Chaos erupted around Senn like never before. He had raided in pitch-black night, escaped from a burning temple, and been in more fights than he could count. But the dust storm made what followed much worse than any ambush. The dust choked the men up, blinded them, and made them look away. Strength or will were of no use. But their enemies didn't seem affected as much. Senn only managed to dodge an axe blow to the head thanks to his speed-reflexes, a product of instinct more than sight. He could barely see two paces in front of him or to his sides, and the screams and the clash of metal and flesh were muted as if it were all happening an arrow's flight away and not right next to him. He managed to dodge another blow as he felt the vibration in the air that betrayed the swing of a weapon. He wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. He was a goat amid famished canids, and all his speed could avail him was a moment's respite. He couldn't run ahead and risk impaling himself against a weapon. He didn't know how many enemies were there, but he knew who they were, and they would travel in force.
The Chainkeepers had to be the ones leading the attack, but the rest of the army would be Leashed men. There was no other force that would have dared attack them like that, but how were they able to avoid the storm's effects? Were they just lucky and had been following the storm eastward?
A chain appeared right in front of him, lashing out toward him. He grabbed it and dodged the hook on its end, throwing it in what appeared to be the direction it had come from. He recognized the sound of flesh ripping and felt the chain stiffen. He pulled slowly to avoid ripping the hook free, but there was little resistance. His attacker came into view barely an arm's length away. The hook had sunk into the flesh just below his collarbone and he was trying his best not to let it go. The hooks the Chainkeepers used were vicious, tearing huge chunks of flesh and bone if you tried to get them out by force. The man's face showed he knew what it would do to him if Senn yanked the chain free. He was applying pressure to the entry wound, his hands steady. He wasn't afraid, not in a stupid, careless way like that of a drunk man, but in a way that showed a certainty he held. What could be strong enough to keep him from fearing death?
Senn loosed his hold just a bit and surrounded the man, tying his arms close to his chest with his own chain. He then grabbed him in a chokehold with one arm, while holding the chain around his body with the other hand. Now subdued, the man's muscles seemed to relax, strangely.
"You seem to be able to see better than me," growled Senn close to his enemy's ear. "Lead me out of the storm so I can see what's happening, or I pull."
The man seemed to understand, and he started walking, then running, in one direction. He dodged to the side once or twice but otherwise kept a straight line. They couldn't be right in the thick of battle, or they would have struggled to move more than a few paces without clashing with the throngs of men.
"Can we run straight ahead?" he asked.
The man nodded.
I have to risk it, thought Senn. Or there won't be anything left of my army by the time I get control of them again.
He used his speed to run blindly ahead, charging with the Chainkeeper in front of him as a shield. If they ran into something, his enemy would pay for lying to him. But sooner than he thought, they were out of it, out of the dust storm and the fight, and witnessing the collapse of Senn's army.
Seen from the side, the storm was just a hundred paces wide, enough to obscure the vanguard of the Chainkeepers' army. Behind it, and moving fast around the storm to surround Senn's men, were the Leashed, in a number that was more than enough for the task, even if they weren't fighters. But they advanced as they did everything in their pitiful lives: with fear of retribution, and if the fear was strong enough, it could drive men to greater lengths than you would guess. Senn knew, for he had been one of them once.
His army was backing down, the men in front trying to trample the men in the middle and the ones in the back pushing to keep the whole army in place. The hunger that Senn and his betrayers had been pushing was now hard to extinguish among those not in the middle of the carnage, and they were keeping the men in front from dispersing and regrouping. The dust storm advanced slowly now, not like it had done when it rushed up on them, but as if it was controlled by someone with a stake in the fight.
He had to get back there, run up to the core of his army and force them to disperse. Now, or they would be overrun. He let go of the chain, not wanting to waste time on someone who would bleed to death in a few more minutes. He broke into a run, but the world turned and he fell on his back. Above him there was only a clear sky, but as he raised his hand to his face, he saw the chain around his forearm and the burns it had caused as he ran away and the chain drove deeper into his skin. He tried to get up, but he was flung in the air before he could get to his feet. He saw the Chainkeeper as he sailed over him, and there was a calm smile on his face. No fear, no hatred. Just clarity of purpose.
