Humanity Forever

The world of man has been ravaged by a plague of mysterious, sadistic creatures which drove humanity into underground cities. A young hermit rises to combat the tyranny born of that apocalypse.

 

 

It is neither late nor early in the Forest of Derenall as two young strangers weave between its mighty trunks. It is that odd part of the night which brings neither darkness nor light; instead a calming blue shade of pre-morning glow sprinkles across the black leaves of the forest, not bright enough to banish the dense sheet of burning stars above, but causing a shimmer by which the travelers can journey with sufficient confidence across steeply-curved tree roots and villainous brambles with thorns that dig into their flesh and hang upon their clothing. The two travel with weary alertness, gazing into the canopy many feet above, paying not nearly enough attention to where they are to place their feet, though out of anxiety unable to bring themselves to walk with more care. With a few final steps, they at last reach the thinning point of the forest, and closely-set, nearly impassable cylinders of bark give way to sparser and sparser layers of younger and younger trees. Before them lies a glorious image.

Miles upon dozens of miles of farmland, stretching in a vast circle about a central point"a city. The immense fields of plowed earth give birth to countless forms of fruit and vegetable, with tracts of bushes, vines, and trees alike aligned in artistic symmetry. Thin bands of sandy soil, pounded flat by millions of feet, weave and intermingle throughout the fields, providing easy thoroughfare. Beside them, rushing water, bubbling from some unseen source, circulates like blood nourishing a body. The massive, infallible network of agriculture is, within moments of the sun’s hesitant appearance beyond the city’s mountainous central tower, slowly populated by workers as the strangers draw closer. Men, women, children, and elders alike file out from the city’s many gates and flow in a single form into the fields. Each of them, carrying tools, immediately sets to work on a seemingly random point as the two strangers grow nearer. Sunlight spreads like a bird’s wings around the steeples of the city’s tower as they reach the farthest reaches of the farms, where few workers have yet arrived. The two simply join one of the many arteries of the fields, walking along the flat earth and meeting no resistance. They notice farmers are not the only ones who have awoken at so early an hour. Men in clean clothing and armor, carrying badges of office and forged metal weapons, walk about the thronging masses of sackcloth-bound workers, swinging their shaved heads about on thick meaty necks, pointing razor-sharp glares at subdued men and women, daring them to act out of place. The strangers avoid these guards, blending with the thick slough of bodies and keeping their eyes down.

They walk for several hours in this manner, passing orchards and plowed fields, all filled to the brim with laborers and guards alike. The stench soon grows strong"millions of unwashed bodies produce a thickening fog about the heads and nostrils of the strangers, watering their eyes and bringing caustic fire into their nostrils. Finally, the crowds thin and disappear, and before the two strangers lies a village. One of dozens surrounding the city’s walls, it is surprisingly large, with numerous small houses, fanning out from a towering bronze gate which lies half-open, giving way to the city’s many tightly-built houses. Laborers walk about the village performing various tasks, walking into and out of houses, carrying tools and loads. No one rests. Despite their hurry and hard labor, they all manage to avoid the center of town, where the dusty ground is stained with a black and maroon scorch on the Earth. It reeks of blood and flesh. Before the strangers can make sense of it, an orderly group of guards march through the open city gates. They bring behind them, bound at the hands and strung together by ropes, twice as many laborers. They all bear the look of prisoners"filthy, tattered, starving, and shaking with trauma. The guards stride with an almost jovial step into the center of the village, situating themselves on the massive stain in the ground. They line up, both guards and laborers, before a guard who stands alone, bearing symbols of rank and achievement. The other guards stand at attention and wait for their superior officer, who holds a single bound laborer by the neck, forcing him to his knees. The officer speaks, bearing a grin that makes the strangers cringe.

“This man,” he shouts with such force as to make the entire village hear him, “this filth, who is weak and worthless, has seen fit to place himself above the Fraternal Guard. He believes himself to be of some high authority, with the power to subvert us!”

He spits, hitting the prisoner below the eye. The man flinches, but cannot move his hands to clear his face of the slime.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” the officer roars, squatting to glare into the bound man’s eyes, his armor clinking at the awkward positioning, “Your sin against us may have seemed wise, but look at where it brought you.”

The guard’s tone changes to one of mock sympathy, and his words drip with infuriating sarcasm, “All of these poor, innocent people will die. All because of your foolish attempt at revenge.”

The man on his knees seems to hesitate, balancing precariously between radical thoughts and submissive ones. At last, he raises his eyes, set deep in his tanned, skeletal face, to stare into the guard’s icy-blue irises. The strangers look on with bated breath, unable to see well past the wall of shining metal greaves and chainmail. They do not hear the man’s response before the officer rises to full height with a flaming aggressiveness in his eyes and lets out a single canine laugh, directing his voice to the villagers around him. His lips twist into a toothy grimace of sadistic glee as he lifts the mace, gleaming with enchantment, above his head and swings its immense weight down against the bound man’s skull. His head splits and bursts against the power of the weapon, and his body crumples.

The killing begins, signaled by a single blow. Guards bury blades in exposed necks, smack batons and maces against brittle bones, and twist their hands around sputtering throats, relentless in their slaughtering, taking pleasure in the murders. The dark stain in the ground is covered in a new coat of iron-red pigment, and the scent of blood is renewed and made stronger.

Suddenly one of the Strangers is upon the officer. He Warps across the village, tackling the armored captain to the ground in an instant, pushing him into the bloody mud which was once dust. A single, inhuman blow kills the disarmed captain, and soon the stranger sets upon the rest of the guards. Warping from man to man, the stranger delivers lethal blows at impossible rates, breaking the trained, drilled bodies of the armored guards with ease. Their own blood spills to mix with that of their victims, and form a thick mud in the dust. At last, each guard lays dead with their victims, and the young man kneels alone among the carnage. The blood smeared across his face is washed away by tears. His spirit breaks, and he begins to weep.

Though this is not where the story of these strangers begins, it started in much the same way"with blood and tears, pain and confusion.

