Ka’alu Hitam Neomath, Rise of Hitam the Neomath.

The world of Hearte, a fiction of utter madness. Created by Michael Heasant, it told the stories, sad stories of its denizen. In form of a book, a many of games, and some movies that fell short to show of its vast history. Or perhaps, the history itself that repel others from enjoying it, except for those whom would like to torture themselves, with stories of tragedies cursed upon the denizens by its creator.

That is what he thought, that is what Hitam thought as he used his four arms to wrestle with the neomath in under him. “Release me Hitam, release me!” The neomath shouted, spreading one of his hands away from hitam, on his palm a small rodent. Should one look closely, Mighty similar is the rodent’s figure to that of a rat, except for two small featherless wings on top of its back.

“That’s mine! Give it to me!” Hitam shouted back, reaching for the rodent as three of his arms trying to hold grasp of the older neomath. “That’s mine!” Hitam shouted loudly, a tiny drop of water ousted from his eyes, but unseen by others near him.

“Fuck, fuck!” Hitam’s opponent scream profanities as his one of his fingers was bitten by Hitam. “Fuck you!” He shouted, as he throwing away the rodent towards a nearby trash filled box. The scuffle turned into a gory sigh, as Hitam spat out a lone finger. Still dripping with blood and saliva.

“Huff, huff.” Seeing scrunching neomath, Hitam leaped away from the boy as he ran towards the rodent, picking it up in a swift motion, running through the narrow lane, in his heart fear and sadness welled up swiftly. And so, he ran, the little neomath. He ran and ran, never to look back.

Hitam swept his eyes that is now filled with tears, his legs never stopping. Never has he did such a thing, never has he felt such indignity. To scavenge trough the trash of others, in hope for a food. To fight others, only for him to win a prize scowled by most. But he knew, he knew that he must do this. He must survive, not for himself, oh no. If he wanted, he could get out of this predicament, ran out of the capital and try to live a much better life in the eastern forest. Worst to come, he loses his life once more, at least he won’t have to suffer what is to come towards this accursed world. But he can’t, not now, for he still have mouths to feed and peoples he wanted to save.

Moments passed as the air inside his lungs was wrung dry, he heaved for it more and more, leaning himself to the wall beside him. “Fuck it.” He cursed seeing the dead tiscur, its body now ragged, results of the previous roughness, his eyes wonder to one of it little wings. Broken, twisted backward swinging with each motion, making for a gory sight. He wondered in his heart, would this be his fate?

He passed a few more lanes, as he arrived towards a much worse area. In it lies many men and women of neomaths and Verakins, those of many limbs and those of tiny statures were splayed along the road. And by the road are makeshift ‘shelters’, made with thrown out woods and some clothes, and fancier ones were adorned covered with leather. While there might be some which are a little bit creative, using some rocks and soil to make a bin for fear of flooding rains, but most of them are broken and scattered, neither used nor maintained. After all, a flooding rain is much more welcomed these days, more than the damning sun searing their skins apart.

Hitam walked through the lane, hiding the tiscur inside his tattered robe. While he knew that most won’t try to make a move for a mere pest, he doesn’t want his hard work to be for naught. Arriving at wooden structure, covered by patches of clothes and leathers, he walked himself through its ‘door’. Inside lay two sleeping young neomaths and stood one adult female Verakin, both the neomath are barely three of age, wearing the barest of clothing as they slept on top of a leather bag filled with old hays, he luckily acquired from the farmer at the market.

“You are back.” The Verakin said, shocked seeing Hitam’s ragged look and bloody mouth. The tiny woman looked akin to a human, but her short stature reaching only Hitam’s hip, long sharp ears and large amber eyes clearly dissected her species as different from them, or at least her race.

“I’m sorry, this is the only thing I can get.” Hitam said, appologising to the woman as he put out the tiscur. The Verakin reached with her only hand, as her eyes quiver with sadness. “Are you okay?” She asked, putting down the tiscur and tried to reach the young neomath’s face, but to no avail. She can see that the child was distraught with something, as he is looking at the two youngs intently.

“Its not your fault, the drought are much worse than we thought. Even those that are well off have to ration their foods, they can’t spare more to throw about.” She suddenly said, seeing that the child won’t lower his head.

Hitam bit his lips hearing her words, feeling the pressure of his growing tusks. “We have to get out of Emas.” Suddenly he said, his voice resolute.

