“It’s easy money, easy shit. I’m telling you,” said a young male dwarf, sitting on an old couch in this house on a town between borders. This rather small town, one of those settlements consisting of the rejects from the Elven Kingdom, escapees from human subservience, or simply beings that, for some reason or another, needed a residency in this region, brought together a great variety of sentient creatures.
“Guleh, rolling with Lanaen's Band has got you thinking you’re hot shit,” replied a twitchy brakan. Covered with a solid greenish substance resembling some glue that dripped and hardened midway, partially coating his body, he stared at the dwarf with his two large, separated yellow eyes. The rest of his body, where the greenish substance failed to cover, contrasted with his black skin. Even the creatures of this world never exactly knew if the brakans frolicked around them nude or not. His way of talking and conducting himself revealed a middle-aged individual.
“All you croak is move the product from one croaking to another. You’re a fucking pack mule! Croak!” croaked a froggeen feralis. Eyes, mouth, skin, and very much everything else resembled their less advanced amphibian counterparts.
“Screw you cowards, you have no idea what you’re missing out,” spat the dwarf at his criminal companions.
“Do I look like a servant for some twisted gangbangers? I’m not a fucking errant bitch,” interjected the half-orc. While his orc features remained in the open, marking him distinctly, his other half posed a mystery, making it too difficult to discern his mixed heritage.
“Croak neither!” croaked the froggeen.
This group of friends, comprising different races, discussed their current job prospects. This respectable bunch considered several offers to satiate their gold-starved situation.
“Even if I’d let you come and move packs with me, you’d be spending all that silver on fucking dusts or whores,” exclaimed the dwarf.
“Or both,” smiled the brakan.
“We know how to live!” shouted the half-orc.
“Yeah, yeah, well, some of us have debts to pay,” said the dwarf, laying down on the couch, his head resting on one of its armrests while looking at his companions sitting at the table in this candlelit room.
“That’s what you get for marrying a mermyd,” said the half-orc.
A quiet fifth member, a half-salamamyd and half-gnome, who had been silently watching his comrades discuss possible employments, stood up from a chair in the far back and approached his criminal friends. His reddish skin, semi-reptilian features, reduced stature, and lack of tail signaled mixtures never seen before in this region. “Listen, we kidnap this particular cawakin, hold him until the contractor comes for him. And for this, we’ll get thirty gold each,” he said, putting his right hand down on the table and playing with a gold coin between his fingers.
“What the hell, thirty gold?!” exclaimed the half-orc.
“Not even being a pack-mule pays that much, ain’t it, Guleh?” said the brakan.
“Thirty gold? Just to get this cawakin, hold him till someone from the uppers comes for him?” asked the dwarf, disbelief evident in his eyes.
“What croakit is this? A croaking cawakin is that valuable? I croak bullshit,” croaked the froggeen.
“The thing is, my fellow entrepreneurs, that this particular cawakin works for a group of suckers, he’s their... cook,” said the half-salamanyd half-gnome creature.
“A cook, huh...? Then he must be quite a special one,” commented the half-orc.
“And which group does this cawakin belong to?” inquired the dwarf.
“They’re some crazy shits that burst onto the scene with a bang. Supposedly they killed one of Lanaen’s top dogs in Silifran, one of his lieutenants, and are currently duking it out with them for control of the undercity,” elaborated the half-salamanyd half-gnome.
“I’ve heard ramblings about violence escalating down there,” added the brakan.
“Croak... it’s a new band of croakers,” croaked the froggeen.
“Suckers, you mean. It’s just a fucking myth. This group is supposedly taking the region by surprise, and they’re also taking over Silifran? Pfff... I’ve never heard anything so outlandish... What a bunch of bullshit,” stated the dwarf.
“You’re just an errant bitch! What would you know about anything when you don’t even go into Silifran? You just deliver the goods at the wall,” said the brakan with a grin.
“Wanna see my scars, you smelly brak?” The dwarf stood up.
“Yeah, yeah... we’ve heard all this before...,” said the brakan, rolling his eyes and not paying any mind to the usual antics of the young dwarf.
“I’ve heard Lanaen’s Band got trouble in Silifran. Is that their doing?” asked the half-orc.
“Nah, I told you, myth and shit. Just something folks cook up in their heads to frighten the younglings,” replied the dwarf.
“Are you all done?” asked the half-salamanyd half-gnome, his patience wearing thin. “Look, I don’t care what you believe or don’t. The contractor is willing to pay fifteen gold upfront and another fifteen when the job is done.”
