He saw the flames caress his sister’s face. She called out to him, begging for help. I’m sorry, Ashera, he yelled as he wept. She did not hear. The pyre seemed to grow taller, erupting from the ground with other villagers embedded into the embers like coals of flesh. His mother was there. His drunkard of a father. His belligerent uncle. Even the barmaid that he had flirted with during his simpler nights of youth. They all burned as he felt the tree behind him grow arms and pull him back, cementing him. He could not move. He would burn too. They were all experiencing a pain and despair unchallenged by any other. He would experience it, too. The smoke was suffocating. So many screams, so many pleas. Make it stop!
Dorian Ambrose awoke in a feverish sweat. His bed rattled and shook as the vibrations rippled through the walls. He opted to rest his head back into the straw pillow and risk the chance of more nightmares. Sleep did not come easy after, made worse by the constant vibrations that streamed around each wall. Spirits be good, I wish that bloody beast would shut up!
He could not tell how long he had been laying in the dark before he heard the thud against his chamber door. He scrambled out of the bed and pulled the iron hinges off. The door skirted aside, and light assaulted his eyes. The flaming torches from the sconces and chandeliers reflected from the stone walls, causing Dorian to wince and grind his teeth. The fires had a red flare to them that coated the canyon tunnels in a luminous maroon light.
The new novice stood at the door, although Nissaro hardly appeared as a fresh-faced whelp. His face was already hard and grizzled, with a patchy black beard and icy eyes. Dorian did not think it due to a history of violence, rather a life of luxury and access to copious hard narcotics. Crimsonaria had always been a notorious hub for Cloud Crystal manufacturing. “He awaits you,” the novice assassin said nervously.
Dorian felt something catch in his throat. He felt his stomach churn as he tried to compose himself. “Tell him I will be there once I have dressed.”
Nissaro nodded. As Dorian went to drag the iron door shut, the novice grabbed onto his arm. Dorian could have killed him for such insolence. He was the Thane, and Nissaro could barely be considered to have Inferno blood running through his veins. “My Thane,” he sounded nervous, as if he were about to ask Dorian out of the ball. “Jannik believes that I am ready. He wishes for me to accompany you and the clan to New Jade.”
Dorian studied him. He seemed capable enough with a katana or an Arkovian dagger, yet he could think of a dozen other assassins more suited for what they were to accomplish in New Jade. Would he even survive the long journey north? Nissaro might have been Arkovian, but he did not fool Dorian. The novice did not grow up in the harsh winters of Arkovia. He was the son of a renowned merchant, where Nissaro grew up in luxury in the Red Empire, most likely spending his youth watching slaves fight to the death and gorging himself on banquet food. Perhaps joining the Inferno was his way of proving to himself that he wasn’t another spoilt charlatan. However, Jannik considered him worthy and if that emotionless statue of a man approved of Nissaro, then who was Dorian to disagree? “Very well,” Dorian accepted after some thought. “We are riding from Magma Canyon at first light.”
The Novice appeared visibly elated by the Thane’s decision. He bowed and showered the Thane with praise before Dorian had to shoo him away to get dressed. When Dorian returned to the privacy of his chamber, he donned his crimson jacket, the buttons that clasped it taking the shape of various reptile claws. His breeches and boots were as black as coal, and he felt the stump of his index finger itch as he pulled back his red gloves. He combed his auburn hair and ensured that he was clean shaven. Lord Ignis loathed sloppiness.
The corridors of Magma Canyon were wide and looming. The flames emanated a dark red glow against his skin, enough so as to grant his entire vision a red tint. He descended the rocky sandstone stairs. The lower levels of the canyon were by far the most active. Dozens of assassins were bustling past each other, the sounds of armour rattling, and boots treading echoed over the waves of voices. It felt more like a busy city street, rather than a hidden temple built into the middle of the Red Desert. Dorian navigated his way past the crowds. Each brother and sister he passed was plotting their next kill or lamenting their last. There were no pleasantries at Magma Canyon. The only talks were of death.