A young woman, wandering late at night from her village, entered the Forest of Derenall. Perhaps she was curious of the vast black forest; perhaps she sought to escape. Perhaps she simply desired to be alone for a few hours. Regardless of her intent, she was at once set upon by the very beasts that had driven humanity out of the wilderness. Their manic giggles and sadistic grins followed her like incessant, lethal mosquitoes. They leapt across treetops, Warped through space, and licked their lips in anticipation of her flesh upon their vile tongues. And she wept. Fear ripped through her being as she sprinted across the gnarled roots of the Forest, pushing her to move at speeds she had never realized. Tree trunks hurled themselves upon her, threatening to overtake her. Through what appeared a series of miracles, she slipped dangerously past impact after potential impact. All the while, the beings grew closer. Their laughter filled her ears and their eyes pierced her spine. She felt mania encroach upon her, crawling through her body to her heart like a sickness, blurring her vision and her reason. She knew only to run, and perhaps she might live to release the madness from herself. Without warning, the thick mass of trees gave way to a clearing, circular and unnaturally clear. At the center sprouted a single massive trunk, taller than the others, with a small home hewn of wood hanging in its branches. She pushed herself to run even faster. Desperation, not hope, sparked in the young woman at the sight of the tree. She felt only the manic, bestial need to be in the treehouse and out of sight. Suddenly, pain set her foot alight. A twig, evil in its sharpness, had found its way under her foot, and as she ran punctured the sole, piercing through flesh and muscle. No force, not even manic fear or animal desperation could bring her to her feet. On her knees, wailing with agony, she crawled forwards, reaching out for the tree like a starving man for a steaming cut of meat. Blood poured from her foot, staining the brown grass beneath her and emitting a metallic, rich scent that drove the evil beings in the trees to deeper madness. They laughed themselves breathless as they moved towards her, Warping around her in a playful manner. Despairing, she curled herself into the form of a nursing child, covering her eyes and awaiting their long, sharp fingers to push between her ribs and rip out her heart. She felt their very breath upon her face, felt their black scales bristle with glee against her arms, felt the pulses of their Warps pushing the space about her, emitting heat and pressure.

And at once, it was all gone. The terrible Warping ceased, and she heard only the howling of the beasts at a great distance. They were no longer laughing. They were fleeing. She still did not rise, fear had so gripped her. She wept into her hands, pulled her knees against her beating chest, and bled unendingly from her pierced foot. It couldn’t be safe. It couldn’t possibly be safe. Not so soon after death was so very close. Suddenly, a hand upon her shoulder, gripping tight. Death had returned.

 

   

The strange girl beneath my hand twists, wails at my touch. I realize she must think I’m one of the Pravens, and loosen my grip.

“Hey,” I tell her, hoping she’ll get ahold of herself. It works. She seems to understand my hand isn’t curved and sharp, like the Pravens’, and she relaxes. She peeks out from behind her hands like a scared rodent, face wet with tears.

Eugh.

Her foot is badly injured, and she won’t be able to walk.

“Your foot is bad. We should clean it.”

I take my hand away and offer it to help her up. She’s bewildered. Coming off the high of near-death. I’m just as confused; another human hasn’t been this deep into the Forest since my guardian, and he’s been gone for years. She doesn’t say anything as I lift her up to lean on me, nor as we walk towards my treehouse. I watch her face contort even further into confusion as she notices the odd nature of my clearing. It is clean, unnaturally so, devoid of any plant or animal life save the tree I live in, and perfectly circular; the handiwork of my guardian. The girl still says nothing, even as we near the trunk of the tree. She only stares at me with two piercing blue pearls, mouth hanging slightly open, short brown hair glued to the tears on her cheeks. It makes me uncomfortable. As I move to ascend the tree, a thought stops me in place.

“There’s…only one way up.” I say with an apologetic twist on my face. Her head tilts, and she squints her eyes at me"she doesn’t understand. No time for this. I sigh and, hoping for the best, Warp. I carry her through space instantaneously, utilizing the very power the Pravens used to overpower humanity. To us, it appears as though a whirling tempest of steam swallowed us, then spit us out at the landing of my house, all in a fraction of an instant. She immediately shrieks, pushing away and falling to the floor. She scoots back in terror until her back strikes the wall, wincing at the pain that shoots through her foot, and stares at me, breathing heavily, clutching her knees close to her chin. I don’t attempt to move towards her.

“You’re an Imp, you’re one of them!” she cries, clearly delusional. “You just did that…that horrible thing they do!” I sigh and rub my forehead. Perhaps this was a mistake.

“It’s called ‘Warping’. And no, I’m not one of them…Imps, did you call them? That’s not what they are.” She doesn’t seem convinced. “Look, if I were one of them, I’d have eaten you already. Why would I save you from them, only to lure you up here and eat you?”

She relaxes, letting her arms fall from her knees and stretching out on the floor. Her eyes trace up my body, across the brown leather coat and black tunic I wear, to my filthy face and hair. I’m covered with dirt, scratches, and scars. I must look like a monster to her.

“You saved me from those things?” she says quietly, voice tinged with hope. I nod awkwardly, getting uncomfortable again under her gaze. She stands, leaning against the wall and taking care not to put weight on her impaled foot, though her movement still sends contortions through her face and whimpers from her mouth.

“I need to clean that,” I say with some measure of severity. I open the door to my house, motioning for her to lean on me again. She remains pressed against my wall.

“How can you do that? How can you move like them?” She persists, eyes never leaving my face. Curiosity has replaced the pain and fear on her face. She is like a toddler. I sigh, and enter my house, leaving the door open as an invitation for her to follow. She manages without my help, leaning on the wooden doorframe to take the weight off of her injured foot. She remains standing as she gazes around my house.

“My house isn’t half as large as this,” she says, seemingly amazed by my tiny shack. I ignore her and begin preparing the medicine for her foot. I walk across the center of my home, past the single circular dining table, and reach into one of the cabinets built into the tree trunk that extends from the floor. I push aside jars of mushrooms and hunks of cured meat before finding a small ampoule of mixed plant juices and a bowl of dried blue-green herbs. I sit at the table and use a mortar and pestle to grind the dried leaves with the plant juice until a thick, consistent paste forms. The whole time she watches, silent and fascinated. I motion to my bed, resting alongside the wall next to my nightstand. Other than the table and a couple of chairs, it is the only piece of furniture in the room.

