《Son of Thunder》


 Chapter One - The Red crown.

    Chapter One


    The first clear memory I have of my childhood is fleeing for my life. Men my father had known all his life turning on my family out of fear, ready to kill even children to appease their foolish gods. So we fled that night with only what we could carry, hounded by men filled with blood lust. That night my older brother fell, pierced by a dozen swords. It was the first time in my short four years that I had seen death and it was burned forever into my mind. Even now I clearly see his face frozen in death, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide and empty, life no longer there. Of course as with all the major events of my life there was a storm. The sky was filled with thick black thunder clouds, with ghastly red lightning illuminating the sky. It was my first true storm, back then it had seemed vast and boundless, though now it pales in comparison to what I¡¯ve seen.


    -Part of a recorded discussion between Agiads the Red King and the Son of Thunder.


    The sound of metal ringing filled the small forest clearing where two men, rather two boys stood. Their blades held out in shaking hands, sweat raining from their bodies, soaking the ground. Since before the sun had risen they had spared under the watchful eyes of their teacher Fulgan who stood nearby, his steel grey eyes focused intently on every move made. Both were his students, his best in fact, among all the others he had taught only one was better, but that young man had been dead for six years.


    ¡°Stop! You two have spared enough. Agiads you lost, but only by a hair''s breadth, your agility is superb and easily makes up for the difference in size and technique my son holds as an advantage.¡± he praised, talking to the smaller of the two. The boy was lean and thin, with a shock of red hair and a smattering of freckles across his youthful face. Agiads had childish face with a mischievous grin that sat comfortably there, almost never leaving. The only other and most notable of his features was the red three pointed crown that rested over his heart. It was a birthmark that sealed his fate as one of the cursed and the reason why he lived out here in the forest.


    ¡°Son, you did well. Though you have to train your agility, or Agiads will soon overtake you.¡± he said looking to the taller of the two boys, his own flesh and blood Taran. Like him, his son towered above others, even now he was nearly the same size as full grown man. This was due to the blood of the giants his grandfather claimed coursed through their veins. Thankfully his son had inherited some blood from his mother''s side, he would be handsome when he grew older, with thick back hair and perfectly chiseled features. Not like his own harsh weathered look, which his wife loved for some reason. Looking at the gentle smile and warm look on his son¡¯s face he was relieved, even though he knew that underneath his gentle exterior was something hard and cold like steel, ready to be called upon at moments notice. The vicious death of his brother had changed Taran and tempered him in a way no boy should have to be. Something that haunted Fulgan, if only he''d been stronger, the only thing he took solace in was that the smile was natural, his son could still laugh like a child.


    ¡°For now we¡¯re done, go and do your chores. I have to prepare for the other students.¡± he said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. The two boys nodded and sheathed their swords before departing.


    With a smile Fulgan watched them disappear into the forest before closing his eyes and mentally running the training routine planned for the rest of the children, they would be arriving soon.


    Taran¡¯s long stride let him keep pace with the much faster Agiads as they raced through the woods moving like shadows, their passing leaving hardly a trace, a skill honed by years of being hunted like animals for being born as one of the cursed, or in Taran¡¯s case for being kin to one of the cursed. Chatting and laughing as they moved, they started to behave much more like children ready to play or in their case do chores now that training was over for the day.


    Arriving at a small, gently flowing creek that was really little more than a stream, they came to a stop. Taking just long enough to remove their blades and peel off their breeches they jumped in with an excited yell. Surfacing they smiled at one another and laughed, gathering up the fine sand at the edge of the river they used it to help clean away the sweat and dirt from their skin.


    Sitting on a large rock that jutted out into the river the boys leaned back, relaxing next to their breeches which had been laid out to dry. They wanted to make the most of the short break they had before chores. Suddenly Agiads looked over at Taran a serious expression on his face, to him Taran was like a brother, even since they had met they had been inseparable, ¡°I want to show you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, not even your dad. Okay?¡± the redhead asked his voice wavering, he was nervous, something which was out of character for the boy. ¡°Don¡¯t worry even a dragon wouldn¡¯t be able to make me spill, we¡¯re brothers after all.¡± Taran promised without a second thought. Despite his childish promise he was focused intently on his friend, he knew how serious this actually was by the lack of Agiads¡¯ trademark grin. Giving a shaky smile Agiads spoke softly his voice just barely a whisper, ¡°I think I¡¯ve awoken my birthright.¡± Those simple words made Taran¡¯s eyes widen and they explained exactly why Agiads was nervous.


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    Rarely people in this world were born blessed, or cursed, with powerful abilities that let them rise above the rest, or in legends, challenge the gods. They were divided into four categories; Bloodline powers, Spirit powers, Divine powers, and Infernal powers. Bloodline powers were as the name suggested unique to certain powerful bloodlines. The other three categories were powers gifted by powerful existences, far beyond mortals. At least that is what is taught. The one thing all shared was that the possessor would have a unique birthmark. For most this was a celebration, it meant their child was destined for greatness. However for an unlucky few they were born with a birthmark that was considered cursed and by order of the gods that child was to be put to death.


    The red three pointed crown over Agiads heart was one such mark, it represented a cursed bloodline. Why it was considered cursed and what power it represented was a mystery. The original family was thought to have been wiped out centuries ago and naturally such knowledge was jealously guarded by the Temple of the Divine council.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Taran asked his voice lowered to a whisper. With that said his eyes searched the surrounding woods nervously, looking for anyone who might be spying. Copying Taran, Agiads nervously searched the water¡¯s edge before bringing his thumb to his mouth. Biting down hard he broke the skin and a trickle of blood flowed down his hand. ¡°Watch.¡± he said holding his arm straight out. The trickle of blood started to move faster, spiralling around his arm all the way to his shoulder before spiralling back on the same path and collecting in his palm. A moment later it was absorbed into his skin, vanishing. Stunned Taran stared, incapable of saying a word, it was the first time he had ever seen a Birthmark power and shocked him. ¡°I can even close my wounds.¡± Agiads continued, the small slice on his thumb vanishing, leaving his thumb whole again, without even the trace of a scar. Looking at Taran he waited nervously for a response. Finally after a few heart wrenching moments Taran smiled "Incredible.¡± he whispered excitedly, patting Agiads back.


    Sighing in relief Agiads felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, even though he expected things to go this way, there had always a hint of worry. Taran was the first to learn about his power after all, not even his Mother knew. In fact it would worry her, after all it had caused them no end of grief and suffering as they fled for their lives.


    ¡°There is more, it¡¯s something that scares me.¡± Agiads continued slowly, ¡°I can feel the blood inside of others, as if it were pumping through me. It rings in my ears like a¡­ like a siren song, calling to me.¡± he whispered, looking at Taran, his friend¡¯s blood song beating deafeningly in his head. It was like a set of war drums, full of youthful energy, whipping an army into frenzy. ¡°That¡¯s not what scares me; all of this would be manageable if it that was all it was. But it isn¡¯t. Sometimes I feel a terrifying compulsion filling me, telling me to spill blood. To rend flesh and stain the ground crimson¡­¡± he paused fear on his young face, he didn¡¯t want it. ¡°It¡¯s getting stronger every day, not by a lot, but still stronger¡± Agiads whispered hoarsely. Freezing for a moment felt a surge of power within, as if acknowledging his demons made them stronger. For a moment Agiads swore he could see the veins and arteries beneath Taran¡¯s skin, the blood coursing through them forming a complex web all over his friend''s body. He knew where he could strike to kill, it would only take a moment and the blood trapped within would spill free, his for the taking.


