Equal exchange
Tormented by dark energies scorching their muscle fibers and coursing through their little rodent brains, huge number of Kingstown rats were heading into the fifth circle of the city. Directed by an unseen hand they rushed carelessly down and through dark corridors and empty streets, trampling one another in frenzied attempt to get there, wherever "there" was, first.
While scuttling and scurrying on their way they often bit one another, clawing and tearing through hide, drawing blood and spilling each other’s guts on the streets. Once enough blood had been spilled, other rats would then carefully soak their fur with said bodily fluid and hurried merrily along.
Then, properly coated in glistening crimson liquid they would suddenly veer off into seemingly random directions, leaving behind them a thin trail of blood that swiveled left and right, forming all sorts of strange and mysterious patterns that scattered across the city streets.
In the timeline of an hour and a half, entire district was covered in thin inconspicuous bloody trails that when combined together, formed one perfect triangle filed with many other, more delicate symbols of power.
And so, unbeknownst to anyone aside from one old man who was currently sitting in a small room, a magical canvass vas being painted in preparation for a ritual of most delicate kind.
Ever so slowly, power begun to trickle into the triangle. Arcane forces began coursing through magical circuits that were carefully painted over large enough area as to not cause alarm or activate the magical wards built into the city walls.
Minutes went by one by one and soon the final countdown had begun. All that remained now was the wait for final ingredient to arrive.
Midnight was approaching, and deserted streets were quiet, with only occasional guard and a few drunkards breaking the silence here and there.
It was a night so quiet, one could almost call it disturbing. But soon enough the oppressing silence that permeated the air was broken by the sound of footsteps echoing across the moonlit cobblestones of city streets.
There was something to that sound, a certain ring to it that was not unlike a bell toll that resounded with every footstep. It carried through the night, piercing the dark alleys and shaded corners. It sounded a bit ominous, like a warning that something big and angry was coming and that it would be best to find some other place to be.
And in the background, if you listened very carefully, several much quieter footsteps could be heard too.
The source of the commotion was soon revealed as a group of seven men came marching through one particular alley. The said alleyway was easily distinguishable from other numerous city streets and alcoves due to the fact that it was filled with abundance of recognizable markings painted in red and purple that subtly invited customers to buy or at the very least borrow several hours or minutes of love.
Knowledge that said street was a home to brothels and whores was a publicly known "secret", and it was tolerated, if not outright welcomed part of the city.
And while the act of prostitution wasn’t regulated by law in any meaningful way the profession itself was at least publicly frowned upon. City guards however had an understanding with residents of the so called “Red district” and patrolled the area quite often, ensuring the safety of both employees and patrons that could be found there.
Of course, it was not just by mere chance that the guards were understanding of the business that went there, what also helped maintain the peace and quiet was the presence of the nobles who visited the area regularly. And so, for services rendered, just like hookers the guards too were well paid for their work.
Tonight however, no one, not guards nor nobles could be found in vicinity.
This was largely due to them fleeing at the first sight of cloaked figures that walked down the street. While nobles were rich, and guards were well paid and brave as can be, not one of them was stupid enough to bare the path of the marching men.
And It was a knowledge that both guards and nobles had to learn in time. That there were times in your life, where if you wished to live a long and healthy life, sometimes you just had to leave certain things unseen and unheard.
After all, they knew very well who was under those cloaks.
Walking down the street, draped in inconspicuous gray cloak with quite suspicious golden armor underneath it, walked Prince Dorian the Brave, third son of the Emperor and second in line for the Throne.
He stood a good head above other six figures following him, who just like him also wore gray cloaks.
Underneath them, silver chainmail glimmered in the rays of moonlight that occasionally broke through the rooftops.
It was obvious to anyone who could see them that these six men were members of the Royal guard, and even when covered from head to toe in long cloaks it would still be difficult for even the worst drunkard to confuse them with anyone else.
Mainly because there weren't that many men who had that specific look. All six of them positively radiated with aura of power, and were almost unnaturally tall, with broad shoulders and long powerful limbs that looked like they were made for spreading death across the battlefield.
