The bed revealed itself to possess only a single purpose, which was to bring about suffering to those who slept upon it.
It was cramped and uncomfortable, barely wide enough for a single person to stretch out in, let alone two. The mattress, which had initially seemed too soft, had become rock-hard by morning, its ancient feathers spread all around and left me sleeping against loose wooden boards. The frame’s joints creaked and groaned with the slightest shift of weight, threatening to collapse at any moment.
And to add insult to injury, the roof leaked, and drops of water fell onto the windowsill with a constant patter for the entire night. By all accounts, the night should have been awful.
But it was not so.
I woke up wrapped in comfort and warmth. Florencia was sleeping on top of me, her soft curves molding against my own. The sound of her gentle breathing was calming, and it felt like a monumental task to peel myself away from this embrace. She had her disheveled hair tickling my face and lips, but that, too, was delightful. Her lips pressed against my neck, sending shivers down my spine, and her long legs were entwined with mine. And with each inhale, I breathed in her delicate perfume mixed with her natural scent that was nothing more than intoxicating, making an already hard morning even harder.
The thought of breaking away from this bliss was almost impossible to bear, but I knew that reality was calling. We had to get downstairs, as Jace and Iskander with Jaxine were already waiting.
“Ugh,” she whined and dug her face into my chest. “Can’t we sleep just a little bit longer?”
“I don’t think your new friends would like that. Come on, High Warden, we must go.”
“I know, but I don’t want to. It’s too comfortable here,” she said with a soft giggle and stretched out, spreading her arms wide and giving me a most wonderful view.
“I never imagined I would be the one keeping you in check,” I said and groggily began to dress myself, while Florencia gave me a curious sideways glance. “What?” I asked.
“That’s what you did throughout the years we studied in Cappesand,” she said, again smiling. “The final two years there, you had to force me to attend my classes. I would not have graduated without your help.” She fell into a dreamy daze as I was closing the buttons on my shirt.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to focus on work when all those memories of us are rushing back?” she asked, almost rhetorically.
“Unfortunately, no,” I replied.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Amnesia and all that. But you’re right, we need to get going. But just so you know, this is way harder than I thought it would be.”
“If it is amnesia,” I mumbled under my breath, and I saw Florencia narrow her eyes for a moment, but then began to dress as well.
*
“Vialisios,” Iskander said, addressing Jace. “That’s a Szell surname.”
Jace’s eyes lit up with excitement as he replied: “It is. My great-grandparents from my father’s side moved to Lienor from Roncolde. I’ve heard that he was fond of the name, so he chose to keep it. He used to say that it was an old name with a rich history, but I haven’t had the chance to do any research on it.”
“You have to do that in Roncolde,” Iskander said, and then crookedly smirked. “I never thought I’d meet a fellow countryman out here.”
“Lienor, Lith, and Szell have grown intertwined,” Jace said. “Almost like a married triad of countries. I’ve come across people from there very often, especially in the large cities.”
I found it hard to believe that Iskander had a wink of sleep. Nor did he seem to own a comb, because he looked even worse than the previous night.
He and Jaxine were dressed in a traditional Szell coat that was knee-length, but had a short cape draped over their shoulders and sleeves. Like Florencia, Iskander carried an unremarkable sword slung on his back. Though longer than Jace’s sword, its handle was boring and worn, and its quillons bore the signs of much use.
We were walking down a narrow street towards the town square, where the harvest festival was set to begin at midday. From the distance, I already heard music and cheering, the sounds of bells and whistles and shouting, and the general sounds of merriment were everywhere. Not everything was ready, yet, and we passed many people who were still finishing setting up decorations, many-colored banners and flags, and wreaths of dried twigs, wrapped with chains.
I kept my face straight and uncaring, but my attention was fixated on the strange symbols that were plastered throughout the town. They were engraved into doors and wooden walls crudely painted on windows in deep crimson paint and were sewn onto armbands of many passersby. And while Jace seemed to be enthralled in conversation with Iskander about Roncolde county, I saw him stealthily peek at them with a concerned expression.
