The sandstalker alpha exited the rift with the crystal in hand, its body smoking, lacerations, and deep flesh wounds rapidly healing as its forked tongue slithered out of its mouth, tasting the atmosphere. Excitement, it was a novel feeling for it, first tasting it within the rift as it tore through the slime-like creatures within it, making its way to the rift guardian itself, a tier 4 creature it had torn through recklessly, feeling its body absorb the properties of the guardian.
It was now a tier 4 creature as well, its sentience growing with its strength, evolution unlocking and creating non-existent parts of its mind in proper sentience. Its other hand was a sharp piece of stalagmite found within the rift, its grey but sharpened edges able to rip through whatever it wanted, serving as a makeshift weapon as the creature finally learned the advantages of armed combat. Sometime during the rift sojourn of its as well, it had learned how to coat the stalagmite with venom, the green substance dripping and glowing from the stalagmite, adding to its already impressive arsenal.
Sharpened and hardened claws that could rip through rock, sharp bony protrusions from his forelimbs that could puncture even the toughest hides, acid that melted through everything it had used it against so far, a keen sense of smell that could pick up the faintest whiff of emotions and an eyesight worthy of the predatory birds of the wastelands that filled the air as well.
The alpha had progressed one step ahead of the other creatures of the wastelands, its might was uncontested as it would soon prove and its intelligence ensured that it wasn’t some random beast lucky enough by evolution to be the next ruler of the wastelands in its entirety. It tasted the air, feeling the charged up Ethra as it began its journey towards its first destination, its crude but slowly developing sentience revealing to it that it would need a place to call its domain, a place from where it would gather its power and rule.
And so it made its place towards the closest sandstalker habitat, following the faint pheromones of the older male that had pushed this far in search of food for its clutch. Pushing through the wastelands on powerful hindlimbs now reinforced with raw power, it tore through the sandy terrains like a ghost, leaving few specks of dust in its wake. The moment it arrived within the habitat of the next male who for no better words was conflicted at the appearance of the alpha, it released a shrill scream, unknown to the alpha, releasing its newly formed aura coincidentally as well.
The entire clutch trembled in terror as the alpha set about killing off the offsprings of the alpha sandstalker of this clutch. The sandstalker’s aura might be powerful, but no parent would watch their children die without so much as putting up a fight, the females knew better than to interfere, trembling slightly as they allowed the natural cycle of nature do its work, hissing at their alpha to defend his offsprings. The moment the alpha moved, it was dead, the stalagmite splitting it into two different halves of blood and gore, blood soaking the very grounds where dozens of clutch eggs and tiny sandstalkers lay.
When the alpha was done, the true alpha, it released a shrill scream again, the females slinking up to him, necks revealed in submissive gestures. They would go on heat once again, as nature demanded, to bear the offsprings of the stronger sandstalker in front of them, already hissing at each other as rivalry began to set in for who would be the first and most favored to have the privilege of bearing its first offspring. Even as this happened, and the alpha prepared himself to run through them for as long as it would take him to ensure his seeds were firmly within them, his gaze had begun to set on bigger goals. It would soon be dusk, and one of the sandstalker’s most hated enemies would soon take to the skies again, the dust cloak vultures, hunting for them and no doubt attracted by the smell of the blood and gore around them.
If the alpha was to grow his army, he could not afford to be picky about its subjects, it would turn the entirety of the wastelands into its domain, and it had the strength to do so. And so, it began to plan quietly, primitive thoughts of conquest already sprouting in its mind.
**********************************************
The entire tier 4 rift had been soaked in the Ethra of undeath, the calm looking woman in the dark white and green robes of the revenant cult sat on the rock, legs folded as she cycled the rich undeath Ethra around her, marveling in it. Lord Kenji’s death and sacrifice had not been in vain, he had served the cult and all its fingers well, albeit not in the way he had been expecting it to turn out, but all wasn’t done, not yet.