They represented pinnacle of what a normal man could be, be it in strength, speed or willpower it was the Royal guards that stood at the very top of humanity.
There weren't many of them around, and it was unusual even for a prince to walk around with six of them following him. Usual number of Royal guards that followed most royals was around two or three guards, and for even the highest of nobles it was miraculous to have even one under their command.
This in itself said a lot about Dorian, who by the age of twenty-seven already had a retinue of six such men following him.
This fact was only made more amazing when one took into account the fact that Royal guards were destined for their roles in life, and that as such they alone choose who they would follow and for whom they would fight for.
Many nobles desperately tried to buy or hire them, without knowing the futility of such attempt. It was not uncommon for some of the disinformed nobles to try to give their children as tribute to the temples and academies in order to give them a chance at becoming a Royal guard.
Because to be one was considered a blessing from the gods and there were entire orphanages, academies and temples that focused purely at creating such children, or at least guiding them onto a path that would lead them to such a fate.
But for all of their struggle and attempts to force fate, it was all the same in the end. To gods, It didn't matter what race or sex someone was, or from which circumstances someone came from.
From lowliest "street rats" to children born in noble families same rules applied, everyone had the same chance at being destined for becoming a Royal guard.
All that was known was about the process of becoming one, was that a child destined to become one would in its sixteenth year of life suddenly know it should and would become one. They described it as a revelation, be it a dream or sudden moment of epiphany, all those who would become Guardians would achieve that moment of truth after which they would simply leave in search of their place in the world.
Be it from their homes, families or schools, be it through wilderness, across oceans or even from prisons, Royal guards would find their way. Guided by and unknown instincts, fate or maybe even the will of gods, through the course of next several years they would wander around, all the while growing, learning and searching until they finally found someone worth following. Their master.
It was a bond of sorts, one that no one could influence or break. Once such a man or woman who was on their way to become a Royal guard, found their role and person they would be willing to serve they became fulfilled, incorruptible and absolutely loyal.
Six such individuals were following Prince Dorian, and would continue to do so without fail, for the rest of their lives.
The man in question was larger than any of the six following him, which said a lot in itself when taken in account that most men were usually about a head shorter than any of the Royal Guards.
Prince Dorian stood tall and powerful, and while not particularly thick bodied he was still muscled enough for it to be visibly noticeable. Broad shouldered, with relatively thin waist and powerful, muscled arms and legs Prince Dorian cut an imposing figure, one that ladies swooned over. And with his long golden curly hair, and stunningly good looks there was hardly a more handsome man than him in the entire kingdom.
Precisely that was what made it somewhat strange when he stopped in front of a small red doorway which led down into the cellar of large embellished building, and into the many warm rooms that spread under the city streets.
Still half hidden under the cowl he grimaced, and a shadow of disgust and sadness flew across his face, followed by a flash of anger as he effortlessly pushed the door open and carried on inside.
"Stay here."
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Was all he said before he was swallowed by soft gloom of candle light and vapors that emanated from inside the hallway.
His guardians knew exactly what he wanted and before the words even left his lips they were already in formation, baring the doors shut.
In the oppressive, silent night that enveloped the city, time seemed to crawl unnaturally slowly but soon enough several long minutes passed by.
The guards stood firm, as unmoving as statues they stood and guarded the entrance. Just as it seemed that the night would carry on like this forever, sounds came forth from the hallway and stillness that lingered in cold night air was finally broken.
As two figures emerged from inside the doorway, guards broke and formed a formation anew, allowing the two to pass them by. Quickly and effortlessly, they enveloped them in a circle of sorts, hiding them from the view and affording protection against possible threats, no matter how small they may be.
Of the two that came out, one was of course Prince Dorian, walking firmly and purposely he held and supported with his left hand the other, stumbling, drooling, silver haired young man that barely stood on his own two feet.
Holding him by the shoulder Dorian dragged the boy after him, directing him and supporting him when the other stumbled.
