Act I
Chapter XI
1st Millennia of Daor Loyar, Mekanip’s Tavern - 8th of Yluj
Zeph’s sly, joyful expression remains unfazed by the tension between us. “Filthy, eh? Ha! Dark secrets, deep plots, twisted truths — You’ve got to get dirty to uncover these.” He glances at Yalda, smirking, amused by the black knight. “I’ll be honest,” Zeph begins, his tone light and mocking. “It’d be fun to see if you put your money where your mouth is. Most people that desperate to kill me are some of the easiest folks I’ve ever beaten.” He chuckles to himself, as if sharing an inside joke, before turning his attention back to me.
“Now, a king like you… I’m sure you’re interested in politics of the shadows. The stuff you really can’t ever know unless you’re there yourself, eh?” Zeph’s tone takes on a more serious note, his eyes narrowing as he leans forward slightly. “If I was there, I’m sure I’d like to know all the little details about how someone might plot my demise. But why proclaim your question so openly?” He pauses, tilting his head with a playful curiosity. “Unless something about it scares you?”
Zeph relaxes in his confidence, unbeknownst to the magnitude of being allowed to converse with me. “But, if you said that you’ve met Batfolk, or Chirops as you call ‘em, you’re sure to know that we ain’t fickle people,” Zeph continues.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. People? That is a bold claim. After what they have done to my people in order to rebel against my claim to God-King, they are more akin to vermin.
“Well, if they went extinct, maybe all of ‘em are chumps in your land. Most of ‘em are where I come from, but me? Heh. These big ears ain’t for show.” He gestures around the entire tavern, showing the wealth of information that passes through this place. “As a batfolk…”
“It. Speaks. Too. Much,” Yalda’s voice boom inside my voice, accompanied by hints of annoyance.
“…I have a hobby for eavesdropping on folks—plenty of times to save my scalp, but plenty more to get information that most people don’t want me to know. And knowing this tavern’s got some of the most important folks across the beyond. Best believe I have a clue to what you’re after.”
He taps the counter next to him; the sound echoing softly in the tense silence. “Sixty gold pieces. Set that right here, and that’ll keep me living swimmingly for a while. For you, a minuscule price to pay for me to spill the beans on Dunamis.”
I motion for Yalda to kneel, a silent command akin to an owner instructing a loyal dog. The hulking figure obeys, his mechanical growl simmering down as he settles into a crouch. A dim blue light radiates from beneath my tunic, casting an ethereal glow that accentuates the markings and tattoos hidden beneath. As the light intensifies, a small silver chest materializes above my lap, floating as if it awaits my touch. I let it hover for a moment, its presence thickens the air.
“One hundred-twenty gold pieces,” I declare, authority in my tone. “Sixty for your ask, and sixty to pay what left of my respect for the Chirops of my world. They were a key component in a rebellion I brought to an end. Although exterminating their existence was quite merciful.” With a flick of my wrist, the chest floats gently to the counter Zeph had showed. The coffer glimmers as it lands, its lid opening to reveal the gold coins and few mysterious gems, treasures of high value in the Margrave Realm. Yet, only a tool at my expense. “Know that your kind fought brilliantly, Chirop.”
Zeph reaches into the chest, grabbing a handful of the gold coins. He scrutinizes them, then a grin spreading across his face. “It’s real, that’s for sure. Plenty of fake coins out there, but these are authentic.” His giggle is unsettling, a sound that grows in intensity as he suddenly ignites the coins in his hand. The flames lick at the metal, melting it into a molten pool that drips on the floor. The batfolk’s laughter becomes manic, a gleeful madness as he watches the gold liquefy.
In an instant, Zeph clenches his hand into a fist, light surrounding it. He slams his fist down into the chest with a force that causes a minor explosion. Smoke billows out, the pressure of the blast pushing back against the occupants of the tavern. Fire ignites, the room briefly bathed in a chaotic blaze. Liquid gold splatters everywhere, while fragments of broken coins scatter across the counter and floor. A few gems remain intact, but the chest is now a shattered mess, remnants of its contents strewn about.
As the smoke clears, Zeph emerges from the haze, a few feet away from his previous spot. He holds his shot glass, his expression one of gleeful malice. His eyes lock onto mine, a sinister smile curling his lips.
