The vulgar sound of flesh hitting flesh increased his heartrate. The sight of two humans, sweaty and breathing heavy, elevated his blood pressure. The moaning and gasping of two lust driven mammals held his complete attention. He watched them grasping at each other and the sheaths. He studied the hungry expressions decorating their faces. He looked, but only looked; he didn’t interact, he wasn’t seen, he wasn’t known to be there.
Something hit the rooftiles behind him with a soft thump. He flinched, but only briefly, turned and saw. He saw that it was only a cat, small, black, and alone. He let the breath go he hadn’t known to be holding. No one had seen him, no one ever saw him.
He kept looking at the feline until it departed into the darkness which the night offered in abundance. ‘stupid cat,’ he muttered silently. But he couldn’t really hate the thing, they were similar, after all. Just like the stray, if he was seen, he would be scorned and hunted. No, wait. Humans, other humans didn’t react that way with cats, only with him. He changed his mind, he did hate the cat. Why was only he hated? It wasn’t like he ever did anything wrong! Other humans get angry for the dumbest reasons. He didn’t steal, he only took stuff that others left lying around. How was he supposed to know that someone owned it? Stupid humans, he thought.
A pause. ‘stupid other humans’, he corrected himself in his mind. He was human, too, of course. He bet that they would even get angry at him for looking through that crevice in the wood, having their sweaty fun. Stupid. He simply looked through an opening that was there. What was wrong with that?
He had the desire to go back to looking, but decided that it would be better to get on with what he came here to do. Yes, that was a good idea; he always had good ideas.
The crescent moon did a poor job of lighting up the roofs, and so he had an easy time swooping over them. Onlookers might, after looking at him maneuver, think him to be something inhuman. He moved too fluid, too fast, too quiet; a shadow in the night. But no one saw him, so there were no onlookers. And thus also no one who might wrongfully accuse him of being something monstrous.
He climbed down a wall, using the crevices in the wood as holdfast. With lizard like motions, he continued down until he reached the window. Not a window. The window. It had a lock, but of this, he knew.
Of course, he knew. After all, last night he had scouted the place. They say that a good sneaky person could get in anywhere without scouting. And he was good. But they also say that a smart, sneaky person always checks the place out beforehand. And he was smart; smarter than any other human, he found.
The tools he brought made quick work of the lock, all it took was but a moment, a fiddle with the fingers and a twist of the wrist. A barely audible tick indicated the lock to be open. He, shrouded in a dark cloak, slipped through the opening, and softly landed on the wooden planks that made out the floor. Lips, curling into a smug grin, his eyes darting across the many beakers, bottles, tubes and containers, he searched. One thing was all he needed, but in this room were many things- making the finding quite arduous.
His eyes went from one object to another, and he realized that he couldn’t even name most of the stuff, scattered about. But it mattered not, his search would continue; because you didn’t need to know a name, to know what it was. His gaze was briefly captivated by a glass bottle, containing a floating frog. It was mostly due to curiosity, and also because he was hungry. Actually, mostly the latter. He tore away his gaze from the tempting snack, and moved to the other side of the dark room instead.
‘Aha!’ his mind called out. He eagerly stretched out his skinny, long arm, covered in cloth, and grabbed a glass wine bottle. But it wasn’t alcohol that it held. No, it was white-blueish, slightly glimmering in the moonlight, and not liquid at all.
‘Finally found the dust,’ he thought victoriously. Another glance at the shelf from which he had fished the first bottle rewarded him with another one. He snickered contently, this sort of loot was going to set him for a while. There was paper pasted on the bottle, riddled with text. After trying to make out what it said, he remembered that he couldn’t read, so it didn’t matter. The language that other humans used had too many words, he decided.
