Kugan Blazewing was having a swell day by all standards until the message arrived. He was in the process of laying waste to yet another bandit stronghold, which proved to be as physically inept at stopping his force’s advancement as the last one. At least with the previous stronghold, he had faced true fighters who stood their ground rather than fled. This one saw its supposed lord flee the moment he caught sight of Kugan’s forces approaching their walls.
It had been hilarious in hindsight, appalling even, as he considered the cowardice of humans toward their own peers, something Haruka had ingrained in him. Once a creature of the wastelands, Kugan was one of the few remaining Blazewings, majestic flame birds who once ruled the skies. Taken in by Haruka, he had risen to his current heights through sheer wrath and strength, something his unique bodily physique had allowed him to attain. Now a Highlord, as Haruka called it, all he wanted was to bathe in the blood of the humans who had once hunted his kind to near extinction.
Another Blazewing, an adept child but old enough to join the battle, landed next to him. Feathers still stuck out of his body, and only his round yellow eyes showed any signs of gaining sentience, slowly evolving into the humanoid form best suited for battle. Standing atop the ruins of the stronghold, smoke rising around him, Kugan collected the letter with a frown of distaste.
The scribblings Haruka called language irritated his sight. Words were enough; why did they need to be given a physical form? A stray thought whispered to him that he wouldn’t have the information currently in his hands otherwise. Smooth-skinned, red glowing eyes staring at the paper with white hair, the Highlord mumbled something under his breath, realizing it had come from Yumar.
The great Sandshard, the first claw of Haruka and the first found. Kugan found him overbearing, often ignoring him, but the contents of the letter made him pause. Blinking as his red eyes took the shape of an avian, he glanced back towards the direction of the now-destroyed home of the bone and blood Ethra users.
Flicking his gaze, he swore he could see figures moving around within the ruins, curiosity nibbling at him. If they had gotten this far, it meant they had circumvented his forces by coming from another direction. He was impressed. One of his feathers, a red beautiful thing, glowed with Ethra in his hand, sharp enough to cut through metal when he wanted it to.
He sensed no presence of any Highlord. Perhaps this one was skilled in veiling their aura. Either way, Kugan found it demeaning for him, known as the master of the hunt, to go after lesser prey. Instead, he did what he had always done from the start of the war: he sent his underlings.
Two lord-rank Corespawns, along with a host of their lesser kin, headed in the direction of the destroyed settlement. Whatever they faced there, they should be more than enough to handle it. Let Yumar and his forces do the cleaning up—he had places to be. His form shimmered with a red aura as large red wings, burning with Ethra flames, blossomed to life behind his back. The Highlord took to the skies in a show of power.
Haruka’s teachings had been harsh but effective, molding him into a weapon of unparalleled might. Now, he wielded that power to exact vengeance on those who had wronged his king.
The skies ahead were clear, but Kugan knew better than to let his guard down. The message from Yumar had hinted at a threat, something that required his immediate attention. The thought of facing a worthy opponent stirred excitement within him. He yearned for a battle that would truly test his limits.
********************************
Lady Ryka stared distastefully at the three lords from the window in her room, watching as they prepared to set off toward the still-growing vast districts of Black Rock, accompanied by adept servants of their respective clans. Adepts as servants.
Hearing about it and seeing it in person were two vastly different realities, but as she watched the adepts—who she silently admitted were strong enough to be elders of even Clan Verdan—accompany them, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of inferiority.
Everything they came across was looked down upon with distaste in their eyes. Their polite smiles and calm mannerisms were merely a mask to hide their disgust at those they no doubt considered ‘inferior’. Arms folded behind her, she watched them take in the adoration of the people of Black Rock, who would bend over for a simple smile from them.
“How long will they be here for?” Draven asked as she turned away from the window. The entire power structure of Black Rock had once again gathered within her quarters, Ryka needing to call an emergency meeting.
“I have no idea; my best guess would be after they’ve dealt with this Wasteland King that seems to be threatening the peace of the empire,” she replied.
“Then, our true fates would be decided,” Wren added with a frown.
“What does that mean?” Harun asked cautiously.