As he headed east, he walked past the beast that had been ruining so many of his nights. Behind the towering iron bars, the Tyrant Lizard stalked around its meagre cage. The beast’s scales were a darkened green, the circles around the green reptilian eyes were black, whilst the snout sprouted yellow across the crest. The arms were bizarrely small for such a goliath creature. Whilst the Tyrant Lizard’s legs were built like bulking tree trunks, the tiny arms dangled limply from the chest. The mane of feathers shook as the great lizard opened its jaw. There was no scream, nor roar. Only vibrations. They rippled through the ground under Dorian’s boots and throughout the canyon. No one seemed to pay the beast any mind. Why would they? The Tyrant Lizard wasn’t ruining their sleep and the Inferno Clan did enjoy their giant pets. Dorian pressed on as the beast watched him behind the bars with green snake-like eyes. Those eyes followed him and lingered long enough for Dorian to begin feeling uncomfortable. The creature did seem to harbour more fascination for the Thane than anyone else that walked this hall.
The journey took miles. Descending stairways, bustling hallways and narrow tunnels. The temple was built in a way that it felt like one was journeying into the underworld; Long, stony, dark, and descending into the depths of the earth. And I am to meet the devil.
His Lord’s chambers laid underneath the multiple platforms. Unlike the raffle from the upper levels, there was silence down in the deepest depths of the canyon. Where he stood now was more cave-like. The swirling red sandstones around him drew in closer. It was easy to be taken by claustrophobia in these depths. There was a… tightening feeling that was not present in the upper levels of the canyon. Dorian approached the large iron doors. Two samurai stood guard. They bowed at his presence. One paced over to a lever and pulled. As the doors cranked asunder, splitting apart, and separating, White Wraith emerged from the blushing light. A fearsome name for someone Dorian considered to be no more than Lord Ignis’ geisha. Her kimono was black and crimson, her face powdered a bright white, with inked black streaks around her eyes and stricken down her cheeks. “Sir Dorian,” she greeted, smiling at the Thane. “Your timing is apt. Lord Ignis has something most dire to share with you.”
Dorian smirked at her. She always addressed him as “Sir Dorian”. An insult. Against his knightly background in Cravenhelm where he operated as an informant for the Inferno. Many cruel men in that city died under his claw, yet all White Wraith could see was a man who had become too consumed in knightly glory. “Not going to chide me today?” he asked her.
Her white cheeks scrunched into a look of thinly hidden scorn. Smiling seemed to physically hurt the harlot. “Why would I do that?” she asked in an insufferably disingenuous veil of innocence.
He chuckled. “Come now. It must be killing you that he made me Thane.”
“Why? Because your face is whiter than mine, not even of Arkovian birth, and an arrogant fool to boot?” She scowled at him before moving on, silent as a ghost. “Prove me wrong, Sir Dorian,” she said as she left.
I bloody well will, you obsequious little wench. He walked through the open iron doors.
Dorian could not identify the man hanging from chains at first. His head was hanging low, his long ink-black hair covered in sweat and obscuring the prisoner’s face. Behind him there was no wall, but a large open window. The canyon’s beyond could be seen. Sandstone mountains towered and stretched out into the horizon under the red dawning sun. A breath-taking sight, unlike anything in Arkovia or the Midlands. The only thing that ruined it was the pungent smell coming from the flowing wall of lava to the right of the chamber. Thick, red, and glowing, it oozed down from above and into a long slit in the floor. It looked impressive enough, but spirits, the rotting smell was horrific and burned the surrounding air.
Dorian approached the hanging captive. The man coughed up blood, the maroon droplets getting caught in his chest hair. Curiosity bested him and Dorian lifted the bloody man’s head. Terutame…
Dorian had found the man to be skilled as a fighter and amiable in conversation. What did he do to vex Lord Ignis and deserve such a fate? He was to ride with Dorian and the others at dawn. To help overthrow the New Jade elite. A shame. Dorian Ambrose hated people pulling out of plans at the last minute.
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The wall of lava broke apart and the Lord of the Inferno Clan emerged. The oozing red and black did not phase Regis Ignis as the lava poured down against his golden skin. His gilded head was bald, his eyes two orbs of dark crimson. Black, curved markings stretched over his shining scalp. He wore a sleeveless, night-black breastplate, exposing his sinewy golden arms. He smiled at Dorian the way a God smiles down on a measly mortal. “Sir Dorian,” he addressed in his otherworldly voice. “Although I suppose that title is redundant.” His black boots stomped closer to Dorian, drops of lava trailing behind. He towered over the former knight, standing at three times his size. “You are now a Thane. You no longer care for the vapid honours of the northern cities.”
Dorian bowed. “No, My Lord,” he agreed with hesitation.