After stuffing the two bottles in the satchel, that hugged his back tightly, he turned around to leave from where he came. Step, step. Turn. Step, step. Creak. Wait. He froze. That sound was not of his making, he doesn’t make any sound. He glanced over his shoulder, at the door which should be closed, and found it to remain so. He slowly exhaled. The sound must have come from elsewhere, he assumed. A nervous grin crossed his face. Without further pause, he left the place behind. The lock remained open. If anyone came looking, they would assume that they left it open. Genius! He was proud of himself for having such a clever plan, he was the cleverest.
He soundlessly darted across the rooftops, but halted when he was about to pass the room from earlier. ‘A quick peek can’t hurt,’ he thought. He pressed his eye against the crevice, and peered into the darkness. Boring. The woman was already gone, all that was left was a river of blood. The unlucky bastard had been ripped open from the inside out. The perpetrator was nowhere to be seen. Weird, he thought. But then again, most other humans were weird.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ thinking this, he crawled down the wall, into an alley, concealed by shadows. He hit the cobbles, but no sound was heard. No sound was ever heard from him, he was silent. No sight was ever caught of him, he was invisible.
He turned, and froze. At the end of the alley came a man, staggering, almost stumbling. He first assumed the unexpected visitor to be drunk, but his nose was sharp, and he didn’t smell any alcohol. He smelled something vile, putrid. The stench curled his nose, raised his hairs, and bared his teeth. ‘Not good,’ he thought, panicked.
The thing staggered closer, eyes black as night, and skin white as snow. Dark veins wreathed across its body, like snakes or worms. It was unsettling, unnerving. He had no desire to deal with whatever that was. So, he, as any normal, sane human would do, ran. He ran as the wind. He ran as if death itself was chasing him. And as far as he was concerned, that was true.
---
Annabelle carefully retracted the cold, steel blade from the cervical spine, right underneath the back of the skull. It slid out effortlessly; for the blade was wicked sharp. It had been a pain to keep the weapon concealed, but it payed off. The blood was calmly wiped off on the soft sheaths that covered the lavish double bed. She studied the man’s petrified expression for a spell, and saw that he never knew what had happened. His visage remained serene and content, albeit a bit sweaty. She was, too.
It had taken too long for her to satisfy him, and now she was short on time. Well, she wasn’t exactly pressed, but the night was now at its darkest point. No need to waste it. She grabbed a fluffy towel, that was draped over the nightstand, and dried herself off. Once she decided herself to be sufficiently dry, Annabelle retrieved her clothing, that was scattered across the floor from when he had pulled it off. She grimaced when she spotted a tear in her blouse; the desire to kick the ever-cooling corpse that was spread disgracefully on the bed gnawed on her for but a moment, before she decided against it. She snuffed out the few candles that had provided some light to her earlier actions, but were now unnecessary. The scarcely dressed woman left the dark room behind her as she left through the door, leaving her ‘patron’ to rot. The only thing she had taken from the room that wasn’t hers, was a key. Small, delicate and silver. But the key’s intrinsic value wasn’t the reason why she stole it, wasn’t the reason why she killed Damien, leader of the Thorne.
Striding through a collection of hallways and passages that riddled the large estate, she tried to make as little noise as possible; men were sleeping, men who she didn’t want to wake. There was a patrol who came strolling by, but she avoided them by hiding in the shadow, provided by a tall closet, tugged between two walls. If she was caught here…
Eventually she reached her destination, a lone wooden door-the only thing between her and her goal. It had been her job to kill Damien, Warden of the Thorne. But she had come to this door for a personal reason. She smiled. Not a pleasant one, the way someone would smile at seeing children play, or flowers bloom- it was a vulgar smile befitting of someone like her. She stepped closer to the door. Creak. She stopped, cussing herself out internally. Annabelle quickly glanced around the corridor, waiting for someone to come running at the noise. But of course, no one came. She let out a tired sigh. ‘I’ve been up for too long,’ she decided. ‘I’m slipping.’