“Take a seat on the edge of the mattress,” I tell her, and stand up with the fully prepared medicine in my hand. She complies, though not before I have to help her hop to the bed.

“This stuff will sting,” I promise her, “And first we need to get that stick out.” She takes on a look of horror before slamming her eyes shut, swallowing a gag, and then nodding tersely. I crouch before her, placing the small bowl of medicine on the floor. Without hesitating, I grip the sharp twig, thicker than my thumb and slick with blood, and brace my free hand against the tough skin on the sole of her foot. I yank it out in a swift, smooth motion. She wails once more before dipping into a shuddering, heavy breathing. The pain likely worse than ever, she keeps her eyes shut tight and tries to ignore the blood that now gushes forth from her foot, staining my floors. I quickly scoop up a measure of the green-blue medicinal paste and smear it across her wound. She winces, but the sting of this medicine is not entirely unpleasant; having tasted its magic many times before, I know that the crisp, dull burn of healing herbs has a certain satisfaction to it. Soon, the bleeding slows to a stop, and she feels the anesthetic properties of the medicine take hold. She lets out a breath, contented and exhausted, before opening her eyes to"once again"stare at me. It annoys me. I stand and open the cupboard near my bed. Inside are a multitude of books and several puzzle-devices. I’ve never been able to solve them, but they keep my wits sharp. Every so often I manage to unlock a layer of a device, only to have it reveal a more complicated puzzle underneath. I select a book at random and sit down on my bed to read, hoping to ignore the girl until she passes out. My guardian enchanted the books in my cupboard, so that each time I open them, a new book from the human world will be in its pages. Without them, I’d know virtually nothing about the world outside my Forest. This one is about the mechanics of inter-city communications. Fascinating. I lean close to the pages, hoping to appear more interested than I truly am. The girl groans, still brimming with questions.

“Tell me who you are, d****t! What are you? How did you save me?” I sigh, dip my head, and close my book. Turning, I begin to formulate answers for her.

“I live in this Forest alone for a reason,” I tell her, charged with indignity, before relaxing a bit and continuing, “But I’m not one of them.”

She winces at this. “I’m sorry I accused you of being an Imp,” She says, casting her eyes low.

“I told you, that’s not what they are. They’re called Pravens,” I say, impatient at her ignorance. She looks at me sideways.

“How do you know?” she implores, incredulity and curiosity thick on her words. This will be a long conversation.

We talk for much longer than I would have liked"which is to say, at all"and clear up her many inquiries. I tell her about myself and my home. I don’t know why I have the abilities I have, but I’ve never thought to question it. I was born to a mother and father who I never knew. I was taken by a mysterious man who I only ever called “sir” and who never saw fit to give me a name. He was my guardian, and made this place for us to live in secrecy. He taught me about nature, about my abilities, and about the creatures who had driven humanity underground. And then he left. That was a decade ago. Now, I spend my time hunting the Pravens for food (“You what?!”), reading, playing with my puzzle-devices, and practicing my Warping. Part of me is glad to finally explain my life to someone. Living in solitude for over a decade can make anyone want a conversation. At last, she seems satisfied, as her questions finally stop, and she looks down at her hands crossed atop the faded fabric of her pants.

“You really don’t have a name?” she wonders, with pain in her voice as though she took the idea as a personal offense.

“No,” I say flatly, “What of it? I live alone, I don’t rightly need one, do I?”

She winces again, before lifting her eyes once more.

“Well, I have to call you something,” she says, not to be defeated, “How about Umber? It means ‘Ghost’ in the old language.”

I sigh, and, knowing I can’t refute her decision, wait for more questions. Instead, she begins to tell me about herself. Her story is a sad one, but not once does she tear up. She’s tough, I discover during our conversation, even if she is annoying. She tells me that she and her family are laborers; one of millions that live in her city, they reside in a small village outside the city walls and wake with the sun every day to take their positions in the sprawling farmland around the city.

“Every day, I see people die,” she tells me, grief weighing heavy on every word. Her energy of before has withered since she began to open up, and her gaze falls to the wall opposite us.

“People, innocent people, are killed by the Fraternal Guard, for the stupidest reasons,” anger manifests upon her lips, giving every word an impact. “We are kept like beasts in the tight spaces of the city, or else left beyond the city walls in villages, exposed to the Forests.”

Her fury builds, and I scoot away from her on the bed, hoping to avoid her swinging hand gestures. At once, she stops. Her face lights up with wonder, and she looks at me.

“You!” she shouts, “You have the powers that pushed all of humanity underground"you could fight them!”

I cringe. I’ve never even considered leaving the Forest, and now she wants me to just up and depart with her, a total stranger. I can’t take this.

“That’s out of the question,” I tell her, trying to weight my voice with finality, “I’m not leaving. I helped you because you were about to die, and I’m not a savage. But I don’t care about your family, or your people. I’ve never met them. I’m not your soldier.”

My words and my tone shock her, and she turns away, the look on her face indecipherable. I stand and retrieve some bedding from a cabinet. I prepare a makeshift bed for her on the floor, all the while under her watchful stare.

“You can stay the night here,” I tell her, “But you’ll need to leave in the morning. It’ll be safer when the sun is up; the Pravens prefer darkness. Your foot will be healed enough to walk on tomorrow.”

I have nothing left to say. Neither does she. We are strangers, not the friends she seemed to think we are. I saved her, but for my own reasons. I do not wish to become like the Pravens; I wish to retain my humanity. But what she asks is beyond me. My powers do not make me a god. I am an abomination, and I’m happy to live with that knowledge alone. She gets up in silence, addressing me with something that is not quite disdain, and crawls into the sheets I laid for her. We are both tired"we talked for hours. I lay my head on my own pillow and close my eyes. The candles hung about the house stay burning. My guardian enchanted them, like so many other things, and they never go out, so long as I don’t deliberately extinguish them.