“Holy croak! Might as well croak the fifteen gold and do nothing!” croaked the froggeen feralis.
“The offer comes from the Valentian Scars,” added the half-salamanyd half-gnome.
“Oh... I see why no one has gone ahead with that,” commented the brakan.
“They will find you if you try to fuck them over,” warned the half-orc, his words hanging heavily in the silent room.
No more than a minute passed before the dwarf raised his left hand and pointed his index finger at everyone gathered. “Fucking bitches... all of them, not even particularly appetizing ones, just fucked up in the head.”
“And what the croak you expect from the croaking vermaians? Croak!” asked the froggeen.
“Shh.... if a Valentian hears you... I will deny even knowing you all,” exclaimed the half-orc in a hushed tone.
“Cowards... the lot of you,” scoffed the brakan.
“Croak, I like my life... croak,” retorted the froggeen.
“So, are you in?” the half-salamanyd half-gnome interrupted their grand dissertations.
“Damn it... for thirty gold... fuck it, I’m in,” said the half-orc.
Before long, everyone else agreed. For these poor creatures, thirty gold coins held the promise of an exhilarating year—or less, considering their tastes, but it promised enough for great times nonetheless. After polishing the plan they had devised upon learning the full details of the job, they each returned to their homes or the nearest tavern. The gold already gleamed in their eyes, illuminating their souls, and, in time, their lives.
In the following days, they collected the fifteen gold coins in advance and made minimal preparations. Meeting the Valentian Scars left them trembling, some even doubting their agreement to the job. Yet, the sight of gold shining in their hands swiftly dispelled any second thoughts.
Given the mission’s description, it appeared like a standard hit-job. ‘Why offer so much gold for this? Why not hire a professional group?’ So many questions none of them had the time or inclination to ask. Simple minds craved action, not questions. In steel they believed, to magic they prayed, and if the worst was to come, they’d leave it all to luck.
*
On this crisp autumn morning, dust clouds billowed along the desolate road that cut through the borderlands, separating civilization from the dreaded territories inhabited by the feralis and beyond, the worst of the worst, the Dregadas. A caravan of three carriages braved this conflicted area, its passengers and cargo vulnerable to the lurking dangers.
From the east, a solitary gnome guided the caravan on top of a sukula, his figure a stark contrast against the forested landscape. Three feralis rode on each carriage’s roof, standing guard for any possible attack or ambush, their presence a meager defense against the looming threats. To any observer, the caravan appeared as just another foolhardy merchant risking it all in a region teeming with bandits, or a naive enough individual willing to use these dangerous roads, desperate to become food for the sentient predators roaming this region.
These no-man’s lands, devoid of jurisdiction from humans or elves alike, left anyone daring to traverse their paths to their own devices. Of those foolish enough to brave these roads, some took every precaution under the stars to safeguard their journey, while others, like these bigger idiots, ventured forth with no idea at all of the dangers or, worse still, knowing full well the risks yet thinking divine providence would protect them.
As the star climbed higher in the sky, casting waves of heat that scorched the mind and body of any sentient creature under its unrelenting gaze, no one in the caravan looked particularly perturbed by their surroundings. Drowsiness and boredom took its toll on these creatures, their selves’ half asleep half pretending to watch the roads and trees.
Two carriages, one at the front and the other at the back, laden with precious merchandise, invaluable goods to offer to the good half-elves, orcs, gnomes or whatever denizen they could find wherever they went, trundled slowly along the rocky road. Everyone took care of this product, one in high demand and rising, as if their lives depended on it.
Inside the middle carriage, however, a lone cawakin feralis daydreamed about the times in which he lived jailed in a small room with only enough food to sustain his bodily functions. Locked away in captivity, he had once struggled to survive his human masters. After he managed to escape captivity, the cawakin feralis began chasing his real dream—to become a sorcerer. Not any sorcerer, but the best sorcerer that ever existed. Suffering, pain, and hunger colored his existence from then on, and he even found himself in need of begging from a lowly baakin feralis shaman for housing and food, thus becoming the servant of that old baakin.
The cawakin feralis smiled. How the tables had turned.
In that moment, surrounded by piles of gold in product, an everlasting sense of accomplishment washed over him, along with the assurance that he now possessed all he needed to further his studies in sorcery. Sikue offered thanks to Leiniliya, the feralis god of thunder and might. As an added testament to his own worth, he had provided the denizens of these parts with what they desired, their satisfied smiles serving as ample payment. That, and the occasional gold coins tossed his way to cover the cost of his most expensive reagents.