The key easily slid in the lock, a click signaling the deadbolt unlocked. A similar smile blossomed on her face once more. She entered the room, closing the door behind her as softly as possible. She was greeted by a collection of tools, beakers and other utensils that made out the laboratory. Most people would make a place where chemicals were mixed, and fires were lit, out of stone. But Damien had seemingly deemed such a luxury unnecessary. At least there was a window - at the back, up against the ceiling. Any dangerous gas could escape through there.
She wasted no time, and immediately started rummaging through the messy, unsorted junk that littered the place. She only had eyes for one thing, and she knew it to be here. ‘dust,’ her mind begged. ‘please, let me find it!’
But even after half a bell of searching, she found no such thing. Sure, powders littered the place; but no crystal dust. Her smile had first turned into a frown, and then into a grimace. Now, her face was contorted into frantic desperation. Unrest had welled up from deep within her, and surged over her shaking body. The entire place had been turned upside down, revealing all sorts of concoctions and chemicals, but none of them were what her heart yearned for.
Her nails were digging into a wooden table, were stating to rip and tear, prompting blood to leak out from beneath them. First comes an unbearable hunger. Her bloodshot eyes were fully open, staring down on her bloody hands. She bit down one her lip, trying to regain her focus. ‘’It’s not here,’ her mind bellowed. ‘I need to leave.’
She closed her eyes, which had become weary from peering in through the darkness for too long, and tried to still her rasped breathing. Her hand reached for her arm, and she quelled an upcoming itch. Options ran through her mind, but it seemed that leaving through the window was the best decision. She eyed the lock wearily before slipping a crooked nail into it. She turned and, ‘huh?’
The lock was open.
‘Did someone forget to close it?’ No. That seemed like a slim chance to her. Her cautious gaze fixated onto the now ransacked room. ‘Someone must’ve come in here earlier and stolen the dust…’
It wasn’t a pleasant thought to entertain. Someone had outsmarted her, played her like a fiddle. Whoever was behind this must have been highly intelligent and skilled too boot, she deducted. ‘A true professional.’
She carefully opened the window, and by using a chair as support, lifted herself up and through the small space. Her thin dress was caught by a protruding splinter of wood, and became ripped in the progress.
“Shite.” The night eagerly ate up her frustrated muttering, as it did with many sounds. Peering over the wall, seeing the path she has to take into the ally, her irritation only increases. ‘I’ll have to find a way around,’ thinking this, she, with great effort, clambered her way up the wooden wall. The impression the supposed thief had left her with only increased. She couldn’t fathom how someone could’ve made their way down this wall.
“Perhaps it’s not human in the first place at all.” She says under a rasped breath. She quickly dismissed the thought, though, as it would be unfathomable to think some beast would be able to slip past the Cains’ senses. Her thought briefly went to Radiance, the Cain prodigy. She’d only seen him from afar, but that handsome, spotless face… Really wanted to tear it up. The visage of the unbeaten bearer of Solis’s highest title. The hero who saved thousands during the Battle of Right. The gallant, shining Cain…
She was sneaking along the rooftops, doing her best to not produce any unwanted noise, when a screech reached her ear. It was high-pitched, like a banshee’s, and drenched in a new depth of terror. A shiver crawled over her spine, her hairs on end, and her heart beating at a rapid pace. Petrified by despair, she remained nailed to the rooftop, unable to move even a single muscle in a natural act of self-defense.
An explosion vibrated, hammering her eardrums, and dust kicked up from the scum-alley below. She was freed from her frozen state, yet her mind remained in turmoil. She liked at her lips, dry and split, and gathered enough courage to peer over the roof’s edge, into the shadows.
On the cobble, dirty and ragged, laid a woman as if she just suddenly dropped. Annabel could see the faint heaving of the lass’s chest; she had only fainted. The same couldn’t be said about the corpse in front of her- sprawled, face down in the drain water, with a gaping hole in his chest; this man was definably dead. Thick, black goop was oozing from the wound, mixing with the water on the cobbles, creating a vile and putrid mixture. There was also a shadow, a third person; it extended its hand, allowing some black soot to fall on the grotesque corpse. But no matter how much she strained her eyes, she couldn’t see the man’s face.
