《The Arekaii Collective; FALMR Book 1: House of Iye》


 Prologue: The Week God Cried; an Aniyamit is Born

    <u>Prologue</u>


    Revera crackled as tension spread through his body, the stone pillar he stood on rising just above the cliff¡¯s edge ¨C bringing devastation into view. Lightning split the overcast sky, illuminating the cadaverous and broken land that lay before him.


    Volleys of thick, grey ash drifted down from above while rivers of lava- constantly spewing from Mount Myapoth ¨C blanketed the land in streaks of blood.


    The series of cataclysmic earthquakes ¨C mixed with the devastating Shiftstorm of Fire a few days earlier ¨C were no doubt the culprits of such a disastrous eruption. Revera felt a pang of sorrow as he inspected the small island.


    Once, the land was home to a beautiful forest ¨C one he would often visit for peace and tranquility. Now he watched Myapoth boil, devoid of all life; be it the birds, the bees or the trees.


    He leapt from his rock pillar, releasing it back under the sea as his feet landed on the edge of the cliff. Last he recalled, the cliff had been much further away from Mount Myapoth, indicating that the natural disasters had already begun to dismantle the island.


    He treaded carefully across the burning land, only stepping on the small, cooled pieces of rock he unearthed from deep below, the stones just big enough to hold the balls of his feet as he cut a path through the lava. He bent the stone as little as possible ¨C fearful that even a small tremor would destabilize Myapoth, causing the entire island to sink or the volcano to erupt again. It wouldn¡¯t damage him ¨C but it would make finding Gav difficult.


    Lightning fell again, illuminating a small portion of the forest that some remained unscathed in the violence ¨C the only indication that life once existed in the baren wasteland before him.


    Friend, stay your soul where it may; safer there than here. The message was soft, as was the tremor he sent with it ¨C barely a whisper ¨C but he felt the mountain¡¯s rumble in response.


    Revera continued slowly, his only illumination granted by the lightning that fell overhead and the lava that flowed all around ¨C which was surprisingly dim ¨C illuminating what little remained. As he rounded a rocky ridge, concern wrenched his mind. Bolting forward ¨C towards the bodies of half a dozen massive beasts scatted about ¨C he searched about for his friend.


    The creatures lay long ¨C around seven meters or so ¨C and wide ¨C around two meters ¨C clearly killed though manmade actions rather than natural causes. Lava stripped three bodies of distinct identity ¨C save for their shape ¨C although judging from the gaping wounds each featured, the lava was clearly immaterial to their demise.


    The remaining three featured a variety of injuries. One had a crushed jaw ¨C evidently used as a weapon to dig out its brain. Another seemed to be alive, standing on the smoldering remains of thick, stumpy legs ¨C until further inspection revealed thousands of tiny cuts.


    Death from blood loss. Probably didn¡¯t even realize it happened.


    The final one was a few paces away from the others ¨C body intact but head nowhere to be seen, this one was clearly beheaded.


    Searching again ¨C he questioned who could¡¯ve felled such beasts.


    Is another person here? Certainly, a possibility. Gav shouldn¡¯t have this much power, although the years between us could certainly have given him the space to develop further.


    Relief washed over Revera for a brief moment as he finished examining the surrounding area. The boy lives or at least died somewhere else. Mind at ease, Revera began to scrupulously examine the bodies of the fallen beasts.


    Thick, grey scales covered their flesh ¨C matte and rugged to the touch.


    The creature was also muscular, carrying no-eyes but instead, a prominent twin-finned tail on its rear and two separate mouths.


    On either side were four thick stumps ¨C presumably once legs ¨C and just above its skull were three horns, silver and jagged ¨C arranged in small circle. Aliso touched it ¨C surprised to feel the distinctive texture of copper, despite their silvery appearance.


    Clearly an amphibious animal, of some sort. Revera concluded, as he rounded over to the creatures eye-less face. Bending over, he pried both snouts open ¨C each structurally different from the other but still covered by the same grey scales.


    The first mouth was like an elongated beak ¨C and while both snouts were long this was a fair bit longer, thinner and pointer ¨C carrying with it a set of curved, rounded, green teeth and long, highly retractable tongue.


    The second jaw was tougher to open ¨C thicker than its sibling, this mouth was far more muscular ¨C stockier in appearance as well. Inside ran two rows of long, sharp canines ¨C all coated in a weird liquid.


    Kazaraks, he realized, placing the dual mouthed creature. Alien to the local biomes, however. Interesting. Revera kicked at one of them ¨C turning it over to reveal a soft, pink underbelly. Although whether that was natural, or the ground simply scorched the creature¡¯s skin was hard to say.


    Thrown off course from the quakes and storms? Possible ¨C but possessed by what to shelter here, island aflame? He touched at the skin ¨C warm to the touch, not the warmth of heat ¨C but the warmth of life.


    Recently passed, by which time only the most foolish ¨C or driven ¨C would find shelter among the burning trees. No ¨C purpose is what secerns them from others, for indeed they came with purpose. He moved closer ¨C touching the odd liquid between his fingers.


    Poison. He concluded, rubbing it off his fingers. He closed his eyes ¨C trying to remember if had venomous teeth. Unable to do so, he continued on with his investigations ¨C although his gut feeling told him they didn¡¯t.


    Their arrival is no coincidence.


    Revera moved away, trying to piece together who sent them. The GCA? Troubling thought. Their actions have been out of character as of late, some I would even consider downright bizarre. But this? No. There is scant - if any - evidence that they have broken their vow of passivity. And if they have truly figured out how to control Kazaraks, then establishing bounties f¨C


    The rumblings of the volcano broke Rivera''s train of thought ¨C like the grumbling stomach of a pampered child ¨C as it expelled another layer of ash and gas. He berated himself. Fool. Gav first, escape second, detective work last.


    The Istra of Stone spent another half-hour searching, the lack of consistent lighting and footholds ¨C due to the ever-present flowing lava - considerably slowing his progress. He pondered the feasibility of sending light vibration waves through the earth to find his friend but concluded there was too great a risk ¨C best to avoid any scenario that resulted in more eruptions.


    Unfortunately, the sweltering heat was beginning to sear even his skin ¨C which raised a point of concern for Revera. Even with all the lava ¨C there shouldn¡¯t be enough heat for me to sweat, he thought, despite the accompanying sweat causing his soaked ceremonial suit to stick vigorously to his skin. He wondered if this was how an animal would feel ¨C as they cooked over an open spit roast.


    Straightening his jacket, he felt a twinge of guilt for having stormed off in the middle of his great-great-great goddaughter¡¯s wedding ceremony. He hoped she would forgive him, although he supposed even she would understand ¨C give the signal¡¯s urgency and desperation.


    The adrenaline and urgency had kept him awake for the past week as he sprinted across the ocean, but the monotonous work combined with the thick poisonous air, lack of light and the unbearable heat was beginning to replace the adrenaline with fatigue and sleepiness.


