“It’s good to see you again, brother.” Galeldeth matched her brother’s pace as the marching continued down to the Middle Stratum of the Bottom Layer. Zoklaeth only made a grumping sound as he continued marching in front of his warriors clad in his dark armour, making him resemble a knight from the Abyss Below. “I see your temperament got somewhat better.” Galeldeth notes in a childish manner as she finally matches his pace while staring up at him.
“There is finally some semblance of hope.” He mumbles while his eyes focus on the undead marching in front of him in total silence and unnatural discipline. “That much is true. But I wonder if there is more to that?” She chuckles to his chagrin while the eyes start moving on top of her staff, all staring into Zoklaeth.
“Well, with Griggorn out of the way, I may have a chance with Can…” He quickly goes silent as he notices the myriad irises glow up at the same time, while a mischievous smile adorns his sister’s face. She feels chills run down her spine and looks at him with a mocking, scared look.
“As much as I’m thrilled to hear my little brother being head over heels someone, I doubt that would be enough to erase the boundless fury that burned your soul.” She says, eliciting a dubious look from his brother. “What do you mean by that?”
“Do you believe that our deficiencies are simply the result of our mixed birth, an affront to the decree of the Maker?” Her face quickly changes to a cold one. “I shouldn’t be surprised at you being unaware of this fact, though.” She murmurs while aloofly focusing her eyes up at the luminous ceiling, painting them in a myriad of cool glows.
“You see, there are many ways to create hybrids like us. There are less harmful ways like creating a potion from a certain flower imported from the elves’ home plane, convincing spirits or divines associated with life so on so forth.” She looks at her brother with eyes gleaming with normalcy for the first time.
“But we are not that lucky.” Zoklaeth speaks up before her sister could continue in a sombre voice. “Correct. Once more, you surprise me. You truly grew up while we were apart.” Then she changes back to her unpredictable self by projecting pride with her tone and eyes that starts pissing him off.
“During our birth, the demons the dark elves made pact with were called upon. Aeshma planted the fury within you, while I got the devil’s gift that drove me crazy for the first few decades.” She recalls the first forty years of her life spent with paranoid thoughts, fearing that her adopted parents would abandon her. “But I guess, in the end, he saved you just as he saved me.” She adds with an overt smile shimmering at him.
“How did you come to that conclusion?” He asks as he turns his head down at her. “Did you not feel that tender coldness wrapping itself around your soul, constantly clearing your mind off negative thoughts and urges like bashing tearing the entrails of one of your annoying subordinates’ out and then slowly but surely choke them to death with it while listening to the beautiful chorus of their slow, painful death.” With each word spoken from her mouth, Zoklaeth gets’ gradually more and more uneasy out. Yet, a part of him realizes the truth within her words, that this fury filled thoughts and urges are no longer present. The scorching feeling, he sensed perpetually, was no more, and this is the first time he became aware of it.
Noticing the realization hidden under the helmet, Galeldeth’s face is plastered once more with a wide smile. “Why would he free me from it?” Then he asks as uncertainty fills his mind for a mere moment, enough to utter those words. “Who knows.” Galeldeth adds nonchalantly, while her shoulders and arms raise as she shrugs.
“Could be he saw something in you. A potential ready to be broken from its shackles.” She continues after sensing his eyes piercing her. “What would a snowy elf see in me?” He asks in dumbfounded as he focuses on the general direction where the Nameless walks silently. “Couldn’t he just raise me into undeath?” He says as he recalls his duel against the Arnyak, how its shadowy blade didn’t bring death, but instead freedom from the burning chains of Aeshma tormenting him since the day he was the light of the Upper Stratum.
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“He could. But you see, that snowy elf body is nothing more than a vessel to something far, faaar older than our plane or the origin planes of our races.” She starts scratching her nose while answering. “He has a special sight, allowing him to witness possible futures that may occur by change.” She adds as she sees lack of understanding through his helmet.
“But still, there is still a chance that one day you become like them.” She points at the Eloivadeks and the surrounding undead, marching with heavy steps in silence. “So, better prove yourself useful in the coming conflicts. I say that as your sister.” Then she sidesteps and stops in her movement, slowly disappearing as she starts walking in front of the strange creatures, she brough with herself after arriving to the former dark elven border town.
“That was interesting, wasn’t it?” Cacmieh slides besides him, the runic scar tattoos on his legs painting the robes and bandages wrapped around them in sinister abyssal lights, pouring strength into his muscles.
“Were you aware of that?” Zoklaeth asks in a calm voice. “The ritual? Don’t be naïve, my friend. Of course, I was.” He says indifferently in his motionless, always calm voice.
“Then why didn’t you indulge me in it?” He asks with an agitated voice this time, feeling betrayed as the thought of Acniss possibly knowing too rises in his mind for a mere moment before he calms down unnaturally quick.
“Why would I?” Cacmieh turns his bald head at him and asks back while raising his left eyebrow. “To be perfectly honest, I thought you were aware of it. But I guess I overestimated your intelligence once again, my friend.” Then he turns back facing the front, his eyes lit up with interest as he inspects the undead.
“Then again, and it was quite foolish of me, but I hoped that the pact has been extended onto you two too.” Then he states rather coldly, for a second Zoklaeth spots hints of solitude in them. “A part of me understood why Griggorn sought out the dragon. I was playing with the though myself until He arrived. Now, I just hope, he can become my salvation as he became yours.” He continues erasing the feeling of abandonment that grasped itself around his heart.
“Did your dream turned into a nightmare?” Zoklaeth asks after moments of not being sure what to say. “You could say that. It definitely has its downsides now that our rulers are dead and buried.” He adds with soft anger mixed in his voice as anger rears its fangs within. Part of him cursing their names within his mind, cursing them for their weakness, for their rush to the cold embrace of death, arriving in the forms of black flames bent on consuming all.
The two continue the march in silence, then they suddenly raise their right arms at the same time, signalling their army to stop. All the undead surrounding them remain still, their empty eyes staring at the front. Then the silence is broken by the rushing footsteps of Galeldeth and the strange creatures following her.
Zoklaeth and Cacmieh watcher from the distance as they bow before the Nameless, his mouth moving as he speaks, yet his words unheard by the two. Each of their solid bodies, shimmering darkly as if their skin is made of metal, breaks down into masses of fluid devoured by the earth below.
“What happened?” The Nameless turns back while Galeldeth bows deeply before rushing backstopping at the two after seeing their uncertain looks, Zoklaeth speaks up first asking her. “Let’s just say we’re doing a little exercise involving our people’s gift to him.” Galeldeth says while her lips curve into a wicked smile.
“Come on. We’re still two days away at least, let’s not waste any more time.” She says while already two steps ahead of them. Zoklaeth turns back and at his signal his and Cacmieh’s troops start their march at the same time as their allies, both living and not. Their steps heavy, shaking the earth below their feet.
On the other end, the ceiling above the Dhau-Íssz outpost, serving as the first line of defence against any possible incursion that gets past the Upper Stratum. Every single member awake stares up at the luminous fangs glaring back down at them. Dread slowly fills their hearts as the lights start to flicker, offering coverage for the fluid of darkness to split up and slither into the city.