“My name is Pitas,” she says, tired voice still friendly. I don’t respond. Part of me is relieved that she spoke to me again. Why? She is a stranger, and will be gone tomorrow.

 

I am awoken by screams. Hers. How annoying. Suddenly, her hand grips my wrist with enough force to rip me fully from slumber. She looks to the window, through which a Praven is poking its head. It grins gleefully, staring directly at us, unblinking. It giggles softly, quivering with anticipation as it lowers itself slowly into the house, long sharp fingers scraping along the floor. These things are terrified of me. They’ve never dared to enter my house. But the girl…

“They want you,” I tell Pitas, who stares, transfixed with terror, into the eyes of the Praven, “They want you bad enough they’d venture into my home.”

The Praven stops as I rise from the bed. Its grin doesn’t falter"they never stop smiling"but its giggling mercifully ceases. Without hesitation, I Warp forwards, curling my arm around its neck. I Warp backwards, generating enough force to snap its neck like a twig. It screams for an instant, then falls silent. Its heavy corpse slumps to the floor with a wet smack.

“We have to leave,” I tell her, feeling a fraction of the fear that has overtaken her. She looks to me, confused.

“We? I thought you were going to send me off on my own.”

“I was. But you won’t last a minute out there. Something about you has set them off. In all the years I’ve lived here, they’ve never dared to come inside. They’d be on you the minute you stepped out the door.”

She pales, wide-eyed, and shivers at the thought. There is no time to bring anything. We have to leave immediately. I grab her by the arm.

“Stay close to me. These things fear me above anything else. They won’t touch you if you’re with me.”

She looks up at me like a child looks to its father. I wish I could believe in my words as much as she needs to. We step out of the door, and she clings to me, firm hands gripping my shoulder, betraying her hard exterior. I don’t see them, but I know the Pravens are there. Their muffled laughter carries to us from the forest canopy, like a sadistic chorus chanting for our deaths. But they don’t come. Even as I Warp down from the house and start across the clearing, they leave us be. They truly do fear me, or else they’d be upon us already. I stride confidently, pulling Pitas along, until we breach the edge of the clearing. Though I’ve never been, I know the way to the nearest city, as it is just a few miles away. I don’t need to ask Pitas if it is hers, as the other cities are leagues away. We walk on, and the Pravens follow us, giggling away. One of them gets bold, unable to stand the temptation any longer, and bolts forward with bloodshot eyes and a foam-coated mouth. It reaches out madly, clutching at Pitas’s neck. As fast as it is, I’m faster. I feel its Warps, and manage to swing my fist down on top of its outstretched arms with enough force to deflect them. The impact throws the Praven to the ground, where I stomp repeatedly on its vile skull until blood oozes from its orifices and its black corpse twitches. Pitas, of course, screams throughout the entire ordeal, and looks frantically about at the other Pravens. Fortunately, they seem to have remembered my position as Apex Predator, and flee from their fallen comrade screeching in terror. We walk until the sky begins to lighten, revealing clouds and blue shades poking through the black canopy, and we carry on walking. The worry that the Pravens might descend upon us, overtaken by desire, does not leave either of us. Pitas weeps softly with fear. At last, we reach the edge of the Forest. I stop in my tracks. Before me is the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen. Books and stories can only portray so much, and the city is beyond anything I’d imagined. Immense stretches of plowed farms and orchards spiral out from a massive city. It’s all many miles across, a larger space than I ever covered in the Forest. Pitas does not share in my amazement. She simply wishes to be out of the Forest and back in her village. As we step beyond the outer reaches of the trees, she releases me, realizing she had been clutching to my arm for hours, and we walk in silence towards the city. The sun climbs above the horizon, peeking from behind the towering central castle of the city. As it rises, the city’s many gates open, and huge groups of people begin filing out. I look to Pitas.

“Now you can see how we live,” she says simply, and then more quietly, “They call us the Forgotten for a reason.”

As we reach the outer edges of the plowed land, so too do the workers. They either don’t notice us or don’t care, as not one of them greets us. They simply work. We join their ranks, blending into the thick crowds of stinking men, women, and children. Pitas does not react to the stench, but as we grow nearer to the city, the smell of hundreds of thousands of unwashed bodies drenches us more and more deeply. My eyes water, and my nostrils burn, but we press on. Through the masses of workers, we see guards. They wear metal armor and carry metal weapons, which they use to threaten and prod the workers around them. They are thick, strong looking. A single guard seems enough to control a dozen or more workers. And I certainly see no workers acting out of place. We do our best to avoid drawing attention.

I wonder, as we walk, why I left the Forest with Pitas. She is safe here. I can leave, and return to my home and kill any Pravens who think it’s a good idea to remain there. And yet I am here. I feel oddly drawn to the city, like the towering central castle was filled with sirens, calling my name in dulcet tones. It is immensely strange being surrounded by so many people. The crowds begin to seed anxiety in my heart, but as soon as I begin to panic, the groups of people subside. At last, we are near the city, and the castle towers above us. Its stature is enough to block the rising sun completely, laying a long shadow across the entire circular plot of farmland. At last, we come to a village nestled against the walls of the city. Behind a series of houses, we see a towering bronze gate, through which I glimpse portions of the inner city. Rushing about the village are a number of the laborers, ever busy. They carry crops, tools, and bags of seed, and take care of tasks within the village that don’t pertain to farming. They are always hurrying, like busy little ants, from house to house, into and out of the city, but they all form a strange gap in their path. At the center of the village is a dusty clearing, and in the center of the clearing is a huge, dark stain. It is blood. I’ve handled enough to know the smell and the color. And there is so much…

At once, the traffic of workers out of the city gates stops, and the gates are opened even wider. Several rows of guards, led by one with a more arrogant smile than the others, march into the village. As they near the center, I see a train of laborers, wearing tattered, filthy clothes, being dragged behind the procession, each bound at the hands and neck with rough ropes.