    He spent another two hours searching ¨C beginning to lose hope the man was even here ¨C before he caught a glimpse of light escaping from what seemed to be a small cave indented by the side of the volcano. As he approached the entrance, he could hear the ramblings of a dissonant voice grow louder and louder. Who is that? Doesn¡¯t sound like Gav.


    As he closed in on the cave, the voices grew clearer and clearer. They seemed to be a chant of some sort, moving with such an overwhelming cadence that it caused Revera¡¯s knees to buckle beneath him for a second.


    This music is producing Ura, or some other energy! Strong too! He realized, walking towards the cave. What are these chants?


    As the music stopped, Revera found himself peeking through the cave entrance, surprised to find such a large cave hidden by narrow entrance.


    Inside, he noticed immediately that the cracked, rocky walls lining the cave interior were graffitied ¨C used like a canvas for aimless smears of dark blue and deep-red paint.


    At the center of the cave sat a paltry campfire, emanating far brighter than a flame of its size should. Beside it sat a grizzled, bald and worn-out man, smears of crusty black, blue and red paint sporadically encasing his entire body like a think suit of armor. In the distance he could see a thin outline of some object, the details covered by darkness.


    Subconsciously, Revera walked in to take a closer look at the man.


    He donned a short, unkempt beard ¨C the look of a clean-shaven man whose shaving kit had been missing for weeks ¨C a broken nose, running parallel to his face and bones protruding out. Hollow eyes, deep bags and a gaunt face ¨C everything spoke to a man who had not eaten in weeks.


    Or maybe, a week. Revera slowly realized.


    It was difficult to judge his height while he sat, but he seemed to be a few hands smaller than Revera, leaving him a bit on the short side. And the right height.


    Across his chest ran a deep maroon scar, starting from the tip of his left shoulder and ending at the wide end of his hips. With a start ¨C Revera realized the dark-blue and red ¡°paint¡± was blood. A mixture of fresh and dried.


    Alongside the scar ¨C marred by hundreds of cuts and bruises ¨C was a large tattoo running the length of his chest. It was a torch ¨C lit ¨C with thousands of words encircling the torch, a language even Revera didn¡¯t recognize. That tattoo itself, however, was far simpler. One could hardly forget the tattoos of the Eternal Pyre - a sect of the Eternal Flame working with the Braochi Society ¨C as their dedication to the discovery and decoding of prophecies was akin to legend.


    The man carried an instrument of some sort in his hands, with six strings and a round base where the strings connected.


    As he approached the man, he noticed the markings on the wall weren¡¯t random smears, but rather crude paintings and drawings ¨C drawn entirely in blood, the same that covered the gaunt man. Abysmal artistry aside, Revera could feel power emanating from it.


    By the man¡¯s left foot lay two small brown bowls, filled to the brim with the same navy-blue and red blood used to paint the walls. Revera felt a jolt of shock as he noticed that the man seemed to be missing a leg, in it its place a stump ¨C likely cauterized by the flames of the campfire.


    The man¡¯s bloody cream coat was ripped to shreds and frayed, clinging for dear life by a few of strands. His wore no pants ¨C only burnt undergarments loosely covering his genitals.


    Revera¡¯s eyes were drawn to the giant slab of meat, tucked beneath the man¡¯s arms. It lay almost three meters long, the massive object barely fitting between his arms. Ripped flesh rather than cut, he could see small rills of thin, navy blue blood dripping from the sides. To the right of the meat lay three massive horns, one of which was broken and undoubtedly being used as a stick of some kind.


    The missing Kazarak head.


    As Revera came closer, the man immediately opened his eyes and stared at him.


    His rose gold eyes shone with a bright spark of intelligence, holding unnatural wisdom and full of mischief and energy.


    Revera hesitated for a brief moment, suspicious of the energy and enthusiasm emanating from the withered soul. No sane man would find themselves in such high spirits after what had and was occurring. But he continued forward, confident that he could easily suppress any violence before it began.


    Fortunately, no such thing occurred. The man began to tune his instrument, plucking and fiddling with the strings until each note sounded perfect.


    Revera swiveled his head, failing to find sheet music for instruction. Instead, his eyes caught on something else ¨C and was disturbed to find the man¡¯s missing leg, the jagged cut marks across the thigh indicated a crude hack job. The tibia of the leg had been completely flattened and the foot bent backwards a hundred and eighty degrees.


    The man finished tuning his instrument and began to string a tune together. Each subsequent note vibrating deeper and deeper, echoing off the walls until Revera¡¯s ears began to ring.


    Revera interrupted the ghastly playing. ¡°Name yourself!¡±. He commanded.


    The man responded with an unusual smile ¨C one where his lips didn¡¯t quite move outwards as much as they did upwards. He continued to pluck at the strings of the instrument and when he finally spoke, it was not the voice of one man, but of two at the same time.


    The first was the deep, soft and masculine, while the second was feminine; raspy and unnatural, as if it was just an echo of another voice. Old and bold. The second voice rang louder as he spoke:


    ¡°A time long ago, a time yet to come. Once I was, once I will be, once I am.


    Suddenly, the man dropped his instrument as he doubled over, writhed in pain and clutching at his stomach. He let out explosive blood-curling screams of agony, each wave threatening to destabilize the entire volcano through the sheer force of vibrations alone.


    Revera jumped into action. In the blink of an eye, he leapt closed the distance between them and yanked at the man¡¯s bony arms to pull him close. He grabbed his face in one hand and slamming the jaw shut.


    Possessed.


    The man clawed and wriggled in a valiant attempt to escape the iron grip, but it was to no avail as Revera pulled the man up ¨C looking him directly in the eyes. Gone was the intelligent glimmer that he had seen just moments earlier, replacing it was a primal ferocity and anguish. The eyes changed colours before him, turning from white to black to all the colours of a rainbow one after the other. In one smooth, practiced motion Revera placed his index finger to his lips, and let out a command ¨C this one with the force of his power behind it.


    Silence.


    Instantly, the screaming and writhing stopped. The man¡¯s arms fell limp beside his body and as the heat from his face escaped, an icy cold replaced it. He released the man from his grasp and began to examine the cave again as the man wheezed in breath after breath. The paintings on the walls began to move, displaying a vivid scene before him. They moved dramatically from left to right, each passing image moving faster and faster until it was just a blur around him. He spun around and saw the campfire began to dance out of control, radiating a feral heat. It grew higher, then higher again until the tip of the dancing flames scraped the jagged roof.


    Revera put his fingers to his lips again and sent a light vibration around the room, repeating the same mental command he had let out moments ago.


    Silence.


    In an instant, the air was violently expelled from the room. The stones began to shift and the paintings began to still. The fire died down until only small embers remained.


    ¡°Revera?¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    He turned to find the man lying flat on his back, the jagged rocks driving deep wedges into his shredded skin. Despite that, his pale-green eyes looked up at him in awe and hope. Now, only one voice remained. The soft, yet deep voice. Revera hadn¡¯t wanted to identify the man ¨C afraid to find it come true.


