The sun rises over the mountains with its extensive rays of scorching light. Upon the deathly hills, snarling from his ravenous hunger—a beast of great size, human in form. He transverses the world with only four men by his side, both inflicted with terrible mutations of human and Gramnorian proportions; cladded in heavy armor with golden materials jeweled with ruby stones, crested upon their chest, lies the emblem of a wolf. This beast stands twelve feet tall, walking forward with his hinge legs, licking his long snout from the lack of moisture on his lips. From his steel container, he drinks his supply of warm blood greedily without a single drop to be seen inside.
"What a terrible sight, indeed…" his deep voice trembled his men. Upon seeing them cower, he responded: "Do not fret, for there is more over this very hill. From there, we will take more than just blood," he grinned. Grasping at the hilt of his curved sword, he became anxious to hear the hiss of his blade, imagining the slaughter he performed years before. "Though what a shame it will be—for them to comply with my whims.”
"Will the empress accept such morsels?" one of the knights asked.
"My mother shall have her fill of virgins—that will always be guaranteed. If not for the Mound-rats, we will produce our supply of children. There are plenty of men and women to go around, after all. The capital is sprinkled with your kind after all…" The men held their tongues as the Prince walked onward.
Upon that very mound, they watch at a distance at the Vermiculus-Flumen tribe, unaware of the Prince's presence. With his broad grin forever present, his red glowing eyes protrude from his horn helmet. He enters their domain as they kneel before them while Gatlis and Melg step forward. The Prince spoke first with his enthusiastic tune:
"Melg—Gatlis. It has been a while since we stood together in harmony. Such pleasant company should be granted a gift of hospitality, won't you agree?" Melg gestured her hand at the woman who held a pot filled with blood. The Prince took it, smelling and swirling its contents, then poured every drop inside his steel container. "Such quality, divine indeed… What of your selection?"
With some hesitation, Melg said: "Come forth!"
A well-groomed group of women, brightened by oil, step forward together. All of them share different outlooks on their future. Some are scared, others are hopeful to live in royalty. The Prince felt a certain grasp against his spine, shivering from the cold claws of his own shadow—forming into a monstrous shape, his shadow grasped onto his shoulders, staring at the woman on display. The Prince asked his shadow:
"What do you think of our selection, Phantom?"
He said, "What a magnificent sight, Hettalies will be most pleased… a hearty soul can never be forgotten."
Karthuras remains hidden among the scattered trees, mortified by his son indulging in authority through intimidation. While his anatomy was nothing compared to his, he was instead a beast than a man. His lingering did not last forever, for he had to intervene.
The Prince glances at the Demon for a moment, at first terrified by the random encounter, then questions:
"Who are you, Demon? Are you one of my mother's servants? What is your name?”
"I am a Phader among these people. I don't serve your mother—I serve Sleeper during his perpetual absence."
The Prince chuckled, "You serve a god that doesn't invoke True freedom?”
"Look around this world…" Karthuras replied, "All that once lived withered to dust.”
"All living things must die either now or later… Such as yourself," he turns to his knights, "Go on, bring me his head!"
Karthuras demanded: "If you attempt to strike me now, you will have forfeited your own life. You must reconsider!"
The four did not listen. Thus, the words had to be spoken. In that instant, two of the men collapsed as the last two dived their blades inside their exposed bellies. The Prince was appalled by this as the Phantom protruded closer to Karthuras. He said:
"No, it can't be you! You're supposed to be dead!”
"Will you forfeit as well?" Karthuras pressed on.
"It’s been a long time since I had to use my blade…” The Prince said, “I will be sure to end your pitiful existence!” His sword is removed from his sheath with a deafening hiss. It was coated in blood from his previous foes, rotting from the lack of treatment.
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With haste, he charges Karthuras ruthlessly—swinging his curved sword in every direction, his heavy strokes shrieking the air, leaving no opening for a counterattack! Soon, he had to give in to conjuration or allow his son to endure the strength he possessed. Either decision runs the risk of killing him, a risk Karthuras is unwilling to take without a second thought. And within that thought—he had to decide before the Prince landed the final blow. With his hands wrapped around the Prince’s left arm, he pulls it from the socket! Then, bluntly strikes it against his snout!
Tossed on his back, the Prince lies in anguish—while his shoulder streams an endless river of blood. Karthuras drops the torn limb and then takes the sword instead, pointing the blade against his son’s forehead. He considered ending his life here and now.
“You have to commit, Karthuras!” The woman in his thoughts persisted. “He will return to Hettalies and bring an army to destroy us.”