Florencia was leading the way, walking with confidence and pride, wearing her longsword with the peculiar quillons strapped to her back. The Yasman medallion she hid in her chest pocket, as her sword hilt drew enough attention alongside her clean and well-dressed appearance.
Behind her walked Jaxine, who was almost like a bodyguard for Iskander, checking up on him every few steps. Although she was not shy, only quiet, she was short and with a thin build, and it made her almost disappear into the many crowds. We had one thing in common, Jaxine and I; that was, neither of us had a proper weapon. She had an old dagger on her belt, with a silver handguard and an emerald set into the handle, which she held tightly in her grip. And I had Rors’ knife that I had stashed in my pocket and kept palming as we waded through the crowds.
The streets were packed, but they quickly parted to make way for us. The sight of one sword in the hands of someone else than guards was rare enough, but to have three of them in plain view was remarkable for the poorer populace of Scorro. Some gawked at us in surprise, while others cast disdainful sneers our way.
It struck me as weird to witness so many sickly people passing by. They had pale skin and sunken eyes so dark that it felt like there was not a thought there. And despite the broad daylight, some of them appeared to be enveloped in shadows. And the strangest thing, a few ragged-looking beggars, seemed to have two or three shadows trailing them. It was so odd that I could not believe my own eyes.
Then we arrived in the town square, and the sight and smell made me forget those oddities immediately.
It was one single, massive, stone-paved square that teemed with a sea of joyous people, all gathered in one place. The sun shone down, casting a warm glow on the festivities, and a gentle breeze made the banners and wreaths sway. In the distance, I saw a wooden stage had been erected, adorned with the same decorations that I saw everywhere. A band played a lively melody on the stage, fingering their lutes and making harmonious music with flutes.
Perhaps this mission would not be a complete failure for me, after all, and I thought to ask Florencia for some cuenos.
On the sides, there were booths set up offering foods of all kinds—roasted meats, sweet pastries, and treats, alongside all kinds of wines and beer and even non-alcoholic drinks like tea or coffee that I was drawn to. Other stalls were set up displaying apples, pears, grapes, tomatoes, cherries, oranges and lemons, peaches. And, of course, the largest draw was dairy products, and hunger suddenly overwhelmed me.
“Oh, look!” Jace said. “Wine, such a selection. They have the local kind, and then over here with berry notes and over there some heavier, earthy ones, as you get in Szell, Iskander. A rather comprehensive selection.”
“Maybe ignore that for now, and let’s find Vranik?” Iskander said bitterly.
“He’s not here,” Jace said. “It’s been years. At most, we’ll find clues or a trail, but not him.”
“One day, I hope to have your confidence.”
“Jace might be correct, but we should not waste time either way,” Florencia said and urged us onward. Jace fell behind, longingly looking at the dozens of bottles on display, and the greasy merchant who kept rubbing her fat hands together in anticipation of some business.
The square was packed, almost to the point I found it hard to breathe. I estimated there were at least a few thousand people gathered here. I saw guards patrolling, grim-faced, determined not to be swayed by the delicious foods that were on display all around them.
“Excuse me,” Florencia said to a young guard, briefly flashing her Yasman medallion. “Where could I find the guard captain?”
The young guard’s face first registered annoyance over the stupid question, but then fear as he realized who was asking him. The two guards beside him stepped back and turned to check up on a pair of merchants who were ever more loudly arguing over who had the right to set their prices lower than the other.
“Aban blesses you, lodgeman, private Larn at your service,” the young guard stuttered and recoiled at the thought of this many mages so close to him. “Captain Molin? I think that, uh, he is talking with the Lord Mayor and secretary Pasquinne in front of the town hall. But the festivities should start soon, and the speech—”
“The festivities seem to have started already,” Iskander said.