It seemed done with sprinkling whatever on the deceased, pressed its thumb to its index finger and snapped. As if by incantation, flames, brimming with unsatiable hunger ravaged the corpse, consuming it in mere moments. The flame’s licking light lit up the grim persona that stood before them. It turned to her.
She saw it looking at her without eyes.
Its abyss black, hollow eyeholes stared into her very being, sending a primal fear, ripping through her. Its bone-white skull stood in stark contrast with its perfect-black self. The only clothing it was wearing was a brown coat and a wooly, grey scarf. It held two metal pipes in its left hand by a wooden handle. Its toothy mouth opened, revealing the gaping darkness, swarming within it.
She didn’t think twice about bolting off, almost sliding off the wet tiles. Her escape lacked both grace and flair, but held an unforeseen speed; speed akin to someone who had death on their tail.
---
A hot throb and his head thumped against the cobble wall. Had the alley spinning and him sliding down the cold stone. They gripped his hair, felt the pulling at their roots. Heard their ripping and tearing as he was hauled back up for another beating.
“The Cain will come and-” Yoran’s fat fist hammered in his empty stomach. Had Berk wretch the bits off food he had managed to eat that day.
“Shut your hole!” Came a shouting, spit against his bruised face. Another punch, this time against his jaw. Blood filled his mouth and teeth were knocked loose. He crumbled to the ground and a foot buried itself into his ribs, had him heave painfully for air. They kicked him some more as he was already down.
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His legs were scraping against the grime of the narrow passage. Ash mixed within for some reason. Tried getting up again, only to be pushed down, skull hitting the pitiless stone. High pitched ringing in his ears.
“We told you not to come here anymore!” A foot stepping on his hand – reaching for nothing, “This is our turf!” The boot grinded his fingers into the sludge. There was a snap as one gave way.
He wanted to scream at the hurt but was cut short by another thwack. He spat, and some teeth clattered along. Saw them yellow pearls sinking away, trampled.
“They’ll come and save me.” He whimpered brokenly, “The Cain will come and punish you evil…” His mouth was filled with bitter blood and his last words blubbered away.
“As if the Cain are concerned with the likes of you lowly scum! They’re of fighting whatever God condemns to Hell.” The bulging boy kicked the child on the ground again, felt the satisfying crack of breaking ribs as he did. By the dead it felt good.
He reached down to the boys crooked fingers. I’d be nice to break another… He stopped at the noise of footsteps echoing hollowly. His little gang turned at it, worry written along their faces. Had the guards heard the kid scream? Cold sweat trailed along his swollen jaw as his eyes flickered to the bloodied boy lying on the ground. Or was it really –
“It’s Radiance,” the boy whispered through blood-sputtering breaths, “The hero’s come to save me.”
Yoran grimaced, clawing for his knife, all rusted and bent. The image of him trying to stab the Cain’s armor with it flashed through his mind. Utterly ridiculous.
“Let’s get out of here.” Tim hissed, eyes round with panic. “If it’s Radiance then were screwed, man. Nothing’ll remain of us after he’s done!”
“Shut it!” Yoran barked, but couldn’t keep the fright from his own voice. He fingered the blade again, all greasy with sweat and mud. “Fuck…”
A shadow crept across the wall, tall and looming. Was that a sword?
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this!” He screeched and bolted off, his petty gang quickly following behind.
Berk smiled to the silhouette come staggering closer. Then frowned. Cain of the holy church didn’t dress in rags.
“Watcha’ lookin’ at?” a skittish voice asked, his body all jittery and twitching. The hunching man was almost dirtier than Berk.
“You’re not… Radiance.” The boy stated, sounding both confused and disappointed. But also weak and fading away. Felt his body sinking into the void. Not what he imagined death to feel like. Not warm and pleasant as Solis embraces you like a mother. But then again, he never had a mother, so knowing it’s embrace would be strange.