“You know,” he begins, his tone dripping with contempt, “if I really cared about your money, I’d just grab it and run. I bet you think you’re strong enough to stop me if it came to that, but I frankly doubt it.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if the destruction he just caused was a mere trifle. “Because all it took was a little sweet-talking, and I got you to fork over a sweet fortune just ‘cause I seemed convincing enough.” Zeph points at me with his free hand, the gesture aggressive and accusatory. “That’s all you monarchs will ever be. Narrow-minded dirtbags with a grubbing obsession for power. But you have shortcomings you won’t ever admit, and dogs on a leash to do your bidding ‘cause you ain’t strong enough to do it yourself.”
Zeph snickers again, clearly relishing the moment. It’s obvious he’s pleased with him for drawing my attention and attempting to make a mockery of me. If only he knew, but I bet he let his imagination run wild, filling in the blanks with assumptions and accusations. His use of words implies to me that there’s more to this tavern than I understand.
He takes one last sip of his glass. Smoke parts from his lips, his palms glow — melting the glass through his fingers before smearing it across the table.
“I take back what I said about those Chirops,” Zeph continues, his tone laced with sarcasm. “They must’ve been cunning, and I bet you only think they’re all dead if they were smart enough to fight back. Even if I knew what that place is or what group you’re hunting, I’ll let you in on a little free info.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering. “You’ll never quench rebellion, and just so we’re clear, everyone bleeds. Whether you have a million or a thousand people telling you otherwise, you’ll be a corpse someday. And I hope the mangy vultures that pick at it savor that meal since it’ll be more beneficial to the world than your continued breathing.”
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The room falls silent. Zeph’s words suspend in the air. I take stock of his response, a flicker of mild amusement crossing my features. His defiance is bold, perhaps foolish, but undeniably captivating. My pupils flicker violently, blazing with the golden light as if detecting the murderous intent boiling within me.
Mercy, they seem to transmit to me a whisper from beyond. “A modicum of clemency,” I mutter under my breath. As I study Zeph’s rebellious expression, I’m reminded of the Chiropteras’ final stand—how they fought fiercely.
“A handful of impertinence in return. They’re all the same,” I muse aloud, my voice an icy whisper. The surrounding aura, a malicious force of turpitude, fills the air. The small throne I’ve been sitting on dissipates into nothingness as I rise, paying an eerie obeisance to Zeph, as though presiding over a funeral. I take a few measured paces away, my back turned to the batfolk. My eyes, still burning with the golden flame, gaze intently at the liquid gold splattered on the floorboards. I rotate towards Zeph’s direction, wanting to see the bat’s gruesome death.
“Yalda,” I call out, my voice steady and emotionless.
“Yes, Master?” Yalda responds eagerly, lifting his head.
“Devour,” I command, my tone final and unyielding.
And without missing a beat, the hunk of armor discharges a spirit of excitement. Yalda then thunderously stamps his foot onto the floor, instantaneously rising from a kneel to a forward lunge. The black knight springs his hand out with precision, catching the arrogant Chirop by the neck and lifting him off the ground. Steam hisses from the slits in Yalda’s helmet as he exhales, as if taking a moment to relish his catch before consuming it. The slit across his helmet widens into a sinister smile, revealing hints of serrated denticles, a gruesome preview of what’s to come.
Yalda’s other hand mimics the point of a blade as he aims to plunge it into Zeph’s stomach. But to my surprise, Zeph ignites his neck in a sudden blaze. I know the fire wouldn’t harm Yalda, although the Chirop slips out of Yalda’s grasp, flying backward.
There’s a subtle change in Yalda’s armor. I notice his gauntlets had grown thinner, a dark substance dripping from his fingers. Is this Zeph’s magic? I’ve never met a Chirop that could use magic before.
Twisting midair with ease, Zeph lands on the ground as his eyes locks with Yalda’s, then mine. The smile on his face remains.
“You can’t take the truth, so you try to get rid of me instead,” Zeph taunted, the flames around his neck dissipating. He chuckles, glaring directly at me, filled with defiance. “Typical. Though if bribing someone a little more counts as respect for wiping them all out in another universe, I can see how you lied to yourself so you can sleep at night.” He glances back at Yalda, the knight’s posture stiffening with indignation. “He must pay you well, huh? Except you just look like you’re fond of fighting people. Takes courage to sell you independence for little yellow rocks.”
