It was said that ninety thousand people had died during the assault to Othnar. Imams who were announcing the doomsday had arrived were yelling as loud as they could. The streets that were quiet as death in the mornings were groaning like countless waves of a stone dropped into a calm river.  There would be no good news in the early morning, anyways.

Koyjlard’s eight hundred streets of huge buildings were blending in each other. There was a thin and wrecked building at the place where three streets cross. Comparing to other two buildings next to it, it was pretty stiff and about to collapse, however there were still slight traces of life. On one of the destroyed window sills, there was a young man who was puffing his cigarette deeply and watching around carelessly, despite whole chaos.

He was not twenty, yet. While he was rubbing his rigid beard, he grumbled because of smoke of his cigarette that got in to his right eye. He could watch the crowd on the street with his other eye. There was a rough and sad familiarity on his other eye which has not witnessed to such chaos for a long while.

He squeezed his cigarette between his thumb and index finger and threw it on the street, on the crowd from balcony bars that were still insisting on resisting. Then, he got inside and he put the first shirt he could find on his shoulder. His right eye was opened by then.

He paced up and down in the box that was called room, for a while; he was looking for something, something he didn’t touch for a while. It was time to begin his duty because of the news arrived. He had to finish his job before sun captured whole sky. On fourth lap on his pace, he stopped and he looked under the cushion which he used as a bed.

Sword was there.

It was hiding in its scabbard like a monster hibernating in its inn. Atlas grasped its handle grip first, and pulled it very slowly with smooth moves like almost touching to a baby’s fontanelle. The sword, which met with sunlight that came in of a crack of the window, was the harbinger of blood. Its light was scarlet and a part of a horrible prophecy that reflected in Atlas’ blue eyes.

He put sword’s scabbard back under the cushion. He went downstairs with no rush. There was little sunlight hidden on the dust that falls on him, but he didn’t care. The cause was what mattered.

When he went out on the street, the fuss was on its highest level. People were struggling to take all of the food they found, some of them was even walking over little girls for an apple. It was not surprising for some reason, Atlas was not unfamiliar with human nature.

He raised his head before he went into the crowd and looked at the other buildings at the point where three streets cross. He saw other men with glowing hands and regular clothes in front of each building. Suddenly, the looks of twenty men got together and made a decision quietly. Eyes were closed, and some meaningless words were spilled from their mouths.

And the carnage began.

No one witnessed to the moment when the first blood was spilled on the street where five hundred or maybe a thousand people were pushing each other constantly; no one but Atlas. Because he was the one that spilled the first blood, and he was the only one who could see the sword’s glare. An eighteen-years old boy came in front of him, he looked like he was in a rush. Atlas recognized the irresistible lightness of the duty he was given, when he saw somebody who was in a rush to die. The sword stabbed into the young man’s heart, who was carrying no sword or wearing no armor.  It was so smooth that his right hand which held the sword didn’t even quiver. He pulled out his sword which was carrying a line of blood, and moved onto his next target.

It took five minutes for twenty men to kill hundreds of people. Among the dead bodies lying on the ground, there was nobody that could understand what happened before they entered the void. Atlas bent over and closed their eyes one by one. Killing for vengeance was one of the biggest sins. However, killing for the cause was one of the biggest good deeds.

He grinned when he saw the dead body of imam on the corner of the street. Without caring the blood pouring down on his right arm and staining his shirt, he walked towards him. He bent over and took the man’s bracelet which he didn’t let go even while dying. Then he threw it on the ground and smashed it with his feet.

There were the looks that every person senses while walking on a dark street. The men were waiting for orders; the mission on 407th street was successful, it was time to go. However, an Etneral squad would not move until their leader says so. Atlas closed his eyes, wiped the blood on his sword’s unsharpened edge, he held his right punch and raised it in the air.

Twenty man left as they came. The sun was still on the half of its trip to top. Day turned red before noon time. The giant that is called Koyjlard which was made of eight hundred streets was turning into an example of Othnar today. The massacre which started with ninety thousand people was going to continue in an order and a planned way.