“We can’t, not with these two. They won’t survive.” Shocked, the tiny Verakin replied. “And how do you even want to get out of this place, you are a neomath. You will get pelted should this not be the capital.”

“We can go to the east, towards the elves’s kingdom.” Hitam said, too afraid of telling her about what would happen of the future. Of how even the mighty elves will fall to the dark lord. But at least they won’t be practically extinct, like the nagas.

“You are clearly delirious, what makes you think that it would be better for you there?” The verakin said, staring daggers toward the taller neomath. But the quiver in her voice shows much sadness.

“Henna, we must go away from here. You must trust me, and we must be quick before it is t-too late.” Hitam said, stuttering. “I can feel it in me Henna, the curse, the calling. Its getting stronger. Not long, I fear that the whole capital will be outran by corrupted neomath.”

Shocked Henna stepped backward, “Don’t joke about this Hitam, what you are saying right now might bring a cleanse of your race in the whole of Erahel.”

“I’m not joking Henna, just now-” Hitam stalled his word, taking a big gulp. The feeling of flesh bitten into his mouth still linger, of the sweet-sweet blood and the beautiful scream of the neomath boy. “-I bit someone, without realising, I bit someone. Like those possessed by the demons. The bloodlust, the anger, the strength. It frighten me.”

Seeing the young neomath frighten face Henna step forward as she hugged him. Not much she can do, and even the hug is too much for her, for she can only reached his hip. “I understand, I will do what I can.”

Hearing this, Hitam crouched as he hugged the motherly figure of his. In this new but familiar world she is his only respite, his home, his warmth. And he knows what he asked of her is more than she can do, to move from what is basically her home, required a much needed will and sum, and both of them are as pauper as one can be.

Hitam walked the busy market district, well not so busy market district. The west wind has been drying their land, as more and more rivers has been wrung dry, and rains are now a much wanted blessings, hiding itself from the populace. And with less water, procuring food evidently become harder, seeing how most of the food sold on stalls are dried, and the fresher ones are mostly scarce, as they were bought by the upper class as soon as they can rising their price into absurdity.

“Listen to my words! We must exile the ones whom bring us these curses!” Suddenly Hitam heard a loud voice accompanied by chattering pedestrians mixed of Nagas, Verakins and very-very few neomaths. Hitam lowered his head inside his hood and hid all four of his hands inside the covering of his cloak.

Nagas are a weird bunch, they were the denizens of Erahel. A type of lizard folks standing on their own two feet, with a large tail and colorful appearance, they have always been the top power of this world. It was said that they were descended by dragons, and for that they were bestowed the heavenly gift of magical proficiency akin to the immortal elves. But many among the nagas themselves said that these were baseless rumors, saying that dragons were a myth, created to hold the nagas’s achievements towards fairy tales and not of their own worth.

“By the divines, times has been of ill for us. WE! The the citizens of Erahel will stand it no more!” The voice continues as Hitam saw a large Naga standing on top of a makeshift stage made of wooden box, his attire is that of the Draconic church. A church filled with vast pride to the naga race and heritage, one that worship the dragons as their god.

“The drying wind of the west, the massacre by the accursed neomath of the north, we can’t stand it any longer!” Hearing the man’s word Hitam’s face paled as he swiftly tried to get out of the congregation, knowing that ill gains will accompany from such a presentation. He has seen of such thing in the past, inside the bar where the drunken live, by the lonely street where those whom have no qualms going against the law frequent, and even sometime by the much ‘safer’ grand road where the nobles and merchants walked. The riot and rage brought fear even to the strongest of neomaths.

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“And so, I call for us to exile them all, throw them away from our beautiful city! We won’t know when they will go feral, killing our children and women! This is Emas, the capital of Erahel, this is Erahel the kingdom of Nagas! We won’t let those neomaths ruin our beautiful kingdom!” Suddenly Hitam felt a tug on one of his hands, his fear grew into fruition as a loud voice accompanied by roars of slaughter rang out in the air.

“I’ve got one!” The one holding his hand loudly shouted, as he tried to grab more of Hitam’s arms but to no avail as Hitam pulled hard, felling the clearly young Naga. “Help! He struck me!” The fallen naga shouted, rallying others into obstructing Hitam’s path.

“GO AWAY!” Hitam shouted trying to run through the blockade, but as time went on, he can feel the futility of the effort. Punches and kicks were strewn around his whole body, bloods and soils dirtied his whole person, as pains assaulted his mind. His body grew weaker as his mind felt dizzy, he wanted to vomit, to lay down on the street. But the mobs won’t let him, they pull all four of his arms, marching him akin to a prisoner awaiting punishments, and the mighty priest on top grinning in delight clearly satisfied by the reaction of his ‘flock’.

