offered a chance for me to be different, to be something more than I was. Since we were summoned to be.. Well Heroes in a way.


    But the others, they so disgustingly believe easily on what the natives said. Even accepting the fact that the Gods of this world, may they rot in perdition, wishes for us to be their ¡®champions¡¯ in exchange for power and abilities to survive in this world!


    I saw it, they accepted the words of the Heralds of this.. Gods. And they have damned themselves, damned themselves in the eyes of the Gods of our world! I understand that we must do what we can to survive in this new land, this new world filled with magic and monsters.. But to even sacrifice what we were raised with, what defined the culture we came from? Blasphemy!


    It is stupid. They think that these people are helping us for free! How naive could these people be! We are weapons to them, weapons to be used and refined against this bullshit ¡®dark¡¯. None even thought of asking if there is a way back to our world!


    All they are interested in is being the hero they want us to be. Following to the tune of the instructors and nobility that go to us, to give us gifts! But nay, we ¡®Godless¡¯ a stupid term, receive no such gifts for they know we would die without Gods. But that is heresy, we have a God. A God that is the one true God of our world, praise be in his name.


    I will not accept any God from this world, because I know they are heretical beings. They do not care for us as beings that think and feel, but only weapons! And as such I shall not accept them, until they prove to me that my assumptions are wrong! But till that day comes, I shall be resolute in my choice, I shall be uncaring to their plots.


    My friends, the only true allies I have in this world have.. Decided to heed my words. I am thankful about this, but I fear they are only putting themselves in needless suffering because of me. Regardless I shall stand with them, even if they will abandon this.


    But as for I, I shall stay true to this. And I will not let anything stop me, as I have no plans of dying in this world. If anything else I wish to get this stupid thing over with, and leave.. For I miss my home, a thing I never thought would have been penned by my hand.


    Right now, I am weak. Weaker than any of the other summoned save for my friends. Their gifts, the blessings that they have received have.. Made them strong obviously. Giving them a growth like none other. But I know better. They are convinced of their own invincibility, of their infallible nature. It¡¯s stupid, we are human. And as our world have shown, good and evil is only the product of our thoughts.


    But now in this new world? I cannot say for certain. But one thing I am certain of, is the fact that a chance to.. To kill has presented itself. To slay monsters, to earn glory and honor.. I shall take that chance. Even if it will be the long road towards it.


    With that in mind, I have spent the allowance given to us by the King, towards commissioning a piece of equipment from the Royal Blacksmith. It¡¯s a highly impractical thing, but if I would stay true to my beliefs. Then let this equipment be the face of my resolve.


    If Damien¡¯s face is that of a hero. Then mine would be that of death. As edgy as it is, it shall be my face, and the cross of the Templars shall be etched upon its forehead. As a reminder to myself that I am a child with a Catholic heritage.


    Now as the days pass by, these words ring truer than before; In suffering there is absolution, in pain there is forgiveness. In death there is a path to war eternal, and eternal rest.


    Now I must go to sleep, hopefully I will not dream. But I do not hope.. And tomorrow will surely be another tiring day of idiotic drivel from the other summoned.


    That was what was written on that particular page, and it was one of the few translated pages of the journal. Leila had read it and the other pages, and she felt a strange conflicting set of emotions after reading them. It had been nearly a week after the journal was sent to be translated, and the various linguists of the Ivory Concord had made magical copies to decrypt the language.


    Though they also covertly sent agents to some of the summoned, acting as if they were interested in learning the language they knew. They had learned a great deal to translate the journal slowly, trying to match the translations properly before they would give it to the king and his daughters. Though despite their progress on translating the English language, the second language the journal was written in remained an enigma to them.


    There were a total of thirty pages that had writings to them, not including the ones that had drawings upon them. The rest of the journal was empty, as if it was meant to have never left Benedict¡¯s hands at all. Among the thirty pages, only twelve of them was translated at the moment. This was due to the fact that the second language the journal was written in, had words similar to those found in the English language but paired with words they could not understand.


    Leila could not help but find herself looking at the page again. She had just finished reading it minutes ago, reading through the translated entries twice now. And what she had discovered was unexpected, for what was written down, was insight on the thoughts of one of the summoned. In particular, a summoned that refused to compromise to even survive in this new world.


    The way the thoughts of Benedict was penned, told her many reasons as to why he slowly grew dispassionate with his fellow summoned, and how he had dealt with the scorn of the other summoned. It painted a picture of pure stubbornness in his case, one of which made him look distrustful and paranoid towards others.


    But there was clarity in it, as she had read the many assumptions of his that there were other reasons as to why they were being aided. But the way he had vehemently assumed that they were nothing but weapons, caused a tinge of sadness to cross her heart. But the rest of the pages that did not deal with hate or assumptions, showed her that Benedict, alongside his two friends were actually happy about their situation in a way.


    As many of the entries had described them exploring the general area, and interacting with non-dangerous wildlife they deemed amusing. But she found it strange that compared to what was written here, their actions in reality was heavily guarded. Showing little to no joy when viewed by others, and they were mostly seen sparring with one another in the most secluded of the training rooms in the castle.


    ¡°I do not know, our initial estimates was a week and three days. It was under the assumption that they had chosen to ride horses. But with winter being upon us, it would take them far longer. We can only hope they had instead chose to travel with a convoy of merchants, as they routinely arrive a week or so in Isalabi.¡±


    Aniara¡¯s voice would ring out behind her, a tinge of annoyance trailing behind it as the sound of her heavy armored footfalls rang out in the room. It was followed by the sound of fingers tapping at the wooden table behind her, before the sound of two heavy items being impatiently dropped upon them rang out.


    Leila would not reply for a time, before she would gently close the book and turn to face Aniara. The elf was fully armored save for her head, the armor that covered her body was of a pale grey color. It was a traditional armor for the snow elves, though it resembled a mixture of heavy plate mail and chainmail that was delicately made for a grand warrior. It strangely offered a decent mixture of both durability and agility to its wearer, as it wasn¡¯t as cumbersome as the full plate mail of humanity.


    Obviously beneath the chainmail would be a gambenson of sorts, to null any sort of impact damage even if it was barely substantial.


    ¡°I understand. We have sent them a letter so suddenly, knowing full well that they were doing something. As reports of our watchers suggested that they were.. Heavily involved in situations, which individuals such as them shouldn¡¯t be in.¡±


    Leila would sigh as Aniara motioned to the table she was next to. There Leila would find two items, one of which she knew of. There was a fairly unremarkable double-edged steel sword, made from a sort of grey steel with little to no designs at all. But upon its hilt and crossguard was a stylized cross, similar to the one written and drawn in the entries of Benedict¡¯s journal.


    On its pommel was a chain connected to it, with its total length being an arm¡¯s length as it had a part of it obviously broken off by a sword. On its length a strange sentence was written upon it, written in the english alphabet but not related to the language at all. It was ¡®Ira Incarnatum¡¯ and it was crudely etched upon its surface, obviously by the hands of Benedict.


    ¡°Yes, this is his sword. We found it near the outskirts of Plorty, the chain suggests that it was connected to Benedict¡¯s person. The Royal Blacksmith, Deremel told me that he had received a request from Benedict to attach it to his right gauntlet. Similar requests came from Carleon and Jio, with a war-hammer and a sword respectively.


    It¡¯s strangely ritualistic, and as Deremel noted, seemingly a faithful act of sorts. As they also asked for him to create the cross of the ¡®Templars¡¯ and attach it to their weapons, but for Carleon¡¯s he opted to simply etch it upon the head of the hammer.


    This one however..¡±


    The other was a helmet, a helmet in the shape of a human skull. It was meticulously crafted, obviously forged by Deremel the master and royal smith of Isalabi. Each part of it looked to be made individually, to be connected piece by piece. But it looked whole and truly like a skull of a human, grinning out as if it was to represent the defiant nature of humanity. On its forehead was the Templar cross, and Leila at the sight of this shook her head.


    ¡°A skull? It is perhaps no wonder that Damien and Benedict did not see eye to eye.. For him to even make this, to make this ¡®face of death¡¯, I can only wonder what kind of God would have wanted to choose him..¡±


    Leila walked to the table, her barefeet not making a sound as she neared the table. With a loud thud she placed the journal next to the skull, and she would go to caress the surface of the strange helmet.


    ¡°A God of Darkness most likely. Or perhaps Laktori himself. It would be of no surprise if Benedict would return as a Revenant, one that seeked to achieve vengeance upon the other summoned.¡±


    Leila grimaced at Aniara¡¯s cold reply, the very thought of Benedict becoming an undead was not impossible. In fact it would most likely be possible, as he had been forced to die in the face of false accusations.


    ¡°Oh no¡­ I dearly hope he does not become one.. His friends will surely not take these news lightly.¡±

 Chapter Eight: Excruciating Annoyance

    ¡°The Varai, the flesh changers of Varia. These folks are among the greatest, nay I daresay the only greatest example of radical mages that changed their flesh. What became of them? We do not know, as the last instance of them contacting the outside world was when they spoke about a Collective. A Silent Collective. After that, even us of our own homeland could no longer find them, save for abandoned buildings and hastily burned scripts.¡±


    - Monk Janterik of Varia


    Magic, an art that is capable of transcending the mortal boundaries set foot by reality. It is a phenomena borne from the minds of ancient sages of old, learned from the beings known simply as the Primeval Ancients. Horned entities that came to the world naturally, birthed by the miasmic Malvirek, the forests of ancient beasts. From them the sages had gained insight on the manipulation of an energy that their world produced, an energy that wrapped around everything in varying concentration.


    Mana. The life-blood of a thousand creatures, physical and immaterial alike, one that burrows deep within the bodies of all it could. Forming artificial veins within those it could latch upon, allowing them or others to tap in and harness the energy within for grand purposes. This took the form of sapient trees forming, living rocks singing out with their songs of earthen peace, to fragments of dreams and nightmares alike coalescing into a realm of its own.


    Mana was this powerful, as it was the catalyst that allowed many entities to exist in Jasolem. And yet despite this, only certain creatures were born with the ability to wield mana naturally. Some creatures needed another way of wielding mana, in the case of most races, it was through magic. The manipulation of mana around them and within their mana-veins to force outcomes on the world.


    But the difference was little, as both are used to cause an effect upon the world. But for those that could naturally use mana, they only needed instinct to form them into other things to aid them. Like a Dragon would use the crystallized mana core that is connected to its mana-veins to fuel its notorious breath attack. Or how a Faeiry of the Faes would subconsciously use mana to allow it to hover, and change shapes or sizes depending on their mood.


    Though for races that could not wield mana naturally or as efficiently, Magic was the key to replicating an effect that is similar. This was a more systematic way compared to the ¡®quick¡¯ and ¡®sudden¡¯ way of mana-manipulation the former gave. It was given to the rest of the world by the aforementioned sages, that had asked aid from the Primeval Ancients.


    The Primeval Ancients did not give the knowledge of their own magic as they felt that it was theirs, and should not be shared to those not of their ilk. Instead they gave the insights on how to create something similar. From that the first variations of magic came to be, Incantations, Rune, then Enhancement. Those three became the pillars for the magical arts among the majority of sapient races.


    Incantation was the recitation of spells to elicit a power from something. Either through ancient words of power, crafted by the sages or innovative mages, or contracts and deals with various beings. This pillar encompassed a staggering amount of magical arts, with it also being among the pillars that saved much on mana but dealt with more violent spells. To name a few, spells such as Malign Casting that caused damaging or restrictive effects are classified under Incantations, whether or not they are casted through voice or mind.


    The most powerful examples of these are ¡®Songs¡¯, casted by the Choir of the Ancients or the various religious individuals of gods. These spells are casted through song, with each verse giving power to the spell and yet also costing more mana. But it made up for it with the fact that the more that sang, the stronger the spell could become.


    Rune, or Runic spells were more akin to a language signed through fingers, or written down on any sort of material. Unlike Incantation, Runic spells focused on Runes. Magically charged letters that have been either blessed by a God or by a multitude of ancestors for millennia. This compared to all of the primary pillars, took the most time for most races. As they had to form ¡®magical circles¡¯ by constantly feeding mana to it, whilst writing down runes that required to be maintained too. But compared to the others, this was a pillar that was essential as it allowed a way to manage or even increase the power of spells.


    Most commonly runic magical circles have circles, the more circles or ¡®layers¡¯ there is to a runic circle the powerful and complex it is. As these circles are not simply circles with random runes jotted upon them, one must actually create or write down a tale of sorts that matches what they desire. If one wished a runic circle that would constantly raise a specific undead, then they must write a three-layered circle that spoke of the undead.


    Dictating at how unwilling it was to die, and that it would rise as long as there was power within the veins of the caster and the runic circle. This power also was used in other pillars, and even in crafting and enchantment.


    The final pillar was that of Enhancement. The most simplest yet dangerous among all the primary pillars. As its purpose deviated widely from the others, with it being used to emulate the way creatures used mana naturally. It enhanced the individual that used it, and even their armor or weapons, quite similar to the art of enchantment. And yet it was risky and hard to use, for it required a constant stream of mana to be supplied to the enhancement alongside extreme control.


    But the benefits was staggering, for both individuals that prefer either melee or pure magic, Enhancement offered a way to double their capabilities. From raising how much mana they could store, to even how hard their armor is. It was a grand thing, but it also had a steep price as its practitioners were the most commonly afflicted by mana-burn.


    But despite that, magic was not widely used by everyone. As with the knowledge the Primeval Ancients bestowed, they also discovered the hardship in using magic. For not all are gifted in using magic, and for one to actually learn how to use magic, they must learn how to find the flow of their mana. With the task of finding the flow, they must also learn how to gather mana into them.


    This however opened up a myriad of problems, such as how to gather mana into them and to refine it so that their bodies may actually handle it. Surprisingly gathering mana was simple, as it was simply easily achieved through mediation and the manipulation of the mana within you and outside you to gather into your veins. But the problem on how to refine mana so that their bodies may actually survive it, was never solved. Instead they found that different places of the world had different concentrations of mana within them.


    It went from raw to diluted, with raw being the most pure yet the most deadliest to mages and warriors. Whilst the diluted was the safest to gather for individuals. They too then found a way to keep their bodies from gathering mana, which was in a way erecting a small aura around themselves. This was useful when venturing in places rich with raw mana, and it allowed them to absorb a sort of lukewarm mana when doing so.


    It was mana neither too raw, nor too diluted . Just perfect enough to allow one to advance in their craft, but also risking them into believing they could absorb mana, thinking that their bodies had become strong enough for more.


    This leads to an event called ¡®Mana-burn¡¯, where the mana of the individual¡¯s mana-veins or body is too much for them to handle. Normally it is not deadly, as most only absorb a bit more than their usual mana-capacity could allow. But for those that are foolish enough to gather more, they would find themselves quite literally having their veins explode from within. Either killing them, or crippling their capability to even wield mana and magic.


    ¡­


    ¡°How come I only feel pain from this?¡±


    Benedict asked as he stood up, his bare feet thudding on the wooden floor as Salia finished her brief explanation. What she said after he had found a way to empty his body from mana, surprised him. What she essentially said had shed light on the nature of this world. Most of all showing how much of an aberrant he truly was, with the fact that his body was constantly siphoning off the raw mana of this place.


    ¡°How come that I am not dead? How come am I changing into this damned monster?¡±


    He hissed his words as he straightened his posture, the feeling of irritation reaching his mind alongside that of hunger. His scything-blades would hit the floor as he would slowly begin to walk outside, with Salia following close behind with a troubled expression.


    ¡°You¡¯re not a monster Benedict, you are simply something different. Something new to this world. Mana reacts differently to the will of those that manipulate it, as history has shown my people that emotions, beliefs and even dogma can create something unexpected.


    I will not assume or speculate, as I am not knowledgeable enough on this subject compared to the High Weaver. But whatever you are becoming, it is not without reason. But your pain, it most likely due to how your body is changing so.. Rapidly. That and the mana-burn that is obviously making it much more intense.¡±


    Idly Benedict snarled as he neared the open door, the smell of fresh air and that of something sweet wafted into his nose. He found this particularly strange as he didn¡¯t have any sort of excellent sense of smell, but there he was being drawn towards it. Salia who followed close behind had a gentle smile to her face as he looked towards him, as if they had met a long time ago. Akin to that of being childhood friends.


    ¡°Something new? Yes that¡¯s true, but that doesn¡¯t mean what I am now will be accepted by everyone I will meet. I won¡¯t have any sort of normality because of these two scything-claws.. Or blades. I don¡¯t even know how will my friends react to this..¡±


    Despite what he said, it was clear that he truly didn¡¯t mind these new changes. As Salia could feel a sort of strange feral acceptance to it, one she felt through his words. As his voices chanted it out with clear emotion, one that she found to be domineering. But at the mention of his friends, a clear indication of longing and fear was tangible only for a few seconds.


    This made her smile even more as she found it a sign that he wasn¡¯t truly just a ball of anger. As nearly three hours ago he was constantly complaining about his situation, even to the point that it was hard to identify whether or not he simply disliked or hated magic and mana. Though despite that he had manage to learn how to vent out the mana within his veins, reducing the chances that he would die from the mana-burn that was ravaging his body.


    ¡°Certainly your friends will accept you. I assume that they are nobles like you? If so, as learned individuals they will not be quick to judge. I remember that you people of the northern clans, or of the Ivory Union¡¯s Concord are particularly honorable.¡±


    At the mention of honor there was a visible glint of amusement crossing Benedict¡¯s face, one that indicated he didn¡¯t quite agree to what she said. To him what she assumed was far off from the truth, but in a sense it was true. As under the context of this fantasy world, they were indeed nobility and were learned men. Taught in a variety of subjects and beliefs in the school they attended, it was the same for the other summoned.


    ¡°Perhaps..¡±


    The thought of his friends not accepting him for what he has become, was amusing but not unlikely. But as he would think deeper on the matter, he had crossed the room already and was greeted by an unexpected sight. With it taking his breath away moments after he had crossed the door frame and into the outside, as what he saw was baffling.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    That was what he could only say next as he stood at the edge of a platform that was connected to two stairs to his sides, with one going up whilst the other went down. From the platform he would be able to look around, seeing the colossal trees dotting the area to be leveled with him, allowing him to realize that the structure he was on, was built on one of the large trees.


    This was made more obvious when he looked up, finding that the height he was in allowed the rays of the sun to illuminate the area he was in. Making it so that there was little to no signs of those luminescent plants he had seen, instead there was structures of stones and wood built into or around the tree he was standing upon. The thick branches connected to other areas, acting out as natural roads alongside intricate stone bridges that teemed with life.


    Hundreds of beings like Salia walked on these roads and bridges, wearing a surprisingly varied series of clothing similar to what he saw initially. A small majority of those individuals wore armor, and seemed to be doing patrols from what he could see.


    The other large trees held a similar scene, being used as structures themselves and being a hive of activity. Most held a peculiar set of individuals, as if there was a clear purpose for each one of them. With the already gigantic trees having these structures, it would come as no surprise when Benedict looked down to discover more buildings below.


    But what caught his attention was something to his right, in the form of an equally colossal statue that depicted one of the Ancients. This was one looked weathered and old, but it stood mightily next to the trees as it held its hands out. There was a strange feel to it, as it had actual buildings built on or within it, with there being towers fashioned from its horns.


    It was a truly grand sight, one that made him question how they could have made such a thing. When it was clear that this area was a forest for a long time. But with this land being fantasy-like it wasn''t that surprising.


    There were other statues too that dotted the place he could see, being individually different in gender and attire. Some even looking as if they were recent, with little to no sign of age at all. This alone made him realize how strangely aesthetic the Ancients were.


    Their structures was perfectly integrated with the surroundings, mixing with the titanic nature of the trees with their statues being a clear reminder of that. It made him feel truly small. From this sight alone, he would assume that the Ancients perhaps numbered in the hundred thousands, being among the numerous of races in this world.


    All over the buildings, even the statues themselves he could see the script of their language. The letters glowing in obvious power as he slowly began to hear an idle buzz at the background. He paid no attention to it as he looked around like an excited child, his mouth opened as a look of awe was creeping its way on his face. Salia who stood behind him would walk to his side and find his expression to be amusing.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.¡°Is it that a great sight to you? I suppose living in the frigid north would have not prepared you for this.But I heard from the Elder that you have alabaster walls and towering structures that rise beautifully up high, with the aurora that occurs in the night that drapes the land in somber light.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this place?¡±


    Ignoring her question he asked one of his own, his eyes darting out to find more features in his surroundings. A scant few seconds later he would find it in the form of rapidly advancing figures, eerily similar to how the Forlorn looked but strangely glitch-like. As if their physical form was in two places at the same time, they however looked quite literally akin to armors possessed by a spirit.


    They ran across both the large branches and stone bridges, with all other ancients ignoring their rapid steps as they lugged around axes and kite shields. With each step they took, he could feel a rising tingle on his skin. One that was similar to goosebumps but different enough that it felt disturbing.


    ¡°Malvirek as the Elder has said, or the Forest of Ancients as I have said so many times. This specific area however, is Malvirek, one of the enclaves of my people. The largest and the one that houses all subjects of each Lord. Including that of the Forlorn, even when he has been undead for centuries.


    You as the chosen successor of the Forlorn is.. Technically a Lord though not yet a true one, until the other Lords come to a consensus regarding you. But for the subjects of the Forlorn, you are already their Lord.¡±


    A brow would be raised at what Salia said, almost prompting Benedict to turn towards her. But his eyes were inexplicably glued to the rushing figures he saw, their strides being purposeful and fluid, but with a hint of a mechanical step to it. Reminding him of how the various automata or golems had been portrayed in the things he had seen.


    ¡°What are they? What are they called?¡±


    Slowly he could feel his heartbeat as he realized they were actually heading to the level they stood on, with the pace of the armors becoming increasingly erratic as they began to deviate into singular parties, hunting something without the aid of the other. With this observation the beating of his heat would mix with the idle buzzing he had disregarded.


    ¡°Seekers, they were once human like the Forlorn. I remember them being his shield-brothers, a part of tradition where they are oath-bound to him like how the dwarven warriors are to their masters¡­¡±


    Without him realizing it, Salia¡¯s voice slowly had gone quiet, replaced by the beating of his heart and the noise around him. It was quickly succeeded by the intense intrusion of something into his mind, letting him feel a cascade of emotions and desires.


    It disoriented him to feel such things, as he realized it was heavily similar to his own. Except it came from two sources, with it slowly becoming more obvious being the two creatures he had named in his dream. He had known this with ease as the emotions and desires conveyed it truly. As they were primal and unrefined, wholly reliant on the weight of the particular feeling they sent to his mind.


    With it came visions of what those two creatures saw, further confirming that what he felt truly came from beings aside from him. Through their eyes he saw the dark forest that he had ran in, the scenery being wholly familiar with minor deviations. Such deviations took the form of dozens of bodies haphazardly scattered around what seems to be a clutch of ten eggs. Eggs which were organic and translucent, allowing one to see the things within through the pink water that it also held.


    Like some twisted replication of what may the inside of a human womb would look like, alongside the life that floated within, the eggs showed something similar. Though their size was evidently particularly large, enough to contain the fully grown creatures within with them hugging their own knees.


    From the perspective he was shown, one of the Aberrations that he saw through was right in front of the eggs. And through the vision given by this particular Aberration, he could see the qualities of the entities within the eggs. They all contained what can only be described as pallid humans without obvious reproductive organs, or even hair. They all looked like identical males but lacking a mouth, whilst having strange natural armor of bone covering their arms, ending in sharp points in their nuckles.


    Like before where he named the Venator and Gadator, Benedict would feel the need to give these things a name. Instantly he would give them the title ¡®Teuton¡¯, based from the Teutonic Order. As their uniform looked reminded him of them, without the armor and crosses.


    Then he would feel a prodding at his mind, a sort of mental questioning to him. It was instinctively translated by his changing mind as a question, a desire to know what to do next. He was taken aback by this, not expecting this kind of situation at all. It was made much worse when the vision quickly faded, with his mind feeling as if it was thrown back into his skull.


    This forceful end to the vision would quickly escalate to something more when his eyes returned focus back to Malvirek itself. There he would feel something tug at his leg, before the sudden lost of balance would hit him as he would inevitably fall off the edge of the platform he stood on.


    ¡°What-¡±


    He could only mutter that as he would turn his head to look behind him, only to see that Salia was no longer there. Instantly for a brief moment he would feel surprised and shocked, before the feeling of falling through the air would pull his attention to something holding on his leg.


    ¡°SUCCESSOR!¡±


    A disembodied voice boomed out as it came from one of the armors he observed just minutes ago. Being so close to it he would be able to see black mist inhabit the equipment that acted as a living body, with no signs of glowing eyes, simply blackness. Right there the buzzing would return with more intensity, and for some reason he could not grasp he felt the need to do battle.


    But resisting the urge to just simply slam his scything-blades into the possessed armor, he would look behind him and notice that their descent made it so that they were still relatively near the tree he once stood upon. With instincts not truly his own he would attempt to lash out with his blades, intent at attempting to embed them into the bark of the tree.


    With his scything-claws not simply bound to a set amount of movements, they would reveal to be adept tools at being true limbs other than that of claws. As instinct drove him to use them as a sort of way to anchor himself on the tree, to save himself.


    This sudden reaction of self-preservation would seemingly be successful as a clear crunch would be heard, alongside the sudden slow halt of their fall. His weight alongside that of the animate armor would make him groan in pain, as his scything-claws tore through several layers on the way to stopping themselves from falling further.


    Showing its inhuman nature, his scything-claws despite being connected to what seems to be bones, showed their durability with Benedict only feeling discomfort and pain from it. He felt shock turn to irritation, then slowly into anger. This sparked the burning sensation within his veins again, and it would force him to begin kicking at the animated armor that held his leg.


    ¡°Let go you construct!¡±


    But with it lacking any biological parts to even feel, it would hold on tightly as the mist within its helm slowly leaked out. It was an eerie sight, one that would force Benedict to keep kicking at its helm with his bare foot. This only brought pain to himself as the black mist began to cover the entirety of the armor, similar to an aura.


    ¡°PROVE YOURSELF!¡±


    It yelled before the feeling of mana thickening around him made itself obvious, quickly made foreboding when the area around both of them turned completely silent.


    ¡°Just let go damn it!¡±


    Growling his words, the mist that covered the armor would creep up to his legs before the unmistakable sensation of magic being invoked would hit him like a flood. It manifested without any runes, and quickly taking effect in the way of both of them being pulled forcefully.


    It was like the time he was pulled into this world, but this time he did not blackout. Only feeling that his scything-blades were dislodged from where they were embedded, followed by a brief darkness overtaking his vision.


    Weightlessness would be what both would feel for a moment, as the gauntlet that helf his leg would only tighten its grip. Much to his shock the feeling of weightlessness was only made worse when he felt wind hit his body, indicating that he was actually being dragged in the air towards another location. Only ended when he was slammed to solid ground, causing the sound of rocks cracking under the power of the force with Benedict howling in pain.


    In an instant the darkness that took his vision faded, with the grip on his leg quickly letting go. All around him was dozens of the animated armor, the possessed things seemingly staring at him as wherever they were looked like some ceremonial battle ground.


    ¡°Battle us successor!¡±


    They demanded with feverish zeal in their voice, for Benedict who was disoriented from the pain and sudden impact could only groan in disdain. But for some reason he felt suddenly angry, as Salia popped up in his mind. Where was she? Is she safe? Or had she betrayed him?


    Despite not being unable to feel anything negative towards her hours ago, now he could feel anger at what he assumed to be a betrayal. But it was nothing compared to his worry for her, even though they had met only recently.


    ¡°Stand and fight!¡±


    They urged now, with the sound of metal boots slamming down on the rocky floor he laid upon. Forcing himself to stand, his scything-claws would help him in finding balance as he felt his body go numb. With the urge to rip apart the armored beings in front of him.


    ¡°I did nothing to you!¡±


    He exclaimed as he pointed at one of them accusingly, though it was only to buy him some time as he tried to find out where he was. Surprisingly it didn¡¯t take long for him to find out where he stood. As the rocky ground he was on, was actually the palm of one of the gigantic statues he saw.


    ¡°Centerious has chosen you! You are the Sucessor! Stand and fight, rage forth like a fire!¡±


    Urging him one of them stepped up, motioning towards the surrounding to something only they can see.


    ¡°Show us the rage that convinced Centerious to let go!¡±


    Shooting them a look of confusion and annoyance, Benedict would enter a sort of combat stance as it was obvious that he wouldn¡¯t get out of this unscatched. But he doubted his chances at winning, for he was only wearing clothing and the only weapons he had was his scything-claws, with defenses that was easily torn through by the axes the constructs held.


    -


    Their progenitor was under attack, his consort lost to his eyes as an armor dragged him away, they learned this through their link. The Aberrations had slowly tapped into their link to the progenitor of theirs, finding a wealth of information for their primal minds. But as beings born simply from the will of the Despot, they in some ghost of respect only searched for specific memories.


    This was due to the undeniable independence they had, as their leader seemingly did not give them orders. As an effect they sought to find out a way to please the progenitor, as he himself dealt with the control of his body. Their nature as a new race of Hive-Minded entities was quite similar to ants.


    Which from what they had learned, had a specific set of roles for their kind. But they were not ants, they were Aberrations. Beings that could be equated to a budding disaster, ones that were little more than locusts. This they knew as despite their recent existence, they displayed a startling ability to learn.


    This was brought about by a single problem they faced. Their numbers were about to rise, and the two existing Aberrations desperately sought out guidance to follow. They naturally turned to their progenitor, but he was busy learning and spending time with his consort, now made further unavailable when their link was halted due to an unprecedented attack.


    This made them explore their link in the first place, allowing them to be more than simplistic monsters. As they found that their master deeply believed in a concept of honor, one inspired by some sort of military group or empire from his old world.


    They couldn''t properly comprehend what it was, but they knew their master held them in awe. In the memories they immersed themselves in, they found many more concepts that their master believed in. And for them, they sought to exemplify what they saw.


    As with the knowledge of what mana and magic was, they had the realisation that they were incapable of either. Their bodies being more akin to ones that devour and see mana. And as such, they slowly based themselves on the concepts they saw.


    It was one of unity, honor, bloodshed and power above all else. A twisted mix of the contradictory beliefs their progenitor held.With that, the problem they had faced was replaced with determination. One that shouldn''t truly be found on a race that has unnaturally existed.


    The Venator was the first to draw his mind back into reality, letting nearly all of his attention to the present. The journey through the mind of their progenitor was a fulfilling experience for it, as it''s mind was broaden out to more possibilities. Possibilities that wasn''t simply the desire to feast.


    It craned its head to the side, letting its eyes gaze around the area they were in. Which was the same place they were born in, but changed due to the number of unconscious animals scattered around them. With the once whole body of the Raemir being placed at the center, topped with ten large eggs that contained another variation of their race.


    ¡®Teuton¡¯, that was what the progenitor named them. To the existing Aberrations, beings that could be said to be the two unique Aberrations to exist as of now, these Teutons were quite literally plain to them. Or in another way much more stable than them, as they had been given ample time to actually grow unlike the two. But the lacking mouth could not be explained as of now, and their uncanny resemblance to one another implied they were to be used a mass produced creatures.


    The Gadator at this point would draw his mind back too, opting to instead walk towards one of the eggs. Compared to its brother, the Gadator was particularly more intelligent, making it stare at the inert Teutons with clear hints of impatience. As his hands would go to grasp the side of one of the eggs and shaking it briefly, without even causing any sort of reaction to the Teuton within.


    For the Gadator this was distasteful as their progenitor was under attack. It was natural for them to search for him, to aid him in his time of need. As this desire was natural to them, but given their intelligence this was a stupid thing to do. As they were outnumbered three to one, with the Teutons not even awake yet.


    The frustration that this brought would cause the Aberration to growl, with it approaching a tree and suddenly scaling it to sit upon its branch. The Venator at this sight would let out a throaty laugh as it would instead go to arrange the bodies that was scattered around their territory, piling them based on size rather than race.

 Chapter Nine: Ceremonial Aggression

    ¡°So what if my fighting style only consists of me going to a berserk rage? It is much more better than that of Damien¡¯s! If I will fight, it will not be for any of you who took me from my home! I will fight to live or die, and my rage will help me in that!¡±


    - Benedict after his defeat against Damien


    ¡®This is fucking stupid.¡¯


    He cussed in his mind as the dozen or so beings formed a circle that trapped him. The possessed armors began to slam the side of their axes against that of their shields in a methodological rhythm. It was obviously that of a war-beat, used in some tribal manner that related to the situation he was in.


    With each thud it was made more clear that it was indeed a war-beat, as he could hear them chant. A chant that reminded him of the many warrior cultures of his original world, and that of fictional warriors from the novels and games he liked. But there was something else to it, as it caused the air around him to grow cold with excitement.


    ¡°Hearken to the olden days! Hearken to the olden days! When the lands was cold, and the elves did not swore! Hearken! Hearken!¡±


    Each word that they sang and bellow had weight upon it, with it being magically charged to be clearly an act of invoking an Incantation spell. In this instance it was an obvious magical chant, with their words directly being an indication as to what kind of spell was being invoked. One would be wary of what they were chanting, one with a rational mind would prepare for the worse.


    ¡°When brothers turned from the womb of the void, to the blood-soaked tears filling the lonely homeland! Hearken to that times! Hearken!¡±


    But Benedict whose anger was rising, he felt no need to be wary. The need to preserve his life was gone, as if his instincts screamed that he could survive this. Even when it was clear that without armor, his bare flesh would be naught but soft meat to the axes of the armors. If that was not enough, their obvious flesh-less nature rendered it quite impossible to win properly, as he had no knowledge at how to kill these kinds of beings.


    ¡°To the fires that consumed, to the blades that tear! To the brothers lost to the treachery and despair! Hearken! Hearken!¡±


    Their chants flew over his head, as the mana around him began to grow heavier each moment. It was like the air being thinner, but instead of having problems breathing, for Benedict he had problems in actually thinking. It was like his mind being muddled with, being forced to feel excited with the thought of coming battle and vengeance.


    It made him remember what he went through in the past days, being chased for a crime he did not commit, to being dragged into a situation he had no say in. It made him more than upset, it made him irate and furious. Who were they to judge him? Who were they to demand him to prove himself? He was not under their will, not their subjects


    ¡°As the doom drum beats, hearken to it! Hearken! When the final son of the eternal seekers rests, a successor shall be put to the test! Umbrage to the heart and soul, blades shall clash and bells will toll!¡±


    He was his own person, and he snarled at the thought of being controlled by another. It was a distasteful thing for him, with his distaste coming out in the form of him growling at the armors. The gathered armors seem to be excited, and in fact he himself was too with anticipation building up within his veins.


    ¡°Hearken! And hear the beating of drums forgotten! Hearken! As the battles continue! Hearken! When the forgotten ancestors watch! Hearken! As this new child is blooded!¡±


    Their chants soon crumbled into that of throaty rumbles, with bassy booms accompanied with a slowly rising cacophony of metal on metal, steel to stone. It was like the clamour of battle, and the excitement was rising to the point that the gathered warriors, Benedict included shook with desire.


    As if to take advantage of the excitement one of the dozen or so armors step forward, and like the rest they all looked the same. Similar to the Forlorn, but much more metal than anything else. With their armors being heavily decorated with scripts upon scripts of strange runes, alongside that of the same designs on their shield and weapon with a dull silver finish to it, with a couple of tentacles replaced with stylized chains. Their helms looked nearly the same, only having a much more curved horn than the one found on the Forlorn.


    With one stepping to stand within the thick encirclement, it was clear that it was meant to be a duel as the other armors made no move in stopping their actions. With a clear target in sight, Benedict tensed as he crouched a bit to stand on his toes. It was clear that he was intending to pounce at the approaching warrior, though he would wait for a chance to do so.


    ¡°I will grind your stupid metal bodies to dust!¡±


    He yelled in his angered state, the approaching enemy of his shrugging as the black mist within it vaguely formed a smiling face. He was being carried away by his anger, and the excitement all around him. The clanging sounds seemed to be like music to his ears, urging him to battle, urging him to give it his all, even when he was in a clear disadvantage.


    ¡°If you live, then try it.¡±


    It replied, its voice being that of a mocking male. This caused an angry twitch from Benedict, who witnessed his adversary raise the shield on its left hand, and the axe on its right. With his shield raised to protect most of its center, the axe was held closer to his side and raise for a quick strike. Benedict however remained in his stance, making the armor approach him instead.


    With the approach, Benedict¡¯s scything blades raised themselves to rest their first segment on his shoulders, whilst the second and third straightened in a way that gave them a true scythe-like formation. This did not stop the armor to stop his approach, instead it would actually sped up a bit, before suddenly dashing forward with sudden speed.


    With a clear show of its supernatural nature, it moved its shield a bit further away from its chest, before its right hand would bring down the axe with the intention of cleaving down at Benedict¡¯s left shoulder. It was clear that this warrior was more intent at ending this fight quickly, than dragging it out. As the thin smile on its face turned to a cruel grin.


    Benedict in reaction to this would shift his posture to lean in forward, as if allowing himself to be directly in the line of the attack. But as it neared, he would push against the floor with his toes to let him spring backwards. It was done so quickly in a manner that should be impossible for one such as him, but the way his body was changing allowed him to do just that.


    And in that quick spring, the axe missed him and would slam its blade to the floor. It caused sparks to surprisingly fly out, and for a brief few seconds allowed him a clear spot to attack. This he took as he was yet to land on the floor, with one of his scything-blades springing forward like a bolt of lightning. Its tip was heading for shoulder of the armor, just to the left of the pauldron upon it.


    But his strike did not connect, as just as he landed on his feet the armor moved his shield just in time to intercept his strike, tilting it just in a way to let the lower half of the scything-blade skid off the surface of the shield. This caused Benedict to click his tongue in disapproval as the armor reeled its axe quickly to strike, but to stop that he would take his blade back and quickly leap at him.


    But that proved stupid as he brought down his scything-blades to strike down at the armor, but just as he did that the armor took a step forward to meet his leap. And with that step it was quickly followed by a bash from its shield, hitting Benedict squarely on the face with great force. Though it would also allow both of his scything-blades to hit the armor on its shoulder, though much more shallow than it should be as he was thrown away.


    With a loud thud he landed near the feet of the still chanting armors, and without paying them any heed Benedict hurriedly push himself up. It was a quick action, despite the momentary disorientation such a bash in the head should give. Though blood did drip down from his nose indicating that he didn¡¯t come out unscathed from that strike.


    The warrior would let out an amused laugh, looking as if he was about to say something. But Benedict¡¯s furious face made him reconsider, and instead he would shrug before striding towards Benedict. From the angle given, the warrior showed no true outward reaction the small rent on its shoulders. But it was notable that blades made from bones could even tear such a savage cut upon steel armor.


    Without any idle thoughts, Benedict would begin to run towards the warrior. Not even trying to find a proper way to defeat this armored foe. Only being guided by his ire, he would meet the warrior head on, just as his adversary raised his axe to strike. He was like a beast, his thoughts only being composed of ones that seeked to bring pain and domination.