“What it means,” a female voice said softly as all eyes turned to her. Grey hair, grey eyes, and wrinkles on her skin—something that shouldn’t exist on the features of an adept.
“Is that we’ll be given autonomy or turn into some discarded puppet vassal of the greater clans of the empire,” she completed. Elder Ming looked like a pale shadow of her old self, her skin dry and leathery, though still full of life, spoke of a scar that might never heal. Still, she had come when Ryka needed her the most, a debt that Ryka considered unpayable.
“Isn’t that a long stretch?” Wren, her husband, asked gently. She was still treated like a fragile flower by Wren, something Ryka reciprocated as well, ensuring the rest of them understood as well.
“Times and events are shifting within the empire,” Ming started. “What we are witnessing is nothing but the aftereffects of the waves that have rocked the capital, central plains, and heartlands themselves.” She rubbed her hands together as if cold, a gesture Ryka took notice of immediately. “This extends further than the battle with the denizens of the wastelands. Black Rock has gained the attention of the empire and its powers; its position is one of seemingly vital importance that had been once forgotten,” she explained.
“And the clans of the empire want it?” Isolde asked. Ming inclined her head, silent as they all stared at her quietly, giving her time to continue.
“You need to understand that Clan Verdan has been feeding you lies from the onset for specific reasons,” she continued.
“Dear, you—” Wren started, but she shook her head softly, stopping him.
“No, they need to understand,” she said. “You need to understand most of all,” she added as her eyes met with Ryka’s. The lady nodded softly.
“Clan Verdan maintained strict control of information in and out of their districts. It’s why we mostly dealt with merchants from other continents, and the knowledge hall was restricted to cultivators tied to the houses and clan themselves,” she said. Grabbing the glass of water at her side, she drank deeply before dropping it on the table with more strength than needed, Ryka noticing the gut-wrenching pain in Wren’s eyes. She sighed.
“When I first took over as the lady of the requisition hall, I had just arrived from the capital, new and eager to make my mark on this abandoned area of civilization. I noticed a few discrepancies of sorts with the history books.”
“Like what?” Giselle asked.
“Well, for one, the emperor isn’t some master, weaker than the powers of the Heralds,” she said with a snort, Wren’s eyes widening. Ming paused as if waiting for something to happen with bated breath.
“Well, that answers the question on my mind,” she said with a chuckle. She noticed the look of curiosity on Ryka’s face, ignoring the astonished looks on the faces of the others and the alarm on Wren’s.
“See, I was sworn to an oath from the moment I took over by Rowan, that so long as any of his children lived—Alaric and Lirien, that was—I was to never disclose the true history of the empire itself,” she finished.
“The emperor is higher than a master?” Isolde asked softly.
Ming looked at them with a hint of childish tolerance, something Ryka found amusing. “I found it odd that no one questioned how a master would have been able to hold an entire half of Bloodfire against the heralds themselves, don’t you think?” she asked.
It was as if a veil was lifted from their eyes; Draven, usually so talkative, was quiet for once. “By the hegemons,” he whispered.
“If you can speak about it,” Ryka said, leaving the statement unfinished as Ming nodded her head.
“Indeed, then Alaric must be dead as well. A pity, though, I quite liked him, you see,” Ming replied. Ryka wasn’t sure what to expect when the Heralds had taken him away, but if he had been sentenced to death, then she really hoped it was the last time she met with the members of the cult known as the War Bringers.
“What stage do you think he’d be?” Harun asked.
“If the Heralds have a regent of their own,” Ryka started, as Ming glanced at her, “then it is safe to say that he is one himself,” she completed, and Ming nodded.
“He goes by many names to his enemies: the Black Flame of Destruction, the Annihilator, the Burning Wrath. Suffice to say, he keeps the regent of Heralds at bay well enough,” Ming said with a chuckle.
“What about the hegemons?” Isolde asked.
“What about them?” Ming asked.
“It is said that the cults boast of those lofty existences, far above any other,” Draven added.
Ming shrugged. “As far as I’m aware, they are, they should be, but have I seen one? No. I doubt anyone apart from the regents has even met one before,” she answered with a chuckle.
