∼ DAY 82 ∼

Deep within the decrepit tunnels of Eldriac, leisurely laying in a wide and open room opulently decked with mounds of pillows and expensive rugs like that of a Persian palace, a large figure relaxed. Wholly uncaring of the happening outside in the colossal underground city.

Long flowing black hair like that of abyssal silk, pale unblemished skin, salacious facial features that would put any seductress to utter shame, cold and dangerous but ultimately alluring eyes, and a body perfectly sculpted to entice any man - or woman. Zath'ash Eralor was both a divine and unholy beauty.

However, she was not a woman for men with fickle hearts. From the waist down, the gorgeous beauty that was her humanoid figure no longer continued to be. Smooth and black chitinous skin, a large bulbous rear, and eight spindly legs extending from the sides, the Arachnid woman could both enchant and terrify a man to death.

Leisurely resting her large body, both human and arachnoid, on a mound of silks and cloths, she lazily ate what appeared to be glowing berries, a delicacy of the utmost caliber in this region.

Cauldriac Berries were beyond rare and costly, only growing in the deepest and darkest pits of the Eldriac mines and abyss, slews of workers dying every day simply to retrieve them as they have to battle against the abyssal creatures of the depths, however, for someone like Zath'ash, the berries were nothing more than snacks.

As chittering could be heard coming from the hallway to her chambers, Zath'ash stopped eating, a frown creasing her delicate brow. There weren't many that dared disturb her, so whoever it was, she didn't need to guess.

"Ez'zath, what is it?" Her melodically sinister voice asked.

"My lady," A figure said, entering the chamber from a dark hallway entrance.

Standing even larger than Zath'ash herself, Ez'zath was a behemoth. Unlike Zath'ash tough, he didn't look like a human sewn onto a spider's body. Still sporting a humanoid figure with a spider lower-half, his whole appearance was through and through arachnid.

As a lesser being compared to his master, it wasn't surprising that he looked as such.

Bowing deeply, Ez'zath showed his clear subservience to his master, even though she wasn't one of the noble lines of the Arachnids. But her lack of noble blood mattered not for Ez'zath as Zath'ash was something that made her authority and status rival even those of the noble lines.

She was a Sanctioned Lord.

"We have received word that a tertiary relic has fallen into the possession of the regent of Ebongrave." The servant reported.

"Oh, really?" She said, mild curiosity tinging her dangerously tantalizing voice. "But what would an old crone like him do with that. He doesn't have anyone to give it to as for as I remember. I mean, he definitely wouldn't give it to that damn necromancer, even if his life and title depended on it. It still amazes me why he hasn't taken action against them yet, seeing as how much he hates those of the stagnating arts."

"Indeed, my lady. Astute as ever." Ez'zath nodded.

"Enough with the pleasantries Ez'zath," She sighed. "We both know that I do not care for them."

"My apologies." He said, bowing. "But yes, it is clear that the regent has no use of the relic so he actually intends on putting it up as a reward for that tournament of his."

Frowning, Zath'ash asked. "Why? Is he expecting other Sanctioned Lords to be participating? We aren't exactly bountiful and easy to come by."

"Maybe, or it might be that he honestly might just not have anything better to do with it." Ez'zath proposed.

Glancing away, he paused, the chittering of his legs clearly indicating his apprehensiveness.

"Does my lady not wish to acquire it?" He finally asked, hesitantly.

"What use do I have for it?" She scoffed. "I have already collected all my three tertiary relics and I'm just waiting for when the games begin so that I can obtain my secondary relics." She explained, stroking a beautifully intricate pendant on her chest nestle between her ample bosom.

"It matters not if it's in my possession or another's." She continued. "By any means, I hope another Sanctioned Lord gets their hands on the relic and complete their first heirloom stage so I needn't wait so long for the games to start."

Seeing that her servant clearly wanted to say something, she sighed. "What is it?"

"It's just that my lady, why not team up with Asethh and help him acquire this relic." He said hastily, his chittering voice echoing in the chambers. "He's recently gotten his second tertiary relic, with the one from Ebongrave too, you could ensure each other's safety in the death games when the time comes."

Shooting her servant a piercing gaze, Zath'ash was not happy hearing him even mention that wretched man that she hated so much, not even considering the fact that he had just asked her to cooperate with him. With any other servant, she would have had them tortured and executed by now for even saying something like that, but with Ez'zath she knew that he only had her safety and well-being in mind.

This loyal servant had dedicated himself utterly to her, and she could not fault his worries.

"No, I'll never work with that man." She said tersely. "Never mention this again."

"My apologies Master." He said, bowing deeply as he retreated back into the shadows of the corridor.

***

"Is that all you've got!?" A thundering voice growled through strained grunts.

In a large and open field surrounded by an endless sea of tents in all sizes and shapes, two large figures were barechested and brawling, hands locked and dirt covering their sweaty bodies.