    ¡°Gav?¡±


    Tears began to stream, wiping blood as they fell on the young man¡¯s face. ¡°I thought you wouldn¡¯t make it.¡± he cried, holding back a sob.


    ¡°I came here as fast as I could.¡± Revera replied softly as he knelt beside his old friend. ¡°What happened here, what happened to you? Last time I saw you, you were but a mere child.¡±


    A smile somehow cracked through Gav¡¯s haggard expression. ¡°Last time we met was over thirty years ago, Revera. I see your sense of time is as terrible as always.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s only been thirty years!¡± Revera exclaimed.


    The smile on Gav¡¯s face broadened, surprising given the circumstances. ¡°Maybe thirty years for the almighty Ishtra is short, but for a human like me that accounts for almost twenty percent of my lifespan.¡± Gav glanced around room, his eyes settling on the paintings covering the wall.


    The smile slowly slipped off his face, replaced by a ragged expression of pain and exhaustion. ¡°Thank you for saving me. I¡­ I tried to fight back against the Foreteller, but¡­¡± Gav¡¯s voice faded out as he gazed into the distance. ¡°It was so powerful, overpowering my efforts. I couldn¡¯t stop what I was doing. She ripped off my leg and used the bones as a brush to paint the pictures. It was so bloody painful. She must¡¯ve thought there would be no one to hear the prophecy, and so painted the images of it on the walls.¡±


    A pang of sorrow entered his voice as he gazed upon the torched stump where his leg once resided. ¡°How did you stop her?¡± he asked quietly.


    ¡°Silence of the soul. I silenced her. Any normal creature would¡¯ve instantly turned to stone on the spot, but for a soul as powerful and ancient as the Foreteller, I could only drive her out of your body¡± He turned from Gav to examine the walls ¨C marred with bloody images. ¡°Why are you here Gav? Why do you have a Kazarak head wrapped in your arms. Dealing with The Foreteller? A Prophecy? What is happening my friend?¡±


    Gav shook his head. ¡°I¡­ I came to this Island ¨C Myapoth ¨C because of a rumor we decoded. It spoke of a Great Prophecy, one that would arrive on the land conquered by peace and flames. There are only a few locations that match those descriptions. Two of us were sent to each island in preparation, but my Partner was crushed immediately by a falling boulder when the Firestorm. We should have been safe, there was no indication that a Shiftstorm would hit.¡±


    Revera ran his hands across the walls ¨C visually he was unable to decipher the clearly coded message. The blood ran ice cold to the touch ¨C highly unusual given the general heat.


    Behind him, Gav¡¯s voice welled up with sorrow, fists slamming on the floor in anger. ¡°I took shelter in this cave, hoping to just survive the storm. And¡­ and then I found it. Or rather, it found me.¡± Each sentence left his voice hollower, but his concentration was broken by a series of deafening volcanic eruptions. Revera could sense massive chunks of melting rock fall from the sky as the eruption began again - the volcano threatening to bring the whole island down. Revera turned away from paintings on the wall, as he examined the chaos happening outside.


    ¡°We can talk about it later Gav, I can sense that Myapoth is not long for this world. If the Foreteller has taken hold of your body, then I¨C¡± Revera spun around, thought occurring a moment too late. If he was trapped in the cave, who sent me the signal? And if his partner died immediately, what killed the Kazaraks?


    Revera got no further. Behind him, Gav picked up his instrument and began to sing again. He let out a deep laugh, only this time the voice was old, raspy and feminine. He had underestimated The Foreteller, whose spirit possessed the man yet again.


    Revera moved to silence her again, but he was far too slow. Before he had even taken a step, she had already begun to play her old melody, and the weight of the music brought down him flat on his belly.


    With a struggle, he turned his head up to look at his friend. Gone was the ragged expression of a broken man. His eyes were now pure white, his smile twisted upward in a haunting expression of manic joy.


    ¡°IT COMES, IT COMES¡± she bellowed gleefully, staring straight into his eyes, before jumping onto his back ¨C feet rhythmically drumming to the music. He could feel something being etched on his soul, something that could not be undone. ¡°THERE IS NO ESCAPE. THE TIME OF CHAINS AND GAINS HAS COME TO AN END, JUST LIKE THE ERA OF STRINGS AND WAR BEFORE IT. NOW A NEW ERA RISES, AND THE HANDS OF TIME HAVE LANDED ON DEATH AND REBIRTH. HEAR ME, HEAR ME NOW, OH MAN OF STONE! FOR I SHALL TELL YOU WHAT WILL HAPPEN, ALTHOUGHT IT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED.¡±


    NO! Revera screamed violently, trying to throw off the Ura holding him down. He tried to move, but the pressure was far too strong ¨C stronger than even what he could manage. He focused inward ¨C centering his attention above to The Foreteller and letting out another Silence of the Soul.


    To his shock, the technique rebounded ¨C Silencing Revera instead. His body fell limp ¨C mind unaffected by his own attack ¨C as the foreteller leapt off his still back. It was a sobering experience ¨C a humiliating reminder that even an Istra ¨C an Istra as powerful as him ¨C is not invincible.


    ¡°THERE IS NO STOPPING THE INEVITABLE!¡± the foreteller cried. As the music began to rise in tempo, the old spirit began to spin out a prophecy, in a language of old. A language untold, a language unknown. And there was naught that Revera could do but lay about like an obedient child and listen in misery.


    A minute passed by. Then another. Another once again.


    Five minutes passed by before the foreteller told the telling. Revera understood not one word of what was said, but he would remember it nevertheless. For that how it always was, and that how it always shall be.


    <hr>


    Deep underground, Grufeld violently shook as another streak of savage earthquakes engulfed the planet, like a homeless man overdosing. The structure was built with energy absorption in mind ¨Cincluding kinetic. Thus, regular earthquakes have little effect on the day-to-day activities of the prison.


    Unfortunately, these earthquakes were anything but regular ¨C this was no longer a series of earthquakes, it had become an apocalyptic level natural disaster. But those were problems for stronger and vastly more qualified people.


    In more immediate concerns, panic was beginning to spread across the Grufeld ¨C among prisoners and jailers alike ¨C the ever-present fear of the prison simply collapsing in on itself, now amplified by creaks and rumbles that accompanied the disaster.


    The Jailers sat quietly at the end of the narrow hallways ¨C playing cards to kill the time ¨C as they kept a somewhat lazy eye on the prisoners. Behind them, the prisoners spew insults and jeers at their oppressors ¨C demands for safety.


    As the prison shook more and more violently, and the eerie echo transformed from a small distraction into a deafening cacophony, a loud, hearty laugh suddenly drowned the world out. It came from the deepest depths of the cold dungeon.


