Rhododendrun struggled with each step, his thin and pitiful limbs struggling to carry him out through the destroyed deck. Enough mist had to remain behind to obscure the hunter’s vision, at this moment that is what the Scholar had become, and Rhododendrun felt it viscerally, fear. Depicted in his eyes beneath the mask, in his desperate movements, all pointed towards an abject fear of death, the knowledge that he wasn’t in control, that something stronger could end his existence. The mist was a part of him, and as the sun waned, his strength grew, yet even so he still felt it to be futile, redirecting those energies instead into repairing his broken frame.
He even went so far as to absorb the power granted to his puppets, while releasing direct control and expecting them to bide for time. Whatever plans he had originally harbored were gone, dust in the wind, but escaping with the knowledge that the enemy was privy to their ways, and capable of countering them spoke of an enemy that needed to be dealt with immediately. Time would be against them, if the Scholar was granted time to dig in, to reinforce his position and grow his forces they would soon find a nut too tough to crack. The southern tribes could be dealt with later, irrespective of the potential they held, the threat to the southwest was far more potent in Rhoden’s eyes.
If the Commander of the Order, the Praetor of the Holy Oak was informed of the truth then undoubtedly the entire weight of the legions would come to bare upon the weakened alliance of city states. Their pitiful defenses would crumble and there would be no unified army to contest them, the Frontier ruled over by the Scholar would be encircled and exterminated. Only then could they ensure that no unknown element would be able to interfere with the Goddesses plan.
“Hey, over there. That thing looks dangerous, sis throw something at it!” Rhoden heard the youthful voices before hearing something shatter, followed by a pungent liquid soak into his reforming and regenerating flesh. Upon turning his head, he witnessed the trio of youths, at their back were two of the Scholar’s lieutenants, the pair that had been engaged with Rafflesia in combat. Cursing the wohdling’s failure to cause any noticeable wounds he turned to run, aware that in his current condition combat would be far too risky.
“Hurry up and throw it Niko! It’s going to get away!” One of the young men hurled a burning torch in Rhoden’s direction, the Warden paid it little mind, such a fire would not do much. His outer skin capable of withstanding such a minor flame, even in his weakened state it would take minutes to catch. However, in his haste and after witnessing what he perceived as threats to his life, he failed to consider the liquid soaked into his still reforming body.
The outer layer wouldn’t catch, but it wasn’t just the outer layer that the liquid had seeped into, a reality that Rhoden realized when his body burst into flames. Upon contact the torch ignited the liquid, a fast-acting ignition fluid, which would burn out just as quickly as it came into being. Yet it was meant for campfires, or destroying supplies during a retreat, in this case the Warden’s body acted in a similar manner. The weakened wooden frame, lacking the earlier magical protections and in the process of repairing itself was no different from kindling, and his body became a pyre.
Rhoden released a terrible wail, screaming in pain as his flesh burned and regenerated in the same moment, a perpetual cycle of life and death repeating itself. He ran, sprinted as his body burned, his muscles and tissue melting as time passed. He made for the sea, not even bothering to look before diving over the railings, hoping desperately for the flames to be consumed by the deep waters.
However, the warden never hit the water, his body never becoming submerged in the open sea. What had awaited him was a dark void, a portal of sorts which swallowed him whole, all traces vanishing into thin air. All the while neither the youths, nor the pair of Maatilani or Malakos realizing exactly what they had inadvertently done.
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While Rhoden was busy fleeing, right before he was turned into a living pyre, down below in the heart of the enemy flagship, Caedyrn wiped the dust and debris from his coat, applying carefully measured amounts of medicinal paste to the small wounds scattered across his body. Upon searching the vicinity, he easily recognized the signs of his target’s escape, yet instead of giving chase his attention was drawn elsewhere, deeper within the heart of the vessel.
The further he traveled, the more potent and denser the dark energy became, all of which was concentrated behind a single door. Inside Caedyrn discovered the grisly altar, the destination of all those unfortunate souls either captured or purchased by the pirates. Human bodies lay in multiple stages of decay, most however were fresh, perhaps a day or two judging by the signs. Their death was neither quick nor painless, indications of torture aplenty, eyes plucked out and placed within gaping mouths, others having their stomachs cut open and stuffed with their own limbs or the limbs of others. Many sick and twisted acts of defilement had been enacted upon the victims, with everything pointing to them having still been alive.
All these deductions were proven by the dense haze within the confined space, the death mana present was so thick it had its own weight. Hundreds of deaths, their tortured screams and painful moments extracted and fed into the bloody altar upon which the corpses had been piled. Just to feed the orb which sat in the center of this macabre sight, to power its hunger for many, an inefficient method when mana crystals were not available.
“So much death… So much waste… even the children. You insane bastards do not even understand what you are doing, so lost and deranged you have become.” Caedyrn could not help but whisper to himself, his hand reaching out and shutting the children’s eyes, those that still had them. As he was going around and engaging in this act of mercy and repentance, the orb glowed with purple light, an image displayed within. Ephemeral specters moved about, and at its center sat a creature, armored from head to toe, its features completely masked except for the burning globes where its eyes would have been.
“Scholar, it would appear that you are doing just fine. I assume my disciple acted outside of his duties and sought greater glory. Undoubtedly your presence here, and his absence speaks volumes as to the situation. Are you sure it is wise for you to continue denying the Goddess? I have given you ample opportunity to convert to our ways… your resistance is futile; it is merely a matter of time before the cult spreads its wings and our lady descends from her celestial throne.” The creature spoke in a harsh grating tone, the death mask which covered its face only adding to the ghostly image reflected within the orb.
“It would appear that you have only grown more conceited, that arrogance, as if your victory is already certain irks me to no end. I refuse to acknowledge that thing you worship, and I will see you and all those who follow that cult burned. Do not expect me to fall to your words, these mental magics you employ have no effect upon me, they are an irritant at best.” Caedyrn’s opponent’s eyes slowly dimmed as it ceased the use of its power, while the dark mist around him subsided, transforming from a roiling ocean into a calm sea.
“You know that means death old friend.” Caedyrn did not so much as flinch as the creature spoke those words, and responded in a tone filled with malice, as if it could freeze the air itself. “Whatever friend you believe you had died ages ago, that individual no longer exists, and I will see to it that you and your kind are wiped from this world… Does that accurately relay my position?”
The Praetor of the Order of Chalybs glared at the man opposite him, as if he wanted nothing more than to reach out and crush his skull. After a moment of silence between the two, the Praetor finally answered, in a tone equally as chilling as his opponents. “So, you have chosen death… as you wish. I hope to have the pleasure of ripping your soul from that pitiful meat sack you call a body. I will try my hardest to ensure that you feel every waking minute, and I will savor that moment for all eternity… old friend.” With those parting words the orb slowly lost its light, leaving the Scholar alone to continue his grisly task.