The caravan continued its journey, speeding off into the distance for another half hour before coming to an abrupt halt. The sudden interruption jolted Sikue out of his reverie.
“Hey, what caw-happened?” he yelled, sticking his head out of the carriage window.
In that instant, shouts and the clamor of battle reached two orifices at the back of of his head. The forces that had launched their attack from the forest swiftly surrounded the caravan, and one by one, the creatures accompanying Sikue fell into pools of their own blood. After tense minutes, silence reigned once more, broken only by the chirping of insects intruding in the dreams of anyone foolish enough to traverse these savage lands.
“Ah, those fuckers got me! Look!” yelled the brakan, examining his bloodied right arm.
“You’ll survive,” exclaimed the half-salamanyd half-gnome.
“I can’t even feel my arm, damnit!” the nagging continued.
“It was easy shit though!” grinned the half-orc, already imagining the fifteen gold coins from the rest of the pay in his hands.
“Whoever these suckers are, they sure are lame,” remarked the dwarf.
“Or we are just too croak,” added the froggeen feralis.
The five criminal friends approached the middle carriage.
“Hey, you there! Come out!” shouted the half-salamanyd half-gnome.
They waited for a few seconds, but after receiving no response, the half-orc forcefully opened the carriage door, only to be met by a ball of magical forces that erupted from the interior.
“Arggh!” A pained cry and the gurgling of blood soon followed.
The poor creature’s jaw blew away almost instantly, leaving him writhing in agony, like a headless chicken in search of a place to meet his end. His startled companions recoiled from the carriage, forming a ring around it.
“Fucker got Dili’ngo!” yelled the dwarf.
“Let’s kill him!” exclaimed the brakan, eager for swift retribution. “Burn the whole carriage!”
“No, you idiots! They want him alive!” The half-salamanyd half-gnome interposed himself before his enraged companions.
“Who croaks about that!” the froggeen croaked with rage.
“Think! Fuck! Think! The Valentians won’t be happy if we fuck up. Are you going to apologize to them? Or return their gold?” The half-salamanyd half-gnome’s words injected a dose of reality into the hot-headed minds of his companions.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Shit!” The brakan’s frustration mirrored the sentiment shared by all.
“We will smoke him out!” yelled the dwarf, his anger now tempered.
Without hesitation, the sentient creatures set to work, gathering wood and dry foliage from the surrounding area and igniting impromptu pyres around the carriage. They kept feeding the flames, throwing more combustible material until a thick smoke enveloped the road.
Inside the carriage, Sikue stubbornly refused to budge, convinced he would not emerge alive. However, as his eyes burned and each breath robbed him of a piece of himself, doubt crept in.
Outside, standing against the wind, his captors covered their noses and mouths with wet cloth to shield themselves from the smoke, patiently awaiting the obvious outcome.
*
Laughter filled the air of this tavern nestled in the heart of one of those nowhere settlements between borders. The four friends celebrated their successful hit-job, raising their glasses in a toast to their fallen comrade. Gathered around a circular table adorned with arreci to the brim, they drank without a care. To them, life was too short to stop and think. Inebriated beings bellowed, sang, and used their tongues to explore the sensual intricacies of the mouths of the prostitutes seated on their laps.
“Oh, my enchanting Guleh, you always now how to inspire me. Up here and down there,” remarked a female mermyd mix perched upon the dwarf’s knee.
“Will you be good to me tonight?” Guleh inquired of his preferred female in this tavern.
“Tonight, I’ll treat you to everything!” she replied, playfully nipping at his earlobe.
“Whaaat mischief have you beeeeen up to? Diiid you rob a merchaaant?” asked a female feralis baakin, settled on the the lap of the brakan.
The friends exchanged knowing glances, their expressions turned serious.
“Even croaking better!” declared the froggeen at last. “We're rich! Croaking rich!”
A boisterous clamor and uproarious cheers erupted from the table, drawing the attention of other patrons who glanced briefly before returning to their own affairs.
“But hush!” With a forceful slam of his hand upon the table, causing the drinks to tremble, the half-salamanyd half-gnome, seated without a female companion and who barely sipped from his drink, declared. “Details of our job are ours and ours alone!”
“This Yili’de! Croak!” shouted the froggeen.