    The bottom floor of the prison is the ultimate graveyard, inhabited only by the most dangerous criminals alive. Wrapped in perennial darkness, the air is dirtier than a lordling¡¯s conscience and the temperatures are colder than the broken heart of a widow. The atmosphere wraps around its victims like a second coffin. It is where light travels to perish, where sound sails to be silenced, and souls are damned to an eternal damnation.


    And against all odds, a laugh emerged.


    It managed to pry away from the depths of its bitter homeland and triumphantly escape to the highest point of The Tower. The gleeful cackle shook the residents more fiercely than any earthquake could dream of.


    Uncertainty grew within the Jailers as each passing bellow grew louder, and the fellow prisoners settled quietly to observe the beautiful dissonance of music. Finally, fear and doubt overcame the Jailer¡¯s mask of confidence, and they began to descend the prison¡¯s maze of tight corridors in a chaotic fashion. Darkness enveloped their vision as they entered the final floor, so they followed the thundering laughter until they reached the final occupied cell. Although they could not see it, inside a small, young man lay flat on the floor. Cold, thick chains wrapped around his wrists like snakes around pray. They dug deep, leaving his hands white as blood flow struggled to circulate through his fingers. Despite his young stature, his face was covered in a thick long beard, frozen completely by the frosty conditions.


    ¡°QUIET DOWN YOU FUCKING MAGUS,¡± the recently appointed Captain of the Jailers bellowed. ¡°NOT ONE MORE PEEP OR YOU CAN KISS YOUR MEALS GOODBYE FOR A WEEK, YOU HEAR. WHAT IN FIORMAS¡¯ SOUL COULD YOU POSSIBLY FIND HUMOUROUS, SEWER RAT?¡± Despite the confident fa?ade, a slight tremble betrayed his fear ¨C it wasn¡¯t often one spoke down Quinx, The Forbidden. The jailor would deny it of course ¨C call it a tremor of rage, should anyone ask.


    Slowly, the boisterous laughing began to fade, until only a wheeze could be heard as the terrifying magus drew in breath after breath to fill his lungs, each releasing gasp instantly freezing in the air. After a few moments, a raspy voice escaped the convict.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see!?¡± he gasped, a hollow laugh managing to escape with his words. ¡°It has begun! The end is near, you fools! All that you have struggled to uphold, all in vain! The chains you have wrapped around the hearts of men will soon shatter, and change will grip this world once again!¡±


    He let out another hearty laugh.


    The captain felt heat rise to his face, anger and deep down, terror. ¡°I SAID NOT ONE MORE FOOKIN¡¯ LAUGH, YOU SOULLESS SHIT. DO YOU WANT TO STARVE TOO?¡±


    Quinx chuckled ¨C only this time the sound felt evil. ¡°Those fucking meals can eat shit. When I imagine the terror on your face when you realize what is coming ¨C ah well, that will sustain me more thoroughly than any shit you provide.¡±


    He stood up slowly, each motion causing agonizing pain for the thousand year old magus. All the jailers ¨C including the Captain ¨C took an involuntary step back. Even locked up and chained for thousands of years, Quinx''s mere existence was enough to sow terror. The thousand year old Magus looked to the unseen sky, face full of triumph, and bellowed.


    ¡°IT HAS BEGUN!¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Leave my room, please. And¡­ thank you, for your service.¡±


    Ceremonial robes scraped on the stone as the apostates departed from the Grand Chancellor¡¯s abode, the floor sparkling in their wake.


    He sat back into his chair, deflated. Agony and terror ripped apart his mask of calm as he took in the news. Dread had been slowly creeping in since the first violent earthquake ¨C and more than once he thought to escape ¨C but inwardly he knew that it was too late. He thought he would be calm when the time came ¨C thought he was prepared to see his duty though.


    He reached beneath his stiff, blue robes to pull the Dagger of Beginning from its sheath and tossed it lightly on his desk, leaving a dent in the beautiful wooden masterpiece. Since ancient times, the heavy ceremonial dagger has remained at the Grand Chancellor¡¯s side ¨C supposedly a key of great importance, but time had eroded all memories of what purpose it held. Father Time is undefeated, he idly realized. Now, the sacred blue bladed dagger lay soundly on his desk, no more useful than a paperweight.


    The Grand Chancellor swiveled in his chair to face the dazzling painting that hung on the wall behind him.


    The Holy Cycle ¨C a depiction of the beginning. It was hauntingly perfect. Long ¨C stretching from one end of the wall to the other ¨C the painting was a beautiful swirl of colours, so many that the Grand Chancellor would have failed to name even a hundredth of them.


    The obvious centerpiece of the rectangular canvas was a white, lamb-like creature with Human like proportions. Fur covered her entire body ¨C glinting in the sunlight as she sat crisscrossed, legs one atop the other. In her left hand ¨C or hoof ¨C she held thousands of tiny seeds; each a different colour, such as mahogany, turquoise, violet and the Chancellor¡¯s favourite: verdant.


    Her other one held a small, orange ball of energy. Even as the Chancellor watched ¨C the orb seemed to glow off the canvas ¨C golden aura catching the attention, as if it was a piece of her very own soul. He gazed upon his lord ¨C and smiled ¨C for the warmth she provided could not be tempered by any darkness.


    Life. She sat front and center ¨C all the colour in the world in one hand, and the Sun in the other.


    Surrounding her was the cold, black universe ¨C sporadically inhabited by thousands of tiny white specs. Some wandered aimlessly, content to write their own journey, while others banded together like a herd of sheep. Stars and Galaxies. Where Life radiated warmth ¨C the surrounding universe emanated cold ¨C not malice, but indifference.


    The head of the Cult of Life reflected fondly on when he had first seen the painting, some fifty years prior. He reminisced how the beautiful lamb had first drawn his gaze. He remembered he found home a new home in the beautiful Church, a home that he never had growing up, and how it filled his life with pride and meaning when he finally became a Priest, then a Father.


    He recalled his surprising ascension to Grand Chancellor. He was never a man with grand ambition yet with each offer of promotion he found himself unable to refuse, not due to lofty ambitions or greed, but because he knew if he passed, someone less devoted would rise in his place.


    And that, he could never accept.


    He slowly swiveled back to the dagger on the desk. When he first accepted his position as Grand Chancellor, he had been warned that this day might come. But he never expected it to happen during his reign. Novertheless, he must uphold the responsibilities bestowed upon him, no matter how difficult he might find it.


    The Grand Chancellor sat at his regal desk, staring at it¡¯s beautiful brown sheen for over an hour, mind empty of thoughts. It was too sudden, no time to prepare, no time to spend with his family or say goodbye to his friends. He would miss them dearly, he thought, but not as dearly as they would miss him.


    I am not ready.


    He held back the tears as he shuffled through his desks, searching for quill, ink and paper. Then, he set to work, writing a final letter to his wife.