    There wasn¡¯t even a moment of hesitation as Taran clapped a hand on his silent friend¡¯s shoulder, letting out a fearless chortle, ¡°That is terrifying, but so what?¡± he asked, grinning. Just like that Agiads was brought back to reality his vision returning to normal while the compulsion vanished. Even the sound of Taran¡¯s blood quieted to the slightest whisper. ¡°Wha?¡± he mumbled, shocked by the laugh. ¡°I said so what. Who cares about the compulsion, it¡¯s just an obstacle to be passed. If it¡¯ gets stronger, then you should do the same and beat it back until it can no longer resist.¡± he stated with childlike bravado, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.


    Hearing Taran¡¯s answer Agiads burst out laughing, it was childish and naive reasoning, but it was just what he needed to hear and so he laughed, laughed until tears formed at his eyes and his stomach cramped. As simple as Taran¡¯s answer was it could solve his problem and he was ashamed he hadn¡¯t seen it himself. Fear and worry have their place, but dwelling on them was useless, that was the first lesson Fulgan had taught them. If he wanted to fight the demon within he simply had to get stronger.


    Still clutching his sore stomach Agiads stood ¡°You always know what to say.¡± he said offering a hand to Taran, ¡°I was born with this and I will make it mine.¡± he said, his voice filled with conviction that would rival a boy many years older. Living on the edge of life and death forced one to either grow up early or die.


    ¡°You would have gotten there eventually.¡± Taran replied, as he collected their scattered gear. ¡°Unless you have any other massive revelations, let''s go our separate ways. Otherwise I¡¯ll get a good tongue lashing from Gymir for being late again. Bellows don¡¯t pump themselves after all.¡± Taran added, tossing Agiads his sword belt before pulling on his own breeches.


    ¡°Right, right. My mother will skin me if I¡¯m late again.¡± the other young boy said with a reflexive shiver, his mother had tanned his hide on more than one occasion. Pulling on his breeches he dashed off into the woods, hoping to pick a few herbs on the way. Snickering Taran went in the opposite direction, heading to the small collection of structures that he considered his home.

 Chapter Two - A Warning for The Apprentice.

    Chapter Two


    The greatest Smith? That¡¯s impossible to say, after all there have been so many Master Smiths throughout the millennia. Names that have survived through the centuries, spoken with awe and reverence when their works are listed off, their greatest creations capable of shaking the world. How would one know who is better it¡¯s not like we can compare their skills, they are talents that come once in a lifetime. Of course the most powerful forging legacy certainly belongs to the Ferrus clan, for they possess a Bloodline Birthmark, they have produced more legendary weapons and Master Smiths than any other of the famous legacies of the forge. Not only that, one and all of them are at least capable smiths, kingdoms have offered outrageous ransoms for a contract with the Ferrus clan, even Council Forces pay handsomely to outfit their men with weapons made by the Ferrus Smiths. Truly they are blessed.


    -Opening passage of The Compendium of Smiths and their Creations, Divine or Otherwise. Author Unknown


    Entering the small village he and his family called home Taran felt a smile tug at his lips, he felt safe here. The village consisted of a loose spattering of 16 structures each one unique as the family living inside. In the centre of the village there was a large well and a communal fire pit where most of the families gathered in the evening to eat and socialize. The village itself was located in a valley a few hundred kilometers inside the outer edge of the gigantic mountain range that bordered the western side of the continent. Almost five hundred kilometers from the border of the nearest country and the reach of the The Council.


    Covering millions of kilometers there were at least a hundred different names given to the range and its offshoots over the millennia, but most people used the name given by the Divine council; The Godless Peaks.


    The struggle of surviving deep in the woods and the fear of being hunted brought them all together, like one large extended family. Taran trusted everyone in the village completely.


    For the last two years there had been no need to keep moving, to watch every shadow for pursuers, dreading the moment when they had to abandon everything and run like animals. Finally now they could put down roots, to make a real life for themselves. The pursers who had been hunting his sister could no longer find them and it was all thanks to Auntie. She was not his real Aunt, but everyone just called her that and she had never offered another name to use. She was a powerful witch and with her magic protecting them no one could track them, In fact she had her own birthmark, like his sister Auntie was born with the mark of a Blind Witch.


    ¡°Hey Taran!¡± A group of half a dozen younger children called out as they passed, each one had a sword at their waist and was on their way to his father¡¯s class.


    Nodding in return Taran hurried up, he didn¡¯t want to be late. If he was he¡¯d be at the bellows all day as punishment. Suddenly a hand grabbed his wrist with surprising strength and wheeled him around, Taran came face to face with Garret.


    The small hunched over man with salt and pepper hair, bushy eyebrows and a beard that went past his waist was the husband of Auntie, he was also touched in the head. On a good day he would just mutter and drool, on a bad day he would scream and have seizures. Of course no one feared him, he was friendly and childlike, often he would even make small trinkets to give as presents. Taran wore one around his neck.


    The shock from the strength in Garret¡¯s wrinkled old hands was nothing when compared to the shock he had when Garret stared at him. There was a look of clarity in his normally clouded dark green eyes.


    Returning the stare Taran felt like he was looking into a vast ancient pool, the old man¡¯s gaze emanating wisdom and power, enough to shake Taran to the core. ¡°A Storm is coming child, stay inside.¡± Garret warned his ancient voice for once clear and precise. Moments later the clouded look returned to his eyes and Garret released Taran, a wide grin plastered on his face. Placing a tiny polished oval stone in Taran¡¯s large hand he headed off whistling and muttering to himself.


    Gazing at the stone for a moment he slipped it into the pouch at his waist and continued on, disturbed and unable to get Garret¡¯s warning out of his head.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Every second day, rather than helping his mother Taran instead worked under the blacksmith Gymir. He had joined their group of runaway¡¯s three s ago with his infant son. Taran wasn¡¯t a natural and would never be a grandmaster, but he worked hard and was the only child with the stamina and strength to help Gymir by working the bellows.


    Surprisingly the familiar sound of the hammer striking metal was absent from the forge when he arrived, causing Taran to worry as he approached Gymir¡¯s home. The single storey home consisted of one large living space and two smaller bedrooms, with an open air smithy built behind the house. Pushing open the door, the smell of stale booze and vomit wafted over him, making him gag. ¡°Master Ferrus are you there?¡± he called slowly entering the dimly lit home, the windows drawn shut. Having been here so many, he didn¡¯t need to see to navigate his way across the main room to the door of Gymir¡¯s bedroom.


    Pushing open the door he was greeted by the site of his Master strewn across the floor a bottle of booze in one hand and the other pressing a small metal plate over his heart, a puddle of vomit next to him. A faint sobbing came from Gymir, his eyes shut tight. ¡°Why did it have to be you and not me?¡± he muttered over and over again.


    Sighing Taran crossed over to his drunken Master, ¡°Up you go.¡± he said, taking the bottle away and draping one of Gymir¡¯s giant muscle bound arms over his shoulders. Gymir was the only person Taran had ever met with more physical strength than his father, though he was a few inches shorter.


    Thankfully some part of the smith realized what was happening and with Taran¡¯s guidance he stumbled over to his bed collapsing onto it. The metal plate still pressed to his bosom.


    Seeing an Anvil with a prismatic flame in the centre of it Taran leaned in close staring at the Birthmark on the back of Gymir¡¯s hand.