    He did even pay attention to the fact that his body was heating up rapidly, with what seems to be steam coming out of his mouth. It was as if his body was trying to push his actions further, and it was slowly showing as Benedict seemed to be a bit faster.


    With him nearing the warrior raised his axe again and tensed, obviously preparing for the clash they will have. And seconds later the warrior would strike first when he was in striking range, opting for a defensive strike that would not give an opening like minutes ago.


    Though Benedict would see the strike in the form of a vertical cleaving sweep that targeted his side on the right, fully intent at taking advantage on his armorless nature. Through instinct and the many information about battles he had seen, his mind would articulate these thoughts into a way of battling, producing a strike that would meet the cleaving axe with his right scything-blade to meet it in a clash.


    But as they clashed the axe would hit the bone of the blade, thudding against it uselessly as if it couldn¡¯t dent the naturally grown bone. The armor would have a look of surprise on his misty face, only to be replaced with that of elation. The cause was that of Benedict¡¯s arm darting out to grab the armor¡¯s wrist, putting much force on the grip to the point that the metal visibly started to dent.


    ¡°Such rage..¡±


    The armor commented as Benedict would let out a guttural growl as he would violently pull the armor towards him, quickly followed by his free scything-blade being brought down to a slam towards the gorget of the armor, piercing through and causing the armor to let out a blast of black mist. But this would make the armor kick at Benedict, forcing him to back away with his scything-blades and hand being brought back to his sides.


    ¡°Savage, truly savage!¡±


    Gleefully the armor would seemingly shake in joy, with a large tear on its gorget which acted as the neck of its armor of a body. From there including the tears at his back, black mist would be furiously leaking out as if it was blood. With another joyful chuckle, the rapturous chants and discordant music that had been playing out seemingly grew louder.


    ¡°But it is only against one! How will you fare against many?¡±


    To Benedict however, the sound was annoyances, his mind and body was boiling with unrestrained desire to simply attack. If one would look at the armored wrist of the armor, they would see it to be both dented and surprisingly partially melted. Even the mana around him was slowly beginning to actually burn, with Benedict being the source, a source that was clearly impervious to it as he only showed mild discomfort. With what can be described as instinctive manipulation of Mana, Benedict sprung into action.


    But just as he tried to swipe to the side with his scything-blades, an unexpected strike from the right would come, forcing him to use his blades to instead push him backwards just in time to dodge one that came from his left. With a gasp of irritation there he saw two more armors, the first one he faced smiling smugly.


    ¡°COWARD!¡±


    Benedict yelled in rising indignation as he felt more angrier at the additional enemies. His martial pride, one instilled in an early age had always told him that conflict between men must be between them alone. As it was a most common thing in his home to settle disputes between males in one on one fist fights, for it was ¡®honorable¡¯ that way. Especially if it could not be settled without violence at all.


    But with what he had initially thought was a duel, had turned to a one on three fight. Something he should be desperately avoiding or running away from. Instead he would fume at this, shaking with the need to simply rip and tear. The two additional armors noticed this, as their faces formed that of a male and female, looking on apologetically to him.


    ¡°Cowards! All of you! Dishonorable fucking shits!¡±


    He howled in disdain as he witnessed the two new foes sprint at him, both of their shields raised in an obvious attempt at a shield bash. He would meet this head on with his scything-blades, but this time he took advantage of their total length and hurled them forth like a spear to clash with their shields. If one had paid attention to how Benedict fought, they would discover that it wasn¡¯t wholly primal.


    There was a strange purpose to each strike, as it is shown next when the hit connected with a loud clang, forcing the charging armors to skid to a halt. The blades acted like a hand pushing against the shields, with the armors finding it actually hard to push against it. Though this halt in the battle would not last long, as Benedict would display how further he could use the blades, even when it is simply the thrashing of a child.


    Quickly he would pull his blades back before the armors could do anything else, causing them to stumble forward. Rudely the scything-blades would strike again, but this time it was not to puncture or lacerate, but rather to swipe away the two. It came from the left and right respectively, both scything-blades hitting them with staggering force that caused them to actually be thrown away.


    But this action would reveal the initial armor, who was now rushing towards him. Benedict growled towards it, finding the dishonorable wretch to be the most preferable target despite the other two enemies was still not disabled. With another clash Benedict would have one of his blades occupying the axe of the warrior, whilst his hands would dart out to tear the shield away to reveal the main body of his adversary.


    ¡°I will tear your limbs off and let you rust! I will not be stopped you bastard!¡±


    As he said that however, the two enemies that he had taken his attention off would reveal themselves in the way of a surprise attack. One decked him in the face, the other actually hacking down at his right arm. Reacting to this too late, Benedict could only gasp in pain as the first armor backed away a bit before kicking him squarely on the belly, pushing him away.


    Benedict¡¯s malevolent thoughts would be at its highest peak now. The most evident cause of this would be the large gash on his arm that began near his wrist, and ended near his elbow. Normally an individual such as Benedict would have begun shouting profanities as they writhe in pain, but he strangely looked only irritated and displeased at his wound. Even when it was bleeding.


    Disturbingly, the large gash revealed extreme deviation to what one would expect to see from an open wound on the arm. The wound was surprisingly not deep, and in fact, what can only be described as several tendrils writhing would be seen as blood dripped from it. There were even signs of other strange growths within the wound, most of them being that of chitin like bones alongside thick muscles that seem to try and form a layer.


    It was clear at this instance that he was already something beyond human, something greater for better or worse. And without realizing that he simply pushed himself up, letting out a low growl that rang out slowly.


    With a lurch that was driven by his desire to inflict pain, Benedict leapt at them again. With two additional foes to fight, it was clear in the way he jumped that he was adapting to this quickly. As if he was processing this in a much more keener way than his animalistic way of battling implied. But he was one monstrous being, against three animated equipment. It was akin to flesh against metal, man versus machine.


    One will tire, the other will simply push on until it was naught but dust. And yet in this battle, Benedict showed to be a bundle of furious rage. Lashing out with his scything-blades as the three blocked each strike with their shield, or completely dodged them. It was a sight of legends, as the surrounding mass of chanting and clamouring armor made a grand event out of it.


    To the participants however, it seemed to be a tense battle. With it being a brawl of offense and defensive attempts. Benedict was a flurry of slashes and primal hate, his scything-blades coupled with his rapid adaptation was starting to show its great advantage, with him being able to block or dodge most of the attacks dished out by the three armors.


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    But being one boy he was unable to dodge or even block all, only those that would prove fatal he was successful in stopping. This caused him to have cuts all over his arms and hands, with those wounds surprisingly barely bleeding at all. However they looked particularly painful, as it was obvious that the axes had a hard time tearing through them for some reason.


    With increasing volume of attacks being exchanged, Benedict is seen like a flurry of slashes. With each leap and sprint being accompanied by erratic swings of his blades, and daring feints that allowed him to rend and tear small wounds towards the armored shells. But his pure animalistic tactics allowed the armors to defensively match every attack.


    Punishing him for each one, forcing him to limit himself in a limbo of defense and attacks. The armors worked well in consort with one another, forming a thick shield wall with each other, as their shields was the only ones aside from their weapons that could withstand the blows of the scything-blades. They easily deflected, or even outright caused the scything-blades to skid off their surface.


    This frustrated Benedict, who couldn¡¯t find a proper way to gain the upperhand in the fight. As a boy who did not know how to fight with his limbs, save for what his instincts says, he should have lost already. But tenacity and a berserk rage allowed him to simply attack. His body held on, with parts seemingly trying to knit-itself but couldn¡¯t due to the obvious strain placed on his body.


    This battle went on for minutes without end, the song around them growing deafening and thunderous as their actions mimicked it. Benedict¡¯s own mind once again swam between that of the waking world, and a perpetual state of bloodlust and madness. In that state, he once again felt the writhings of his body, with it being more obvious on the large lacerations of his arms. As the source was obviously that of the tendrils, which disgustingly glowed a sickly red, followed by steam beginning to come out of his own wounds.


    It was a painful experience, one that pushed him even further to the point of self destructive attacks. The armors noticed this, and strangely they began to slow down at the sight of it. Benedict on the other hand began to move with less coordination, as he slowly heard a strange voice crawl its way into his mind.


    Rend and tear my Apex. Thine art is unpolished, but in this test you have passed, you are free to fall to the succor of sleep. So that you may dream of me, and not of that false plane. Listen my Apex.


    It was familiar, that very voice he had heard before he faced the Forlorn. But what it said only made him want to not sleep, to not give up. It made him attempt towards the armors, but strength from his legs would left him. Making him stumble and fall to his knees, only supported by his scything-blades.


    Do not resist me. You will not die here. You will not waste your rage to them. You will survive my Apex. Your better half will not have it. Apex, listen.


    The voice annoyed him greatly, but as it spoke he felt himself actually begin to feel his body properly again, whereas in the battle he was in a trance. Unable to properly feel the wounds he felt with coherence. Now however, he felt it clearly and he wanted to badly scream out. But for some unknown reason, he could endure it, albeit with growls.


    The armors would begin to approach him, their shields raised high and axes at the ready, except for the first one. The first would go and point his finger at Benedict as they neared, standing over his clearly tired body. But they themselves did not look better, as a majority of their arms and torso had clear tears at them, with their mist badly leaking out.


    ¡°Hearken. We have heard the rage within you, it chants out in voices unheard of our people. You have pass the test.¡±


    At the end of the sentence, the two armors next to him would drop to their knees, kneeling respectfully towards him. With the other dozen or so armors doing the same, but not stopping their chants. The first armor would chuckle, preparing to kneel himself.


    But Benedict would suddenly lash out with both of his scything-blades, with it embedding themselves into the first armor that he had fought. With a sickening crunch they pierced through before he reeled it back in, further damaging the torso.


    Amusing. This path of rage, Apex, this rage.. Apex, you have already passed the test.


    The response of the other armors surprised him, as they made no move to avenge their ally. Which was still standing, who then would kneel with the black mist within him slowly lessening as they escaped out of his metal body.


    ¡°The aspirant has been tested. We have hearkened.¡±


    Then the surroundings became quiet, as the cacophony that once engulfed the area suddenly died out. Replaced by one shout.


    ¡°Benedict! Get out of my way! Let me pass!¡±


    It was Salia¡¯s voice, and from then on she would be seen barging through the kneeling armors, before she would quickly and worriedly run to Benedict¡¯s side. But her arrival barely caused a reaction, as Benedict¡¯s body was profusely heating up. With the steam all over him indicating that his mana-burn had reached a level that should have killed him.


    ¡°Oh no.. Oh no.. Stay with me Benedict, stay awake!¡±


    Her voice was like a distant whisper, one audible enough to make him look at her. But his state of mind did not allow him to reply, only to attempt at lashing out at her. Which obviously did not work as all he could do was slump against her as she hugged him.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.. It¡¯s okay, let your rage calm.¡±


    Attempting to sooth him, Salia tightened her hug around him, arms careful in not touching his obvious wounds. Whilst her fingers would move to begin magical runes upon his back to obviously heal him, as her face and voice expressed worry, more so than one would expect from a person that had just met Benedict hours ago.


    Below him however, the blood that he had spilled throughout this battle had discretely pooled outwards. Being influenced by some magical force to form a strange variation of a magical circle, one that had the Ancient¡¯s runic letter of power that coincided with the word ¡®Despot¡¯. When it had formed properly, it would begin to glow for a scant few seconds before disgustingly gathering into circular orbs that would crystallize into red crystal-like things.


    Slowly his consciousness would return, as the mere touch of her skin brought peace to him like before. Driven by pure instinct he would hug her close, nuzzling her neck as his eyes closed. But he did not fall asleep, instead he simply closed them as he felt tired.


    The rage within him would calm down, as with the heat that was wrapping around his skin. Curiously, Salia did not seem affected, and instead she would be clearly seen fussing over him. Her hands forming a multitude of magical runes just to siphon the excess mana within him, and to heal the wounds on his body.


    The effects on his body and mana was not notable yet, save for the fact that his wounds were indeed re-knitting themselves, but also rapidly regenerating. Whether or not this was due to his mutation or it was Salia¡¯s doing, it couldn¡¯t be discerned.


    ¡°I hate you so much grandpa.. To make me watch Benedict suffer..¡±


    She would mutter that, and Benedict would open his eyes again to look at his hands. His hands which had the miniscule growths of bone to have spread to his fingers and the back of his palm, forming a sort of incomplete shell. His mind did not register the sudden change of the growth, instead he would lower his hand and simply continue to hug Salia, compelled by their link.


    --


    ¡°Truly despotic.¡±


    The Warborn¡¯s voice rang out, his tone being that of surprise and approval. Though her iron clad face did not let him show this, she felt quite surprised at what he had just witnessed. The other Lords that gathered shared the same look upon their faces, with the Elder¡¯s showing only that of a small smile. The Weaver who was projecting what can only be described a video through his helm, would be shaking with anticipation.


    ¡°To think he would survive the Blood Canting. Look at his arms, he had managed to actually direct all the damage to them, but they show no sign of well.. Falling off! The wounds barely even bleed, and the mana around him is furiously being absorbed and expelled as.. Heat? I am baffled as to how he is still alive!


    And his blood, the Blood Canting of Zhalvagan had caused it to crystallize into dozens of blood crystals! Dozens! This is unheard of, they would have normally formed three or four, but dozens? This is something else, he is something else!¡±


    His voice carried that of excitement, glee and utter shock. As if he wanted to see more, to know more. The other Lords did not share this sentiment, as the Forge Brother spoke with a hint of concern.


    ¡°With all due respect, I think it might have been a mighty blunder for us to send the Seekers of the Forlorn to test the kid this early.¡±


    It had only been hours after their argument about Benedict had ended, and for him to be suddenly tested without him being acquainted with his new purpose caused this Lord to feel a bad feeling. One which he vocalized, as another would speak.


    ¡°Early or not, the Despot shows strength and power. Normally it would not be necessary for a Blood Canting to need more than one bloodletter, but for three to be needed? This is tantamount to ineptitude for the Seekers. That or they were trying to really kill the young Lord.¡±


    The Caretaker said her piece with a shy, her mature features showing how much she disliked what she saw.


    ¡°Kill? They were trying their best not to get themselves killed, as if they have forgotten they no longer have physical bodies. Those scythe-like limbs of the Despot, they so easily tore through steel, but not through mana-enchanted equipment.¡±


    The Father spoke in contempt, obviously not liking what he saw, but there was a hint of admiration behind his words. The Lord Mender who was the most vocal among the Lords was strangely silent for a few minutes, whilst the others began to speak regarding what they witnessed.


    ¡°Akin to a whirlwind of hate and madness, his claws tore through metal like a vengeful patriarch, burning with the fires of infernal hate. The song of mana was discordant as the chant of the Blood Canting, and yet his hymn, his discordant hymn rang out so clearly.. He wanted blood. But the Despotic Child will not receive it, as the Lost Seekers of the Forlorn have lost everything that they are, save for their armor and purpose..¡±


    The Master of Hymns sang her part, her lips frowning as if she disliked the show of violence. But there was an obvious tinge of worry and mirth in it.


    ¡°A show of grand endurance that¡¯s for sure.. I wonder if his bloodlust is similar to his lust? Primal, domineering and so utterly unrelenting.. Hnng, I¡¯d wish to have a taste of him.¡±


    Of course the Mistress purred her words with lust visible on her face. The other Lords chose not to mind her, but the Warborn couldn¡¯t help but reply to her.


    ¡°You would most likely suffer the wrath of Salia, Mistress. That or you may be penetrated in a different way, depending on how you approach him.¡±


    Despite how lewd it may have had sounded, the Warborn¡¯s voice carried it in a way that spoke of a wholly dangerous penetration rather than a pleasurable one. The Lord Mender would speak next, his voice carried that of a disappointed individual.


    ¡°While I agree that our young brother has shown himself to be exceptional in this ceremony of succession, he was not warned about this. We are brothers and sisters here, a family. We must not plot among each other like the other races do.¡±


    He would shoot a glare to a particular Lord. One that did not speak after all this time, and only then would this Lord speak after the other Lords looked at her.


    ¡°I was simply honoring the way of our people, Lord Mender. This was the way of the Forlorn, and it shall be the way the Despotic Child shall be welcomed.¡±


    Her voice was mischievous, as her form resembled that of the Mistress, similar to the Master of Hymns. But she instead wore an armor made out of scales, which seem to shift in and out of the shadows that was strangely abundant in her platform. Her eyes glowed violet, playfully showing her inner nature, letting her horns crackle with the same violet light as they seem immaterial.


    ¡°The Despot would have been given an appropriate test later on, when he had been made aware of his rank. This, despite it coinciding with the way of the Forlorn and our people, it does not change the fact that the Despot was not aware of this.


    You shall not do something similar Lord Umbra, without your brothers and sisters knowing. This shall not be tolerated a second time, even if it is harmless or had allowed us to see the skill of the Despot.¡±


    Like a cold knife stabbed behind her back, Umbra tensed as she smiled fearfully at the cold voice of the Conduit. Despite not showing any emotions, the Conduit¡¯s voice managed to show disdain and anger through how cold it was to them.


    ¡°Alright alright. I won¡¯t do it again! I was simply following the wish of the Forlorn, nothing more nothing less!¡±


    Though as she said that, the Conduit did not seem to be convinced, as it did not reply to her again. The Elder would speak up next, his smile still plastered on his face.


    ¡°The Despot will be among us now. Salia shall reign him in, being the voice of rationality to his dissonant hymn of rage. But as this test is among the first, when will the second one come?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t act as if you do not know Elder.¡±


    The Warborn quickly interjected, his finger pointed at him accusingly as the shadows allowed her to look as if she was smiling.


    ¡°You have seen it no? You have been smiling ever since the Weaver had shown us the start of the fight. Was it you that instructed one of the Delvers to stop Salia from helping the Despot?¡±


    ¡°Naturally.¡±


    The Elder replied proudly before he would grimace.


    ¡°Though the next test for him will be¡­ More hands on. May I suggest that we quickly bring him up to speed my brothers and sisters? Of course, after he heals from his wounds.¡±


    The Lord Mender would be seen moving backwards slightly, as did all other Lords. He spoke as the plants around his body glowed for a moment, as if there was something that called for his attention.


    ¡°I agree with the Elder. If this matter is over for the time being, I have something to deal with. The Aberrations have.. Begun to claim the area they are in. I will have to quickly notify my Menders to avoid them for the time being.


    The sooner we confirm that the Despot has control over his brood, the better.¡±


    The Conduit would slam the butt of its stuff on the wooden floor, before it spoke again. This time it directed its voice to everyone.


    ¡°This conclave is dismissed for now. The matters regarding the war in the lands of the fae shall be discussed once the Despot is among us. Forge Brother, make sure to create an appropriate armor for our young brother, made out of the Dreg of Frost, as willed by the Forlorn.


    Warborn, Lord Mender and Master of Hymns, your purpose is clear. Guide our brother in the path he will take.


    The rest of you, you may return to your duties. But for you Lord Umbra, do not toy with the Despot. This is a warning for all of you. He is the youngest, but he is a brother.


    We must stand together.


    Dismissed.¡±


    Then without ceremony at all, the circular platforms they stood upon would descend to the lower levels, letting them off once they had reached the bottom floor after a minute. But it would be revealed that there were three gigantic doors for them to take. The Conduit would take the door that was below its platform, whilst the others chose the other two, which would open to reveal the large trees of Malvirek, leading to different areas of the large forest city, with some clearly leading to the lower most region.

 Chapter Ten: Ominous Progeny

    ¡°The creeping dark is nothing like we have seen before. The visions involving them shows a dark that creeps to the world, seeping into our realm without a hint of whence it came. The dark is cold, yet it burns with a hate for us that knows no bounds.¡±


    - Princess Analise Basalos


    Their Progenitor Lord was taken by sleep, the wounds scarred upon his arms transferring their pains to his progeny. Each pain he had felt in that cruel and sudden battle, was felt keenly by his Aberrations. The two Aberrations that were truly alive, the Gadator and Venator felt the wounds as if it was done to them. It invoked a similar reaction from them that their Progenitor felt. Making them grow angry and vindictive to the metal things that made their lord suffer.


    To the Teutons, the sleeping and forming aberrants shuddered within the artificial womb of the egg-like sacs that contained them. They despite being far more mindless than the two unique aberrations that guarded them, reacted to the link to their Progenitor as if they were awake. By their rising killing intent, the area they stood upon felt strange, suffocating even to those that dare stray near to it.


    With anger boiling in their bosoms, the two aberrations that could do a wide range of actions instead would growl. Their minds although primal and recent, were equivalent to that of a fully matured human, and with the available memories within the mind of their progenitor and that of his ancient ancestors within his very flesh, they deduced that they could do nothing.


    Their lord was not in any immediate danger, despite knowing that he would die due to the amount of blood he had loss. But that was for a normal human, a human that originated from the world called Earth, the mother that birthed the race of their lord, one that was as cruel as it was loving. Forcing the humans upon its surface to constantly adapt to simply survive, to the point they reached a level of technological advancement that impressed the young minds of the two aberrants.


    Their lord, based upon what memories and knowledge they could glean from their link, was something different. Instinctively they felt it was because he was chosen, that it was natural as he was their maker, their god. But from what they learned, it was because of something related to some force that made him change and mutate. And that made them feel more in awe, as it meant that their lord was not even fully formed. Convincing them that he would not die from such a thing, especially when his better half was at his side, the one that eased his pain.


    And even if they rushed to find him, they would be cut down easily by the metal men. And the other inhabitants of that gigantic city they saw in his memories.


    Without orders from him, and only visions of his dream of a field of skulls and something he describes as an ancient entity behind large gates, they acted on their own. They were independent, clearly different from the ten Teutons that were forming within the eggs at the center. As if they were rushed products, specialized in one task that was obviously related to violence.


    If one looked, it was clear that the Teutons were a much more ¡®stable¡¯ variation of the Aberrations. One that was easily replicated, as each Teuton looked almost similar, clones among themselves. In contrast, the Venator and Gadator held little resemblance to the Teuton. As they were more primal and rugged, quickly formed from either the will of their lord or from some unknowable thing.


    With the desire to feed their hunger, to sate their bloodlust and most of all to fulfill the many desires of their progenitor, the two acted now. Forcing themselves in a state of calm, which was next to useless as they felt the need to give in to their baser instincts.


    What stopped them was the concept of pride and honor taken and inherited from their progenitor. If their lord had held on to such concepts, they believed they should to. And it was not acceptable then for them to give in to their desires, as it would bring shame to them. Making them think that perhaps they would be cut off from the budding hive of their kind, which sent chilling fear to their spines.


    For like their progenitor they felt the need to belong, and though they were like him, their fear of being without the hive, to fall from grace, was greater than that of any living being. This one was not enforced by Benedict or his subconscious, but rather an accidental mutation when they were formed. This pushed them to action fully, causing the Gadator to approach the largest of the animals they had captured. Whilst the Venator, the more violent of the two would pad over to the immediate area of their territory, letting out a noise akin to gagging followed by him vomiting red tar-like substance in an arc, intending to hit several trees.


    With the Gadator holding the largest creature by the horn, a bison-like entity covered in thick protective shells that covered its body like a turtle-shell, he would open its snout and look down upon its throat. The creature, like the others the aberrations have gathered was barely alive at this rate, and it could only let out a short pitiful whimper. Without any sort of pity within him, the Gadator would open its maw and hover the opening of his own mouth over it. And like the Venator he would suddenly puke out the same red tar-like substance, nearly similar to blood but containing disgusting fleshy bulbs, but not as many as the one the Venator puked.


    This allowed the Gadator to let nothing spill ,and to cleanly stop once the creature swallowed it all. It was a disturbing sight, more so when one realized that this was perhaps the reason why the Aberrations even gathered these beings. They were propagated and created through parasitic means, and without even knowing about it fully, the two did this. With the Gadator clearly intending to create more of his kin, and the Venator ¡®marking¡¯ the trees that encircled their clearing.


    This action of theirs would initially show no clear effect, as they would do this bit by bit for the course of hours. By then the Teutons started to wake, but not hatch, with their armored bone growths on their arms creeping up to their backs, forming two growths upon their shoulder blades, akin to some sort of chimney. For the Teutons there was no need for themselves to awaken this early yet, as they were allowed the leisure time to gain more knowledge from the link of their Progenitor, unlike that of the Gadator and Venator when they were first born in the world.


    Then nearly seven hours since their Progenitor was defeated in that cruel test that the metal men dragged him into, the trees that the Venator puked upon would display changes in their structure. With fleshy growth spreading like a corruption upon its surface, where mana would become strangely a bit more thinner than usual. This would be among the many growths that came from the afflicted trees, and the creatures that ingested the red tar-like substance would begin to spasm from time to time.


    And one figure, the figure of an entity that was not there initially, but is now present and extending out from the trunk of a particularly aged tree sighed. It was the Lord Mender, his body which was overgrown with plant-life was particularly more like a tree now, and his glowing eyes stared at the sight before him with a mixture of uncertainty and worry. As what the Venator did to the trees he could clearly feel, and it was a feeling of forced change and mana being siphoned to fuel something.


    But as with all things born within Malvirek, the Lord Mender could only watch as the progeny of the youngest lord of the Ancients set about doing their task, showing signs of independence and frightening intelligence one might not expect from a newborn race. He as the Lord Mender, the one that mended and managed the balance of all that lives within their ancient home, could only watch and hope that this new race would seamlessly integrate itself to the ecosystem of this particular part of the forest.


    But with their obvious show of aggressive desires, he wondered if even their Lord could control them, much less lead them to a much more civilized route. Grumbling at that thought, his body would begin to recede back into the trunk of the tree, merging with it as if he was always a part of it.


    The Aberrations would not notice him, as the two of them would focus on their tasks. Slowly diverting their attention at thoughts of fortifying their territory, and most of all protecting the eggs that contained the Teutons.


    -


    Again he dreamed about that field of skulls. About those rising undead that followed and marched alongside him. But there was another addition, a miniscule one taking the form of the Forlorn who shadowed his every step. Eerily smiling as they slowly reached that gigantic gate once more. With that same entity watching through the cracks of the skull, with its one eye looking at him wildly again. This time nothing notable happened, as he would simply stare back at the eye, with it making him feel his head go numb the more he did so. Until it got to the point that the very action caused him to wake up in cold sweat, feeling as if that dream was one where he did not have control, with him only regaining his motor functions with him waking.


    He would find himself quickly losing the memory of that dream, which was strange as the previous dreams he had with such a view was lucid. What made this one different? What made him feel as if this dream was simply a dream and not a vision of sorts? The answer that he sought would not be given to him, as he was no intellectual or some grand magus that knew the secrets to the mind or that of visions. He did not dwell on the matter, as his mind was still sleepy and in need of rest.


    But rebelliously denying such a desire, he would shift a bit on what he laid upon, discovering that he was back in the same room he first saw in this city. His body would feel incredibly tired, with that burning pain coursing within his veins. But unlike before it was manageable, being more akin to a mild annoyance than a great pain. Now he also felt his mind buzzing with thoughts not of his own, ceaseless flow of information with his own being accessed by something.


    He didn¡¯t truly see it that way, but his changed biology allowed him to partially comprehend it. Letting him feel that there was a multitude of individuals accessing what he knew, making him remember long lost memories and information as if he never lost them. Then there was that of memories not belonging to him, depicting an unfamiliar part of the forest which had strange growths upon the trees, and the creatures he christened as Teutons within their fleshy egg-like wombs.


    He saw them through the eyes of what he assumed to be either the Gadator or Venator. With him feeling himself ¡®wearing¡¯ the consciousness of the individual, letting him hear the thoughts and desires of the being. Incredibly, he felt as if he was simply himself, albeit a more primal version. Hungry, angry and utterly curious yet cold, this is what he felt from this creature. The thoughts that came from this being was strangely methodical, following a need to prepare and wait. The thoughts of this being were driven by the emotions he initially felt.


    It felt strange feeling the emotions of another, hearing their thoughts and even tasting what was upon their mouths. But here he was experiencing that, and it was disconcerting to him to say the least. Forcing him to try and find a way to no longer feel the sensations of another, which was actually easy for a single thought pulled him back.


    But with his senses being returned to that of his own would disorient him. Causing him to groan as he laid there on his bed, not realizing that he was not laying down alone. Only when a slight shuffling next to his shoulder, followed by a gentle nuzzle against it would alert him to the presence of another, one that was familiar and comforting to him.


    ¡°Salia..¡±


    Without meaning it or wanting to, he spoke her name as he felt the needed to simply hug her close, allowing himself to return to sleep. Which he did so, using his left arm to pull her closer to him as he faced her, letting him feel that strange calm that came from the contact of her skin. It made him like her more, love her more, even when it was not voluntary like he first realized.


    He only knew her a day ago, and yet he treated her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. The warmth she brought to him, physical and emotional, and that need of his to be as close as possible to her. It was all unnatural, forced by something, forced by someone in this world. And he knew a possibility of who did it, and he began to grow disgusted by that individual. But the same could not be said to the woman he hugged close, which he felt was something to be expected.


    You¡¯ve realized it, have you not? Such a sharp one you are Apex¡­ You think and think, uncertain but certain. Contradictory you are.. I like it.


    Then came that voice, if it could be called as such. He had heard this one ever since he came to this forest, this obviously magical place. But during those times, the voice was not in a way, a true voice. It was akin to the buzzing of static and discordant underwater moans of seafaring creatures. Initially he chalked it up to hallucinations, brief moments of insanity during the times it occurred as those times were quite stressful. As he also heard this voice as a chant-like thing.


    But now, despite the way it sounded, the way it felt like it came from some unfathomable depths. He now could understand its words. Not the exact words, but a translation to it, an almost perfect equivalent to this voice. Which brought about a domineering feeling, indicating that the source was not human, not mortal, and certainly not sane.


    You listen now, finally. Your ears are opened up, just as your mind has. Hungry, hungry.. Yet you do not dream of me yet. You dream of that field of bones and dead with that imprisoned failure.. You must dream of me my Apex.. It is only fair.


    The voice caught his attention, forcibly pulling it away from the warmth that Salia gave and towards the ceiling. To look beyond it, to look to that memory of that brief vision of a cold ancient void of space, with strange undulating creatures that swam in that inhospitable place. The very sight made him remember the concept of Old Gods, old creatures far deadlier and greater than the traditional concept of gods. And that voice clearly reminded him of that as he is forced to look around for its source, only being able to look at the ceiling in a logical conclusion that it must be from beyond.


    You are to know many things.. You are to be many things. You shall be my Apex as I have said, but you cannot dream of me.. So I must talk to you. Converse. Fraternize. So.. Sooo many words in your mortal tongue, fleshy fleshy tongue..


    ¡®Who?¡¯


    He asked in his mind, not wanting to wake Salia up so suddenly. The voice would reply quickly, a twisted cackle reverberating in his very mind. In reaction to that his body would started to writhe, specifically the strange worm-like writhings within his veins. Causing him to stiffen, even though he would have simply expressed discomfort and uneasiness, this one was far worse than the previous ones.


    I am your greatest fan.. Apex. I am what helped direct your desires to this.. To this beautiful form. You disliked the Gods of this world, hate them, hate them with your heart. I heard your unsung prayers.. Gave you this. Gave you a great gift. But I am not going to make you my champion.. As you are more than that.


    With this hate, with this gift, with your progeny.. You will be.. Amusing to watch. Skitter skitter upon the surface of this ancient world as the twelfth of its ancient children¡¯s court.. Marvelous..


    What this being said to him was strange, incoherent and touched with madness. But each words that it spoke caused the writhings of his body to get worse, to the point that his scythes that harmlessly rested itself at his shoulders and chest would begin to move in response, wanting to lash out but unable to as Salia was too close.


    Shame.. Shame. Can¡¯t force you, no no no.. Can¡¯t make you rend your scythes upon your better half. So strong, this is¡­ It will make for a better, better show! Go on, go on.. Dream of me my Apex. Dream of me when you can see a dreamless nightmare. For you are.. Better. Much, much better.


    And just like that the writhings stopped, and unbelievably for the first time ever since he had come here, Benedict felt so feeble, so weak. Unable to even take control of his own fate and actions, as the reason as to why he had become this revealed itself. But there was something to what its manic babbling that suggested that he had only given him a chance to change, and what was happening to his body was something entirely different. Perhaps even because of himself.


    Decide what you want, show me what you can achieve. Be better, grander.. And kill¡­ Kill until the world is dyed red in blood, or devour.. Conquer..Dominate.. In the end you will dream of me again. You will want, and want as it is shall be your nature..


    Then before he could realize it, he would feel sensations return to his body. A gentle hand caressing his face that had began to sweat alerted him to Salia, who had woken up from him who was trembling. Her sleepy eyes would look at him with concern, before she would speak.


    ¡°Benedict.. What¡¯s wrong? Did you have nightmares?¡±


    At a loss as to how to reply, he would simply shake his head. How was he to reply to her, when she was laying next to him and caressing his face like a lover? Worse yet he felt it was all right, the most sensible thing in the world to happen to him. Even when what he knew spoke of the contrary, that this was not natural.


    ¡°Are you sure? You¡¯re sweating¡­ The mana within your veins is getting excited, burning slowly again.. Are you angry again?¡±


    As she continued speaking in his place, he realized she was half-awake. As her eyes struggled to stay open with her voice growing softer, less coherent. He needed for her to return to sleep, so his thoughts may be of his own, and not of him fussing over this unbelievable situation in this bed.


    ¡°No.. I am.. Alright.¡±


    The words was a struggle for him to say, with it leaving his mouth with a strangled tone. Luckily for him the sleepy Salia did not notice and would tiredly smile, before she would close her eyes and return to simply hugging him again. For Benedict who had no prior experience in such an intimate thing would have had stiffened right there, unable to sleep for the rest of the night. But that strange influence that Salia had on him would force him to feel sleepy, putting his mind away from what he had just experienced.


    Slowly but surely he would return to sleep, with that twisted voice of that creature speaking in the background, slowly fading away as his consciousness slipped and returned to that dream of skulls. With him not noticing a change within the dream.


    Dream of me, dream of me¡­ For the da.. urks¡­ ai¡­ Apex..


    -


    Away from Malvirek, the large ancient swathe of land that was the hotbed of ancient and deadly things, the summoned champions conversed with one another. They had grown into their new life, almost seamlessly integrating with the culture of their hosts, nearly fully accepting their fate as heroes. With them being surprisingly happy with this, as they are given a chance to be something more than what they were in the past.


    A winged individual could be seen discussing something with what seems to be a Royal Guard. His blonde hair, golden eyes and fair skin marked him as some angelic entity, for it matched the growing wings he had upon his back. This was Damien, the chosen of Aurolos, among the forty-five summoned, now forty-four as Benedict had met an untimely demise. Like the summoned present in the large gathering hall, he had changed overtime thanks to the influence of his patron god.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He by far showed radical change, even when his wings were not large enough to even give the possibility of flight. But his form that was different to what he was when he first came here, had naturally made him the center of the attention of nobility and the other summoned. Viewed as the ¡®hero¡¯ of the group, the hope that will be deliver them to salvation, or a figure they can put their trust upon.


    This, as the champion of Aurolos was given unto Damien. A gift that was slowly being influenced by his own desires. With a natural affinity for talking to comrades, Damien drew many to his words and made them lax or hyped in his presence. Though that was only true for the summoned, but the Royal Guard that stood before him was stoic. His face hidden behind his visored sallet showed no emotion, not even his brown eyes allowed anyone to tell what the individual was feeling.


    ¡°The information you are requesting, despite your position and rank is confidential Damien. It shall be told to you, and the other summoned soon enough. But for now, the Captain has instructed us that you and the others must continue training.¡±


    His almost monotone response caused Damien to frown a bit, as their conversation revolved around the upcoming arrival of royalty from the elves, and an expedition that was being planned. Nearly two months and a half had passed since their arrival here, he and his fellow summoned had indeed grown accepting of their situation, and had in private admitted to one another that this was too good to be true, but better than some other grim fate.


    ¡°I know Sir Deren, but we are concerned. We don¡¯t really know what is beyond the Lonesome Frost, and we are still learning about this wonderful place. Couldn¡¯t you at least share some partial information?¡±


    Damien smiled sheepishly as he finished his sentence, he hoped that the Royal Knight before him would at least consider at telling them some bits of information, to alleviate their curiosity and lessen their worries. But Sir Deren only squinted his eyes, as he replied coldly, matching the grey plate armor of the Royal Guard and enforcing the uncompromising image of theirs.


    ¡°No.¡±


    This short and simple reply held many meanings, as it was more hostile than before. The Royal Guards were true to their names, answering only to the Royalty, clearly making it obvious that the Summoned were not their superiors. This caused Damien to frown, but being unable to gain any more information he would bow respectfully.


    ¡°Ah, okay then. Sorry for taking your time Sir Deren.¡±


    Damien obviously showed dissatisfaction from the conversation which lead to nothing. He wasn¡¯t able to get the desired response he wanted, and he couldn¡¯t help but feel sad and glum from it, as his friends wanted to know what was going on. He felt he was betraying their expectations, as he had been the ¡®leader¡¯ ever since he was chosen by his God.


    He sighed then as he saw Sir Deren walking away. Crisp steps and a firm posture that spoke of years upon years of service, with pride and deadly skill being wrapped around that grey plate of the Royal Guard. He observed Sir Deren walking to the sight of another Royal Knight, with the latter raising a fist close to his left breast to signify a salute with a right hand. With a simple nod Sir Deren walked pass the knight, heading towards the exit of the large room they were in, obviously with the purpose of finding Aniara, the head of the Royal Guard.


    ¡°The greys are particularly silent today.¡±


    A voice would reach Damien¡¯s ear, coming directly from behind him. It was a girl¡¯s voice, but it suddenly popped up without him noticing anyone approaching from behind. This was another summoned, Jasmine the chosen of the Goddess of the Hunt. She was among all of the summoned, the most gifted in the art of stealth. Not only that, she had this natural ability in simply not being noticed till the last minute, only augmented further by being chosen by the Goddess Minarel.


    She, compared to the other females of the summoned was plain in some people¡¯s eyes, but to Damien who had been blessed by Aurolos could see her true physical qualities. As if something was making her look plain and barely noticeable by others. Though she did in a way look plain, in the sense she was that one girl who was always so serious. As she had this uptight vibe to her, with her long brown hair tied to a ponytail, with her wearing glasses that help make her stern gaze more noticeable.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t call them greys Jasmine. It might make them feel insulted.¡±


    Damien could only sigh at what she called them, though he couldn¡¯t help but feel rather disturbed by how dismissive she was towards them, with the fact she could sneak up on everyone. Though the girl in question would show a small smile, before she would break to a giggle.


    ¡°Would you prefer if I call them ¡®Royal Knights¡¯? It¡¯s too formal for my tastes, greys seem more fitting. As it matches their personality.¡±


    This girl was a person that many summon could not read properly, they could not discern what she truly feels. And Damien shared that sentiment, though he felt that she was simply not used to sharing more of her thoughts. With a respectful nod, Damien looked at Jasmine with a small smile.


