Chapter 15: Nation of Intellex
The Jhatt emerged during the end of the Second Epoch, a remarkable race that commanded both awe and wariness. Nature had blessed them with four mighty arms, each limb possessing strength that could bend steel and the grace of a dancer. Their skin, reminiscent of living stone statues, turned even the sharpest blades. But it was their golden eyes that became their most legendary feature – mesmerizing both man and woman alike.
These warriors first arose in the frost valleys of Northern Lupus, where the harsh climate forged their resilience. As centuries passed, they began their great wandering, spreading across continents until their descendants could be found in every corner of the world. Yet true Jhatt remained as rare as summer snow, their original numbers few.
In their early history, they practiced the brutal tradition of 'plegious' – raids to capture others and bend them to their will. But time and interaction with other peoples gradually softened these ancient ways. By the time of the Sixth Epoch, pure-blooded Jhatt had become living legends, with perhaps only a handful remaining.
Though their mixed-blood descendants rarely inherited the four arms or stone-like skin of their ancestors, one trait proved stubborn in its persistence: those haunting golden eyes. Through countless generations, those amber orbs continued to mark the children of Jhatt blood, a reminder of their formidable heritage.
Annie and Max were both of mixed Jhatt blood, though Max carried Ancient Dammaras blood as well. This heritage blessed him with heightened senses, allowing him to detect the intruders before even his wife noticed them.
"Gharak kir trusha," Annie said, her amber eyes fixed on the man before them. In the ancient Lupian tongue, 'trusha' marked an enemy who posed mortal threat.
The man lounging in the center of their small house sneered. "Oh, Lupian? I never thought a half-blood like you would speak the language of those barbaric animals. I only speak Heraphant though" His casual demeanor belied the deadly threat he represented.
"What do you want?" Max's voice carried an edge of steel, though subtle tremors betrayed his anxiety.
"Answer my previous question: which race do you think reigns supreme in the world currently?"
Max and Annie exchanged worried glances, their minds racing to understand what this mysterious figure represented. Their instincts screamed danger – this man could end their lives at any moment.
"Boring, always boring," he drawled. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand. After all, you're more like pets rather than intelligent s—"
Annie's fist cut through the air with lethal intent, her strike fueled by both rage and desperation. She knew she had to act now, if only to give her precious son a chance later. "Ghrak-ka kir trusha-mrigh!" she snarled.
But her punch never landed. It stopped mid-air as if striking an invisible wall. The man's smile grew wider, more twisted – a mockery of their helplessness.
"You half-breeds really think you can act as you please before me? The great scholar Sr. Travis Scott, strongest general in Sternfall? You fucking bitch, at least pleasure me before I throw you to my soldiers waiting outside..."
A sudden force struck him, drawing blood from his mouth.
"Cough! Ahhh!"
"You bastard!" Travis growled at Max, who now stood protectively before his wife, his dark skin and golden eyes blazing with fury.
"Don't you dare speak another foul word. You think we fear you? We'd rather die than cower before someone like you."
"Is that so?" Travis said, pulling back his long hair. He dabbed at his bloodied mouth with a pristine handkerchief, his smirk never wavering. "Let me show you why humans, though born with no special abilities, have survived in this world. It's because we are blessed. We are the sole chosen of the almighty."
Ability: Air Prison
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Inside Tempa Forest
"Clotho, I didn't know you were such a naughty boy," Hasina said, her tone playful and teasing.
"It was my first time..." Clotho whispered, lowering his head.
"Oh, I had plenty of—" Hasina said nonchalantly.
"What? Who?" Clotho's voice rose in shock.
"Yes, I had plenty of experience sleeping in forests like that."
"Oh... sleeping. Yes... of course, sleeping," Clotho sighed with relief.
Hasina's thoughts drifted: How cute. Don't act like that or we'll have to go another ten rounds, you stupid Clotho. Though I didn't expect it to hurt so much. But I'm happy – I can finally be his.
She moved closer, taking his arm. "Clotho, promise you'll never leave me alone."