They walked some distance on their way out of the street but this time not in silence. While Dorian and his company remained silent, walking with grim focus towards the inner walls, the boy who now followed them kept cursing, blindly stumbling in directions opposite of where they were headed and kicking things with his feet when he could.
Desperately he tried again and again to break free of Dorian's hold on him and every time he failed, he spat and muttered incomprehensible curses. His head kept swinging left and right as he bent his neck ever so slightly forward, as the gravity was trying to pull him in and make him kiss the dirt.
Completely out of his wits he kept cursing the name of his mother, and then his brother’s mother who was now leading him back to the castle.
Drooling slightly, he stumbled once again but managed to balance himself and regain his footing. He unconsciously wiped his mouth with the end of his sleeve, leaving long barf stains on the white silky shirt.
As they approached the center of the nearby plaza, he finally managed to gather some sort of control over his body. Focusing on the silhouette of the man leading him, he glared at his brothers back and growled menacingly. Stopping in his tracks he jerked backwards and ripped himself free of his brother's grip.
By doing so he lost his footing and stumbled a few steps back where he turned around and cursed profoundly. In the moment of anger, he raised his hands and clumsily tried to hit one of the guards surrounding him but he failed miserably in his attempt and ended up sprawled on the dirty floor next to the unmoving guard who didn't even try to doge his pathetic excuse of a punch.
Managing to raise himself out of the dirt he glared at his brother. Like a half-melted candle, he leaned slightly forward and to the left gasping for air as cold sweat dripped from his forehead.
His appearance would have been pathetical, funny, even morbidly amusing in his current condition if not for the hate that was so evidently displayed on his face.
Silently, he stared daggers at his brother who had turned and was now looking at him with unmistakable saddens in his eyes.
"Why are you doing this Edward?"
Words left Dorian's mouth quietly, smothered by the grief he felt.
"The fuckhs you want .. you fs.. you fuc..fucking c.. coward."
Dorian remained silent for a moment, not surprised but still stunned by bitterness in his brothers’ words.
"Mother sent me Edward, she is.,"
"Ahhh, tzhee Bitchh sent you ehmm, off course, sche would, her little Dorian hee? Of c..chourse c..she would sent yu, right, herr little flowers, right, her littles sunshines, he he, he."
"Edward..."
Dorians unfinished threat interrupted Edwards mad cackling, if only for a moment. While Dorian loved his half-brother, such that he was, he still wouldn't suffer him insulting his own mother.
She didn’t deserve such slander, especially coming from the lips of her own son. She was dutiful, noble, and a high lady. While not Dorian's mother directly she still cared for him more than she should have and he respected her greatly. His heart in kind suffered when he saw her cry for Edwards misbehaving's. For Edward, who was in full meaning of words, her own flesh and blood. His brother, who he cared for deeply.
Looking at him now however, it was hard to love him.
Dorian truly didn't know what made his brother so bitter. When they were children, everything was fine with Edward, and while he might have been a bit spoiled even then, it was nothing compared to how he was acting these last few years.
Dorian lectured him when he could and spent his time taking care of him while he was still young. For heaven's sake they went to watch the tournaments every month together back then, so what had changed?
Ever since Dorian left for the battlefields four years ago Edward changed completely.
He returned home a little less than a year ago and truly didn't had enough time to see Edward since, what with all of the meetings and quests from their father.
He only managed to catch a few moments with him these last two months, and even those few short encounters revealed to him that something was wrong.
Naturally, he was worried for his brother and so he went and talked with his mother to see if he could help in any way. What he learned from her didn't ease his thoughts so he took a few days off just to have a talk with Edward, even with all the duties that waited on him.
"..came all mighty, tche fuchks to you know, coward, thinking you khan thell mee, im a god, Dorin, im a god, look, I whill khill you. You can't tell me…"
Edward didn't stop talking all this time, it worried Dorian immensely, it was obvious he wasn't well, and there was something sick in the way he looked at him. It almost made him weep right here, what the hell was going on with him, why didn't he listen.