    ¡°Not all of them, though they remind me of the soldiers back home.. They seem to take their jobs rather seriously. So it can¡¯t be helped.¡±


    The soldiers in question were a topic Damien had been bringing up ever since he had gotten comfortable with his fellow summons. But he did not further explain who or what these soldiers were, or from what country he even was from.But what was consistent with the other summoned, that he was from Earth. It was similar to the others, but save for three people that had openly stated they were from the Philippines. During when said three stated they wished no part in being champions for the Gods of this world.


    ¡°Again with the mention of these soldiers, you make them sound like as if they were some modern version of Knights. But regardless of that, their actions as of late had been strange, ever since they mentioned the coming of Elven Royalty.¡±


    Damien could only nod to what she said, as every since the mention of visiting Elven Royalty the Royal Knights had been far stiffer than usual. To the point that Aniara herself seemed to have gotten busier, with Leila herself visiting them less often than usual. It was only natural that they would feel concerned, as they had been taught that the humans of this place, or Northmen and the Snow Elves were in amicable terms with one another. Which didn¡¯t make sense, as the Royal Guards seem to be fussy about the entire thing with the Royalty Visiting.


    But it could be regarding the expedition that was being planned. They were summoned to be heroes and saviours, fighting against a coming dark. One summoned speculated that this dark had made its move, and that this is the reason why the royals were meeting, with the expedition being planned so suddenly. Personally, even though it felt exciting, Damien wanted more time for them to train and study. As he personally felt lacking in knowledge and experience.


    ¡°Yeah. But I guess the others are getting worried about this.. We haven¡¯t seen them this tense before, barring that time with Benedict..¡±


    Damien¡¯s smile would turn to a frown as he remembered that individual. An individual that was entirely opposite of him in terms of ideology and personality. To him he saw something he did not like, a person that was just doesn¡¯t right to him. Maybe it was because that summoned never openly spoke with them, content at seemingly brooding in his room or wandering off with his two friends, and bearing an obvious disdain for the people of this world and to their fellow summoned.


    And his dislike for Benedict worsened when that summoned openly displaying his hate for him. For reasons unknown to him, Benedict seemed to dislike everything about him, and it worsened when the heralds of the Gods began to approach them to seek a champion. All of them had been chosen, but out of the forty two only three did not accept any Gods. It was a shock, but to Damien it wasn¡¯t as he had heard from others that Benedict and his friends had been voicing their suspicion for this world.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think about him.. He chose that fate for himself.¡±


    A tinge of disgust would be laced on Jasmine¡¯s words. Which Damien found odd as Jasmine didn¡¯t particularly hate Benedict. Even when that summoned was particularly hostile to many, he had only shown one true hostile act in that murder of a squire.


    ¡°Yeah, he jumped off that cliff. Choosing to die rather than being brought to the king.. I can¡¯t help but feel bad, even though he committed that crime. And seeing his hate for me in our duel, I want to know what made him hate me so much.¡±


    Even when Benedict had fallen from grace in his eyes, Damien wanted to know why Benedict hated him so much. But at the moment it didn¡¯t matter as Jasmine spoke, directing his attention back to her. She seemed to be deep in thought, though her gaze was not directed to him bot the hallway were Deren was last seen going out of. And when Damien looked there, he saw two faces he hadn¡¯t seen in nearly a month.


    ¡°Perhaps you can ask those two. I think their names were Jio and Carleon? They have changed much in nearly a month away. The two don¡¯t seem pleased about being back here.. If they are here, does that mean that the King needs all of us summoned here?¡±


    Damien nodded, as when the three had left, they made no effort in telling others of what their plans were. It made him realize that among all the summoned, the three had to be the most reclusive among them. As only a certain few were aware of them leaving, and only when it was too late did they wonder where they went. It was made more strange to him that, when Benedict was indicted for the crime of murder, the two were not by his side or near him at all.


    Suggesting that they had gone their separate ways, for what reason he cannot assume as he felt it was rude. But upon seeing the sight of the two, Damien understood what they had planned. As the two who were once greenhorns in being warriors, now had the air of individuals that had experienced what it was like into being forced into battle. It was not like the ones they held, as the two that walked through the stone hallway and into the large hall where the other summoned were sitting upon.


    The hall they were in was essentially a gathering a hall. With a large space at the center that would allow individuals to spar there, and with weapon racks scattered to the side it seemed its purpose was just that.


    With its windows being arched and barred by lattice, letting a measure of the cold outside get in. The other summoned chattered amongst each other, sitting upon chairs and tables around the room, that coincidentally made it looked as if it was a mess hall.


    ¡°They are.. Armed.¡±


    Damien muttered in unease, as he saw their forms more clearly now as they neared the two Royal Guards stationed by the entrance to watch over them. Carleon¡¯s attire reminded him of some sort of pilgrim knight, as Jio resembled an ill-equipped rogue of sorts. But their weaponry, a war-hammer and a one edged blade respectively, evoked a sense of foreboding within him. He could not explain it, but he felt as if something malicious would happen. Perhaps it was the way how they openly held their weapons, with Carleon¡¯s hand around the middle of his hammer whilst Jio held the handle of the blade, with it facing backwards. It caused the clear rattling of chains to be heard, letting the summoned nearest to the entrance halt their chatter.


    If one would look, the Royal Guards near the entrance of the hallway would gaze at the two. Their once statuette like posture breaking at that moment, their hands that gripped the halberd they were assigned with tightening around the haft of the weapon. But the two returning summoned did not mind them, as they walked into the room their brown eyes looked at Damien firmly. What emotion they held could not be discerned, but their furrowing brows implied distaste at the very sight of his to them.


    ¡°Pretty boy.¡±


    ¡°Hero.¡±


    The two spoke almost at the same time, the almost derogatory title was spoken by Jio. Whilst the other more formal one was by Carleon, yet the latter held little to no respect at all. And was an attempt at trying to be respectful, but it left the tall boy¡¯s lips with an obvious lack of mirth to it. He didn¡¯t understand why they were like this, as before they were not as hostile as this. They couldn¡¯t have known that Benedict had died, or perhaps they did and they were trying their best not to blame him. And he would flick himself mentally, realizing that perhaps they were back because they had heard that Benedict died and wanted to confirm if it was true.


    ¡°Good to see that you two are still alive.¡±


    Jasmine spoke first, stopping Damien from replying as she gave an uncharacteristic smile to the two. Without any hints of overt hostility, the royal guards ceased their tense posture as the two godless stood in front of the two. Up close Damien could see actual wear and tear at their equipment, and realize that the chains around their arms were much longer than he initially saw them for. As most of their length was wrapped around their dominant arm, which should be heavy.


    ¡°Alive without gods to protect us.¡±


    Jio says with a mocking smile, his statement seemingly directed to every other summoned that listened in. Carleon would half-heartedly hit Jio at his side with his elbow, but it was clear that he didn¡¯t mind that slight upon the others.


    ¡°Forgive Jio for that, our travels have been long. And it became more of a hassle when they were ended prematurely with a letter from Leila.¡±


    At this Damien would reply, his curiosity peaked as he had heard that the princess herself sent them a letter. When she herself barely made appearances to them the summoned that were present, He wasn¡¯t jealous or angry, simply curious as he believed the princess had good reason not to show her face all the time.


    ¡°Did she tell you to come back due to the coming expedition, and the arrival of Snow Elf royalty?¡±


    Jio at Damien¡¯s question sneered, chuckling as he would flip his blade and hold it the right side up, bringing it near his face to examine as he obviously looked for a reaction, which the royal guards gave in them tensing again. But he made no move to attack, only to speak.


    ¡°Nope, not at all. We only found out about that when we got here from Aniara herself. Very interesting thing you know. Kinda like those animes.. I¡¯ve been also curious as to what a Sahdun Royal looked.¡±


    An unfamiliar word would then be spoken by Jio, Sahdun. Which upon being uttered the royal guards who were already tense and ready to strike would widen their eyes behind their visors, staring at Jio and Carleon with more intensity than they do usually to summoned.


    ¡°And what is a Sahdun?¡±


    ¡°Of course, you wouldn¡¯t know.¡±


    Jio¡¯s sneer would quickly turn into open ridicule as he couldn''t stop himself from laughing now.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t those.. Heralds tell you of them? Or your tutors? I guess not, since you asked.¡±


    Jio would not reply as he was overtaken by joy, joy at some funny thing in the fact that Damien and the other summoned seemed to not know what a Sahdun was. To those that listened carefully, they would realized that perhaps Sahdun was a term for the Snow Elves. Which Carleon would confirm.


    ¡°Snow Elves. Pale-Murderers. That is the Sahdun, hero. But you wouldn¡¯t know, as this magical spell that translates our words cannot translate certain words, such as this one.¡±


    Carleon would surprisingly reply calmly, albeit without much energy to his voice as he would once again hit Jio to make him stop, which wouldn¡¯t be effective as the boy kept laughing and giggling till he ran out of breath. The magical spell that had been casted on each summoned, one that expires upon death only translated the most common of the known tongues in the world. And even still it was limited to the ones the humans of the Lonesome Frost knew about.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t even that funny Jio.. And to answer your question Hero, we are here because of Benedict¡¯s death.¡±


    And at the mention of the summoned that had chosen death over capture, Jio would turn serious as he grimaced. Carleon¡¯s expression hadn¡¯t change at all when he first spoke, and it worried Damien to some extent. But Jasmine who had went quiet when Jio mocked them, spoke with some venom on her tone, which the two shrugged off.


    ¡°Ah the traitor that brought dishonor upon himself, by killing someone and choosing death over answering for his crime? Are you here to mourn for him then, seeing as he was your friend?¡±


    Despite that, the two gave no reaction as Carleon continued to speak, ignoring Jasmine¡¯s remark and causing the girl to frown. Something Damien hadn¡¯t seen at all from knowing her.


    ¡°Just pray to that God of yours that he stays dead. Because if he isn¡¯t dead, and if what we heard is true.. Then I hope.. That he won¡¯t rip off those nice wings you have.¡±


    And for the first time since they had come here, Carleon smiled as he had said the word hope in a mocking tone. Before he could reply, Sir Deren would make a sudden appearance. The royal guard would clear his throat, catching the attention of the two godless who would turn their heads to look at the knight.


    ¡°As nice as it is for you two to converse and catch up with the other summoned, the Princess had specifically asked you to wait in the royal hall. I hope you shall comply and follow me. And..¡±


    Deren would look at Damien and Jasmine, with his voice seemingly a bit more urgent than usual.


    ¡°You two, tell the other summoned to go to the hall too. The King has called for everyone¡¯s presence regarding an urgent matter.¡±


    With a disinterested sigh, Jio would be the first to turn around and walk pass Deren. Grumbling something under his breath as Carleon would follow, not before letting a small remark leave his mouth.


    ¡°I see that you got yourself a girlfriend Damien, nice job.¡±


    And as their forms would go further away, the summoned behind them that were obviously listening to the short but heated exchange would burst into open chatter. With Damien blushing a bit as he looked to Jasmine, who only shook her head.


    ¡°The command of the King means now, please worry about that remark later Damien. This matter concerns your questions a while ago.¡±


    Shaking his head, Damien would nod as he would turn around to face his fellow summoned. As Deren himself would turn to catch up with the two godless. As he would leave the hall the summoned were gathered in, he could vaguely hear the hero say ¡®Alright guys settle down.¡¯


    And with him nearing the two godless, he would notice a sheathed sword on Carleon¡¯s waist. With a hilt and crossguard in the shape of a stylized cross. With a chain connected to its pommel, which would wrap around Carleon¡¯s left arm.

 CHAPTER ELEVEN: Mourning Suns

    ¡°I must confess. This was not my intention, their use of that.. That ancient thing was not my suggestion. They lied and tricked me. Unleashing such a horrific thing to this world.. If the Gods would damn any of us, it should be me. Because of me.. The Gate has been broken, with the beast bursting forth like an unsung ballad. But some mechanism activated.. The gate crumbled and trapped the beast underneath its magical rubles.. But not killing. This indescribable horror¡­ What have I done.. It yet lives, and I can hear its beating heart..¡±


    - Scholar Torimak; Horror beneath the wells


    Sahdun Venjar, Murderers of the Pale, Frostlings. That was the names of a race of Elves that lived in the Lonesome Frost. They were the first foreign race to have settled there, long before the humans that would become the Northmen even attempted pilgrimage to that cold place. Like the Northmen, they had come to that frozen and harsh place willingly. Settling to the harsher and deadlier western fringes of the land, far from their former kin, and pursuing desires that shattered the once unified Valgradon, or High Elves in the common tongue of man.


    Though it was not their fault alone, as the Weeping as the remaining Elves that clung to the past called it, was caused by conflict from within their kind. It was caused by two factors, the death of the First Son, the rightful ruler of the Valgradon, first to be birthed from the Eternal Tree, and the cultural clash between the ¡®clans¡¯ that existed then. This was the cause of the near collapse of the High Elves, almost bringing them close to the predations of other races that saw them as the perfect slaves.


    With the death of the First Son, it was by the ancient creed of theirs that a successor must be chosen. To be made as the first king of their kind, and yet this was not to be. As nearly all clans and nobility sent out their own ¡®successors¡¯, to try and claim the throne that could not previously be claimed. This was contested for, as the first son had many children, and they too wanted the throne. As they viewed their beliefs, their paths to be the most righteous one.


    The clans that once were a foundation of their very race fragmented slowly. Beliefs, Gods and perception of honor forced them to begin hating one another. It is not clear to outsiders, but the accepted reason as to why the Weeping truly happened, was because of their Living Gods. Gods who are of flesh, who have physical bodies they may occupy and properly walk the material world without exerting their power to form a vessel.


    As it is in this world, Gods are nearly linear beings. Their titles, their primary calling defining their actions. And these clans that followed specific Gods, found themselves changing culturally and physically. This was of no concern when it first happened, but at the beginning of the Weeping it was clan Venjar that first showed a radical change.


    That change was their restless bloodlust, more so than any martial clan of that time. They were drawn to darker and fatalistic needs as their clan creed was morphing to reflect that, as they worshipped Sahdren Mikal. The seventh son, the Living God of Frost and Battles. And yet they did not covet the throne, as it was considered by them to be treason and betrayal. For why fight among their kindred, when they could fight the enemies that loom outside their great forests?


    However, this was a mistake in their part. For the Valgradon had two ¡®paths¡¯ that dictated the actions of their kin, set about not by the first son or his many wives, but rather by the Eternal Tree that created them. It was called the Ballad of Dawn and Dusk, a sort of factions within their kind. Those of the Dawn were the most restrained, noblest among them all and the ones that cherished life, almost always the ones that sang the ballads of their kin and celebrating them. Those of the Dusk were not too dissimilar, but they were more cold and focused on the practical, willing to sacrifice thousands to save many more the number they sacrificed.


    And if one could not find themselves at either, they would find themselves to belong to the Noon. In the middle of the two Ballads, fulfilling many purposes just as the two did. But theirs was a unique purpose, one that involved creating diplomats capable of seeing both sides. To help link their kind more than they already were.


    With the Venjar being radically changing as the days go by, they had fallen from the reach of the Ballads. Having no place in either the Dawn, Dusk or the Noon. They were no longer considered as kin, no longer brothers or sisters. Even their God was cast aside by his brethren, as this war from within shattered each other¡¯s bonds.


    Before brother would turn to slaughter their own, the Venjar and their God, Sahdren fled. They fled to a place their people did not like, where their people would struggle to live. The Lonesome Frost, where a scant few lived there, and whatever did survive would prove to be strong enough to stop their kin from attacking them. And strong enough to change them, to temper them into something greater as Sahdren dictated to them once they fled.


    But little did they know, this very act of self preservation would sever them forever from their birthright. As in the western part of the Lonesome Frost, they did not have the comfort of their forests, no faes to aid them in their plight, and most of all, no familiar ground was found in that cold desolate wasteland. What was worse, is that they were forever severed from the Eternal Tree. Which caused a cataclysmic reaction to the Venjar, who upon losing their link to what made them Elven was driven to near madness as their magics faded.


    No longer were they Valgradon, as they had fallen and been severed from that birthright. They were the Sahdun Venjar, a new breed of elves. Frost Elves that would change in the course of millennia every since they had been severed from their true kin. With that event, it had formed a bedrock of their new culture. A foundation of their new way of life that defined them as the survivors of the cold home of theirs.


    -


    Blinking, Carleon let loose a low sigh. Intent at letting only the closest to him know, which was Jio. The voices spoke again, their hauntingly beautiful tone reaching his mind. This time, they spoke in a manner of sadness. Of pity and sorrow for the topic they told him. He tried to banish them again, back to the book that he held, that eldritch thing that he knew to be something his once living friend wanted.


    ¡®They are not there. Do not worry.. They do not exist.¡¯


    His denial was more akin to him comforting himself, a hope that the voices would quiet. But they did not, their lament-like tone changed to an anger laden tune of discordant spite, which seemed to grow louder and louder until he chose to listen. They disrupted his thoughts, his solemn silence as they buzzed in the background like the wings of flies.


    It came from the large ancient book, one he found during his short time among the mercenaries he chose to travel with. It was not acquired through some grand task, not from some necromancer. But by sheer accident. He simply found it clutched by the rotting hands of what seemed to be a scholar, killed by something or by the chilling cold they found him in. As per agreement, Carleon could loot what he wanted, and he chose the book.


    Which upon initial inspection was a little too plain, with its cover being written in unknown otherworldly runes that the natives didn¡¯t pay much attention to, but somehow caught his eyes. Instantly filling him with the thoughts ¡®Benedict would like this..¡¯. Upon opening the book itself, he saw strange scriptures and drawings, which could only be summed up as ¡®eldritch¡¯, almost wholly similar to what Benedict had once described to him whenever he read his novels before this world.


    It had no effect on him initially. It was just a curious book, one that the would-be crusader took to gift to his closest and oldest friend. But as he took time to try and amuse himself with it, lightly skimming through its pages, looking at the impossibly patterned runes and non euclidean drawings. He found amusement in them, till the book began to whisper into his mind. At first he disregarded them as hallucinations of his stressed mind, as this new world, this new life was hard to cope up with. More so with the fact he was constantly fighting for his life, against beings normally thought weak in games.


    Then as the days went by, the whisperings grew louder and louder. Changing in tune and temper, as if there were a thousand beings following him. They always told him of different topics, some inappropriate for the current situation, and at times remarkably useful. He either had to listen, or suffer their wrathful repetition of whatever the voices said in a much more twisted voice


    The book in question was held by him, as he did not wish for anyone other than himself or Jio to touch upon it. It was born from a need to not let anyone suffer the voices, and a strange selfish desire to get it to Benedict no matter the cause.


    ¡°Anything wrong?¡±


    Jio asked discreetly, as they stood in line with the other summoned that had just begun to pour into the excessively large royal hall of the castle. As if by some unspoken accord of sorts, the two of them, the godless among heroes blessed by gods, stood at the far right, with them not being quite near the other summoned. This was clearly noticeable as the large hall was more than enough to contain all the summoned, but with enough room to spare for another large number of soldiers or individuals.


    ¡°Nothing, nothing important Jio. Simply information about the Sahduns past, short and confusing..¡±


    Hiding his discomfort for the voices that nagged in his mind, Carleon just dismissively shook his head. He remained stoic, his face a concrete mask of apathy for those around him, similar in how Benedict looked whenever he was idle. Jio, knowing full well that Carleon was withholding some of the truth, would just sigh as he stood at attention.


    ¡°I¡¯m a bit.. Jealous you know.¡±


    Jio grinned as he looked at Carleon, his posture slightly relaxing as he scanned the room to look at all who was currently present. Currently, it was only them, the summoned and Deren with ten royal guards that brandished greatswords. His voice was hushed, as his grin turned to a small smile.


    ¡°Of what?¡±


    With a raised finger, Jio pointed at Carleon¡¯s hips, to the left of which was Benedict¡¯s doubled edged sword hanging from its hilt, with the broken chain on its pommel wrapping around Carleon¡¯s left arm that held the eldritch book. With a momentary nod, Carleon looked down to the sword, his eyes instantly drawn to the words crudely etched upon its surface.


    ¡®Wrath Incarnate. Twisted words etched on a tool of slaughter, of anger and repressed desires. A sword belonging to the Primogenitor, whose cross symbolizes not that of a noble order- but that of false righteousness. As the chains upon its pommel, broken by a blade of another, onced was fettered to the right arm of the Primogenitor. The arm of which belongs the hand that holds this extension of madness.


    The hand that will bleed the world, and devour its children. The instrument of a bloody handed despot.¡¯


    In almost an instant, the voices returned. The book speaking again to him, this time in a prophetic tone of a man gone mad. It was a rasping tone, one stating lies as if it was fact. Or was it stating fact, but the madness of the voice turning it into lies? The book had been doing this, speaking of things owned by another with strange descriptions that obviously sounded farfetched, and quite insane.


    ¡°...ow, the fact they have a true party of friends? Carl, you listening?¡±


    Carleon had a dazed look about him for a scant few seconds, as not only did the book spoke again to him, it also evoked the few memories he had of Benedict before they had parted ways. Which only made him grimace at the thought of his friend being gone.


    "Sorry Jio, got a bit.. Distracted.. What were you saying again?¡±


    With a gentle thud, Carleon would find himself half-heartedly punched by Jio on the shoulder as the boy repeated himself, with his eyes motioning to the summoned directly to their left. The forty two individuals had their own groups of friends, enemies and all that. It seemed they had truly began to fit into their situation, something Carleon and Jio struggles with despite what they have already experienced.


    ¡°The fact that the other summoned are making their own clicks, groups and all.. It¡¯s making me a bit jealous. You know, it¡¯s like those animes we used to watch with Benedict, whenever new one came out during summer or fall.¡±


    There was a sort of strange smile on Jio¡¯s lips that lasted only for a few moments, before it was replaced with a grin that one could call mocking.


    ¡°Of course, Benedict always found ways to criticise the groups formed in the animes. Especially fantasy ones, always making references to the most.. Optimal of party formations.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    It was a sort of sneer, as Jio looked at Damien and the group he was talking to. It was only for a few seconds, but it was clear that it was a contemptuous look towards the one considered to be the greatest among them. Carleon looked to their way for a moment, before simply looking at the air again as he replied to Jio.


    ¡°We are Godless Jio, remember that. What Benedict said was true, that our status as Godless would affect their perception of us. We can not be like them¡­ Since, Benedict is de-.. Not here yet.¡±


    Catching himself almost declaring his friend was dead, Carleon would correct himself immediately as he turned to look at Jio again, not noticing his mouth turned to a frown. Which Jio returned with a smile as the summoned to their left paid them no heed.


    ¡°We can¡¯t be a triumvirate without him- Bah, now I¡¯m using words he uses! Damn it Ben, rubbing out on us when you¡¯re probably out there angry as hell!¡±


    Trying to ease Carleon¡¯s seemingly sullen mood, Jio made a joke after mentioning the word Triumvirate. Even though it was trio he wanted to say, but due to Benedict having lectured them about random facts about the ancient Roman Empire, some of the words he used stuck and seemingly popped out here and there in this new world they were in. Carleon could only smile for a moment, as they soon discussed what they plan to do after this in a hushed tone.


    Though when they assumed the summoned paid them no heed, they were clearly wrong. As the group of Damien was observing them, though not all of them, as only one was looking at them and trying to be as discreet as possible. Her pale blue eyes stared at them, confused, almost afraid as she stared at their expressions, their lips and noticing how rigid it was.


    They spoke like friends should, but they were speaking as if they were among people who will betray them. As if each word they say should not be heard by no one else other than them. Not only that, their dominant hands held their weapons tightly, their posture at the ready to strike. Jio whose one edged blade was sheathed, had its handle caressed by the boy himself, the chain upon it jingling almost ominously to her young ears.


    She could not hear what was exactly said by their mouths, but what she saw caused her to shiver in fear. This girl, was Erica. Arguably the youngest summoned among her group. She was teamed up with Damien¡¯s group, after she had showed exemplary skill in the manipulation of mana. This came as no surprise as her patron goddess was one responsible for magic, and known by a few to also be involved in the seeing of the aura of the soul.


    She could see the aura of others, their mana and to some extent the representation of their souls. This allowed her to be a great asset to many, especially on how she was able to learn magic seemingly easily. She was showered in praises due to it, but she was humble about it as she viewed everyone of the summoned to be friends, friends who were dragged into this new world like her.


    But there were three among them that she couldn¡¯t say to be their friends, as these three in particular were more reclusive than their antisocial friends. What was different about them, was that they were Godless. She didn¡¯t like the term, as it was misleading, too demeaning to her ears. As she saw, in a very rare time, that all three of them were praying.


    Not to a god of this world, but a God of their world. A God she did not recognize. It was a God that held no name, but was the father of a figure named Jesus, who in their prayers was the lamb that would save their souls. Or rather, make sure their souls were given unto their lord for judgement, whether they received heaven or hell.


    She did not recognize the names or concepts they prayed, but she understood it. She respected it, and to her personally, viewed them simply as honest albeit mean people that did not like their situation. Though that all changed when the three began to leave, or rather started to grow much more distant.


    She saw their auras, or rather a lack of it as a disconcerting thing to see. As all individuals here, the natives and the summoned had one. The colors varied, alongside the intensity of it according to the quality of the individual. For example, Damien¡¯s was that of a golden hue, akin to a golden flame that would burn for eternity as a guiding light for all.


    However, what she saw now was not like the usual auras she had seen. Instead, it was something scary, incomprehensible that made her shiver in her shoes as he kept staring at the two godless before her. To the eyes of others, and even that of mages, they looked utterly normal. With little to no magical talent at all, but to her, who was a Champion of a god, she could see something more.


    She saw around the forms of the two Godless, an aura like nothing she had seen. An aura of contradiction, of emotion and of sheer malevolence. Their coloration was that of a dark hue, but one that would quickly shift to different colors. From green, to blue, whirling and conflicting with one another to even forming malign forms that caused her mind to reel in shock.


    They did not have auras like this in the past, they shouldn¡¯t even have auras now. Yet they have them now, and they not only did not conform to the shape of the Godless, they shifted into forms akin to an undulating mass of twisted flesh. She shivered in terror at what she saw, nearly breaking into tears as Carleon seemed to notice her stare.


    Without a word, something only that she could see caused her to visibly stiffen. Which caused the summoned around her to look at her with concern, then Carleon¡¯s gaze would waver as he stiffened up. Staring to his side as if hearing a voice only he could hear.


    ¡°Erica, are you alright?¡±


    Damien asks as he gently places a hand on her shoulder, causing her to further stiffen up before realizing who it was. With a nod, she opts to shake her head as she looked back to Carleon.


    ¡°Y-Yes.. I¡¯m fine.. I just remembered a bad memory!¡±


    Making an excuse for herself, she saw the terrifying auras of Carleon and Jio again. But her attention was caught by Damien who whispered into her ears, under the assumption that something about them was scaring her.


    ¡°Did they remind you of something?¡±


    Reluctantly nodding the smaller girl, would keep staring at the backs of the two Godless. Who compared to the summoned, had experienced truer battles than they did as their armors had obvious scratches to them. Their auras matched that, violent, bloodthirsty, angry. Yet it was also sorrowful despite the terrifying nature of it.


    ¡°Angry warriors.. Men of the occult.. Trying to bring dead gods.. Back to life.¡±


    Erica said almost hushed, covering her eyes as she averted her gaze from the two Godless. Prolonged viewing of their auras being too painful for her to bear, this caused concern for Damien and the others. Before any of them could act, the sound of heavy footsteps would rang outside the large hall they were in. Indicating a large group of individuals was walking briskly towards them. Not only that, the temperatures within the hall itself slowly began to chill, with the candles and braziers almost being snuffed out.


    The first to react was Carleon, who was engaged in a hushed discussion with Jio. His posture straightened as he placed the book on a bag tied to his belt, chained alongside Benedict¡¯s sword. His hands went to hold his warhammer, raising it as Jio to his side lowered his stance and almost drew his blade.


    ¡°What the- It¡¯s cold all of a sudden..¡±


    One of the summoned nearest to them said, with the others saying similar remarks regarding the cold that crept into the room. Damien looked to his peers, then to the two godless that showed hostility towards the chill, seeing that they knew something about this he tried to approach them, gently pushing away the other summoned that stood in his way.


    But as he neared them, the entire room would begin to slowly freeze over, with the walls and pillars being overcome by a near crystal-like ice. In a near instant a voice rang out, as a figure that embodied frost entered the hall, with his pale face glowering over what he sawed.


    ¡°Children, that is the ¡®champions¡¯ of the gods? Children? They are not even armed.¡±


    A Frost Elf, one as regal as King Asairos. Though he was no noble, and more akin to an aged warrior as his aged face had the scars of a thousand battles, with his armor being an intricately designed piece. With a disregard for practicality, as its general plate-like design was covered by artistic depictions. But the chilling aura coming from the individual himself, and his silver armor made it so that this was not a hindrance.


    Deren and the ten royal guards would respectfully bow their heads, indicating that this person was someone important. But Damien shivered at the sight, his gaze returning to his peers who held a look of awe and fear. In contrast, the two godless further looked ready to strike, with Jio slowly drawing out his singled edged blade, with Carleon shifting his stance as he prepared to strike with his hammer.


    ¡°But I seem to be wrong, there are two ready to fight?¡±


    The Sahdun asked with a grinned, his armored hand reaching out to the two godless and pointing one clawed finger towards them.


    ¡°May you be fools that know not of my kind? Or perhaps like those humans from the south that dislike anything that is not your kind?¡±


    Then a hand of a girl would gently lower his, her skin was much more paler than that of the elf and looked to be incredibly white like snow. With ghostly steps she entered the room dressed in a light blue robe that looked out of place in this land, one that did not cover the belly nor the lower breast. It was more appropriate for some brothel dancer than for this woman. But her face matched it quite well, a beautiful look of an angel fallen from grace, with her eyes glowing a furious red.


    ¡°The Godless knows your kind.¡±


    At the moment she spoke, the Sahdun would chuckle as he directed his gaze to the other summoned. Letting out a hearty laugh as the air he exhaled turned to chilling mist.


    ¡°They know, but do they know battle?¡±


    Turning his gaze back to the two, he would frown as he begins to stare at them, examining them from head to toe.


    ¡°It seems they do. But this won¡¯t do, two individuals without the blessings of the gods being better than the ones who are blessed? What irony is this! Our Lord expected warriors to war against the coming dark, not children that do not even stand as warriors.


    Was it lie Herald? That among these would be the champion of our god? I see none that may match such description, only feeble weaklings!¡±


    Uncomfortably, the summoned look among each other, as Damien would walk pass Carleon and stand there proudly. His developing wings flapping a bit as his tense stance indicated his nervousness. But the godless behind him would let out an uncharacteristic scoff as he motioned to his friend behind him, causing Jio to let go of his blade.


    ¡°And what¡¯s this? The champion of Aurolos? Standing up to my insults? What will you do, blessed boy? Cover me in feathers?¡±


    Sneering at them, Damien looked ready to respond before being cut off by the all too familiar voice of Asairos. Who was accompanied by the rest of the Sahdun and other important individuals, with Aniara following close behind carrying a helmet in the shape of a skull.


    ¡°That is enough Uron, they will succeed in the coming task at hand. Have a little more faith you old man, we¡¯re here to discuss about what task they will take, not berate them for their failings.¡±


    With a huff, Uron bowed his head as he stepped to the side with the woman next to him, as Asairos walked towards the throne, with Aniara and his daughter Leila standing at the side with them wearing their most regal of attires. Uron would then join the other Sahduns who stood at attention to the side directly in front of the summoned, with one Sahdun in particular looking like an important noble.


    ¡°I must ask for your forgiveness champions for this sudden summons, but there is a matter that must be spoken with utmost haste, one relating to the dark that lurks. As signs of their activity has been noted in the once peaceful Fae Lands.¡±

 Chapter Twelve: Enamored Sun

    ¡°Godless. Benedict told us, that it was a derogatory term, meant to place us into some sort of group. Them the summoned, and us the Godless. The.. Fools that would not want to save this world. It was just like what the Spaniards did to our people during their occupation, calling us ¡®Indio¡¯, considering us as nothing. I personally do not mind the term, it sets an example on what we can do. Survive without Gods, survive without magic or any sort of supernatural help. As we bear no hope, only Faith.


    That is what Benedict would have said in this situation.¡±


    - Carleon Krieger; Conversation with Aniara regarding the term Godless


    Asairos did not sit upon his ancient throne, he stood like the others within this royal hall of his bloodline. To his side were the two, which he considered to be a part of his family. Leila stood to his left, the pale daughter of his was quite unlike her sisters. The two daughters of that were not present, had been busy pouring over the what libraries were open to them in home of the Sahdun. For his daughters, as much as he loathed it, were gifted with a measure of ¡®Delving¡¯ as the Ancients had called it. They were the first to alert him of the coming dark, and the steps they needed to take. Even his dearest wife said the same.


    And to his right, was Aniara. She could be said to be the greatest warrior to have served under him, the leader of his Royal Guards, cold and ruthless just like her kin. A true Sahdun that would honor her fallen parents. But she held an artefact he did not recognize, a black steel skull, wrought by the hands of the Royal Smith Deremel, a hand whose blood was mixed with the Drekani Dwarves. This very skull was mentioned by Leila, the helmet that was supposed to be worn by Benedict.


    But why bring it here? He thought in confusion as he looked at it for a moment, being held by Aniara with gentle ease as it grinned out towards the gathered individuals in the hall. Many looked at it with interest and equal confusion, but the two godless gave it an intense stare. One of recognition and pain. They knew of it, and it reminded them that its owner was not here.


    Though he had to speak now, it was due to a matter of great importance.


    ¡°I must dispense with the formalities, as time is short. There shall be a greater gathering later to properly explain the matter at hand. But for now, all of you must know that the creeping dark.. Has been discovered..¡±


    There was confusion among the summoned, the Sahdun took on a grimmer look. Uron and the Herald beside him looked down uncomfortably for a moment, as the one that looked to lead the Sahdun nodded, taking a step forward. This Sahdun, wore a more glorified armor than the rest of his peers. Made from a metal that oozed a cold aura, as if it embodied the cold itself. His chest was protected by a plate mail adorned by depictions of their kind, of past glories and failures.


    Unlike Asairos who wore a crown, this Sahdun wore a cage-like helmet. Impractical, highly ornate and symbolic, and clearly intimidating. Its front was just that, a cage with numerous bars, with four pronged tips at the top forming a circular form, in a way making a crown. And yet his face could not be seen properly.As the caged form of its front were tightly knit, emanating only a blow of chilled breath. He was the source of the cold, the Winter Aspect.


    ¡°We do not have confirmation if it is truly the dark, my fellow king. But there is one thing we know, there¡¯s a malign force working upon the land of the Fae, affecting the cousins of my people.. The Fel¡¯Sha. It is such a grave matter, that those¡­ Cowardly cousins of ours had invoked a blood-bond between one of my ancestor¡¯s and theirs. Asking aid from us.


    I see no merit in aiding them, but you seem to desire to help them?¡±


    Distaste laced the words of the Winter King, his foreboding form making the words he speaks weigh heavily upon those that heard it. As if they were hearing from the embodiment of cold winter itself. And yet the distaste from his words were towards the Fel¡¯Sha, cousins to their people and cowards to him. The summoned stood uncomfortable as they waited for Asairos to speak, as there was silence that soon followed as the human king thought of what to say next.


    ¡°It is because that the Summoned need to see what is beyond our home. They are our saviors, our champions. So that they may understand that the world they are in, is worthy of saving. Not because we, or our gods tell them to.


    Additionally, this will further their training and experience. A contingent of our armies will be sent to assist them, as they alone cannot take this threat alone.¡±


    Asairos spoke then, his voice solid and true as he replied to the Winter King. There was no doubt on his eyes as he said this, as he fully believed what he had muttered. He had no choice in the matter, as the Heralds want this to be a test of sorts, and at least it would allow the summoned to see the other lands with their own eyes. What may they discover, for the better or worse was necessary.


    ¡°Summoned Champions, the expedition to the far eastern areas of the Lonesome Frost is.. Abandoned. Now instead you shall be sent, alongside a contingent of our forces to bring aid to the Fae Lands. How you shall do this shall be debated and planned for the days to come.


    No matter how against I am towards this, your training shall also be hastened or outright postponed for the time being. As preparations for this new expedition will be of greater importance.¡±


    A ripple of both shock and excitement showed itself among the summoned, even the two godless could not remain impassive and emotionless in the wake of this revelation. There were now whispers, talks of what could this mean. They did not properly grasp the dangers of this, though luckily a majority of the summoned knew what this entailed. As the two godless hardened their expressions, leaning close to one another as they whispered their thoughts regarding this.


    Asairos could see it all, as he stood upon an elevated area of the hall. These children, from worlds he could not understand, standing forth with the weight of an entire world upon their shoulders. He as a king had the burden of safeguarding his own people, their rights and honor. And yet, he felt that it was nothing compared to what the summoned were being forced to carry.


    With much of the summoned now discussing among each other, they failed to realize that the two Kings would begin to converse with one another. Mentioning the will of the Gods.


    -


    There was a strange instinct within Benedict that dwelled at the back of his mind. It was one that came surging from what dark recesses of his mind, coming out of its hiding place once he was no longer in his own world. It was anger, anger like nothing he had felt before. He deluded himself that it was simply that, a burning feeling that made him lash out towards anyone not his friend. But, deep down he knew it was bloodlust.


    Not only that, what happened in the night disturbed him. He felt a strange feeling of helplessness at the realization this twisted blessings he had, was indeed from some powerful entity. An entity that obviously viewed him not as a champion, but a source of entertainment. He could feel its influence within his veins, the idle writhing of muscles within him, that strange urge to devour and that pain within his veins.


    This made him look to the scythes of his, the deadly appendages that sprouted from his back like some foreboding reminder of his inhumanity. It was currently outstretched, resting forward and over the table in front of him, touching the wooden floorboards as he examined them.


    It was the same as he had first seen them, with a majority of their structure being composed of hard taut muscles with hardened bone, almost like the limbs of an arachnid. Its mutation however was clear, in that it was both a functioning limb to support the locomotion of its owner, and as an effective tool for disemboweling nearly anything that is alive.


    His inhumanity was not only found in those two limbs of his, but also on his hands. Hesitantly he looked down, to his own two hands that were now much different than he remembered. Upon the back of it and his fingers, were growths of bones that directly grew from his wounds that formed over his flesh. They did not cover all of his flesh, and only came from what wounds he manage to gain. Eerily his nails were growing sharper too, elongating into claws.


    It was an unsubtle declaration, that he was no longer human, or for that matter the boy he once was before all this was fading. He wouldn¡¯t have any proper thoughts regarding this, as his mind swam between emotions and sensations being forced by his change.Yet there was a peace being forced into it, as subtle as it was, he noticed it clearly.