“Um, the harvest festival begins at midday,” the young boy guard said with a shaky voice. “The Lord Mayor will give a speech and then the secretary will perform the ritual of plenty in the worship of Aban.”
Ritual… That word made my stomach churn, and I felt a strange stabbing in my guts.
“Captain’s over there,” the guard pointed toward the town hall building, in front of which was the stage where the band played, and he took a few steps back, turning his head at his comrades who had abandoned him. Florencia nodded in gratitude and took the lead again, going further ahead.
“This doesn’t sit right,” I said to Jace and Florencia, but in the loud crowd, they didn’t hear a word I said. Looking all around, it felt like the entire town was gathered here, and probably many from the surrounding villages as well.
As we got closer to the other side of the square, we passed a myriad of booths where craftsmen showcased their wares. There were blacksmiths, weavers, potters, and woodworkers, each displaying their many wares. Although the craftsmanship on display was of decent quality, I couldn’t help but compare it to the wares I had seen in Bessou, where the level of skill and attention to detail was greater.
The five of us made our way through the masses of people, but I couldn’t shake off the growing unease I felt. My stomach would knot up at seemingly random times, then just as suddenly, it would vanish, leaving me even more off balance. While pushing myself through the crowd, I heard whisperings echo inside my mind that would grow loud and then quiet.
Despite everybody melting into a single mass, I noticed individuals who seemed to be almost shrouded in shadow. They moved about unnoticed by the rest, and nobody paid them any attention, which I found odd. Strangely enough, they were the ones wearing the armbands or had painted the markings on their black robes or cloaks. And as we got closer to the stage, I felt like we were being watched.
But we pushed through and reached ever closer to the town hall, the crowds began to thin. The remaining few were eagerly awaiting the start of the midday ritual, their faces alight with anticipation as they danced to the music.
The town hall was a far cry from what I thought it would look like. Although it was definitely beautiful in its own way, the single-story building lacked the grandeur and aesthetic of what I saw in Bessou. The facade was plain and unremarkable, with some carvings on the thick beams and arches. It had simple lines and very few embellishments. Scaffoldings had been erected there, and stonemasons and engravers were hard at work, chiseling away at the stone to create more intricate patterns and designs.
Newly found wealth, indeed.
A line of somber-looking guards stood before us, dressed in somber gray cloaks that draped over their entirely unremarkable steel armor. They had bored expressions painted on their faces, as they must have been standing there for hours.
Three men stood further away near the town hall entrance.
Who I thought was the guard captain had the same drab grey cloak, but accented with golden trimmings and a brooch with golden spread wings pinned to his chest. He had on a shiny helmet topped with a deep blue plume. Beside him stood the Lord Mayor, who seemed to be a younger man with a round face and pudgy belly stretching his long robes, but his arms and legs were disproportionately thin and stick-like. He had calf-length cloth slippers on, black with embroidered gold, and his thin fingers all had silver or gold rings. Beside him stood the third man, older and bowed forward, holding a small black book, and wearing a long dark robe that hung to his ankles. A dull silver chain dangled from his neck.
I did not even have to stretch my mental powers to sense all three were mentally and psychically blunted, barely able to detect a brighter soul, even this close. But the third man, the secretary, I felt a chill coming from him. Not a blunted mind, but a mind without thought.
“Looks like we found what we were looking for,” Florencia said, pulling out of my thoughts. She had stopped us before the line of guards who were now looking at us rather distrustfully. “The plan is this: you let me talk and ask the questions, and if you need to say something, you give me a nod. Understood? Let’s not create enemies immediately.”
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We all agreed, but Iskander and Jaxine clearly became sour as Florencia took control away from them. They had agreed to this, though.
Florencia flashed her Yasman medallion to another guard to demand an audience, and the guard waved the captain over to us.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the grim captain asked.
“Captain Molin?” Florencia asked and before the guard could answer, showed Molin her Yasman medallion. “We come with the Yasman Lodge. May we have a word with you and the Lord Mayor?”