“Don’t be such a killjoy!” retorted Guleh.
“What are you even reserving yourself for?” questioned the brakan.
“Are you waiting for your princess, sweetheart? I have plenty of friends I could call upon. They might not be princesses, but they certainly know how to make a male happy,” remarked the female mermyd mix, smiling at Yili’de.
“What are you even saving all that silver for?” Another mermyd mix, seated beside the froggeen feralis and less humanoid in appearance than the one on the brakan’s lap, queried the half-salamanyd half-gnome.
“For my family,” Yili’de replied with a solemn expression. “I have four siblings and a mother. They need food, clothing... the basics of life, you know.”
“That’s sweat...” one of the female mermyd mix sincerely remarked.
“Leave that one alone, let’s party!” shouted the dwarf.
“Hey, hey! What about the... ‘package’?” Yili’de spoke in code to his companions, seeking straight answers before their celebration spiraled out of control. “Someone needs to keep an eye on it. What if... it doesn’t remain where we left it?”
“Yili’de, our contact with the bitches said they’d collect it tomorrow, and we ensured it was... well taken care of. My sister... she’s skilled in these matters, she’ll watch over it diligently,” reassured the brakan, swaying slightly as he spoke, his inebriated manners growing with each sip.
“Leave this croaking talk for later! Croak!” croaked the feralis froggeen, also succumbing to the intoxicating pleasures before them.
“Yeah! Bring the next round!” bellowed the dwarf to the waitress. “Don’t hold back! We want your strongest arreci!”
Another round of everything this establishment had to offer, from food to beverages, decorated the table. After devouring a piece of meat and downing his arreci, the half-salamanyd half-gnome bid his farewells and exited the tavern.
Outside, the star intensified, casting its heat upon the the dusty alleys of this impoverished settlement. Yili’de resolved to check on the kidnapped cawakin before heading home. Not far away, he arrived to an aging house—the brakan’s family residence. Shared only with his sister, it served as a repository for the criminal friend’s acquisitions—weapons, scrolls, substances and even individuals. The sister didn’t object, as long as she received her payment.
Upon knocking in a predetermined sequence, a female brakan opened the door. After exchanging pleasantries, Yili’de ensured the cawakin remained secure. Bound, bruised, and bloodied from the retribution for their fallen comrade, Sikue lay upon the wooden floor of the first floor. Altering his plans, the half-salamnyd half-gnome decided to spend the day with the feralis.
As night descended, he wondered about his companions. They needed to come now, the celebration could wait. They had to prepare for the Valentian Scars, whom he held little trust in, but his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by heavy knocking on the door of the house.
Shouts reverberated through the halls and staircases, reaching the first floor. Yili’de hurried down and beheld Guleh, the dwarf, at the threshold of the house, covered in blood. One eye missed from his face as did his arm from the shoulder down.
“Ah! Damn it all! Look at me! It fucking hurts!” cried Guleh out in agony and desperation.
The female brakan and Yili’de swiftly ushered him into the house, shielding the distressing sight from any prying eyes, and settled him down, blood splattering in all directions.
“What happened?! Where is everyone?!” demanded Yili’de, as the female brakan fetch cloth for Guleh’s injuries and a health potion to alleviate his pain. Guleh promptly consumed the potion, easing his agony.
“Do you have any healing scrolls?!” inquired the dwarf.
“I’m not sure, I’ll check! But where is everyone?! Where is my brother?!” pressed the female brakan.
“They came for us! All of us!” Guleh grasped his friend’s left arm. “They’re heading to your house, Yili’de! Your mother, your siblings...!”
“What?!”
“Run! Go!” yelled the dwarf.
Without hesitation, Yili’de bolted from the house and raced through the dusty streets. He sprinted, prayed and clung to hope in his heart, desperately wishing it was a mistake, that Guleh hadn’t meant his family, that they were safe and sound, waiting for him to embrace them.
The half-salamanyd half-gnome pushed himself onward under the moonslit sky, his unique mix-race abilities enabling him to maintain his full sprint for an extended period, all the way to the next settlement where his family resided.
Two hours later, as dusk settled, he finally arrived. Without pausing to catch his breath, he pressed forward. Yili’de found the town as seemingly unchanged—tranquil and silent. Nothing appeared amiss. ‘Maybe Guleh’s mind simply didn’t work right anymore’, he thought struggling to calm his troubled soul. A small bluish home, encrusted in a mound, weathered and worn from years of use, stood at the end of the main street. He quickened his pace.