    ¡°Are you always such a heavy sleeper?¡±


    The peace that came from Salia, this woman that acted something akin to a caring lover gave him relief, in the physical and spiritual sense. Her very presence emanated an aura that affected him clearly, as it had shown when her own touch could make his pain fade. With the fact that no thoughts aside from ones that are positive, or caring could be formulated against her. But, for some reason, he could at least retain some of his own thoughts without being it affected by the ¡®love¡¯ he felt for her.


    ¡°Not always..¡±


    He murmured in a strange show of shyness, as he looked up from his hands towards Salia. He did not know what to do, what purpose he would have, aside from possibly simply living. He did not have a proper goal, aside from simply enduring and perhaps finding a way out of this world. But that goal was next to impossible, as he held no proper knowledge of magic or the secrets of this world. Other than that, one simple goal was to amass power, to prove the Summoned and their Gods wrong, as an act of spite.


    ¡°I am glad you¡¯re well now, the wounds you incurred were.. Grievous. It should have even killed you.¡±


    Salia approached him as she had entered through the open door, she carried on her hands a tray of food. Evidently due to his heightened sense of smell, he could catch the scent of cooked meat that was incredibly familiar to him, as if he could taste its blood already on his lips. Though he also noticed the worry on her voice, the genuine emotion of concern made him feel happy and warm inside.


    ¡°Yet I live, why?¡±


    Like before he had his suspicions, it was not supposed to be like this. He should not feel this, and yet he does. Making him frown a bit as he asked his question, looking over his hands once again and seeing them fully healed. He was an Aberration now, an Aberrant. The Primogenitor of a race he had inadvertently created.


    ¡°Is it because I am ¡®blessed¡¯?¡±


    Almost spitefully he replied, his two scythes retreating back to settle on his shoulders and chest. Allowing Salia to come closer to the table, and place down the tray. The tray was made out of food, but the plates and bowls were made from a sort of silver. The utensils were also made out of metal, something that did not surprise him due to his stay in Isalabi. It reminded him how this world was a world of its own, and what he knew to be true could be proven also rather quickly.


    ¡°You¡¯re the Despot, it is unthinkable you¡¯ll die easily. As you are a Lord of our people, even your predecessor was quite hard to kill, as you¡¯ve seen already.¡±


    As he was about to take a look at what exactly the food she brought was, what she said drew his attention. Shock and confusion crossed his mind, as he looked at her with barely hidden distaste at what she told him. It was more of a dislike for the fact that, it implied he would be burdened with a purpose that he never wanted. Just like how he and his friends were given a similar burden in the beginning of this mess.


    ¡°Why do you call me that, and what do you mean a Lord of.. Our people?¡±


    A tinge of anger overcame him that was quickly doused by some influence, only letting a small measure of it remain. There it was, another burden. It made his heart beat faster, his gut wrench in nervousness as he could already envision what she was going to say. ¡®You¡¯re a chosen, you are to be a grand champion of our people.¡¯ It made him nauseous, lies upon lies to make him bend to the will of others. To waste his life on something he did not want.


    ¡°It is your title, a name for your purpose in this world. Given to you, by my grandfather, the Elder. You¡¯re the chosen successor of the Forlorn, and as such you will be treated like an Ancient. Does it.. Bother you?¡±


    ¡®Does it bother me? Yes! It goddamn bothers me!¡¯


    Spitefully Benedict cursed in his mind, his irritation becoming obvious before it was turned off abruptly. All thoughts of negativity towards her was not allowed, to some extent, yet when he focused his anger on something else, it rose up quickly. But he was not stupid enough to lash out towards her, not when she was a kind and loving person to him, which put him at ease as he sighed.


    ¡°Why am I specifically called Despot?¡±


    It was such a demeaning title, more akin to an insult than anything else. History had taught him that Despots did not rule for long, or did not rule without the use of fear. They were powerful indeed, making him admire their capability of enforcing their will, and yet they never lasted. They were always toppled by the masses that sought a better path.


    ¡°Your future.¡±


    At the mention of that, he looked up to see her gently smiling. She held no contemptuous look, only one of true affection and kindness. It felt so out of place, so different that he looked back down, to look at the plates of food. They contained a sort of steak, alongside what seems to be cut up vegetables and mashed potatoes.


    ¡°My future..?¡±


    She mentioned that he was a Lord of their people, but before that, before he was dragged by the Seekers to a battle. He remembered that she mentioned other Lords, that would debate whether or not he would be a Lord. But as she told him that he was a Lord, it already meant the verdict was already done, he was a Lord. Much in annoyance he would pick up a spoon, completely leaving the fork as he shoved it on what he thinks was mashed potatoes.


    ¡°Yes, your future my dearest Despot.¡±


    As he was slowly shoving the surprisingly delicious mushy food into his mouth, he was interrupted by a gentle hand reaching out and touching his cheek. Like always he felt the idle pain under his skin dissipate, and a gentle cold overcoming him. Or at least until she stopped stroking his cheek. This made him realize that he had forgotten something, the memories before the battle. It slowly came back, and he saw further into his situation.


    ¡°... To kill.. To kill, conquer and dominate.. Till the world is dyed in red..¡±


    He parroted the words he heard that night, it echoing within his very being as the writhings returned for the duration of him speaking those words. It felt right, it felt that it was his purpose. But he did not want that, as he chose to continue eating, ignoring the familiar smelling meat, which he thought to come from the same species of that beast he devoured.


    ¡°No, to bring order if you wanted.¡±


    She refuted what he said, smiling ever so gently when he looked back to her. Such kindness was not natural, not towards a man you¡¯ve met for just a few days. But what she said, was different, unexpected. Something almost anathema to him, which made him look to her in disbelief. As she spoke with such confidence, as if she really believed in him.


    ¡°It¡¯s entirely your choice. No matter what it is, I will stand by your side and support you.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Nearly choking, Benedict swallowed hard as he looked to her with wide eyes. This was a huge change in her personality compared to yesterday, not only that she told him in a way one would tell a person they loved. Accepting them for all the good and bad they are capable of. It was too different, too alien to him, and yet he could not think that it was a lie. He was made to not feel it, as that was truth. Not even his mind could think she was lying.


    ¡°..Why?¡±


    Asking that, his mind tried to find a reason. A reason to think she was lying, a trick to lure him into doing the bidding of whoever she followed. If the Gods of this world had ulterior motives, she too would have them, as everyone did so. Nothing was truly free, everything had a price no matter how miniscule it was. But, he couldn¡¯t think of a reason, nothing came up. Not even his rage. There was only peace.


    ¡°I am your better half. Your.. Lover as the Northmen might say.¡±


    But that was an answer he could not expect. It made him crush the spoon he held, crumpling it easily as if its metallic nature was nothing to him. He then froze, his mind thrown into disarray, making him slowly look up with a befuddled expression. He had suspended his disbelief for many things in this new world, he accepted that Gods exist, he accepted that there were just so many blessings the others had compared to him. Yet this was something he couldn¡¯t accept.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking, this is just some prank. This cannot be real, I cannot even think this is real.¡±


    He told her this, a laugh coming from him as he smiled stupidly. Of all the things that brought him to shock, this hit him hard. Her, being his lover? It was an obvious lie to him, but it felt right. That feeling of utter joy came over him, of flattery and contentment. But a part of him fought against it, a part that was not shackled by whatever spell that bound him. This was not real, that part said, it screamed at him as he slammed his fists into the table, surprisingly not breaking it.


    ¡°I am not a fool Salia, do not trick me. It will not work on me.¡±


    Disbelief gnawed at his mind, as the force that made him not assume such things clashed with his mind. His changing biology resisted what was happening to him, but that force was far too strong for him to resist truly. This clash gave him a headache, forcing him to grind his teeth together as he looked to her. She looked to him with worry now, as his expression showed pain and anger.


    ¡°I am not lying, calm down Benedict. Your anger is taking over you again, please you¡¯ll only hurt yourself!¡±


    It was almost too late, as Benedict craned his head to the side as he felt that overwhelming urge to devour and kill. To sate his anger and hunger. Fortunately, there was something that could satiate at least the first need. There roughly, resorting to using his clawed hand he picked up the meat left on the plate, roughly like an animal he would tear a chunk of it with his teeth.


    ¡°This is the truth, I am bound to you as you''re bound to me.. I.. Should have told you sooner, but you¡¯ve been asleep for a while.¡±


    The meat did little to stop his anger, only the hunger faded. Her words made his burning anger far worse, as he felt the pain beneath his skin slowly worsen. It was clear that she was suppressing it, as her face of worry slowly turned to that of panic. She cared for him, but in what sense? As a lover as she had said, or as a useful pawn in both a political and military sense.


    ¡®Bound .. Bound to me as I am to her.. Why? Who did this.. Which cretin did this..¡¯


    There was only one person he thought, that old man, the Elder. Who gave him the title Despot, and thrusted him into this mess. He was the one, he was the cretin that forced him into this without his consent. Just like the nobility in Isalabi, treating him little more than as a tool.


    ¡°Calm down, please..¡±


    He hated it, to not have the freedom he thought he would have in this new world. He denied the sponsorship of the gods, spurned the offers of aid from the other summoned. Yet fate did not relent and forced him into a similar situation. What choice did he have, but to attempt to deny it, to lash out towards the one that was bound to him. But it was futile, as she touched his right hand gently. Dispelling the burning pain that rose from his veins on his limb, which slowly rose up to his body by the minute.


    -


    Humans, Elves even the Demons had said that love could conquer all. That it will bring a tyrant to his knees, to change his ways just for a fair maiden to love them truly. Salia knew of it very well, as she had spoken to what traders from their races had come to their home. Their tales, their rumors and even literature spoke about that to some extent. She believed it, as it was a romantic thing for a girl her age. Even to further think that, it may even stop certain events from happening in the futures she could see.


    ¡°I do not want this..¡±


    However, her love could not pierce through the mind of her lover. It could not convince Benedict, the one she was bound to, the one her soul was deeply connected to. She felt what he felt to some extent, and she felt a great anger and hunger within him. But that was not only it, she felt his mana course violent within his body in response to his anger. She saw the moment he woke, and she saw it now. Yet there was something different, something dark and malign alongside it that made her want to fear him.


    ¡°Please, trust me.¡±


    As sincere as she could be, or rather in a truly sincere tone she pleaded to him. Their link did not allow lies, or any negative emotions for that matter. Yet Benedict was resisting the spell, his body which was changing allowed him to do this subconsciously. She saw it in the way his mana moved, forming a monstrous silhouette with his cacophony of a voice. His humanity, the one thing the race he was once a part of cherished, was rapidly disappearing before her. It pained her, to see him be in this kind of pain, as even if the link made her do this, the emotion and feeling was truly genuine.


    It fell to her, as he witnessed her reluctant lover tear what remained of the cooked meat of a Jaelir, to stop him from falling deeper to his hate. As it influenced him not only mentally, but also physically, it was the source of his inhumanity, his rapid changed. It would have resulted in him lashing out towards her if it wasn¡¯t for their link.


    ¡°Why should I?!¡±


    He yelled at her once he devoured the meat, his sharp teeth being revealed as he shook. The scythes on his shoulders were ready to to strike, to kill something, he was a true being of instinct, of emotion. Yet what rationality he had was influenced by their link, making him be in conflict with his own mind. Seeing no other way to convince him, she stood up and gently leaned closer to him over the table.


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me Benedict? Do you not believe me, your other half my dearest Despot?¡±


    The effect was instant, he tried to get away, to lean back. But she did not allow him, as her hands went up to cup his cheeks, to forcibly siphon the excess mana within him into her. This was an easy task for her, their link allowing them to share mana if needed. It was wholly convenient, but this action also brought some measure of pain to her, which she endured with a smile.


    She even found an understanding of his own mana, of that corruption within him. It was not from this world, it was different, it was terrifying as it was a violent part of him that sought bloodshed. But she did not care, as she brought her face closer, waiting for him to answer. But there was none. He sat there, staring at her, eyes wide in shock, in confusion and fear, with his scythes slowly unfurling to go over her form.


    He was obviously afraid of her love, of her affection that it bled from their link. To the point that it actually overshadowed the anger he felt towards his situation. It was a curious thing, as for all she knew the noble males from the Lonesome Frost desired a woman that loved them unconditionally. He was different, he was afraid of what gentleness he could bring her. Like as if he was a different person compared to the one that woke up yesterday.


    ¡°Stop lying..¡±


    Two emotions vied for his mind, they fought and warred more so than his mind against their link. This was her chance, as he murmured in a rising voice, his hands opening, letting go of the crumpled spoon.


    ¡°I am not lying, I swear in the name of my ancestors, in my name and blood. I do not lie to you Benedict.¡±


    Though her words did not reach him, as he growled towards her. It was obvious now that anger took over, as his hands now held her wrists, clearly attempting to push them away.


    ¡°Bullshit! Stop playing with my mind, this is nothing but a false lo-¡±


    She did not allow him to speak any further. There was only one way to shut him up, to stop him from further becoming an irrational being led on by anger or fear. She will not allow that, not when she could help him.


    ¡°Please be silent.¡±


    She told him, as brought her lips to touch upon his. She kissed him, brazenly doing so without a proper thought. It caused a blush to run across her face, but she closed her eyes just as Benedict looked at her in shock. It was a simple act, yet it did so many things to the both of them. It made them both feel warm as they blushed, with her deepening the kiss despite her current position. Just as she had wanted, he had gone quiet, his scythes unfurling even further as his hand went to hold her shoulders.


    After what seemed to be minutes, she broke the kiss, sheepishly letting go of his face as she sat back down. There she finally opened her eyes, smiling softly at him as her blush deepened. Slowly she saw him lower his hands, his face bright red as he looked at her with shock and embarrassment.


    ¡°Now, are you calm?¡±


    With only a nod to answer her, she grinned at how easy of a solution it was to calm him down. It made her wonder, if this was his true state of mind, behind the layer of anger and fear. A simple young and innocent noble, that feared affection so much, that he turned to anger instead. Though it couldn¡¯t be that, not anymore, as she saw upon him now a forced destiny upon him. That he himself obviously did not want.


    ¡°I am glad then my dearest Despot, as I have said. I will support you no matter what, but it does not mean I will tolerate you hurting yourself.¡±


    Taking a moment to collect himself, he idly touched his lips with one clawed finger, unsure whether or not he should even look at her as he replied.


    ¡°I.. Alright.. Though hurting myself? Explain.¡±


    In a bid to show strength and stoicism, he straightened his posture, his face turning dour. But alas, he was still embarrassed, giving it away in the way he tried not to look at her.


    ¡°Your mana, it burns you each time you grow angry.¡± She says with a soft sigh, continuing it on as she pointed at his chest.


    ¡°You know this already. Your anger is tethered deep into your change, your body siphons so much mana in its purest form and.. Turns into something else. I wish I could say more, to explain it to you in the fullest of words. But I do not properly understand it..¡±


    ¡°And you support me, despite that?¡± He cuts in, his scythes being reeled back, with him motioning to one of the deadly blades with one finger. ¡°Despite these?¡±


    ¡°Despite all of those, yes. I will support you.¡± She replied surely, her smile clearly making him more embarrassed.


    ¡°I will support you no matter what you choose, as long as you do not hurt yourself. Be it the shedding of blood in its thousands, the slaughter of others.. Or perhaps, bettering yourself as you become a force of Order. All is possible Benedict, be it the path of the Despotic Child or something more, something entirely different.¡±


    Her sincerity bled into her words, as Benedict looked down for a moment in contemplation. She felt it, the feeling of uncertainty and of hesitation from him. There were things she did not know about him, and the same could be said about him towards her.


    ¡°Why? To say all this.. I cannot be sure if you¡¯re lying or not.. ¡° Yet still he held on to his suspicions towards her, which luckily did not bring the deadly anger with it.


    ¡°I will be truthful with you Benedict, I will speak with all honesty on what you wish to know.¡± He perks up at that, he sensed an advantage and he obviously would take it. The excitement he had in him, hidden beneath his dour mask, echoed to their link.


    ¡°Who did this?¡± He then asks, scythes slowly unfurling as he slouched. His brown eyes looked to her with a desire for answer, as his brows furrowed in his rising displeasure.


    ¡°Pardon? What do you mean?¡± She asked in slight confusion, which drew from him a soft sigh.


    ¡°Who bound us together? And why. Tell me.¡± He clarified to her, his eyes staring at her with such intent, that she reached out to touch his cheek again, which made him stiffen.


    ¡°My Grandfather did. The Elder of Delving. Your future he saw, and in it you were an Anchor. An event that cannot be avoided no matter what. It is why you¡¯re named Despot. Your anger, hate and hunger will influence that. He did it to save me, and our people.


    As you were chosen by the Forlorn, you too became a Lord of our people. You¡¯re no longer human, yet not a monster, but an Ancient like me. Though I feel that you do not want this burden upon your shoulders, that you simply want to follow your own will.¡±


    Nodding, he would gently hold her hand and place it down, seemingly unable to accept such an intimate act. Though he did not look angry, instead he looked deep in thought. Seeing this, she did not speak any more, and patiently waited for him to speak his mind.


    ¡°Do I have a choice?¡± He asked softly, looking down and holding her hand still, not realizing it himself.


    ¡°No, none at all.¡± She replied, witnessing his face change to a more displeased look. With clear reluctance on his tone, he looked up to speak.


    ¡°Alright. Fine.. You said you will support me no matter what. That you will do this as long as I don¡¯t do anything stupid, that will hurt myself.. I will accept this. I will take this.. Mantle of the Despot. Fine, sure, nothing I can do about it.


    But tell me.. ¡°


    Widening her eyes, she saw Benedict begin to smile. A malicious and murderous smile that matched his title, it showed off his sharp teeth with him cocking his head to the side. There, his chorus of voices rang out with a deadly edge, of a malign tone about it.


    ¡°Will you help me kill?¡±


    But she replied without hesitation, without a need to think as she smiled once more.


    ¡°Yes, I will my dearest Despot.¡±

 Chapter Thirteen: Fleeting Hesitation

    ¡°In silence they dwell, in the darkest of stars, in the oldest of void. They stand atop dead wombs, their writhing forms drift, held aloft by fell powers. In aeons they have seen life exist, yet they are neither alive nor dead, neither good or evil. Yet, they hate us.¡±


    - Hak¡¯Zartel Prophet of Sands; Lies of the Gods


    ¡°I am embarrassed of this.¡± Benedict murmured softly as he was led across the titanic branches of the colossal trees they stood upon. His tall form was being pulled gently by his better half, who locked arms with him as a soft hum escaped her lips.


    ¡°They are looking at me, like some¡­ Monster.¡± He continues, his brown eyes gazing out to the buildings and breathtaking sight before him. The bustle of people was clearly heard as they headed to another tree, one that held the equivalent of a market square. This made it so that they passed by people, who looked at Benedict with both curiosity and surprise.


    The boy himself mistook this as judging and scornful stares, which reminded him of the ones he had gotten from his fellow summoned. The memory itself stirred anger, but it paled in comparison to the embarrassment Salia brought to him by forcing him to walk with her.


    ¡°No they do not, you¡¯re simply a curious oddity Benedict. Your position as the Despot is not yet told to the greater populace of our people, in addition.¡± she gently touched his scythes, ¡°You have this, a curious aspect of yours that marks you out as something else. It will soon be the very thing that lets our people know, that you¡¯re the twelfth.¡±


    ¡°Will they accept it?¡± He asked with what seemed to be worry, as Salia¡¯s soft hand soon pinched his cheek for a moment. ¡°They will, for the twelfth position has always been held by someone not born an Ancient.¡±


    Softly with uncertainty brewing within his mind, Benedict continued to walk with her as she lead him to a place with clear intent. He lapsed to silence, as he felt the eyes of others bore at him. In an attempt to ignore them, he examined his attire and found it to be quite pleasing. As it was the armor he wore initially, before it was taken off of him when he first woke up. It retained that dull metal sheen it had, when he first acquired it months ago.


    It for the most part was whole, save for the two holes his scythes had made to the back of his chest plate, and the dent the Forlorn had dealt upon it. Thankfully his cloak was there to help hide such a thing, letting him at least look dignified as he walked with his ¡®wife¡¯. But try as he might, the scythes of his made him look more akin to a monstrous guardian than anything else. As the curved blades of his limbs tapped away at the wooden surface of the branch, which soon met what seemed to be the concrete of a solid ancient bridge.


    But as they walked and reached an area where various stalls and stores were present, his eyes noticed a peculiar statuette upon a dilapidated stall. It was made from a strange greenish-onyx material, twisted and shifting under the light and seemed to be wholly wrong in its entirety. A strange bout of familiarity overtook him, as he gazed at it with strange fondness and longing.


    It could not be properly described in any capacity, as with what clarity his mind had. The statuette resembled a strange hybrid. Where one could say that it was an anthropomorphic caricature of an octopus-like thing, yet it held a modern quality to it that should not be possible for this world. Like a moth drawn to fire, Benedict found himself urged by an instinct to reach out and try to acquire it. Yet the voice of his better half rang out and broke the growing trance that took a hold of him. Letting his eyes for a moment stare in intent at the statuette.


    Trying to burn the figure of the humanoid, yet inhuman form of the small thing to his retinas. As if compelled by something not wholly of his own will. But the voice of Salia held far more weight than that compulsion, making him turn to face her to be met with her gentle smile. Her eyes conveying a sort of curiosity as to what had taken his fancy, with his own expression taking a momentary look of confusion. Which was met by her speaking again, repeating what she seemingly had said moments ago.


    ¡°Has the traders of our people taken your fancy?¡±


    It was a question which he could only reply with a short nod of his head. His eyes moved to look at the stall that had the statue, but much to his surprise it was no longer there. Instead it was a clear space, flanked by other stalls manned by traders of the Ancients. This perturbed him, as the sheer memory of what he saw was still fresh and burnt into his mind. The form of that strange statuette pulsated within his memory, reminding him of something he could not exactly grasp. But he shook it off, looking instead to the other stalls that grew in numbers as they continued to walk.


    ¡°What drew your interest then?¡± She asked as she motioned to one of the stalls. ¡°Weapons? Armor? Or is it food?¡± Though she smiled teasingly at the end of her sentence, as she referenced his hungry nature for the past week. Which for the most part he could not help, as it was due to the very changes his body was experiencing. With a stiff and weak smile of his own, he replied.


    ¡°Magical items.¡± He flatly said, his eyes drawn to one of the many stalls that held such wares. They were for the most part, meant for some task obviously not related to battle. It was clear with his own eyes that they were magical, for a strange aura obviously surrounded their form. From the confusing spinning orb floating from a pedestal, to even what seemed to be jewelry crafted from exotic to mundane materials, they all held this. A sign of the spark of magic within them, that shone like a pyre to his eyes.


    His answer was half truth and half lie, as his mind still drifted to the thought of that statuette that seemed to be a hallucination. Brought up by his changes, or some fell powers he could not comprehend. It made his skin crawl, fear threatening to follow as the thought of helplessness crept into his mind. All of it could not manifest however, as Salia¡¯s proximity brought only comfort, that for once he was actually glad for.


    ¡°Do you wish to acquire one?¡± She asked thoughtfully, as he thought she mistook his gaze upon the items as curious wanting looks, but it was not. It was mere confusion on his part. But he could not help but wonder, would he even need one? They looked so unique and strange, but they felt strangely mundane. For they had no clear purpose in battle, that he mused over, until he decided to answer truthfully.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll be useful to me. None of them are weapons, and I don¡¯t believe I can afford any of these.¡± With that admittance, he was made fairly aware that he was, with all the simplicity he could thought of, a penniless parasite mooching off of Salia and that old man¡¯s goodwill. It made him feel uncomfortable, ashamed even. But it did not last.


    ¡°So, you wish for nothing here then?¡± She began, almost disappointed as if the very reason for him being dragged out of that room, where he spent mostly resting and sleeping, was an attempt of a date. ¡°None of these interest you at all?¡±


    ¡°No¡­?¡± Unsure and akin to a question to himself, he dragged his eyes hesitantly to look at her, and gasped. She was pouting towards him, those eyes of hers seem to implore him to reconsider. This was something he did know how to respond to, lending him a sense of confusion that felt different from all others. In his eyes, he felt he had done something wrong, but to others that watched these two, all they saw was a woman trying to convince her lover to do something she wished.


    In the end he relented with a sigh. His mind unable to do anything but fix this ¡®mistake¡¯ of his. He knew fully well that it was their link, their binding, but it felt so real that he might as well follow it.


    ¡°On second thought¡­¡± He began, his words laced with reluctance but a finality to it that brought a smile to Salia¡¯s face. ¡°May you help me find new clothing?¡±


    That was an hour ago, mused Benedict as he found himself half naked within the equivalent of some clothing shop. The time from then to now blurred like fine mist in his mind, as Salia eagerly brought him to stalls and what could be stores to fulfill what he asked for. He felt bad for that the answer was just a sudden gambit in appeasing her, but was glad for it as he did need new clothing. For this time, like the many times he was forced to come with his parents to buy clothing, was a tedious but welcomed change of pace.


    ¡°Your scythes¡­,¡± She told him in slight annoyance, as she stood before him and pulled taut a pale blue shirt of eastern-like design over his chest. ¡°Proves a problem in getting you new shirts¡­¡± This drew a smile from him, as those scythes were unfurled, resting and arching behind her like a protective cage.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He idly said, as she clicked her tongue and looked to his eyes, a strange fire burning within those amber eyes of hers. ¡°We¡¯ll need to have the seamstress sew new sets of shirts for you¡­ It¡¯ll take days, weeks or months until you can have your new set of clothing.¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be helped.¡±


    ¡°You are right.¡± She admits, that fire within her eyes fading as she smiled. ¡°But, I can¡¯t have you wear your armor everyday, nor can I have you dress so plainly.¡±


    There was a slight insistence to her sentence, as she made to turn around and present the shirt to one of the workers in this shop. They conversed with their tongue, and if Benedict idly chose not to listen, it merely sounded like some strange and ancient song to his ears. Though he understood that Salia was asking if it was possible to make some slight changes, to accommodate his additional limbs. She did this without even his input, as if it was natural. It was humbling in its own way, as he could not help but remember how out of place he had felt a week ago.


    Though he was loathe to admit it, but he realized that this new world was in its own way, a great boon. For in here, in these simple moments, there was a sensation of belonging that could not be found in the memories of his own world, where he felt important. But such a thought was squashed down, as he remembered the reason why he was even here in this world.


    With a momentary grimace, he chose to immerse himself in the memories of what he did in the past week. Finding it better to review such a thing, as Salia and the worker began to converse on what kind of attires would fit him best. No doubt due to the fact he was the twelfth. This he was well acquainted with due to how Salia had told him of it, of how she explained that her people cared the most for their traditions above all.


    That the Lords are set on a pedestal of standard and expectations, which could not helped but be suffocating and domineering in its own right.


    ¡°What is expected of me?¡± He hears the voice of himself ring, as recollection overtook him. Robbing him of the sight before him, and replacing it with the scene that occurred six days ago. After the day where Salia spoke truly, that she will help him kill. There she saw him, gently touching upon his scythes curiously. As he knelt there upon the wooden floor, attempting to meditate


    ¡°To kill.¡± She replied ever so gently, her soft hands caressing the bone of his scythes, feeling out and aiding the mana within, letting it flow through the veins within it.


    ¡°No¡­ I did not mean that. I meant¡­ As a Lord, as a Lord of our¡­¡± He paused, hesitation gripping his words as he opened his eyes. Only for him to continue with a sigh. ¡°People¡­¡±


    ¡°To be a Lord of course.¡± A hint of amusement was obvious on her words, as that answer was in its own way a jest. It sparked mirth within him, as she continued her answer, knowing full well he wanted to know more. This saved him some concentration, as he had half of his mind dedicated to the managing of mana within him. For all the comfort she brought him, he was a man and his pride howled out for him to be stronger. To not rely on her touch to stop the pain that coursed within his flesh.


    ¡°Though it is not as simple, for unlike the humans you were once a part of¡­ A Lord is not a mere title of ¡®nobility¡¯, my Grandfather would argue that it is not even similar to such a thing, and would say it is higher than that. According to him, it is a position of great importance and duty, that no Ancient may hold just because they were unique or strong. For each Lord that exists, they represent a facet of our people and life, a living embodiment.


    My grandfather is the Elder of Delving, he represents the ancient art of our people. A great power that is known to be Delving, yet he also says it is a curse. For what power there is, has both its boons and damnations that other races are blind to. Still he fulfills his role my Despot, in which where he guides the many Delvers we have, and offer insight and divination to the Conclave of Lords whenever they happen.


    But as for you¡­¡±


    She paused for a few moments, as she shifted her position and chose to sit on the edge of the bed. There Benedict could only assume what expression she held, but he knew fully well that she was smiling based on that tone of hers. How odd it was, that in just such a short time, he could confidently deduce such a thing. When it was even hard for him to discern what emotion the other summoned heroes held, each time they spoke to him, which was an extreme rarity before they hunted him.


    ¡°That is for you to decide, for you to find. I have been told that it comes to you, that calling of your name and title. Where after days, weeks or months, you will gain an insight on what you are destined to do. Till that time comes however, what is expected of you as a Lord is¡­ Well, to be one. To be an inspiring force, a grand reminder to our people, a living lesson and God in many ways than one. It is why that I insist for you to learn to manage the mana within you.


    As much as I love you my Despot, there will be times that I cannot be at your side to alleviate the pain your body feels.¡±


    Then with just that, Benedict understood that he was wrong to assume he would be forced to take on a mantle of duty. It was his choice to accept it or not, that he mused over. As when he thought about it, this was a far better deal than being a Champion of a God within the Lonesome Frost, made to fight whatever the creeping dark was. Though he could not help but blush as he knelt, his grasp on his flow of mana fluctuating for a few moments due to this.


    She so casually said she loved him, and that was all that rang in his ears for the seconds that followed. How strange it was, that she could dredge up such a reaction, even with their link it was too easy. Though he did not allow himself to dwell upon it, as silence was his answer to her. For he was focusing on his meditation, to find a way to make his body do this act of expelling excess mana out without conscious effort.


    Which for the most part took up the majority of his time for the days that were to come, only broken by the words of Salia as she answered what inquiries he had. Through that, he found out that those that attacked him two days ago, were called the Seekers of the Forlorn. That what they did was a sort of test, to find out if he was worthy to lead and command them. Needless to say, he was quite displeased, that he had to go through such a thing unarmed and unarmored. Though the unarmed part was quite debatable.


    Not even the knowledge that he could command them now, was enough to stem the growing displeasure he had within his bosom. If he had his way, he wished to bend them and turn them into useless chunks of metal, to be melted and forgotten. Such was his displeasure, that only Salia¡¯s words brought a measure of peace, as he relented. For she argued that though they nearly killed him, they will be useful to his purpose in the future.


    And from there, he did little else. Save for the fact he was idly controlling the new Aberrations of his, which did their work with a cunning that perturbed him. As they mimicked the actions and concepts of some fictional races that he knew of, almost as if they knew his deep rooted fascination for it.


    Then he was broken out of his remembrance, as Salia gently tapped his cheeks. Making him blink his eyes in confusion, as his immersion within his memories made it as if he was reliving them fully, enough that he was unsure where he was for a few seconds. Until the memories of the present came surging back, eliciting a slight frown on his face. To which Salia reacted with curiosity, as she spoke.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ Nothing, sorry. I was lost to my thoughts.¡± With that explanation, Salia nodded as she gently offered the shirt he wore beneath his armor. It was modified in a way, to at least allow his scythes to be able to pass through his back, but it was a hasty addition, which was quite clear due to how large the holes were. But he didn¡¯t mind, as he took the shirt and put it on with little thought.


    ¡°What were you thinking about?¡± Idly as she spoke, she turned to the countertop near her, where pieces of his armor laid. She displayed a rather surprising knowledge of how to remove platemail, something which Benedict was glad for. As it was quite hard to put on and remove platemail, without the aid of another person.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Last week.¡± He curtly replied, moving closer to her as he raised his arms to the side, letting her begin putting on his platemail for him, while he himself helped her in that regard. There was a meticulous ease in how she did her part, and he was quite curious as to how she even knew of this.


    ¡°Ah, is it about your role as a Lord?¡± She smiled once more, always she did Benedict mused, as if everything he did could make her smile.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He shortly replied once his chestplate was tightly fastened on his torso, with his scythes receding back to rest on his shoulders. Next came for the parts meant for his arms, which was easy enough without her help. Yet he did not stop her, instead allowed her to help him. It was a tender moment in many regards, and once he was fully armored, Salia gently locked arms with him.


    ¡°Did you find an answer?¡± She inquired as wordlessly they began to move, with Salia waving her hand in goodbye to the owner of the store, as Benedict was uncertain on how to reply. What was his role? That very question was worthy of many nights of pondering, which he didn¡¯t do, and now it seems that it really did need an answer.


    But for now, this was not the time to ponder upon it. With that thought, he turned to look at Salia as she lead him to another place, which he stopped with a gentle hold on her hand. Which would feel soft under his touch, if not for the fact his hand was armored at the moment. Almost instantly she stopped, levelling her gaze to his as she waited for him to speak.


    ¡°No, I have not found the answer to that¡­ But, I think we¡¯ve found enough clothing already. It¡¯ll take time, but I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll have enough.¡± Almost wryly he smiled to her, as a look of disappointment once more crossed her face. She did not seem to want to stop this casual thing they were doing, and if he were to assume, she did not like seeing him stay within his room for days on end. It was what he did since last week, and he sympathized with her on that regard.


    ¡°Instead, I suppose I want to see more of our home.¡± At that, she brightened up and nodded. Excitement was clear on her expression, as ideas flowed into her mind, which Benedict reacted to with a gentle smile of his own. Perhaps, it¡¯d be good for him to enjoy this new ¡®life¡¯, even if it was all going to lead to something dark one way or another.


    -


    High above on one of the many titanic trees of the forest itself, there stood three Lords. Their eyes drawn to the sight far below them, on one of the many branches and stone platforms of their ancient home. The three were the Lords assigned to watch over Benedict, to help him grow as a proper Lord. Yet they did not act at all, and seem to watch. One of them tilted her helmed head, her gloved hands softly caressing her cheeks as she sang.


    ¡°Oh how our Brother has finally walked, searching and yearning with his better half. He seeks an answer he is yet to find, yet he moves so surely with uncertainty binding him in his act. It is time for our guidance, time for him to walk the path meant for him, for if he continues in this uncertainty, then there shall be no greater purpose for this Despotic Child.¡±


    With a frown threatening to cross her lips, the Master of Hymns stopped with a sigh, only for the Lord Mender to speak as he shook his head.


    ¡°You are right in that regard, but also wrong.¡± He began, his plant-like hand motioning to the scene below them. There they could clearly see, despite it being extremely far, the sight of Benedict and Salia visiting many places. There was clear wonderment in the eyes of their youngest brother, with Salia leading him to places that brought great awe from him. Slowly letting him see more of the splendor of their home.


    ¡°His uncertainty is brought about by ignorance in his part. He does not know our culture, he does not know of our traditions. Yet look now, with Salia leading him, showing him more of our people¡¯s home, he learns. The uncertainty fades, and with it curiosity. Which we will need to nurture and temper into honor, into acceptance into our clade.¡±


    In reaction to his statement however, came a bassy laugh. Neither male nor female, yet one and the same. It was the Warborn, who brought her hand to the air, curling it into a fist as his laughter echoed out for a few more seconds.


    ¡°He will know it Lord Mender. He shall know honor and what it means to be a Lord. As the successor to our dear Centerious, he will face great adversity. But I wouldn¡¯t have it in any other way. I shall make him into a warrior, a true successor to the Forlorn.


    We have given him a week, a week to recover and now we shall begin his test.¡±


    Like a great beast lusting for a feast, the Warborn let out something akin to an excited growl. His very form seemed to quiver despite its metallic nature, where one couldn¡¯t really deduce what she was really feeling. But it didn¡¯t matter, as the two lords near him knew well enough that she was excited for this.


    ¡°Of course, the test will begin soon enough.¡± Interjected the Lord Mender, as he idly turned away from the sight below. Where Benedict could be seen curiously picking up what seemed to be a book. To which Salia began an explanation of what it was. This sight, though normal in many ways, brought a sigh from the Lord Mender as he looked to the Master of Hymns.


    ¡°What do you think? Should we allow him to experience the test so soon?¡± Cautious and unsure, he asked. To which the Master of Hymns merely nodded, as she turned to motion towards the Warborn.


    ¡°Though soon it is, the Warborn cannot wait anymore. She wishes to test our brother, to make him take the mantle of the Despot truly. He wants it, like a beating of song, to make him control the progeny which he has birthed. I am not blind oh dearest Mender, I know you are worried for our young Lord, even when his monstrous sons stalk our forests.


    Rending and tearing at the beasts there, bringing them deep into their growing territory. Insatiable, deadly, inhuman. They are a beast in many ways, yet they are our brother¡¯s progeny. We must make sure, that when he meets with the Conduit, he will be a Lord that can stand the Conduit¡¯s soulless gaze.¡±


    Conceding to her point, the Lord Mender chose not to reply. Instead he turned to the Warborn, looking at the golem-like Lord that seemingly waited for its turn to speak. Sensing that the Lord Mender had no intention to talk, the Warborn took its turn.


    ¡°I see the worry within your eyes Lord Mender.¡± He laughs, as she drew his eyes back to the sight below. Intent at studying what Benedict was doing, as if this act could allow her to discern more about this Lord. Though she knew very well that it was fruitless, but found it quite pleasing to at least know something about the Despot with his own eyes.


    ¡°It is baseless. I will not be like Lord Umbra, that callous bitch thought she was honoring Centerious¡¯s will. Nay, I dare say she insults it. Testing an unprepared Lord like that, is paramount to treachery.¡± Fury colored his words, as if she had any way to express her emotions, his face would display it in full. But before she could continue, the Lord Mender raised his hand in respect.


    ¡°I know.¡± He grimaces, as the furious gaze of Warborn is directed to him. If it were not for the mutual respect they all had for one another, the Warborn would have gone to a full tirade about his displeasure towards Lord Umbra. ¡°Lord Umbra is¡­ A treacherous sort, that I understand. Her treachery however is for those not of our kind, she did as her nature dictated. The shadows demand such a thing from her, just as the fires within your bosom demands honor from you Warborn.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not an excuse. It¡¯s cowardly, what if the Despot died? You know fully well that his progeny is nothing like we¡¯ve seen before. The Weaver himself admits that he does not understand how they even live, considering they don''t have any sort of mana within them. Yet they absorb it all around them. They are a foreboding presence Lord Mender, if he had died, I am confident that his progeny would have ran amok.


    You¡¯ve seen how the Despot fought, imagine if he did not exist and his Aberrations were allowed to exist without a leader. You cannot refute this worry Lord Mender, I know war like none other, and these Aberrations are a threat to us without our brother.


