Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Aftermath ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

a/n: This is my 2008 NaNoWriMo fic and I'd really appreciate any feedback I could receive on it.

 

This is an original work and the characters within belong to me and me alone. This is also only a temporary posting as it will be available in the future for purchase. Thanks and enjoy!

 

Aftermath

Prologue

 

Clash.

 

S'raiya had never wanted to be a hero, had never dreamed of being some damsel's knight or defeating fire-breathing dragons. Nothing similar to the fairy tales his mother had always told him before she died. He had only ever wanted one thing from life and that was to survive until the next day.

 

His dreams had always been blessedly empty, only hoping for the next meal or the assurance of his warm bed at night. He had thought often of the strength of his father's hands, and a simple clasp of acceptance across his shoulders. Rai didn't really akin the thoughts to wanting his father to be proud of him. He had simply latched onto the one living comfort he remembered and was familiar with. The comfort of his father's presence.

 

Feet skidding across the ground, his boots scraping on once-royal carpet. His breaths short and sharp, heart hammering in his chest. Blood bitter on his tongue. He feels pain and warmth, but swings his sword again anyways.

 

There is a cackle of insane laughter and then their swords meet, fierce enough to send several sparks flying into the air and momentarily lighting the darkened corridor. The face of the ruhin before him is illuminated, too beautiful for its viciousness. Too beatific for its cruelty. It laughs at him, male or female, S'raiya doesn't care, and lashes out with claws stained by the blood of those it had killed already.

 

They are such beasts, these ruhin. Invading where they don't belong. S'raiya doesn't care that they were invited because no one asked him first. No one cared to ask if he wanted his world overrun by beings from another. And now, he is going to take back what is his. One way or another.

 

He hadn't joined their little revolution because he thought it was right, or because he knew somebody had to stop the madness. He didn't do it because he wanted to be a hero - like Suerte - or because he held some vendetta against the ruhin. He hadn't even joined because the creatures had threatened his life. S'raiya hadn't cared about any of that.

 

He had only agreed to take part in the battle because Haiden had asked him. And turning his best friend from those years before down was something S'raiya couldn't do. There had never been a request of Haiden's that S'raiya had denied, except for that one time way back then. When Haiden had asked him to stay and he had so foolishly ridden off, anger mixed with pride mixed with frustration and all manner of wanderlust. His leaving had nothing to do with Haiden, but his friend had taken it that way all the same.

 

So there he was, with the rest of the idiots, risking his life for the sake of a request. For the sake of a friend he hadn't seen in more than five years. And doing it willingly. Walking alongside a group that had to be just as insane as he was.

 

A blacksmith. A mage. A child. Two mercenaries. A bonelord. A lord's daughter. And a former castle guard who had pretended to be nothing more than a wandering rogue.

 

Just the eight of them against the masses of ruhin bent on destroying their world out of vengeance alone. Punishment for a deed only one man had committed, and now everyone was paying his price. It was pure and utter madness; yet, S'raiya was there alongside them. Fighting and bleeding and trying to survive and emerge victorious all at once.

 

Fire burns against his side. That damn ruhin gets in a lucky strike. Rai feels its claws slice against his soft flesh, breaking the skin but luckily not damaging anything beneath. Blood surges to the surface but Rai ignores the pain. It is but a sharp sting.

 

A growl echoes low in his throat as Rai peels himself off the wall he has been slammed into and surges forward. He ducks under the ruhin's assault and swings his sword upward, neatly slicing through its belly. There is a choking cough as it topples to the ground, spilling hot blood over the dirty floor. An eye rolls up to look at him, eerie without the iris and littered with disgust, before it chokes on a burble of blood. Body twitching in final death throes.

 

Rai doesn't spare the ruhin another glance, pushing past the corpse to join the rest of his team. Haiden has already dispatched his enemy with the same quick, efficient movements he prides himself upon. And Suerte is anxiously signaling them from the head of the corridor, brown eyes bright from adrenaline. He looks around the corner, peering for more enemies and yet finding none. And Ryn, she is sticking close to Haiden, like a leech as usual. Despite her words, the girl really can't do anything on her own.

 

Shaking the blood off his sword, Rai's fingers curl around the sweaty hilt but he pushes onwards. He momentarily locks his granite gaze with Haiden's stormy one and then they are pressing forward. Heading deeper into madness, ignoring the wounds and the fatigue and the pile of corpses stacking around them. So much death, an endless cycle of it really.

 

There is only one chance at this. And they've come this far. There's no fucking things up now.

 

A little town with a little mind and no future for a couple of boys who wanted to become men. That was what S'raiya had always thought of his home. A tiny place tucked away in the north, amidst the snow and the mountains and the cold. Always cold, where the land hardly melted and summer was a brief speck in the year. Nothing lived there but farmers and herders too stubborn to give up and move on to greener pastures.