    Dear my beloved Maria,


    I write this letter in haste, for I have not the time to properly lay out my thoughts, and so I ask for your forgiveness if it seems [incohesive]. Though we were only married for a short thirty years, the time we spent together was the most beautiful thing in the world. Everyday with you was an eternity filled with love and joy. I loved waking up next to you, your thin blue arms wrapping me in a warm embrace. I loved the curves of your body, the scars on our back, the little tattoos around your arms, the way your voice pitched up when I found you eating food in the night. I loved your long hair, that you kept flowing unrestrained for my enjoyment. I love your unrelenting optimism, that hint of arrogance in your voice when you cooked a meal, and the passion you showed on your face when you spoke of your paintings. I love that part of you that was stubborn and unrelenting, even if it may have caused me great difficulty. There are no words that can describe my love for you, so I shall keep it simple. I love you, so much.


    I know I was never the perfect Husband you deserved. I know I kept secrets, and I came home late, and I wasn¡¯t always there for you. I know that I seemed meek, and that you hated how I never fought back. I know you hated how much time I spent reading my scriptures. But you accepted all of it, because you loved me. And for that, I am eternally grateful.


    I am sorry for what is to come. I want you to know, I had every intention to stay by your side forever. But my responsibilities as a Grand Chancellor outweigh my responsibilities as a husband. And for that, I can only beg for your forgiveness. I cannot explain why I have done what I did, but know it was something I must do. For everyone¡¯s sake.


    I am sorry for leaving you alone, but know that even if we are universes apart, I will love you forever.


    Your Husband,


    Ravoria Fidello


    Ravoria put down his quill, tears streaming from his eyes. The writing was messy, ink spilling everywhere as a result of the earthquakes occurring. In writing his letter, he had prepared himself for what was to come. He placed the letter in a yellow envelope and sealed it with the seal of House Fidello, rather than the seal of Grand Chancellor of the Church of the Beginning. This was a private letter, for only one pair of eyes. He knew that his subordinates would deliver the letter unsullied. It was the least they could do.


    He put the letter on the desk, hand replacing it with the dagger instead. There was not a scratch on the dagger ¨C it¡¯s dull metal edge unblemished.


    His fingers ran across it once ¨C stopping to read the inscription engraved.


    Illy Inscario fariofa Carassa. Through Death comes Rebirth.


    In that moment ¨C a thought occurred. Maybe this has been the purpose all along ¨C hidden from us all so no none of us could desert our responsibility. He contemplated the irony of it all; the painting, the dagger, the mission.


    And then, in one smooth motion, he sheathed the dagger in his heart.


    <hr>


    Myanvar woke up to the sounds of violence all around him. He could hear the screeching of children in the distance, the sound of iron clashing with iron and the sounds of chanting all around him, all the while earthquakes shook the room. He pulled himself up, taking in the sight. He was annoyed to find this wasn¡¯t the room he¡¯d fallen asleep in. Moved me without asking, damn dogs.


    He looked down at his chest, unsheathing the Dagger of the End from where it skewered his heart. He grunted from the effort ¨C but found there was little pain that accompanied. Instead, the gaping hole now filled with brilliant aureate light.


    A new life.


    He turned around to examine the painting hanging on the wall behind him. The Holy Cycle ¨C a depiction of the end. It was hauntingly perfect. Long ¨C stretching from one end of the wall to the other ¨C the painting was muted in it¡¯s colours, using only a few to extenuate the details.


    The obvious centerpiece of the rectangular canvas was a black, wolf-like creature with human like proportions. Black fur ripped across his body ¨C absorbing the surrounding light like a void. Standing tall on his hind legs, surrounded by rolling meadows, an expansive blue sky ¨C sparsely inhabited by a few wandering cloud ¨C and beneath a giant tree ¨C healthy if its size and general bulk were indicators ¨C hands held out.


    In one hand ¨C a half-eaten apple, it¡¯s red skin glinting. In the other ¨C a sickle, it¡¯s silver metal glinting.


    It had been decades since he had seen the painting, and even now ¨C looking upon his master ¨C he felt¡­ peace.


    Very few could say that ¨C looking upon Death.


    His silent revery was shattered by the bursting arrival of a young priest, throwing his door open. ¡°My Lord, Grand Chancellor,¡± he gasped. ¡°You are awake.


    ¡°That I am.¡±


    ¡°Then, as apostate of the Church of the End, it is my duty to tell you that ¡®It Arrives¡¯.¡±


    Myanvar, eyes still fixated on the painting, begun to laugh. ¡°And so it has. Come. There is much to be done, and I do not know how much time we have left, nor how long I have slept for. We must prepare.¡±


    Bari found her abode high above the ground silent and still. She looked down upon the quakes that shook the land violently. They began almost a full two whole weeks prior. She looked up to the stormy sky and saw an Electric Shiftstorm on the horizon ¨C the likes of which Bari had never seen. This was no coincidence. There could only be one meaning to this.


    She looked to Dythia, sitting on her left ¨C hysteria in her eyes as she cackled with glee.


    ¡°Our Savior is coming! Finally! We can finish what was once started.¡±


    <hr>


    A few decades prior¡­


    Walrone considered himself a good man. A dedicated farmer, a lovely husband and a father of two wonderful kids ¨C each of which had chosen not to follow in their father¡¯s footsteps, which filled him with pride.. By all accounts ¨C he led a good and pious life. He followed the creed outlined by his faith ¨C and while he may have had an affair or three, who could blame a man for doing what men did?


    So Walrone considered himself a good man. That¡¯s why when the hurricanes ripped apart his land, forcing him to migrate to a new forest ¨C he considered it a part of the True Architect¡¯s Grand Plan.


    When his axe rebounded off the old oak tree the first time, he simply laughed it off as poor technique. Even with eighty years under his belt ¨C even an older timer like him could make a mistake.


    The second time it rebounded ¨C he simply brushed it aside. A tougher tree than usual, and while it had been many years since he had been unable to fell a tree in ten blows ¨C rare wasn¡¯t never.


    When upon his eight attempt ¨C he failed to even make a dent in the tree with his strongest blow, despite having felled many of its surrounding brethren in less than five swings, he became curious.


    After his twenty-fifth attempt ¨C where he swung so hard the resulting knockback found him several meters back ¨C he began to wonder if the Architects had simply deemed this tree indestructible.


    Mr. Walrone may not have been a good man, he certainly was an unlucky one.


    He approached the tree, rubbing at the spot where his axe had just bounced off ¨C rubbing at it curiously. Instantly, a vine whipped out from beneath the tree, wrapping around Walrone¡¯s ankle and dragging the man underneath it before he could even scream.


    Slowly, the tree began to shift ¨C at the same time as thousands of trees across the planet, of all different shapes and sizes began to shift simultaneously. The change wasn¡¯t drastic, hardly noticeable, if one ignored the newly minted thick white plaque ¨C woven in with the trunks of the trees.


    What do you desire?


    Life? Wealth? Power?


    Information? Glory? Pride?


    Find it all in the


    House of Iye.