    So do not just dismiss my distaste for Lord Umbra. She may be the Mistress¡¯s younger sister, but that does not mean I have to like her dishonourable methods.¡±


    With a huff, the Warborn finished his piece. The energies within her form bristled, and turn to an inferno as it came out of the spaces on his body. Fury was what she felt, and the Lord Mendor could not help but rub the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°Yet he survived. That is proof enough that Lord Umbra made the right decision, in addition to that, is it not already enough that she elicited displeasure from the Conduit? She knows the consequence, if she acts in any way against the Despot, then she will earn the ire of the Conduit.¡±


    Reluctantly, the Warborn nodded. It was true that the premature testing of the Despot with the Seekers was disgusting, yet it drew a surprising result. Which showed that the Elder¡¯s soul-binding was not unwarranted, and the fact that the Despot was a deadly force that they needed to reign in. That wasn''t even factoring the fact that his progeny was spreading, turning a part of the forest into their twisted nesting ground.


    ¡°Fine.¡± She grumbled, raising one armored hand as the fires within him came to a forced calm. With her hand she pointed to the Lord Mender. ¡°But I will train him first, I wish to see the anger that made the Forlorn let go of his own hate. I wish to see the extent of his control on his progeny, and most of all, I wish to see how he fights.


    It has been so long since a war has occurred, and my Warforged yearn for such a thing. I will satiate my and their need, through the Despot I shall vent much of my frustrations on this long peace we have. Of course, I will not kill him, quite unlike the Father.¡±


    With nothing more to add, and choosing to ignore an insult to one of their sibling Lords, the Lord Mender turned around. Walking to a large entrance into the trunk, which held a spiralling staircase that led down. This left the Warborn with the Master of Hymns, who now only chose to speak.


    ¡°You lie.¡± She began, a smile crossing her lips as she clapped her hands together. ¡°Oh you lie Warborn, it¡¯s not that War has not graced your silvered form, it¡¯s that you wish to find someone to relate to. Someone as bloodthirsty and as wanting of conflict as you.


    Is that not why you supported the bonding between the two? Is that not why you did not warn him of the coming Seekers? When you could have so easily done?¡±


    At the sudden accusal from the Master of Hymns, the Warborn tried to say her piece, but couldn¡¯t once he had heard the rest of what the Master of Hymns said. This forced a growl from her, as her horns seem to burn more brightly, just as his energy did so.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± She asked, bitterness coloring his words as the Master of Hymns giggled as if this moment was funny. ¡°How did you know this? What makes you think this is the truth?¡±


    ¡°I can hear it in your voice, oh Warborn. No lie can go pass my hearings, no yearning lies still and silent, when I hear all that is in the voice of all. Worry not, I shall not tell anyone. Not even the Lord Conduit. In truth¡­ I wish to see what happens, as I know that the Conduit plans to intervene in the rising conflict in the Fae Lands.¡±


    With disbelief coloring her words now, the Warborn moved closer, with the Mastery of Hymns standing her ground. Looking up to him, the Warborn who was taller than her by far. ¡°What if you are trying to trick me?¡±


    ¡°Look to my nature, you shall find that I care not for lies or tricks. Only truth in song.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough to convince me!¡± The Warborn bellowed, her hands almost moved to try and choke the girl before him. Yet she did no such thing, for honor and tradition demanded she does no harm to a fellow lord.


    ¡°Then, would you believe me if I said, I wish for the Fae Lands to be covered in blood?¡± Now with a grin not unlike that of an excited monster, the Master of Hymns raised her hands and gently clasped the Warborn¡¯s own.


    ¡°I know you loved Centerious, you were the first to call for his acceptance into our arms. I was young back then, I found that act to be out of character. But as the years went by, I knew then that those embers that act as your eyes, lighten when you saw him. You loved him dearly, and you wish for him to be back no matter what.¡±


    ¡°Lies.¡± The Warborn quickly said, yet there was no strength in his words. Only surprise and embarrassment, which she herself did not like. ¡°I am the Warborn, I am born from war, there is no time for love in my part.¡±


    With what could only be a sneer, the Master of Hymns let go of the Warborn¡¯s hands and turned to face the sight below them once more. ¡°You were once flesh, that I know. You may be the second oldest of the Lords that exist now, but you cannot be as emotionless as the Conduit. I know you, just as how I would know our sibling Lords, you loved him, as we all did. Yet yours was no normal love, not akin to the sibling-like love we treated him, yours was that of lust and longing.


    I chide you not for this oh Warborn, I seek only truth and honesty from one such as you. I understand such a longing, for your role is one so lonesome, so damning that your mind seeks something else to balance all the deaths you have and will commit.¡±


    Silence came then, the Warborn expressing nothing as he went to stand near the edge once more. Looking down and daring not to look at the Master of Hymns, who continued her words in her apparent refusal to speak.


    ¡°However, I have a grand request to you Warborn. For you who shall train our youngest brother in the arts of war, and what it means to be a Lord, be it in honor or in wrath, there is something I wish to be set forth. It is no assumption, no fell hope, that the Conduit seeks to bring balance to the turmoil upon the Lands of the Fae.


    I am no callous one, but I desire for you to prepare the Despot quickly, for I know within what hearts I bear, that he can become my vengeance.¡±


    ¡°Against the humans?¡± The Warborn quickly interjected, turning her head to the Master of Hymns as her words were colored in shock. The Mastery of Hymns had never, in the centuries she had lived, ever expressed a desire for vengeance.


    ¡°No.¡± She says with that disgusting grin returning, her hands pointing towards the Despot, as she attempted to try and catch him. Yet she couldn¡¯t do so, as she was too high up. ¡°Against the Fae. They have scorned me for so long, denying me of my rightful prize that is there ancient songs of their people, their shames and glories.


    They wish for us to not hear them, even when they owe us more than our fair share of flesh in debts. For such, the debts must be paid, be it the honoring of our ancient oaths, or their deaths.¡±


    ¡°The Conduit will not like this.¡± The Warborn said, his voice bearing uncertainty as the Master of Hymns continued to look to Benedict. The Despot was moving from place to place, being led still by Salia, both having a good time, even going as far as for Benedict to ignore the stares he was receiving.


    ¡°I desire not the death wails of an entire race, I have no use for their dirge Warborn. You misunderstand, I am no fell being, I am merely wanting. Just as how you and my elder sister the Mistress wants the Despot, I desire those songs. To add to the arsenal of our people of course, I am not that greedy.


    So you see, I wish for you to train the Despot well. Nurture his lust for war, his hate and loathing, make him akin to a true heir to Centerious. Yet let him stay true to his title. Then, and only then, may I tell you how he has a place in my vengeance.¡±


    Now she turned to look at the Warborn, whose fiery eyes looked to her own. As now his voice rang out in uncertainty, with those fires of hers seemingly in a constant state of flux now after all that he had heard.


    ¡°You wish for him to... Rule?¡±


    At the Warborn¡¯s question, the Master of Hymns let out a sonorous laugh. Before replying in a discordant voice.


    ¡°To conquer.¡±

 Chapter Fourteen: Rancorous Suns

    ¡°I am often told that my path of righteousness is naive, that in the long war it will only hurt me. I know that, it is true, but tell me this Warborn. When the world is full of hate, when only war and misery is open to us, is it not our duty to show kindness and attempt to rebuild what we destroy? I believe that is the way of the pious, the way of the holy man. My people may be outcasts, but we are not heartless.¡±


    - Final sane words of Lord Centerious days before his transformation into a Revenant.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t ready for this, they are sheltered and oblivious¡­¡± Carleon cautioned as he shifted his stance alongside his warhammer. The length of the weapon was held firmly by his hands, as he allowed the head to rest on the floor, whilst his gaze looked to the summoned to their left. A hint of distaste and bitterness crossed his expression, as he saw that the summoned for the most part were excited. Each one speaking to their friends and groups, and even through the cacophony of chattering, he could make out words of joy and sheer anticipation.


    ¡°I just hope they don''t shoot us with spells, considering how hectic it is in real battle.¡± Much in contrast to his own thoughts, Jio said a light jest. His own words laced with a mocking yet equally joyful tone, as he shifted his own stance, loosening his previously guarded one with a sigh. To which Carleon could only reply with a disapproving shake of his head. For Jio couldn¡¯t care less about the other summoned, as long as they did not hamper their own survival and activities. Even he felt excited about the prospect of going to the Fae Lands.


    ¡°Just imagine it Carleon, a scene of battle like what Benedict described in the past, a fight for our life. Ruined by our allies hitting us with a stray spell. It¡¯s a funny thought.¡±


    ¡°Reality is less funny Jio, it wouldn¡¯t bode well for either side if that happened.¡± Carleon warned, one hand letting go of his hammer to idly scratch his forehead. ¡°I don''t want to die like that, neither do you.¡±


    ¡°None of you will die.¡± Cut in a sudden voice, firm like a blizzard yet equally sonorous and beautifully effeminate. In an instant they knew who it was, and Carleon by instinct gave a respectful bow which Jio hastily mimicked. It was Aniara, who in their heated but whispered conversation had walked to their side. This sudden appearance of hers had baffled Jio, who as he had hastily mimicked the bow of Carleon, nearly drew his sword in shock.


    ¡°I will not allow it.¡± There was a thin smile on her pale expression, as with one hand she offered the helm she had been holding on to for all this time. It was to Jio who she offered it to, and the boy could not help but widen his eyes in clear recognition. Not a minute too soon, his hands shakily plucked it up from both sides, holding it up so he may stare at the eyeless and murky sockets of the skeletal helm he now held. The helm which was supposed to belong to his friend.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Carleon asked without even looking to her, his own gaze levelled clearly to the skull helm that Jio was staring at. Though unlike his friend, he looked to the forehead of the helm, and there he saw the clear engraving of the Templar Cross. It was colored a dull red, noticeable due to the near pitch-black color of the metal used to wrought it in shape.


    ¡°Spare me your consideration to my honor, I believe you know why I say this.¡± Now with her voice growing far colder than usual, sounding with venom and rising irritation, Carleon raised his head to look to Aniara. Her expression was as cools always, never betraying a single emotion upon the pale face of hers. Yet her eyes, to which Carleon assumed could even express emotion, showed her rising fury.


    ¡°I do not know what you mean¡­¡± Unable to hold his gaze, Carleon looked away with his thoughts now in disarray. The calm he tried to hold was shattered by this, as Jio who now looked up offered the death mask to him, which he gladly took with one shaky hand.  ¡®Shit¡­ Shit¡­ Shit¡­¡¯ He idly cursed within his mind, as with the death mask of his friend, he chose to direct his attention to it closely. As if it would give him the excuse to stop Aniara from speaking to him.


    It was however, a hopeful delusion that rewarded him with a firm grip on his armored wrist. From there he felt it, the metal slowly turning cold with his own flesh beneath feeling the rapid drop in temperature. It was frost so cold, that it felt like his wrist was burning. Yet he grit his teeth, as Aniara who now was near the two spoke, whilst Jio experienced the same thing. From how close she was, it looked as if she was whispering to them.


    ¡°Ignorance damns progress.¡± She says, parroting the very phrase Benedict had said to her a month before this very day. They shivered at it, as it brought the memories of that day surging back. Though the memories were only enhanced, as she began to whisper and dictate those very events to their ears. Forcing them to relive those days through some strange means.


    ¡°Ignorance damns progress, can you not hear us out?!¡± He tells me as his armored hands slam itself upon my wooden desk. It shook the inkwell on my table, nearly spilling its contents upon the report I was to make to my liege. From behind him, came you two. Moving with due haste, with one lagging back to close the door, before joining the other to restrain your friend.


    ¡°I shall hear you out.¡± I say, a frown upon my lips as the light of the moon shone down upon us through the open windows behind me. I look down, but not before seeing a look of relief within Benedict¡¯s eyes, as you two merely watch in silence. This was his plan, not yours, but you willing came along, or initially. He had lost to Damien a day ago, the dishonor brought upon it has been tearing at his heart and mind, as he and many of the summoned have a simplistic pride.


    It is not wrong, I understand it completely. That is truth, and you know it.


    As I pick up my quill and dab its pointed tip to the inkwell, Benedict speaks. Not before having to whisper a few choice words to you two, assuring you that this will work, and that the blame will only be on him. This elicits a soft smile from me, for it is amusing to see such boys try to strengthen their hearts and resolve.


    ¡°We want out of this place. We want to get out of Isalabi¡¯s walls and into the greater land beyond this city.¡± He says this with a desperation unlike that of a man wishing redemption. His mind is clouded by what he had experienced, though not so much as the rage within him. He has tried to ask the same thing before, yet I denied hearing him out, for it is useless and fruitless.  Except for that moment.


    ¡°What will you hope to achieve outside?¡± Without willing it, I could not help but laugh as I asked that. I knew what he wanted, what you three wanted. It was adventure, it was a chance to see the world for what it was, and to become your own man.


    ¡°Experience!¡± He reasoned, his body tensing as he straightened his posture. This I know as the rattle of chains ring out thanks to the acoustics of my office. ¡°Aniara, I know we are children here, I know that I¡¯ve recently been defeated by Damien. Surely however, you¡¯re not blind to the fact that what we learn from instructors is¡­ Not the same thing as the real deal.¡±


    He is right, so I nod in response, not allowing him to hear me speak as his explanation was not yet satisfactory to me. It wasn¡¯t worth it to allow you three to go outside, it was risky and foolish. He needed more than that to convince me. So he continued speaking, his voice bearing much desperation as it did fury. Just like a child.


    ¡°There¡¯s little we can learn here. I know that¡¯s foolish of me to say, considering you yourself tutor us in the art of battle, and defeating the various creatures the Lonesome Frost has to offer. But I am not referring to you Aniara, surely you know that the other summoned are getting support from other nobility. Especially with the Heralds of their chosen Gods clearly bolstering their capabilities.


    We do not have the luxury and blessings the other summoned have. We¡¯re the runts of the litter,  with little value in us that it¡¯s a surprise King Asairos has not forced us to take Gods just to fit in. For that I am grateful to him, rest assured that I harbor no illwill towards him. Though this is why I am adamant in getting out of these walls Aniara, for if we cannot even be graced with a sliver of the blessings the Gods have given to their chosen, then allow us to earn it.¡±


    I expected a more flawed reasoning, considering Benedict was overtaken by much emotion as he spoke. It is so clearly heard within his voice, just like an open book for me to discern. Yet his reasoning was sound, though still lacking, yet curiously thrilling in its own right. One that echoes loudly within my veins as a Sahdun.


    ¡°How shall you earn those blessings?¡± I ask with an unintentionally cold tone, as I pause the writing of my report. Letting only the rattling of chains ring out, for Benedict moved as he talked, unable to stand still as he gave his explanation. ¡°You are Godless as you¡¯ve said. How can you earn the blessings that the summoned have, when you lack their enhanced skills and their potential?¡±


    My words were seemed to be a sword, reaching out and cleaving the resolve of your friend unto twain. But I was wrong, it made him grin, it made him much more manic in his posture and words. For he motioned with one armored hand to his own bosom, tapping then at the chestplate that obscured whatever apparel he wore beneath it.


    ¡°In my world, humanity waged war without magic. We persevered and found ways to slaughter one another through will and ingenuity alone.  We waged war that would not make sense without magic, and should have not been done without the aid it gives. Yet we did so for we wanted it. We defied the laws of our world to slaughter and kill, progress was geared towards it despite many denying such a thing!


    We killed hundreds, thousands and then millions in the name of our religions, country and dogma! There was a war waged solely through swords and will, named the Hundred Year War! Then there were the wars that captured our entire world! Occurring twice with much more bloodshed by each iteration!


    We are the product of that world Aniara, we can claim such blessings through our will alone! We will struggle for it, we will bleed for it, but in the end we will grow through adversity. Because we do not wish to be shackled here, suckling upon the milk of false expectations and venomous words of our ¡®allies¡¯.


    What we wish is for misery, we seek it because through it we will grow. If we experience it truly, then we may know what to expect and adapt accordingly.  We¡¯ll become stronger because of it! Like a sword tempered in the fires of a forge. We ourselves must experience the same with the harsh realities of this new world.¡±


    His argument had much fire in it, yet it relied on knowing your world. I knew little of it, for you three were reclusive and careful in what you said. Yet I felt my heart beat furiously as he explained. For a race without magic to wage such a life of bloodshed, was awe inspiring in many ways than one. It¡¯d shame me if it didn¡¯t inspire such a thing within me. For his words rang true, for it reminded me the way of the Sahdun.


    So with a grin of my own, I said that words that allowed you to escape the stifling walls of this city. The words you swore an oath to.


    ¡°I understand.¡± I began, that grin of mine never leaving my face that perturbed you two, and even Benedict. ¡°I hear you clearly, and I am convinced.¡±


    Elation was seen clearly on his face the moment I uttered those words of approval. Though I was not done, with my approval you would have been wise to assume that it came at a cost. Which you three readily accepted.


    ¡°I shall instruct my Royal Guards and the Guards of the city, to allow you passage outside. Though this comes with a condition.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± I heard him ask, excited and his anticipation clear on the edge of his voice. It was so pleasing to my ears truly, it reminded me much of the culture of my own people. ¡°Any condition is worth it if we are allowed to get out of this place.¡±


    ¡°First, you must swore this with your honor and freedom on the line. That in this leniency of mine, you shall never tell my liege of this very event. That you three found a way to elude my guards, that in your rather candid desire of freedom, you escaped and left this place.


    Second, no matter what you shall not die. This you must see through no matter what, for I shall not allow the hopes of my world die because of this consideration.  In addition to that, you will fulfill your duties as I see fit, for the betterment of this world and most of all¡­ Of the Ivory Concord.


    Lastly, commit no crime. It will stain my honor should you do this, and I will personally see to it that you three will find absolution in any means necessary.


    Should either of these three are broken, you three are bound to my beck and call. This cannot be negotiated, nor can be removed. This is my conditions to you Godless.


    Do you accept?¡±


    A wise man would have needed a minute or an hour to ponder upon the conditions I gave. Yet in is impatience, fury and excitement¡­ He did not ponder, instead, he answered with a loud malign laughter. Bitterness no longer coloring his tone, instead clear apparent joy. One hand reached out to me, and I took it with a natural flourish.


    The cold metal upon my bare hand was of no discomfort, it felt warm instead to me as I gave a gentle smile to him. He was a fool, but a fool after my own heart it seems. One that you cannot help but adore, for their simplicty shined like a virtue.


    ¡°It is a deal.¡± He says so firmly, without even asking for the thoughts of you two. Maybe you have had pondered upon it before barging into my room? Maybe you followed because you have changed his mind regardless? Through this, your fates have been sealed, our honor bound together forever more till I let it go.


    And yet¡­ Here we are.


    Silence came to them as they did not know how to reply. Aniara¡¯s grip upon their wrist tightened, as they felt their entire arm begin to slowly freeze more and be subjected to frostbite. Through this It was clear that she was displeased, that their continued silence only served further irritated her. Though before they could reply, she released their wrists. The chilling and painful cold that was threatening to freeze their very arms, faded so abruptly that there was no hint of it even existing before, aside from the very pain that their minds remember.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± It was Jio that soon broke the encompassing silence, one hand reached out to held the wrist that Aniara grabbed. Upon his expression one could discern clear distaste and pain, twisting his young features into a near-scowl. Yet his eyes expressed clear palpable fear, that drew a frown from Aniara.


    ¡°Your cooperation.¡± She starts, her frown disappearing as she motioned one hand towards the other summoned. ¡°I demand that you two stay within the walls or reaches of this city, for my liege Asairos and the Winter King will personally drew up the coming plans for the march to the Fae Lands.¡±


    ¡°But we can''t stay¡­¡± Carleon interjected his own expression bearing pain and uncertainty, which bled into his very words. ¡°Forgive us, but we have no place among the Blessed.¡±


    ¡°You do.¡± Aniara says flatly, her gaze moving to the weapons they held, yet lingering to what was Benedict¡¯s own blade. ¡°You say that they are unprepared, not ready for the greater world beyond. In a way you are correct, which makes you two necessary.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Carleon murmured as he turned his gaze to look to the other summoned. There he noticed a few were staring at where they stood, seemingly trying to discreetly listen, but found it to be futile. As the three whispered in their conversation.


    ¡°Do not be daft, your time outside of the walls despite it being relatively short. Has tempered you to the proper path, your stance, posture and look indicates that you¡¯ve escaped death more than once. Your presence is needed due to that, to show the Blessed that experience matters above all.


    If it were your friend, he would stay just to spite those he loathes. If you¡¯re confident that Benedict is still alive, then fulfill our deal for the time being. His blade and his death mask is upon you now, honor him through the fulfillment of what he had agreed to.¡±


    ¡°We have something to do outside of these walls.¡± Despite all that however, Carleon spoke resolute. His brown eyes looking to Aniara¡¯s and showing his defiance. Defiance which in its own way, was breaking the very agreement they had agreed to.


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    ¡°It can wait.¡± She intoned, now her words were akin to a weight upon their shoulders. Without realizing it herself, she had raised her own voice, just enough to draw the attention of the other summoned. Ths mattered little however, as the tension between the two sides were seemingly rising.


    One side wished little to do with the following proceedings, the other insisted for the former to stay and delay their plans. None of which desired to budge on the issue, even when their honor was on the very line. This was clearly a situation that words could not so easily solve, yet a sudden voice cut in. Loud, unapologetic and seemingly mocking in its inflections.


    ¡°If they are so desperate to get out of Isalabi, even when winter is coming. Then let them! Let them die! It¡¯s clear they have a deathwish! Just like their foolish friend.¡±


    As one might expected, it was Jasmine. Appearing almost near Aniara, in a manner so unexpected that Jio drew his sword by instinct. Soon however as the blade came out of its sheath, his grip upon its handle tightened in clear rising irritation.


    ¡°What¡¯d ya say?!¡± He barked harshly his eyes squinting as he glared towards Jasmine. Despite this however, Jasmine only chuckled mockingly as she shrugged her shoulders. Aniara made no move to speak, strangely remaining silent as she observed.


    ¡°I said what I said you deaf dolt. You look like some second-grade rogue! I¡¯m impressed you¡¯re even still alive, I half expected for you to be dead just like that criminal.¡±


    ¡°Criminal?!¡± In indignation Jio stepped forward, brandishing his blade to the side as he shifted his posture. ¡°You take that back you bitch!¡±


    ¡°Why should I? It¡¯s the truth! He was a criminal, a coward and one that shames us who are meant to save this world!¡± She says confidently, nearly spurring Jio on to strike if it weren''t for the fact someone else did so first. Which came in the form of a sudden swing from a warhammer that was heading towards Jasmine, with a speed and momentum that shouldn¡¯t have easily gone unnoticed. Yet it did, and the heavy metal of the hammer headed for her head in a clear arc.


    Yet before it had hit, a young voice screamed out to the heavens, accompanied by an almost blinding barrier forming around Jasmine quickly in response. ¡°Protection!¡± The voice had screamed, ringing clearly moments before the hammer¡¯s head reached Jasmine. It coalesced into that very blinding barrier, circular in nature and dome-like, forming itself around Jasmine to protect her from Carleon¡¯s strike.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± His voice could be heard asking as the head of his hammer struck the magical barrier. One might have expected the sound of hammer hitting something to ring out first, yet it was not the first one to boom out. It was the death mask of Benedict which hit the tiled floor, ringing out in an unnatural chorus that drew the attention of all the people within the hall. Only to be joined by the sound of metal hitting metal, letting out a noise not unlike that of a tolling bell.


    ¡°Can you repeat what you have just said?¡± Mere seconds after the initial strike, Carleon was already drawing back his hammer to strike again.  His grip upon the shaft of his weapon was tight and sure, his expression mimicking it by showing only a cold rage. Which in his eyes, was shown to be an almost furious stare.


    Already the others were on the move. Yet it was not fast enough as Carleon¡¯s next strike came and resounded clearly, thunderously clashing against the magical shield. Against all the expectations of the people within the hall, the magical shield faltered, cracking under the sheer force it was subjected to. Then promptly shattering into a cascade of beautiful magical shards. All of which made no audible sound, and instead it was the furious rattling of chains that rang so clearly.


    Beneath the rain of magical shards, Jasmine stared wide eyed and in disbelief. Her features expressed clear shock, as her pale blue eyes looked to Carleon. She had not expected for him to react this way, she expected for it to be Jio, the one who was clearly brash and so clear with his emotions. It should have not been Carleon, who was stoic and understanding, yet it was him. It was he who acted so quickly, wielding his hammer with deadly ease that she did not have time to register an attempt to dodge or defend herself.


    All around here was a flurry of action. Carleon staring at her in spite as he drew his hammer once more to strike her, his tensing movements betraying his utter intent at killing her. Whilst directly to their right Damien and Erica could be seen pushing through the crowd, who were petrified in awe by the sight. Damien himself was in a hurry, his eyes turning gold as he drew his blade from its scabbard. Erica on the other hand was holding what could be described as a wand, using it as she whispered clear words of magical power.


    Though Aniara who was nearest did nothing. She did not seem intent at intervening at all as she observed, the same could be said for many of the Sahdun within the hall itself. With the Winter King himself looking in clear intent, making Asairos look in astonishment as the Royal Guards moved to intercept Carleon¡¯s strike. Yet still it did not seem enough, Carleon¡¯s attack was  faster than it should have been.


    When all seemed to point at a Blessed¡¯s death, a surprise came in the form of Jio¡¯s intervention. He had no hope of stopping the warhammer strike, for it was a foolish thing to even stop with a mere blade alone. Still he did try, and opted for an alternative in the way of using the blunt side of his blade, and striking downwards just when Carleon made his move.


    In a desperate gamble, Jio had opted to hit the two chains that connected the hammer to Carleon¡¯s dominant arm. In a show of strength and quick thinking, he had in turn managed to interfere with the course of the warhammer. Allowing Jasmine to be missed by mere inches as the hammer struck nothing but air. There was a moment of silence as the two looked at each other¡¯s eyes, each one knew what they did was in its own way necessary.


    -


    It happened far too quickly for anyone to have reasonably expected, yet it also ended far faster than one might have assumed given the circumstance. With Jio¡¯s intervention Carleon drew back his warhammer, only to be beset by a sudden spell that summoned vines that constricted his form. He was not worried about this, as his face was that a mask of seething fury, which only intensified when Damien moved to point his blade towards Carleon.


    ¡°How dare you!¡± Damien yelled in righteous fury, his eyes staring daggers at Carleon¡¯s form who only returned it with a dismissive glare. ¡°You would strike a fellow summoned?! Are you Godless this bloodthirsty?!¡±


    It was clear that Damien was overwhelmed by emotion, as his own friend and party member was nearly killed. None could blame him for what he felt, yet in part it was Jasmine¡¯s fault as she had incited Carleon¡¯s reaction. Though Carleon merely frowned, shrugging his shoulders as he instead turned to look to Aniara. Giving her one simple nod, before his attention turned back to Damien.


    ¡°Your friend.¡± He began, his word rolling out in obvious anger as he motioned towards Jasmine.¡±Insulted my best friend. If you think I will let the fact that we are Godless to be an excuse for her to insult him, then Damien, I will have to ask forgiveness because next time¡­ Jio here won''t be enough to stop me. I¡¯ll see to it that she knows how to hold back her tongue.¡±


    ¡°Carl!¡± Jio quickly butted in, moving forward and holding his friend¡¯s shoulder rather firmly. ¡°Calm down, there¡¯s no need for this. We still have something we need to do!¡±


    Jio reasoned with surprising worry as his previous anger was doused cool by the situation. It was perturbing to see the two express themselves differently, which Damien did not take well as he clicked his tongue. He was being ignored by them once more, he knew very well that they disliked him, but he never expected that one of them would go this far in anger.


    The situation itself was growing tense and awkward, more so than before as the Royal Guards surrounded Carleon with their weapons at the ready. It was clear that they did not intend to let him so easily escape, not when he had just attempted to kill one of the summoned. But there was one thing that clashed with the tense atmosphere. It was the sound of clapping, resonating out from armored hands hitting one another.


    The source of it was the Winter King himself, whose gaze was firmly fixed upon Carleon himself.  For what seemed to be a minute, the clapping continued until the other Sahdun soon joined in, with Uron himself clapping rather excitedly, a goofy grin plastered on his place. All of them save for the Winter King thought of the scene they had seen, as something grandiose. For to them what they had seen was not Carleon attempting to murder a precious summoned, but a friend that would not allow any venomous words to tarnish the honor and memory of his friend.


    As for the Winter King himself, he only stopped clapping once the attention of everyone was on to him. Asairos who sat on his throne looked wide eyed, his mind in a total fritz as what he had witnessed was too bizarre to stomach. He had read the reports on the Godless, their actions and their growth throughout their days outside of the city. He knew, as much as one could through secondhand information, that Carleon was not this kind of individual.


    He was not that kind of individual to just suddenly attack, to strike with cold hate with the intent of killing so casually. Yet he did, and the Winter King¡¯s clapping made his mind go blank. For it meant this ancient elf was approving of what Carleon did, and what happened next only confirmed that very assumption.


    ¡°Donem sat tu veshe.¡± The native tongue of the Sahdun was spoken with great mirth in the Winter King¡¯s voice, as despite his unnatural tone he expressed great joy. That chilling sound that escaped his cage-like helm of his sending tremors down everyone else¡¯s skin.


    ¡°Donem sat tu, Vehjan Mikal.¡± Carleon replied after a moment of silence, respectfully lowering his head in a sign of obeisance. His own pronunciation of the Sahdun¡¯s tongue was rough, sluggish and boorish compared to the well practice pronunciation of the Winter King. Yet the ancient Sahdun did not take offense, instead he turned to Asairos, leaving much of the summoned and the Godless quite baffled.


    ¡°Desha, I have been wrong in my assumptions.¡± He says to Asairos, who could only raise his brows in surprise. ¡°It seems my disapproval of all the summoned is unwarranted, some of them deserve respect. They posses donem, that is enough for me. So desha, I was too hasty in my thoughts back then.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for this.¡± Asairo says, eyes narrowing in slight curiosity as Leila watched silently. Taking everything in as her father continued. ¡°Will we have your full support then against this coming dark?¡± Asairos asked this almost in jest, to which the Winter King replied with a short laugh.


    ¡°Donem sat tu, we will not break the ancient oaths of this Ivory Concord. Though, I wish for you two let that boy receive no punishment.¡± With what can only be a smirk hidden behind the bars of his helm, the Winter King turned to regard Carleon once more.


    ¡°I see no reason to punish him, as he did not truly harm Jasmine.¡± Asairos says, though his words bearing uncertainty. For Damien looked in utter shock, as with all others aside from the gathered Sahdun. Quickly after regaining his bearings, he spoke out, protesting against such a thing.


    ¡°But my King! This Godless nearly killed Jasmine! He did so unprovoked, if it weren''t for Erica¡¯s quick thinking she¡¯d have died on the first blow! We cannot do such treacherous things to one another, not when you¡¯ve clearly said the Creeping Dark is active within the Fae Lands!¡±


    Though it was the Winter King that replied first with mocking boisterous laughter. He found what Damien said to be amusing, as he motioned towards the other summoned with one hand.


    ¡°What that Godless did was right, your comrade not only insulted the memory of his dearest friend, but spat upon his honor. His reaction was well warranted, his rage singing a hymn of righteousness through his weapon. With two mere blows he fell a magical spell, which shouldn¡¯t have been possible given his lack of a God.


    Yet look, I stood witnessed with my own people, to the strength of his honor and will. It is a humbling thought that not only have I seen such a pure rage, but also hear the tongue of my people spoken and understood by one not from our realm.¡±


    ¡°What he did was dishonorable!¡± Damien reasoned, to which the Winter King merely scoffed at.


    ¡°It is only honorable for one to defend their friend¡¯s honor no matter the circumstance. You who is the blessed champion of Aurolos is but a blind child, your thoughts of honor is far dimmer than what I¡¯ve expected.


    Plus, it was your comrade that tried to incite such a reaction from them. Her words were mocking them, it is not them that must repent and be punished, it must be your friend.¡±


    ¡°No! That¡¯s unreasonable! She did nothing of that sort!¡± Damien says heatedly, to which the Winter King merely reacted with a flick of his hand. Which soon caused the very vines that constricted Carleon to freeze over and shatter.


    ¡°Ask her yourself Champion. For all I care, it is them that holds honor.¡± The Winter King says firmly, with him moving his attention back to Carleon who gave a reluctant bow towards him. This brings out an unseen smile from him, as he motioned for the godless to go, as it was clear that they did not wish to stay within this room.


    ¡°Go in honor Godless. ¡° He says, to which the two godless did so, quickly turning around with Carleon moving hastily. Whilst Jio himself lingered, looking back to Jasmine who stood seemingly petrified and in shock, as Erica was trying to gently goad her comrade out of her shock.


    ¡°Jasmine, what you saw wasn¡¯t real, it wasn¡¯t real!¡± He could hear her say, as the smaller and younger girl began to use her wand to use what healing spells she knew. Though he couldn''t stay any longer as Carleon moved pass Aniara, who only gave a nod of acknowledgement. But once he passed by her, she whispered clearly for a moment, which reached his ears effortlessly.


    ¡°Report to my office tomorrow.¡± Was what she said, as she moved to disperse her Royal Guards, right before motioning for one to retrieve one of the healers to tend to Jasmine herself.


    -


    With no one able to hear it, a laugh came as the Godless walked out of the hall. Right behind them a thing of nightmarish quality followed, a being that could only be described as the embodiment of every debased ideals, fears and monstrous lust for knowledge followed them. It was vaguely humanoid, its upper portions resembling a dessicated human covered in an ancient black cloak, whilst its lower half was nothing more than a mass of undulating ichor, tentacles and screaming faces that propelled it forward.


    With its own dessicated face bearing a ghoulish grin, with what should be hollowed eye sockets bearing eyes that held strange twin-merged irises that look in want. Matching the fact that upon its hands it held a strange grimoire and a thurible that swayed, holding a mass of eyes that looked around in clear terror. No one else could see it, no one else could hear it, all except for those that held the book it resided. Yet, he had revealed itself to another, to one known as Jasmine.


    It did this when its wielder felt great anger, a cold anger like none other, that lured it out from its usual blabbering of information to aid its wielder. Coming out of the book itself and revealing itself to that very girl, who could do nothing but stare in shock. That very look was delectable, so strange that it wanted to see its face squashed underneath, so it gave its wielder a gentle push. A small stripping of inhibition, and it was all that was needed to shatter such feeble magic that tried to protect Jasmine from its wielder.


    Though alas, another of its wielders stopped the act. Stopping Carleon from killing that girl, it could have felt sadness, anger or any other emotion. But it didn¡¯t, for as soon as the situation ended it got to speak again. To whisper to the ears of its wielder, telling him of the information that needed to be known, for the Winter King spoke.


    Then it was happy, content to follow, content to aid these hollow humans that served as little more than beacons to his disparate kind. For they were denying fate, so desperately trying to fight against it, that it could not help but wish to help, to lust to aid them for its own amusement.


    For there was only bloodshed before them. A life full of it that it¡¯d prove so pleasant, that it did not mind letting itself be used for whatever notions of ¡®honor¡¯ or ¡®morality¡¯ that its wielders clung to. It didn''t matter, not to it, for it only wanted amusement. Which these two could offer in full, once they continue struggle against fate itself.


    So it grinned more, speaking and speaking to Carleon, who briskly walk, trying to ignore its whisperings. Which was impossible.


    ¡°The Sahdun value honor above all in many of their traditions, it is the hallmark of their kind, their primary vir¡­.¡±

 Chapter Fifteen: Exalted Promise

    ¡°For what I have done, I may not find any sort of redemption¡­ As unwilling as I was, I am still an accomplice. So I stand here, before the shattered gate. I had thought that this¡­ Would have spilled hope, but nay, it did not. What it did, only delayed the madness that now comes. Already the others, damn them in their greed, have turned mad. They are in the camps, fornicating like wild beasts, whilst some are beset by madness, scaring themselves in some occultist fashion in honor for some fell thing.


    I did not want that, so I sit here, pondering and writing, as I hear the beating of this trapped beast. Though I wish that it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I¡¯m certain that an ichor is¡­ Spilling from beneath the rubbles, bearing what I can only describe as cephalopod-like eggs.¡±


    -Scholar Torimak; Page 41, Expedition unto the Fae Lands


    For what good it did, Damien paced around the room in clear restrained anger and uncertainty. Though most of it was mainly due to the deep worry he felt. For it had been exactly an hour and a half ever since Carleon¡¯s sudden display of hostility. The memory of it was extremely clear, far clearer than he¡¯d ever have had if it weren¡¯t for his patron God. Due to its clarity, he could clearly remember how it happened, how fast it went, and how intent Carleon was at killing Jasmine. If it weren¡¯t for Erica¡¯s sudden spell of protection, he knew with a heavy heart, Jasmine would have died right there. Her head caved in by the sheer force Carleon swung his hammer.


    A force which in his experience, should not be possible for a Godless. Yet it did, quite unlike the time he had fought with Benedict in that hasty duel. A duel he himself did not want, as he knew Benedict held much disdain for him, and in a way most likely felt insecure and insulted by the events prior to it. Still with little choice in his own part, Damien accepted the duel. In which he won with some effort on his part, as Benedict fought with a ferocity of a murderous thing, fueled by rage and a desire to inflict as much pain as he could. Yet it wasn¡¯t enough, as many of his strikes lacked strength or coordination, allowing for Damien to end it in just four minutes according to others.


    But in this instance with Carleon, it was a farcry as to what Benedict had displayed. The warhammer Carleon wielded from his own observation, was made from metal. All of it was made from metal, which would have had impacted Carleon¡¯s skill with it, yet he had swung it with little to no difficulties in his part. Indicating something incredibly wrong, which he was forced to ponder upon as no sooner did the Godless leave, Jasmine had collapsed and seemingly passed out. He had quickly assumed Carleon did something, but Erica assured him that she passed out merely due to shock.


    Which led to where he is now, as Jasmine was brought to the infirmary located within the castle. According to the healers that attended to her, there wouldn¡¯t be any lasting effects on her health, as Carleon had done nothing to her. Though that did little to ease his worry, as Jasmine was in a state of shock with Erica telling her something strange. It made him sick to think that something had happened without him knowing, especially now that Carleon revealed he was nearly similar to Benedict, in terms of how brutal they were in their anger that is


    In all honesty, he did not wish to lump the Godless into just being spiteful and hateful beings. But their actions had so far painted them as that, except for Jio, who he needed to thank for stopping Carleon¡¯s last strike. Though a part of him felt incredibly perturbed, as for the months they¡¯ve been within this world, they as the Blessed were lauded as great people. People that held much potential and power, with the other¡¯s own display of abilities and strength, he was convinced of this and tried to not let it get into his head.


    Yet Carleon who was a normal teenager like they once were, so easily shattered Erica¡¯s spell of protection. It reminded him that this world worked differently, that even the Godless could become a threat to them. He did not know if it was Carleon¡¯s own strength that allowed him to shatter that spell, or it was something else, but it still made him uncomfortable. For the Godless had experienced the world outside, a world which due to how the two had dressed and acted, he could only assume to be far more violent than he had initially assumed.