 

Rai left because he had no reason not to. He left because he was bored and because he couldn't be there anymore. He left because there was a great big world out there and it had to be better than his home. And while he didn't want anything special from his life, had no aspirations, he knew he didn't want to be stuck in Lathe for the rest of his miserable existence either.

 

And who knew, maybe there would be something out there that would give him some reason to dream.

 

The courtyard is still and silent, unnaturally so despite the early morning. The air is cool and wet, beginning to warm with the rising sun. A fine mist settles low over the ground, obscuring the cobblestones. But it can't quite cover the copper and sharp stench of blood. And it certainly does not hide the gruesome sight before them.

 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Rai sees Ryn gasp and raise her hand to her mouth, looking away with pain in her gaze. She huddles close to Haiden, as if he'll provide her comfort. But Haiden's eyes are for what lies before them and that alone. The smell hits them, bitter-loud in the still air. Death and decay, and so much blood that Rai swears he can taste it on his tongue.

 

It's only been three months or so and yet, the ruhin-king has managed to turn this place of former wonder into a castle of nightmares.

 

Before them, standing upright in a morbid parody of life, the bodies of those who had remained faithful to the former monarchy and to the people, despite the threats to their lives are displayed. Spiked on poles thrust deeply into once fertile soil, their corpses limp and rotting, it is a horrifying sight. One that they can hardly bear to observe.

 

Rai watches as shame floods Suerte's features and the younger man swallows thickly. He lifts a hand, stepping towards the nearest body and touches the edge of the man's uniform, crusted already with blood spatters. It is a familiar insignia on the dead man's clothing, that of the castle guard. It is an insignia that should have stood proud on Suerte's own pommel. It is still there, beneath the scraping and the abrasion, but so disfigured that one can only recognize it if they knew know to look.

 

Suerte's lips move, and the stillness carries his words to Rai's ears. “I'm sorry,” the young man whispers, and his tone is full of deep regret.

 

He drops his hand, curling his fingers back towards himself as though he has no right to come near his former compatriot. His former friend in arms.

 

S'raiya doesn't know if Suerte intends for his words to be kept secret, so he doesn't say anything. He simply leaves Suerte to his grief and his personal shame. The smell of rot is getting thicker and Rai's stomach rolls. He wonders how long these bodies have been here, and wishes he believed in some sort of deity to offer them a prayer of sending. But S'raiya has always been an agnostic at heart and all he can do is wish them a better journey in death than they had experienced in life.

 

Across the courtyard, Haiden shakes his head. “Let's go,” he orders, his voice soft but commanding. A quiet enough demand to be obeyed and yet, not carry to any potential enemies surrounding them.

 

He is their unofficial leader, Haiden with his never-ending calm and firm resolve. He is unflinching in the face of what they plan to do, and presses forward, as though the burden of saving their country has been placed on his shoulders alone. Rai swears that he can see it pushing him down sometimes, sees the bowing of his back and the stoop of his berm.

 

Rai pushes through the mist, doesn't bother to watch it swirl around his feet, and catches up to Haiden and Ryn. The woman has moved forward, out of sight of the corpses and if her face is a little pale, Rai doesn't care to notice. Three months of fighting through all kinds of madness and Ryn still tries to see her world painted in shades of rose. Naïve and foolish, two traits that irritate him to no end.

 

“Alright?” Rai asks gruffly, catching eyes with Haiden.

 

He nods, something hiding behind his gaze. His true emotions, always betrayed by his eyes. “Of course,” he replies, his hand brushing across the hilt of his sword at his waist. A bone blade, one of the best weapons to ever be used if the bonelords weren't so stingy with their talents. “You?”

 

“I've seen worse,” Rai lies smoothly.

 

Oh, he's seen bad before. He's seen conflict and torture and assassination and minor skirmishes. He's seen battles and he's seen death. He's dealt it himself, defended against it. It is the price one pays for choosing the life of a mercenary. But he's never seen anything as ruthless as those bodies, brutally strung up on pickets as warnings to any others that would stand against the ruhin-kin. He knows that the same fate will belong to him and the others if they are caught.

 

Rai is terrified, but it is something he will not admit aloud. He knows the cruelty of the ruhin far better than any one of his companions, except perhaps Suerte, who still hasn't spoken of everything he's seen. Rai's knees are shaking and he finds it harder to catch his breath than it should. His heart won't stop pounding an unnatural tune and sometimes, his grip on his sword falters, streaked with sweat. But he keeps going anyways. Because if he doesn't watch Haiden's back, who will?