Leaving its sword’s scabbard in the wrecked house’s ruined room which he had been living for three months, Atlas blended in to another crowd. It was comforting that people were not aware of the deaths on couple of blocks away. On the other hand, Atlas had only one hour to leave the town because there were ten minutes between each mission. It was enough time. He even had time to stop and watch people rushing up and down. He carved the faces he had seen to his memory, and prayed for them with his deepest emotions.

He was alone when he left the town. It was going to take four hours for him to arrive the meeting point, he was planning to take one of the horses hidden in the forest out of the city. The others would not reach him if he galloped, he was going to walk fast to gather his men. Holding his sword, he walked through the meadow. When he looked back, he saw the city was calm and quiet, he smiled.

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Etnerals were like this. The aim of the cause was only cleaning, not destruction.

It was already afternoon when he took Ahiret. The horse was two meters of small giant. It had golden color mane and pale white skin. It was eye-catching like snowflakes falling down on mud. It was special for priests. Atlas held horse’s saddle and mounted on it easily, he checked his back first then he checked around. He rode fast.

The forest was greener than ever. Rolling breeze was whispering to his ears while shining sun was uncovering thousand shades of green. Animals were hidden for a mid-day nap while grumbling river was shaking earth. A storm petrel whistled, some of the apes screamed and little snakes hissed and got away from Ahiret and Atlas kept riding his horse on and on. Koyjlard’s shore that opens to sea was giving joy and life to the forest. There was heavy moist like tropical forests have, his shirt was already completely wet. The sword was stuck in a pouch tied to saddle. He had food enough for couple of days in the pouch. There was an instinct in his heart to give Atlas to wind but he was restraining it, for now. Or else, other slow horses couldn’t have reached. There was no way to find them again if they left the group. He had to obey the rules. He was the head of the twenty that was going to meet at the exit of the forest.

Letting go of bridles for a moment, he hugged on Ahiret’s mane. Dried blood wouldn’t come out with river water only, he stained the horse, too, like he can’t stand his ethereal, he relaxed a bit. He breathed moisty air from his nostrils, got the bridles again with his right hand and put his left hand in his pocket. He didn’t like smoking against the wind but he had the urges already. His right arm was trembling a little and something that struggles to get out of his chest was moving. He took a cigarette from his pocket, light it with the tip of his finger and puffed it. It didn’t take long for his right arm to calm down. The view that was passing by him was blurry now. A sane man would not ride horse at noon during summer. Neither he was sane, nor he had time to think.

When he closed his eyes for a moment, he heard his stomach grumbling, sedative effect of cigarette was not enough this time apparently. Reaching Ahiret’s neck, he touched it softly, the horse recognized this command which he probably had thousand times before, and stopped. As soon as he got off the saddle, he threw his cigarette before he threw up on the bushes he found. His throat trembled with screams like a grumbling dragon. He was never good at throwing up, and he didn’t prefer it, either; except for the times that he had to. When he recovered himself, clarity came back. Now, the forest was dancing with its brighter lights to charm him. The smell coming from a close river was enchanting; it was one of the sacred things that god has sent to wash every kind of sin away. Raising his head, he looked at the sun and then leaving Ahiret at that place, he walked to slight steep foothill beyond the meadow. Clear water of the river was running down wildly. He took his pants of and put them aside; holding his blood stained shirt he jumped down the foothill.

Water was cold; a cold that wakes a person up but chills till his bones. Since the waves never stop, river wouldn’t get hot on this season; it was a blessing for animals, a blessing that they had been fighting for years. When he opened his eyes, he realized that water was dragging him, little fish were swimming next to him although they knew they were going to be a feast him. The real predators were lurking a kilometer away from here at the river beds. Since he didn’t have time to chill, Atlas hold the first wooden branch he could find, he took a deep breath and pulled himself out. While waters were dripping from his shirt to ground, rocks were being smashed under his feet. They were crushed to the bits not because of Atlas’ strength but waves of the river bumping every now and then. Atlas’ steps were the last straw that breaks the camel’s back for them.