    <hr>


    THE AREKAII COLLECTIVES


    FALMR Book 1: House of Iye

 Chapter 1, Part 1: Crates and Chains

    Every morning, the devil comes by my cage to wake me. For him, silence is never an option as the thud of his hooves are heralded by the sounds of bells clanging, wandering whistles, and the jingling keys. In the background, the devil sings his daily tunes as he prances about from one cage to another.


    Some in my position may make the proclamation ¡°God cannot exist, for under his watchful gaze such cruelty should not exist.¡± I agree with them, for if he is real, then God is cruel to have allowed such an ugly bastard to have been born. Others may fear him, but I have never feared the devil. I only pity him, for ¡®what is the devil but an angel who hath received no love?¡¯


    <hr>


    ¡°Up and attem, boys and girls, rise and shine. Here¡¯s your slob, greedy little fucks! Now, be ready quick, today is the big day! Don¡¯t wanna have to reward you little buggers for once, eh?!


    Aliso groaned, shuffling slowly in his cot.


    At this point, he¡¯d spent about a few weeks in Iye ¨C yet still hadn¡¯t adjusted to the lack of natural light ¨C or the constantly shifting cycles of light and dark. A difficult proposition under normal circumstances ¨C made even more difficult by his constant flurry of tasks. If he wasn¡¯t ditch-digging along the beachlines or traveling, ferrying a giant metal crate on his back for hours at a time ¨C he was sleeping, usually in said crate. Last night was particularly brutal ¨C having had to travel almost eight and a half hours, barefoot.


    And so, Aliso lay in his bed, struggling to break their bond. While it wasn¡¯t exactly soft and cozy ¨C Aliso had found that any bed with even basic cushioning was a privilege to be cherished. So, it was little surprise to find that even his hard, cold, and bumpy bed still managed to ooze an inescapable charm ¨C an innate desire to simply be, letting the world go by as you lay there, watching.


    All of that was to say ¨C Aliso was a tad too slow to rouse for Portus.


    ¡°Need special attention, Silver?¡± A nasty voice called out ¨C a hint of glee sparking in his eyes spoiling his poor fa?ade of neutrality.


    Bobby Portus was a fat, old Ishara whose limping gait caused his key chains to jingle. He picked up his baton, strapped by his bulging belly ¨C and lightly pressed it to the crate, activating its internal mechanism and spreading powerful volts of electricity through the metallic structure.


    Aliso screamed ¨C backside skin scorching and smoldering from the volts of electricity coursing through his body, leaving Aliso writhing in pain; internally from the voltage and externally from the smoldering skin.


    Portus cackled ¨C manic pleasure evident ¨C as he smacked his baton across the side of the crate a few more times ¨C sparing Aliso of the electricity. ¡°Up now, Silver?¡± He stalked away ¨C laugh ringing, chains jingling and hooves thudding on the ground as he walked away.


    Aliso twitched occasionally ¨C muscles convulsing from the repeated shocks it took to wake him. You¡¯d think after the first stunning display of ineptitude ¨C he¡¯d have changed his tune, packed up, and begun scurrying about like ants in a storm. But Aliso was nothing if not stubborn ¨C and stubbornly clinging to his bed, even through multiple shocks, he began to wear Portis down.


    This fourth time the large-bodied, crocodilian creature came around ¨C his mocking sneer was gone, in its place a mask of fury and hatred. He touched the bat to the crate for almost twenty seconds this time ¨C and when the baton finally moved away from the crate, it crackled with lightning.


    ¡°We can do this all day, Silver.¡± He sneered ¨C rattling the cage with a few powerful blows from his baton.


    Both his words and actions were immaterial ¨C of course ¨C as Aliso was preoccupied with all the pain and screaming, body convulsing from the torture. His muscles simultaneously felt frozen and burning ¨C leaving his entire body numb and convulsing. Having already inadvertently emptied his bowels on the second go around, the only substance leaving his body was the drool piling up by his face.


    He found his mind couldn¡¯t focus on anything ¨C not even the pain any longer. Instead, it was simply a frozen haze of emptiness ¨C a void of all thoughts.


    Portus leaned over ¨C and spat on Aliso¡¯s face through the holes in the crate. ¡°Lil more won¡¯t do ye any harm, eh?¡± he goaded. When Aliso elicited nary a reaction in response ¨C the jailer grunted in satisfaction and disgust.


    ¡°I doneno what ye think yere doin¡¯ ¨C but yere lucky. Arriving tonight ¨C gotta keep the product top-o''-the-line. So get up, and get moving!¡±


    Portus moved on ¨C searching for a new victim to torment among the sea of crates.


    Their party was currently camped in some wide open plains ¨C nary a tree for as far as the eyes could see. Up above, crystalline light shone down upon them ¨C but this time the entire ceiling had been lit, unlike the patterns it usually formed in. The light cast few shadows upon the land ¨C only small shadows beneath one¡¯s self, almost invisible to the naked eye.


    Aliso preferred the dark ¨C one of his few vestiges relating to his life before the escape. Before the farm. Before Iye. Seeing the land ¨C practically glowing beneath the clear light ¨C he felt an all-encompassing sense of emptiness. He longed to be like the land ¨C free and just. The land could do no wrong ¨C and for once, Aliso wished he could feel like that.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    After almost half an hour ¨C Aliso finally came to his senses. Portus hadn¡¯t stopped by again ¨C busied arguing with someone Aliso had never seen before.


    With nothing else to do ¨C Aliso finally extracted himself from the bed, although a part of him wished to jump back in and disappear between the sheets. He wiped himself down as best he could ¨C covered in vomit, piss, and feces ¨C but there was little in the crate other than his bed ¨C so he mostly stewed silently ¨C anger and helplessness building.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just get up?¡± Teddy asked ¨C scooping up some Fluer between his fingers and swallowing. Shaggy orange hair, a thick beard, and a powerful frame, Teddy sat cross-legged on the cot of his cell, enduring his meal. ¡°Every other day ¨C the same song and dance. You¡¯re not going to beat him, you know?¡±


    Aliso got up ¨C his short frame allowing him to stand without slumping or crouching ¨C and began stretching slightly as his muscles still recovered from the shocks. He thought ¨C with all the shocks ¨C he would grow resistant to them. Rather ¨C he found the shocks just as, if not more painful. In an ironic twist of fate, his body had instead learnt to recover quicker ¨C so that it could be subjected to pain once more. He shrugged ¨C scraping his shoulders against the iron bars and feeling a small shock, the lingering electricity grounding.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe I think he¡¯ll give up, or finally just give up and kill me.¡± Aliso shook his head ¨C trying to focus his mind again. ¡°I just¡­ I just couldn¡¯t listen to him ¨C not without protest.¡±


    Teddy rose his eyebrows ¨C gobbling up another handful of Fluer. ¡°Liable to get yourself killed ¨C for a worthless cause, mind you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah ¨C well better to die for a cause, than live a worthless life.¡±


    Teddy chuckled ¨C spitting a bit of food out. ¡°I agree ¨C but this ain¡¯t a cause, just the lashing outs of a child. You ain¡¯t causing anything to change. Just getting yourself fucked up for no reason.¡±


    Aliso sighed.