“Oh no…” Pitas moans, looking on with horror, “It’s an execution.”

“A what?” I respond. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Pitas seems annoyed. Pain laces her words as she shouts at me.

“These men and women are going to be killed, Umber!”

“I-…killed?”

No, this makes no sense, I think. Humans don’t kill other humans. My Guardian told me nothing of that. The human wars ended centuries ago, didn’t they? The guards are now arranged directly atop the huge bloodstain, aligned in neat rows. Each holds the ropes to several laborers, and each seems way too happy. They all face their captain, who stands with a single laborer and brandishes a mace. As he waves it about, magical enchantment glistens on its surface and deforms the air around it. I hadn’t realized…I saw the guards with their weapons and knew they weren’t meant for the Pravens, but that they would kill these laborers….Something in my gut starts to burn, subtle, but hot. The captain shouts some bullshit about crimes committed, spitting and shouting at the man next to him on his knees. He laughs, and looks about at the men and women of the village. They don’t stop or look to their comrades. They fear they’ll bring the wrath of these guards on themselves. But I look, straight into the eyes of the captain. I see the sadistic evil in his features and the darkness in his soul. For a moment, I wonder whether the Pravens are the monsters, or men like this one.

Suddenly, the captain lifts his mace high and unceremoniously swings its weight into the head of the man bound at his feet. The mace cracks his skull with lethal force, but the enchantment explodes the man’s head entirely, sending gore and blood flying in a wide circle. The man’s corpse falls to the ground, leaking blood into the dust. Immediately, the guards begin their own executions. The dozens of prisoners receive the same cruel treatment as the captain’s victim. Each guard hoots and laughs as they draw blood and life from numerous victims. I am shocked and frozen as I watch countless drops of blood soak into the dusty soil. My spirit is a churning sea of strange emotions. Shock turns to sorrow and pity, and finally rage. The cinder that sparked in me at the thought of an execution has grown to a white-hot immolation of my being. Fury permeates every vein and muscle and bone in my body, until I can no longer bear the pressure. I break utterly. I feel my humanity shatter to dust. One word resounds in my skull: Justice.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I simply Warp. In an instant, I am upon the officer, with my hands about his unarmored throat. His eyes bulge with confusion as the force from my Warp slams him into the earth, knocking the breath from him and tossing the mace from his hands. His guards break away from their slaughter as they notice me and jolt backwards, unable to process my arrival. I hear nothing but a tumultuous rushing, throbbing in my ears like the breathing of some enraged beast. The officer, laid low, looks to me and, unable to speak, silently begs for mercy. He looks into my eyes and asks forgiveness even as he has slain countless innocents. Rage pulses through my body, travelling up from my gut, to my head and through my arm. I Warp my fist, propelling it faster than any creature could move directly between his eyes. Now his skull splits. His blood flows into the earth, and justice has been done. I look now to the guards around me, still frozen in fear, weapons dangling uselessly. I begin an execution of my own. I Warp from soldier to soldier, confusing them even as I break their bodies. None escape me, and all die screaming. I crush windpipes, shatter ribs and stomp on skulls, wholly lethal and perfectly efficient as I tear across the village clearing. Each guard receives a single blow, and within moments they all lie dead amongst the corpses of their own victims. The red haze lifts from me, dissipating as quickly as it descended, and I am left with a broken soul. I fall to my knees like some war hero on a conquered battlefield, about to let out a roar of victory; instead, I begin to cry. Tears pour from my eyes. I’ve never cried. Not even as a child. And now, the whole of human emotion barrels down upon me, weakening my mind and crippling my resolve. I weep for the man, and weep for myself. I disliked the world before; I believed it to be dull, tepid. But I was wrong. It is something far darker, far more malicious, and my hands are drenched in its essence.

There isn’t time to unearth myself from under my sorrow before more guards arrive. Scouts peeking out from rectangular windows in the city walls saw the whole thing, I realize. Part of me wishes to die"to throw myself on the blades of these reinforcements and be released from this world of cruelty and murder"but my instincts quickly pull me away from the thought. Foolish. Childish. The words of my guardian echo in my mind as I shed the emotions off.

“Feelings make us weak. Act with reason and calculation, not with your gut.”

            Already, I feel embarrassed at my outburst, and return my focus to the platoon of guardsmen before me, weapons at the ready to make me another victim. Suddenly, the pain from unseen wounds crackles across my flesh for the first time, keeping me from standing. Those b******s managed to cut me a few times, somehow. I grunt and try to stand, to no avail. The tendons behind my left knee are cut. Lucky strike. The guards run towards me from the gates and form a circle. I’ve clearly pissed them off.

“Umber!”

Pitas calls to me. What a stupid name she came up with. Rage fills me again, and I want to kill the men around me, but I manage to suppress the urge. In this state, they could take me down easily, even with my Warping. I spot a church steeple high above the heads of the guards and make my escape. Warping doesn’t require me to move my body, so my wounds aren’t an issue as I disappear from before the now-bewildered soldiers. They haven’t seen what I can do yet. I realize what a mistake my little outburst was as I gaze down from the roof of the church, hiding behind the angles of the architecture. These guards are manic, like a swarm of ants spilling from a mound of dirt. They want my head, and now they know what I can do. They look around for me, throwing villagers aside and kicking through the corpses, but none of them catch sight of me. The biggest one, a thick slab of meat with a face like granite, perks up when he sees Pitas. He storms over to her and grabs her by her short hair. Her shouts ripple through me painfully, but I can’t help her.

“This one knew him!” shouts the muscly ox to his comrades, who chuckle with glee at the sight of the poor girl, “Come out, demon! Let us chop your head off, or we’ll chop hers instead!”

He draws a long knife and holds it to her throat. Every fiber of my being begs me to move, to save her, but I know it would only end in both of our deaths. The grin the ox gives Pitas as she writhes under his hand tells me he has no intention of sparing her life.

“She’s a pretty one,” he carries on, “I know you’d miss her! Be a dear and come out for us.”