Amused by Zeph’s narrow escape, I watch intently, contemplating whether to step in or simply let Yalda enjoy his hunt. The situation brings back memories of hunting chirops once after their failed rebellion.
With gleeful enthusiasm, Yalda picks up his broadsword, oblivious to the deteriorating state of his gauntlet. “Yalda. Serve. Master. Indefinitely,” he proclaims, his voice echoing with an unsettling mix of pride and mania. Steam billows from the apertures of his helmet, synchronized with his maniacal chuckle. He crouches into a predatory lunge, calculating the distance between himself and Zeph. Then, with a sharp, ear-piercing crack, Yalda suddenly closes the gap, his movement a blur, appearing inches away from the Chirop. The metal clangs against the floor where Yalda once stood—his broadsword, still attached to a half-melted gauntlet.
As Yalda stands there, poised in a position that would’ve skewered Zeph through the chest, the situation takes an unexpected turn. Almost instantaneously, Zeph reacts, darting to the side with surprising agility. He dodges Yalda’s attack and retaliates by spraying a cone of fire from his hands.
A shadowy miasma where a human hand should be takes place of Yalda’s missing gauntlet. A disconcerting display of his true nature. I wonder if Zeph could truly see Yalda’s movements, or is his echolocation truly remarkable?
“Teleportation, huh? I fought a portal-wielding freak just a day ago. You ain’t special.” Zeph taunts, lacing his bravado with a torrent of fire toward Yalda. The flames pour out furiously, engulfing the knight’s face and chest. Despite the fiery onslaught, the beast shows no signs of developing burns. He laced his bravado with a torrent of fire toward Yalda, saying, “Chump, if all you do is slash people with a sword, then this battle is already decided.”
He stops the fiery barrage and instead ignites his fists, flames swirling around them like a protective armor. As the smoke clears, Yalda stands at the center, unbothered and seemingly unscathed. His growl of delight echoes as he charges at Zeph like a raging bull, each step echoing with malice.
“That’s enough,” I command, my voice cutting through the chaos. My hand extends, and Yalda halts abruptly, his form disintegrating into a shadowy cloud. The mist swirls around me, coalescing into a long, thin blade with the hilt already in my grasp. I examine the transformed Yalda with care. A mere batfolk melting him down like iron in a burning crucible.
“So, that guy was just some magic then, eh? Sold his soul to you or something? You’re lucky he retreated, ‘cause I was about to destroy him faster than you would’ve realized.” He scoffs, turning his head and raising his arms, hands still aglow with fire. He clenches his fist, the flames licking at his skin. “I don’t care what type of powers you wield, nor how you think you’ll kill me. I’m here to make a statement.”
Curiously, I point my palm off to the side, attempting to cast magic. A spark sputters from my hand, dissipating into an anticlimactic puff of smoke. The Barkeep’s intense glare meets mine. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take that outside,” he states firmly. Suddenly, a powerful shockwave reverberates through the tavern, accompanied by a muffled monstrous roar. A chilling reminder of the destructive power I wield—a spell meant to level cities, enormous mountains, and seemingly immeasurable armies—now reduced to a mere whisper within these walls. The shockwave, though muted, instills my newfound respect for the tavern’s mysterious nature—a place where the usual rules do not apply.
I nod to the barkeep in acknowledgment, an unspoken understanding. The spell had been diverted to the ether outside the tavern, humbling me within boundaries. My attention returns to Zeph, who stands defiantly before me. “You look strikingly similar to a great Chirop general I once slew,” I begin, my voice carrying a note of nostalgia. “He requested a duel with me, offering himself in place of his kind. I demonstrated the difference in our power by razing a mountain to the ground with a single blast. Yet, even then, he found the courage to face me.”
A faint glow emanates from beneath my tunic, black lightning crackling between my fingers. “He lacked innate fire capabilities, but wielded his blade with remarkable skill.” I narrow my gaze, locking eyes with Zeph, my golden pupils burning with eagerness. “Entertain me,” I say, gesturing for him to strike first.
Zeph’s voice carries a sneer of disdain, his confidence demeanor unshaken. “I’ll make you realize you’re as mortal as the rest of us!” he declares. He braces himself, tensing to attack—as he prepares to defy a god.