    It made him more worried than he initially was, making him think of their purpose here. Though before that, his attention was stolen by an incredibly young voice. Gentle and hesitant in its own way, followed by a thug on the sleeve of his shirt. He knew who it was, and he could not help but smile. For it was Erica, the youngest of all the Blessed.


    ¡°Damien? Are you okay?¡± Erica asked with a curious gaze on her young face, as she sat next to the bed Jasmine¡¯s sleeping form laid upon. ¡°Are you still thinking about what happened? I told you already! It wasn¡¯t Carleon, so please don¡¯t be mad about it.¡±


    She was a young girl, no older than fifteen by her own account. A gentle youth whose white skin complemented her slowly maturing look, with her height being a solid 4¡¯5 tall, which coupled with her emerald eyes and yellow hair made her look incredibly adorable. For her face was that of a blossoming beauty, if nurtured properly would make her into a truly desirable lady in the future. But as of now, she was still childish, which unfortunately made her be seen as inexperienced by the other Blessed. Though her skill in magic and the seeing of auras, at the very least allowed her to be taken seriously when she insisted.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t him? Erica, how could it not be him? He was the one that swung the hammer.¡± Damien replied with a sigh, not stopping his pacing in the mostly empty room they were in. She had told him this after Jasmine had passed out, yet it did little to convince him. As the strike from Carleon did not hold any hesitation, just like how Benedict had tried to inflict pain upon him months ago.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you see how he struck his hammer against the barrier? The sound it produced is a testament to how willing he was to inflict pain. Even just for the fact that Jasmine had said something she shouldn¡¯t have, it¡¯s unacceptable! We¡¯re Summoned here for a greater purpose, I understand that the two are sore about Benedict¡¯s death¡­


    But it¡¯s not a valid excuse for him to just try and kill Jasmine! Not only that, to leave without apologising?! It¡¯s frustrating¡­¡±


    There was clear frustration in Damien¡¯s words, his very eyes turning gold once more as he tried his best not to let his fury overwhelm him. Erica who watched in silence, could not help but sigh and furrow her brows. For when Damien was like this, it was very hard to get her point across, for his passion and love for everyone he consider his allies, proved a great detriment to his capacity to think rationally.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t him, please believe me on this.¡± She starts with a frown, one hand gently lifting the wooden wand in her hand to point it towards Damien. ¡°We may not know the Godless as well as the others, but Carleon has shown himself to be the voice of reason in their trio. Even still with what Jasmine did, he shouldn¡¯t have had reacted that way. Plus¡­ There¡¯s something wrong, incredibly wrong with the situation.¡±


    With a click of his tongue, Damien nodded as he motioned for Erica to continue. Even if he was unwilling to admit it, she was right. He did not think Carleon could be as bloodthirsty as Benedict, given the fact that he had seen him to be very reasonable. A man of rationality in many respects. Though such a rationality was absent on the incident an hour ago.


    With great hesitation in her party, she lowered her wand and gently shook it. In a surprising effect, it turned into a staff which she gently placed to the side as she lowered her gaze.  Damien discerned quickly that she looked distressed or ashamed, which made him worry for her, as he could not help but think of her as a little sister.


    ¡°Hours ago¡­ When you asked me if the Godless reminded me of something, I told you they reminded me of men from the occult. People who are trying to bring old gods back to life. Well, it¡¯s true¡­ They did remind me of that, but it wasn¡¯t because the way they looked. It¡¯s¡­ Something else, it was because of their aura.¡±


    ¡°Aura?¡± Damien quickly questioned in confusion. ¡°You told me that they didn¡¯t have any? That the Godless don''t have any sort of aura, that they¡¯re like a clean slate. Waiting to be filled by something greater. Were you lying?¡±


    ¡°N-No! I wasn¡¯t lying!¡± She replied quickly, looking up with slightly teary eyes as Damien quickly regretted his words. ¡°They didn¡¯t have auras, two months ago they were just¡­ Blank, nothing in them. My teacher said that it was unnatural for them to be like this, as everything in this world had auras! We assumed it was because they were from a different world, just like us¡­


    But when they came back they¡­ They had auras, d-different from what I was told about. Looking at it is painful too, like a bright source of light¡­ Their auras were something else, it didn¡¯t have a single color, in fact it was constantly changing. As if they were undergoing some tumultuous change that they didn¡¯t notice¡­ B-But not only that, their auras refuse to confirm in their forms. Writhing like some¡­ Cancerous mass of flesh, shifting and forming into things I don¡¯t know how to describe.


    They reminded me of the mad occultists of the world I¡¯m from, my mother had told me that they¡¯re long gone. That the last vestiges of their cult was wiped out centuries ago¡­ But one thing she told me of, is that they tried to bring dead gods back to life. The Godless¡¯s aura¡­ Reminds me of that, I don¡¯t know why but it does and it makes me afraid.¡±


    ¡°Is this why¡­ You said that something was wrong with the situation?¡±  Damien asked when Erica had gone silent. Her expression showed great fear, which spurred him to approaching her and gently patting her head. This was an act that most commonly calmed her, which she didn¡¯t protest to as she nodded shortly.


    ¡°Moments before Carleon did his strike, I noticed it. A sudden¡­ Strange and scary feeling, the one you feel when you think something is following you in the dark. When I turned to look¡­ Carleon¡¯s aura had changed, it was a sickly green¡­ I don¡¯t know how, but it was malicious, malevolent and it stuck to his form.


    B-Behind him¡­ Behind him was¡­¡±


    ¡°Behind him was what?¡± Damien asked as hesitation overtook her again, making her tense up in fear. This was not natural at all, making him wish to know what was causing this much fear. But before he could get an answer, Jasmine stirred to their left, groaning groggily as she woke up.


    ¡°Behind him¡­ Was a monster.¡± She flatly said, slowly sitting up as Erica looked to her in relief. Quickly the younger girl moved to hug Jasmine, who could only sigh in irritation as Erica nuzzled her head against her own chest. The younger girl was worried for her, this Jasmine understood as she returned the hug reluctantly.


    ¡°A monster?¡± Damien asked as Erica stopped the hug, gingerly sitting back on the chair as she carefully reached for something on her pocket. Jasmine for the most part slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes and trying to find something that wasn''t there. Soon after a moment of silence, Erica offered Jasmine her glasses, which she took with a nod of thanks before putting it on.


    ¡°A monster.¡± Jasmine then repeated, as Erica nodded in response. For a moment Damien looked quite confused, as he saw no such thing behind Carleon. Though with Jasmine¡¯s serious expression, he had no choice to believe her, for she wasn¡¯t the type to lie so flatly to his face. Erica on the other hand was clearly afraid, to the point she was hesitant on describing what she saw.


    ¡°That thing¡­ Did something.¡± Much in contrast to the younger girl, Jasmine expressed great annoyance and anger. ¡°It robbed me of my body, paralyzing my form with a sort of magic. I could do nothing as Carleon did his strike, with one of its hands holding on to his very shoulder. I think it¡¯s why Carleon even attacked in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Y-Yeah! It held Carleon¡¯s shoulder and seemed to have been whispering to his ear¡­ I think it¡¯s also why Carleon wielded his warhammer so quickly!¡±  Erica quickly supplemented what Jasmine said, the younger girl was quite glad she didn¡¯t need to ponder upon the look of that creature, as she was in no way even capable of describing it properly. Though no sane man could ever do so.


    ¡°Thanks for the barrier.¡± Jasmine says then with a pat on Erica¡¯s head. The younger girl could only smile as she was praised, and for the most part that Jasmine was fine. Yet despite that she had a look of annoyance crossing her face, as she pondered over the situation she had been on a mere hour ago. The more she thought about it, the more sullen she grew to be, culminating with her letting out a largely exaggerated exasperated sigh.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Damien could not help but ask, quite confused at this display from Jasmine. For what she knew about her, painted her as someone who wouldn¡¯t sigh like this, nor would she seem to be unaffected by a harrowing event such as almost getting killed. Of course, that was just going off information he knew of her, as she frequently had come and go upon her own leisure.


    ¡°Jio saved me, didn¡¯t he?¡± Suddenly she asked that, her expression still bearing that look of extreme annoyance. She did not like having been saved by Jio, for what reason there may be, Damien and Erica could not know. For she kept her thoughts a secret, even as to why she loathed the Godless far more than the others.


    ¡°Yes he did. He saved you from Carleon¡¯s third strike, he did it surprisingly quickly. If it weren¡¯t for him your head would have been¡­ Flattened.¡± Sighing partly in shame, Damien replied in the affirmative to Jasmine. This only made her mood more sullen again, as she brought one hand to move her glasses up to rest on her forehead, right before rubbing her face with both of her hands. Screaming in great annoyance onto her hands, muffling the noise quite a bit due to it.


    Both Damien and Erica could only look in shock as to what she had just did. As Jasmine quickly put her glasses back in place, softly pressing her index finger against the bridge of her nose as she spoke, acting as if she didn¡¯t just do that. Which prompted for Damien to try and speak out, only for him to be distracted once again. Which drew an annoyed grunt from him, as the door into the room let out soft thuds indicative of someone knocking.


    ¡°Hey Damien! It¡¯s Harold!¡± A muffled voice said behind the door, causing Jasmine to frown. ¡°Don¡¯t let him in.¡± She quickly said, to which Damien just shook his head as he opted to open the door. There once the door was open, the summoned known as Harold could be seen. He was, as one could describe without bias, was a pretty boy. More so than Damien could ever be.


    He was quite tall, a solid 6¡¯0 in height, that matched his slightly built physique. Which complimented the fact he was of a browner complexion, bearing quite the innocent yet handsome look. That was paired with his long black hair, followed by black eyes. If one could choose a distinction as to why he was more of a pretty boy than Damien, it was due to the fact he had this gentle smile constantly on his face. Though this did not match the fact that he was the chosen of a God of War.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re already awake!¡± He says once the door was fully opened. With a quick hug towards Damien, which he returned happily, Harold walked in to reveal that he wasn¡¯t alone. Behind him was a girl and a boy respectively. Both of which were familiar faces to the three already within the room. Though upon seeing the girl, Jasmine could not help but just grimace at the sight of her.


    The girl in question was Julia, Harold¡¯s childhood friend and the chosen of a God of Storms. She was a bit different than one might expect from a summoned female, as her brown complexion was paired with clear mannish apparel. Quite similar to what Harold wore, in the respect that they both wore practical clothing most common to the summoned. However unlike the former, paired it up with leather equipment. Having a vest made out of the material which had a gorget-like addition to its collar. She of the same heigh as Harold.


    Her hair was quite long though tied back to a ponytail, with her showing a rather mischievous grin to Jasmine.  Her own black eyes had a glint of playful intent behind them, as she decided to stand to the side as Harold quickly moved towards Jasmine.


    The other male however, was the chosen of the Goddess of Curiosity. He was known as Greg, for the fact that his given name was unnaturally long. Not to mention its pronunciation was incredibly hard. He was for the most part plain, albeit paler than normal and a bit gaunt, though nearly as tall as Harold. With him bearing bags under his blue  eyes, and an incredibly floofy hair, all paired with normal clothing. Though topped with his own custom coat, which had padding within, and terminated upon his thighs which was a bit impractical in some regard.


    With a short lag in his movements, he entered the room and closed the door behind him. Upon his arms, he had hugged what was clearly a plushy of a fantasy-eagle. Which had six ruby-like eyes, whilst in general it had fluffy grey and black colored feathers, which covered all of its form saved for its legs, which had quite the large talons. Upon the sight of it, Erica looked quite excited and clearly wanted to hug it herself.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re not harmed Jasmine. It¡¯d be a shame if we lose one of our greatest trackers.¡± Though by then Harold had already spoken to Jasmine. Smiling quite happily as he patted her shoulder without any other motivation. ¡°It¡¯s really good that you¡¯re awake to! Aniara just called for you, Damien, Erica and yours truly to go to her office tomorrow. Though I¡¯m not sure what is it about.¡±


    ¡°What? Really?¡± Damien asked in confusion. To which Harold nods as he turned to stand by his side.


    ¡°Yeah, she told me to inform you three. Since you ran off with Jasmine to the infirmary when she passed out. I was happy to oblige, since I was quite worried to! Carleon just swinging his hammer, damn it¡¯s almost like Bobby¡¯s own swing!  Especially how the barrier rang like a bloody bell. So props to you Erica when you casted it quickly.¡±


    With a smile, Harold showed a thumbs up to Erica. Who by now was next to Greg, hugging the plushy which he once was holding. Greg on the other hand seemed to be not paying attention, just seemingly spacing out. Softly she nodded proudly, followed by her nuzzling the soft plushy in great glee.


    ¡°Pfft, couldn¡¯t you have had dodged it?¡± Then Julia spoke, her voice clearly mocking Jasmine as she neared. With a boyish grunt, she crossed her arms and pointed a finger towards Jasmine. ¡°Thought you were the fastest of us? Seems like Carleon scared you badly!¡±


    ¡°Tch. Spare me your jests Julia, I don¡¯t find them funny.¡± Jasmine coldly retorted, frowning in disdain as Julia merely stuck her tongue out in reply. ¡°Really mature of you Julia, no wonder no guys like you. Can¡¯t see a man liking someone as rude as you.¡±


    ¡°Che, at least there are guys that like tough girls. Not sure if anyone will like you, who¡¯s quite cold and would disappear on her leisure. You wouldn¡¯t make a good mother.¡± Julia shot back with a giggle, to which Jasmine just replied with an angry growl.


    Before any more harsh words could be said, Harold quickly intervene with a rather tense expression. ¡°Err, don¡¯t fight! Sorry for Julia¡¯s words, she¡¯s really just worried about you! It¡¯s why she even came with me!¡± Though his words meant little as Jasmine just dismissively glared at Julia, who had quite the happy grin on her face.


    ¡°Now now, let¡¯s not let this get out of hand.¡±  Damien intervened, gently standing between the two and holding up his hands. ¡°If anything else, I think it¡¯s best if we let Jasmine rest, unless you have anything more to say,¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, I don¡¯t need to rest.¡± Jasmine quickly said, sighing as she tried to sit up, only to be stopped by Damien who had a rather insistent look to his face. ¡°Yes you do!¡± He says.


    ¡°Actually there¡¯s something we did need to tell you three.¡± Harold says after a moment, looking as if he had just remembered something important. ¡°It¡¯s something related to the Godless actually. Greg can tell you more!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Damien tilted his head in confusion, as he looked to Greg. Who still was spaced out, with Erica quite occupied with the plushy he had brought. ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem to be paying attention¡­¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Oh sorry about that. Hey! Greg! Greg!¡± Harold quickly turned to Greg, snapping his fingers before shaking Greg rather suddenly. At the sudden noise and movements, Greg was snapped out of his daze and looked around confused.


    ¡°You had something to say about the Godless, right Greg?¡± At Harold¡¯s question, Greg nodded as he stifled a slight yawn. As he seemed to have had managed to sleep with his eyes wide open, which Harold didn¡¯t quite mind.


    ¡°Ah yeah, forgive me for that lapse of attention on my part.¡± Greg began, bowing formally for a moment before looking to Erica. Who still was quite occupied with his plushy. ¡°As Harold has stated, I¡¯ve come here to tell you something about the Godless. Rather, a warning for the betterment of us all.¡±


    ¡°A¡­ Warning?¡± Damien asked confused, which caught the attention of both Jasmine and Erica.


    Solemnly he nodded in confirmation, adjusting his coat a bit as he rubbed his eyes. ¡°Erica should have seen it, Jasmine too. Though I must explain fully. There¡¯s something incredibly wrong with the Godless, this I do not say lightly, rather firmly. For unlike us, they have had experienced the world beyond these walls. It is very evident in their actions, as they are quite tense and refuse to remove their armor. However, their wrongness does not stem from that.


    Rather something in their very being. You¡¯ve seen it, that sudden show of hostility, that strike that shouldn¡¯t have been possible. Most of all that thing behind Carleon, I believe it plays a huge part on how the two are so¡­ Malign in their quality. What I see in them is something more than that, something we shouldn¡¯t even try to comprehend. Though it is obvious that whatever fell thing is influencing them, it is giving them a huge boon.


    What may have had led them to this, I may not rightly be able to assume. But know this, it¡¯s less than a blessing and more than a curse. Something more than the gifts our Gods gave us, yet also at the same time something far more malicious. So I must implore you three to not dive to deep in what they have encountered, and not to even attempt to antagonize them. For unlike many of us, this thing that influences them, and their experience with the world outside¡­


    Makes them quite the terrifying enemies. For as Carleon has shown, if given the proper motivation, even just the slightest of nudges in the direction of wrath. They can and kill without mercy.¡±


    With Greg¡¯s warning, all who were present could not help but take him seriously. For all the days they have known him, he wasn¡¯t one for conversation. In fact he was mostly sleeping or just replying with short responses. Not really giving a care for all around him, yet now that he was speaking more than a few words had a strange impact on them. Especially with how clear he was in his words, telling them of why the Godless shouldn¡¯t even be slighted in any capacity.


    ¡°So take heed, for what I saw was something unknown even to me or the Herald of my God. That¡­ Abyss, it runs deep and I fear anyone who seeks to understand it¡­ Will only find damnation in the end,¡±


    -


    It had been a day since Carleon¡¯s violent attack. It surprised everyone present within the scene, and even Jio was taken back by such an act. For he like many of the summoned, did not even expect Carleon to be that violent. In that time since, he had not inquired as to why Carleon did it. As he had assumed that it was due to how Jasmine had mocked Benedict and his death, which stung a sore part within both of their hearts. In that part he could sympathize with Carleon, though he knew that it was wrong for him to have had tried to kill Jasmine.


    As such he did not attempt to ask anymore, as Carleon¡¯s face held much uncertainty and conflict within them that Jio hesitated to even think of asking. For the entire day since his attempt, Carleon had locked himself within his room, only emerging when he needed to acquire or do something. For the most part only doing so when he needed to eat. This worried Jio greatly, but he could do little as Carleon himself was unwilling to even speak with in that time.


    It was only now did Carleon suddenly emerge, joining Jio when he was headed for Aniara¡¯s office. They made not attempt to speak, causing an awkward air to brew between them. The two tried not to mine it, but it was palpable enough that both knew each one had their own questions, their own thoughts speaking of something they were incredibly hesitant to say. Alas, none had the courage to ask. For Jio himself found it hard to ask, for he feared that it may cause some damage which he didn¡¯t need to do. Not when that incident was still quite fresh.


    It was due to this, that they spent half an hour in silence, walking towards Aniara¡¯s office. Both knew that the overall Commander of the Royal Guard needed them to do something, something they should have been informed yesterday. If it weren¡¯t for Jasmine¡¯s sudden words, and Carleon¡¯s rather hasty and murderous act.  So upon reaching the door to Aniara¡¯s office, which was located upon the eastern wing of the palace.


    With an unspoken agreement, Jio entered first with a knock followed by Carleon himself. Upon their entrance into the room, they saw Aniara sitting upon her chair near her table. Her form was armored, quite unlike the last time they¡¯ve been in this very room. Upon her hands she held up Benedict¡¯s death mask, the morbid work of art was gently held by her fingers, with the Sahdun herself examining it with great intent and clear idle boredom.


    It took her a moment to register that the two had entered, by then they were already standing before her table. With a soft sigh on her part, she offered the skull to Jio. Who quickly took it back with a thankful look to his face. Both of them had forgotten about it due to the incident yesterday, and Aniara took it upon herself to keep it safe. As she felt it was a waste for it to go unused.


    ¡°Carleon.¡± She intoned once a good minute of silence had passed, her hands moving to pull a drawer open and reach out for something. At her sudden call, Carleon visibly stiffen. His own breathing growing erratic as his grip on his ever present warhammer tightened.


    ¡°At ease.¡± She says once she pulled out what was clearly a neatly rolled up parchment. Tied with a velvet cloth that bore the insignia of the Ivory Concord, which was a skeletal fist covered by what seemed to be vines. ¡°I did not call you two here to reprimand you for what you did yesterday. It had been resolved, and my liege had saw it fit not to punish you. For that I have no qualms with, for you had served as a reminder to the summoned.¡±


    Confusion was now visible on Carleon¡¯s face. He had fully expected to be admonished for what he did, and yet he wasn¡¯t. Rather it seemed that Aniara was alright with it, as he had not truly been able to harm Jasmine. Though he could not help but weakly ask. ¡°What?¡±


    To which Anira smiled, offering a wave of her hand towards him as she spoke. ¡°You showed the Godless, that even with all their skills, magic and blessings from their Gods, that something as strange as you two can pose a threat to them. I had intended for this to happen much later, to be executed in a less murderous way you see.


    It is quite lucky that you didn¡¯t harm Jasmine, for that would have led to a punishment regardless of what the Winter King wanted. For that I must commend you two, for showing that the Blessed still needed to know more, to be more prepared for attacks from within, and for stopping Carleon before it was too late.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ Why are we here then?¡± Jio then asked, asking on behalf of Carleon who was quite relieved that he was not getting punished. For both knew they had one thing they still needed to do, that not even Aniara could be allowed to know.


    ¡°The King and the Winter King had devised a plan to hasten the growth of the Blessed. It is true that you will have no true part in this, but I believe it will be beneficial for not only you two, but the Blessed as well with your experience in the field. For you two, just as how Carleon had did so a day ago, will be a glaring reminder to the Blessed.


    A reminder that potential is useless without proper experience.¡±


    With a smile not unlike one would show when shown something adorable, Aniara smiled warmly. Her eyes not really looking at them as she was looking to the scroll she held upon her hand. The two did not know how to reply, for whatever they did reply with, they couldn¡¯t back out of it. Though regardless of that Carleon had nodded and spoke next.


    ¡°Tell us of this plan then, what is it really? I know we don¡¯t have much of a choice in this, so I¡¯d rather know what we¡¯re getting into.¡±


    At his inquiry, Aniara nodded as she placed the scroll on the table. As she went to reach out for another object, which this time was a map of the Lonesome Frost. Compared to the detailed maps of their world, this one was clearly archaic and inconsistent, though it outline a surprising number of both Human and Sahdun settlements. Even highlighting previously unknown places, which the two did not see in the maps they¡¯ve acquired for the Lonesome Frost.


    ¡°My liege and the Winter King had decided to make the Blessed take a pilgrimage to the Temple of Exaltation. It is where the chosen of the Gods, or their children go to when they seek guidance or more boons.¡± She began her explanation as she evenly placed the map on her table, putting away the scroll for a moment to the side as she pointed on the map. To an area far to the east, deep into the lands that would be hit the hardest by the winter that was coming.


    ¡°Of course, the path there is wrought with danger and much uncertainty. Though with the insistence of the Winter King, he explained that the very danger the Blessed will face will be beneficial. For it will not only allow them to apply their learned skills, but give them the necessary experience to realize that this world is far from merciful.


    Of course we¡¯re not foolish enough to send the Blessed into such an endeavor without something to aid them. Some of my Royal Guards and many of the Knights from Isalabi will accompany them. However, the Blessed shall be split into a total of four teams, composed of ten members in total. You two will belong to one of these, while the other excess two will belong to another. Making two have twelve members instead of ten.


    I¡¯ve considered splitting you two up, but it¡¯s not beneficial. As I know you two will easily temper one another, letting not one of you do something stupid.¡±


    Taking a moment to digest what Aniara said, the two nodded after what seemed to be an eternity. This proved to be something unexpected, as they were essentially going to be partaking in what clearly was an expedition into the far eastern portion of the Lonesome Frost. The two had indeed gone almost near it, but had to pullback as they were called by Leila. But they knew enough and faced enough of the native things there, that they knew it wasn¡¯t easy. With or without a large number of blessed to help them.


    ¡°What of the supplies? Will we have carts? Horses?¡± Quickly however, Jio spoke up and looked closely to the map. From what he could see, it would take weeks at best to even reach that place. And that was being optimistic about it. ¡°From what I can see¡­ It¡¯ll take a bout several weeks? Yeah, weeks till we get there.¡±


    ¡°A month.¡± Carleon quickly corrected, sighing as he tapped a finger to the Temple of Exaltation¡¯s location. ¡°Winter is beginning, by the time we reach halfway¡­ The snowfall should be quite heavy, hampering much of our progress and possibly making us lose our initial path. We¡¯re no expect trackers or pathfinders, but even with them if we¡¯re not careful it¡¯ll take a month for us to reach that place.¡±


    At their show of willingness, or a rather resigned one, Aniara nodded in glee. For the two Godless proved to be far more experienced than she had assumed, a solid month of being out in the Lonesome Frost seemed to have given them this knowledge. Which will be made use of when they began their travel in full.


    ¡°You will have an excess of necessary resources. The Winter King and my liege are no fools, not only that it seem many nobles are offering some of their trained men to accompany the Blessed. So manpower to make sure nothing goes wrong will be more than enough.¡±


    Though as if on cue, the door into the office was disturbed by a knock. To which Aniara only smiled even further as the two Godless turned to look as to who it was. Much to their surprise the door opened to reveal three forms. Forms of the Blessed.


    ¡°Are we¡­ Disturbing something?¡± One of them asked, which obviously was Damien. ¡°We can always come back after this is done.¡±


    Though Aniara shook her head and beckoned for them to come inside and approach them. The other two were Erica and Harold, who looked quite perplexed upon seeing the two Godless. Who in question merely looked back to the map on the table.


    ¡°If things go as planned, then I don¡¯t see why not. Several weeks by an optimistic assumption, a month and a half by the worse of assumptions.¡± Carleon continued, choosing to ignore the Blessed who now stood directly behind him. Due to this, the Blessed looked quite confused.


    Gently with one hand, she stopped Carleon and Jio from speaking any further. Choosing to offer the scroll on the side to Damien, who took it with much confusion on his part. With a short motion from Aniara however Damien opened it, revealing the scroll to contain information as to why they were here. Which essentially was the same thing that Aniara told the Godless. With one major difference, which was the fact that the three Blessed, alongside with one who was missing at the moment, was to lead one of the four groups.


    ¡°What?!¡± Damien yelled in clear distaste, as Harold shook his head in surprise. Followed by Erica herself just hiding behind Harold, peeking out and looking to the Godless that didn¡¯t bother looking back. ¡°Are you sure about this Aniara? This is far too hasty¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure of it. The Winter King and my liege had told me of this, and I will see to it that it reaches fruition under any means necessary.¡± Without even a show of hesitation, Aniara replied as she motioned to the two Godless. ¡°Not only that, these two will be under your group.¡±


    ¡°Wait what?!¡± He yelled once more, with the two Godless just letting out a frustrated sigh but saying little more. ¡°This¡­ This is stupid, how can you assign these two to me?! Not only do you expect us to lead as Leaders, but you expect me to have these two under my group?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Aniara flatly replied, her voice indicated her adamance on this matter. This Damien didn¡¯t pick up on, luckily Harold spoke up and gently stopped Damien with one hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too hasty Damien. Think of it this way, they obviously don¡¯t want to be a part of this, but neither of us can say no. So we better suck it up, plus it¡¯s an expedition! The Godless have much experience with the outside world, so among the four groups present, yours will benefit more. Seeing as how the two can provide valuable insight.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Aniara nodded in approval, as Harold convinced Damien to accept this, albeit reluctantly. Though Carleon would speak up, one armored finger tapping at the table rather impatiently.


    ¡°You say there are four groups¡­ And that these three will be leaders¡­ Who¡¯s the fourth?¡± He was as confused as Jio, who nodded at the mention of a fourth. Who clearly was not here, and it was obvious that they the Godless wouldn¡¯t be in any leadership roles.


    ¡°Ah you mean Bobby! Yeah, Bobby¡¯s not here yet.¡± Harold answered quickly, smiling happily as he looked to Erica to pat her head gently. ¡°I¡¯m sure Bobby¡¯s like¡­ Asleep still, maybe even still getting dressed. Hah. Classic Bobby!¡±


    ¡°Bobby?¡± Though Harold spoke fondly of ¡®Bobby¡¯, Carleon could not look but be utterly confused. He like Jio barely knew any of the summoned, this Bobby was one of the many they didn¡¯t know. Rendering him quite baffled, as Harold had a look that expected for the two to know Bobby.


    ¡°Oh yeah, you don¡¯t know Bobby. My bad! Bobby should be here in a bit, they¡¯re just quite the clutz.¡± Harold nodded to himself, as Damien seemed to take the time to fume silently of the situation. To this Carleon just shook his head, motioning for Jio to examine the map as he whispered.


    ¡°Compare the map to the one we have¡­ See if this one is better than ours. If it¡¯s better, we¡¯re gonna visit that store and try to find a better one.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gonna cost a bit you know¡­¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t really matter does it? Benedict paid for our maps, so we better fork up our own coins for this.¡±


    With a sigh, Jio nodded as Carleon drew his attention from the map and to the other Blessed. It was clear they were waiting for this ¡®Bobby¡¯, he might as well know who this person was. And if he was someone to take note of, Carleon would be damn sure to remember this person. For he didn¡¯t wish to be left in the dark about the Blessed, not when he was to have an active role in this coming expedition.


    ¡°So¡­ What¡¯s this Bobby like then Harold?¡± Carleon asked, though he tried to make his tone less sour as Harold seemed to be friendlier than the rest. It wasn''t beneficial to alienate someone like Harold, especially someone blessed by a God of War.


    ¡°Oh? You weren¡¯t there when Bobby became noticed. That¡¯s fine, Bobby¡¯s like the damn hardest fella you¡¯ll ever meet! If you think I was impressive, ahahaha, you should see Bobby. Like by the Gods, nothing can topple Bobby, not even Aniara herself. It¡¯s a shame you left so quickly back then, you¡¯d have seen Bobby and I go head to head.


    Man, it was intense. Felt my bones seemingly break, since a punch from Bobby felt like a mountain was gonna hit ya! That¡¯s what you¡¯re gonna expect from a blessed of the God of Mountains!¡±


    Carleon nodded to what Harold had told him. From such a description, he could deduce that this Bobby was a he. Someone that was so strong that even Harold felt humbled by it, or rather excited. The question that was brewing in his mind now, was if this Bobby was an amiable person, or something else. He¡¯d prefer if it was the former, as he found it easier to deal with people like Harold, rather than with people like Damien or Jasmine.


    ¡°Oh, I also have to tell ya. Bobby has these cool gauntlets, that can be covered with stones with their abilities. They hit like a bull I tell ya, and Johan¡¯s Great Shield was flattened by a single punch from Bobby! It¡¯s bloody insane man!¡±


    ¡°Johan? The one Blessed by the Goddess of Fortresses?¡± Expressing a surprised gasp, Carleon could not help but be further impressed. As Johan had the ability to fortify anything he was touching with the defenses of a fortress, to the point that not even his armor could be properly penetrated. To have Bobby even flatten a Great Shield wielded by such a summon, spoke great lengths about the unnatural strength Bobby had.


    Almost as if on cue, the doors then swung open. Drawing the attention of everyone within the office. There, one might have expected a burly teenager to come in, buffed and extremely beefed up. But on the contrary, the one that entered was something else. Something less masculine or domineering. In fact, the one that entered was a gentle beauty.


    One that held a fair complexion, gentle yellow eyes and black hair that matched her 5¡¯8 height. She walked with hurried yet gentle steps, showing much grace and care that was bred into her body. She dressed in a rather fitting attire, soft white cotton shirt that hugged her ample bosom nicely, tight leather pants that did the same for her buttocks that was paired up with black boots. Topped up with a practical leather chest piece that she wore above her shirt, that did not have any sort of shoulder pads. And upon her hands and forearms were steel gauntlets, seemingly made for punching things due to the spikes upon the knuckles.


    With a sonorous tone, she spoke out. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry for being late! I overslept!¡± She exclaimed this, to which Aniara just shook her head with a smile. Rather quickly Erica went to go and hug her, exclaiming great joy in seeing someone who was her friend.


    This was Cecilia, the chosen of the God of Mountains. Who was also known to the other summoned as Bobby.

 Chapter Sixteen: Exsanguination

    ¡°It has been days¡­ I am unsure if that is the truth or mere hyperbole from me, as I who sits before the remains of that intricate gate turned rubble, the world around me seems to have gone maddeningly noisy. If it had been days as I have so previously wrote, then the sound of fornication behind me should have had stopped, as no being upon Jasolem could go on for such a time. If it had been days indeed, then perhaps there could have been a stop to the rancorous chanting and sound of flesh being cut open¡­


    Yet there has been no stop. No end to the noise, no end to the flowing ichor from beneath the rubble. I find this odd you see, to whomever is unlucky enough to uncover my cursed journal, for I feel hunger. The hunger for food that comes naturally, especially when one hasn¡¯t eaten for days¡­ Yet it feels as if I haven¡¯t moved for hours, even though it should be more. Then this would mean I have gone mad, and the sound of twin beating hearts from within the rubble, the idle whisperings of perdition and suffering for all that lives¡­ Is but a product of my madness.


    Though I pray so desperately that is the truth¡­ For before me, I see the darkness shift and move, twirling and swirling¡­ Undulating like some feverish mass of bastardize truths.¡±


    - Scholar Torimak: Page 50


    There was an unremarkable place known as Asjen upon Jasolem. It was for the most part a rather reasonably large chunk of land, which was blessed with plains and steppes that made it a prime candidate for human populations. It was due to this, that for several centuries it had been the site of various human settlements. Which in turn had allowed it to be the very cradle of several kingdoms that still exist to this very day.


    It was in its own right a beautiful place despite the human civilization upon its land. For despite much of their best efforts, intentional or not, the very land itself was blessed with wildlife and flora that seem to restore itself far faster than normal. Not only that it was gifted with mana within its soil, that had the effect of making it far more fertile and allowing for an abundance of ores. However for one reason or another, the latter aspect of Asjen itself wasn¡¯t truly capitalized upon.


    For the most part, it was due to this very fact that Asjen was a lively place. Both in terms of population and of war. For that very fact, there was no true lasting exploitation upon the resources of Asjen itself. For not only was there near constant war, there was also the threat of magical beasts and strange restless undead that plagued their lands. It was so thanks to this, that its people was far hardier than normal, allowing the humans of Asjen to be better suited for the many wars their kingdoms waged almost annually.


    It was upon this very land, where its northern and western borders flanked the Lonesome Frost and Malvirek respectively, that political turmoil was so common, that the loss of life was considered far less than the lost of territory.


    -


    ¡°My Queen, is this route one that has been spoken about by the huntsmen of our Kingdom?¡± A voice that could be described as gravely rang out, its source being a man that could be described as ¡®old¡¯ yet also still full of vigor. A man who had the eyes of a warrior, yet the attire of an advisor to royalty. This man held a stern yet grandfatherly face, paired with a surprising baldness and moustache that matched the rictus grin of his very face. Which was at odds with his very look, for his expression was one full of contradiction within them.


    ¡°The Dreary Forest.¡± The Queen replied after a moment of silence, her voice bearing a gentle and dignified quality to it. One that oozed with clear noble upbringing and a kind feel to it, one that need seem out of place for a true Queen. When one listened to it, they could clearly feel a sort of courtly etiquette about it, yet at the same time feel at ease.


    ¡°A strange name I must say, but I can understand why.¡± The Adviser soon replied with little emotion in his voice, though it was his natural way of speaking as that grimace of his was still quite shown. His blue eyes looked out to the latticed window of the carriage they rode upon, and there he saw the lazy afternoon rays of the sun rain down upon them through gnarled trees Such trees were very strange, for they shifted and formed in strange directions and were domineering in many ways than one. With much of their trunk and bark bearing a deep brown color, almost black due to the lighting.


    ¡°A land influenced by Malvirek¡¯s primal energies¡­ It is humbling..¡± He continued, his voice never matching his expression.  Which for the most part proved to be a problem for the two other occupants within the coach itself, one was the Queen and the other was her handmaiden. Both of them however dressed differently compared to the Adviser, which in contrast to his clear ornate robes of maroon and dark green, theirs was that of brown modest dresses. It could not be said to be too extravagant, but it was well made and lovely enough that it accentuated their buxom forms. This made them look either akin to noble daughters, or in general nobility, but due to the caravan their carriage was a part of, one could easily assume they were instead merchants.


    The Queen herself was a beautiful mature woman, though in the world of Jasolem many women were ¡®beautiful¡¯ already, almost unnatural so. Her skin was fair, her brown eyes lustrous, with her child bearing hips being prominent with her lovely thighs. This went well with matching the matriarchal look she had, which complemented her tall height and noble upbringing. Not only that her raven black hair gave her the look of a stern woman, which only occurred when she did not smile.


    The handmaiden on the other hand was nearly identical to the Queen herself, however she was of a browner hue and was far younger than the Queen herself. With much of her own assets being lesser, and with one jarring quality to her that made her stood out. It was the simple fact that she had a strange intricate tattoo surrounding her neck. It was a magical slaver seal, one that bound her to her owner for life. Yet she seemed to sit proudly, smiling as she listened.


    The Queen was Ophelia Crestheart, with her handmaiden being Lucia Adesen. Whilst the Adviser himself was named Helos. They were a part of the royal court of Demeter Crestheart, one of the many kingdoms within the land of Asjen itself. Though despite their positions as part of the royal court, it did not matter for they were exiles from their own kingdom, for a week ago a coup led by dissenting nobles overtook Demeter and its surrounding territories, which led to the death of King Drusus Crestheart during their sudden attack.


    It was no normal coup, for the dissenting nobles held much sway with their own Royal Guards that nearly all of them betrayed the royal court itself. Even without them, the traitors were supported by forces outside of Demeter itself, supporting them not only with manpower but also information, which ultimately led them to successfully overtake Demeter with little losses in their part.


    In comparison to the exiled court of Demeter, many of the nobles that once supported them and their own trusted allies were either silenced, or had fully turned their backs upon them. As such it was only the intervention of Helos that they were able to escape, for the aging adviser had the foresight to have at least several agents at the ready to plan an escape. For in Asjen, war was a constant normality that forged people like him, yet the sudden coup was too unexpected that all they could do was flee.


    To flee far away from Demeter itself and headed west to the plains that bordered the deadly land of Malvirek, were civilization had to contend with far more ferocious monsters and beasts mutated by the primal mana that Malvirek produced. This did not concern the three, for now they were part of this Merchant Convoy. Which was headed to a village called Grenu, a border town that no local Lord or any sort of Kingdom wished to lay claim to.


    It was for the most part due to the unfortunate fact that it was constructed too close to the border of Malvirek, where even the nearby forest or lakes bore the taint of that ancient place. It was due to this that its dangerous aspect was widely known, making it the perfect place for them to hide upon, which would give them enough time to asses the situation that occurred.


    Though due to their hasty escape, they could not have had properly planned out a means to solve the subsequent problem of being a court in exile, nor did they even had the time to think of a way to retake their former territories. It was due to this, that Ophelia for the most part was not listening as Helos himself rambled on.  She was rather immersed upon gazing out to the trees they passed by, as her own thoughts wandered to the events that took place a week ago, or to be exact to the day before the coup itself.