“Course I aint.” Svegen spat, rubbed at his leaking nose, snorted a deal of snot. And he left the kid behind for God to deal with. Because she knew he aint got the time to spare. She ought to, after all.
He trudged away, almost slipped in the muck, sputtered some curses against the Emperor and what have you. Rubbed his nose again. Sniffed. Goo sucked back up, only to come seeping down as before.
“If they don’t have it today, too...” He grumbled darkly, scratching at his arm, the skin red and raw from it.
He arrived at the thick door, a slab of rich wood slapped into the stone wall, reinforced with iron shingles. His sickly eyes flicked from his clammy hands to the man posted in front. His last challenge. And the… And then he would get what he needed. What he deserved.
The bald man’s arms were crossed, bulging sinews refusing to hide even underneath the woolen sleeves. He looked down through his hairy brows at Svegen as one would look at trash. He didn’t like the guard’s manners, but it was a small price to pay. This was the last place he knew to get his dust.
“Sod off.” The man growled, voice grating like gravel. But Svegen wouldn’t be deterred so easily, even though he had recoiled at that.
“I’ve come to buy!” he spluttered, stumbling on his own tongue, all slippery and nervous. His mouth watering at the thought of tasting again.
“Yea? Well you can still sod off, or I’ll make you.” His let his arms drop down. Cracked his knuckles.
“No, no! I can pay! I can pay!” Svegen rebuked, grasping in his pocket and fetching some chipped and bent pigs. “See? See!?” His eyes gleamed with eagerness, almost shoving the coins in the man’s face. But he only got a dark scowl in return.
The man’s fist thudded against his head, had him lurching away and sprawl on the stones, money rolling and jumping from his hands.
“No, no!” Svegen’s desperately grabbed at the fleeing coins. How hard he had fought to get them. Precious metal… Some were lost in the dirt.
“You bastard!” He shrieked, jumping up. “How’s that to treat a buyer!?”
“There aint nothin’ to buy, maggot!” Gern shouted, loosing his cool against some repulsive junkie. Always used to keep calm, back in the day. Gern ironhead, they called him back in the company. And look at him now, getting angry at this filth.
He watched the bum’s face change from outraged, to unbelieving, to frenzied.
“What!?” He blurted out, his broken nails scratching at the festering rash under his blood-oozing nose. Gern grimaced at the image. These fucking dustbiters…
“Were all out of it!”
“That’s impossible!”
“It aint if Damien is fuckin’ dead and his stash’s been ransacked!” Gern bellowed, immediately regretting saying it. Shouting it especially.
“What!? No, no! Where will I get it now?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t bloody care, piece of wriggling filth!” Where were the times when he would proudly march under General Thully’s banner. Fighting alongside strangers he considered more than brothers. With cavalry galloping, templars charging, and Cain unleashing Gods righteous fury upon the heinous people of Brethon. There was a war brewing again, rekindling his drive to relive past days of glory. Where did those times go?
“What’s going on here?” Gern cursed under his breath as he saw two city guards stroll over. He turned at the junkie, only to find him already gone. He sighed, unclenched his hands, and wore his friendliest smile, albeit rather unconvincing on his rugged face.
“Nothing much, brothers. Just some… difference of opinion.” But the guards only smirked at that.
“Sure, sure,” one said, grinning at his college, “But you needn’t worry, citizen. For we are here now. And we’ve come from far in order to supply aid. Running all that way has made us quite… Thirsty. You wouldn’t happen to be so kind to offer us hardworking men something refreshing, would you?”
Gern frowned briefly, but quickly changed back to his smile. But damn, he hated the fucking Guild.
“Of course, friend.” He offered a crooked smile and a small flask of delight. Damn he hated the Eight Roots.
“Only this much?” The guard lifted an eyebrow, picking the glass vial between two fingers. “Will hardly be enough to –”
“That’s all I have and all you’ll get… Brother.” Couldn’t hide the edge from his voice that time. God, he hated remedies.
The two guards frowned, hands tickling their sword’s handle.