The first step had been to seize control of the rift itself, turning it into a staging ground as hundreds of the forces of undeath had marched into it from their realm of Necropolis beyond. Led by the most powerful of their expendable servants, the death knights, all tier 4’s, ghouls, wraiths, hounds, specters, and even the Plaguebringers, those more treasured creatures that the cult bred for invasions such as this.
It had been decided by the eight paragons and kings of the cults that higher-ranking members of the cults were not needed, not for a tiny portion of the continent such as this. Initiates who would serve as the grunts of the invading forces, disciples who would serve as competent rankers, adepts who would command those disciples, and two lords as well as one high lord in herself to lead the entire force.
Highlady Sabri of the first fingers also known as the ghouls shut her eyes to the whining and moaning of the forces of undeath arrayed before her. Tiny makeshift stone buildings set up by the initiates and disciples of the cult under the watchful gazes of the adepts of the cult flapped with the banners of the respective fingers they represented, all present in this place.
Sabri had been given the honor of leading the invasion of the Verdan territories, something the idiot lord Kenji and his Highlord had expected would go to them. They had displeased their king, the necromancy king, who had all but signed off on their deaths, disgracing him as they had set back the invasion by days if not weeks. Much was riding on this, and the considerable investments that the kings had thrown into distracting the Heralds themselves could not afford to be wasted like this, not when there was much to reap during a harvest season such as the surge.
Rumors came from within the cults that the lich king and death king were engaging the paragons of the envoys, the cult of death to the far east of the boundless seas, taking along with them most of the masters of the cult. Thiers was a rivalry that spanned centuries, both cults similar yet so different from each other, always finding themselves at loggerheads with each other. With their expulsion from the continent of Silvershade continent, their regent had set his sights on Bloodfire, with the caliber of creatures that roamed Silvershade, the surge would be worse off there and Bloodfire filled with its expansive landscape most times devoid of life, they had numerous places to implement their plans.
The bandaged lord to her side moved silently, red glowing inscriptions on his body illuminating him silently as she glanced to her side, noting his irritation.
“What is it, Raha?” she asked.
Raha warlock, a lord of the seventh finger, warlocks that specialized in curses and talismans as well as hand to hand combat crouched close to her. Sabri did her best to subtly inch away from him, each of those inscriptions would most likely carry pain-filled curses and suffering she didn’t want inflicted on her.
“We waste time here,” he said softly, his voice slow and calm.
He had been sent along with her to run interference, ensure that the forces of the clan, especially the two lords in their employ were boggled down by his curses, halving the strength of the clan in its entirety.
“We move according to the orders of the kings” Sabri replied.
“Your king” Raha replied softly again.
Sabri had the interesting thought of ripping his head off his shoulder, but the irritation of touching one of those courses sat wrongly in her, she couldn’t begin to stress herself even if she used her aura to shield most of it away. She was a Highlady, and he was a lord, the little he could do to harm her didn’t bother her, except she hated being irritated, a lot.
She sighed, speaking.
“Do you think so as well, Jeno?’ she asked.
From the thick decaying trees of the forests behind them where the mutated and infected creatures of the rift had begun to propagate, creating more and more of their undead selves stepped out a lean figure. A woman, a lord as well, arms folded behind her, her slim black and grey robes somehow hiding the assortment of weapons she had on her.
“I follow the orders of the kings” she simply replied.
Sabri turned to Raha, the lord saying nothing as he wandered away quietly, no doubt to make more cursed talismans for the battle, she pitied whoever went up against him, it would not be a pleasant death. Jeno melted back into the shadows, a faction of the eight fingers of the cult, the shadow blades who served the shadow king, a paragon stage assassin-type cultivator. Sighing to herself, she stared at the flesh mask in her hand, smiling at the memories that came with it.