Even though the blood stains on his hands cleaned a little bit, they were visible enough to make him remember the fact that he killed hundreds of people. He didn’t care, because he was not unfamiliar with that, he couldn’t be even if he wanted to be unfamiliar. In the lessons of ten year-old Etnerals, the necessity of death was taught, not its evilness. Different from town’s wailing people and intrigue; importance of cleaning was taught. Killing the enemies one by one was the biggest service that could ever been served. He was made believe to that, he was raised for this. There were no time or place for questioning. Since he hung out at the river enough, he could continue his way.

When he returned to Ahiret, the horse was grumpy because of the smell of cold water. Tilting his head, Atlas started a small fire with his finger and dried his clothes, he put on his pants again. If his comrades saw him using fire for such silly reason, they would be angry with him but there was nobody in the forest and animals were busy with running away instead of snitching him. He mounted on Ahiret and started riding.

One must have been careful while walking pass the plants like kiklea and atreas; especially if you do not have a horse like Ahiret. Because he cares himself more than everything and thanks to the trainings he got in the forest, he learnt how to avoid scratches and collapsed trees. Atlas didn’t need to command him or hold the bridles while he was riding him. Even not falling down was making horse’s job easier.

The sun was up in the sky when he got close to the forest. He counted the sound of the horseshoes; one, two, three… It was a group of nineteen horses, getting closer from different ways, each of them was stick to a perfect order while galloping. Although they were meters far from each other, every step was at the exact same time, it was impossible to not to compare them to an army, but they were not army, order was a concept which is far from being belong to army only.  They were the apprentices of Etneral; the halflings, trainees, students of the priest. Their age that vary between twelve and sixteen was making their skills even more impressive.

‘Death wants blood...’ Atlas murmured.

‘To sacrifice for god and to serve for the realm.’ they replied altogether.

Nineteen horses spread around Ahiret; nine of them to the left, the other nine to the right and one to way back. The one who went to back was Atlas’ favorite, the most promising. It was so easy for him to be a priest in one or maybe two years. If he can survive; because the basic rule to complete the training was staying alive, on the other hand dying was not a failure, it meant a worthy loss given for the cause, a martyr. This is why only a few of the Etnerals could join the head-priest. The others were chosen sheep that must be sacrificed because of the divinity of duties. It was necessary to not to underestimate their situation.

Atlas looked at them with love like an elder looking at children. He knew every single one of them by their names and he also knew what they like and what they were running from. Their faces were bloodstained, the proofs of them being apprentices were standing out at first sight.  An Etneral killing for the cause, would never let a drop of blood to touch his face; Atlas took points off of eight students from the right and five students from the left; gave an additional point to his favorite. There was blood on Badur’s hands but that was it, a proof that he killed, a precaution that he kept his sanity.

They didn’t talk. The words were as precious as gold for the apprentices but the priest was free to start a conversation with them whenever he wanted. The cold which was created by the wind with the help of a couple of waterdrops still holding on his shirt, was taking Atlas’ attention on itself.  A man who was just got out of the water would not enjoy riding against the wind under the sun which was shining all alone up in the sky, but would know the worth of coolness. There was a slight smile on his face, and then he took another cigarette with rejoice. He lit his cigarette with a match this time, not with his finger and threw another cigarette to the back, to Badur. Without looking back, he kept on riding.

They followed the same route for two hours. There was no trace of resist or pursuit, the mission was so smooth that Duke of Koyjlard couldn’t get over with shock probably. Even if he sent his knights after them, they couldn’t catch up, he was going to sleep while cursing about Koyjlard suffering from Othnar’s trouble. Then he was going to find out that not only Koyjlard but Kalimrad, Ethnar, Lökast shared the same destiny, as well. A lesson given to the mankind; the rules that were reminded. Scabbards of swords that were left in the buildings were going to be enough to uncover the formation behind this incident.

Etnerals decided to set their hands to world order.

……