In an instant, his entire being crumbled, his mind reeled, and the world stopped. In that moment, he encountered true terror. Inside his home, furniture lay strewn about, disarrayed, blood staining every surface, yet he found no signs of his family. Then, on one of the walls of the main room, he discovered a soaked-blood note. It demanded that he proceeded to the warehouse on the other side of the settlement if he ever wished to see his family again.
*
“I am here! I have come! Where is my family!?” yelled Yili’de once inside the warehouse, his sight diminished by the surrounding darkness.
In this decrepit building, his voice resounded forth and back. Night had arrived, yet his heart continued to pound against his chest, struggling to breathe, to think straight. Yili’de’s trembling body stood paralyzed as he shouted again and again. Deep inside, he knew life’s punishment had finally come. He just hadn’t realized who his redeemer was.
Suddenly, several claps echoed through the abandoned warehouse.
“Who’s here?! Show yourself!” screamed Yili’de into the shadows.
“Well done! Very well done. You came, as I knew you would,” replied a somber voice from deep within the darkness.
From that same blackness, and emerging into the moonslight streaming through a hole in the ruined ceiling at the center of the structure, a red-haired elf made his appearance.
“The ringleader finally appears.” X’s serious tone left no doubts about how much Yili’de and his friends had erred. “The mastermind behind the kidnapping of a very crazy, but very needed, cawakin.”
“You are...!” Yili’de’s words faltered. A redheaded elf, the one surrounded by mystery and myth, now stood before him in the flesh. “No... It wasn’t my idea! I swear, it was the Valentians! They paid us to do it!”
“Oh, I’m aware. I’m simply repeating what your comrades confessed.”
As X finished speaking, several torches were lit, casting light across the warehouse. Del’vhario’s members encircled Yili’de, their stances rigid as statues, their gaze fixed on the half-salamanyd half-gnome, a mix of old and new faces among them. Kneeling before these figures, two of his companions, bloodied, mutilated, gagged and on the brink of death, lay upon the crimson-stained ground. Their eyes mirrored the horrors that Yili’de’s mind raced to comprehend.
He grasped the gravity of his predicament. It was unlikely that any of them would survive the night.
“Wait! Please! We are sorry! Spare my family! They’re innocent.” Even as his own fate loomed, he pleaded for the safety of his loved ones.
“Aren’t you the one that convinced them to undertake this job?” inquired the redheaded elf, gesturing towards Yili’de’s friends.
“I... ye... yes it was me, but I didn’t...” In the midst of his worst moment, words failed him.
“You thought it would be simple, that there would be no consequences, but there are always consequences. So the question is... are you willing to face them? Those consequences?” X turned to Mau, who stood before the newest members of Del’vhario, a diverse assembly of races united under a single banner, the gnome’s own unit. “Bring the others out here,” ordered X.
The gnome and several members of his unit entered a small room at the back, emerging shortly after with Yili’de’s family in tow. His mother, two brothers and two sisters were all gagged, bound, and blindfolded. Though Yili’de noticed bloodstains on their clothing, he saw that they were still in one piece. Del’vhario positioned the family in the center of the warehouse, amidst old and broken boxes.
“I’m here! I’m here for all of you! Don’t worry!” shouted Yili’de to his family, who could only hear his voice.
“I’d advise against making promises you know you can’t keep,” X interjected. “Your family needs to understand that they are here because of you, and whatever unfolds from now on will fall upon your soul.”
Yili’de sank to his knees. “I’m imploring you... let them go. Do whatever you want with me, but spare them.”
X walked past him, heading towards the warehouse’s exit. Pausing by the door, he glanced back. “Mau, leave those two others with the family and begin loading our caravans with our stolen product.” Mau an his henchmen complied. “And you...” the redheaded elf addressed the half-salamanyd, half-gnome creature.
“Yi... Yili’de...”
“Come out Yili’de. Let’s discuss this.”
Reluctant to leave his family, so close to him, alone, Yili’de hesitated for a moment. However, seeing the redheaded elf’s willingness to engage in dialog, he acquiesced.
Several lights illuminated the street outside. The houses of this small settlement, some nestled in the trees or hidden within mounds of earth, emitted a comforting glow. Despite this reassuring sights, Yili’de’s troubled soul found no solace. He needed to devise a plan, any plan, to persuade the elf to release his family.
“Sir...”
