Mataram trudged through the dense forest, his boots crunching against fallen leaves and twigs. Beside him, an unwanted guest walked with an unnerving air of ease. Captain Ragnar had issued new orders for the rats and informed them of the 'people' who would be accompanying them. Mataram hated it. He hated everything about it.
"My name is Balar," the mudman introduced himself, his voice cutting through the silence. His dark skin gleamed faintly in the filtered sunlight, and his thin, curly hair framed a face that radiated a calm Mataram found grating. He wore a short sarong around his waist, exposing his hairless chest.
Mataram ignored him, his lips pressed into a line. Instead of responding, he gave Balar a rough shove, signalling for him to lead the path.
"All right then," Balar chirped as though Mataram's hostility had not registered. The mudman stepped ahead, moving with familiar ease.
"So, what's your name?" Balar asked over his shoulder.
Mataram said nothing, his jaw tightening.
"Are you mute?" Balar teased, raising his hands to mime exaggerated gestures. When his antics failed to provoke a response, he sighed. "Why do I feel you don't like me at all?"
"Because I don't," Mataram growled.
"May I know why?"
"Because I hate you," Mataram hissed, his voice gushing with fury and vitriol. "I hate the way you look. I hate the way you speak. I hate the way you smell. I hate the way you breathe. And I hate every second of this."
Balar shrugged, sounding unconcerned. "Understandable."
Mataram shot him a sidelong glance, wondering why he was so calm. Were their roles reversed, Mataram would have wanted him dead.
"Is there any reason you're alone?" Balar ventured as they continued walking. "Where are the rest of your squad?"
Mataram's hand twitched toward his weapon. He forced his hand from doing so, clamping down his rising anger.
"At least tell me your name," Balar persisted. "It can't be The Bloody Whore, can it?"
Mataram's shoulders stiffened, silently hoping the tunnel they sought was close by.
"Or why do they call you that?" Balar pressed, undeterred.
Mataram finally snapped. "Because when I come out of a hole, I come out bloody," he growled, hoping the subtle threat would silence him.
"And the whore part?" Balar asked, his tone as curious as ever.
Mataram groaned in frustration. "Would you just shut up?" he barked, his voice echoing through the forest. He already felt taxed, and the mission had not even started.
"I could," Balar replied with a small smile, "but my oma always said that silence is not good among friends."
"We are definitely not friends," Mataram shot back with an edge to his tone. "Your people killed mine."
Balar sighed, his cheerful mask slipping for a moment. "Yes, yes. And your people killed mine. We're the same. If I can forget it, surely you can too?"
"We're not the same," Mataram spat, expressing his disagreement. We are fighting to save everyone while your people continue to fight us despite knowing what will come."
"I've seen and touched your golden balls," Balar replied crudely. "Why do you think I am here?"
"Why are you here?" Mataram retorted.
"Many of us didn't want to fight," Balar explained, his voice dropping. "But alas, the Western Alliance came first and forced us."
"Forced?" Mataram's eyes widened as he asked.
"Yes. Those of us who tried to resist or refused they took our family hostage. We were not given much of a choice," Balar explained grimly.
Mataram stayed silent for a different reason this time. "Does my superiors know about this?" he finally asked.
"Oh, they know," Balar spat. "Some of us tried to send messages to them. Only now that more of us are here to provide intelligence did they finally decide to help us."
Mataram struggled to find words.
"Not that I fully blame your superiors," Balar continued. "We've been fighting for more than a generation. The only way to send the messages was during our ambushes at your camp."
"And your family?" Mataram asked quietly.
Balar's face softened. "That is what I wanted to ask you. No, beg you. Most of the people left down there are not fighters. They are afraid. Please do not kill them if you can help it. My wife and daughter are among them," pleaded the older man.
Mataram frowned. "Why have they not surrendered?"
"The Western Alliance made sure of that. They've instilled fear in their hostages and the newer generation. Now, they fear the unknown of what comes after surrender. My people are trapped between the devil they know and the devil they don't."
Mataram pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind racing. His orders were clear. "My orders were to kill anyone that attacked."
"And that is completely reasonable. I am aware," Balar replied softly and looked down in sadness. "That is why I am begging you and not your superiors."
Mataram looked at his hands, rough and calloused. The weight of every life he'd taken pressed against his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling with the doubts that flooded his mind. The people he had indiscriminately killed when he dove. The children.
"I do not blame you for what you might have done," Balar gently said, noticing Mataram's expression when he looked back. "The world is a cruel place. We're all just trying to survive it."
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"How?" Mataram whispered, his voice cracking. "How can you not blame me?"
Balar gave Mataram a soft, understanding smile. "Because the world and the people in it are complicated. When you reach my age, you will understand. Just because we've done bad things doesn't make us bad people. We are all victims of our circumstances."
Mataram took a deep breath and exhaled, hardening his resolve. "Your family," he said. "Lead me straight to them."
Balar beamed. "This way," he informed Mataram, heading to the right.