No matter how dire his situation was, Karthuras could not bring himself to kill him. He stares into his child's eyes, a familiar soul behind the beastly exterior. With a firm stroke, he plunges the sword next to the Prince’s long ear, saying:
“Go forth, and never return here…”
He rises back on his feet, grasping onto his exposed flesh. “Remember my words, Phader: ‘When the fifth sun rises, expect these tarnished lands to be rid of all remnants of life. And when they ask who caused such destruction, they will utter your name in response.”
“Your hands already destroyed this world; there is nothing more you can do—But end the suffering you see before you… Will you show them mercy?”
He turned his back against the Demon and stumbled back over the mounds.
“Doom is coming for all!” Gatlis said as he struck against the Demon with his bare fist, “All will perish! All will perish!” Grasping his monstrous hand against his fist, Karthuras tightens his grip as Gatlis whimpers from his crushing strength.
He told the warrior: “Our fate was already destined… From here—from my actions—I will lead this world through its already chosen path. No longer will we all suffer through stagnation,” he let go of Gatlis.
“What of our tribe!” Melg insisted, “Will you allow death for us all!?”
From her question, he recalls his answer—an answer given to him from the many lectures he read in his three books, without speaking its contents out loud:
“It’s no secret that humanity was created through brutality and willpower; those of us who have learned and gained the correct information will lead the simpletons to build the world as we direct them. To establish order through the populace, you must divide and conquer without any thought of comprising… Therefore, when they are separated, terrified, desperate, you can control them by speaking words of promise.”
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Karthuras had made a promise beyond gold or the cure for malnourishment: the capital, a place of wonder and freedom from outside forces. In a week, he had to find a way to convince them to follow him into the wasteland. On the third night, as the sun falls behind him. He spoke fluently:
“Upon these many days—and many nights you had to succumb to the world that is now, and forever, a rotting carcass. What lies beyond the horizon is a sanctuary; however, it only remains if you are willing to partake in this incredible journey. I can lead you there. But to join me is to follow my whims without question, without a change of heart, without raising your hand. To stray from my path is a violation to our Ring lord, Sleeper… If you are to stray from me, then I will allow these lands to consume you. No one will be there to save you, not I, not your mother or father, not Gatlis, and indeed not our Ring lord… neither can you save yourself from such tragedy… To waste your blood away is a great disservice to your fellow neighbor. An act unworthy for the dreamlands—thus guaranteeing that you will remain in the realm of nightmares.”
He didn’t want to influence their minds through lies. Simple thoughts can only stray so far, unfortunately. No one questioned his ideas verbally—few kept their skepticism to themselves, knowing the others would strike against them if asked—so, thus, they followed along. By the next morning, they had not begun their path to freedom, only the familiar trail that led to the Flexenmires. That previously mentioned skepticism became troublesome wonder as they approached the ruined chapel. The entire clan runs out, weapons drawn, ready for slaughter. They stopped, watching the Phader walk forward with wide arms open and a broad smile on his skeletal face. He said to the chieftain and his people:
“Your vigor is unwarranted—for we don’t share similar desires… I have come to lead us all to sanctuary, and you are all welcome in our company. Let us forget the past and journey into the new… Will any of you follow?”
“We talked before, Demon! I command. You die! Flexenmires, slaughter!” he raised his weapon, gesturing for an onward assault against Karthuras and the Vermiculus-Flumen.
Karthuras thought to himself:
I must embrace the terror once more… So be it.
He said out loud, “Taketh the soul, transverse into the next, become my puppet, and slaughter those who dare raise their hand against us!”
The chieftain watches as his Gramnorian warrior falls over, as his soul runs into his massive body. The pain he had to endure was beyond comprehension; two limbs protruded from his body as his face malformed. His thoughts are corrupted by those words Karthuras had spoken. With his weapon in hand, he begins crushing, ripping all who approach Karthuras and the Vermiculus-Flumen! The Flexenmires stood back as they watched their chieftain stumble with the blood of his tribe; in fear, they kneeled and pleaded for their lives to be spared.
“Do you wish to follow us then? Have you had your fill of bloodshed?”
They all responded with trembling voices: “Yes!”, “Spare us!”, “Our souls belong to you!”
“From now on, you will only follow my path—and no longer will you rise against me or your former enemies. We shall become one and transverse through the wasteland, pass the stones, around the rumble, and beyond the sharpest mountain. Will you deny this path?”
No one denied his offer. And within that same day, the Flexenmires gathered their families and necessary supplies. Following the Demon and this so-called promise of sanctuary, a place he wasn’t sure of himself.