He realized why this Chainkeeper, and the ones he had met before, didn't fear death. They feared their king more. But no man could be feared thus, not when another man was right in front of you holding a knife to your throat. The only thing that could inspire such fear was a God. The same god that had given him the strength to stop Senn in mid-run and to make him fly through the air. The god that was giving that man the strength to rip free of his chains, when no muscles should allow him to do so, and to withstand the wound above the heart that would have felled a less inspired man. He, like everyone else in the Hub, had always believed the Forever King to be part man, part myth. A King that was never seen but always mentioned in whispers. If he ever died or was replaced by a successor, that was impossible to know. But he had believed it was a man, or a line of men holding their iron grip on the Hub since before memory.
Lord, prayed Senn wordlessly, why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you tell me you were not the only one?
Just then, Senn heard a voice in his head. Not his Lord's voice, as he had heard it so many times before his Lord had breached the Veil. No, it was a voice he didn't know.
Senn, it said, You don't know me yet, but you will. But now, fight!
The Chainkeeper jumped straight toward him, swinging the remains of the chain that still pierced his flesh. His muscles bulged as if inflated by the same wind that was ravaging the plains. Senn dodged, using a small part of his speed to stay out of reach. The Chainkeepers' gift seemed to have given him strength in his muscles, but would it help him against Senn's speed? He would have to find out the hard way. He threw an arrowhead at the Chainkeeper, but instead of ripping the flesh, it barely broke the skin. The Chainkeeper had ripped his shirt free, and he wore no armor. His muscles, though, were so strong they seemed to resist just as well as a boiled leather armor.
What other gifts has your... God... given you?
Senn hoped he wouldn't have to find out. He circled the Chainkeeper slowly, and the other man barely acknowledged him by rotating slightly. Senn had no swords, as those had been stuck in his saddle as he fell, but he did have two long, curved daggers, which were just as good. The problem was range. If the other man caught him in a chokehold, he wouldn't be able to resist hands that had broken chains. And if he used his speed to take him head-on, he risked getting caught in the chain itself, which the 'keeper was holding in front of him in a cascade.
What's his weakness? He kept circling his enemy, looking hard at him to figure it out. Watch him. Really watch him. His posture is all wrong. He's too straight, muscles tense even as he fakes being at ease. He's never fought on equal grounds. He's had his strength for a long time. He didn't need to adapt to fight. He just overwhelmed his enemies with strength and fear. He's no fighter. He's just strong.
Senn had always hated those who relied only on their physical strength, as if that was enough to survive.
He lunged forward with speed. As the chain loomed in front of him, he threw his legs first and slid beneath it, his knees grazing the dust, and then slashed with both daggers. Metal cut flesh above the thighs, but he didn't manage to hit a vein, and the cuts were shallow and didn't elicit even a grunt. Before he could get caught in the Chainkeepers' arms or chains, he rolled to one side and threw an arrowhead at his enemy's ankle. It didn't bounce off, and it managed to lodge itself in the space between muscle and bone. But it didn't seem to bother the muscled man as he swung his chain toward Senn. He dodged without needing to use speed, but he misjudged the move and somehow an end of the chain whipped back and struck him with force in his shoulder blades.
Don't underestimate him. You're older and shaken up. You have to end this fast and get back to your men.
He couldn't spare a glance for his army. Watching wouldn't help them. The screams, though, were still carried in the air and he couldn't escape them. Fight, you bastards!
Senn dashed forward at normal speed, feinting a knife thrust with his right hand, only to spin over his left foot and attack from the Chainkeepers' weak side, driving the dagger on his left hand up between his enemy's ribs. The dagger slid right in and lodged itself against a bone. Senn tried to drive it even deeper, but it wouldn't budge. He let go of that dagger and raise his right hand toward the man's throat. The Chainkeeper guessed where he would hit, so Senn's speed didn't help him avoid the larger man's clutch. His wrist broke, and then another hand grabbed his forearm and made it crunch. Senn spewed bile but managed to regain control. He jumped up and contorted his body with the help of the Chainkeeper's hold on him, rolling into a ball and then thrusting his legs outward toward the Chainkeeper's throat. At full speed, the Chainkeeper couldn't avoid it, and only his enhanced musculature prevented his trachea from being crushed. Still, the man fell back, the smirk he had maintained all along gone. He clutched his throat, and only then did he become fully aware of the knife on his side. His face turned pale, then red again, and then turned into a grimace. He lunged forward, his muscles bulging even more. His hands grabbed Senn's throat and started pushing. It was too much. Senn couldn't raise his right arm at all, having dislodged it somehow with his aerial move, on top of the broken bones. His left hand didn't hold the dagger anymore, and he couldn't reach the one protruding from the Chainkeeper's side any longer.