 

Suerte, who is just now finding his courage? Or Ryn, who would rather be protected than work to defend someone else? And as for the others, they are not here now. They are somewhere else in the castle, completing their half of the assault. Rai knows that there is no one, and so he bears the mantle himself. His shoulders are not that burdened, after all. He can wear a little more weight.

 

A hand claps down his shoulder companionably and then Haiden is looking at Suerte, who has finally caught up to them. “Let's go,” Haiden repeats. And what can they do but follow?

 

It was nothing but a series of small chances, and perhaps a touch of the tender mercies of Fate. It started with Alliele, a town on the border of massive forest and unforgiving plains, stretching out for miles of rolling hills and waving golden grasses. There was an inn present in the hamlet, and though it was a small place, it was a popular inn. Well, it was also the only inn, but it was still made popular by a flavorful, local brew.

 

They were all staying there. The eight of them, excluding Ryn. They met her later, in another city. All of them had been present in the common room, eating, drinking, mingling with strangers. They hadn't known each other then, except for Loka and Gaelin who traveled together and Haiden and S'raiya who had met again after the eight or so years since Rai had left Lathe.

 

They had been a collection of unknown faces, unknown stories, and complete strangers. Until the ruhin attacked, swarming down on an unsuspecting Alliele like a hoard of raving conquerors.

 

It wasn't that Rai hadn't heard of the ruhin attacks before. The rumors had been high and wild on the winds, with plenty to go around. But it had always been removed from him, a far distance away. Something happening in the remote capital city of Weirth, a place he had never set foot and never made plans to. Before, it had had nothing to do with him. He hadn't felt any burning desire to climb atop a white horse and ride into battle, defending the weak and the innocent against the invading ruhin and their lust for blood. It just wasn't his problem.

 

And then, they decided to destroy his place of refuge for the night, setting fire to the inn and driving its patrons out into the dark streets. From there, they were hunted down and slaughtered, those that fought back anyways. Those that gave up and gave in, they were collared and dragged away. Invade and conquer, slaughter and demolish. Familiar war tactics.

 

Rai fought back because he wasn't going to lay down and die and he wasn't going to find out what he looked like in a collar and chains. And then he turned to find himself swinging swords beside another man, a familiar man. And on his other side, a few steps away, a woman was throwing spells left and right, a child clinging to her robes. Magic lighting up her fair features. Somewhere past her, another man was fighting, too - the blacksmith who had been giving Rai company at the bar. And they were all fighting, lifting weapons against the ruhin.

 

That was where it started, where the first seeds of their eventual companionship were sown. But it wasn't until their next chance encounter that the rebellion was born.

 

Suerte knows all of the secret passages in the castle because he had served as a servant to the guard in his youth, sent from home at the tender age of ten. And though he had kept it hidden from them, he had also been a member of the castle guard. Here, it is he who takes the lead, though Haiden follows close at his back.

 

To their surprise, the castle seems abandoned. There is a distinct sense of loss in the air. Of desertion and forsaking. The air is as still within the stone-carved walls as it had been in the courtyard and the once lavish furnishings are tattered and worn. A scent lingers in the air, something unfamiliar and acerbic. But beneath it all, the stench of spilled blood is flagrant.

 

Rai breathes through his mouth as he hovers close to the walls, keeping to the shadows. He is in the rear of the line, ears cocked for the sounds of approaching ruhin and ensuring that they are not being followed. Not that it really matters.

 

The ruhin-king knows they are there. He has known from the moment the eight of them stepped into his domain several hours ago. He could have sent forces after them, but he hasn't. And Rai can't help but wonder why. For his own amusement? Does he not consider them a threat? Or is it because he knows that a worser fate awaits them in the castle?

 

He can tell that they are getting closer to the throne. There is a subtle sense of power in the air, a thrumming along the walls that he can feel if he brushes his fingertips along the wood. Ahead of him, nerves are rare and tight, more apparent in Suerte than anyone else.

 

He watches as the younger man pauses to peer around the corner, and then gestures for them to follow as he slips off to the right. Try as they might, they simply cannot move quietly. Undoubtedly, the ruhin can hear them coming, but there is no choice. They cannot turn back now.

 

Behind them, Rai hears the sound of a swish. The creak of bones and muscle, ever so soft, like that of wings shifting in the darkness. He doesn't even look, he simply whirls and lashes out. The tip of his blade connects with the belly of one of several ruhin sneaking up on them, but he is unable to avoid the backhand that slaps him across the cheek. Claws rake into soft flesh sharply.