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"What are you doing?" Balar's voice broke the silence as he watched Mataram snap a tree branch near the tunnel entrance. Balar had removed the sewn grass that acted as a cover for the hidden tunnel, leaving the tight entrance exposed.
"To check for traps," answered Mataram.
"You don't have to do that. I can go in first and disable them while we pass," Balar suggested. "I know the traps like the back of my hand."
Mataram looked at the man, weighing his words. "Fine," he nodded after a moment. "But I'm taking it anyway," he waved the tree branch.
Balar shrugged and crawled into the narrow tunnel. Mataram followed, the light disappearing as they delved deeper. Mataram was about to light a match when Balar stopped him.
"The trick with the traps is the smell of the soil," Balar whispered, sniffing the ground ahead as he crawled. "The normal soil here is much too hard to build anything, so we had to bring them from the other side."
Balar stopped crawling and inhaled sharply. "Like here. Do you smell that? The soil smells more grassy." He dug through the dirt and snipped something with a small pair of scissors.
Mataram smelled the air, but he found no discernable difference. He hesitated to transmute tenaga as he did not have the chance to bring a power stone with him. But this skill could make his future dives faster and safer. He decided it was worth it and transmuted tenaga to get the air into his nose. He smelled no difference.
"No," Mataram whispered back. "I smell nothing but shit."
"Huh," Balar replied and began crawling. "Maybe you're just not used to it."
Mataram followed, looking down at the trap that Balar had disarmed. The darkness made it impossible for him to discern what the trap was and how Balar had disabled it. He swallowed his frustration.
"We're close. There's water down here. Hold my hand, and I'll guide you to the hidden entrance beneath," Balar informed.
"Got it," Mataram said.
"Alright then, I'll jump first. This one has no traps." Balar lept and Mataram could hear the water crashing. "Come on," Balar called out, excited and anticipating.
Mataram dove after, the water was deep, and he struggled to find the ground. He felt Balar grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him to the surface.
"Ready?" Balar asked.
"Yeah," Mataram replied, taking a deep breath.
Balar nodded and held his breath. He dove in, one hand clinging onto Mataram. 'Balar's a good swimmer,' Mataram thought. 'To swim with one hand while dragging him with the other.'
They emerged in a dimly lit underground hallway, the air heavy with moisture. It was similar to the other tunnels Mataram had cleared but larger.
"Hana! Teh?" Balar called out, pulling himself out of the water and disappearing around a corner.
"Bapa?" a woman's voice called out from one of the room entrances in the hall.
"Teh!" Balar exclaimed, and Mataram heard shuffling as the older man rushed to the source of the voice.
They spoke in a language that Mataram did not know, but he sensed fear in the woman's voice. Mataram lowered his head into the water, right above his nose, so that he could breathe.
Multiple footsteps emerged from the other rooms, followed by the clanging of steel.
"Balar. Balar. Balar...," a woman's voice drawled in an accent foreign to the locals in Sunda. "It's good to see you back."
"Let her go!" Mataram heard Balar demand.
"So soon?" the woman mocked. "Hana and I had just started getting to know one another."
"Please lower your weapons. I have returned for duty," Balar pleaded.
"Have you, now?" the woman quipped. "You should've seen your family's disappointment when we heard you have joined the invaders."
"I needed to find a way to escape. I am here. You do not have to do this," Balar pleaded, and Mataram thought he heard tears from the older man.
So, Mataram thought. Balar was telling the truth. He had heard the breathing of multiple people in the hall and thought he was being led into a trap. Judging by the current situation, he doubted it. He counted the breaths; there were thirteen, not counting Balar and Teh.
Come on, Balar, Mataram coaxed in his mind. I need more to work with.
"But you, alongside the other traitors, have provided the locations of our tunnel systems," the woman replied. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY OF US ARE CURRENTLY DYING?" She roared, her voice echoing through the underground chamber.
There was a moment of silence, followed by Balar's pleas. "Please," Balar sobbed. "Don't do this. Please don't kill Hana."
Mataram heard a woman choke.
"Please," Balar begged. And Teh wailed.
Judging from where Teh's cries came from, Mataram began to map out each person's rough location.
"Please release the grip from my wife's neck," Balar pleaded again.
Mataram began transmuting his tenaga into the air. He needed to be precise. He did not have the strength to kill everyone at once, but he could distract them.
"I think not," the woman hissed. "We're dead men either way."
"No!" Balar yelled, and Mataram acted.
At once, metals clang as weapons fell, and Mataram emerged from the corner. He saw Western Alliance knights gasping with their hands around their necks as the air escaped from their lungs. He saw Balar with a young woman standing behind him. They stared at the ground. There, lying face down, was another woman, blood pooled underneath her. A bloody knife lay next to her.
"She's still alive. Grab her!" Mataram yelled, snapping Balar and Teh back to reality.
"Teh!" Balar called out to the young woman to help him move the bleeding woman, who Mataram reckoned was Hana.