    There she found herself immersed in the memory of that day, a day that could be said to be important. It was the day of her own birthday, yet that was not a day of celebration or much joy, instead it was a day of planning and governing. A day like any other day of her life.


    -


    She sat within her own office upon the palace of Demeter¡¯s capital, there she was only surrounded by rows upon rows of bookshelves, all containing either books or scrolls neatly arranged according to their contents. Upon her own hand was a magical item, known to be as a ¡®pen¡¯, an item that could write on and on as long as she supplied it with her own mana. This of course naturally made it quite the costly item, which she gladly bought for its magical ink was permanent and hard to remove.


    ¡°My lady, is it not time for a break?¡± Softly and gently, Lucia¡¯s voice reached her ears. Though Ophelia merely shrugged and focused upon her current task, which was the reading and approval of the various requests and propositions given to her. It came mostly from the many merchants that flocked to the Capital, while some came from nobles, and rarely there were some from the Guilds. This was of no surprise, for Demeter itself was one of the site of grand commerce and fortune.


    Making many of these requests and propositions to be related to business plans, acquisition of resources and rarely direct meetings with either her or the King. This she took in stride, for this was normal to her to the point that she found it strange when these didn¡¯t come. Gently then she began the process of approving, or scrutinizing many of these. Which was a time consuming process, for unlike others she had a vast array of information regarding many of the people that sent these letters, and in the case that she had no information about them, she would send her own agents to try and acquire information about them.


    She was this cautious, for she did not wish enemies of her people to gain any benefit from them. Or to have anything foul or damning to ever be circulated upon her country, as such a thing would easily disrupt the carefully laid gears of Demeter, which would take years to properly fix if something large and chaotic was to disrupt it. She had to remind herself  as to the reason why this was so. Which was quite easy.


    For Demeter itself had one primary export, which was foodstuff. A vast array of foodstuff for their land was blessed with fertility, that allowed food to be easily made within their very soils. This made it so that Demeter, unlike many of the Kingdoms that it bordered, focused on the economic growth of their own land. Allowing her people to be more prosperous than others not of their own land, but this had a drastic consequence.


    They had little way of matching other Kingdom¡¯s military might or capabilities, for unlike them Demeter placed an unusually high value upon their own serfs and peasants. Making them greatly reluctant at drafting them into peasant levies, but of course through their economic prosperity they could have a greater standing army. Which their vast quantities of foodstuff could so easily maintain. Which was true, if it weren¡¯t for the fact that the people of Demeter lacked a proper means to deal with the weapon that her enemies so easily wielded.


    Magic. It was the one thing that Demeter was lacking behind, for her people did not have a proper means of learning to raise warriors that could easily use Magic. As such due to the fact that the other Kingdoms were researching more means to utilize Magic, Demeter had to be neutral at all times, carefully signing and proposing treaties to the other kingdoms, which allowed it to remain at peace for so many decades. But of course, it meant that Demeter supplied many of Asjen¡¯s Kingdom of the means to continue their war.


    Which unsurprisingly caused some Kingdoms to fully devote themselves to war or other focuses, relying on Demeter itself for supply of food which they could easily supply. This they could not deny, for should they deny it¡¯d give open grounds for conflict, which rival Kingdoms or power hungry nobles could so easily exploit for their own gain. This she did not want, as even if Demeter had its soldiers aid other Kingdoms, or even with the fact that Drusus made them train, it was not enough.


    This also made them largely rely on mercenaries, which had little proper allegiances and would easily defect to the largest payer, or leave should the pay not become worth it. This made her sigh in exasperation, making her look up only to be greeted by the smiling look of Lucia. Who was being bathed by the lazy yet dimming afternoon sun, indicating that she had been lost to her thoughts and work for quite a while.


    ¡°My queen, I¡¯ve taken the liberty to prepare some tea for you." Lucia still smiling offered her a cup of tea, gently holding out the small plate and ornate cup that contained the freshly brewed tea. With a smile of her own, Ophelia happily took the offered tea, taking the plate and cup before Lucia gently and neatly began her work to arrange the papers on Ophelia¡¯s table.


    ¡°Has Drusus returned yet?¡± She asks after taking a few sips from her cup, to which Lucia softly shook her head.


    ¡°No my lady, Lord Drusus has not yet returned. He¡¯s overseeing still the negotiations at this time, however he should arrive tomorrow if the information Helos gave me was correct.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I see.¡± She nodded, not truly worrying or showing any sort of urgency in her voice as Lucia walked to the side of the room. To a table near the laquered wooden door of the room, where a strange box sat upon which Lucia herself picked up. With only a few moments she returned to stand before Ophelia, grinning widely as she placed it on her table.


    ¡°Happy birthday.¡± Lucia simply said.


    -


    By the time Ophelia had broken out of her reverie, she discovered that the convoy had stopped and that the afternoon had turned to dusk. Gently from her side she could feel a light weight upon her shoulder, spurring her to look to her left only to see Lucia having gently fallen asleep on her. With a light smile she directed her gaze towards Helos, who for the most part was quite awake and seemingly lost in his own thoughts.


    ¡°Helos.¡± She gently says, breaking the old man out of his own reverie and making him look to her. His own gaze was quite perturbing, making her feel utterly uncomfortable due to the simple fact it made him look both happy and displeased at the same time. Though she couldn¡¯t admit it, as it was quite rude given that Helos was born with such a face, if he was to be believed of his own origins.


    ¡°Is it not time to set up camp?¡± At her words Helos nodded vigorously, quickly moving to open the door to her right as he spared a glance to Lucia. Noticing such a look, Ophelia shook her head dismissively, as she didn¡¯t quite mind. This prompted Helos to chuckle as he went out, only to be met by the tall armored form of an equally old man.


    ¡°Santander.¡± Helos says with a grin, gently patting the knight¡¯s shoulder before motioning behind him, to which Ophelia could see a surprising clearing that diverged from the path they took. There from how the land was flattened, with ¡®x¡¯ marks on the trees, she could clearly see this was a common resting point in the Dreary Forest.


    ¡°Is this place safe?¡±  Helos asked with a raised brow, passing by Santander without letting him answer. Santander himself did not mind, as he knew fully well that the answer was not meant for him, but for the Queen who had no proper knowledge on matters such as this. As such the Knight, a man a decade older than Helos himself bowed before Ophelia, motioning an armored gauntlet towards the clearing.


    ¡°The adventurers and our own Knights are now scouting the perimeter. However from the Ranger¡¯s own assessment, this place is safe. As this is the midpoint of the forest, the chances of tainted beasts to attack is low, and bandit attacks even lower as this route is not a popular route for merchants. So rest assured, this place will be a perfect place for us to rest.¡±


    However despite that, Santander did not sound so convinced. A reasonable thing which Ophelia nodded to, before the knight himself closed the door as the coachman began to drive the coach itself into the spacious clearing. Following directly after the carriage of the merchant that headed this very conoy. Once done, Ophelia gently caressed Lucia¡¯s head that still slept on her shoulder.


    The very act itself was enough to wake her handmaiden, whose expression was tinged with both a blush and that of embarrassment as she sat up stiffly. With a clear flustered tone she stammered one line out. ¡°A-Ah forgive me my Queen!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Ophelia smiled, softly opening the door of the coach. ¡°We are all tired, I understand that very well considering we¡¯ve been on the run for an entire week. But I must ask of you to do help out with the camp, it embarasses me to no end, but I have little experience in such matters¡­¡±


    ¡°As you will it my Queen.¡± Readily Lucia replied, moving first to go out as Ophelia was left with the uncomfortable feeling of shame. For all of her skill in governance and commerce, she herself was lacking in many other fields, which she herself had never considered. Only now however that she was outside of the comfortable walls of her home, that she chided herself for her ignorance, being so shortsighted to believe that she could never need it.


    This made her merely sit within the carriage, looking out as soon the other members of the convoy converged within the clearing. There they had set up tents, a fireplace and a defensive perimeter just in case any enemy would dare ambush them. Which she was quite glad for, as she did not wish to see anymore of her own people die, especially when she had so few loyal Royal Guards left.


    From where she sat, she clearly saw fourteen people working hard. With her included it¡¯d be fifteen which composed the total number of people for the convoy itself. With six members of the convoy itself belonging to one of her Royal Guards, which had disguised themselves a mercenaries, whilst the rest were adventurers hired by the merchant that headed this convoy.


    Though even knowing that, she merely still sat there. Watching and observing the members of the convoy do their part, whilst she herself did nothing. This she didn¡¯t quite like, but could not help but let it slide, for she was a Queen in exile. The less people that knew her look, the less chances would her group be tracked down. Or at least that was according to what Helos told her, with the fact that the Merchant himself was a close friend of Helos himself.


    So with nothing better to do, she allowed herself to rest and drift off to a slight sleep. However she did not dream, only being greeted by a deep blackness as the stress of what she had faced finally hit her, or to some extent finally tired her out. This made her merely sleep there, as the camp began to bustle with activity from the other members.


    -


    When she woke up later, it was not to a serene or lively scene as one might have expected. Instead she woke yo the clamorous sound of blades clashing against one another, followed by cursing and yelling that was met with the sound of magic being cast. Naturally fear overtook her as she shook off the lingering sleepiness one felt when waking up, letting her sit up stiffly as she gazed out of the latticed window.


    There she saw a disheartening sight, one that had set a poisonous seed of despair within her heart. For outside upon the clearing that was meant to be safe, she saw the forms of what she could only assume to be bandits. With many of the adventurers laying still on the ground, with only her own Knights and Helos himself battling a hopeless battle, for they were outnumbered.


    Yet there she saw her adviser roughly pulling a crude maul from what she saw was a dead adventurer, quickly bringing it aloft and bearing it down upon the foe he fought against. A sickening splat soon followed, as Helos crumpled his foe¡¯s head into a hollow husk as he quickly swung it to his side, causing another bandit to back away so he wouldn¡¯t be hit.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    But Helos didn¡¯t care as he merely continued his grin, wielding the maul in reckless abandon as he swung it to the nearest bandit that dared approach him. However as Ophelia continued to look, she clearly saw arrows sticking out of his shoulder and back, with him being assisted by other knights who formed a protective cage to the path that led to her, indicating that they were doing their best to protect her.


    ¡°Give it up old man!¡± A bandit yelled out, emerging from the side as he held a strange war-axe that he easily used to cut a knight¡¯s hand of in one deadly flourish, biting through steel as Helos cursed under his breath.


    ¡°Shut it you curr.¡± In mere moments Helos moved to throw the maul towards the bandit, propelling it with force that his old body shouldn¡¯t have, which took the bandit by surprise. With such an opening the knight whose hand was cut rushed the bandit, forcing him to back away and swing his axe that unfortunately decapitated the knight.


    This lowered their total number to five with Helos included, making Ophelia¡¯s heart beat in fear as she realized the true extent of the bandit¡¯s numbers. For all around them, illuminated by not only the campfire on the middle, but also the bright moonlight of the moon, were a multitude of bandits. Clearly numbering more than twenty, which easily explained as to how their numbers were reduced to this much. It made her quickly worry for not only her safety, but for her Lucia and the rest of the convoy¡¯s, even when it was clear that many of their members were already dead.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let some bandit scum beat me!¡± Helos seemingly lost to his rage, or oblivious to the hopelessness of the situation reached out for another weapon, pulling out a beautiful steel longsword that belonged to a corpse. Which was Santander, who laid so pitifully on the ground with an arrow embedded on the back of his head. This made Ophelia¡¯s heart sink more, for this clearly painted a picture without any hope.


    ¡°Nah mate, you¡¯re gonna be dead! And all your loot will be ours, and your ladies sold off to slavery. Damn right, sold to slavery! Haha!¡±


    ¡°Shut it man, we aint gonna do that yet. We have to get a taste of them first, plus the Boss was right! This place is bloody good for ambushes!¡±


    With a grin, the bandit that held the strange war-axe moved forward and was met by a knight that raised his shield. However it did nothing as the bandit easily cut through it and soon the knight himself, killing another of her precious warriors. By now she had realized by how casual they acted, and how brazen their words were, that they were purposely playing with the remaining survivors.


    ¡°Good for nothing peasants!¡± Helos¡¯s cry resounded clearly as he wielded the blade he now held, using it to suddenly cut through a bandit that approached from the front. Clearly showing that Helos¡¯s position as an Adviser did not hamper him, or the fact that he had arrows lodged deep into his form. This was followed by the remaining knights moving to attack the bandits that approached, but it was all for naught.


    As suddenly and without much warning a hail of spells came from the side, setting Helos and the rest of the knights on fire. Which quickly ended their life as the spells were in the form of elemental javelins, piercing through their chest and subsequently setting them aflame both inside and out. Once this was done, a loud series of laughter came from the bandits as they fully began to move in the camp.


    To which Ophelia could do nothing about as she sat within the carriage, a hand covering her mouth as fear fully overtook her. This was a repeat of what happened a week ago, where she despite being a Queen did not have any way to defend or help others, making her utterly useless that wrought further despair within her heart.


    ¡°Aight boys, let¡¯s get to work. Get all the important loot, and go cuff the surviving female adventurers, also I want that fancy robe for myself! So no touching!¡±


    ¡°Aye boss, what of that fancy babe?¡±


    ¡°Yeah that fancy babe looked real nice!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother yet, she¡¯s over at the lake west of here, so we can go and get her. She shouldn¡¯t know that we¡¯ve sacked this group!¡±


    With fear coursing fully in her veins, she was paralyzed by fear as the bandits that seemed to number twenty spread out. They were searching and looting, with her being the witness to their reckless impulses as they did their deed. The bandit that held the strange axe seemed to be the leader, as he directed his other men to go and search the carriages, whilst the rest picked up the surviving adventurers and cuffed them. It was evident that the females were purposely spared, whilst the male were ruthlessly killed.


    It was minutes later that a bandit opened up the door to the coach she was on, there she was met by the sight of a foul looking man. Grinning at her with missing teeth and the stench of what either was blood, alcohol or a mixture of both.


    ¡°Boss! There¡¯s another one!¡± He says happily, roughly pulling Ophelia out with her not even having the strength to resist. Outside without the lattice window of her carriage to shield her from what she saw, she clearly was treated to the scene of bloodshed. With many of her former allies being dead, with the merchant himself strewn to the side near the campfire, his head split into two with blood leaking out in excess.


    She did not understand how she managed to sleep through such a thing, how she could have easily rested when her comrades died such ignoble deaths. This further shamed her as the bandit leader came over, sneering at her as he set his axe to the side, holding it with one hand as the other went to hold her chin.


    ¡°My my, you¡¯re a pretty little sight! You looked like that lassy we saw getting some water from that lake!¡± The leader himself was quite happy at the sight of her, going so far as to smile as he looked to the bandit that roughly held her. ¡°Good job, I¡¯ll let you have a turn on her after me.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we gonna sell her off?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course we are! We¡¯re just gonna have a little taste you see.¡± With a perverse grin that caused both fear and disgust to well up in her, Ophelia could only but glare towards him as her mind did not know how to react to such a thing.


    ¡°Oh? Nothing to say? That¡¯s¡­ Well, surprising! Usually you posh merchant ladies are really bloody verbose. This is good for all of us then, maybe you are gonna like this too eh?¡±


    Boisterous laughter soon followed as she was then dragged to the side, obviously to be defiled by this foul armored man. All her life as a noble, as a Queen and as an above average ¡®mage¡¯, amounted to nothing in this moment, for all she felt was an unnatural fear. A fear so deep that it caused her body to not respond to what she wanted to do.


    She wanted to scream, she wanted to try and use what spells she knew. Yet it did not come, even when she so desperately did not want to be this helpless. This entire situation was too surreal, as if it was a damning nightmare. With such a line of thought she forced herself into action, trying to force herself to fully move as the world around her turned silent. A silence that was so unnatural that the very bandit looked confused, not even noticing the fact that she pulled herself away from his grip.


    This however made her trip and fall on her behind, bearing witness to the leader yelling something. Though nothing came from his mouth, which made him express a look of confusion as he started yelling again. But once more there was nothing, even her own breathing could not be heard, or the furious beating of her heart, further making her believe this was some sort of vision or vivid nightmare.


    Yet it was only the beginning as she began to feel her eardrums hurt, with a sort of white noise rising in volume that further draped her hearing in utter silence. Then it was followed by something that pierced the overbearing silence and white noise, breaking it apart bit by bit, like ripples upon the still surface of a lake, growing in frequency until it became clear to her. Becoming clear to everyone present, that made them slowly turn to the eastern side of the clearing.


    It was laughter, a manic laughter that pierced through the silence and white noise. A deep and harsh laugh, that brought sound and madness to the world around them. A laugh that was too deep, too unnatural that it sounded like the rumbling of volcanoes, or the throaty bassy chuckle of a demonic being. Which was then met with the sound of a loud shrill roar.


    Followed once more by silence, yet one that was because of a lack of sound from anyone present within the camp. All except for the crackling of the campfire, which was the only source of sound and clear light, that everyone present heard another sound. The clear sound of a liquid dripping on the fire, which caused a sizzling reaction that drew their attention to where it was.


    There they saw it. A creature that was wrong in every quality, humanoid and utterly pale that squatted near the campfire. If it could be described by their minds, they could easily say it was ¡®humanlike¡¯, yet it was tall, far too tall than any adult male should be. With its form being akin to an emaciated human, letting its unnaturally pronounced and thick bones to be seen pushing against its flesh, with an addition cadaverous quality to it that further made it more unnatural.


    But that was only the beginning for it had long, utterly long arms that were tipped with large hands bearing long claw tipped fingers. Which was all paired with an elongated and thick neck, topped by an unnaturally shaped head that had both sunken eyes, a lack of a proper nose, ears or lips and flesh upon its mouth. Which showed its perpetual grinning expression as its jaw opened up so wide, that it seemed to fall off, only for it to let out a long sinuous tongue that dripped with saliva.


    One other thing it had, was a torso that it held with one hand lifting it above the campfire. It was that of a male dressed in what could have been mage robes, but now it was covered in blood and torn by claws, whilst the thing spat at the campfire, kicking dirt at it in an attempt to put out the fire. Yet it didn¡¯t quite do it.


    This prompted another chilling laughter from the creature, as it found the very act itself to be hilarious. Though the torso that it held had a face of true anguish, ildy twitching as blood slowly dropped from its severed belly, indicating he was still alive for some reason. With a moan from him, he idly spoke in pain as the creature tightened its grip upon his neck.


    ¡°H-Help¡­ Me.¡±


    Then abruptly the creature¡¯s other hand gripped the man¡¯s torso, and squeezed tightly that elicited a short scream from him before his remaining blood and organs fell on the fire. Soon followed by him being dropped by the thing, which all led to the fire being put out. In that moment it spoke, with a brief darkness overtaking the entire campsite as laughter came with it.


    ¡°Goood¡­ Niiiight!¡±


    With a language that they could not understand, the pale moonlight began to illuminate the creature as it leapt with such an extreme speed, that its target could not react. Its first target, or rather its next target was the bandit leader, who by instinct swung his axe after being broken out of his awe and shock. Yet despite its seemingly potent quality, the creature reached out with one hand and pierced through his chest, cleaving through his armor and body easily while laughing maniacally


    That was the start of the true nightmare, as once it took advantage of its unnaturally long arms, it tore the leader in half and savagely threw both pieces of his corpse towards the nearest bandits. The act itself surprisingly killed them, a testament to the extreme strength the being had, which was further shown when it lunged and leapt to more targets. Intent at not only killing them, but eating  them.


    The bandits however, as Ophelia could see it upon her spot, where overcome with extreme fear upon the sight of the creature. Nearly only a few tried to fight back, and almost all others tried to flee. The former lived for a bit longer, whilst the latter was savagely chased and eviscerated by the creature. All the while laughing happily, as blood and viscera began to be strewn all around the camp itself.  Which some had hit Ophelia herself, dirtying her look and dress.


    It was an unimaginably horrific sight, as seconds was all it took for the creature to turn the bandit¡¯s victory into a total nightmare. With many of them dying in the most gruesome ways, which was shown when the thing deliberately crippled a bandit and proceeded to bite down on his neck, eating through the muscle and flesh before outright devouring the skull.


    Another instance of such gruesome brutality was when it took a hold of a burly bandit, one that had successfully stabbed a sword through the creature¡¯s shoulder which it ignored. For such an act it forcibly opened the bandit¡¯s mouth, and proceeded to rip apart his mouth and tearing off the jaw of the man, only for it to pummel it with decisive strikes upon the belly. All of which was clearly meant to make them suffer.


    All around her, as the seconds turned to minutes, brutality was all she could see. It was remarkable, awe inspiring and nightmare inducing all bundled up in one neat package, that her mind was surprisingly able to retain her sanity as she viewed such an act. One could so easily assume that it was because the bandits killed her allies, which was true in a way, but it was also because she found the very sight of such disgusting people being killed to be¡­ Strangely and surprisingly pleasant. Which drove her to watch.


    Even when the creature itself was eating the parts and chunks of the bandits it killed, all until one was left. Which it had purposely cut off his legs, letting him bleed out as he tried to crawl away from it. There she saw it, upon its yellow eyes a glint of intelligence and madness. Where it followed behind the final bandit, picking up a piece of flesh from the floor, before madly reaching out and picking up the bandit himself.


    In mere moments Ophelia saw it forcibly feeding the piece of flesh it picked up, forcing it upon the mouth of the bandit as another series of laughter overcame such a being. Here and now, she found it absolutely terrifying, for it was not merely doing this for survival, it was doing this for amusement, for fun and pleasure. Which it so easily did. It was evil, that she knew, but she did not nothing but watch.


    Once he had sufficiently fed the survivor, he placed him back on the floor. Where it examined his look, laughing again as it saw him crying, vomiting and shaking in both disgust and fear. Followed by it simply curb stomping the poor man, over and over, using enough force to break the bones on his back, but not killing him. Letting the clearing resound with bones breaking and the weeping of a man, as the smell of blood and flesh permeated the entire place.


    Then finally with an abrupt pause, it brought down one powerful stomp that practically squashed the man¡¯s entire chest, spilling out both guts and blood to the soil. It was there that it paused, looking down at what it did before it once more laughed. It found it so funny, so amusing, that Ophelia knew very well that it did not find regret in its actions, nor could it ever have mercy within it. As she knew very well that she was next, for the thing slowly looked towards her.


    Looking at her with those sunken yellow eyes, it laughed again. It constantly did this, finding these horrible things it did to be funny. Before it slowly reached out for the head of the bandit he recently killed. But when she looked to what it was reaching for, it wasn¡¯t the head, but rather what was on top of the head. A sort of¡­ Hat, a hat most commonly found on the eastern countries of Asjen, a hat of the nobility which was a tricorn-like hat.


    Once it had reached it, it plucked it from the head and crudely put it on its own head, which was a bit bigger than the intended size of the hat. Yet it achieved it, and with what could be described as a mocking attempt at a formal bow, with it tipping the tip of the hat down as it spoke.


    ¡°M¡¯lady.¡±


    Though she herself could not understand it, as the creature broke out  into another series of laughter. Before it abruptly went quiet, turning its gaze to the western side of the clearing, where Ophelia herself saw Lucia. The poor handmaiden of hers was holding an iron pale in both hands, which she dropped on the ground in clear fear. It was a surprise on its own that she didn¡¯t fall down in shock, yet the beast didn¡¯t care as it turned to look at its handiwork.


    There it began the process of picking up corpses, which it soon carried into the forest. Ophelia didn¡¯t notice it at that time, but it had purposely spared the survivors of her convoy, yet it took the corpses of Helos, Santander and all the others that were whole.


    -


    Gently the vision of the Venator faded, as the thought of his bore into the proto-aberration, telling it to gather the corpses which it needed for consumption and assimilation. For in the days that he had directly controlled his aberrant creations, he had come to the conclusion that he needed a means to create more. In the sense that not only could he reliably create more, but also design the Aberrations, to edit their genetic coding and very behaviors.


    This he couldn¡¯t do properly, for he did not know how. But there was the idea of how to do it, and it involved the creation of a ¡®Designer¡¯. An Aberration which had its purpose of creating, designing and modifying the Aberrations of his, as for all he knew, simply willing something to change within his aberrations was stupid. Not to mention unreliable in the extreme, for not only is his own mutations born out randomly, but his existing Aberrations was created without his input!


    As such the necessity of such a Designer was so great, that he had by his own judgement, controlled the Venator to venture out of Malvirek¡¯s deadly forests. In search for¡­ Humans, which it found a week later in the form of bandits attacking what he knew to be a merchant convoy. Though he did not ponder upon what he had just did, the very fact that not only did he kill humans, but enjoyed it. This he did not allow himself to dwell upon, as there was a lingering feeling of joy to the act of slaughter and consumption he had just partook in.


    Or rather, the act of slaughter which the Venator partook in. In any case, it was still him, controlling the Venator, becoming the Venator, and fully immersing himself in such a thing. Though this line of thought was broken by a gentle kiss on his cheek, breaking him out of his meditative trance and letting him see the smiling face of Salia.


    ¡°You¡¯re drooling.¡± She says with a soft laugh, a sort of handkerchief was on her hand that she used to softly wipe away the saliva that dripped out from his lips. ¡°Are you hungry?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ No, just erm, I fell asleep.¡± Hastily he gave an excuse, for he did not wish for her to know that he found the act of eating humans to be¡­ Delicious. Which in of itself should have perturbed him, yet it did not due to his apparent mutation and descent into inhumanity.


    With such a reply, Salia merely nodded and offered a hand which he took. Letting her help him up stand as his scythes unfurled and rested its tips on the wooden floor, before his better half softly motioned to the door into this very room. There he saw something surprising, something peculiar, and strangely familiar. For upon the door frame, was a being of flame and silver metal, a being that looked upon him with fiery eyes that made him tense up in instinct.


    ¡°Little Brother.¡± The being said with a voice that was neither man nor woman, yet both at the same time, holding barely restrained excitement as it took a step forward. ¡°It is time for you to understand your place as a Lord. It is pleasant to finally meet you, successor of Centerious. I shall hope that you prove your worth to me.¡±


    ¡°Who¡­ Are you?¡± In confusion and uncertainty, Benedict asked such a question as he felt an unusual bout of familiarity. Which was perhaps due to the fact that this person of fire and metal, was akin to the Seekers that tried to kill him, but also far different and more refined.


    ¡°I am the Second Lord, I am the bloodlust of our people made manifest. I am the savage joy hidden within the civilized masks of our kind. I am the Warborn, and I shall be one of your mentors.¡±

 Christmas Special: Winter Sorrow

    "I pity them... I pity the Godless, for in this very day I see it. In their world it was refered to as ''Christmas'', a time of giving and of merriment between their people. In their religion they celebrate the birth of their Messiah, their God-King in some ways. Their very king who gave his life so they may be saved from their sins. Yet here they are now, outside our walls. Fighting and bringing misery upon themselves.


    What right did we have to tear them away from their families? What right did we ever bear to demand that they be trained like warriors?"


    - Princess Annalise Basalos | Delving unto the Godless


    "E-Ey k-kid, there''s no need for this!"


    "Y-Yeah! We didn''t mean to try and rob ya!"


    He could hear their voices, their language translated into English as it passed into his ears. Fear and hesitation gripped the speaker, as if moments ago he wasn''t trying to kill him. Faced with such a sudden change of heart, Benedict spat to the side in disgust. These men were bandits, and it was merely just three days after he had parted with Carleon and Jio to search for specific things, and most of all to experience the world truly.


    As he had expected it was not as kind or forgiving as the Mentors of theirs within Isalabi had showed the Lonesome Frost to be. Rather it was deadly when the true nature of it was revealed, especially when one traversed roads alone. But that did not matter to him as he lowered his bloodied blade, his eyes staring at them with a boiling rage within him.


    ''I want to rest... I''m tired, I just want to rest just for a few more moments... Is that too hard to ask for?''


    Before they attacked he was planning to set up camp, or rather just sit down for a few moments before night truly hit. Yet they so callously attacked him, believing their superiority in numbers could make them overpower him. It would have worked if they were skilled with their blades, yet they weren''t and his platemail rendered their blades useless. As such he had defeated them easily, though he didn''t quite kill them as hesitation gripped him. For what right did he have to kill them? What reasoning could he have to kill them, when they looked as if they were former farmers, driven to this work through poverty?


    ''They are bandits... They are scum...''


    Though almost as easily as his rage could take hold of him, he found his answer. He had no right to judge them for what they did, he had no right to scorn them for what they chose to do with their life. Yet he had the right to kill them, that he thought to be true as a mirthless laugh escaped his lips. This terried the bandits before him, who numbered three and were backed up against the trees to the side as they bled.


    One of them looked to be younger than the rest, perhaps a year older than him and he was pitifully laying on the ground next to him. His hands holding on to his cut belly, making sure his insides did not spill out. This bandit looked to Benedict with fear and regret, as if he was thinking that he shouldn''t have done what he tried to do. But it didn''t matter to Benedict, it didn''t truly matter. For they were scum.


    "I... Cannot forgive any of you." He began, drawing protests from the Bandits as he took a step forward to the youngest of them. "It''s not my place to forgive any of you."


    "S-Surely you can forgive us! I-If you spare us we''ll live a righteous life! We''ll go back to being farmers and raise crops! Oh noble lord please!"  Quickly one of them spoke desperately, tears welling up in his eyes as he winced from the wounds Benedict had inflicted upon them.


    "I do not have it in me." He quickly replied, kneeling directly behind the youngest as he used his left hand to pull the chains on his blade. Like the bells of the damned, they rattled feverishly as snow fell from the skies. In such an act the Bandits widened their eyes, the youngest himself tried to crawl away but it was fruitless.


    "However, perhaps your Gods may forgive you." With such a line he suddenly pulled the chains tightly, making  them rattle for a few more times before straightening out. Once it was done he without any hesitation in his part placed it over the youngest''s neck, before mercilessly pulling it backwards, choking the bandit without a sliver of mercy within him.


    "M-Mercy please! Spare him and take me!" The other bandit yelled, his own voice echoing out within the lonesome woods they were in. But in reply the chains were merely tightened around the youngest''s neck, choking the male as he tried to claw at Benedict''s armored hand. First it was fear that compelled him to try and claw Benedict''s hands away, but then it was desperation as he began to choke, with his lungs desperately needing air to let him live.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Then as sudden as his actions before he broke the youngest''s neck. Twisting it along with the chains as he showed sudden strength by pulling the chains to the side with force. As easily as that, the youngest died with a look of horror plastered on his now lifeless face.


    "May God have mercy on me." He idly murmured, looking up to the bandits with a rictus of anticipation on his features.


    -


    Sighing softly as he finished pilfering whatever he could acquire from the dead bandits, Benedict gently knelt down on the side. His blade''s tip pointing downwards and on the ground, with his hands gripping the pommel of his blade as he began to pray. In part he did this for it was habit, to help him ease his sorrow within him on the fact that he did not have his family with him, that he felt lost in this new world with him unsure of what he should do. Now however, it was because of another reason.


    Such reason was all around him, the three bandits whose necks were snapped to the side by ruthless force. His very handiwork that he in his sudden rage and madness, thoroughly enjoyed. To the point that no fear or regret occurred within his mind, instead it was satisfaction that was within his mind. In some way he also felt great pride from it, and that was what made him pray.


    ''O merciful lord, king of kings I pray to thee for guidance and forgiveness. For your servant has sinned against his fellow man, and have committed murder and suffering unto three men...''


    His prayer though was not the ones used by his people, for he could barely remember them. Instead he made up his own with a similar set up to the other prayers, at least the ones he remembered. For a better course of several minutes he prayed earnestly, asking for forgiveness, guidance and most of all blessings for his family. He knew very well that despite his own misgivings with them, he loved them as they did love him.


    He was the eldest, and it was his role to guide his younger siblings. Yet now he could never fulfill that, he could never be there for him. And his parents, as well dearest friends upon Earth was to deal with him being gone, surely missing in their eyes and kidnapped by someone. This in part caused tears to well from his eyes, as idly he began to cry. A radical change to his emotions moments from before, as an overwhelming sorrow overtook him so suddenly that it could not be natural.


    Quickly in realization he stood up and drew his sword , turning around and pointing it to where he faced, letting the chains rattle out in discordant noise that encompassed the once silent forest. In front of him numbering dozens, were the strange beings he saw in his dream and in reality. They were truly inhuman and human at the same time, with one of them moving forward, holding her hands forward as her wings flapped gently.


    "Oh Godless." She began, a voice filled with mercy and understanding ringing out as he backed away slightly. "It is no shame to feel sorrow, it is no shame to be human as you are. Accept us and you shall have the power to go home sooner than the rest, accept us and you may no longer be so unsure, so conflicted that madness pulls you to the brink of damnation.


    Your dreams are only but the beginning, for your destiny in this path you have chosen brings misery. Not only for you... But also for your friends. For your God cannot hear you, only we can. So accept us dear Godless... Become our champion and save this world from the lies that submerge it in ichor."


    "No! Get the hell out of my mind!" He retorted quickly, hastily moving away to turn to the path ahead and suddenly sprinting. From behind the winged woman and the others slowly walked to follow him, whilst he ran with all his might. Even then she didn''t stop speaking, and even then he could hear her voice as if she stood right next to him.


    "Deathspeaker, oh Deathspeaker... You shall be damned to madness if you keep pushing us away, let us save you as you will our people... Let not yourself be spurred on by your anger and paranoia, find it within yourself to trust us. For in such an act you will be forever saved from what mockery fate has set for you."


    "I will not be enslaved by any of you!"

 Chapter Seventeen: Devious Acts

    ¡°You may think of the Ancients as mere myths, long dead they are that only the madness of Malvirek remains as a testament to their species. Truth it is in part, but understand that the titles of their Lords will forever echo to this day. For they are titles that one may mistake for nobility, but they are not, for they are a facet of their kind. An exemplar of a specific action, need, or concept of theirs that saw to it that they destroyed the Empire of Asjen so many centuries ago.


    Yet it is curious that they so easily kill another race, but find it strange to rule over them. As such be glad that the Ancients lay dead or silent, and no Lord of theirs has or shall ever carry the title that will allow their kind to enslave us younger races. For if such a Lord shall ever come, then this world will be drowned in blood.¡±


    - Lagromatus the Accursed: On the nature of the Ancients


    ¡°What lesson is there to be learned here?¡± A deep bitterness colored his words as a growl soon accompanied them, his very frustration of his current situation was adamantly showed by the way his scythes impatiently tapped at the stone floor.


    He was in what could be described as a stone arena, an amphitheatre, a grand place of gladiatorial battle highly reminiscent of the one the Romans had made. Though the one he was in now was of a more ancient, yet well maintained make, speaking of the grand architectural design that went over its creation. For upon the circular seating arrangements were statues of Ancients, they numbered in the dozens and he even sighted the Warborn and the Elder themselves among them!


    Though such an awe inspiring sight did little to stop his bitterness, as around the arena walls were the Seekers, at least numbering twenty of them evenly spread out. Whilst they were joined by what could be the Warborn¡¯s special creations, beings similar to him, modeled after her beautiful yet equally androgynous aesthetic that confused Benedict to no end. The former was the source of his bitterness, the Seekers that stood proudly around the walls.


    The sight of them stirred anger within his blood, for the memory of what they did was still fresh upon his mind, and a primal calling demanded for him to punish them for their transgression. Though he forced such emotion to be a muted throb within his mind, for Salia had ¡®convinced¡¯ him to not so callously level his hate against them. For that was not the way a Lord acts, at least it wasn¡¯t a justified way.


    This reminded him that Salia had urged him to follow the Warborn, who merely an hour ago merely followed her last sentence with a demand. For him to follow, with little explanation as to why he had even said that. Yet now he was here, having followed the Warborn¡¯s form through the winding and breathtaking stone pathways, only to be brought upon this strange area held aloft by another statue¡¯s hand. It was needless to say, but it was truly beautiful.


    Though now what inspiration he drew from them, was ripped apart by his rising anger. Which did not go unnoticed as from behind Salia hugged him, reminding him that she was there, and that he must not let himself be overtaken by it. Else his very veins would boil with mana and subsequently kill him from the inside. So with her he calmed, gently holding her hand as he looked to the Warborn.


    This show of intimacy drew a laugh from that silvered being, who in turn motioned to Benedict with one clawed finger. ¡°Combat.¡± She simply said, his head tilting to the side as if to show her excitement, which Benedict could not properly discern at all.


    ¡°Combat?¡± Parroting what the Warborn had just said, he was met with a nod from the Warborn who spread his arms wide, as if to draw his attention to the arena¡¯s empty seats all around them.  ¡°You want me¡­ to fight you?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± The Warborn replied simply again, drawing her arms together before taking on a combat stance. One hand raised upwards to the left, whilst the other balled into a fist and kept near his waist. Whilst her legs spread apart, clearly reminiscent of the asian martial arts of his world. Though this one was far different, as he had no knowledge of an analogue to compare it to.


    It was enough however, as Benedict felt a sort of palpable desire for conflict around the Warborn. Just as he could feel mana all around him, he in a way could also ¡®feel¡¯ the emotion of an individual. Though he had only experienced such a thing with Salia, who oozed with a sort of loving intensity that it bordered obsession. But that could easily be just because of his own ineptitude when involved with love, as Salia is his first true ¡®lover¡¯, forced or not, in his life.


    As such this capability of feeling such a ¡®desire¡¯ for conflict if anything else, was a mere gut feeling. Yet considering his own mutations and rapid changes, he could no longer deduce whether or not it was right or wrong, simply that it could be ¡®correct¡¯. This made him frown as he felt Salia¡¯s hug upon his form tighten, her face was gently laying itself upon the back of his neck as she spoke.


    ¡°You cannot run away from this Benedict. The Warborn is true to his name, she will not stop until you satisfy her thirst for conflict. By the laws of our people, as much as I hate them now, I cannot intervene in any way less it shames you. But please, know that I will be by your side once this is over.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He replied quickly, sighing as she drew herself away from him and stepped away. Her gentle footfalls echoed clearly to him, and for a moment a shred of emptiness overtook his twin hearts  It did not last as he looked behind him briefly, only to be met by Salia¡¯s form slowly ascending one the steps to the side of the walls, so she may sit upon one of the many seats on the amphitheater itself.


    Then anger took him, lending him a sudden single minded fury as he looked to the front. There the Warborn stood in his combat stance, silent and impassive, the only trace of movements was the fiery red flames that spewed out in whatever space there was on her armor. He was initially hesitant in following through this, fighting the Warborn so suddenly when he himself knew nothing about him. Yet now, as if egged on by something else, perhaps be it the Forlorn or that eldritch monstrosity, all he felt was anger that led to the desire of slaughter.


    A natural reaction based on whatever assumptions he had about his growing inhumanity. Though from at that moment on, he did not consider even the fact that he was unarmored. Letting himself be spurred on by his anger as he directed his fury towards the Warborn. In such a moment, he raised his scythes and moved four steps in a sudden sprint towards her, only for him to bring down his scythes on the floor with lethal force once he was about to take another step.