 

S'raiya stumbles backwards, hitting the wall, and the sound of him crashing into one of the light fixtures alerts the others. It shatters as it tumbles from its perch, spraying glass and oil everywhere. Suerte peers back around the corner, eyes wide and fingers reaching for his blade. Haiden is also moving to help, already heading his way even as Ryn lets loose a small, startling cry and hurriedly blocks the blade coming her direction.

 

“Go!” Rai wheezes, knowing that they are too close to be caught in the battle now. Loka and the others are depending on them. They have to keep the ruhin's attention on themselves.

 

“I'll hold them here!”

 

He is already pushing himself off the wall, twisting to avoid the spiked mace aiming for his skull. It bashes into the wood behind him, splintering it from the force of the ruhin's blow. The wound in his side screams from the abrupt movement, tearing the scabs and sending a fresh streak of blood down his side. He ignores the pain; it is trivial.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees indecision in the eyes of his fellows. Ryn is fighting off her own opponent, fear and determination mixed in her expression. Haiden moves to help her, driving back the ruhin with a hard-hitting blow. Suerte hovers in indecision, knowing that Rai is right, but so damn loyal to them that he can't even imagine leaving them to the proverbial wolves. He still feels he has some absolution to pay for the lies.

 

Cursing under his breath for their foolishness, Rai whips his blade forward, driving it deep into the shoulder of his opponent. The metal gets briefly lodged in a bone and when the ruhin lurches backwards, wheezing, Rai lets go of his sword. His hand drops to his dagger, ducking under the next blade that's being aimed for his head. He can see more crowding the corridor behind him, likely using the teleportation abilities they are so fond of. Che. The bastards.

 

“Get out of here,” he growls, managing to catch Haiden's eyes for all of a second.

 

A whole conversation passes between them in that moment, and he nods briefly in understanding. Haiden understands responsibility after all. He knows what needs to be done.

 

Slashing through his own opponent and not caring to watch the gurgled drop to the floor, Haiden turns and runs, not away from the battle but to one that is bound to be times more difficult. He grabs Ryn's arm, ignoring her brief words of protests. Suerte is watching Rai, swallowing thickly as he waits for them to catch up. And then, the three vanish around the corridor, leaving Rai alone, as he had demanded.

 

“Don't let them get away,” one of the ruhin orders, obviously a commander to the others, and Rai isn't surprised.

 

The ruhin are not animals; they are intelligent. Perhaps even more so than the humans. They conquer because they can, because they are furious and lashing back at the cause of their anger, not because they do not know any better. And they are also very human in their appearance, thin and angular bodies, the shortest of them a head below Rai's six feet and the tallest standing well over him. And they are winged, every last one of them, though in some classes the appendages are merely vestigial. Such as the ones he fights now.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Rai throws himself in the path of the two who planned to obey their leader. He has taken this position. He will not let them pass. He doesn't bother to state his intentions, they are pretty damn obvious. Instead, he attacks, shoving his dagger into the eye of one ruhin and whirling to wrestle the blade away from another. He fights away memories that want to crop up in this enclosed space, surrounded by the sound of their breathing and their voices. At least he has a sword now, even if it feels foreign in his hands.

 

The metal is unlike anything he's seen before, so dark it seems to be mixed with a mineral not known for weaponry. And it is hot to the touch, as if just pulled from the torch. The hilt is slightly slick, too smooth for his human flesh. But he grips it tightly anyways.

 

They will not pass.

 

It had been too easy to sneak into the palace. Walking through the invisible barrier, it had felt as if their breath had been stolen from them. Their bodies ripped into two pieces, one heading back towards freedom and the other towards certain death. Yet, they continued forwards.

 

S'raiya still wondered why he was doing this. Risking life and limb for masses of strangers he cared little about. Against enemies he didn't particularly feel interested to fight. It was a suicidal choice, and he had made it for reasons he didn't entirely know.

 

He wondered what drove the others, what inspired them to take up arms against the horde. Suerte's reasoning was obvious enough, as was Maro's, who lost a companion in the attack on Alliele. A very dear friend, most likely, considering the extent of her desire for vengeance. The bloodlust that thickened her rage and nearly brought color to her bone-white flesh. And well, perhaps he understood Haiden's reasoning as well.

 

Haiden had an overblown sense of responsibility, and perhaps even a hero complex of his own. He wasn't one to stand idly by if he could fight, if he could defend those weaker. And the lines slithering up the side of his neck, dark and inked and written in a language few could read, only accentuated his belief in such principles. Strength. Courage. Resolve. All those words among others, imprinted into his very flesh because they were standards he would always put his faith into. Yes, S'raiya suspected he understood Haiden's reasoning.

 

Trahern, however, remained a mystery. He should have returned home after surviving the attack on Alliele. To his wife and his blacksmithing duties. To everything that was waiting for his safe return. But he hadn't. Instead, he had made his decision immediately. Perhaps he thought he had something to protect.