“So, it’s true Damien’s kicked it?” Alpean asked, eying the large scarred brute standing before them. The man didn’t look like he followed the Root’s rules very closely. Dangerous.
“None o yer business.” He snapped, having lost his final inkling of patience. Alpean glanced at Conall, asking. He shook his head. Best not press the manner any further. If they got in a fight with the man, they might get themselves into some deep shit. With the Thorne gang, none the less. Alpean knew them to be close with The Root of remedy…
“Fine!” Alpean said, throwing his hands up. “but keep it down next time, will ya? You don’t want any unrooted guards to come peeking, do ya?” The brute grumbled something, to obscure too hear, but sounding like agreement none the less.
“Great!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands together, “then we’ll be off. May Solis watch upon your path, friend!” The warden started muttering but Alpean had already turned, marching through the scum-alley.
“Was all that really worth that flask of delight?” Conall asked, frowning judgingly at the small vial, orange liquid sparkling within. Alpean stared at it, made his skin all prickly, hairs standing on end.
“Of course.” They turned another corner, saw some dead kid covered in mud and blood. He frowned but ignored it otherwise.
“Still, it’s better not to meddle too much with these people, Alpean. Don’t want to get too involved, you know.” The busy streets of the capital sounded ahead, breaking through the distasteful silence of the reeking alley.
“Sure, sure.” Alpean waved dismissively, stopping before the strips of light, peeking into the narrow passage. He unplugged the cork, had the sweet smell wisp through the air, tickling their noses. One look at Conall told him he was just as eager for a taste, but shook his head.
“Best wait when were off duty,” he said with a little regret.
“You’re right…” Alpean admitted after a bit of hesitation. They trod into the light, suddenly people all around them. They were back into the crush of folk going everywhere and nowhere. Alpean frowned, struggling to get the vial plugged again. Some people turned as the strangely sweet smell reached them.
“Fucking, damn…” Was the plug too big? Alpean grumbled, fingers sweaty and slipping on the vial’s smooth surface, and then – a clatter. Alpean went wailing, ass hitting the tiles with a painful thud, flask tumbling away and contents spilling along the cobble to be stepped on by the unknowing.
“Hey! You bastard!” Alpean turned to the one to bump into him, only to be left in silence. For the bearers of the holy pendant are to be left well alone.
“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, although it sounded more like a rasping heave – which it was, truth be told. Running, running, by the dead, how long had he been at it? Another body? That’s like… The sixth, right?
Men and womenfolk alike were elbowed aside, faint curses thrown after Astron as he dashed through the bustling crowd. Why did his parents sign him up as a messenger, anyway?
Sweat prickled his skin, steaming hot underneath his white garb. His breath was ragged and sore, and every time he sucked air into his wreathing lungs it only hurt more. Should’ve become a priest, really. Not that he had the aptitude for it, nor the connection with Solis.
He grabbed a corner, spun and tumbled and continued onwards, feet sore from the leather scraping them, soles hurt from slamming onto the harsh stones underneath. But he was close, now.
He entered through the parapet, guards glancing at his insignia, then ignoring him. Continuing their idle chatter about this and that. Astron envied them for it. When was the last time he got time to do anything but work or sleep? He wanted to be angry, but found he had neither the energy or the spirit for it. All he could do was focus on his breathing and hope his heart wouldn’t give in.
He jumped over a neatly trimmed hedge, feet caught the vines and he just saved himself from falling face first into the dirt. Stumbled some, flailed his arms, breath hurting, sweat drenching his whites, turning them grey.
His hand grabbed another corner, swung him along. There was a hard thud and a metallic clang. His head was on fire as he bounced backwards. He rubbed his forehead, already starting to form a painful bump.
“What’s got you in such a hurry?” He heard a bemused voice, sounding faint through the ringing in his ears.
“I’ve got a message for the Order of Cain.” Astron said through his heaving, trying to stand. A hand gripped his and pulled him upright. A young man was holding him up, not much bigger then himself and wearing simple plate and mail. A squire? Astron received a judging look before the man nodded.