“Another lie was the fact that Clan Verdan was some powerful clan of the empire,” she said.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“I believe we’re seeing the lie shatter around us,” Harun said.
“There are four great clans, four great sects, and the two lesser sects that control the entirety of the empire. The imperial clan stands above them all by virtue of raw military might, the other clans being a pale comparison to the Talahan clan itself,” Ming explained.
“And where does the Verdan clan fall under?” Ryka asked, already dreading the answer.
“None,” Ming said with a sad smile.
It came as a shock to everyone except Ryka in the room, a sudden quiet that put their situation in another light entirely.
“To the empire, we at the borders are no different from the barbarians we were tasked to protect them from,” she said.
“So what changed?” Harun asked. Ryka could hear the rising ire in his voice, the realization that in the grand scheme of things, they meant nothing.
“What made these lofty powers of the empire turn their gazes to us?” he asked.
“The revenants and heralds,” Ryka answered, Lady Ming inclining her head at her in approval. “A middle of nowhere suddenly beset by two powerful forces. For good or bad, it was enough to get them to turn their eyes on us,” she finished.
“I do not discount the grave threat that a master in the wastelands poses to the empire and the clan as a whole,” Ming said. “But one thing I can categorically say is that the three heirs of the great clans here right now didn’t come simply for the fun of it. They came to find out just how much of a threat we pose to them should they decide or have the intention to make a move for Black Rock,” she finished.
“And you think the imperial clan would allow them?” Isolde asked softly.
Ming turned to Ryka, staring at her. “That depends on what we can offer them,” she replied, and Ming nodded.
“Good, you’re learning quickly,” Ming replied.
Ryka stapled her fingers together, closing her eyes as she seemed lost in thought for a while, the rest whispering among themselves. She opened them a few minutes later, meeting the eyes of Wren and Ming.
“I have a plan,” she said cryptically.
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Tunde encountered the first tier 4 Corespawn in front of him, its body layered with what looked like bones. The large behemoth barreled toward Sera, swinging a giant two-sided axe, intent on cleaving her in two. The rage-driven adept cared not for her life, something Tunde could clearly see. He kicked her out of the way, midnight parrying the axe before he cleanly removed its head.
Above him came a screech. A blue-looking Corespawn dived toward him as he prepared to face another in front of him, killing intent pouring out from them. This one was adept rank, tier 3, and as he prepped a void sphere, Miria’s whip-blade shot through the air, wrapping the creature as its blade dug deep into it. One flick and it was a mass of shredded body parts falling from the skies with a final shriek.
The second lord was a humanoid bird, large wings sprouting from its back, flame Ethra wreathing them, and tufts of red feathers still shooting out all over its body. Tunde’s Ethra sight revealed a perfect core, but something about the cultivator seemed odd. Was this what a lord-tier Corespawn looked like?
The creature drew a large blade that burst into flames, its beak mouth opening as sentient eyes stared at him. “You trespass on the sovereign land of the Wasteland King,” it said in a raspy voice.
Around the humanoid bird creature, the wind picked up, red flames flowing along with it as Tunde began to gather his Ethra. “Does a Corespawn speak for Kugan?” he asked.
The creature’s eyes widened in shock and outrage as Tunde watched the beginnings of a dominion technique take shape around him. A realm of pure fire and wind gathered, his aura coating his body, protecting him from the worst of it. “You dare compare me to those filthy abominations of nature?” it shrieked.
It swung its blade, releasing an attack carrying wind and flame Ethra. Tunde swung midnight, the blade brimming with his Ethra, clashing with the attack, doing little damage. Moving on the offensive, void spheres manifested around him, shooting toward the projected flaming feathers that shot towards him.
Aware of the razor-sharp claws imbued with aura on the legs of the near-humanoid beast, Tunde traded blows with it, keenly aware of Miria wreaking havoc on the adept-tiered Corespawns of the creature’s forces. Ethra sight picked apart the clumsy yet deadly attacks of the creature, allowing him to calmly assess it.
“We are the true beasts of Adamath. We have attained enlightenment, and I will feast on your—urk!” it croaked as Tunde pushed his blade through its chest, gripping it by the neck and staring into its shocked eyes. It was dead a few seconds later, his relic siphoning its Ethra, feeling the raw power its concept held.