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Stupid... not like this...
And then it all stopped. The hands were still holding him, but there was no strength behind them. The Chainkeeper's eyes had turned opaque and, in a sudden move, he fell on top of Senn. Luckily, the man's muscles deflated as he expired, and the extra weight he had drawn from them dropped exponentially. Still, he was larger than Senn, and he got pushed under the corpse as it fell. Senn pushed him away just enough to breathe. He inhaled and exhaled slowly three times, then pushed him away with his good hand. He had won but at great expense. And this didn't seem to be a distinguished fighter, just one more in the vanguard. He leaned on his left hand and then rose slowly. He dared to look in his army's direction, and his speed flared unconsciously. He wanted to run toward them. And he did, though his speed was halved. He never had an inexhaustible supply of power, and he had used too much of it so far that day. He would only get a few more minutes of speed, and it wouldn't be enough.
Don't be a coward, he thought, You were powerless for much of your life, and still you fought on. Are you so weak now that you can only fight if you have an advantage?
Deep down, he didn't even need to chastise himself. He would always fight, no doubt about it. Even if his God wasn't as loyal to him as he had been to him all along.
He used what little he could spare of speed to avoid tiring himself while trying to reach the battle again. Using speed didn't make his muscles ache less, but something in the use of the power gave him extra resistance for moves that would have torn muscle from bone.
He reached the side of the army just as the Leashed finished their pincer move: now the army was surrounded except at the far back, where Senn's men still fought unrestrained. But up in the vanguard, crushed between their own men and the Chainkeepers' bludgeon, men were falling at an alarming rate. He couldn't see them, but Senn knew his men should have been able to fight better. There had to be more Chainkeepers that were using the power to make them stronger, for the dust storm was lifting now, and there just weren't so many enemies to justify the butchery they were inflicting on Senn's army if not for an advantage like that. He could see three or four blurs among the vanguard, where the able-bodied Sparked still fought on. Senn had taken out a few of them, but there should still be more...
No. They're dead. You left broken men in the field, and they were trampled.
He thought he heard Mirai yelling.
He grabbed a wooden shield and, using a quarter of his speed, launched himself forward toward the right side of the encroaching army. He struck a handful of the Leashed, who quickly moved out of the way. They were poor soldiers, more concerned about staying alive than anything else. He couldn't blame them, even if he despised them. He was the stupid one, charging into an army all by himself. He had to kick past a few obstinate men who wouldn't get out of the way and let go of his shield to slash a few of them up, but he broke through and suddenly found himself among his own men. It was hard to push through, as they were all packed neatly together, but he pushed anyway. Some of his men recognized him and made way, others were too stunned or afraid by the deathtrap they had fallen into. Up ahead, the Chainkeepers were advancing, slowly but steadily, an impending doom they wouldn't be able to escape. Senn couldn't see the blurry figures of the Sparked fighting in the front lines. Had they fallen, or fled? Senn knew what he would choose if it came to that. His body ached all over, and blood dripped down his side. Was it his own?
He was near the center now. He had just one chance to do it, and he prayed over and over for his God to return his gift to him.
Please, just this once. I don't ask this for me, it's for them. Don't let them be slaughtered. I've fought and bled to free each and every one of them. Don't let it go to waste.
He looked inside to where he used to feel his god's hunger, trying desperately to find just an inkling. But there was nothing.
Why?
There was no response, neither in deeds nor words. Not even from that other voice he had heard before. If his god wouldn't help him, he would have to find another way.
"Push to the back!" he yelled. "Fight toward the back! First battalion, break through that Leashed scum! Fight, you sons of whores!"
His men shook awake. Some reacted faster, others had to watch the rest spring into action before committing to the fight. But soon, his army was fighting back, not out of induced hunger but out of a reborn hope, a feeling they were no stranger to, in spite of what they were used to spouting. Senn had felt that same way the first few times he fought back and resisted the Chainkeepers, in the first raids to free his fellow men. It had been mostly a ravenous need for freedom that had driven him, a will to seize the world for himself and out of the hands of the men he hated. But there had been an undercurrent of hope, inevitably. If he hadn't had an illogical belief that things could turn out all right despite the overwhelming odds against him, he would have never been able to do all the things he had done.