She wondered what became of the little experiment she had left behind, a gift for the Heralds, an insult in their faces. Of course, it had been what had elevated her to the rank of Highlady, her master so impressed that he had petitioned the ghoul king on her behalf. No doubt it would be dead, but she had seen a fire in its eyes, one of resilience, that it would hunt her to the ends of the planet if it would get its revenge.
Sabri chuckled, she really should stop referring to ordinary cultivators and humans like insects, but how couldn’t she, when they knew nothing of the blessings of undeath?. She sighed, thinking about putting on the flesh mask again and altering her looks, she decided against it, if it, sorry, he was alive, then she wanted to see for herself just what kind of person he had become, assuming he was still within these parts of the continent.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
With a sigh, Sabri closed her eyes, cycling the still growing undeath Ethra in the air, the rift to Necropolis still opened, gushing Ethra, she smiled to herself, she really hoped he was alive.
Thorne, wasn’t it?.
********************************************
Tunde cycled the Ethra of the training room, now bolstered by sapphire vein and the azure spring that filled the air with their refreshing power. He had met Harun and Giselle within the room as well, invited by the elder at his behest, already cycling the rich Ethra in the air, their hearts strengthening. They had yet to partake of the spring water, the elder saying he had instructed the baron to gather water and hardening affinity items for both Harun and Giselle respectively.
It was evident that he was about to push them to the stage of adept, already the walls of the training room had begun to show signs of the vein affecting it, lines on the walls glowing with power. They had really stumbled across a veritable power for the house, one that could catapult them to clan status if they implemented it carefully. Tunde had Shadowfang in his hand as he swung it through the air slowly, feeling its glowing aura-coated edge bite through the air seamlessly.
The weapon felt discontented, he wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it felt like it wanted something from him, some action he couldn’t for the life of him understand. He didn’t want to return to the artificer, not after what had transpired the last time he had seen him. Dropping it aside, he went through his steps, flowing with his movements as he implemented his fighting style in a corner, aware of the eyes of Harun and Giselle on him.
Ethra sphere danced around him as he moved with pure speed, pushing himself to the limit, visualizing the battles of the rifts and the mistakes he had made. He was lost in the moment, resonance forming and dissipating in his fists as he cut through a corner of the room before ending with a punch, feeling the Ethra start from his heart to his fists. Sweating, he calmed himself, allowing his rapidly beating but still cycling heart to settle.
The door to the training room opened with a grating sound, the large stone door slow to open as it revealed Draven holding some items in hand. He bowed first at the elder who sat in a corner in silence, just observing, and then waving at Tunde and the rest who moved closer to him.
“These came with the latest shipment of items from Jade Peak, baron Dale insists that this is the limit he could do,” he said with a frown.
“What does that mean?” Giselle asked.
“It means the clan is cutting us off in any way they can” Joran replied.
Tunde frowned.
“Can they do that?” he asked.
Joran chuckled.
“You think I was joking all these while?” he replied.
“Perhaps it’s because of those rumors of something called an Ethra duplicator?” Harun asked.
“Perhaps the clan wants to keep the majority of its resources for that” he completed.
“Quite possibly” Joran replied, looking straight at Tunde.
Tunde bunched his fists together at his sides, calming himself. This wasn’t right, they were about to face an invasion unlike any other, the dead bodies of the wastelands and rift creatures they had seen as they had returned from the rift were a sign of the even bigger threat that would accompany the second cycle of the surge itself. Turning to Draven, he spoke.
“Ethra imbued weapons?, pills?, elixirs?” he asked.
Draven nodded.
“All came along, however, he sent someone else as well,” Draven said, scratching his head confused.
Tunde was about to ask who that was when the doors to the room opened and a figure he was familiar with stepped through, a soft smile on his face.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or am I standing in front of the adept of house dark fist?” Miria said.
Tunde embraced her in a hug, her tattoos still dancing across her chocolate skin, a pearly white smile on her face.
“I suppose I should bow to you,” she said softly.
“never” he replied.
She gave a heartfelt laugh, turning to elder Joran before bowing to him as well.