"What are you talking about? Let's go home first. Father might be there already."
"Oh, I don't know what to tell Aunty. She told me to bring you quickly, but..."
"Don't worry. It was my fault anyway..."
As they approached their house, they found only devastation. Fire consumed everything, nearby homes reduced to ash as if some calamity had swept through the village.
"Mom!" Clotho's cry echoed through the burning air. His world shattered, heart pounding with terrible possibilities. "No... no... where are you? Dad? Mom? Anyone, please answer! Who... who did this?"
He collapsed to his knees, mind reeling. At seventeen, he knew nothing of his Jhatt heritage or the cruel world that had come knocking at his door. His screams tore through the smoke-filled air until a gentle hand touched his shoulder.
Hasina stood beside him, tears streaming down her face. "Clotho... please calm down. How will you find Aunty if you break down? Aunty Annie is the strongest person I know – even the village chief fears her. Nothing could happen to her."
Clotho rose slowly, wiping away his tears with clenched fists. Together, they searched the village, discovering a horror worthy of history books: crimson blood soaked the sand, flames bearing witness to atrocities future historians would debate. One word that sometimes epoches through history surfaced in their mind.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Invasion.
Having lost everything, Hasina and Clotho retreated to the familiar forest of their youth. Whether driven by fear of unknown enemies or drawn by memories of happier days, they found solace in each other. Though their world lay in ruins, perhaps they could rebuild it together.
In 11999 L.C., during the sixth month, Tempa fell to Sternfall's sudden invasion. The kingdom vanished from maps, becoming mere territory of Sternfall. Official documents recorded it as an unremarkable conflict with only twenty thousand casualties. Yet Sternfall's soldiers still spoke of how the women died last – not by weapons, but by their own hands. Some became slaves, others something less than human, their consciousness stripped away. The king perished alongside his three wives and five sons. The fate of Tempa's only daughter, sixteen at the time, remained unknown.
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Two months after the war, Clotho sat on a broken chair, its leg threatening to collapse at any moment. Hasina stood nearby, watching him eat.
"Did you eat?" he asked.
"I ate this morning. You know us beautiful girls have to maintain our diet," she said with a practiced smile.
Clotho saw through her lie. Though not the smartest, he possessed an uncanny ability to sense human emotions – greed, lust, anger, and especially hunger showed clearly in people's eyes.
"Hasina, they might be hiring at the new clothing factory. They're launching new designs... I'll be home late tonight. Don't wait for me – eat dinner yourself."
As he rose to leave, her thin fingers caught his arm. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
"Clotho, did you know today's my birthday?"
"I... didn't. I'm sorry."
"My only wish is for you to come home early so we can spend the night together."
"I'll try..." he said hesitantly.
"Good. Often trying succeeds where promises fail," she replied with a gentle smile.
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Acamis, the capital of the Meritocratic State of Intellex, bustled with life. Students seeking education to break free from middle-class chains mingled with those searching for their next meal. Prestigious universities and research centers dominated the skyline. Book vendors lined the streets, hoping to earn some atana. Despite the city's grandeur, only a single church stood within its borders.
Being close to the Sea of Comere, security remained tight, though invasion seemed unlikely. The uncharted waters beyond the Freya Continent remained mysterious to most races, few even aware of life beyond their shores.
Clotho wandered through the crowds, seeking any work to support Hasina. Her declining health haunted him – she grew thinner by the day. After two months of searching for his parents, even a child would understand their likely fate. He had begun to accept this cruel reality.
He chose Intellex not only for its proximity to former Tempa but for its booming clothing industry. Outside a mill, crowds gathered, their complaints indistinct. A brown-skinned man wearing an odd hat guarded the gate, maintaining order among those seeking work in a place where humans were treated as insects.
"No pushing! Anyone who breaks the line will be remembered – no work for a month!"
"We need three men with good builds. Step forward!"
"Here! Look here!" Clotho called out.
"Hmm... yes, good. Come inside, boy."