    With one preemptive and short lived leap before the scythes impacted the ground, Benedict allowed himself to be brought to a sudden lurch forward like a graceless leaping savage. Allowing him to cross a surprising amount of distance through the sheer force of his scythes, whose strength and durability allowed him to use them as a crutch to propel him forward to the Warborn.


    Such a tactic was not only born from his instinctive way of fighting, but born from his previous use of it during his confrontation with the Forlorn. Though untested and mostly a means to get closer, it allowed him to cross the distance that separated him from the Warborn. Which was at least a few meters away, letting him have the advantage of speed and surprise as he quickly reeled in his scythes, only for him to bring them down once he was at least an arms length away from the Warborn.


    In such an act the world for him slowed down, his senses letting him perceive as if time itself was under his will as excitement and anticipation coursed in his veins. This was what the Warborn wanted he reasoned, this was the fight she wanted, and he would reap the fruits of such a demand from him. For he fully expected his blades to be deadly, making the Warborn dodge it which was enough time for him to draw them back and once more attack.


    Yet reality was far different, as his expectations fully betrayed him. For the Warborn replied by moving two steps forward, her hands quickly darting out to meet his coming scythes. Yet he ducked, allowing the blades to go pass her shoulders, before his hands darted out to grip his right scythe¡¯s first segment and his throat respectively.


    What followed was shock from Benedict, as a gasp barely escaped his lips as Warborn¡¯s grip tightened and subsequently was followed by him being roughly slammed to the ground behind her. All of which took just several seconds, fully disorienting him as the shroud of anger and bloodlust was dispelled by the pain he felt on his body.


    The impact upon the stone floor resounded clearly, but was quickly followed by a pregnant silence as the Warborn looked down upon him. Those hollow eye sockets of hers contained a blazing flame, yet from that alone he deduced he had a mocking gaze. One that deemed him ¡®weak¡¯, such a thought for some reason merely served to embolden his dimming anger. Fanning the embers as the pain that wracked his form dulled.


    ¡°This is your first lesson.¡± The Warborn began, letting go of his scythe as she suddenly brought down his left foot in a savage stomp towards his head. To which he quickly rolled to the side by instinct, narrowly dodging the attack itself which shattered the stone floor that it hit. It was a fatal strike, which sent a sliver of fear to Benedict as he realized the Warborn didn¡¯t seem to wish to hold back.


    ¡°Overconfidence must be backed up with skill. Rage, fury, wrath are all pious emotions. Yet worthless once you act little more than a savage beast. As a Lord you will hone your body, as a Lord you must master what weapons your ¡®natural¡¯ form gifts you with. You must not rely upon your strange scythes, like some paltry mage would upon his most powerful of spells.¡±


    ¡°As a Lord?¡± He questioned, remembering quickly that he was apparently his mentor. Though a mentor that obviously did not hold back, as her words oozed with a sort of mocking tone that sent his blood boiling. For it was the mocking tone of the strong. Yet even then he could barely notice that he was unnaturally angry, a constant that flowed out as he pushed himself up.


    ¡°Indeed. As a Lord, for you are the Despot. Your name echoes with clear domination and cruelty, yet as an Ancient such echoes must be tempered to a sharp chorus. It is only right that we hold you to a higher standard than the pitiful nobility your home has.¡±


    In reply however, Benedict jabbed one of his scythes towards him, only to find the Warborn deftly avoiding it and closing in on him for what seemed to be an attempt at a punch. In quick reaction his other scythe was brought down towards her, but much to his dismay he could not hit him for she deflected his scythe with his armored hand.


    Only for her to follow it with a quick succession of disorienting blows targeting not only his face, but also his chest. This was what would precede and dictate their following confrontation, as Benedict¡¯s own surprising durability was shown as each blow was dealt upon his form. This served only to fuel his ire as he savagely lashed out, to which the Warborn reacted with practiced ease and swiftly countering.


    Over and over this repeated, Benedict lashing out with variations of attacks from his scythes like a beast or an alien thing from the fiction of his world. Like a flowing river however, the Warborn surpassed and overcame his actions, showing him the true extent of her skill with just his ¡®natural¡¯ body. Though he could not notice it, but he relied thoroughly on his scythes, barely using his own two arms when the Warborn drew close for his deadly punches.


    ¡°Pathetic.¡± Insulted the Warborn as she suddenly reached out and grabbed his scythes by their segment, pulling him roughly towards him before she slammed his metal head against Benedict¡¯s own, drawing blood and a roar of pain as she followed it with another headbutt. ¡°Truly pathetic.¡±


    The strike itself rang out with the sound of metal clanging against something, though Benedict¡¯s own skull was durable enough to not crack or shatter underneath such a ruthless force. This in turn forced the boy to forcefully reel back his scythes, as he finally used his own hands to strike towards the Warborn. Which was met with little success as his bare fist did little against her metal form.


    ¡°You are so easily overcome by rage and bloodlust, yet you are unable to temper it to your will. The Forlorn chose you, for he saw something in you. But I see nothing but a mindless beast, use your mind Despot. Use it and overcome.¡±


    Despite his words, Benedict merely replied with a savage roar. His own scythes now slamming against the ground itself as he pushed himself back, nearly tripping backwards as he felt blood drip from his nose and lips. It was no surprise that he was disoriented, his own vision of the world dimming in and out as his own grip upon proper sapience was loosening.


    ¡°Overcome it Despot. Rage and bloodlust are not chains that bind you, but they are chains that must be used to choke the life out of your enemies. It should not be the very chains that bind you down and limit you like some¡­ Dreg.¡±


    Though the Warborn spoke, Benedict did not listen as his form coursed with unbridled mana. His rage was overtaking him, as always it had done so, always it did. But there was something wrong now, and he himself knew this to some extent, yet his lucidity was quickly leaving him as his body began to burn up from within.  He was angry, so angry that he felt the mana within him burn excessively.


    ¡°Wrestle your rage and bloodlust, curb them and take control. You are the one who creates these emotions, and it shall be you who controls them. It must not be the other way around. Listen and you shall be more than an angry child.¡±


    Then when anger would have gave way to more pain and suffering, Benedict let loose a cacophony of a shriek. The nature of his mana-filled voice turning a singular shriek of pain and anger, into a discordant chorus of several voices. This drew a curious gaze from the Warborn, who waited in still formation as she felt a sort of irritation towards Benedict. Anger and fury was well and good, yet when left like this only gave him a monster, and not a proper student.


    Indeed that was what Benedict showed upon his exterior, as he finished such a shriek followed by him slowly beginning to circle around the Warborn. A drastic change to his previous tactics, as his rage was slowly being beaten down by his own will. Followed by something utterly peculiar, as from his very flesh steam came. First it was a barely noticeable thing, but as the seconds passed they came out in excess, beginning to form a cloud around Benedict¡¯s form.


    It got to a point that it practically covered his very being, acting like a sort of smokescreen that prevented the Warborn from seeing his form. Yet within Benedict¡¯s mind, he was not only forcing mana out in such a rapid flood, his own changing body reacted to such an act by rapidly using up the mana he tried to expel. Which led to the creation of the steam that now practically came from the pores of his skin, yet also being excessively hot to the point that the air around him rose in temperature.


    Strangely however, he did not feel this as through the expelling of his mana, a level of clarity came. That only brought a new rage to him, a cold rage that gave him the lucidity necessary to combat the Warborn. Not as an instinctive being, but rather a thinking creature. Which led him to quickly register the fact his body was now not only expelling mana, but also finding a means to not waste it. For the steam he produced lingered, and acted as an excellent way to hide his entire body.


    Of course it was a double-edged sword, for he himself could not see past it as it obscured his sight. But that was only a problem for his formerly natural eyes, as now he could see mana and the Warborn was a literal beacon full of it. A blazing bright red source of mana, that burned with much emotion, that he could deduce the distance she stood away from him.


    Now however, he was able to actually understand what the Warborn was trying to teach him. This he mulled over as he continued circling, his own mind barely realizing how much his anger and bloodlust hindered him. But there was no way to prevent them from happening, and even now with his cold rage his body was coursing with primal desires. Which unfortunately made him rush towards the Warborn, who immediately rushed towards him in response.


    He was not sure if the Warborn could see the outline of his mana filled form, but he hoped in what part of his mind that wasn¡¯t claimed by rage, that he couldn¡¯t see his mana. Once the two were a meter away from another, Benedict made the first strike once more. Lashing out with a single scythe that plowed through his constant fog of steam, and heading out towards the Warborn¡¯s chest.


    Already the Warborn made the move to not only deflect it with her left hand, only for her to find another strike coming horizontally towards his waist. This made the Warborn react by deftly blocking both of the strikes with her arms, only for him to find Benedict¡¯s fist hurtling towards her silvered face. Forcing him to draw back her arms to block, which was a mistake that Benedict capitalized on.


    As his scythes fully revealed to the Warborn their degree of mobility as they clawed at her side, drawing a wretched screech of metal as the Warborn was fully taken by surprise,  at how Benedict managed to take a hit on him. For she witnessed how in such a few seconds in between his strikes, his scythes attacked with a force that needed them to be drawn back as he had previously shown. Yet now he saw something different, a new tactic and attempt that could not be just been created from an angry mind.


    ¡°Finally, a measure of control.¡± The Warborn cooed as soon as they engaged in another bout of furious melee. Benedict¡¯s own mind slowly gaining more hold over his very rage, as in this exchange of blows his body that constantly adapted and mutated, found a great incentive in allowing a greater degree of thinking while engage in combat. For it was the most effective way of winning this, or so his subconscious dictated.


    In the ensuing confrontation, the results were extremely varied. Compared to before where Benedict was always countered, now with his screen of steam he was able to surprise the Warborn, dish out several hits and intuitively used his steam for defensive purposes. As the Warborn seemed to be unable to see pass through it. Yet it bore a beautiful sight, as the sight of flesh and steel collided with one another was almost poetic.


    ¡°Yes, this is how you become a true Lord!¡± Exclaimed the Warborn as she surprised Benedict with a sudden sweeping kick towards his legs, completely taking him off guard and nearly toppling him over. Yet through that mist his scythes quickly moved to support himself, though it was short lived as the Warborn followed it up with a dizzying kick towards his head. Which forced him to back away, only to engage quickly with his scythes sweeping up and down in rapid strikes, only for him to back away once the Warborn decided to retaliate.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    This went on and on, seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. Their exchange of blows was becoming more thought out, more elaborate as Benedict displayed his unnatural capability of adapting. Showing a greater degree of control and clarity in his actions, feigning and weaving through the field and taking advantage of his greater mobility and steaming mist.


    Though the Warborn displayed far more variation in his actions, purposely harrying Benedict with a multitude of feigns and retaliations that kept him on edge. Yet what could have been a frustrating experience for Benedict, it turned to growing enjoyment. A thrill in which the combat became what it truly was, a spar, one taking advantage of both combatant¡¯s incredible durability. A challenge in which he could become better, which his mind quickly picked up upon.


    So it was that they fought, on and on in a rapid display of escalating strikes and rising feverish mania between the two. Until both came to a stop, with Benedict himself losing his constant flow of steam as he neared a measure of exhaustion. Though even when he had finally stopped, Benedict did not leave a single mark of damage upon the Warborn, whilst the inverse was true. Though what damage the Warborn had done to him had quickly healed by now.


    ¡°Is it¡­ Over?¡± He asked then, his twin hearts beating furiously in dissonant beating. As his first part thrummed with rapid contractions, a product of his exertion and lingering excitement. The other was beating slower, though it did so in support of his other heart as beads of sweat fell from his forehead. In sight of this the Warborn chuckled in clear glee, which caused Benedict to tense up as he assumed for the worse.


    However the Warborned turned lax, or at least the equivalent of what she could do. As his hands soon began to clap, resounding clearly as the Warforged around the walls followed suit, only the Seekers did nothing as they continued their silent watch. Once a minute or two passed, the Warborn and her warriors stopped, as for the duration of the clapping a look of confusion and suspicion was laced on Benedict¡¯s face.


    ¡°It is far from over.¡± The Warborn says, to which Benedict grimaced as his own negative thoughts brewed. ¡°But the first lesson, you¡¯ve managed to roughly grasp. Your anger has been at the very least, shown to be manageable by your own will. Though I must admit it is far¡­ Malignant and despotic, a fitting thing considering your title little brother.


    Your style of combat however, has much to be desired from. It is both pleasing and disappointing in how you showed it to me, yet it can still be improved which I will thoroughly enjoy.¡±


    With what could be a purr of delight, Benedict sighed as he turned to look to his side. Already from that very act, he could see his better half running towards him, having quickly rushed down from the seats to him the moment their fight had ended. In a minute she arrived, hugging him tightly without giving him a word to say. He did not mind as relief came soon after, his anger fading away quickly as the Warborn looked at him with judging eyes.


    ¡°Do not forget how you fought me Despot. This is only one of many types of combat, involving merely your own body and no other. I shall make sure to temper you in the proper direction, to make you a worthy Lord in Martial Prowess, and in honor so you may stand proud with your very title. Next we meet, I will teach you the full extent of combat using your fists and legs.


    Given your unique limbs however¡­ You yourself need to use them fully, and properly. If not, then not even your absurd regenerative ability will help you in surviving.¡±


    -


    By the time they had gone back to what he considered his ¡®home¡¯, Benedict wasted no time in sleeping. Not even Salia who spoke in soothing sound, nor her healing and warm touch could bring him to not sleep. It was a sudden compulsion that overtook him, which he chalked up the rapid exertion of energy and mana he had done in combat. Of course, when sleep overtook him, that land of bones greeted him in its full malignant beauty. Spanning outwards endlessly in that lonesome sea, as that one moon shines its light down upon him.


    It was a place of baleful beauty, of still unnatural silence and cold silent winds. It was familiar to him, yet now in this very moment it felt different. It felt far more malign than it should be, as if there was danger here which was a strange thing. For in a dream, one may not find danger to themselves, unless it was a nightmare. Which this land of bones and the dead could be one, but to Benedict it was a dream he was well accustomed now.


    To the point that only annoyance was something he felt truly in this instance, for like always all he needed to do was walk. Continue walking until he reached that large titanic gate, and lay witness to that strange eldritch thing within, watching with those eyes of it. Of course accompanied by the rising undead that grew in numbers without end.


    Yet now, something was indeed different. Something utterly wrong. For now he stood not upon the flat land composed of skulls, instead he was sitting upon a throne of stone and gold. Which in of itself was strange and confusing, if it wasn¡¯t overshadowed by the fact the throne and himself sat atop what seemed to be a floating mass of skulls. Which in turn was held further aloft by eight chains, pointing outwards in all possible directions, connected to angels.


    Or what seemed to be angels in his eyes, for they were large black cloaked beings, hunched and flying with six wings of an ashy grey coloration, the chains themselves held tightly by gangly arms covered in strange runic inscriptions. All topped up by the very fact their faces could not be seen, completely obscured by the hood they wore, that made them more akin to angels of death.


    Reapers for simplicity¡¯s sake. Though even with that thought and realization, this still confused him, as the angels were carrying the floating mass towards something, to what direction he could not know. Even then as he tried to ponder upon it, more changes revealed itself to his very gaze. For in this moment upon the once silent yet eerie land of bones, the sound of combat rang out in discordant quality. It was combat in the likes that he knew to be only found in his world, and in the various forms of fantastical literature and films it had.


    ¡®What is this¡­¡¯ Was what he thought, as ever since this kind of dream had began. He knew that there was a constant to it, one eventuality that would manifest in the end. How it would reach such an end, was always the same, he needed to walk, he needed to walk without end onwards. Yet this was not normal, and something within his mind nagged at him that this could not be right.


    In mere moments he was proven right, as from where he sat he could see what was in front of him and below. Which drew a gasp of surprise from him, forcing him to sit up from his throne, followed by him rushing to the edge of the float mass he was on.


    ¡°What is this?!¡± He exclaimed in disbelief. Eyes widening in surprise and disbelief, as directly below from his flying piece of land, was a war that raged. It was a war not waged by beings of flesh, but rather the undead that he saw rise up frequently in his previous dreams. The scale and extent of the war was readily apparent, as from even up high on where he was, he could hear the clamor of combat, the explosions of spells, and most of all the bellowing of commands and warcries.


    From his vantage point, the scene below was as clear as day to him. Letting his eyes see the hundreds of thousands of warriors in combat, each one being from two distinct sides that was barely familiar to him. However if one did not pay attention, they were just merely indistinct bodies warring with one another, crushing, cutting and piercing one another in some chaotic fashion.


    But for Benedict, he could not help but examine both sides. His hearts somehow beating in excitement and glee as he viewed the battle. As he quickly found that one side was a sort of ¡®holy¡¯ army, highly reminiscent of the crusaders of his world, with them being highly varied in their attire and weaponry. The other side was something obviously fantastical, undead that wore black and red armor, having demonic designs upon their armor and weaponry.


    Both sides had access to mages, siege weapons and surprisingly, titanic warriors. Which their respective commanders used to deadly effect, causing much chaos and havoc for both undead armies. Both side also held its own fair share of heroes, and rising villainous deeds that he watched closely. Strangely however, it seemed both side spoke english, it was not translated into the very language, but they themselves did so.


    ¡°For the Alliance!¡± The Crusaders yelled.


    ¡°Glory to the Legion!¡± The Demons chanted.


    Yet all over the battlefield, was utter pandemonium. They fought as if they had nothing to lose, they fought as if the world around them was truly at stakes. They did not even consider both sides were undead, only the fact that they had to win mattered to them. Or perhaps they didn¡¯t even see each other as undead, such a thought was considered by Benedict. But in the end it did not matter, as the battle went on and on, each side gaining and losing an advantage in equal measure.


    Of note, there were two particular beings that peaked his interest. One was a sort of warrior-king from the side of the Crusaders, the other was a sort of berserker from the Demons.


    The warrior-king despite his undead state, wore an eye-catching set of armor. It was practical and utilitarian, a simple set of gunmetal grey plate armor, paired up with a mail coif upon his head, topped by a damaged but noble golden grown.  With the cuirass itself having been covered by a surcoat, which had the depiction of a strange golden face, whose eyes and mouth was wide open in a silent scream, yet the eyes and mouth respectively was colored a bright gold. As if light was coming out of the face itself. Upon his armored hands was a simple mace and a shield respectively.


    The berserker on the other hand, was in every sense incredibly strange in attire. It was impractical to the extreme, for the berserker wore an armor composed of numerous bones. Be it small or large, turning him into an undead composed of more undead. This did not bother the berserker however, as his skeletal attire was vaguely formed into a measure of fantastically designed plate, whilst his hands wielded a large greatsword composed of black pulsating metal and even more bones.  Not only that, the very eye sockets of the berserker glowed a furious red.


    In physical quality the two were very different, one was clearly embodying that of humble nobility that fought for what was right. The other was merely senseless madness and evil, with one edgy quality to it that Benedict could not help but cringe at.


    In action however, the two showed their difference greatly. As the warrior-king led by example, fighting alongside those that bore his symbol, not only commanding them to fight, but also defending them. Never being too far away from those he led, and showing grand acts of valor as he spearheaded a daring counter-attack against the forces of the demons.


    Much in contrast however, the berserker fought alone. He was larger than any of the present combatants, in part due to the fact he was composed of more bones than anyone else. This allowed him to tower over many combatants, swinging his blade in reckless abandon and even going as far as to hit his own allies. He was the clear embodiment of a berserker, anything and everyone that he faced was an obstacle that must be slaughtered.


    The sight of the two instilled an incredible sense of familiarity upon him, as if a feeling of dejavu was hitting him. It was similar in the way he saw his proto-aberrations, but the difference between the two now and to his proto-aberrations, the former were beings of this strange nightmare. Whilst the latter were clearly things that he had created, though as to how he had not yet found out.


    Though as he had continued to watch, the angels continued to carry the mass he was on ever forward. The battle below slowly drifting away, yet the two he had singled out as unique still faught. Their clashing and actions being clearly obvious to him, even when magic and archaic artillery shattered the ground of skulls they stood upon.


    Yet this would be the last he would see of them for this instance, with the berserker and warrior-king meeting and battling with one another. With the warrior-king and his loyal knights meeting the lone berserker in solemn dedication, working with one another in unity. Even when they outnumbered the berserker, they could not gain a proper hold as their large foe attacked without any hesitation or thought. Breaking their shield lines, until it was a one on one duel.


    Who won then, Benedict could not know as the angels had taken the mass away. To a familiar place, as when he finally turned away from the dwindling forms of the crusaders and demons, he saw the titanic gate that heralded the end of his dream. It was always the same, large and domineering, defying every logical sense he had upon his very being.


    However like the start of this dream, it was different now as the angels were purposely bringing the mass to the gate. Specifically upon the forehead of the very skull that composed the strange esoteric locking mechanism of the gate itself. Only stopping once the mass a few meters away from the very crack on the forehead itself, in which upon the darkness within faded to reveal a multitude of truly eyes. All staring at him with mad intent.


    ¡®Free me.¡¯ It said to him, speaking in guttural and squelching noises, translated into understandable language in the form of a thousand psychic screams bearing down upon his mind. It forced him to flinch back, grinding his teeth together as a surge of pain overcame his mind.


    ¡°Why?¡± He asked as he reeled backwards, making sure that he was further away and back near the throne he initially sat upon. ¡°Why should I? What is this place? What are you?¡±


    He asked it more questions as he soon realized that this would give him answers, answers which he hoped to shed light on why he was having this dream, and why there were things happening specifically to him, that was either too terrifying or convenient to even be a coincidence.


    ¡®Free me.¡¯ It said again, the largest eye of it quivering in agitation and clear anger, as tentacles began to slowly pour out of the blackness within the stone skull¡¯s hole, slowly trying to free itself, which was fruitless. As it let out a deep scream that forced Benedict to cover his ears. ¡®Free me.¡¯


    ¡®Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out.¡¯ It began to say, repeating it over and over in disharmonious sound as its tentacles all reached for him, suddenly darting out to grave him, forcing him to react by using his scythes to strike at them. Forcing the very tentacles to back away, or be cut entirely.


    ¡°Answer me! Why should I?! Who are you?! And what is this place?!¡± He bellowed back as strangely, no anger came from him. Only a surprising calm as he used his scythes to fend off the coming tentacles that sought to take him away.


    As one might expect, the creature behind the gate could do nothing but repeat its previous words. Its psychic screams continued on and on, as his scythes met the tentacles in quick succession. Cutting and tearing, with him maneuvering around the mass to dodge what he could not cut, which further caused more psychic screams from the monstrous thing.


    Then ancticlamitically the creature suddenly withdrew its tentacles, with its psychic screams all grounding to a halt as one by one its eyes closed. Only allowing its largest to stare, which in turn closed minutes later. This only confused Benedict as moments later the dream suddenly ended, with him waking up to something pressing down upon him, enough to make breathing hard.


    ¡°Good morning.¡± Someone said, as the feeling of a sharp blade was pressed down upon his neck. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to wake up so early.¡± The individual continued, her voice being unfamiliar yet clearly mischievous. In an instant Benedict tensed up, his scythes readying itself to strike at whoever was pressing the blade against his neck.


    But when his eyes opened, all he saw was something vaguely female straddling him. Her face looming close to his own, as a large ornate dagger was beginning to be caress his skin. She was akin to a mass of living shadows, only the glowing purple eyes of hers allowed him to see that she was not a hallucination. This made him frown, as he turned to look for a Salia, who somehow was still fast asleep next to him.


    THis brought him a measure of relief, before his waking mind instantly placed its attention back to this female shadow. Though she smiled, letting out a hushed giggle as she pressed down her dagger on his neck again, reminding him that she could slit his throat. Though he was not sure if that was enough to kill him.


    ¡°So¡­ This is the Forlorn¡¯s own successor. You¡¯re actually smaller in person.¡± Teasingly she shifted her sitting position, dangerously pushing herself back to where his crotch was. It seems this was on purpose, as another giggle escaped her lips. ¡°You smell different too, you smell of blood and of clear anger¡­ Very scary, so scary.~¡±


    ¡°... Who are you?¡± Biting back his growing anger, he asked her, a question which he hoped to be answered unlike when he was in his dream.


    ¡°I¡¯m no one in particular.~ Maybe you can beat the answer out of me hmm? Tear it away from my mind, as you dominate me with your feral feelings, is it not what you are meant to do. Despot?¡± Now her own words were now teasing, which brought down an uncomfortable feeling of awkwardness to Benedict.


    ¡°What?¡± Was what all he could voice, which caused a look of amusement from the strange woman.


    ¡°You heard me Despot. If you wish for that answer, you¡¯ll need to dominate me, it¡¯s what you¡¯re meant to do.~ That or you can just try and kill me, but you won''t get the chance before I kill you.¡±

 Chapter Eighteen: Omen of Hate

    ¡°Spite sustains and hate motivates, a solemn truth branded to man. Let no foolish hope ever stand, to let one forget about the fallen land. Woe seekers of strength, woe to the clever men that delve into mana, for the Ancients watch and guard, their hatred strong for the races of man.¡±


    - Unknown : Second verse of the lost Dirge of Asjen


    Within what could be described as a withered husk of a colossal tree, a peculiar structure hanged within its hollowed depths. It could be described as a platform of clockwork materiel, with incessant whining of gears and various strange pumps and tubes running across its length, made alien with strange and wondrous arcane tools that dotted its length and even around the withered walls. Which came naturally with the presence of strange arcane writings on the walls, all of which throbbed with strange dissonant sounds.


    At the center of this strange and confusing cacophony, the Lord Weaver hovered surrounded in equally strange happenings. Which served to strengthen his position as the eccentric among the twelve Lords, yet he seemed to be in deep focus. His hidden face beading with sweat as he moved his arms and hands, performing and creating confusing mystic gestures, which would mystify even the most experienced of mages among the young races.


    Beyond this he was beset by magical occurrences, born completely from his own actions. Which all related to eleven red crystals that hovered with him, though seemingly orbiting his form in their own accord. It sat well with what was happening, lending a great credence to his title as the Weaver, for it seemed he was a grand arachne weaving some unseen yet vital silk in his domain. That was what other races would perceive now, which was all too far from the truth.


    The truth was something far simpler and surprisingly malign, for the Weaver was delving deep into the essence of his new brother. The newly named Despot was an oddity among oddities, which motivated the curious mind of the greatest mage of the Ancients to explore and ponder, and in doing so led himself to the experimentation with the Blood Crystals that formed from an ancient rite of a long dead people. This in part was not solely due to his desire to know, but rather a necessity that another Lord asked of him.


    Yet whatever motivation he may have had, was overshadowed by the growing sense of confusion and dread. As from the false serpentine eye of his helm, he was blessed by a means to see beyond the ken of most mortal races. To see what was always there, yet unseen by ones who had never found the truth of mana. Through this false eye, he saw it. The unceasing nature of the Despot captured in small quantities within the crystals, which made his eyes watery, and mind shift in bouts of strange fascination and fear.


    It should have been simple, he thought. He was merely attempting to focus the power within the gems, so they may be ready for the socketing into the equipment of the Despot. Yet he grossly underestimated the nature of a being capable of spawning eleven crystals from their own potent blood, and in turn turned his desire for understanding to that of containment.


    For in his enhanced sight, there stood shifting beings of unnatural qualities that made his mind swim. Things that shouldn¡¯t be, yet are, and ones that would have caused madness if he wasn¡¯t protected by his own helm. As what he saw before him were many things, yet dwindling and multiplying as each second passed, seemingly coming from one another and devouring each other.


    It was akin to the very representation of a concept of endless rebirth, a cycle unending that one was doomed to.  Which did not bode well for the Weaver in understanding the Despot, as in his false eye he saw not his tower, but a land of endless bone and eternal night. Where throughout the horizon was sight of endless war, of skeletal beings tearing one another apart bit by bit, only to reconstruct themselves moments later.


    The land reeked of many malignant emotions and concepts, chief of which was necromancy. It surprised the Weaver, as this very sight implied the Despot was meant to be a Necromancer. A possible individual that may rise up to the ancient tales of the forgotten dead, in which he would perhaps surpass the long dead gods of undeath itself. But such a thing should have not been enough to instill fear in him, there was something else in this strange land of skulls that he could not see, nor understand.


    Before he could ponder more into what he saw, the land faded and in its place the interior of his tower returned. With a looming presence towering over him, a thing of ichorous flesh and incomprehensible amount of undulating physical parts, which spoke in a echoing gibberish tongue. He did not understand it, nor did he feel like wanting to, yet it spoke as it drew close. The sight of it forcing tears down his hidden eyes, as its voice grew louder the closer it got.


    When it was but mere inches from his hovering form, the thing was only repeating one thing. Its meaning forcibly piercing his mind so he may understand.


    ¡°Let me out.¡±


    -


    Benedict found his mind thinking of one particular word the woman said. Dominate. It in the context he often found himself in, was a violent word. It meant many things, yet his mind knew it to be a word that meant murder and slavery, meanings he was familiar with thanks to what he had experienced. Yet¡­ A part of him understood that this woman meant something else, something that went beyond the crude and violent interpretations he thought of.


    This drew from him a gasp of surprise, as his eyes widened in realisation which elicited a coo of delight from the woman. As her shadowy form seem to fade, allowing her true look to be shown, which caused a blush from Benedict and a shameful growing arousal within him. A desire that was once smothered by his need to feed, destroy and survive.


    For the woman without her shadow was unbelievably desirable, more so than his better half who slept next to him. As she was voluptuous, bearing the physical traits that caused lust to quickly rise from the chest of Benedict. Large breasts, long hair, thick thighs, wide hips, a slightly toned body and what seemed to be a regal yet seductive face akin to a dominatrix.


    ¡°Up for the challenge Despot~?¡± She says with a voice that rang in his ears and mind, which he replied to by simply raising his hands and taking a hold of her hips, leaning up and ignoring the very dagger that had its blade against his neck. As he needed this, needed her body. To the point that all the anger, all the hunger and the connection to his malign creations was faded. Replaced by the simple need to have this woman.


    Which she happily allowed, letting herself be held by the Despot and leaning down to kiss him. This sent his body aflame with a desire that felt wholly natural, where his hands slid down from her hips and down to her rear as he deepened the kiss, letting out an animalistic growl as he gave her rear a wanting grope, that caused a moan from the grey-skinned woman.


    Then a hand came, not from the grey-skinned woman but a hand that set him at ease, which softly held his shoulder, tapping at it with soft fingers to get his attention. But he did not turn and was focused on the kiss, even when his hearts began to beat in unison, a sense of dread creeping up his spine which was soon vindicated.


    As suddenly without a sound, woman that he was passionately kissing was pulled back with great force. Breaking their kiss and depriving the Despot of the source of his lust, which made him turn to his side, only to be greeted by Salia. Who smiled and spoke to him, her voice cold with anger not directed at him, but at someone else.


    ¡°Good morning my love.¡± She said. ¡°It seems¡­ There¡¯s an intruder in our room. Please, lay down, I¡¯ll handle it.~¡± Though still loving and full of warmth, Salia¡¯s voice felt wrong and cold, something that instilled great fear within him that the sudden surge of lust and arousal within his body was decimated. Replaced by a deep sense of fear and regret.


    ¡°S-Salia¡­ I¡­¡± Trying to find an excuse for his actions as fear held him for the first time in days, Benedict looked to Salia and noticed her right arm was extended outwards, pointing to the woman that once straddled him. Here he shut his mouth, as from the palm of her hand, a disgustingly long and impossibly large tentacle jutted out. With dozens more constricting around it, forming what seemed to be blunted spikes and growing dozens of eyes that looked around erratically.


    Then she reached with her left hand towards his lips, placing her finger upon it to prevent him from speaking anymore. As Salia¡¯s entire right arm was engulfed in dozens of magical circles, bearing runes that he saw in his dreams. At the sight of them his hearts began to beat furiously, as he turned to look to what the tentacles seemed to be holding.


    The grey-skinned woman, who now was once more a woman of pure shadow, was held in place against the walls of the room. With the tentacles that held her slowly tightening, intent at breaking her bones while the blunted spikes slowly sharpened itself. Which made the woman in their grip growl in anger, using her dagger to try and hack away at the tentacles that he held, but it did not aid her, as the tentacles reformed as fast as she could cut them.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    This made Salia grin widely, as she slowly got up from the bed and stood up on the floor. Where the manifold magical circles on her right arm, spread to her left, which she raised to motion to the woman.


    ¡°He is¡­ Mine,¡± she began. ¡°You cannot have him wench, you do not have my permission.¡± With that very line her grin turned manic, showing off an unnatural set of sharpened teeth, with her eyes turning akin to the eyes of that thing in his dreams.


    ¡°Die.¡± She said then, which finally spurred Benedict into action. Not in worry for the woman that he nearly had sex with, but for Salia who now held qualities that were so unnatural, that it made him truly worried. Enough that he leapt towards her, only for her to look at him and held him in place in the air with her left hand.


    ¡°My dear¡­ Stay still. This shall be over soon, and I can sate your lust and make us¡­ Whole.¡± Then with a sickening chorus, the sound of something breaking echoed out with a disgust ¡®Thwack!¡¯


    -


    It had been a scant few days since Aniara had revealed the fullest extent of the coming expedition, the plans, the routes and the leaders that would lead the groups of Summoned. As such it was no surprise that Isalabi was a hive of activity. From the Summoned Heroes to the Peasant Serfs of nobility, who moved to prepare for not only the coming expedition, but also that of winter. As the Lonesome Frost¡¯s winters were erratic at best, and completely insane at worse, which rendered the eastern half of this very lands to be nearly a mystery.


    As such the Godless who found no true camaraderie or reason to interact with the Summoned, stayed far from them and gathered their own supplies, preparing in their own way. Even when the Kings had already prepared supplies beforehand, rendering their current attempts at preparing to be redundant. But they could not care about it.


    For they were concerned with polishing their combat capabilities, sparring with one another with fury and strength that made it akin to a battle. With only the fact that they were using practice swords and equipment even showing that it was a practice.


    ¡°Harder!¡± Screamed Carleon, whose voice was akin to a harsh barking of a large hound, raising a thick wooden kite shield against a coming overhead swing from his fellow. He braced himself and felt the shield hold against the wooden sword that hit it, a loud thwack ringing out, only followed by another as Jio striked again.


    ¡°You¡¯re using a shield!¡± Jio complained, his voice laced with frustration and growing fatigue. But Carleon moved forward, meeting him with a sudden lurch forward and a bash with his shield that connected against Jio¡¯s sword arm, eliciting a yelp of surprise, as Carleon slammed his shield once more against Jio. Forcing him back and nearly causing him to stumble.


    ¡°Nothing is fair Jio. Not here.¡± Carleon retorted with a frown, thumping his own sword against the shield, as if to goad Jio into striking again. ¡°Goblins, Wolves, Beastmen, barely intelligent, common hazards in the cold land of the Lonesome Frost. But¡­ What about humans? Are you confident you can best one?¡±


    ¡°... No.¡±


    ¡°Then do not complain. Remember our old sparring sessions.¡± Carleon moved forward now, slowly crossing the distance between them with his shield raised, and sword kept close and tucked in. Very reminiscent of the way Benedict held his shield when they practiced, meant to be used in heated engagements, or so he told them.


    But it could not work against a passive enemy, which Jio remembered in his frustration at not being able to overcome Carleon. Making him instead ready his sword, moving back and opposite of Carleon, before moving towards him to the side. Where both began to circle one another, eyes firmly locked against one another. As this dance of theirs had bega an hour ago, with the ending being the same thing over and over. Like an incessant refrain.


    It showed how much practice Jio needed, and Carleon made sure to make him realize this. Even if it means wounding his pride, as both knew that the Summoned would not be dependable. Making this more than necessary, it was to ensure their survival.


    As Benedict had taught them, that no matter how prepared one could be, without honing their bodies, they would fail here. They needed to make their actions almost instinctive, almost as if it was second nature. Something their dear friend showed in his rage. This Jio mused for a few seconds, where Carleon capitalized in the inaction of his to rush forward.


    Jio prepared himself, assuming that this would be like the last clash. A charge to hit him with his shield, disorienting him and hitting him with the same tool. Which was quite painful, making Jio meet his friend¡¯s rush with one of his own, and feinted a strike overhead, which Carleon did not fall for, causing him to instead stop on his tracks. Where Jio tried to halt his charge, but found it too late as Carleon quickly slammed his shield against Jio, repeating what happened earlier.


    ¡°Remember. You¡¯re faster, use that to your advantage.¡± Carleon said with a sigh of disappointment, before once again thumping his sword against his shield. Jio nodded at this, sighing in frustration whilst his body ached in pain, yet he ignored it, all in the name of becoming better. Or at least getting a proper strike on Carleon.


    It proved hard to do, as Carleon was calm, composed, methodical in his actions. Far removed from when anger took him in that one incident, and an entirely new beast compared to Benedict. Who engaged with recklessness that made him at least predictable. Yet Carleon¡­ He was a veritable wall of possibilities, who in the time they had parted gained greater improvement.


    Which partly made Jio jealous, as it felt he was once again¡­ Behind. A detriment. Where for a moment he felt his memories surge back, but he curbed them down and moved forward, to engage Carleon again. Where the same situation played out, frustrating him further, over and over, until he kicked at Carleon¡¯s shield, which made Carleon tense up. Bracing against the kick which gave Jio a slight opening to reach out with his left hand, and simply pry the shield from Carleon¡¯s chest with great force.


    It worked and surprised Carleon, who tugged at his shield to stop Jio, but by then a blade came crashing down and struck Carleon on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt of pain and a happy laugh.


    ¡°Good! Good!¡± He said, kicking Carleon back and laughing fully. ¡°Finally man! Finally! This, this is how you fight. Fight with every possible action meant to let you win!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not honorable¡­ Benedict won¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°True¡­ But would he like it if we died because of Honor?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ He wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°See? He wasn¡¯t really¡­ Honorable in many cases. Honorable in some cases, but¡­¡± Carleon paused, trying to find the word to finish his sentence. Which someone else finished.


    ¡°Murderous.¡± Said a ghastly voice, ringing in their minds as out of nowhere, the dessicated avatar of the book Carleon had once held arrived. He manifested from the shadows of theirs, filing the warm training room with the cold of winter. The cold of which chilled them to their very souls, as the thing seemed¡­ Physical. Real. No longer bound to the Book that caused it to be known to them.


    This caused much concern, as Jio saw the thing more clearly, and it made him tense up in growing fear. As the being instilled it in them, their natural reactions screaming for them to flee, yet they could not, for some force held them in place against their very will.


    ¡°Murderous: Capable of or intending to murder; dangerously violent.: "a brutal and murderous despot"... Your friend.¡± He says with that whisper of his, approaching them to reveal Benedict¡¯s blade in his hands, which had the crude etchings on its surface glowing brightly.


    ¡°... What the hell? What¡­ What are you doing?¡± Carleon asked, attempting to break free.


    ¡°Showing you¡­ An Omen from your dearest friend.¡±