“I can guide you to them, or rather, him. Most of the Cain have been ordered to investigate vanishings in the province of Quince.” Astron started following, trying to catch his breath as they walked at an easy pace. Quite grateful for the young man’s easy-going nature. But still, he had to hurry.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but the message I carry must be delivered to the Cain with great haste. It is of utmost importance that it arrives as soon as possible!” But his guide only smiled apologetically while shaking his head.
“Sorry, but even if we hurry now, running through these hallways, we’ll need to wait anyway.” Astron stumbled after, light falling through the colored-glass panes, arranged into striking images and patterns; showing legends of old and battles of new. One colored a young Cain holding an enormous blade cast in white flame.
“Wait?” Astron asked, incredulously, “Wait for what? This message –”
“Doesn’t matter,” They treaded down stairs and past an aged corridor, passing through a great door cast in heavy oak. “When Lord Radiance is sparring, there is little that can disturb him.”
“L-lord Radiance!?” he blurted, and light stabbed his eyes. Astron squinted them close, peering through slits at the courtyard laid before him. Two swordsmen standing ten paces from each other. Astron immediately recognized the Empire’s hero.
The light danced across his polished armor, as if celebrating his very presence. His tabard was the purest white, unknown to defilement – the very image of the Goddess. His visored barbuta’s eye-slits were trained on his opponent, clearly his lesser.
Radiance squared his shoulders before angling his blade, and what a blade it was. It had been sharpened to a mirror polish, and rays flared over it as if ablaze. It was enormous. If stood on its tip, no doubt it would stand as tall as Astron.
The opponent lifted his shield slightly, had his blade scrape its rim as he had it slide over. By the dead did his armor weigh. He swallowed, beads of sweat gliding down his face, stinging his eyes. All blurry. Staring hard at Radiance. Wondering how the kid wasn’t trembling with that slab of metal in his hands. Arms steady as a great oak.
He darted forward, sword flashing over and clattering down. But Radiance was quick as anything. By the seven he hadn’t ever seen anything like it. Even with all that weight, Radiance’s sword flowed as a feather carried downstream. The sword gave a metallic lick as they touched. Bren saw metal embers flying of his blade. Now would come an overhand…
He lifted his shield, gritting his teeth to catch the blow. But it didn’t come. Instead, Radiance’s shoulder crashed into him. Sent him flying. Did he hear his breastplate bending? By the Gods…
He crunched into the wall. Even all that heavy armor hadn’t saved him. He looked up, shaking, at the victor. His helmet had been removed to reveal true golden hair, eyes of the purest blue, and a face unknown to imperfection. Fearless. Righteous. Unstoppable.
He saw Soli’s crystal pendant burn with the clearest white as it hung from his neck. Radiance stretched out his arm, offering it to the defeated, who accepted it with a tremble. He was hoisted up without any apparent effort.
“Well fought.” Radiance said, smiling gallantly. And Brent couldn’t help but smile as well, albeit a bit ashamed to be bested by someone ten years younger. Although Radiance was rather tall and broad for someone of seventeen turns.
“My thanks, Lord Radiance,” Brent said sheepishly, “excellently fought.” What a lie. He felt embarrassed.
“Pardon the intrusion, Lord Radiance.” Came a voice to his left. Radiance flinched, gripping his blade. Only a squire, though. A soundless sigh of relief.
“No need for that,” he said calmly, “what can I aid you with?” Astron stared at the Hero with wide eyes, just as the Hero’s gaze set on him.
“I-i-I’ve come with an important message from the head of office, I mean, from the sixth division of the Guild, I mean, its head, Master Balkan.” He sputtered, staring at the Cain’s impeccable posture, his grand, chivalrous expression.
“Oh?” Radiance ignored Astron’s hiccups, for which he felt most grateful, “And what may this message contain?” His sparring partner as well as the squire left through the other door, leading deeper into the castle. Astron swallowed, the words clinging to his tongue like oil.