“This disciple greets the venerable elder,” she said.
“I must admit, I am surprised to see you here, all the way from tyrant’s haven,” Joran said with a soft smile.
“tyrant’s haven doesn’t exist any longer,” Miria said with a sigh.
Tunde frowned as Joran spoke.
“What happened to it?” he asked.
“The patriarch, I believe he now considers us a sore to the reputation of the clan and not in the vision he has for it going forward” she explained with a shrug.
Tunde could see the pain in her eyes as she spoke, the haven had been hers, it had not been much, filled with lowlifes and all, but it had been hers. Unsure of what to say, his mind warring with him to take her to a corner and spill about the history of their people, he clamped it down viciously. She had enough on her plate.
“And all those people?” he asked.
“Oh, on the ship, those that wanted to come along anyways” she replied.
“Some wanted to see if they could slither into the good graces of the house, no doubt to partake in the bounty that the Highlord promised,” she said.
“The duplicator,” Joran said.
“you’ve heard of it,” Miria asked surprised.
“Indeed, is it active yet?” Tunde asked.
She shook her head.
“No, I’m not sure, but I think he’s waiting for the surge to reach its peak before activating it,” Miria said with a frown.
“You don’t approve as well,” Tunde said, watching her expression.
“of course not, I might not have seen one before now, but I’ve heard the tales” she responded.
“Entire cities, settlements, wiped off the map by endless hordes of creatures that required the might of the cult and empire to stop,” she said.
“Then who gave him the insane idea to use it?” Tunde asked.
“Probably the artificer,” Harun said as they turned to him.
He shrugged.
“Rumors say that the patriarch has always danced to his tune” he completed.
“More or less,” Joran said with a sigh.
“You must understand that having an artificer within the employ of the clan is a big deal, so big, that the empire respects the clan solely for that reason and not for their quarry of jade crystals” he continued.
“I take it artificers are rare?” Tunde asked.
“As rare as arcanists, although those ones rarely leave their domain, but rare all the same” Joran replied.
“They mostly stick to their technocracy, considering the rest of the continent and by extension Adamath as primitive,” Miria said.
“How did the patriarch accomplish it then?” Tunde asked.
Joran shrugged.
“No idea, he was here by the time I arrived at Jade Peak some years back, swallowing most of the resources the clan managed to make, it’s why there’s been stagnancy within the clan,” Joran said with a frown.
“And the coming of artificer Borus doesn’t look like a coincidence,” Tunde said.
“One artificer I can understand, two then you have something brewing,” Joran said.
“All the more reason I left Jade Peak when I had the chance,” Miria said.
“We all knew we were on borrowed time anyways, the patriarch’s return would either cement our legitimacy or see us exiled, I’m just glad we were allowed to take our lives with us,” Miria said.
“I’m not sure here’s a better option though,” Tunde said.
“The surge?” Miria asked as Tunde nodded.
“at least we’d be surrounded by people we can trust, we can trust you, can’t we?” she asked, taking one step closer to Tunde.
He paused, glancing at the elder who said nothing, folding his hands behind him, the message clear, his house, his rules.
“As long as your people are willing to swear in their souls not to harm any member of black rock as well as sabotage any of the things we’ve painstakingly built here” Tunde replied.
Miria raised an eyebrow.
“If I didn’t know they were a bunch of hooligans and the likes, I’d have taken offense” she replied.
Tunde shrugged.
“I’m trying to build a haven for people here, as safe as it can get, just because I trust you to an extent doesn’t mean I’d take them” he replied.
Miria nodded.
“Understandable, I suppose we could get to it?” she asked.
“The sooner the better” he replied.
She paused before slapping her forehead in exasperation.
“I almost forgot,” she said, opening the door and dragging a timid but ragged-looking girl in.
“Everyone, meet Ani, disciple, and castaway Rejuvant,” she said with a beaming smile.