“Yasman? Damned sorcerers,” he spat, and his eyes narrowed. “Here to burn down another city?”
“We’d rather like to prevent that,” Florencia said in the most easygoing and charming tone I’ve heard yet, and the tension in the captain’s body and face disappeared. “We are looking for someone. Could we talk?”
“Um,” captain Molin grumbled, but was now indecisive and I almost heard a gentle, songlike, whispering echo in my mind. “Fine, follow me. But no funny business. My guards are at attention and will—”
“There will be nothing of the sort,” Florencia interrupted him, waving her hair over her shoulder seductively, and the captain blushed.
As captain Molin led us to the mayor, the mayor’s secretary bowed and limped off towards the stage. He looked at the stonemasons who were vigorously chiseling away at the rock, their arms, hands, and faces all covered in dust. But he was a twitchy fellow, and his face was long and hollow, and I saw his lips and nose twitch as we passed each other. And when I looked into his eyes, I saw there a darkness and a void, almost, and his cloak hid a deeper black.
“Guests?” the Lord Mayor exclaimed in an annoyingly high pitch. “But the festival is due to begin, and my speech is coming up. Captain, you said they were with the Cappesand Academy?”
“Not quite,” Florencia said. “The Yasman Lodge is part of the academy, yes, but the work we do is not quite the same.”
“Ah, yes, very well. What do you need? And make it quick.”
Iskander’s fury almost boiled over, and he pressed his fingers into a tight fist, and his frown could’ve set a fire alight. Jaxine was equally annoyed and shifted her weight forward and back. But they said nothing, though, holding their emotions back admirably. Jace stood beside me and simply listened to Florencia talk with an ease and politeness that would’ve charmed anyone.
“We are looking for someone named Grasd Vranik,” Florencia said with a dashing smile.
“Vranik!” the baron exclaimed. “Ah yes, a great man. A great man, indeed. A man of faith, unlike anything I’ve seen before. His zealous faith was contagious, and I must say that at first, I thought him to be a pretender, only out for himself and his selfish gains. But after listening to him preach the word, I was converted. And the path of faith he set us up on has netted us such rewards… I have to admit that my secretary had more faith than me in the beginning. But, by Aban, Pasquinne convinced me.”
Iskander was barely holding back his anger, almost fuming. “Where is he now?” he almost growled.
“Oh, he, unfortunately, had to go on elsewhere. The word of Aban needs to be taught everywhere. Last I heard of him, he traveled south after the spring equinox.”
“South?” Jace whispered to me, half-telepathically. “Veneiea is south!”
Florencia caught what Jace said, nodded, but kept her face entirely calm. “How long was he here? Do you have any more information about what he did, or how he looks like or—”
“My apologies, lord,” a young and baby-faced aide ran up to him and bowed deeply. “They’re ready for your speech. It is time.”
“Of course, boy. It is time,” the baron said, and casually waved him away. “I’m afraid our talk must wait until after the speech.”
Baron Tocci didn’t bother to say a word before leaving and swiftly made his way towards the stage, leaving us standing next to captain Molin and his cadre of guards. With excitement in his step, the baron skipped onto the stage, dismissed the band with a hand wave, and stepped up on a taller platform. For a moment, he glanced behind him at the strange, painted red wooden frame that had been erected there. His secretary, Pasquinne, stood behind him, rubbing his hands together and his black cloak billowed in the wind, and I saw the darkness around him deepen.
That was strange. I saw shadow-like fingers run across his back and his shoulders.
That was also strange.
Florencia and Jace turned to captain Molin. “What did you think of Vranik?”
“I’m not a man of faith,” captain Molin said. “But he had… this larger-than-life personality about him. I didn’t like him at first, but sometimes first impressions are misleading. He reinvigorated the faith of Scorro, and I hate to say it, but it has worked. Crop yields have grown much. We are no longer scraping by, and even the Fiesis are expanding their activity here. Did you see the construction work already?”
“We missed it,” Jace said.