 

Loka was the one that S'raiya understood the least. Maybe it was the sense of risk. She was a magick-user, and they were used to taking chances. And after finding that she had invoked five guardians when only two were common at the most and any more than four was considered suicide, Rai was even more certain that she was a gambler. All for power. And yet, she was also the only one out of their group who had taken a child under her wing. Gaelin, who hadn't even seen eight summers yet. What was her reason?

 

As for Ryn, well, S'raiya thought it best to rarely think of the woman. A noble who played at being a commoner, that wrapped Ryn up in a box. And why she was risking her life for the sake of those very commoners was unknown to Rai. He suspected that her naiveté had much to do with it, as Ryn didn't well understand the danger they were heading into. She hadn't understood from the beginning, when she latched onto their group without invitation and refused to be set aside. He wondered if she thought that her bravado was tempting. It wasn't.

 

In any case, it had been far too simple to break through that barrier. They had expected to be attacked immediately. Instead, they were met with the outer remnants of a city that seemed long abandoned. Whatever residents remained trapped inside - those who hadn't managed to escape - kept to themselves, behind drawn curtains and locked doors. It had been eerily silent and still. Not even a random, stray canine could be seen.

 

Even the veteran mercenaries - Haiden and himself - and Loka - a woman experienced in warfare - had been bothered by the atmosphere. It had been like walking into a village populated only by the spirits of those that had already passed. It gave off the aura of abandonment of the worst kind. And danger was practically palpable on the air.

 

Despite their initial anxiety, however, nothing stirred. They were not attacked as they crept through the empty streets, the wind blowing a stale odor towards them as if the barrier blocked even its freedom. The sun felt cooler against their flesh, and the formerly pounding rain had become nothing more than a grey drizzle within the ruhin's reach. It was as if time had frozen for this stretch of land, for the city of Weirth. And it was a discomfiting thought indeed.

 

They made it to the castle without incident. And from there, they had gone their separate ways. Both Suerte and Ryn had provided this information to them, for different reasons of their own. The ruhin were coming through a portal in one area of the castle, while the king was keeping to the throne room, where he could issue his commands while surrounded by what he considered the opulence of the entire country.

 

Loka, Trahern, Gaelin and Maro slipped off to the right, a map sketched out for them by Suerte with direct instructions for their destination. A room in one of the higher towers, the easier of the two destinations to find. They had parted ways, and then there were only the four remaining. Their task? To destroy the ruhin who had stolen the form of the true king with intentions to lay his country to ruin. Vengeance was a ruthless mistress.

 

The moment they stepped into the castle proper, laying feet to well-fitted stones, the ruhin had emerged from the woodwork. Spotted, no doubt, with the help of their compatriots, the named telane - dark shades. Creatures without wings and material form which lived in the shadows and served as the king's messengers.

 

And from there, it had been battle after battle, blood staining the ground to join that which was already spilled and the ruhin's dying screams echoing down the corridors.

 

From there, it had been madness.

 

His lungs threaten to burst but S'raiya pushes forward anyway, one hand briefly pressing to the wound in his side. A lucky strike had broken through his defenses, deepening the injury. But he will live, for now. And that is all that matters to him.

 

He has reclaimed his sword, having yanked it from the corpse where it had been resting. Blood spatters his body and behind him, the hall is littered with the bodies of the ruhin he has defeated. The smell of copper is so strong he doesn't even notice it anymore, his tongue deadened to the bitter taste. His right arm dangles useless at his side, wrenched viciously from the socket. This is war, the sound and scent of it. He wonders again, why he's here.

 

And then he finds himself before the throne room. One door is shut tight, still locked in place. But the other is pushed open, enough for a man of his size to slip inside. And beyond it, he can hear voices. Mocking laughter. Gasping breath. Growls of anger. It doesn't sound at all like a battle.

 

Rai doesn't knock, doesn't peek inside. He simply curls his fingers, beginning to crust dark crimson, and steps into the room. He nearly trips over Ryn when he does so, the girl laying pushed up against the door, probably the reason it had been slammed shut. She is unconscious, but breathing, her chest rising in a stuttered rhythm as blood soaks the front of her clothing. It is hard to tell from her position just where she is injured.

 

“And so, the fourth of my opponents has arrived.”

 

The voice, low and strangely seductive, practically purrs as it spills into the room. It seeks out Rai's ears and captures his attention, causing him to lift his gaze from Ryn and spread it around the rest of the area.