Leaving the desiccated body, he turned his gaze to Sera, who had carved a bloody path through the Corespawns, sporting injuries of her own as well. She staggered under the onslaught, Miria fighting desperately to reach her side, tentacle limbs flashing as they tore and shredded the creatures before her.
He was there, right in the midst of the creatures, midnight reaping through them before he released his aura, causing the creatures to crash to their knees. These were not the sentient ones like the Shadowpanther he had fought what felt like ages ago; these were rabid, almost mad creations used as hunting creatures and nothing more.
He barely felt any pity for them as he cut them down, void spheres obliterating them before turning his gaze to a barely standing Sera. Miria was there, about to ply her with another batch of elixirs when Tunde spoke, rather forcefully.
“No,” he said, Miria freezing, eyes wide in disbelief.
“She’s about to—”
“No,” he repeated slowly, glancing at her before turning back to Sera. “You put not only yourself but us in danger. You’d be dead had it not been for us,” he said.
“I’d rather die with my people than live in this hell,” she replied, raw pain and agony in her voice.
Tunde stared at her for a few seconds, into those orbs that burned with raw rage and hate before nodding. “Very well, if that’s what you want, then I’d leave you to it,” he said.
“Tunde!” Miria hissed, shocked.
He ignored her, watching as Sera locked eyes with him. “The truth is, I could simply point you in the direction you want, allowing you to go face what is assured to be a meaningless death trying to avenge your people,” he started. “Want to know why I know? It’s because I’m in the same place right now, one of the last of my people,” he continued. “Power and strength dictate right from wrong in our world, and right now, you’re nowhere near the strength needed to even scratch those you want.”
“A mere adept, even I can slap you around should I feel like it. Revenge is good, but only when done with common sense. I’d hate to see you die, Sera, but I don’t want someone foolish by my side,” he finished.
Standing straight, he watched her weakly, stretching his hand out to Miria, who gave him the healing elixir rather forcefully. Avoiding her gaze, he threw it to Sera, the adept weakly catching it.
“Drink up, heal quickly, then give me your reply. That is the last aid I’ll render,” he said, turning away.
Miria walked up to him, whip-blade back in its stiff form as she spoke softly, her newfound shadow Ethra boiling around them. “That was cruel,” she started, as Tunde turned to her, “but needed. Even I can’t deny that,” she finished, Tunde glancing back at Sera.
“We need to leave, head back toward Black Rock,” he said softly.
“We haven’t found out the location of the forces,” Miria replied, confused.
“Those Corespawns came on the orders of someone, meaning either Kugan or the King is aware of our presence. If we go further, we put ourselves at risk,” Tunde said.
Miria nodded, glancing back at Sera who headed into the ruins. “And what about her?” she asked.
“She stays or comes with us. Her choice,” he said softly.
Walking back toward the settlement that had once existed inside the large crater that stretched in front of them, Tunde stared at the dead bodies of the Corespawns. The rabid creatures had attacked them with perfect coordination led by the more sentient ones that claimed not to be Corespawns. True beasts—the word was as strange to him as it sounded.
Still, the distinction in the fighting styles of Jath the Shadowpanther he had faced and the lord ‘true beast’ was as distinct as day and night. While Jath had skills and speed he had honed to the very peak of his abilities, the true beast relied on its physical attributes and raw power, something Tunde overshadowed easily.
Tunde watched Sera kneel by the side of another mutilated body, moving closer to her side. She felt his presence, but the anguish that caused her to tremble as she spoke made her immune to it.
“They came with an offer, the servants of the Wasteland King,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Kneel, join them as those abominations, or die.”
She glanced at the spot where Tunde had obliterated the creature that had attacked them. “Some of my people chose to join, realizing that I couldn’t protect them from the flying servant of the king.”
“Kugan,” Tunde whispered.
“Some accepted the change, becoming something vile. Others tried and became abominations the likes of which you—” she paused, choking on her words with rage.
“He was close to you,” Tunde murmured.
“He was my brother!” she bit back harshly. “They promised, they swore that if I surrendered—if I became their toy, they would spare my people, my brother.”