    Every member of the Ferrus clan had one; it was their famous Bloodline Birthmark. From what his master told him, the Anvil Birthmark not only gifted it¡¯s bearer with incredible skill, it also allowed the possessor to manipulate different kinds of mana and forge special materials to create incredible weapons. The colour of the flame in the centre of the anvil indicated what kind of mana the smith could manipulate. There were multiple variations of the same Birthmark, a trait unique to Bloodline Birthmarks. The prismatic flame was considered strongest and purest variation of the Ferrus Birthmark, meaning the smith wasn¡¯t limited to any specific kind of mana. There was only one variation stronger than Gymir¡¯s and that was a Black Hammer, it was considered a cursed birthmark and it was the reason why Gymir had fled with his son. Unfortunately Taran hadn¡¯t been told why it was cursed and didn¡¯t feel comfortable asking.


    Throwing a blanket over the drunken giant, Taran started to tidy up his thoughts drifting to his deceased brother, he missed him every day. To him his brother had been a hero, someone he worshiped and strived to live up to. Even now he could see his brother¡¯s final moments, coated in blood as he fell, his body covered with wounds. It was his brother¡¯s sacrifice that let Taran and the rest of his family get away from the pursuers that first night.


    Moments later the sadness was replaced by a cold anger, the oath he and made to himself to never let anything like that happen to anyone he cared about ringing in his ears.


    ------------


    A few hours later Gymir woke, his head pounding as if he was beating on it with a hammer. Looking groggily around the room he groaned, there was a blanket pulled over him and the bottles he had consumed were lined up neatly by the door. Realising his apprentice must have come in and cleaned up after him he felt ashamed, Taran was a child.


    Thinking about his apprentice Gymir¡¯s scowl transformed into a smile and he sighed happily, despite his pounding headache. Even though the boy lacked the talent to be a master smith, he still worked hard to learn what he could. So Gymir patiently taught him his art, happy just to have such a motivated student.


    No matter the setbacks the boy kept trying and learning. One day Taran would be a decent smith and all through his own hard work. At that pleasant thought he decided that he would teach the boy one of the ancient set of runes of his Clan.


    Lifting the copper plate he held to his chest he felt a pang of sadness, expertly engraved onto polished surface the copper was the image of his wife, a plain looking, but strong and highly intelligent woman whom he loved more than anything in the world. Rejecting the orders of his Clan Elders he eloped with her, luckily his status meant the elders eventually came to accept his choice. Naturally that was until his son was born. Touching the carving, a small enchantment he had applied to the plate activated. Causing an ethereal image of his wife to float above it, smiling up at him.


    Blinking away tears he looked away from the plate and placed it on the bedside table, it was gift he had designed for his son¡¯s tenth birthday.


    Washing his face and hands in the basin Taran had provided he quickly headed out back, with his son staying at his neighbours he decided to skip his morning meal it was after noon anyways. Pride filled Gymir as he watched Taran who was standing at the forge a look of intense concentration on his face as he slowly shaped the heated metal with steady blows from his hammer. The boy knew the value of hard work, rather than working on his own project he was repairing broken tools. Nodding once to himself Gymir made a decision, today he would start teaching the boy one of his Clan¡¯s ancient techniques. ¡°You can stop with the repairs boy; I have something special in mind to teach you today.¡± He said, grinning at his apprentice.

 Chapter Three - Meet the Family.

    Chapter Three


    The first mentions of the Blind Witch Birthmark come from an ancient record more than five millennia old that describes the death of a god and the rise of a demon thanks to a Blind Witch.


    -Encyclopedia of Cursed Birthmarks. Authored by Arneus Cragan the Historian


    Looking up at the sky as he trudged home Taran was surprised, Garret was right. There was going to be a storm, a bad one. Menacing black clouds with a ghastly red tint filled the sky, any moment now it would start pouring.


    Picking up the pace he groaned and rubbed his temples, he had a splitting headache. Rather than being physically tired he was mentally exhausted, Gymir had started to teach him the legacy of the Ferrus clan, it involved a unique set of runes that could be inscribed onto a smith¡¯s creation to enhance it. There existed thousands of runes, divided into sets, one for each variation of the bloodline birthmark.


    What he was learning was the basic runes taught to every smith in the Ferrus clan, they were an improved version of the runes used by other blacksmiths. They were also most importantly not limited to those of the Ferrus bloodline. Even though he could only learn a small section of the total legacy there were still hundreds of runes he had to memorize and that was the first step the next was learning to use them together to apply the correct enchantment.


    Even spending the entire day he had only put about half to memory and there were less than twenty he was sure he could reproduce without a defect. Of course Taran had not complained. First of all he knew how unique a chance this was. Secondly Gymir had memorized every single one of the thousands of runes of his clan, the few hundred Taran had to learn were the least complex of the bunch.


    Arriving at the small single storey cabin he called home he unconsciously smiled, relaxing as the day was finally over. Pushing open the door he stepped into the warm, firelit living room of his home. Before he had even stepped inside he was greeted by the excited cry of his sister Elizabeth. ¡°Brother you¡¯re home!¡±


    Right away his eyes landed on a bubbly little girl with a mousy brown mop of hair and the same ivory completion as their mother. Dodging several pieces of furniture she ran towards him, arms flailing about as she searched for him, she had been born blind.


    Brushing Taran¡¯s leg with her fingers she smiled and immediately wrapped her arms around his leg, hugging it tightly. Being only about two feet high, his leg was like a small tree to her, ¡°Got you!¡± she said happily, she had missed her brother, she only got to spend a few hours with him every day.


    ¡°Up you go.¡± he said, bending over to pry her from his leg and lift her into the air, putting her very carefully onto his shoulders, her small hands gripping his hair for support. Thankfully their house was built with their father in mind, so she was in no danger of a bump on the head.


    ¡°So what did you do today?¡± he asked as he walked slowly around the room, letting his sister enjoy being a giant.


    ¡°I carried books for mommy and listened in..inten..intently during today''s lesson.¡± she said proudly, using a new word she had learned. Taran¡¯s mother was the daughter of a Count and had been tutored extensively from a young age and so she taught a variety of subjects to the children and even to some of the adults of the village when they could spare the time.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°That¡¯s good, you¡¯re going to be very smart one day. Much smarter than me.¡± he teased playfully, lifting her from his shoulders and kissing her on the cheek before lowering her back to the ground.


    For a moment his gaze landed on her eyes and lingered there, her eyes were completely white except for an empty black circle, the Birthmark of the Blindwitch and the reason why they fled, like the red crown on Agiads it was a Cursed Birthmark, unlike the red crown it was a Spirit Birthmark. It was also the reason they were on the run and why his brother died, not that he blamed her, neither did his parents she was family, it was as simple as that.


    ¡°Auntie also showed me how to weave grass together to make jewelry. I¡¯m going to make one for everyone in the village, so far I made presents for you, daddy, mommy and Argent.¡± she said, opening the small pouch that hung around her neck, she stored her treasures inside. Most of the things inside were odds and ends she had either picked up or been given by the villagers, everyone absolutely adored her.


    Reaching inside she pulled out a large ring made of a blue-green grass that was woven in a very simple braided pattern, ¡°Look, look, isn¡¯t it pretty.¡± she said, grabbing Taran¡¯s right hand and slipping the ring onto his index finger.


    ¡°It is, it is. Thank you and I¡¯m sure everyone will love them.¡± he assured, happily tousling her hair as he examined the ring closely. The grass still looked fresh and alive despite having been plucked several hours ago, it was also incredibly tough and elastic, stretching to fit snugly around his finger, and yet he was certain he wouldn¡¯t be able to easily break it. Not that he would try too.