 

He first finds Haiden, kneeling on one knee with his sword thrust into the ground, fingers still locked around the hilt. Blood is dripping to the floor from his forehead, where it also streaks down the side of his face and blinds him in one knee. Yet, he is laboriously trying to pull himself to his feet, despite his injuries.

 

And several feet in front of his best friend, the ruhin king stands at the base of the stairs to his throne, watching him with a mocking expression. His thin lips twist into an amused sneer. His human body seems changed for its new resident, standing taller and more sure. His height is easily a match for Rai, with more inches to spare.

 

He spots Suerte then, and leaving Ryn where she is - safer than the rest of them at the moment - Rai steps further into the room. He finds himself at Haiden's side, raising his sword defiantly at the ruhin king as he assesses the situation.

 

“You were waiting?” Rai demands, watching the ruhin king closely. Glaring at the fingers that are wrapped around Suerte's throat, keeping him dangling a foot or so off the ground.

 

Suerte is gasping for breath, one hand wrapped around the king's wrist as he tries to pull his body up so that he can breathe. His sword lies on the ground at his feet, useless to him, and his brown eyes are bright with fear. He looks at Rai, but ironically enough, it is not a request to be saved. It is a merely a look, given to acknowledge his appearance and nothing further.

 

Resolve. Perhaps Suerte has finally found his.

 

It was the classic example of good intentions gone wrong. Their country was ruled by a corrupt king, not that S'raiya had ever paid any attention to that fact. Where he had lived, the king's influence was faint and barely present. But in his travels, he had seen just how far the monarchy had fallen. The poverty and the dishonesty and the degeneration of a once-glorious kingdom.

 

One other man had also seen what nearly the whole country already knew. And he had vowed to change it, had vowed to do whatever was necessary to dethrone the current king and replace him. And this man planned to sit himself upon the throne, had declared his intentions for all to hear.

 

Unfortunately for this man, he held very little power on his own. Born from a fallen noble family and having been cast to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, he had few allies and few skills. But what he did know focused on long-forgotten arts. Banned magicks, purportedly buried deep in the history of the country. And this man, this former noble, had used those dark arts to his advantage.

 

He summoned help, from another world. And in his quest to save them all from corruption, had spelled their doom. What came through the portal was not his hoped-for savior, but a devil instead, from a race of otherwordly creatures who called themselves the ruhin.

 

His good intentions slaughtered him, and his form was taken by the leader of the ruhin that had answered his call. The ruhin thought to honor his foolishness by completing what the man had wanted. They descended upon Weirth and made it their home, driving out the true residents and killing all that resisted. The corrupt king had been the first to feel the sting of their claws, not that it really mattered anymore.

 

By that point, the corruption was the least of the kingdom's worries.

 

The king laughs and then gives Suerte a little shake, watching the human's body swing about in his grip, dangling helplessly. “Something like that,” the king drawls, and his claws prick at Suerte's throat, drawing drops of blood. “Humans, I think, provide the best entertainment. But, this is the price you pay for invoking my kind. To be honest, I didn't even know that you still had the ability. Ah, to be pleasantly surprised.”

 

“You're babbling,” Rai spits, and his arms throbs at his side, protesting the angry tension that has rippled over his entire body. He finds himself advancing slowly across the floor, slow and careful motions towards the target, like someone trying to corner a stray wildcat.

 

“Stop toying with us.”

 

The king laughs again, unconcerned for everything that is going on around him. “You think I don't know,” he muses aloud. “You think that the other half of your motley band of flesh has escaped my notice. That erroneous assumption amuses me more than greatly. I should thank that pathetic man-who-would-be-king.”

 

Suerte gasps, fingers tightening around the wrist he grips and growing white-knuckled. “Bastard,” he hisses, glaring full force at the ruhin. “Get out of my country!”

 

He surges forward, displaying enormous will, and kicks out at the ruhin. His boots connect with the upper chest and growling angrily, the king drops him to the ground. Suerte lands hard, and coughs, but shakes it off, groping for his sword. Rai takes the moment to his advantage and lifts his own blade, attacking head on.

 

The ruhin lets loose a string of words in a language they do not know. Likely curses from their inflection, which seemed contradictory to the beautiful flow of the diction. Rage fills his face, making the formerly human features seem even more ruhinic. The claws on his fingertips appear to glisten, to sharpen in the flickering torchlight.

 

Everything seems to happen so quickly, and yet time also feels frozen around S'raiya. He can't force himself any faster across the floor. He watches as Suerte finds his sword and whips his body around on the floor to attack the king. He hears Haiden struggling to rise to his feet, a menagerie of words spilling from his mouth that make no sense in the sudden fall of silence in the throne room. Rai shouts something, probably like “stop” or “no” as his heart thuds a strange beat. And then he is helpless.