“They’re building a new office just outside town. It’s good for the town and good for us, as well,” captain Molin said.
“How is the city guard coping?” Florencia asked. and the captain’s eyes turned dark for a moment, and he did not answer.
Lord Mayor Umberto Tocci had taken his place on the stage, and spread his arms wide, his pudgy stomach stretching his shiny and silky robes.
“Dear people of Scorro,” he said in a loud, but whiny voice that almost scraped my soul in annoyance. “It has been another wonderful year with a plentiful harvest. For that, we must thank Aban, the giver, for who we hold this festival and ritual. The past three years have been tumultuous indeed, but we have weathered through those trials, and for that, Aban rewards us. We are rewarded for our worship and our undying faith. And now, as always, I give the stage to secretary Pasquinne, who shall read from the book, and perform the ritual so we all may prosper another season. Would you do the honors?”
“Of course, lord,” secretary Pasquinne said, and licked his lips. “Please step back and lean against the frame here.”
The baron shot a concerned look, but then did what his secretary said, and Pasquinne’s face turned even paler.
“Yes, just like that, Umberto,” the secretary said. “Lean into it. A fascinating contraption, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” the baron said. “Fine woodwork.”
“Ah yes, but it’s much more than that. Much more than simple woodwork,” Pasquinne mumbled to himself, but even from fifty paces away, I heard him. The sound of the crowd, all gathered at the stage now, all melted into one continuous noise that I ignored. But the words of the secretary, I heard clear as day. “This wonder took much time to build. So much time and so much sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice?” the baron stuttered, as secretary Pasquinne took rusty chains from behind the wooden frame that now looked like the letter A reversed, with three horizontal beams added at the top and base. With carefully measured movements, he secured Umberto’s wrists and ankles to the frame, and the baron did nothing but nervously laugh at what was happening.
“Are we, uh, doing a new type of ritual?” he asked, voice now almost breaking, and the secretary smiled impossibly wide and the darkness in his eyes deepened.
“Yes, my dear, yes we are. How magnificent this will be?”
“Could we, uh, get this over with quickly? Some guests came from the Cappesand Academy that urgently needed something to discuss.”
“I would not worry about that,” secretary Pasquinne said. “I wouldn’t worry about that at all.”
The secretary had secured the chains to the wooden A-frame that seemed to be entirely covered in tiny, fine symbols. He took a step forward and addressed the crowd.
“People of Scorro, thank you all for coming here today. As Umberto said, it has been years of plenty and excess, and hard work. We are all glad. And today… so many of you have worked tirelessly to make today’s ritual happen. We have worked together, and we have sacrificed so much, but now, today, we will finally reap our rewards. And mark my words, we shall be truly rewarded!”
Secretary Pasquinne looked on at the crowd, and many were looking around with equal confusion, but amongst them stood the hooded and the sick. They looked up at the stage with stone-cold calm and confidence, but their anticipation seemed to grow when the secretary stepped back in front of the Lord Mayor.
During the two speeches, I had been unknowingly moving closer to the stage, enthralled by the play. I looked back and saw Florencia and Jace talking with captain Molin, but Florencia kept glancing my way with a growing concerned expression.
Baron Umberto Tocci nervously laughed, and said: “A nice speech, Comso, but could we, uhm, finish this?”
And the secretary laughed and said: “Of course, Umberto, we will finish this now.”
He made a few impatient gestures at the young aide, who then ran and brought him a small polished white bowl with some kind of liquid inside, and handed him a small brush. All the while mumbling incoherently with words that I could not understand, or barely even hear, Pasquinne dipped the small brush into the bowl, the bristles wet with red, and began to paint the baron’s face, hands, and neck with crude strokes.
With every new shape that was drawn upon the pale skin of the baron, the hooded and the sick almost growled in excitement. I saw up above the clouds grew heavy and the light dimmed. I was locked in place, unable to move, and I could not tear my gaze from the game played on stage.
The noise of the crowd died down.