“Another body has been found… Another Defiled.” There was the coldest of chills that gripped Astron, then. He stepped back, looking again at the Cain’s face. But nothing seemed amiss.
“Is that so… Then I’ll have to stop by and take a look. No?” He smiled again, but it wasn’t an easy one. The messenger boy had seen him slip, not something he could allow for. His armored hand stroked his glowing amulet gently, lovingly. Felt Soli’s calming glow. Her warm love, burning for him. And he burned for her. He lessened his grip on the sword, held by the base of the blade, tip pointing backwards.
He passed the boy, still nailed in place. He couldn’t slip now. Could never slip. Radiance strode along the castles many hallways, towards the stables. He’d go by horseback. There was a maid, passing him, holding a tray of silver wear, staring at his visage with large eyes. She tripped, had the metal crash onto the floor.
“My apologies, Lord Radiance!” She called frantically, gathering the many times along the floor. She looked up. “Lord?”
There was the clashing of metal on metal. There were roars, all around him, coming from everywhere and nowhere. He spun and spun, stabbed, cut, slashed, metal screeched, flesh was cleaved. Friend or foe? There was no telling.
His sword burned true white, flames devouring all. He cut and sliced, cries and wailing hammering inside his head. Metal clashing on metal. And blood. So much blood. Was this war? This crush of men, ground together like a pile of hair and meat and iron? Chaos.
There was only Solis’s voice in his head. Calming, cooing, had to listen. Had to do the right thing, didn’t he? His blade struck, and a glistening coil of innards slithered from someone’s bowels, into the slits of his helmet. Tasted the bitter iron in it. But he had no fear. For to be with fear was to be without faith.
“God.” He muttered, mouth full of goop and it leaked from his helmet. Radiance He heard it within his heart, soft like a mother’s voice and just as calming. Radiance. And all was well. He could do it, if only for her. He gripped his steel, teeth grating, heart pounding. He looked upon the enemy, staring around and filled with fright. They though the world was complicated, and full of dangers. Radiance pitied them. The world was simple. The only danger was in resisting God’s design.
“Poor lambs, believe in God’s grace!” he bellowed, “O Lord, they do not know what they are doing!” He felt the blade brimming. Burning white hot.
“Bemoan not thy fate. Ooh Lord hath not forsaken us!” Fire raged from his shoulders like searing wings of flame.
“At the end of the long trek,” he lifted his blade high, had it bathe in the sun’s light, to let it dominate that which decides when it be day or night. For it was only one of Solis’s many creations. ‘You will reach the promised land!” His sword came down, and equal judgement followed. All too ash. Small and great men alike, all embraced by God’s love. Just as him.
Radiance. He smiled at the sound. Oh, how he loved her.
Radiance. So dearly.
“Lord Radiance!?” He looked into the frightened eyes of the maid as she shouted in worry. He was lost for a moment. Stared at the young woman, shuddering on the floor, at the sword he held in timorous hands. He wiped some sweat away from his head. Tried to swallow. But his mouth was filled with sawdust. So dry. His hands held the blade tight, so tight it hurt and had him trembling. He slowly rose. Tried to smile, but couldn’t for the life of him.
“It’s fine,” he said, trying to calm her. But his voice was thunder. Had her flinch and shake, all dewy eyed. “Just been back from training. A little tired is all. Now, if you’d excuse me…” He glanced left, at the large scar he had carved into the wall. Half molten stone. Can’t slip now.
He trudged to the stables, caressing the dangling amulet. Set his thoughts on the Defiled. Get them off the mishap. Their heinous nature. There’d be no evil. He would make sure of that. He was Radiance, the empire’s hero. Born in a torrent of flames, white as the beauty of Heaven. And by Heaven he was blessed.
Blessed with Solis’s burden. Her might. Her voice. And her love.
It was a burned he would carry to the end of days.
Like a Hero ought.