 

He is useless as he watches with wide eyes when the king growls and shoves his hand through Suerte's chest, the other having grasped the blade before it could even touch the edge of his fine robes. Suerte is looking up at the king, and then his body jerks as the hand is ripped from his chest in a spray of blood. He slumps forward, hand raised by a white-knuckled grip on his captured sword before it, too, loosens and he topples.

 

A crimson stain spreads around Suerte's body but he is still breathing, lips moving and head tilted towards Haiden and S'raiya. An anguished angered cry echoes behind Rai - Haiden - but he can't stop to look. Not when the ruhin is eying him with the same malicious intent. Not when Suerte is gasping his final breaths.

 

Rai's vision tunnels and he only sees the king before him. He lifts his blade and rushes the ruhin, the weapon singing for death. The metal thirsty for it.

 

The sharp ring of their blades meeting echoes in the lofty ceiling of the throne room. And Rai nearly buckles beneath the force of the ruhin's stolen blade, his strength far superior to Rai's own. His arm aches, his side still seeps blood, and he idly thinks, this is where I am going to die. But nothing shows on his face. Not even when the ruhin leans in closer, the bright blue eyes of the human body he inhabited all the more unnerving this near.

 

“Pathetic,” the ruhin mocks, his free hand - still covered in gore - reaching to grasp S'raiya by his useless arm.

He wants to twist out of the way, but can't, else he'll lose his precarious footing. The thin fingers grasp his upper arm, squeezing painfully, and S'raiya winces. His grip on his sword momentarily falters.

 

Derision lines the ruhin's tone. “Humans are utterly useless.”

 

With another scoff, he suddenly jerks Rai by his arm, inhuman strength yanking him to the side and sending him flying. He screams, the sound tearing itself from his throat as he loses his grip on his sword and slams into one of the many columns in the throne room. It cracks beneath his weight, mimicking the sickening crunch that echoes in his ribcage. Pain flashes through his entire body, arm sending shooting stabs as his breath rattles in his chest.

 

Rai slumps to the floor, head spinning, and hunches over, spitting up flecks of blood over the floor. On the edge of his whirling conscious, he hears Haiden scream, hears his boots pounding across the floor. But he can barely focus and wonders if he'll ever be able to use his arm again, his wrist likely snapped. And his ribs, several of them, surely cracked if not broken. Rai feels as if he is swimming through pain and nausea crests over him.

 

He dry heaves, shaking his head to clear away the dizziness as he tries to climb to his feet, the cracked column serving as an aid. The ruhin king is laughing in the background and he can hear the clash of weaponry, Haiden more than holding his own for the moment. Rai stumbles and falls back against the pillar, breathing shallowly as he tries to focus on the duel in front of them.

 

His vision is blurry, but he manages to catch sight of his dropped sword, at the base of the stair and a few feet from the ongoing battle between the two males. Suerte's body is crumpled even further away, blood an ever-spreading puddle around him.

 

Haiden is being driven backwards by the vicious slashes of his opponent, yet, he is moving too quickly for the ruhin to get in a good blow on him. They circle around each other, trading hard-hitting blows and inflicting minor wounds, but nothing concrete. Nothing solid. Haiden needs a distraction, something to draw the ruhin king's attention for the fraction of a necessary second to defeat him.

 

Something that only Rai can provide as the only one still conscious.

 

He grips the remnants of his cloak and throws it to the ground. Making quick work with boot and one hand, he tears off a strip and binds his useless arm to his chest. It takes less than a minute, and though the pressure on his rib cage is nearly unbearable, Rai ignores it. The pain is minor, after all. Then, swallowing down rising bile, and ignoring the flashes on the corner of his gaze from the pain, Rai lurches forward.

 

He stops briefly to scoop up his dropped sword, the weapon feeling unusually heavy in his arms. Which might have something to do with the imagined weight on his shoulders, with the feeling of his body being pulled towards the ground. Something shifts wetly inside of him, bone grating on bone, and the nausea creeps into his throat. It's becoming easier and easier to ignore the pain and he knows that he's going to die here. He can taste death on the tip of his tongue.

 

The thrumming of power in the room is growing stronger. The sense of it in the walls and the floor and the air is nearly suffocating, or perhaps that is merely the broken ribs. The ruhin king is growing agitated, annoyed by Haiden's belligerence. His defiance. His strikes are falling heavier and harder as it becomes less and less of a game for him.

 

And then Rai is throwing himself into the fight, aiming his sword for the ruhin's back and not caring that it is a move considered dishonorable. Rai has never cared much for honor. That is more Haiden's forte than his, but even Haiden understands the necessity for such things sometimes.