"Edward!"
He spoke, trying desperately to make him focus again, but to no avail, It only seemed to make things worse, as his brother launched himself into another frenzy of maddens.
"Im agod, you will see, don't look ath me, dat way, im a god ill kill you."
"EDWARD!"
This time he yelled, and streets echoed with the power of his voice, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. Sudden gust of wind that appeared when he opened his mouth blew everything around him, making his cloak dance around his shoulders.
Power was something he learned to use on the battlefields, and now in this moment of despair it manifested itself without his direct order.
At the very least it made Edward silent, who gazed into his eyes with bewildered expression as if not believing what just happened.
"Edward you are not well."
His brother didn't react at all, still not comprehending anything, he simply stood still, so Dorian continued.
"Your mother wants to see you Edward, you are not well and I'm taking you to the healers..."
His brother twitched at that, raising his eyes as he asked in shock.
"You dare?"
"I am sorry Edward, I know you might not like it but I'm taking you in, you are not well."
"You…dare."
He repeated the words slower this time, as if he just figured something out.
"Yes, Edward. You are my brother, I love you and I care for you. You know that, so I'm taking you with me, come on, we have to go."
Saddened, Dorian turned around. Not wanting to look at his brother this way anymore he faced the way to the palace and started to walk slowly.
"Come Edward, it will be midnight soon, we have to go."
With his back turned he couldn't see that his brother remained in place, unnaturally still. Even the guards who turned to follow their master didn't hear him when he whispered.
"I see….you are just like her…you want to take it away from me."
Ever so slowly Edward frowned, and a grim, furious expression slid and froze on his face, his bloodshot eyes bulged and he spit the words out quietly but with unbridled fury.
"You won't tell me…"
He practically growled, and red fell upon his eyes, maddened and crazy he felt nothing but hate and fury. They wouldn't take it. He was a god, and they wouldn't take it from him. He was a prince, and not like his stupid brother, he could have everything, who were they to tell him he couldn't have it, he would kill them.
Frenzied thought after thought flashed across his mind, and all he could see was crimson.
With his brothers back turned to him he reached for the knife hidden in his belt. Sudden clarity overtook him and he knew he could do it, he did it before, with the girls and boys who didn't give him what he wanted.
All he had to do was hit him in the neck, two fingers under the ear. He was to close and guards wouldn't be fast enough to stop him. He deserved it, he deserved everything and they wouldn't take it away from him.
With clenched jaw he grit his teeth and took a long decisive step forward. He would do it, he would do it, bastard would die, that fucking fuck.
His fingers almost touched the hilt behind his back, he leaned forward and prepared to strike, his vision sharpened, and then...
Everything froze.
Somewhere alongside the fifth wall of Kingstown, in the basement of an old inn, one small, shriveled old man was grimly focusing on the runes that glowed inside his mind.
It was not time yet. Looking through the eyes of a rat he bit his own tongue, drawing blood and power, he was so close but it was not time yet, and the scene that played before his eyes had to be stopped under all costs.
The silver haired prince with his hand on the blade wasn't the goal, it was Dorian the third prince of the emperor, but what could he do about it now?
He broke his bloody back, and made a good pile of bodies by sending those letters and giving clues to nobles. And all that just so he could lure Dorian back into the City. Even more he sacrificed by spying, learning and then warning the sixth wife of the emperor of the behavior her son was displaying.
And then all the trouble he went to in order to find out which day the young silver haired prince was going to spend whoring in the Red Den. Selling that information and relaying it to prince Dorian. Gods below the trouble he went to, and now this.
He was free of destiny and still she laughed at him.
Dorian was the goal, other princes never spent enough time in the lower City and the Boy who was now trying to stab his hard earned prize in the bloody neck was obviously not good enough.
Not to mention that he knew next to nothing about him.
King had many children, at least seven that was known of, but the real number was probably around fourteen. It's just that everything about them was kept secret, for their safety and safety of the kingdom. And king's servants knew how to keep secrets.