The mill stood as a monument to progress, brick and steel merging past with future. Machinery hummed constantly, while the thick scent of fabric and dust filled the air. Men and women worked side by side, their gender marked only by their work attire – practical trousers and blouses that spoke of utility over beauty. Easy to work and cheap was the philosophy that ruled their days.
Clotho performed his assigned tasks until receiving a meager meal – a small potato he saved for Hasina. As he prepared to leave, a familiar voice cut through the mechanical din.
"Clotho?"
The voice struck a chord of memory. "Tadano?"
Nostalgia washed over Clotho at the sight of his childhood friend. Despite the grime of factory work, Tadano's eyes still held their familiar warmth.
"How are you? Is Hasina with you?" Tadano's enthusiasm pierced the dreary atmosphere.
"Yes. She and I are together now."
"Is that so..." A shadow passed over Tadano's face.
"What about you? You had vast lands to your name. What brought you here?"
"You're as stupid as always." Tadano settled beside Clotho, steam rising from his potato. His eyes narrowed. "Wait, did you finish your meal already?"
"Yes," Clotho replied, too quickly.
"Here, take half of mine."
Before Clotho could protest, Tadano split his potato, the steam escaping like a final breath.
"After the war, Sternfall seized everything. I had some savings, but..." Tadano's jaw tightened. "That stupid bastard stole it all."
"Who?"
"Who else? Marco, of course. We came here together, but he fell into gambling. I warned him we needed to be careful, but—" Tadano shook his head. "Let's leave it."
"Marco's here in Acamis?"
"Probably drinking himself stupid in some alley."
The factory bell rang – three sharp peaks that cut through conversation like a blade. Workers shuffled back to their stations, knowing fifteen hours of labor stretched before them, broken by a single precious break. Some would collapse from exhaustion, but fresh bodies would replace them before their spots grew cold. In Acamis, there was never a shortage of desperate souls.
Night descended on Acamis like a heavy curtain. The bustling streets fell silent save for patrolling guards and the distant barking of watchdogs. Streetlamps cast pools of light at measured intervals, like stars fallen to earth. On certain benches, painted ladies waited, sometimes joined by guards seeking company through the long hours. Summer nights brought a peculiar mercy to the homeless – at least they needn't fear freezing in their sleep. Winter belonged to the rich, but summer nights offered the poor a gentle respite.
Clotho walked alone, his mind wandering between reality and dreams. Sometimes he imagined himself a king, ruling from a grand palace with Hasina beside him, radiant in white silk. The fantasy brought an unbidden smile to his face.
"She's probably angry with me," he murmured, clutching the saved potato. "But I have a gift for her."
As he approached their modest home, sounds from within stopped him cold. His body tensed, ready to charge, but caution held him back. If they held Hasina hostage, one wrong move could—
He forced himself to breathe, to think. Let's assess the situation first.
Then the voices reached him, and his world began to crack.
"Marco, so this was the girl you always talked about. I have to say, you didn't disappoint."
"You know me. I know the quality when I see it."
"But you know, she resisted quite a bit."
The door splintered under Clotho's hands.
"Huh? Who are you?" A muscled man looked up with the entitled annoyance of one interrupted at his leisure.
Five men surrounded a figure on the floor. Hasina lay there, blood staining her lips, eyes vacant and unseeing. Bruises marred her legs, and dust clouded her skin – skin that had once been pure as virgin snow. Clotho had known every facet of her: her care, her anger, her teasing, her passion. Her father had named her "Beautiful," and to Clotho, she had been beauty itself. Now he stood frozen, his soul withering as the potato slipped from numb fingers.
"Clotho?" Marco's voice held recognition.
"Clotho? Oh, the one you told us about. Perfect timing for revenge," another man sneered.
In one fluid motion, a man's face separated from his skull, painting the wall crimson. Drops of blood fell like tears onto Hasina's cheek.
That night exists in fragments in my memory. I remember only flashes: the crimson moon watching overhead, my wife's silent form below. What happened between those moments, what I did to those men – perhaps it's mercy that I cannot recall.