The Lord of the Inferno Clan lifted Dorian’s chin up with a single gilded finger. It was the strongest of gold, unbreakable, the finger alone enough to kill a man with one flick. “Rise,” he ordered. Dorian obeyed and stood at ease. Regis Ignis cast his dark crimson eyes over to his prisoner. “You are perhaps wondering why Terutame is with us?”
I’m more concerned with whether you intend for me to join him. “I am certainly surprised, My Lord.”
The golden goliath stepped over to his captive. His gilded fingers grabbed Terutame by his shaggy hair and lifted his bloodied head up. The captive snarled at the Lord. Regis’ deep crimson eyes stared down upon the disgraced assassin as if he were an ant. Curious and indifferent. “It breaks my heart to inform you that Terutame was never really one of us. We found letters in his chamber. Addressed to the Empress of the Night Fangs.”
Dorian scoffed. He had little respect for that blue-haired hag. Any woman who does not reveal her name, even to her own loyal assassins, is someone not to be trusted. He looked at Terutame in disgust. “Really?” he hissed at the half-conscious man. “You lost everything for her?”
The turncoat assassin scowled and spat at Dorian. Even the man’s spittle was disappointing. It barely reached the end of Dorian’s boot as it splat into the smooth floor. Lord Ignis stood over the man. Towered over him. A God passing his judgement on the condemned. “She has now been given the gift of intelligence. She knows you are coming to end the Greenfire bloodline. She will certainly send Night Fangs to intervene. She always had a strange affinity for King Sigismund…”
His large golden hand lifted Terutame’s chin up. The disgraced assassin tried his hardest to avert his gaze. Even Dorian detested looking Regis in the eyes. The empty pools of crimson were a haunting abyss to gaze into. “Terutame,” Regis addressed the prisoner with a voice of commanding divinity. “I believe it would be just for you to return the favour and gift us with knowledge. Where is Darkfall located in Arkovia? Where does the Empress now reside?”
Dorian could see Terutame’s lip quivering. Tears streamed and crossed over into the streams of sweat and blood that ran down his cheeks and into his blubbering mouth. A pathetic sight. Even Night Fangs were meant to face death with grace and pride. This one turned into a whimpering pup when facing the dark void. Terutame looked into the crimson eyes and spat. Blood crawled down the golden skin of the golden goliath’s neck. Dorian suddenly felt swayed on how he felt about Terutame. To spit in the face of Regis Ignis. He was no scared Night Fang kitten. He was a bloody lunatic.
The Lord of the Inferno wiped the dark blood from the side of his neck and gazed at the dark droplets in curiosity. He clasped his golden hands around Terutame’s head, caressing the sides. “I only wanted the best for you, Terutame. To grow and blossom. I wish that for all my children of fire.” Regis Ignis released his grip and glanced back at Dorian. A sharp wave echoed through the chamber as gold hands clapped together around Terutame’s skull.
Blood splattered into Dorian’s face. He gasped and jumped back as he felt chunks of bone and meat crawl down his forehead and cheeks. The blood stung in his eyes. Dorian realised that he was panting and swiftly composed himself. He must not show weakness in front of him. Not now.
What remained of Terutame’s head was a bloody stump. The rest of his body hanged limp from the chains. Regis Ignis gazed down at his hands in mild curiosity. They were gold, freshly painted over with blackened blood. “I apologise,” he said. His voice was godly and indifferent. “Perhaps I should have meditated before continuing the interrogation.”
Dorian had not the words to say. He felt pieces of Terutame’s brain sticking to his skin. He was Thane of the Inferno Clan, yet never felt more afraid. Nightmares plagued him more than usual. There was a pressure, inescapable and brewing. He felt ill.
“It matters not regardless,” the Lord of the Inferno said. “He had been put under the care of our best inquisitors. Even Greyheart, your shadow woman could not break him.” His crimson eyes cast over to the bloody stump. “I admired the man’s resilience.” The golden giant looked over at Dorian. With his large golden hand, he scraped the blood away from his Thane’s forehead. Dorian felt as if his head might burst along with Terutame’s. Perhaps it still would if he said the wrong thing. “It will take a long time for his letters to reach Arkovia,” his master said. “Months, perhaps years. Until then, you must proceed as planned.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Dorian felt something catch in his throat.
“Something troubles you.”