He knew that the silver haired boy was also a prince, but without any concrete knowledge it was too risky to use him as a focus of the ritual, especially now that he witnessed the state of his mind.
But with the way things were going, and the way that blade was soon to be going he had no other choice, final grains of sand were rolling down the hourglass on his table and he made up his mind.
Power began to trickle, and flood of darkness filled the room.
Very slowly, light returned and shadows fled back to their original shapes that danced on the walls of the room, cast around by the candle that sat lit on the table. And on the table, the body of a very old man was sprawled, his hands stained by the blood of a dead rat.
Back in the mind of Prince Edward, son of the sixth wife of the emperor and eleventh of his line, everything was frozen.
His fingers were almost grazing the hilt of the blade as he stood paralyzed both in time and body, not comprehending what was going on.
Time stopped to play a role in his reality and he was vaguely aware of the bell striking midnight somewhere far away. For some reason he suddenly felt very calm, not feeling any anger or rage.
In fact, he couldn’t even feel his fingers any more, nor his entire body for that matter.
In desperate attempt to do something, he tried to look at the sky but realized that he couldn't, everything was dark around him.
What was going on? His mouth opened in an attempt to ask the surrounding darkness a question.
Before he got the chance to speak, he got his answer in the visage of a giant skeletal hand that burst out of the darkness and pushed down his throat, grabbing him with cold dead fingers by the base of his tongue.
Gaging and suffocating he tried desperately to push it out but darkness around him suddenly flared. Immense pressure pushed him down and his eyes burned in blackness that enveloped him.
From the darkness, another hand appeared, followed by two legs and a bone-bladed spine with sharpened white ribcage upon which stood a marble white skull with golden crown upon its forehead.
This ghastly skeletal apparition had black flames spewing from its mouth and eyeballs, and in its chest, entwined in dark runes, beat a golden heart, which pumped rolling clouds of darkness with every heartbeat.
Draped in cape of blackest knight this unholy terror stood towering above Edward, with one hand showed down his throat.
Not being able to bear this maddens anymore Edwards eyes imploded in bloody streams of darkness that ran down his face.
Not wasting any time, the soul of the greatest necromancer that ever lived reached deep down into Edwards body and grabbed in its bony fist that spark of life that was nestled so closely to the heart giving the body purpose and meaning.
With a delicate tug it ripped the prince’s soul out from his chest and held it in its palm.
Black spheres of darkness casually inspected this tiny spark of purplish flame that flickered in the night, and after a moment, with a casual motion that could only be described as a shrug, it flicked said soul down into the surrounding darkness.
Without any anchors to hold it, it fell down, down into the depths of the abyss until its pathetic shine could no longer reach anyone. Down there it would keep falling until it hit the bottom of whatever hell it made for itself during life.
With his time running out, King of the dead now turned to this remaining shell of flesh before him and with a delicate hand gesture he raised it into the air before him.
With a thundering explosion of darkness, both the body and the necromancer disappeared into the spiraling vortex of shadows.
With unholy light emitting from it, this ball of chaos spun slower and slower until it finally settled and dispersed.
In Its place stood a body of Prince Edward, with one foot slightly forward and a hand reaching behind its back. Edward stood frozen, held in place by the darkness that slowly faded away revealing the cobbled street underneath it.
Bell tolled twelve, midnight passed and the ritual was complete.
Quiet thump came behind him as Prince Dorian took another step forward before realizing that his brother was not following him. Worried, he turned around to call for him.
"Come Edwa…"
With a start his eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat, quick flash of panic washed over him as he saw his bellowed brother lying on the floor, curled as a kitten and convulsing in place, with blood seeping from his nose and eyes.
With fear in his heart, he turned to his closest companion and shouted.
"GET THE HEALERS, QUICKLY!"
Not waiting for anyone else he dashed to the shivering form of his brother and scoped him in his arms like a child.
Without another word he flew past his remaining guards towards the castle, leaving them behind. With each powerful stride he came closer to the temples of healing, and in his arms Edward bled, cold and unconscious.