    ¡°I also saw a- Mommy and daddy are here!¡± she cried, turning her head to the door and smiling. Deciding to ignore her brother she ran back to the door, arms flailing about once more, this time finding her mother¡¯s leg, ¡°Argent is here too.¡± she said, her sightless eyes focusing on the large silver wolf that followed after her parents, Argents steps were too light for her to hear on dirt, he was the only one in the village that could sneak up on her.


    Arm in arm his parents entered while smiling at one another, still as in love as they day they were married if not more so. They always walked home together. ¡°Eliza.¡± Silvia cooed, picking up her daughter and kissing her cheek before handing her off to her husband, who did the same, earning a sputter from Elizabeth tried to pull away, her daddy¡¯s stubble tickling her cheek.


    Taran¡¯s mother Silvia, was the polar opposite of her husband, where he was like a man roughly hewn from stone, she was a woman like still pool of water, soft, delicate and flawless. Even s of hard living didn¡¯t stop her from aging well. Her every movement filled with a natural grace, something that her upbringing only strengthened as did her slight figure. Bright blue eyes shone from her heart shaped face, an immediate draw that only further perfected her features, something that even her few wrinkles failed to ruin. Add to that, beautiful pale skin, waist length raven black hair and it was no surprise she still turned heads.


    ¡°Good day?¡± Silvia looked towards her son.


    Nodding, Taran grinned despite his exhaustion, Yes, Gymir is teaching me a lot.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± she replied giving her son a hug before slipping past her him.Using a cloth she pulled a pot from above the fire and carried it to the table, placing it over the black mark that had been burned into the table by previous meals. Lifting the lid a mouthwatering smell wafted from pot, ¡°Venison Stew. Eat up before it gets cold.¡± she ordered with the authority of a loving mother and wife as she wielded a ladle and served everyone a large portion there was even a bowl for Argent placed on the floor.


    Stuffed with food Taran was the first to collapse into bed, almost the same moment he was finished shoveling the food into his mouth, he didn¡¯t even bother to change. Elizabeth was the next, put to bed by her father shortly after she finished eating, of course like all adorable children she also managed to beg a quick story out of him. At some point Argent had vanished, but that was just the way he was, the large silver furred wolf would show up at a different home each day and mooch a free meal.


    With the children in bed and the dishes done Silvia and Fulgan curled up together in front of the fire, her head resting on his chest as they listened to the rain.


    After he was certain his children were asleep he carefully tucked a stray lock of hair behind his wife¡¯s ear, a soft sigh escaping his lips, ¡°Are you happy?¡± he asked, knowing this wasn¡¯t the kind of life she had imagined when they got married. Then there was their first child, gone from this world, his body left to rot in the mud, all because he was too weak to protect him.


    There wasn¡¯t even a pause before she pinched his side with a sharp ¡°tsk¡± before kissing his chin, ¡°Yes, I have you, two lovely children and a place to call home, nothing else matters.¡±she replied closing her eyes and getting comfortable.

 Chapter Four - Race in the Rain

    Chapter Four


    How can a one of you pathetic lot fight those fucking mana addicts? The answer is willpower. To put it simple for you little cocksuckers, if you can focus your desire to get shit done, you can do incredible things, assuming it¡¯s strong enough. Failing that, you shits can replace quality with quantity. Properly trained soldiers can collect their willpower together and wield it like a hammer, maximizing their potential. Though I doubt the lot of you even have the willpower to get your peckers hard for a virgin with her legs spread.


    -A speech given by a nameless drill sergeant who was later found gutted in an alley


    Opening his eyes Taran shuddered as he looked up at the dark thundering sky, his ears filled with the sound of metal scraping on metal, men screaming and cursing, and the familiar exhausted breathing of man pushed to the limit.


    Fear and dismay bubbling up inside he didn¡¯t have to look to know what he was going to see. Though his body still did, it always did, he had suffered through this same nightmare for several years. At first it was daily, but over the last few months it had appeared less frequently, turning into a hellish weekly reminder. Less than twenty feet from him was his brother Adran, the figure who he worshiped had his back to him as he blocked the narrow path between the trees, a sword in hand as he fought the bastards chasing them, letting the rest of his family flee. That broad back like an invincible wall, not a single wound on it. Of course having suffered the same nightmare hundreds of times Taran¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t miss the puddle of blood at his brothers feet, on the other side that invincible wall was being destroyed, new wounds being opened even as purseres were cut down.


    With the distance between them growing with every second as his father carried him away Taran¡¯s eyes were still glued to that figure, he couldn¡¯t look away, instead he had to watch as a spear was thrust through his brother by a cloaked figure. Followed by another and another sometimes sword other times a spear. Yet even with a dozen bloody weapons protruding out of his back, his brother didn¡¯t fall. Fueled by willpower alone the youngest Nine Sword Saint in history retaliated, his swords, both the physical and immaterial cutting down one blurry figure after another until finally the last head fell from its shoulders.


    Sobbing silently the helpless dreamer watched his brother fall to his knees, his shoulders slumping as his blood fed the greedy dirt. Slowly Adran¡¯s head turned, looking back at his fleeing family, a satisfied smile on his bloody lips. Opening his mouth to say a final word to his family Taran knew nothing would come out, his brother died a moment to soon, his final words dying with him.


    However as his mouth opened this time two words formed and they carried across the distance, impossibly sounding in his ears.


    ¡°Wake up.¡±


    At the simple command the world of Taran¡¯s nightmare froze and shattered, his eyes snapping open. The familiar sight of his rafters greeting him. Sitting up he rushed to the door of his room and threw it open. The front door was open and he could see the small figure of his sister running through the downpour, her cream colored dress a star contrast to the blue black of night.


    Without thinking he followed after her, and almost went right to the ground as he slipped and stumbled on the mud, created by the heavy rainfall. Catching himself he took off again, his eyes constantly switching between tracking his sister and looking for the next place to step.


    ¡°Elizabeth.¡± he called, though the cry didn¡¯t get far before it was drowned out by the rain, so instead he put all his effort into chasing her.


    Yet, the further he chased her the more surprised he was, while he stumbled and slipped on the mud, his blind sister always seemed to find the right place to step, not once did she even slip or hit a tree as she left the valley, heading into unclaimed woods that ringed the valley and covered the base of the mountains that surrounded them on all sides, protecting them from pursuers.


    Lagging behind at first Taran simply couldn¡¯t match his sister¡¯s impossible grace on the muddy ground, the distance between them widening slightly as he continued to stumble onward, only his sisters dress in the distance letting him keep track of her, if she¡¯d been wearing something darker he¡¯d have lost her by now, even with the occasional flash of ghastly crimson light that came when thick, red bolts of lightning struck the surrounding peaks.


    The situation changed for the better the deeper they went into the woods, the dirt mixed with roots and rocks was a lot more stable, letting Taran get his footing, his stride several time larger than his sisters. Still his progress was slow even as the tree¡¯s thinned. His was sister picking out a path he would have had difficulty finding during the day as she hiked higher and higher.


    Eventually after nearly an hour, an exhausted, soaked and worried brother managed to catch his sister¡¯ arm as he pulled himself onto the same ledge.


    ¡°Elizabeth.¡± he panted pulling his still struggling sister into a hug as he fell forward only to catch himself at the last with his free arm.