She was on her feet now, eyes flashing with rage as she gripped her blade tighter. A flare of power in the distance drew Tunde’s attention as he hissed again in irritation. Sera turned in the direction of what he could only call a horde bearing down on them, with her hands stretched out.
One held the large blade, the other bunched tight in a fist as she screamed, “Yes! Come, I will bathe in your blood!” Her aura rose in dark red wisps around her.
Tunde moved in a blink, a gentle crack to the back of her neck as the adept passed out. Grabbing her body just as Miria appeared, he handed the unconscious Sera over to her. Miria glanced at him.
“We need to leave, now,” she said.
Tunde nodded. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” he replied, eyes still on the sandstorm that drew ever closer.
Miria grabbed his hand, drawing his attention. “No unnecessary risks,” she said, eyes on him.
Tunde nodded, watching as she shot off into the distance. He turned back, dashing into the destroyed settlement as he wrapped his aura tightly around his body, sticking to the shadows quietly. There were over twenty, most of them Corespawns, according to what Ethra sight revealed to him. The rest had similar physiques to the creature that had called itself a ‘true beast.’
The Corespawns led from the front, most tier 3 and a few tier 4. It was the figure walking quietly behind them that drew Tunde’s attention. A brown-skinned man with dark yellow eyes, his skin breaking out with patches of what looked like the black carapaces of Sandshards jutting out of his body at different points.
The tier 4 true beast paused, raising one hand as the entire force halted on the orders of the tier 4 Corespawns. Eyes scanning the destroyed settlement, it passed over Tunde softly, oblivious to his presence as it produced a crude-looking blade out of nowhere, harsh yellow Ethra running through its frame.
Tunde turned his gaze to the sands below him with a frown, watching as the Ethra began to swirl as if moving to the will of the being ahead of them. Alarms rang in his head as he watched the aura he drew tightly around his body come in contact with it.
The creature’s head snapped towards him with a feral smile, swinging the blade as a crudely shaped Ethra slash tore towards him. Cursing, Tunde swung midnight, releasing a void strike that clashed with the attack as he sprang out of his hiding spot. Void spheres manifested behind him, the projection attack tearing towards the Corespawns who sprang into action.
He clashed with the tier 4 Corespawns first, the two large forms wielding crude metal weapons flowing with rough Ethra crashing into him. They looked more like reptilian hybrids, with large sharp teeth snapping at him as their clawed digits attempted to rip into him.
His imbuement technique protected him. Tunde cut one into two halves horizontally before an imbued punch caved in the chest of the other. Then he unleashed his void spheres, watching the attack tear into the tier 3 Corespawns that came at him.
All the while, the tier 4 humanoid watched him with keen eyes, giving Tunde the uneasy feeling that he was being studied carefully. He carved his way through the Corespawns that died in droves, stringing technique after technique as Ethra sight revealed the path forward for him, his body drenched in blood.
His heart cycled Ethra continuously as he unleashed his aura, driving what remained of their forces to their knees when the true beast reacted, apparently having seen enough. The moment it swung its crude weapon again, Tunde knew something was wrong.
The attack shaped itself into the form of an Ethra Sandshard that towered over him. Tunde reinforced himself with his Ethra and aura before the attack came crashing down on him. He felt essence fire as the technique crashed into his void strike, tearing apart his technique even as he dodged away.
It left his surroundings a mess of sand Ethra and essence flames. Tunde, bruised but standing, gripped Midnight tighter in his hand. The creature seemed surprised.
“You survived,” it said in what was shockingly fluent speech. “I’m surprised.”
Tunde felt his injuries begin to heal as the creature gathered the vast sand around it, Tunde watching as yellow lines of earth Ethra ran through it, hardening its surface. Before him stood an armor of pure sand, hardened enough to rival the body of an earth golem.
Tunde poured Ethra into midnight as the blade hummed, imbuing his form and adding essence flame to the blade.
“Surrender, kneel before the king,” it said to him.
Tunde glanced at the dead Corespawns around him, shrugging as he prepared himself. “I’ll take my chances,” he replied and swung midnight.