Helpless. D****t, we both are. I try to stand, to do something, but my leg offers no support. I bleed from multiple cuts and I feel myself growing faint. Should I sacrifice myself for her? Why do I even care? Why are these thoughts of selflessness suddenly rushing through my head?

“Umber!” I hear Pitas’s voice, calm and even, but firm, “Don’t do it.”

I know what she means. She wants me to retreat, to heal, and to come back to destroy these guards entirely. I peek over the church roof, and find her staring up at me, though the guards still cast their gazes about like hungry Pravens. Her eyes meet mine, and in a single strange moment of understanding, we are lit with the same fire. Her people don’t deserve this, and neither does she. In the few hours I’ve known her, she has become my friend, annoying though she is. She nods and smiles up at me. A beautiful smile.

“Aeternatt homina!” She screams, voice devoid of fear. In a swift movement full of purpose, she pulls the guard’s blade from his unsuspecting hand and buries it in his neck. No!  I nearly call out, but just manage to bite my tongue. Her friends and family look on as she stands, valiant, a true war hero, before the fallen guard’s comrades. If they were mad before, now they’re seething. They all descend on her at once, leaving nothing to chance. She deflects a blow or two before she is struck from all sides. Impaled and lacerated, she looks to me. She chooses to spend her last moments looking to me, longingly, begging me to finish what she has begun.

How could I refuse?

 

 

            The weight of guilt flattens me against the church roof. I watched her die. She looked me in the eyes as they killed her, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help her. The first human contact I’ve had in over a decade, and I’ve already gotten her executed.

            No. She wanted this. But that doesn’t help the guilt. When I notice the bloodstain I’m leaving on this roof, I realize if I don’t move, I’ll die as well and her sacrifice will be in vain. The guards won’t find me; they’re far too stupid and blinded by rage. But I’m losing a lot of blood, and the cuts show no sign of slowing. I tear my old black tunic and wrap strips of it around the larger gashes, stopping much of the bleeding. I still feel faint, but at least I’m not rapidly accelerating towards death. Time to move. I slide down the church roof, away from the rampant guards, still searching for me and cursing Pitas for her insolence. I mean to jump off the edge of the roof, but instead just manage to fall off and land in the dust. Pain shoots through my entire body, exploding around the back of my knee, where my snapped tendons keep me from standing or walking. Miraculously, the lucky b*****d who cut me there missed my artery, which means I get to stay alive for a few more hours. Sprawled in the dust and losing consciousness, I look for a way out of the village so I can rest and heal. Unfortunately, that’s the last thought I have before the world becomes hushed and my vision dims. I am very tired. Perhaps a quick sleep isn’t such a bad idea.

 

            I lift myself up out of unconsciousness, into the embrace of an unfamiliar bed. Not a bed, actually, just a bedroll. There’s a rock poking my shoulder uncomfortably. I open my eyes carefully, to find I am lying in a small cavern next to a hot fire. With a large figure sitting next to it. I jolt up and push myself back from the person. Pain roars out from my wounds. I had forgotten them. This person will have no trouble killing me. The figure, facing away from me and towards the fire, turns slightly, face still out of my view, but doesn’t get up.

            “Don’t move. Your wounds are delicate. It’s a wonder you didn’t die where you stood.”

            Well, he doesn’t want to kill me. I relax a bit but say nothing, leaning on my elbows to stare at the back of the man’s silhouetted head as he turns his attention back to the fire. The crisp smell of roasting food meets my nostrils. Weariness threatens to drag me back under the covers of the bedroll, but I fight to stay upright. I can’t trust this man just yet. From the firelight I can tell he is tall and thin but muscled, with a sturdy frame. He sits straight-backed and cross-legged, alert and watchful. Beside him, I see equipment the likes of which I’ve never seen. A large leather backpack with a multitude of pockets, with a series of leather belts to match, lies before the fire. Atop this pile of leather is lain a broad, long claymore with a thick handle. He doesn’t swing that thing, does he?

“You’ll have to talk eventually, you know,” says the man at the fire, almost playfully. His tone irritates me.

            “Maybe I was sleeping,” I mumble back, and realize my throat is rough as sand and twice as dry.

“Not according to your heartbeat,” he notes as he stands up, “In fact, you’re scared shitless right now.”

            He’s not wrong. I start to panic as he turns, gripping some object. I try to Warp away, but to no avail. Warping takes energy, and right now I’m drained. He stoops over me, and I finally lock eyes with him under the light of the fire. The fear in me instantly dies. He bears a calm, friendly smile shrouded in scruffy brown stubble tipped with gray. His skin is pockmarked and rough, but that does nothing to stifle the undeniable kindness of his face"nor does the long, jagged scar that slashes through his right eye and curves under his ear. I can trust this man. He gives me the waterskin he was holding.

            “My name is Taperk,” he tells me without warning, “And yours?”

            I wonder what I should tell him as I drink greedily from the sack of cold water. I don’t have a name, though he won’t believe that. Except…

“Umber,” I say in a voice far less gravelly than before. I’ll be the ghost she wanted me to be.

“Ah, yes. That’s what the girl called you. She didn’t make it,” he says with grim finality.

“Right,” I mumble, suppressing my childish hopes that she had somehow survived.

“Humanity forever,” he says with a hint of pride, “That’s what ‘Aeternatt homina’ means. She went out in a blaze of glory, she did.”

He goes on to tell me how after I passed out, the guards searched for me a few minutes more before giving up and reporting back to their commander. They left the corpses of their victims on the ground, for the villagers to take care of, but several laborers from inside the city were sent to carry away the corpses of the guards. The sick irony makes me want to vomit. When the coast was clear, Taperk came out from his hiding place and took my unconscious body away.

“I would have liked to save her too, believe me,” he says suddenly. This sly b*****d keeps anticipating what I’m going to say, and I don’t like it. “I can’t fight that many guards alone. You could have, if you weren’t passing out from blood loss. You need to work on your wrappings, by the way. Those bandages were shoddy.”

“I was half-dead.”