Easily eclipsing two meters in height, with hulking muscles, rough and masculine features, a mane of large and puffy brown hair, and a pair of round bear-like ears on the top of their heads, the two figures were practically identical except for the age difference and size. The older looked to be in his fifties whereas the young looked to be barely eighteen.

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But it wasn't surprising as these two were father and son.

Sensing a presence behind him, the father put a bit of his strength into his arms, the younger of the two all of a sudden finding himself with his world turned upside down, smashing into the ground roughly.

Turning around, the older man smiled broadly as he saw a large figure before him, equalling his own impressive size.

"Son! - You're back." He laughed heartily, splaying his large arms wide.

"Hello, father." The man said giving his father a big bear hug.

The eldest of his sons, Orca was not only of high status within the horde, but he was also the most promising youth, being a fully-fledged Sanctioned Lord who had already achieved much down this road of power and supremacy.

Looking over his father's broad shoulder, Orca grinned.

"What's up little Konna, dad being hard on you?" He asked the dazed Konna rubbing a lump on his head from his untimely meeting with the ground.

"Yeah..." He groaned. "You know how he gets."

Looking pityingly at his brother, Orca couldn't help but shudder with remnant fear when he remembered back to when his father trained him.

"Son, how come you're back from your journey so soon?" His father asked confusedly. "Did something happen?"

"No, not anything in particular," Orca said. "It just that the spirits seem to be foretelling that the games might begin soon so I thought I should get back with the family before that."

With his face going stern, Urnos knew what his son was thinking. He prided in the fact that his son was a born shaman, having already reached incredible heights with the class with his tender young age. So even though the whisperings of the spirits were fickle at best, he would trust his son's divinations and foresight before anything else.

The games were a dangerous affair, and although he knew that practically none ever stood a chance of being a danger to his son's life, the world was vast and this might truly be the last time they dine together...

"Come - come, your mother will cook up a feast for us all." The older man said, cheering up by discarding and hiding his worries so that he wouldn't trouble his son's heart and resolve.

It was his duty as a father to stand as a symbol, an idol, to never end up holding back his son's ambitions with his own concerns.

"Great, I'm famished." He grinned. "It's been too long without mother's cooking."

Helping his little brother up from the ground, he was about to hug him but in the corner of his eye, he caught a figure listlessly wandering through the tents in the distance.

Adopting a sour but regretful expression, Orca looked to his father.

"How is uncle doing?"

With his father taking a complete turn from jovial happiness to badly hidden hatred, Orca winced.

"What about him?" He spat, looking to the gaunt and bedraggled figure in the distance. "Child, don't tell me you still hold any good for that traitor?"

Not responding, Orca just looked at his feet, conflict clear on his face.

Uncle Warce, a great warrior and hero of the tribe turned traitor to his people, was once Orca's greatest idol, even more so than his own father. Uncle Warce had always treated Orca favorable, almost like his own son, and Orca loved the old battle-scarred man for all that he had taught him and the good memories they shared.

However, on one fateful day, everything was turned on its head as it had been suddenly discovered that Warce had committed an act that was considered one of the greatest crimes an enlightened could possibly commit

He had sired a child with a monster beastkin.

To the enlightened beastkin, the monster side of the people was the greatest tarnish on their honor and there wasn't a single enlightened beastkin who wouldn't do anything in their power to kill one of those monster abominations who resemble their kind.

To them, it was a total disgrace that there even existed a version of themselves that was monster.

So when it was found out that Uncle Warce had not only mated with a monster but also fathered a child with one, there had been an outrage.

Although the child that came from the enlightened and monster parring had ended up as one of the enlightened, a child of Orca's same age and surprisingly of even greater shamanic potential to himself, the mere stigma of having been born from a monster was enough to have it executed.

But because of the fact that Warce was the son of the horde chief who ruled at the time and that he was a hero to all within the horde, the child was instead spared and exiled, whereas Warce was allowed to keep his place in the horde.

But as stout as the man were, Warce would never leave his child alone, so he offered to exile himself with his offspring. But seeing as Warce had already been pardoned more than enough for his 'terrible' transgression, people thought some actual punishment was in order.

As such, the council of elders budded in, giving Warce an ultimatum.

Stay in the horde and exile the child, or both face execution right then and there.

Not able to sentence his very own child to death, Warce took the only option that would maybe mean that his child would get to live another day.

Ever since then, the man had been shunned and ostracized by all of the horde, and Orca could almost not bear to see the man he once looked up to being in such a state.

"Let's go, your mother is dying to see her son after such a long time," Urnos said, bringing Orca out of his sorrowful thoughts.

Giving one last glance at his once idol and hero, Orca turned and left.

***

Storming down the wretched halls of the Mortanis noble family, Asethh K'or was enranged. But in his haze of anger and indignation, he barely noticed that he didn't know where he was going.

So stopping, Asethh tried his luck with the first of the large door engraved with depictions of decrepit magical conjurations. But as a vile stench billowed out suddenly billowed as he opened the door, hitting Asethh's nostrils like a charging stowler, he almost emptied the contents of his stomach right there.