    Taking a deep gasping breath he wiped the water from his eyes and looked at his prize. She was still struggling trying to walk forward, only to be thwarted by the comparatively massive arm of her brother. Her sightless eyes were wide open and darting around madly, she wasn''t aware of anything.


    Feeling a chill, one not from the rain Taran pinched her check, ¡°Wake up Elizabeth, wake up.¡± he called repeating over and over again while shaking her gently until her strange state broke and a look of confusion, mixed with fear appeared on her face.


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    ¡°What''s going¡­!? Where are we Brother?¡± she shivered, the cold wind like knives on her waterlogged body. Her little hands grabbed his arm her nails digging in as she wormed closer. She was so confused, what were they doing out here in the rain? Why was she is wet?


    ¡°Mountain. ¡­ I chased you.¡± he replied, panting and hugging her tighter. Glancing around as he tried to shield her from the rain, which wasn''t going well. They were on a large crag that jutted out from the side of the mountain, it was the highest he''d ever been on any of the mountains that surrounded the valley. All around he could see spikes of rock jutting out into the sky, peaks vanishing into the dark sea of clouds only a couple hundred meters above them. Below them a dark forest, he couldn¡¯t see any details of though, the rain was was too heavy.


    ¡°But I was sleeping...¡± she murmured, even more confused shivering as a gust of wind blew past.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll be back home soon.¡±


    Doing his best not to shiver, he forced a smile onto his lips to comfort her as he slowly stood up, his legs trembling with exhaustion, ¡°Just try to stay warm.¡± he said, as he looked over the edge of the ledge, he almost couldn''t believe his sister had climbed up here, or that he had managed to follow.


    ¡°Boy, where are you taking my Blind Witch.¡±


    Whipping around Taran was shocked to see a man standing about twenty feet away from them, he was a young looking man with a nose like a beak and an arrogant look in his crimson eyes. Strangest of all he was completely nude, standing there without a hint of modesty as the rain and wind buffeted his body. In spite of that he neither shivered nor looked even a little uncomfortable.


    ¡°Who''s there?¡± Elizabeth asked weakly, she was struggling to stay awake. She was so cold and tired.


    ¡°No.¡± Taran answered without a moment of hesitation as he took half a step back, going right to the very edge, a new kind of fear bubbling up as he stared at the stranger.


    The man raised an eyebrow and then snorted ¡°Humans. Always so stubborn.¡± he spat, utter contempt and arrogance in his voice. Without another word he shot forward, covering half the distance in less than the second his hands outstretched like the talons.


    His mind unable to comprehend such speed Taran only just started to move as the man got with in a foot of him, Taran knew it was useless he was too slow compared to his monstrously fast attacker, it wouldn''t make a difference if he was standing still. Watching the man''s sharp fingernails near his face a single thought filled his head, I am going to die.


    Salvation came in the form of a large spear of rock extending from the side of the mountain and striking the man and blowing him off the cliff like a rag doll, his arm shattered to pieces and the side of his body caved in, oddly though the wet cracking that should a company destruction like that was absent.


    Taran stared at the producing rock his eyes wide and his mouth gaping as a weak, mad laugh bubbled up from him.


    ¡°Brother your heart is beating really fast. What''s wrong? Where is the man?¡± the weak voice of his sister asked, immediately getting Taran¡¯s attention.


    Taking a gasping breath he patted her head, ¡°Nothing.¡± he replied looking around.


    ¡°Thank you to¡­¡± he was cut off as some else spoke.


    ¡°Your welcome, but things aren''t over yet.¡±


    The spear of stone receded and a man made of stone rose from the ground transforming into the familiar and yet incredibly unfamiliar form of Garret, a bright smile on his lips and his eyes free of any madness. In addition to the simple clothing he wore in the village Garret wore a cloak of bear fur and gripped a wooden staff in one hand. It was carved with intricate patterns that spiraled up towards the top, where a large uncut gem was set. The gray gem looked like a cross between a crystal and a stone, spectacular and also plain, marking it as remarkable. Unschooled in both geology and magic Taran couldn¡¯tname it


    No longer hunched over, his frail, aged frame gave off an unexpected majesty, waves of power radiating off of him. At the same time Taran had the odd sensation that he was looking at a mountain, ancient and invincible the storm around them unable to sway him.


    ¡°Keep warm and stay behind me.¡± Garret said pulling off his cloak and wrapping it around the two of them, warmth filling them almost immediately, the simple enchantment on the cloak fulfilling its role. ¡°Oh and cover her ears.¡±


    His long beard whipping around in the wind as he neared the edge of the outcropping he looked positively lived as he roared towards the sky, ¡°Did you really think it would be that easy to kidnap her Wakin?!¡±


    Garret¡¯s voice reverberated through the mountains, silencing the thunder and rain as the peaks around them trembled in shared rage.

 Chapter Five - Broken Rocks

    Chapter Five


    If you don¡¯t have the stones to stomach a maw of razor sharp teeth that stinks of rotting flesh and is looking to make you lunch. Put this down and stay in the city.


    -Foreword to Magical Monstrosities and How To Kill Them. Written by The Silver Fox


    Laughter met Garret¡¯s roar as the broken, mangled body of Wakin suddenly shot up, flying high into the sky to stare down at trio on the mountain, rather than blood, a sickening scarlet light leaked from his wounds, the glow growing brighter with each passing moment.


    ¡°I think I chose the best possible moment for it actually.¡± Wakin countered, his voice a hoarse squawk. Above him the sea of clouds parted; the sound of thunder snuffed out as lightning stopped raining down. The sickening energy instead was drawn from the dark grey sky, collecting above Wakin, forming a pulsing red orb. ¡°Your wife is unable to help you tonight and that damn mutt is still injured, leaving the one thing I didn''t plan for, you.¡± he said, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. ¡°I truly didn¡¯t think you would let the curse ravage your mind for so long. I wonder how much you have lost?¡± he asked, a pleased smirk on his head despite his twisted neck


    It had cost him considerably, but just over a hundred years ago he had ambushed Garret and cast a vicious spell on his enemy. The magical affliction slowly consumed the afflicted person¡¯s memories, eventually turning them into a simpleton. It could be resisted, halting the process almost completely, to do so however would have rendered Garret useless. For him to be in his peak condition he must have let it run free nearly the entire time.


    What kind of terrifying experience would that be? Memories chopped to pieces, bits of them vanishing forever. People and events, important or mundane gone, just thinking about it sent shivers down Wakin¡¯s spine, something which turned to a twisted satisfaction at the knowledge that it had happened to his foe.


    Not able to follow the conversation Taran ignored it, his hands clamped over Elizabeth¡¯s ears, sparring her from what was going on. For himself that was impossible and he kept his attention focused almost completely on the sky. The orb had rapidly transformed into a massive egg and though he couldn¡¯t be completely sure, he thought it was at least a three hundred meters across.


    Despite being made completely of lightning, it behaved almost like a living liquid, its surface pulsing and quivering, stray tendrils of lightning extending from the mass before being pulled back inside.


    Glancing to the sky as the last bolt of red lightning was drawn from the sky and absorbed into the egg, Wakin smiled ¡°Ahh, my beautiful body is finally here, do you know how uncomfortable this skin is?¡± he asked, cocking his head and looking towards Garret who had yet to say a word in response. ¡°I will admit it''s a lot of fun to use this.¡± he continued, mockery in his voice as grabbed his penis and gave it a shake.


    Laughing like a maniac at his own antics he shot up, flying right into the oddity in the sky. For a moment there was nothing. Then, shaking once, the egg began to collapse in on itself until it was only a tenth of the size.