“Well, you’d be fully dead if not for me,” He grins. “You’re welcome. By the way, the villagers are utterly terrified of you. Some even called for your death. After all, Warping is something impossible for all but the Pravens,” He leans forward, eyes locked with mine. Was I wrong to trust him? “And you just used it to slaughter an entire platoon of the Fraternal Guard, saving the lives of over a dozen Forgotten laborers.” He leans back, another cheerful smile on his lips. “Which makes you my friend.”

The cave we spent the night in is a small divot in the vast slope of a valley. Around us, the Forest of Derenall stretches into infinity, but below is a steep decline into a flat grassland. The trees have been cleared, and there are buildings filling the valley floor. I’m baffled. Cities aren’t built like this"they’re built underground, away from the Praven threat. And yet it seems there is an entire community of mad b******s like Taperk who choose to live right among the deadliest threat ever arrayed against humanity.

            Somehow, I am able to walk. Taperk fully expects me to"I don’t think he knew about my tendon. I take it as a blessing that I ever got the chance to walk again, and don’t question the miracle. We hike down the steep slopes of the valley, but fortunately the climb is brief. Taperk chose a cave that was near the bottom of the valley’s edges, so as to be easier on my wounds. He doesn’t tell me how he got down so far while carrying me, though. The city stretches across the width of the valley, with a bit of natural growth"except for trees"sprouting around the outskirts of the city. There are countless buildings, from small homes to warehouses to tailors. There’s even a church"one devoted to the ancient gods, and not the infant gods that most worship these days. We pass people who carry Taperk’s same kind smile and he waves to them happily even as he balances his massive blade on his shoulder.

            “How do you survive here?” I ask my escort, “Why don’t you live underground like the rest of humankind?” He laughs at this. Loudly.

            “Did you think you were the only one who could kill Pravens?”

At this, Taperk hefts his long broadsword in a show of strength. It’s a wonder he can even carry that thing. We don’t say anything more until we reach the largest building in the city"a castle. Like the rest of the city, it is made of bricks hewn of sturdy-looking granite. The doors to the castle are square and tall, as though built for giants. Some sort of crest, depicting a rodent biting at the throat of a lion, is painted across the wooden doors and onto the shields of the guards who greet us at the castle entrance. They say nothing, but wave to Taperk cheerfully. Their armor is metal, but sparse, looking rather rougher than that of the guards I killed, but much thicker and heavier. It curves across their body, forming a tall spike on the left shoulder and covering their chests, but leaving the legs protected by mere leather. The guards carry the same massive broadsword as Taperk. They balance them on their tips, standing like statues of solid metal wrapped in animal skins. We push the heavy wooden doors open and enter the high-ceilinged castle. Except, it isn’t a castle. It’s a training hall. Everywhere, I see soldiers just like Taperk and the guards outside training and dueling. The castle is massive, and fits hundreds of soldiers, each under the supervision of a tough-looking trainer. As Taperk leads me to the opposite end of the barracks, we watch the soldiers’ training regimes. They really are all mad b******s"I see men attempting impossible things. A young man about my age is tasked with blocking strikes thrown by another trainee, whilst blindfolded. I watch in awe as he anticipates each blow perfectly and deflects them all with swift wrist motions. Another, older soldier, also blindfolded, has small knives flung at him by his supervisor, and he is expected to knock them out of the air with his blade. Without fail, he stops every knife. On an indoor track, taking up a large share of floor space, training soldiers strap weights to their ankles and run foot races. They don’t move incredibly quickly while weighed down, but I am stunned again when a young recruit drops an ankle weight and it cracks the granite floor.

“Still wonder how we manage to live out here?”

Taperk stops walking, and takes my gaping mouth as an opportunity to tell me of his people. They are, in fact, a people, and not just a single city of crazy fools. Though they are spread thin and barely connected by intermittent messengers, the cities of his people are numerous, each as large and prosperous as this one. They have done so since the beginning of this era of humanity, he tells me. After the Rending, when the Pravens appeared and destroyed most of the human race, a few men and women brave enough to take back the wilderness established a settlement in a remote place, led by a single man with the power to fight the Pravens. Over the centuries, that settlement became dozens of massive cities, each with thousands of residents. The secret to their prosperity is a fighting technique faster than the Warp. I don’t believe him, but cannot dispute the inhuman reflexes of the men and women training around me.

At last, we come to the end of the barracks, at which there is a single, simple door. Taperk shifts his blade to one hand effortlessly, opens the door, and waves for me to pass through. Beyond it, I see a single round table, as large as my own house, around which eleven of Taperk’s elders are seated. Beyond the table is a single, taller seat, in which the oldest and largest of the men sits.

“Forgive my tardiness, brethren,” Taperk says cheerfully, “I had a very important package to pick up.”

He motions to me before leaving my side and taking his place in a twelfth seat at the table. He is by far the youngest.

“Ah yes,” says the oldest of them in his solitary chair, portly but energetic, “The anomalous child we’ve heard so much about. I hear you put on quite the display at one of Hall Praecep’s villages.”

“Hall Praecep?” I ask, confused, “Is that the name of the nearest city?”

“Indeed. One of the largest and strongest left for the Lineage of Humanity. But, let us be civil. I am Elder Weisit. I lead this city, and its council of elders. Old though we may be, we are strong, as are the people of our city. We are called the Unconquered. And you…you aren’t called anything. Are you?”

I’m shocked for a moment. How could he know that I don’t have a name?

“Why have you brought me here?” I ask boldly, trying to maintain some measure of calmness.

“We have had our eye on you and your little hovel in the Forest for quite some time, child. It’s not often a human has the ability to Warp. In fact, it has always been impossible for any but the Pravens.”

His voice is not one of accusation. Instead, he addresses my abilities with an odd measure of understanding and patience.

“Let me be forthright,” he continues, “I knew your guardian.”

Now I’m interested.

“He was our leader. He gave us our place in the wilderness, taught us to survive here. We owe everything to him. As do you.”

“Why would I want to help you? You’re all mad.”

He looks amused by this. He leans forwards in his seat, grinning widely.

“Because I want to kill the same men you do.”