We're still alive. I'm still alive. We can do it.
At last, somehow, a small group broke the circle of enemies at the rear and forced the gap open. They streamed out in a widening torrent, but once they were through, no one looked back for the others. Each man for himself, so the ones after them had to fight again, and the gap started to close again. Senn was in the midst of it, pushing men in front of him to get them to fight until at some point he found himself alone. What was left of his vanguard had passed him by and he was alone in a strip of land facing enemies on every side. He could run after his men. He should have done so. But every instinct he had ever thought he had was wrong. He had never fought for survival alone. If he had, there would have been no more free men, no Lord of Greed incarnated and towering above him, and no hope for anyone else. Ambition, hunger, and greed had driven him far, but it wasn't the only fuel he was burning. Then, in the middle of the field, among the approaching throng of Chainkeepers in leathers and chains, he saw a small figure. A child, dressed in tatters, with sparkling blue eyes that he had seen before. The child faded into dust as the Chainkeepers gained speed and raised their hooked chains.
Of course. The men I killed on that island had a god of their own.
The realization brought him little comfort. In just a few minutes, he had found out his beliefs were short-sighted. There were other powers in the world, but still, none that could help him now. He was utterly, unmistakably alone.
The first enemy smashed his chain into the ground. Senn dodged and grabbed a flailing end, running around the keeper to bind him. He knew it wouldn't hold him for long, but he could think of nothing else. He grabbed another end and ran around and between the next group of enemies, tripping them by tying their ankles together. He couldn't stop himself. If you stop, you die, simple as that. He had to give his men more time to run out of reach. The Leashed would not follow if the Chainkeepers weren't howling at their backs. Do this one thing, and then you can rest, old man. They'll remember you as a hero, in the end. They'd better do. You've given it all for them.
Senn smiled. Even now, at the end of his rope, he had a greedy thought to give him warmth. He grabbed another chain and tied it to another, and yet another until he had knotted a net to hold his enemies. Their muscles were already straining to break them, but he just needed a few more moments. He grabbed fallen hooks and arrows and short swords and threw them at full speed at his enemies. He felled four, but there were dozens still. His strength waned, and his speed faltered. He had almost nothing left. He dared to glance back. His men were out of sight, and the Leashed just stood there, confused, uncertain whether following or standing still would earn them a greater punishment.
This is not the end, said the same voice that had spoken to him before, a whisper that sounded like drumming in Senn's chest.
It certainly seems like it, thought Senn.
Trust me, said the voice.
Who are you? Why should I trust you?
You've known me your whole life. I'm your true Lord.
Before Senn could dodge, a chain flew toward him. The hook was aiming for his throat, but at the time the only thing he could register was the sense of an ending.
The hook struck him but there was no pain. No skin was ripped, no blood spurting, no severed neck. The chain fell limp as if struck down. He had been spared. A miracle, or something like it. If someone was looking out for him, then it wasn't the end. He had to find out why. He had to run.
He gathered all of his remaining speed and concentrated. The Chainkeepers were mostly free now, and two of them were throwing their weapons at him. The men turned into statues, their chains hanging awkwardly in the air, moving slightly.
He ran.
He would remember it later. Running past his attackers, wasting no more time on them, running and running even more. He had never needed to strain himself so much. The land flew below him until he grew dizzy and could look no more. And then his speed just... waned. It saved him, for if he had lost it suddenly, the momentum shift would have thrown him skittering across the plains, breaking his bones and ripping his flesh. As it was, he slowed down in spurts, until he was running on wobbly knees and finally fell.
He wanted to slip into unconsciousness. A dark horizon loomed just beyond his half-closed eyelids. If that was death, then he would take it. He just wanted to rest, at any price. He waited for the darkness to come, but it was neither death nor night. A passing cloud covered the sun and soft, warm drops started falling on his face. He was sure he was getting wet all over, but he could only feel it in his cheeks. The rain soothed him, not quite washing away his blood and aches, but it did cover him in a strange comfort. An unexpected embrace at the end of his hope. He had known that warmth before. Just once, long ago. Would that he could feel that again, just for a moment. It would make it all worthwhile again.
He slipped into the dark of sleep. He knew now it was not death that awaited him. Not yet. But for now, all he had to do was sleep, dream, and live all over again.