    A sound like a heartbeat filled the air. Wakin¡¯s body, as he called it, swelled and contracted in time with each slow beat. With each contraction the egg¡¯s diameter shrunk by a meter, the crimson glow emitted growing stronger and increasingly frightening at the same time.


    At ten meters in diameter the shrinking stopped and the egg exploded, a blinding light released. Sweeping over Taran it tore a scream from the boy, his retinas overloaded by crimson.


    When his vision returned the sky had changed. Only a few scattered storm clouds remained floating around a massive bird that hovered in the sky where the egg had been.


    Swallowing hard Taran observed Wakin. The monster¡¯s real body was that of a massive bird, similar to an eagle in form, but not quite the same. Possessing an terrifying wingspan of thirty meters he was coated with feathers that were the same crimson as the lightning that had filled the sky. Stray bolts still arced across his body from time to time. What drew the eye right away were his disproportionately large and razor sharp talons; the grey-black horrors constantly crackling with electricity.


    Recognition filled his eyes a name unconsciously slipping out ¡°Wakin Yan.¡± it was a monster from one of Auntie¡¯s stories. One he''d assumed was simply to scare him and the other children. While he knew fantastic beasts and magic were real, he had never actually been exposed to much of it and so it existed mostly in the realm of legends for him.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°Ha ha, looks like the boy knows me!¡± Wakin chortled his voice shaking the sky as he focused on Taran for a moment the soft whisper reaching his ears despite the distance.


    ¡°Keep your sister close, I''m going to take her as soon as I kill this old bastard.¡± he roared a dozen bolts of lightning as thick as a barrel firing from his body at Garret, who so far had done nothing but quietly stand there as he was insulted and berated.


    Watching the lightning rapidly near him, the corners of Garret¡¯s mouth lifted, the smile lost in his bushy beard as he flipped his wizened hand.


    The mountain rumbled and a blueish grey, semi-transparent barrier appeared covering the outcropping and protecting it from the lightning, the crimson bolts not even making a mark. Waving his hand towards Elizabeth a small beam of light struck her on the brow, putting her to sleep.


    Opening his mouth Garret started to chant his voice deep, powerful and ancient. In that moment he no longer seemed to be an old man, to Taran the idiot who lived in the village was now one and the same with the mountain, the two inseparable and interchangeable. Each syllable echoed among the peaks, the rock coming to life under the call. Roughly bipedal figures of stone pulled themselves from the mountain walls like it was mud, their primeval roars filling the sky all of them chanting the same nameless verse.


    Under Garret¡¯s command the tens of meters tall giants of stone began to hurl massive boulders towards Wakin in a seemingly endless barrage of stone.


    Unfortunately that didn''t see to do a thing to the massive bird, an equally endless stream of lightning was discharged from his body, reducing the stone to dust, he wasn''t even forced to move.


    ¡°You can do better than that! Come and fight me yourself!¡± Wakin screeched diving towards the mountain, his body a blur.


    Striking the ground with his staff the gemstone on top lit up, giving off a light identical in color to the barrier he''d cast. Beneath his bare feet the stone bubbled up, rapidly coating his body until Garret vanished under thousands of kilograms of rock.


    In only a moment there was another stone man. Around ten meters tall this one was smaller than the others, but Garret was clearly more than them as well... he was complete. His features were clear and detailed right down to the hairs of his stony beard, and the dents and scratches in the stone armor he now wore. No longer weak and aging, Garret¡¯s new body was filled with vigor, remarkably real muscles bulging beneath his stone skin, only the messy beard and dark green eyes remained similar to before.


    Wielding a massive stone pillar instead of a staff he swung it towards the red blur, pure physical strength sending Wakin flying backwards, his mad laughter quieted for a moment. With a roar Garret jumped off the cliff, treading on the air as he rushed towards his foe.


    ¡°Finally!¡± the crazy bird cried, righting himself with a flap of his wings. Rushing forward his talons met the pillar in a blow that resounded like thunder, pushing both of them back a half dozen meters.


    While both of them were skilled with magic, that was mostly the result of a massive mana pool nurtured over centuries of life. The two of them actually excelled in head on clashes, as they displayed dealing dizzying flurry of blows that suck the sky as they dueled back and forth.


    Attention riveted to the fight Taran was unable to tear his gaze away, he''d never seen combat on this level, it was a battle between giants, and something he completely unqualified to participate in. He couldn''t even follow the exchange, it was simple two blurs in the sky accompanied by lightning and a shower of rocks. In fact, the gusts of wind generated from each thunderous clash would have swept him off the ledge, if not for the barrier.


    Blinking only when he absolutely had to Taran watched the two forces of nature battle, his heart beating wildly in his chest. It was awe inspiring and also terrifying. Garret was losing. The young boy may not have been able to see the individual moves, but he could see the grey blur that represented Garret being pushed back meter by bloody meter.


    Not giving in Garret succeed in dragging the fight out for over an hour going to his very limit before he crashed through the barrier and slammed into the mountain next to Taran and his sister. He was broken, not a single part of his body was without frightening cracks, silver mercurial blood flowed from the wounds, each drop dripping to the ground with a soft ¡°ping¡±. All around the stone men stopped thier barrage, their rudimentary faces full of fear.


    ¡°By The Mother¡¯s sagging dried out tits, you found another girl didn¡¯t you?¡± Garretswore, his voice like grating stones as he struggled to sit up, his eyes switching between madness and clarity as he looked at Wakin.


    ¡°Ha! Even with all your brothers you still lost, you old lump of stone.¡± Wakin mocked, not bothering to answer the question, the old bastard knew the answer.


    ¡°You know he damned your sister.¡± the bird said suddenly, his eyes focusing on Taran. ¡°If he had attacked at any point while I was forming my body he could have driven me away.¡± he revealed nearing the cliffs, Taran¡¯s cloak of furs whipping about with each flap of his wings. Wakin¡¯s body only had light injuries that were already healing. ¡°He could have saved you sister.¡± he said, relishing the look of helpless anger on Taran¡¯s face as he landed on the edge of the cliff, his body shriking by two thirds to fit.


    ¡°Why?¡± Taran demanded outrage and accusation on his face as he turned to Garret


    ¡°It would have been pointless, he would have never let her go. He¡¯d hound her until he had her.¡± Garret countered each word a painful struggle as he fought through the pain and the curse.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that why we set this trap up?¡± Garret continued, the small smile from before reappearing as he started to laugh.


    ¡°Exactly.¡±

 Chapter Six - Protecting Ones Family.

    Chapter Six - Protecting One''s Family.


    The Sword Saint is one of the most numerous Birthmarks, not related to a Bloodline, and is easily the most recognizable mark even among the uncouth masses. Afterall there are hundreds of tales about heroes bearing that birthmark cutting down monsters and saving fair maidens.


    A Sword Saint is able to form swords out of their willpower, with little to no practice. Shaving what would take a powerful warrior decades of effort into something effortless, instantly making a Sword Saint a warrior above his fellows. Afterall instead of fighting one, you are contending with multiple swords and only one is bound to the dexterity and reach of the human body.


    Of course this does not mean a Sword Saint can instantly form thousands of swords. There are two constraints on the number of blades. The first is the number nine, there has not, in all of recorded history, been a Sword Saint with more than nine swords formed of will. The second constraint and certainly the most important is the power of will of the Sword Saint. To form each subsequent sword requires twice the amount of willpower at the one preceding it.