To his misfortune, the very first room he looked into was a corpse assembly.

"Who's disturbing my work!" A feminine voice shrieked, making Asethh's heart sink with barely hidden dread as he recognized it.

In the center of the large room looking like a mix between a torture chamber, a doctor's office, and a laboratory, a woman stood with a white apron smothered in blood, brine, pus, and a variety of other disgusting bodily things.

On a large table before her, a huge abomination of sewn-together flesh and melded bones lay, split open, and apparently in the mid of some grotesque surgery.

"Ah, it's you..." The woman said disdainfully when she realized it was the figure of Asethh who was standing at the entrance gagging while he attempted to regain his bearings.

"What do you want?" She spat, clearly impatient when he didn't respond, still dry-heaving.

"Urgh- w-where's Lord Mortanis?" Asethh asked, trying to hold his disgust hidden and bile in.

Glaring at the pathetic excuse for a noble, she sneered.

"He's at the end of the hall!" She yelled, not sparing him another glance. "Leave, I have work to do, and you're letting out all the ambient miasma."

More than happy to leave that wretched but beautiful woman to her depraved work, Asethh skittered out of the room and down the hall, as fast as his spindly spider legs could take him.

By all that is divine... how he hated this palace as all the miasma and twisted death that was in the air were practically suffocating to a normal and living being like him. But unfortunately, for Asethh, he had no choice in the matter of which patron he could choose. If he wanted to achieve true power ascend beyond Eldrician peers, he could only bear with it.

For now...

Arriving at the opulent large doors at the end of the spacious hall of ivory bones and necrotic stone, he was about to signal his presence with his aura but the huge doors opened on their own before he even could do so.

But to Asethh's horror, as the doors swung open, they revealed only what seemed to be an abyss of darkness. A thin veil of pure void covering the entrance.

Although he was now hesitating if he really wanted to have a meeting with the family head of Mortanis, Asethh toughened up and walked in. Showing fear and hesitation to a man like Lord Mortanis was a one-way ticket to the Underworld's ferryman - or the assembly table...

But the second Asetth stepped through the veil of darkness, he almost instantly regretted it as a surge of miasma engulfed his body. Unlike with the first room where the miasma was somewhat thick, in here, it felt like it was on the point of literally solidifying.

The film of darkness that had been at the entrance of the room had been in fact the veil that held in this incredible amount of twisted death.

Falling to the ground, Asethh strained under the miasma. He could've used his powers to fight back against it to some extent, however, he dared not do anything that might even contain a hint of threat or seen as disrespect in the domain of Lord Mortanis. Barely able to see the surroundings of the room, Asethh looked warily around until a deep and resounding voice spoke out.

"Why have you come to my chambers?" It said, the danger and morbid death in the voice causing chill to run down Asethh's spine.

"M-my Lord." He said, straining to bow at his waist.

"What is it?" The voice snapped. "I have matters to attend to."

Collecting his bearing, he remembered back to this morning. Anger and injustice started flooding his mind and inadvertantly suppressed the immense fear he was feeling in the presence of Mortanis.

"That damned fossil of a regent won't sell me the Relic," Asethh explained, revealing the great injustice he had endured. "No matter how much I offered him, even with the funds you've gifted me for my vassalage, he keeps rejecting my offers; saying that if I wanted the relic, I'd have to lower myself to enter the tournament and compete with those peasants to win."

"Who does he think he is!" Asethh screeched, the indignation and injustice of an honorable nobleman like himself being rejected by a commoner, someone whose name wasn't even on the noble steele.

"Once I claim my remaining relics and ascend to become a Promethean, that damned undead will learn his rightful place; as a mere minion under the boot of a necromancer. And I'll finally rule Ebongrave, as is rightfully mine." The voice proclaimed with anger slowly beginning to seeth from its tone. "However, is this the reason why you've come and disturbed me? Just because you can't handle your own failings?!"

"I-I, uh..." Asethh stammered nervously as now realized that he really hadn't thought it through as to why he came storming here. He had been so infuriated from being refused, he had just come running here, expecting Lord Mortanis to be able to somehow fix it.

There was one long awkward silence.

"Can't you do something about it?" He finally asked.

"What should I do about it?!" The voice bellowed suddenly, it wretched and wisened tone resounding in the hazy room of darkness and miasma. "I do not care whether or not a slob such as yourself gets your relics. Fix the matter yourself, you miserable imbecile."

As a gust of miasma all of a sudden stuck Asethh's body, he was sent flying out of the room, his body tumbling through the air as his legs skittered across the ground in an attempt to halt his tumble.

Stopping dozens of meters away, he groaned, sending a scathing look at the closing doors of Lord Mortanis' chambers.

"You damned necromancer! If not for the fact that my pitiable family is so pathetically weak, I would never have submitted it under your wretched one!" Asethh thought to himself indignantly as a noble such as himself had just been treated like that, glaring at the large doors all the while.