    Neither had an answer to the statement ¨C if there was even a question in it ¨C so it hung in the air between them ¨C constantly vying for attention. Aliso ignored it ¨C as he did all the other questions lingering in his brain. Time in Iye had taught him one thing: better to leave the questions in the past, lest they torment you for the foreseeable future.


    Teddy had tried to convince him more than once to drop the matter ¨C this time resorting to tough love. He appreciated the effort his acquaintance, okay friend ¨C however meaningless the effort. He didn¡¯t want to admit Teddy was right ¨C but Aliso was done bending a knee to the strong. He would die before letting it happen again.


    He sat ¨C pulling in his breakfast through the bars. Aliso hated breakfast. Well, more specifically, he hated breakfast, lunch, and dinner. More specifically, he hated breakfast, lunch, and dinner here.


    He pushed his hands through the metal bars ¨C picking up the breakfast thrown haphazardly on the floor in front of his cell door.


    ¡°Breakfast¡± consisted of two dead Kazhaki - small, grey ratlike creatures that are equal parts resilient and disgusting ¨C garnished with a handful of under moss called Fluer ¨C an unsuccessful attempt to mellow out the bitter flavour of Kazhaki meat¨C and a small glass of liquid¡­ goop. Teddy had tried already ¨C on numerous occasions ¨C to convince Aliso that it was water. His efforts fell on deaf ears, however, and often had no comeback to the retort ¡°Please find me another pool of water which is thick and green.¡±


    He prodded the meat carefully ¨C shifting his nose to avoid the pungent odor. To call this a meal would be a bit of an overstatement. A meal should be used to describe an edible arrangement of food. If a chef sold this as a meal in Dii Lainus he would be charged with Grand Larceny.


    Nevertheless, Aliso bit into it ¨C unsuccessfully dusting the dirt off its skin and trying not to vomit while he ate. Overtime, he found one of the benefits of being shocked was his loss of tastebuds ¨C which came in handy to swallow the bitter and disgusting grey meat.


    ¡°Portus said something about tonight ¨C that I was lucky? Any idea what he was talking about?¡± Aliso asked through mouthfuls of meat.


    This time it was Teddy¡¯s turn to shake his head. ¡°Find out soon enough, won¡¯t we.¡±


    Aliso grunted ¨C the two of them silently finishing the rest of their meals. After this ¨C the entire lot of them would be let out of their crate, forced to travel barefoot and carrying their crates overhead. The journey had been brutal ¨C and while Aliso tried to make good use of all the blood spilt, his clashes with Portus had far out damaged any small bits of healing.


    Since he had fallen into Iye ¨C and been captured by this band of slavers ¨C his life had become routine. A miserable routine that constantly brought about violent or hopeless thoughts, but a routine nevertheless.


    A routine of monotonous digging ¨C among which he had developed his friendship with Teddy, and arduous, grueling travel ¨C among which he had developed his rivalry with Portus, although another would laugh at that statement. After all ¨C was it really a rivalry if Portus was always winning?


    Twice, plans had been made for escape. Twice, a thorough reminder of the cost of freedom ¨C after which another attempt was never considered. It should have been simple ¨C almost a thousand of them against just under two hundred of them. But whoever was orchestrating this group had been intelligent ¨C sectioning them off in batches of fifty or so ¨C enough for a single guard to manage without allowing for the slaves to sow dissent that could create opportunities for escape. It was the common tactic ¨C divide and conquer ¨C and it worked excellently, keeping the entire group in line for the multi-week journey.


    A journey ¨C which only an hour or two after Aliso and Teddy had departed ¨C finally came to an end. The entire time, no one told them where they were going. If you disobeyed, you were simply whipped until you started moving ¨C or in Aliso¡¯s case, stop asking.


    He hoped that upon arrival, it would all be clear to him ¨C like a foggy window clearing beneath the warm rays of the burning sun.


    Instead ¨C it felt more like the foggy window had simply opened a few holes ¨C giving way to more questions. Such as, why can I see horses behind the window? Or in this case, what?


    During his travels, he expected a number of destinations ¨C mostly endings to his life, if he was to be honest with himself.


    He thought they might be gathered up and sacrificed to an ancient deity ¨C like his village had tried to do once before. Or he expected the destination to be like Levium ¨C simply a myth, designed to motivate them towards an end, however vague. Or maybe they¡¯d simply be abandoned ¨C their metal crates trapping them eternally as they starved to death among the wilds.


    Not on the top of the list - not even on the list, really ¨C was their destination: a bustling carnival.

 Chapter 1, Part 2: Makeups and Meetings

    ¡°No, no, no, no no, no, NOOOOO! This is simply NOT good enough! Portus. Doll, darling. Dear. I believe Pyria explicitly reminded you that they must be brought in TOP condition. Really darling ¨C how hard can it be to follow one job? We don¡¯t have time to fix all of¡­ this.¡±


    A tall, red-headed woman gestured at the boy with disgust ¨C veiny hands wildly waving in the air like leaves flittering in a storm.


    ¡°First-o¡¯-all¡±.¡± Portus began, ¡°Deal was simple: I bring you the product in workin¡¯ condition, and you pay us. I brought yer garbage ¨C ain¡¯t nothing in the contract stipulatin¡¯ quality control.¡±


    The carnival ¨C it had turned out ¨C was well underway by the time they arrived, a fact the redheaded lady ¨C Rosara ¨C continuously chided the Portus about, to Aliso¡¯s well-disguised delight.


    The lot of them had been brought around to the backstages of the carnival ¨C far from the crowds and sights. Back here, the thousand of them were thrown into lines ¨C policed by carnival workers with batons to ensure no attempts at escape ¨C and funneled through a small room. As he stood in line, Aliso concluded that either the room was to be their grave ¨C unlikely, given the lack of screams and effort taken to bring them here ¨C or they were to be swallowed by the earth ¨C a more logical conclusion, given that no one yet returned.


    Thankfully, Aliso¡¯s limited imagination extended only to the confines of his thoughts, for instead there was a third option.


    Aliso sat upon a small wooden stool inside one of the stone rooms, forced into by Portus after an attempted escape, who stood by his side like an overprotective grandfather ¨C but truthfully that was simply the shape of his body projecting such an image upon the minds of the blind, for those that could see the sneer etched across his face would never have cast such a foolish assumption. The bastard personally oversaw Aliso entered the building ¨C his odor filling the room and causing the lady in the room to gag slightly when she breathed.


    The room was completely boxed ¨C with a few white torches hanging on the walls to either side for lighting ¨C made entirely of stone, with only a door behind Aliso (from whence they came) and one in front of Aliso, behind the Tall-redhead, Rosara (from where he expected to exit) ¨C who was examining Aliso with her arms crossed. Besides Rosara were a stack of twenty or so books ¨C haphazardly stacked in a manner so illogical Aliso was mildly impressed the tower still stood.