    If the first sword required a single unit of will, the second will require two and the third, four. This continues all the way to the ninth, which requires a will, two hundred fifty six times as powerful as when the Sword Saint started. These two rules make it so that there have only been a handful of Nine Sword Saints across all the millenia and all of them were terrifying beings, below only the gods themselves.


    Lastly and though I question as to if I need include this, there are so many popular legends, I shall anyways. A future Sword Saint is characterized by a startlingly white Birthmark on the forearm of their dominant arm, in the rough shape of a sword; the stronger the Sword Saint the more detailed and mysterious the mark becomes.


    -Five Common Birthmarks and How to Recognize Them, a short article penned by Arneus Cragan in his early years


    Before the word had even ended a white crescent split the sky, connecting with the surprised Wakin and forcing him from the edge of the outcropping as a man with a sword appeared in front of Garret and the Children.


    ¡°Who!¡± the bird bellowed, his voice deafening as lightning rained down from his body, destroying the mountain face. Not even a single bolt managed to reach Taran and his sister, all of them stopped with a casual swing of the newcomer¡¯s blade.


    Taran shuddered, relief flooding him as he stared at the broad familiar back of the man protecting them ¡°Dad.¡± he whispered, his eyes growing wet; to a boy, his father can shoulder the world.


    If someone unfamiliar with him was asked to describe Fulgan in a word, it would be a tie between big and rough. In fact, with a week''s worth of dirt on him, he could pass as a bandit from the tales used to scare misbehaving children. Which is why he dressed in simple, but well kempt clothes, neatly trimmed his beard to half a centimeter in length and kept his hair short and combed back.


    Of course if a man was a bandit at heart, even the garb of a nobleman wouldn''t be able to hide the fact forever, after all the man underneath is truly the key. Fulgan was man worthy of respect, raised by a good man and then trained as a knight from a young age he grew into one of the best. Despite his uncouth features he was a disciplined, loyal and kind. An air of earned nobility surrounded him transforming the bandit into a hero.


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    Looking back at his son Fulgan smiled, the corners of his lips reaching to towards his eyes. ¡°I''m proud of you son.¡± It was something the older man truly meant, they knew Wakin would make a move tonight, however exactly how was not known. Elizabeth may have really been in danger if Taran hadn¡¯t chased after her and for a young boy it wasn''t an easy task to do so.


    Turning back to the overgrown chicken in the sky Fulgan raised his sword in challenge. In that moment his entire aura transformed. If Garret had been a mountain to find shelter under Fulgan was an unsheathed sword ready to cleave apart the world.


    An invisible pressure filled the surrounding kilometer, it was accompanied by the grating sound of metal on rock. Faint, white marks appeared, criss crossing over the stone all around Fulgan. Some of the smaller pebbles were sliced in half. This was willpower manifested into reality, capable of changing and shaping the physical world, this was the true weapon of powerful warriors.


    The transformation was not over. Under the astounded gaze of Wakin and the worshipful one of Taran, a bright light began to radiate from Fulgan¡¯s right arm, the sleeve of his tunic shredded to rags as seven lights shot into the sky, on his forearm there was a silver-white sword shaped Birthmark.


    Twinkling like stars the seven lights circled Fulgan. Around each of them, a vortex formed, emanating a powerful suction. Similar to water in front of a thirsty man, his willpower was rapidly swallowed by the lights, the oppressive aura that filled the air vanishing. It wasn''t, however, destroyed. Instead his willpower was collected, condensed and sharpened by the seven increasingly bright lights. At its peak, the glow of the seven lights completely obscured Fulgan for an instant. Then they abruptly dimmed, revealing seven silvery-white swords, each gently pulsing with a faint light and identical to the sword in Fulgan¡¯s hand, only about three times as large.


    Though it seems like a lengthy process, the seven swords were formed in the blink of an eye and like seven shooting stars they charged towards Wakin, seven silver blurs intent of carving the bird up. For the first time tonight, a serious look appeared in the monsters eyes. A Seven Sword Saint had the power to threaten him if he wasn''t careful.


    What shocked him the most was that he recognized his new opponent, he had taken note of the man and his daughter when they first arrived in the village, at the time the man could only form six swords. To jump to the seventh sword in two years was incredible.


    It still wasn''t at the point that Wakin would give up getting his hands on a Blind Witch. With loud cry he launched himself towards the blades, a web of electricity rising from his feathers and dancing around him as he clashed with seven streaks of light. Two he swept away with his claws, the momentum of the others halted by thick bolts of lightning.


    Fulgan¡¯s ethereal swords circled Wakin not letting up for a moment as they continuously zipped in at impossible angles, attacking from all sides. The bird was unable to do anything but defend, blocking what he could with his claws while stopping the rest with the web of crimson electricity that surrounded his entire body. Each time a blade reached it, the web would pulse, pushing the sword back once again.


    It only took Wakin a dozen clashes to understand that, in addition to being Seven Sword Saint, the bastard in front of him was an expert at combat. Grasping a timing and rhythm that left zero openings to be exploited. Thus the stalemate. Had he been fresh, that would mean nothing, he was confident he could outlast his opponent. Unfortunately he had expended his energy on Garret, already his defensive barrier of lightning was starting to dim.


    Wakin was not dumb enough to ignore reality, he could only grudgingly pay a price and fight. If he retreated, he would only have more enemies to contend with. When the damned hag woke tomorrow, she would be strong enough to battle equally with him on her own. From that point on he would have to live as a caged bird, trapped in his nest, waiting for death. He needed to grow stronger and the only way he could do so rapidly was with Elizabeth.


    While still defending himself Wakin suddenly shuddered in discomfort, golden runes appearing on body. It was impossible to describe them, they were composed of a complex tangle of lines that constantly shifted and writhed, leaving the impression that some great mystery was hidden within.


    There were five of the mysterious runes in total, three of them were dull and incomplete, continuously fading in and out of existence. The final two were bright and whole, looking at them gave one a sensation of glimpsing the divine.


    Even though Wakin knew what to expect he still couldn¡¯t stop from roaring out in agony as he shattered one of the two runes.

 Chapter Seven - Victory?

    Chapter Seven


    ¡°SoMeTiMEs DEaTH is PreFerAbLe.¡±


    -Scrawled onto a cell wall in the Rashavain Imperial Prison.


    Several thousand kilometer to the northwest of the battlefield was a temple. The entrance to which  was three quarters of the way up a mountain. The entire temple was part of the mountain, every room and even the original furniture were carved from the stone, all of it a single piece. The man made passages extended both deep into the mountain and right to the peak, vents that allowed in fresh air, cut cleverly into the stone to hide them from view. The single entrance was an unadorned archway that stood at nearly ten meters  tall. Despite being so large it was only accessible by a set of narrow stairs that spiraled around the mountain.


    This was Wakin¡¯s roost, the center of his sphere of influence, his subjects wild beasts and magical monstrosities that had subjugated themselves to him out of fear or for protection.


    In its heyday it had served as the home of a small enclave of mages who spent their lives studying the secrets of the arcane in the cold, dark stone halls and bare cells, isolated from the influence of the mundane world.


    That had been centuries ago. Now the temple was in ruins, the tunnels were cracked, rooms had caved in and the furniture was rubble, more than two thirds of it was uninhabitable. The walls that had once been carved with mysterious and magic runes were encrusted with feces and all manners of lichens, fungi and molds. Then there was the scent of fear, so deeply ingrained into the fabric of the place that no magic could remove it.