Dorian gulped and felt the beading sweat from his forehead mix in with Terutame’s blood. “Yes, My Lord. I understand that all the Royalists must be made an example of. It’s the girl, though. She was in the crib whilst the burnings were happening.”
“You have scruples over ending the life of the innocent Princess?” Regis Ignis placed a golden hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Despite his gilded fingers being laid gently, they still felt crushing. “Sigismund abused fire. He used the precious element to end many families. Their daughters. Their sons. Their kin. The Greenfire bloodline must be purged. Fire wills for retribution.”
Dorian nodded in understanding, wishing that the Lord of the Inferno would release the grip on his shoulder, even if it were intended for affection. He felt ugly inside. An innocent girl….do I really have it in me? He would take joy in killing Sigismund, the gluttony-mad Duke, that ugly vulture Eustice Morrigan. The Princess however…
“If it is what My Lord wills,” Dorian said as he bowed.
Regis Ignis knelt to the Thane’s level. He lifted his chin up with a gilded finger.
The crimson eyes were like two red frozen rivers. Deep and inescapable. They were like staring into death itself. “You will ingratiate yourself within their inner circle,” he foretold. “You will be gallant. You will come to their aid and earn their loyalty. You will be their knight in shining armour. Then you will burn them.”
When the two chamber doors boomed apart, Dorian felt a twang of anxiety. He expected to see White Wraith waiting to berate him once more. Instead, he found Sonya standing outside the entrance. Just gazing at her luminous face and her magnificent red hair made him feel warm inside when he had felt cold for so long. She was in a scarlet kimono, her red eyepatch reflecting from the nearby torches.
“What did he say?” she questioned with deep concern as she followed him, away from the Lord of the Inferno’s private chambers. He kept walking, wanting to be as far away from Regis and White Wraith’s earshot as possible.
“Terutame was a rat for the Night Fangs,” Dorian informed her. “He managed to send wings their way.”
Even when she frowned, she looked enchanting. “Why does this concern the kittens? The clans have kept their distance from each other for near a century.”
Dorian paced on, waiting until they turned into a quiet and dimly lit hallway to answer her. When they were alone in the dark, he led her to the maroon wall. “Regis and his spies don’t know the finer details. Allegedly, the Empress and King Sigismund are cosy with one another. She will send someone to stop us. That is, if the raven even reaches Darkfall in time.”
“The kittens don’t frighten me,” she said, defiantly. She grasped his arms. Her hands were soft like silk. Her red eyebrow scrunched above her eyepatch in a frown. “Lord Ignis frightens me.”
“We won’t fail him.” He caressed her face. The stump that had once been his index finger itched as he made the movement. He reached for her scarlet eyepatch.
Sonya faintly swatted his hand away. “I want to see your full face,” he said warmly. “It does not matter to me.” He pulled the strap from behind and the patch fell into his hand. The eye that looked back at him was a grey ball, lacking a pupil. A ring of red and pudgy flesh surrounded it. She gazed at him remorsefully. In shame. “Redeye”, they call her. A cruel clan appellation. The Shade had not been kind to her. He faintly glided his finger around the pudgy red circle. “I wish this eye could see me.”
“It does see,” she said with a pained tremble in her soft voice. “All it sees are monsters. Always watching me every time I slumber.”
“Well damn them then,” he grasped her arms. “Damn the Shade. Damn White Wraith. Damn the Empress! None of them will ruin this for us.” He lunged in for the kiss and she reciprocated. He pulled the silks of her kimono up and she ripped his jacket apart. They took each other right there in the darkened hallway. Dorian did not care if someone saw them. In fact, it only made the experience more exhilarating.
He awoke in the darkness of his chamber once again. The Tyrant Lizard’s vibrations rattled around the walls and shook his bed as they were won’t to do every damn dawn. Sonya was asleep beside him, seemingly unperturbed. First light would be here soon. Soon they would leave Magma Canyon and journey towards the supposed most illustrious city in the north. He crawled out from the sheets silently as to not wake her and pulled the iron box from under the bed. He unclasped the silver latches and reached in. He had spent nights in the temple’s armoury crafting it. The helm took the shape of a raptor’s skull. The whiteness was so bright that it glowed in the dark. Dorian stared into the shadowed eye sockets. The vermin that ran New Jade City were monsters. It would take another monster to topple their rule. So, tell me New Jade City; What kind of monster shall I be?