The confused looks from the merry partygoers became eerily silent, and only the ever-increasing guttural growls were heard coming from the dark and hooded men and women. They were no longer hunched over, straight now, almost taller than the rest. Their hooded black heads were scattered everywhere in the crowd, except close to the stage.
“Are we—” baron Tocci mumbled, but he could not finish his sentence as secretary Pasquinne silenced him by placing his index finger on his lips.
“The ritual is ready,” he whispered into the air above.
“The offering is waiting! Rufasmos, I demand my reward!” secretary Pasquinne barked like a maddened dog. He took from somewhere underneath his robes a dagger, sleek black and smoky, and with movements quicker than my eyes could follow, drove it into the neck of the baron Umberto Tocci.
Secretary Pasquinne cut through skin, windpipe, and ligaments. Bright red blood erupted out of the gash and painted Pasquinne’s face crimson, and his once-hollow eyes were now completely black. An increasing darkness swallowed his face, head, and then his entire upper torso up.
Thunder came from the cloudy sky, and a strong shrieking wind rushed into the square, driving all who stood mad. Cries of panic erupted, but none could run. The square was packed full and only those on the edges could flee.
I looked up and my eyes were met with a sight that rendered me speechless. For a moment, I saw through the thick clouds something that was impossible. Instead of the blue sky that should have been there, there was a dazzling black-red ocean of conscious malice that looked down upon us.
It observed us with a purpose, saw what was happening, and it was glad.
Hundreds more cries erupted all around and people began to crash into each other, desperately trying to escape the madness. But there could not be an escape from what happened next.
Coming from the lightless form of the secretary, Comso Pasquinne, a burst of black smoke blew forward and engulfed the first rows of the crowd. They exploded into flames, skin burning hot in foul-colored light, and quickly their screams of torment ran through the air.
They could do nothing but flail helplessly, and after an agonizing death, fall dead.
Back on the stage to my left, the secretary was now entirely enveloped by a writhing shadow and the skies above darkened more. The light of the Sun lessened and Pasquinne changed.
A shadow beast slid itself into the skin of what had once been the secretary of Scorro. His black robes ripped and fell, his skin stretched and tore, twisted bony growths ripped through and grew; his muscles bulged and thickened, transforming Pasquinne into something horrific. Something that should not exist here.
The Pasquinne-thing spread its asymmetrical arms wide and howled victoriously.
No! Such a thing should be impossible, but it was not. I had seen this in Veneiea, but it had been so easy to forget in the bliss I had with Florencia. That felt like a lifetime ago.
But then everything got worse.
This new monster of shadow and terror exuded an aura of malevolence and beside it, the sick and the hooded gained power.
They stood up straight now. No longer were they weak or sickly, or hunched over and snotty. Throughout the panicked crowd, they had grown tall and broad. Muscles rippling with newly gained unholy strength, and driven by mindless hate, they tore into the men and women, and children who could not escape.
They threw off the ragged robes and coats, revealing scarred symbols cut into their flesh, and they swept through the populace, mercilessly slaughtering all in their path. Everyone was torn limb from limb and feasted upon amidst the chaos.
There were desperate cries for mercy, but none were given.
I stood frozen. Alone, amidst a slaughter. How had this happened? And why was I here again? First in Veneiea, and now Scorro? All devised by the architect of death, Grasd Vranik; I thought.
There was organized shouting further back, where I had left Florencia and Jace. Commands were issued and a clang of metal rang through the air.
There I saw Florencia, flanked by Jace, both holding up their weapons and had already drawn blood. Jace attacked almost in a calculated manner, moved stiffly, but quick, his light-blue coat billowing in the wake of his speed.
And Florencia, her sword was no longer merely an ordinary weapon. It had transformed into something greater. It was now glowing orange, and I saw faint flames swirling all along the sleek, scratched-up blade. Florencia’s hair seemed to have taken on a fiery glow, and a golden aura shone from her form.