    Only beasts moved freely through the halls now, servants to the lord of this ruined temple.


    It was in the very heart of the temple, its library, that Wakin made his nest. The massive cavern that had once housed over a million scrolls, tomes  and documents on magic, a glorious place of learning. Was now the home of a beast. The shelves had been cleared to the edges. Their contents, at least what wasn''t already dust, was strewn around haphazardly, covered in filth and ripped apart.


    The floor was coated with a three foot thick layer of bleached and broken bones, belonging to those Wakin had preyed upon over the centuries.  The centerpiece of the room was a massive nest made of whole saplings and the largest of the bones from the monster¡¯s meals. Rotting inside were the half-eaten corpses of his last and next meal.


    The foulest part of the library was not the nest, nor was it the carpet of bones, it was in fact the a small adjoining room on the north wall. The tiny ten by ten box was where Wakin kept his most prized possessions.


    Chained to the walls were five young woman, all of whom shared a single trait, their eyes were pure white save for a black circle.


    Looking more like five corpses, the nude figures all bore signs of horrendous, physical and sexual torture. Once beautiful and youthful, their now gaunt and pale skin was stretched tightly over starved bodies, their bones outlined underneath.


    Each figure was a unique and macabre tapestry of burns, bruises and scars, added on a whim by a monster that took everything from them.


    Four of the woman were gone, having retreated deep into themselves, hiding from the constant pain of their broken bodies. It was likely nothing could rouse them, they almost empty husks, kept alive by the magic forced upon them by Wakin. The oldest of them, a woman who looked thirty, was actually nearing four hundred, four entire centuries she had lived as a slave.


    Only the youngest girl, a lass no more than thirteen, still had a hint of life inside. The once vibrant little girl whimpered in her ever present darkness as she struggled with the collar, and begged for whatever god could hear, to let her free.


    She desperately wanted to escape before the monster returned to inflict more pain on her. More and more often a nagging voice deep within told her that it was impossible, that she would forever belong to the man who had hurt her and killed her father.


    She knew, even though she couldn''t see, that he was dead. She had been pinned under her papa¡¯s heavy body when he died, his warm blood soaking her as it pumped out through the slit in his throat, her tiny hands unable to stem the flow. That had been three months ago.


    Panting she collapsed, her starved body was too weak to let her move for more than a few seconds at a time, not mention the pain that came from everywhere. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Suddenly there was unbearable agony from deep inside, worse than anything she had suffered to this point. Slowly a mess of golden lines appeared on her eyes, contained within the black circles. She was not alone in her pain as the same happened to the other four woman in the room. For the first time she knew that she was not the only one here, there were others, suffering.


    The women continued to scream, all writhing as they felt pain in their very souls, each golden line that appeared on the surface of their eye increasing the torture. Of the five of them, only the marks on the youngest and the oldest had glowed brightly.


    The moment the distant Wakin shattered one of the symbols on his body, the oldest witch felt something snap inside of her. The unbelievable pain silenced her and brought a hellish moment clarity to her mind. If there had been anyone watching they would be treated to the horrifying sight of body aging a quarter of a century in an instant.


    ----------


    The pain passed before it could give Fulgan an advantage and with a sudden wellspring of energy Wakin shot toward the cliff, the seven spectral swords  blasted away by nine gold-tinged bolts of crimson lightning.


    In the blink of an eye he was mere meters from the cliff, his talons outstretched to tear his foe apart and claim his prize. He could taste success, raising his head he gulped down air, his excitement in the moment needing an outlet.


    The triumphant caw that was building up in his lungs died when the giant bird locked eyes with Fulgan. There wasn''t even a hint of worry in his steely grey orbs as Fulgan struck out with the sword in his hand, the comparatively small weapon glowing like a small sun, an eighth sword forged of willpower superimposed over the material blade.


    Impossible! Was the only the only thought in Wakin¡¯s mind as he tried to change his course, he needed to retreat from the terrifying man in front of him, he wasn¡¯t fast enough.


    Together the two swords split the sky, forming a massive crescent composed of mana forcefully shaped by willpower. The giant blade separated a wing from Wakin¡¯s body in a shower of blood and feathers, that soaked the cliff and the immovable man on it.


    ¡°Tch! I missed.¡±


    No longer able to fly Wakin stabilized himself in the air with magic as he fled back into the sky, utter horror in his eyes as he stared down Fulgan. He didn¡¯t get far before the eight swords circled, him, trapping the injured monster.


    ¡°How?¡±


    Behind Fulgan, Garret and Taran both ignored the blood that spattered them, their faces frozen somewhere between joy and terror, the events of the last few seconds changing to rapidly for their expressions to keep up. From the high they had as Wakin was fought to a stalemate, to the terror when Fulgan was rushed and finally, right up to joy as a wing was completely removed.


    ¡°How! How! From six to eight is impossible in two years!¡± raged the increasingly erratic and madden bird in the sky, more and more lightning flooded out of his body just barely holding the swords at bay.


    Fulgan didn''t answer the dying bird as a pained look crossed his face for a moment, something thankfully hidden from Taran.


    His youngest son wasn''t the only one haunted by the death of Adran, the last stand of his first child tore Fulgan up inside, each second of it a torture he re-lived every night.


    Back then he had been two weak.


    Six years ago Fulgan had been able to form six swords with his will, leaving him as one of just around a thousand Six Sword Saint on a  continent with around three billion inhabitants.


    Content, he¡¯d put his training to the wayside to raise his sons, one a child and the other a young, talented Sword Saint.


    While non Bloodline Birthmarks are not inherited directly by blood. There is an increased chance that a child will be born with the same Birthmark as their parent when compared to the child of someone without that Birthmark.


    Adran was one of those lucky children. He was also far more talented than his father, reaching the level of a Six Sword Saint by the age of fifteen, something seen only a handful of times.


    It was only a year later, fueled by a need to protect his family, that the sixteen year old Adran managed to condense a Seventh Sword. That very same night he had his last stand, killing the Divine Council¡¯s men and dying in the process to give his family the time they needed to flee.


    Forced to to leave the corpse of his son behind Fulgan made the best of the time that had been purchased for them and led his family towards the Godless Peaks. Four years of running followed that, their footsteps hounded all the way, but the headstart had paid off and they made it, escaping the influence of the gods and finding a place to call home.


    With his family finally safe, Fulgan had thrown himself into his training. Four hellish years a step ahead of death had tempered his will, making it easy for him to become a Seven Sword Saint when he was finally able put his guard down and truly relax his mind.


    Forming the eighth sword had been the result to his own brutal efforts the last two years. Never before had was he so spartan with himself and his training. Besides three hours in the morning he spent teaching the children and a few hours asleep, Fulgan trained. Putting himself through countless life or death struggles to temper his will and wring out every bit of his latent talent. Beneath his tunic his body was a patchwork of scars and injuries in various states of repair.


    His efforts had paid off three months ago and so he agreed without a second thought when Garret came to him with a plan.


    Blinking his eyes as the pain of the past faded Fulgan looked at monster that threatened his family with a cold smile.


    In the sky Wakin was going insane, his mind reverting to that of a dumb beast as injuries began to pile up. He had to escape, he needed to escape, but he couldn''t not with a single wing. It would be impossible for him to outrun the eight blades.


    It had been centuries since he thought it death, now it was looming and he was terrified. That primal fear of mortality bubbling up and flowing through his veins like venom, poisoning his mind. Cornered and close to death he rushed towards the outcropping once more.