“Call me X.”
“Ekk’s sir—”
“Do you know who we are?”
“De... Del’vhario.”
“Yes, we are Del’vhario. And were you aware that the cawakin you kidnapped is with us?”
“Ye... yes but—”
“Gold, for your family. That’s why you did it, correct? We found your comrades drunk and dusted beyond measure. They like to party, and their life reflects that, but not you. You did it for your family. Am I mistaken?”
“They mean everything to me. I only wanted to give them a better life! Please... please... forgive them... let them go.”
“That’s a sentiment worth respecting, especially coming from someone such as you... speaking creatures.” X gazed at the stars above. “Although, sometimes, poverty is preferable to the alternative...” His eyes scanned the night sky before settling on the the trembling figure of the half-salamanyd, half-gnome. “Just so we’re clear, I have nothing against them. Now, you speak.”
“I’ll tell you where the cawakin is being held! I will!”
“No, I’m not concerned about that.” X advanced towards Yili’de, speaking into his ear. “I want to know who contracted you for this job and provided the gold. Dates, names, and locations. Time is running against you and your family, and any goodwill in your favor slowly slithers away.”
Taken aback but sensing a glimmer of hope, Yili’de hesitated no longer.
“Two weeks ago, I met the Valentians through Niyeh, a gnome acquaintance who frequents the tavern in this settlement. He told me of this job. I... I never saw her face, the Valentian I did this hit for, but she told me her name was Frrer’lai, or... yes, that. We were given fifteen gold in advance and promised another fifteen upon retrieval of... your feralis. The gold, keep it, keep it all... keep everything, but please... please...” Amidst sobs and faltering voice, Yili’de divulged everything and more. His family was worth any sacrifice.
“Hey Eklk’s” Mau interrupted them.
X spun around to face the gnome.
“The rest of my commando has returned. They bring gifts.” Mau tossed the head of the dwarf and the female brakan who had remained at the male brakan’s residence. “The head of the bastard that lead us to their safehouse, and their female brakan accomplice.”
“How is Sikue?” asked the redheaded elf.
“Sperging like a mad feralis about revenge and whatnot. He’s only bruised, but he’ll be fine. Del’vhario members are escorting him to Sillifran.”
“Good. He’s fine then,” X sighed.
“Now that you have him and I’ve told you everything I know, you’ll let them go?” asked Yili’de, his throat tight with tension.
X strolled towards the warehouse entrance, but a sudden shadow, a specter from times long gone, materialized before him. A vision from his deepest self emerged to plead with him.
[Stop it! Don’t do it! Take care of your soul this time. Why thread this path again when you know where it leads.]
X laughed. “What’s it to you? Really? Why are you still here?”
“I... what do you mean?” asked Yili’de, bewildered.
“I’m not speaking to you!”
[You can change. Nothing is set in stone. There’s no manifest destiny or inevitable fate. Can’t you see it? Spilling innocent blood... again... won’t give you what you want.]
“That’s where you’re wrong. It will give what I need: respect. To be feared and not trifled with.”
[There are other means to achieve those ends.]
X merely smiled before turning his back to the apparition. He faced Mau.
“Burn it all!”
“Noooo! My family!” Two Del’vhario members siezed Yili’de, while three more set the structure ablaze, its rotting wood quickly caught fire.
“And him,” X gestured to Yili’de, “make an example of him, but keep him alive. He needs to talk about what happened here.” The elf positioned himself between the sobbing half-salamanyd, half-gnome and the raging inferno before him. “You Yili’de, will have the most important task of all. You will be become our prophet, heralding a new era. An empire forming, can you see its shape? Coalescing right before your eyes.” X turned to the illusion from his mind, pointing a finger at the specter. “The necessary sacrifices must be made.”
[The same, never changing. Sacrifice everything and everyone, but yourself, right? Coward.]
“Whatever you say, but you, ethereal one, go inside the warehouse and witness their final moments. Administer their last rites. Go. Trouble me no more,” X dismissed the vision with a wave of his hand.
Soon, a furious blaze consumed the warehouse. Sentient creatures emerged from the homes of the small settlement to watch the flames. Around this pyre, all souls drawn here by serendipity found repentance, misery, while others, reinforcement of their ways. Never to change course, and with only one goal in mind, X understood that to not only survive but thrive in this world, he needed to go all out on it, bending it to his will in the only way he knew how to do it, the only way life taught him.
True to form, he became once more what he once was.