Tunde stared at the girl with large glasses, black hair rough and scattered, she blinked at him slowly as if realizing she was in front of an adept before bowing at the waist hurriedly.
“This disciple greets the adept and venerable elder” she squeaked.
There was an awkward silence in the entire room as Joran spoke first.
“a healer,” he said.
“Rejuvant, venerable elder” the girl protested.
“at least you’re not as timid as you look,” Joran said as she seemed to shrink in on herself.
“She wanted to leave with me, apparently she’s been getting the wrong attention from n higher up Rejuvant” Miria explained.
“I’m not much, but I’m willing to give my best for the house,” she said, sounding like she had recited it over and over.
“What techniques do you have?, plus can you train other Rejuvants?” Joran asked.
The girl seemed caught off guard, first glancing at Miria who nodded before she glanced back at the elder before dipping her hand into the sack at her side, bringing out a scroll that was sealed.
“As you know, not everyone can be a Rejuvant, specific affinities can be fine-tuned into those of a Rejuvant” she started.
“Affinities can be tuned?” Tunde asked.
Elder Joran held him off with a hand, nodding at the girl to continue.
“But with this, I believe we can start something close to a rejuvenation home here,” she said.
“a vitality veil scroll, what rank?” Joran asked.
“Initiate, it’s all I was able to steal” she replied.
“How many?” Joran asked again.
She hesitated for a second as if ashamed.
“one” she replied quietly.
“Vitality veil scrolls are one of the most prized possessions of the Rejuvants,” Joran said, addressing Tunde.
“And yes, affinities are modifiable to a certain extent, meaning they must have something similar to the affinity in question, and the art of rejuvenation is more technique than affinity change” he explained.
Pointing at the girl and the scroll, Joran continued.
“Should the Rejuvants discover that she’s under our protection, they could blacklist us for a long time, possibly centuries even” he said.
“So, the scroll is valuable then?” Tunde asked.
“Indeed, so much so that while I’m tempted to advise you to let her join us, the consequences however are more pressing” Joran replied.
“you’d let her go back into the control of those who abused her?” Miria asked, a bit offended.
“So you claim, and while you haven’t given me cause to ever doubt your words, this isn’t so simple as to just decide,” Joran said.
“At the end of the day, the decision lies in your hand, house adept” Joran said, turning to Tunde.
Tunde turned his gaze to the girl and Miria, watching as she straightened and tried to look braver than she did, her jittering limbs saying something else. He noticed the discreet hand Miria placed at her back, steadying her, sighing to himself, Tunde couldn’t deny that he saw himself within her, that timid scared figure that had arrived at jade peak ignorant, except in this case she wasn’t ignorant, probably exploited.
The thinking of a cultivator he had been forced to adapt to wanted him to exploit the situation, to find a way to find out just what her end goal was, but the more human part of him realized just how big a step the girl had taken to get herself here, to face down not just one but two adepts. Moving close to her, he spoke.
“Ani, was it?” he said as she nodded a bit too hastily.
“There aren’t enough resources here for a Rejuvant” he started.
He saw the hope dim in her eyes, saw Elyria about to protest as he raised one hand, continuing.
“But we don’t have enough of anything and we’d take what we can get, do you swear not to harm any member of house dark fist or black rock in any way or – “
“I swear!” she hastily said, biting back a sob.
“I swear on my soul, I will always be loyal,” she said.
Ignoring the tightening of the oath on her soul, Tunde nodded briefly at her, patting her on her shoulder, doing his best not to look at Miria’s face.
“You need to rest, go find somewhere within the stronghold to reside, from what I hear there are more than enough spaces.” He finished.
Wiping her eyes as she removed her glasses, she nodded hurriedly, leaving the room, Tunde wondered if she had even noticed the heavy Ethra and aura in the room. Miria smiled at him gesturing to the door.
“So, shall we go meet my band of fresh recruits?” she asked.
He turned to Elder Joran who spoke.
“Lead the way, house adept,” he said.