    ¡°Ugh, I don¡¯t have the TIME to be dealing with you.¡± She clicked her tongues together in dismay. Taller even than Portus ¨C made even taller by her red hair braided into a tight, tall topknot ¨C Rosara stood with the air of a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted ¨C belittling those beneath her through her simple presence. Sporting square-rimmed spectacles covering green eyes, a sharp nose, and pale white skin ¨C she wore a green bodycon dress, adorned with gold along the edges that brought her curves out ¨C clearly meant to distract the eyes. ¡°If you have any issues, take it up with LaRasso, okay?¡± She spoke in a condescending, almost mocking tone.


    Portus rolled his shoulders, his large arms flexing with the motion ¨C causing the shine of his green scales to glint in the crystalline light. ¡°LaRasso better have the money. Or else.¡± He threatened, before stalking away ¨C thick spiny spined tail swishing about on the floor and nearly knocking a drawer over as he exited from where they came.


    She scoffed. ¡°Or else what? Honestly, the nerve of some people, humph!¡± Sighing heavily, she turned to the silver-haired boy. ¡°Now then, boy, we really must do something about you! Yes yes, no time to waste!¡± She clapped her hands enthusiastically, poking her head out the door behind her.


    ¡°MELLY! Be a darling, come here and put a touch whiter around the eyes, those bags are visible a mile away. Call Livvy. And honey, we need him spazzed UP! Get him spazzin¡¯!¡± She shouted the words out the door behind her, waited a few seconds, and then scurried away, exiting the small room as ¨C assumably ¨C Melly entered.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Melly ¨C a tall creature with two rows of three green eyes each, wearing earrings and a blue and purple dress in a similar vein to Rosara ¨C paced over, weariness evident on her face. The eyes all simultaneously locked eyes on Aliso ¨C leaving him squirming uncomfortably upon his short wooden throne.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have enough people,¡± she complained. ¡°I can¡¯t be cleaning up everyone who walks through.¡±


    Nevertheless, she got to work ¨C as the other woman, Livvy, entered behind her. Livvy was comparatively normal-looking to her companion. Tall, brunette with skin made of steel, a mask where a face should be, and the same dress as her companion. In contrast to her appearance, however, Livvy was the far bubblier of the two, laughing moronically and cracking jokes at Aliso¡¯s expense.


    Initially, Aliso resisted fiercely as the two of them tried to strip him of his clothes ¨C a resistance only maintained until Livvy¡¯s blow across his jaw ¨C steel hands leaving him stunned and defenseless (yet somehow uninjured) as the two of them tore his garments apart.


    The ordeal would have been humiliating under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, his journey here had stripped him of that emotion ¨C this was positively pleasant in comparison to some of the punishments Portus subjected him to.


    They dressed him up like a doll ¨C scrubbing the impurities from his body only to mask it with another layer of impurity ¨C all to maintain a fa?ade of purity.


    Occasionally, Aliso twitched involuntarily, erratically, as if a cold breeze ran down his shirt, but otherwise, he remained still and silent, anger repressed ¨C like the condemning gaze of a mother. Unfortunately, Aliso had to admit he enjoyed the mountains of make-up being applied, soothing his smoldering skin ¨C which was no longer smoldering after some ointments Melly applied. His pale complexion ¨C marred by dirt and grime through months of digging and journey ¨C reappeared. Unfortunately ¨C their efforts managed to also unearth the various scars tracked across his back ¨C a memento of whippings of the life dealt, figuratively and literally.


    Finally done cleaning his body of impurities ¨C and then masking it over with another layer of impurity ¨C his body finally a fa?ade of purity. Well, save for his back ¨C no amount of makeup could cover the brutal lashings.


    Livvy brought a book forward ¨C opening to a page and then grabbing a dress from the dressers and proffering it to Melly.


    ¡°Whatcha think!?¡±


    Melly raised an eyebrow. ¡°That tactic?¡± She glanced back at Aliso, to the dress in hand, and then back to Melly¡¯s book, taking it in her hands as she shook her head. ¡°No, fire in his eyes gives it away ¨C and I don¡¯t know who¡¯d be looking for a fight.¡± She gave her metal companion a knowing glance ¨C who laughed in return.


    ¡°Never know what kinda kinks they got, maybe they like a fighter! Like to watch him struggle!¡± Livvy cackled ¨C unnerving Aliso, especially due to the muffling from the mask. Whatever they had planned for him in this dress, he didn¡¯t think he liked it.


    Melly was still staring at him ¨C contemplative. ¡°Fighter?¡± she suggested, then shook her head ¨C braided hair swinging in the air. ¡°Too scrawny ¨C look at his build.¡± She shook her head again¨C this time out of frustration at having had to knock out her own suggestion. ¡°Gonna be a helluva sell.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t be too hard.¡± Livvy jumped in, hopping over and jabbing him along his arms and legs ¨C leaving Aliso breathing heavily from the effort to control his annoyance. ¡°Sides, its not like he got no muscles.¡±


    ¡°You know their crowd,¡± Melly replied, rolling her eyes. ¡°If it ain''t visible, it doesn¡¯t count. What else we got?¡±


    Livvy shrugged back. ¡°Dunno.¡± She hopped away ¨C the sound of metal bouncing off stone accompanying ¨C found another thick tome and began rummaging through it. ¡°What about ¨C organ?¡±


    Aliso was struggling to catch the nuances of the conversation. Clearly, it was a discussion involving his future, and while he was unable to quite grasp the context ¨C he knew that whatever options were on the table, it wasn¡¯t going to be pretty for him.


    At that moment, the tall redheaded lady burst through the doors like a hurricane, heels hitting the stone floor with a piercing noise. She looked over at Aliso, then began to berate her employees.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you finished?¡± Rosara complained, huffing slightly as she posed.


    The stylists shrugged. ¡°Can¡¯t figure out how to sell him.¡± Melly said.


    ¡°The book is useless!¡± Livvy professed ¨C tossing the book to the side, earning the back of her head a roundhouse slap, delivered by Rosara.


    Rosara examined Aliso, sighed, and turned back to her casually bickering employees.


    ¡°Melly, darling, how has it that you manage to miss everything with three pairs of eyes? Really, darling.¡± She shook her head, pointing to Aliso as she looked him up and down. ¡°Give him a midnight tank-top ¨C as tight as you can find ¨C and matching black pants¡­ size three ¨C I should think. Livvy darling, accentuate his pail skin more ¨C I should see it glow!¡± She turned to leave ¨C then spun back. ¡°Oh ¨C and keep the cloth thin.¡± She waltzed out ¨C hips swaying as she walked.


    That alarmed Aliso. Whatever she saw in him ¨C she was damn happy about it. And that made him nervous.