They dragged Hana back, and Mataram stepped in front of them. He eyed the enemy soldiers. Unlike the locals he had fought, these enemies wore bronze armour. Mataram deduced they were knights of the Western Alliance based on the dragon ornaments on their helmets.
He dried the eyes of the knight closest to him on the right and rushed in. He unsheated his dagger and stabbed it through the man's exposed neck. He ducked, dodging a knife that was coming at him. The soldiers had begun to recover as Mataram's tenaga veins strained from weeks of nonstop fighting.
Mataram lept knife first at the next soldier by another entrance across him. Embedding the blade in the man's eye. The man dropped his glaive as Mataram fell on top of him into the room.
He felt the air behind him accelerate and attempted to roll away. The man on the ground held him with his dying breath. A wall of earth covered the entryway in front of Mataram, blocking the incoming fireball. The wall dissapeared right after.
"Balar!" he heard the woman that Balar had begged to bellow. "You traitor!"
Mataram felt the air from the end of the hall accelerate, and he lept into the fireball's path. He dispersed the air in front of him, extinguishing the fireball, and threw his knife at the woman. She blocked it with her shoulder plate.
The woman lit a fire in her hand, and Mataram got a good look at her. Her armor was bronze like the others, but her breastplate had a red dragon decorated on it. The dragon glowed under the fire in her hand.
"She can't breathe!" Balar called out behind Mataram.
Mataram hesitated. He did not have enough strength left to fight all the remaining enemies while transmuting air inside the dying woman. He needed to make a choice, and it was surprisingly easy.
"Cover me, Balar!" Mataram yelled as he lept backwards to Balar and his family.
A mud wall appeared in the hall. The wall shook as fireballs battered it from the other side.
Mataram checked on the woman's wounds. She was older than Balar, Mataram reckoned. Like the rest of his family, the two women only wore sarong, leaving their breasts exposed. He thought he would blush but was equally unsurprised when he felt nothing.
He checked the cut on the older woman's neck. The bleeding had stopped, but he noticed the airway was cut.
"Help," Teh pleaded in broken Akar language.
"Your sarong!" Mataram stretched his hand at Balar.
Balar rushed to unfasten the cloth from his waist and handed it to Mataram.
"This will hurt," Mataram warned before tying the sarong around the older woman's neck. He transmuted tenaga, commanding the air to enter her lungs through the cut on her neck. It took a moment, but the woman began to breathe.
"Get her back," Mataram ordered Teh. She nodded and began dragging the older woman. He would have ordered Teh to bring her out, but the water would have killed Hana.
Mataram stood, swaying. His head spun, His vision blurred, and his ears rang. Balar was placing two hands on the conjured wall. Mataram stumbled to join the older man.
"Can you still fight?" Balar grunted. "I can't hold onto this for much longer."
"Yes," Mataram replied, spitting blood. His core and tenaga veins burned as he continued to transmute air for Hana. "I can't transmute. But I can fight."
He saw Balar's face wince when the older man turned to look at him.
"I'm ready," Mataram said, grabbing a glaive from one of the dead enemy knights. "Drop it!"
With a yell, Balar dropped the earth wall, and Mataram bolted forward. He angled his glaive up, and it caught the neck of a knight. The knight's face showed surprise as the blade pierced him.
Dizzy, Mataram stumbled and fell to the side, dodging a fireball by pure happenstance. An enemy knight ran towards him, attempting to impale Mataram. Two pillars of earth from both sides of the wall crushed the man's head. The knight fell with a clink as their dented helmet slammed onto the floor.
Mataram watched Balar fight, as naked as the day he was born. He blocked and crushed several knights with his sorcery. He was good, Mataram thought. But he was faltering.
Mataram struggled to rise but managed to do so with great effort. Five, including the sorcerer, remained.
"I'll distract the sorcerer," Mataram grunted through gritted teeth. "Kill the rest, then help me."
Balar, with his nose bleeding, nodded.
"Bitch!" Mataram yelled at the fire elementalist.
As the only woman left, the sorcerer turned to him and snarled. She fired several fireballs at him. Discombobulated, Mataram staggered side to side as he advanced. His erratic movements made it difficult for the woman to anticipate and hit him. As he got close, he saw her ears were bleeding. She was also beginning to strain.
The woman transmuted an enormous fireball, and Mataram thrust his glaive like a spear. His blade struck the woman's chest and bounced off the plate. Her fireball faltered from her strain but still hit his chest. Unarmored, Mataram was blown back. He screamed as his chest burned.
His vision was blurry, but he saw the woman walking up to him. A fireball in her hand. She lifted her blazing hand. Mataram met her gaze. He would not cower. Blood splattered on his face, and he thought he saw a horn piercing through the woman's neck. The woman collapsed to the ground, choking on her blood. Covered in blood from head to toe, and some animal's horn in one hand. Balar stood behind the woman.
"Angel?" Mataram muttered.