Effortlessly she danced with her sword in between the few maddened attackers who dared to engage her and Jace.
With wide, sweeping cuts that flashed orange with every strike, she hacked them all down. The bodies of her enemies fell to the ground, charred and lifeless, smoldering on the stone slabs that were now red with blood. Yet despite her fierce display of masterful swordplay that I could never have predicted she had, she barely held back a frightful terror that had overtaken her.
Behind Florencia and Jace were the few Scorro city guards who had not escaped.
Standing proudly in the center was captain Molin, sword drawn and his rich blue plume swaying in the gusts. I saw Iskander drag a frozen Jaxine by her wrist and pushed her behind the line of guards. He then drew his greatsword which was almost as tall as Jaxine. He joined Florencia and Jace with quick steps, forming a wedge of death in front of the panic-frozen guards.
But Florencia misjudged one single cut. She hit a merchant’s booth that then caught fire, fanned by the fierce winds. In a moment, the inferno had spread to the building behind it, and from there, flames consumed three more buildings that stood beside it.
The entire town was about to burn down.
None of them were in control, and even though Florencia, Jace, and Iskander cut down the few savage brutes who attacked them, their hearts were filled with an all-encompassing weakness that was about to swallow them whole. Their strength was about to fail, and an entire town was about to be slaughtered.
And then, I was attacked.
A half-naked brute with black and frenzied eyes charged at me. His mouth hung open, his blood-stained fingers spread wide as he ran, jumping over the dead and dying. Despite everything, I was unprepared, and instinct took over.
In a fraction of a moment, something broke within me. I was back in the cave from my dreams. I saw on the jagged rocky walls the dance of crimson flames and the deep voice boomed in my memory. Something that was buried deep down awoke again, torn violently into light, for the need was great and urgent.
I felt flowing through me the infinite energies that held the world together and it was like I was finally, truly awake. The colors were now clear and sharp. Was this how Florencia and Jace sensed the world all the time?
I could taste the fear, the panic, and the blood around me in the profoundest way imaginable. My mind was flooded with the thoughts of everyone nearby, and I was almost struck down by the helplessness I felt for them.
The beast-man was almost here. He almost had his victim in his grasp. I understood I could no longer hide; I had to become more.
My left hand rose in an almost dream-like manner, in slow motion. I felt course through my veins untamed potential and with a single, hate-fueled thought, the brute exploded into pink and black flames. His skin dissolved, and he fell onto the stone ground amidst shrieks of pain and confusion.
But immediately the next moment, I felt a burning sensation. A sharp, searing pain seeped into my bones and I drew my hand back. But to my surprise, it was unharmed. It was still the same, pink-fleshed hand, but the pain in my bones lingered and intensified.
I had drawn more attention. Now there were ten savage, midnless brutes whose thoughts were torn away from their hateful murder. They came charging, stripped to the waist and ragged strips of cloth covered their modesty, or what was left of it, as they were no longer human. They were bastardized mockery of life now.
They ran at me, some holding spiked cudgels, others bare-handed. One of them had just ripped apart a city guard with her bare hands and she licked her fingers clean with a long, dark tongue. She smiled.
Then came a thought from a very far place. A memory. A reminder. Guidance…
Call forth the Blood Maul.
And as if through a dream, I held up my right hand. The ground trembled and groaned. The skies above thundered and the purple tempest broke under my might.
Then came a low rumbling and from the deep rose a massive thing. Black, jagged, asymmetrical. Perfect, with twisting lines etched on the surface. It rose by itself from the dirt and reflected no light and pitch-black smoke seemed to leak from it. It had a flanged head that was as large as mine. All around it the ground cracked, and the stone turned to dust. Tufts of grass died. Waves of air escaped and crashed all around me. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and rubble rained down upon the streets. Many of the brutes who charged at me were caught in the destruction, and their bodies were thrown aside and broken.
I had summoned my weapon into my service again and from the depths of the world came up the Blood Maul.
“I have come!"