“Exile the corrupted, save our kingdom! Exile the corrupted, save our kingdom!” They chanted, deafening Hitam’s ears.

“HALT! IN THE NAME OF KING DRAK, THE MIGHTIEST UNDER THE HEAVEN, SON OF THE HOLY SUN. I ORDER YOU ALL TO STOP THIS MADNESS.” Suddenly Hitam heard a very loud shout, silencing the chants of the mobs. The hands holding him in the air was suddenly released, felling him to the ground, kneeling.

Suddenly in front of him, Hitam saw a Naga. His body doubled that of others of his kind, as wisp of flames linger on his face, shaping akin to a lively beard. He wore a knightly attire, an excessively large plate armor and behind him is a tall handsome drake, towering the already tall naga. “Hel~” Hitam tried to say, to beg, but was assaulted by sudden dizziness as he felled into darkness.

Years has passed since Hitam saw the scenery in front of him, crying, he fell to the ground. “Thank God, thank God!” sincerely he cried, prostrating on the asphalt kissing it dear. He heard the sound of vehicles passing by, honking their loud blaring horn, revving their cars and angrily cursing at him.

“Get up you fool, what are you doing in the middle of the road!” He heard a man loudly shouted, screaming at him in his mother tounge. He took a peek towards the man, standing beside his car. The man was wearing a bluish suit, beautifully embroiled with lines of golden silk on the scuff of his collar, holding a briefcase with two of his hands while the other two are pointing at him in anger.

Hitam felt a strike to the head, his vision blurry as the scowling neomath’s face suddenly turn into a smile. The tusk in his mouth suddenly grew twice larger, accompanying his body as more and more they turn gigantic. “Hahahaha! You think you can escape us, you think you can be saved from your fate!? No! You belong to ME! your kind belong to ME! HAHAHAHAHA!” The neomath’s voice echoed.

Hitam was shocked as he saw his now human body turn into the familiar neomath, but instead of being skinny and scared as he once was, he is now big and strong. Step by step he walked forward as the scenery turned, the beautiful modern city now turns into a ruined and ancient. Far in his sight is an army of neomath, each tripled the size of a normal adult. Strong he is, accompanied by the others of his kind, reveling in slaughters, laughing in madness. One bite from him and a hated naga was turn into a mincemeat, his face donned a grin as he used the head of said naga into a playball. Another one of his kind was chasing a many of the tiny verakins, akin to a cat playing with frighten mice.

Hitam suddenly felt something in his hand, its wet and clumpy feeling made him shiver. He opened his palm, and in it lies a bloodied mess of a verakin. His eyes were wide open as he saw the clothe accompanying the dead verakin, a brownish rag turned into a makeshift shirt. “Henna.” Hitam called his face felled, but moments after staring at the clothe he erupted into a vigorous laughter, he felt joy in his heart, like he had never felt before.

“You are mine, all of you are mine!” Suddenly a loud voice resounds the broken city, as a large, winged creature fly passing the massacre underneath. “Kill, kill to your heart content. Kill for yourself, kill in my name! Hahahahaha” Hitam looked towards the black silhouette of the dragon as he joyously laughed along, but unbeknownst to him a single streak of tear ran on his face.

Nagas are a proud race, they kill not without honor, and to do deeds not without kindness. That is what Harun has always thought of his kind. But, seeing the state of the market just know waver his belief. He has always thought that Nagas are the protector of the world, that they were granted great strength not to oppress, but to guard the sanctity of lives, as it was said in the scripture. But twenty maimed neomaths and half of those, are now corpses made him wished to slaughter the entire family of the perpetrator. What he hated the most are that the victims are mostly youths, barely older than a child and weaken women. Most children were to be sent to the orphanages and all male adult neomaths, older than twenty are being tightly monitor, forced to conscript as supports in the eternal battlefield.

It's not that they wished to prosecute them, but should any one of them turn corrupted, the high mages on the battlefield will gift them a swift death.

Harun grabbed a cup of water, savoring it as he looked towards the veiled room in front of him. Inside it is a boy, one of the victims in the market. He is the youngest, yet also was injured the most. All of his limbs were broken and most of his wound severe, his injuries actually require the aid of whether a grand priest or a high mage. He didn’t know what has that boy done to be worthy of such suffering, he looked inside intently gripping the porcelain cup hard, almost breaking it.