 

The king turns at the last moment, and Rai's strike is nothing but a glancing slice down the side, biting deep into the flesh just below the armpit. It is not a fatal blow and Rai curses under his breath, the effort draining the last of his nonexistent energy. His wounds are taking their toll on him and he wonders how long he will manage to keep his feet.

 

“Drax!” the king mutters, sneering as a foreign curse spills from his lips.

 

As Rai draws back, readying his sword for another strike, the motion is all too slow. He is unprepared for sudden backhand across the side of his face, making his head spin. And the sharp sting of a few cuts as the king's claws streak across his cheek. The blow is hard enough to send him reeling, brain knocking back and forth in his skull.

 

He stumbles back a few steps to regain his lost equilibrium, and is rewarded for his sacrifice when the king hisses in pain. Haiden had taken the moment of distraction and used it to his advantage, effecting a thick swipe across the king's mid-section with his bone-white blade - a gift from Maro. The ruhin angrily redirects his attention to his more dangerous opponent, but the damage is done. The wound is enough to slow him down, to even the playing field. His human shell is a great weakness.

 

And Rai smirks. Perhaps they can win this after all.

 

He spits out a gob of blood, his ears ringing, and lifts his sword again. He catches Haiden's eye for a brief moment, and the two of them work in tandem, pressing forward against the enemy. Rai isn't sure how he is still standing, how he can force wobbling legs to move. He hadn't even known his willpower was so strong, because it is surely the only thing keeping him on his feet.

 

In tandem, they throw themselves at the ruhin, alternating attacking with falling back. Confusing him with changing their patterns and coming at the king from all sides. S'raiya's breath is rattling in his lungs, and he's wheezing a frothy blood. He can feel his strength seeping out of him with each blocked, jarring blow. And he knows that half the spatter on the floor comes from his own wounds. Haiden fares little better.

 

The ringing of metal is a strange melody echoing around the high ceilings and their footsteps add a morbid rhythm. The king's face has twisted into something foul and vicious, lips pulled back into a constant snarl. And it feels as if the whole world has stopped, even time itself, as they trade blows with the ruhin.

 

Rai is certain he can't feel his fingers anymore, and the light-headed feeling is probably what is to blame for what happens next. He missteps, ankle turning on a rock or a piece of debris. Or something, it doesn't really matter. He falters in his attack, his swing wavers, and then the king's foot slams into his chest. It grinds into his already busted ribs and Rai feels his world tilt on its axis.

 

His legs instantly turn to jelly and he crumples, gasping and heaving, both to breathe and vomit at the same time. But all he can manage is to choke on air, blood dribbling from his lips. He isn't sure how he's conscious and he knows he's dropped his weapon again. But he can't seem to care, not when his eyes are watering and the pain is unbearable. He even wishes for the black of oblivion, the pleasant sweep of unconsciousness.

 

Some cruel twist of fate keeps on the edge of awareness. And though he's toppled to the ground, he can still see Haiden fighting. Can see him lifting his sword again and again, getting up and fighting, determined to win and survive. Can see the king getting more and more furious.

 

And Rai watches with horror as Haiden's blade is knocked from his hands and he is knocked back by a vicious slash across his chest. Blood pours free, all too freely and it makes Rai sick to see it. One of Haiden's hands moves to cover the wound as he staggers and the king presses forward, lifting Suerte's sword for the final strike.

 

In the distance, a great rumble announces itself. The pull of magick around them explodes with full force, enough pressure to bow Haiden's shoulders. The king's head snaps up, an expression of panic appearing on his face for the first time as his attention is momentarily grasped by whatever had happened. And then the magick is suddenly gone, sucked from existence and leaving Rai faint-headed.

 

It is all the moment that Haiden needs. He surges upward, reclaimed sword aiming for the ruhin's unprotected belly. The king is expecting this attack and his blade rises to knock away Haiden's seemingly clumsy attack. He isn't prepared, however, for the dagger that immediately follows and plunges into his pale throat, ripping through the delicate skin in a wound no human could ever hope to survive.

 

There is a second of stunned surprise where Haiden sinks slowly to the floor and the ruhin stands there, gurgling. The blood that seeps from the wound is all too human, reminding them that although they have defeated the enemy, there is no saving for the man behind it all.

 

Haiden clutches at his own dangerously seeping wound, shoulders slumped. He looks to be on the edge of consciousness, clinging to it with the last vestiges of his strength. And Rai watches as the ruhin crumples, lips moving but no words emerging. Whatever he has muttered will never be known.

 

The blackness chooses that moment to attack, creeping on the edge of Rai's vision until it blankets his entire mind. He half-expects it to be cold, but the warmth that surrounds him is so inviting. And then, he knows nothing at all.

 

* * *