Suddenly the veil on the room’s was slid open, as the high mage came out to greet him. “The boy is too weak, he might survive the night, but more than that I can’t promise.” He mage said, patting his hand on top of Harun’s shoulder.

“Is there nothing we can do Garant?” Harun asked. “Unless if you give him one of the elves’s elixir, there’s nothing we could do.” Garant said, sighing, pulling out a stick from his sash.

“An elixir you say.” Harun said, rubbing his beard of fire.

Seeing Harun’s thoughtful face Garant raised the stick in front of him pointing towards Harun’s chest. “I know that look Harun, and there’s nothing that I can do stop you, but before you gave the boy one of Hearthe’s treasure, I must warn you.” His voice stern

“What?” Harun asked.

“The boy...” Garant hesitated. “I think he’s corrupted.”

“Impossible!” Harun said, clearly shocked by the revelation. “He’s far away from the dark lord, and he’s not even an adult yet. Unless-” Harun didn’t want to think of the ramification of his thought, should what he imagine was realize, then the whole of Eradeth might as well disappear from the face of  Hearthe.

“Don’t worry, the dark lord is nowhere near this place. He’s still being stalled by the saints and the high elves.” Garant said, easing the worry inside of Harun’s heart. “But the boy, shows the symptoms of corruption, and no prodding of mine bear any fruit of whys and hows.” Garant said, shaking his head.

“Are you certain?” Harun asked, staring straight into Garant’s eyes. As the older High mage put the stick in his mouth, burning its tip with a flick of his finger. He suck a mouthful from the stick as streams of smoke find their way out from his nostrils.

“Half and half. Its weird, should the boy be corrupted he would have been turn into a fool, raging and lusting for slaughter as of now. But clearly, he is fine.” Garant said, taking another sip from the stick. “The corruption itself is not like a normal infections or plagues, it struck the into the soul of the neomaths themselves. Unless the boy’s soul is stronger than that of an elf, I think something is protecting him.”

“Protecting him?” Harun asked the Naga in front of him, clearly perplexed by the situation occurring right now.

“Yes, but for all of my knowledge. I cant seem to grasp, what is it? Does it come from his bloodline? Or does it come from his soul? Hell, he might even an intelligent corrupted, biding his time and playing us for a fool.” Harun shudder, hearing the answer from his oldest friend.

“We should bring the boy to the high tower, he might be the key to our predicaments.” Garant said, hesitation appeared on his voice. But seeing the look of his friend’s eyes he knows that what he said is now just akin to wind passing trough a gigantic mountain, unable to effect it in any way.

“You know we can’t do that, those monsters will kill that boy. Hell even worse, they might not even let him die.” Harun said, grinding his teeth.

“And then let me do it.” Garant said, straightening his posture. “I know you won’t compromise on sending the boy towards the high tower, but by studying him we can save thousands, millions!” He said, putting a hand on top of Harun’s shoulder. “Trust me.”

Seeing his friend plead, Harun can said nothing as he sat on the couch. “I pity the boy, to live and be persecuted. Or to live as a test subject doomed to be tortured. He have no choice nor will, we don’t even know him, yet we are treating him like a commodity.”

“That is life my friend, and maybe we will wronged him doing this. But the live of others, especially neomaths might be save. Let us be the villains, for the sake of others.” Garant said, eyeing the room containing the sleeping young neomath. “But I promise you, should there be no need. No harm is to be done on him, that I can swear.”

Author's rants;

   I've always like to write, in my class and in my mind. I've always like to read, anytime and anywhere. But tried and tried I did, little does it came to me. The will it is. This is one of my past works, only one chapter for now. Once forgotten, now arisen. 

   I mean, writing is hard you know. There is a certain flow to it. You have to write like riding the wind, on top of the sky and playing god. But god I am not, and blasphemy I won't commit. I just hope, that one of you, even one is enough would give me words, so I might continue this path. So that I might know, so that maybe, maybe, this is worth something.

  I mean, authors of royal roads. As big as you are, or should you be smaller than dust. tell me, how you do it? Do you just trudge it trough, like a plow on the field. Or you wait for the flow of wind, like the kite on the sky? And I wonder, I wonder, am I as good as I thought. Or is it just my mind, playing games, as I yearn for the top.

   Once again, I said. This work is a test. It might work and it might not. I'm sorry should I jest, with your heart that yearn for more.