It’s as simple as that. What else am I doing these days, anyway? I don’t respond. He leans back in his chair and produces a small wooden chest with the crest of the Unconquered on the lid. He beckons to me, and I cross the room, circumventing the silent table of elders, who watch me pensively and in silence, to stand before him and take the box.

“Your guardian left that. Said to give it to you when you arrived. Though, that was over ten years ago. Child, we cannot face the Lineage on our own. We have fought and died for centuries, but now we can only exist in seclusion. With you, however, our crusade can be completed. That is what your guardian told us before he left. You are the most powerful human being ever born, if you’re human at all. Will you carry our banner?”

He doesn’t need an answer. He looks into my eyes, seeing into my heart as only men of his age can, and he sees fire. I stare back, daring him to doubt me. He smiles toothily, kindness and fury merging as one on his features.

“Yes,” he says with a satisfied chuckle, “I think that will do just fine.”

 

The Unconquered give me a room of my own in the city’s boarding house, and a set of clothing. I miss my own house, but the clothes are welcome. I haven’t had a change of clothes in years, and mine are quite tattered. My room has a washbasin, for which a young servant girl brings hot water and a fat bar of soap. I’ve never taken a bath before, but I manage to figure out the mechanics of rubbing my skin with soap and water. The harsh lye and hot water both burn as they run across my wounds, but I weather the pain and welcome it as a healing process. I check the back of my knee. There is still a thick gash across it, but the tendons aren’t visible and feel as though they work just fine. Mysterious. I feel reborn as I step from the tub of hot water, scrub myself dry with a towel, and slip on the new clothes I was given. They’re comfortable, if a little baggy. A simple white cotton shirt with brown leather pants and a pair of leather slippers. These Unconquered love their leather"pulled right of the bones of the Pravens. It would be morbid if it wasn’t so hilariously ironic. I move to pick up the small chest from Elder Weisit and catch sight of myself in a mirror hung on the wall. I stop. I haven’t seen my own face as long as I’ve lived. Not much point to one when you live alone, I suppose. My eyes are green, which I like. My face is sturdy-looking and angular, with firm muscles along the jaw to match the ones everywhere else on me. I wonder how I looked before the bath, when my features were obscured by a lifetime of filth. Refocusing, I open the chest. Inside is a single object wrapped in a red silk handkerchief. I lift it deftly from the chest and pull away a corner of the silk. It’s a knife, though not like any I’ve ever used or read about. The blade is sheer white and wide, curving slightly towards a narrow point. The handle is a simple textured grip of a strange gray metal and, somehow, isn’t even connected to the blade. It hovers an inch or so below the blade, holding it in place by some means. Along both the handle and the blade are glowing runes in a language I don’t recognize, which glow bright white on the handle and steadily fade to dull gray on the blade. It is beautiful.

The longer I look at the blade, the more I recognize it, like a childhood memory slowly pulled out of the subconscious by some fleeting reminder. The runes even start to make sense. Suddenly, it is as if I have always understood these runes. They appear more familiar than my house in the Forest, or my books or my puzzle devices. The runes speak of power, of justice, and of a thousand other things I’ve never contemplated. As I begin to understand the runes and my mind’s voice speaks their meaning, I’m overcome by exhaustion. Clutching the odd knife, I collapse onto the bed and feel sleep take me.

I am trapped in a prison of lucid unconsciousness. I see nothing. I feel nothing. But the voice of my guardian, clear as the day he left, comes to me in my sleep.

“Boy.”

That’s what he always called me. Suited us both.

“I come to you to tell you your purpose in this world. You are not human.”

A pair of glowing white eyes explode out of the darkness before me.

“The worlds of all Creation have forever been thrown into and out of balance. It is the course of reality to fluctuate, to change. But there have been times that the balance is thrown so forcefully from nature’s intended course, great pains must be taken to restore it. You and I are those great pains.”

Stars appear behind the set of eyes, glittering and sparkling intensely.

“We were born of necessity. The world must be set right, and the responsibility is on your own shoulders. I raised you to do what must be done to survive. Now you shall do what must be done for others. It is your nature. The spirit of righteousness is within you, guiding your actions. Do what your heart commands, young one.”

I sense a deep rumbling, and suddenly, in a brief flash, a pair of long, powerful wings appears behind the set of eyes.

“The Warp is only the beginning of your power, granted to you as the most powerful tool this world has to offer. I leave you this artifact of Creation, that your power shall multiply. Become Justice, child. Do what must be done.”

And with that, exhaustion leaves me. I sit up straight, still clutching the dagger, and consider what I just heard. An angel, is that it? Some righteous defender of the weak? It sounds foolish. And yet, I am surer it is true than I have been in anything else. No, not an angel. Just a countermeasure. That will do. I look to my cuts and see they have healed. No scars, no scabbing. Not human, indeed. Tomorrow, I will begin my training with the Unconquered. Hopefully, they can keep up.

 

The next day, I seek out Taperk in the training hall. I find him standing poised with his huge claymore in one hand, as though ready to swing it. He is blindfolded, and several of his pupils attempt to approach him and land a blow. They move silently, and under cover of the noise of hundreds of training soldiers, but somehow Taperk pinpoints the moment when a youthful trainee steps within striking range, and swings his blade as though to behead the poor boy, stopping within inches of his clavicle and tapping him only slightly with his blade tip. I wait for his blindfold to come off before I approach him.

“Taperk,” I say, “I’ve decided I want to join the Unconquered.”

He perks his eyebrows, as though he didn’t expect this.

“You’ll make a fine soldier,” he replies simply.

“I don’t plan to be a soldier. I’m to lead you.”

“Are you, now? And who’s going to train our master’s successor?” He is playful in his tone, talking to me as though I’m a misguided child and leaning on his sword nonchalantly. I don’t justify his disbelief by saying anything more, but instead walk to one of his trainees and pull a few knives from his belt. Taperk watches me with an annoying grin, and I glare back. Warping my arm, I fling the knives at impossible speeds, one after the other, at Taperk. He is incredibly fast, and manages to avoid the deadly blades, but only barely, and only after being forced to drop his heavy sword. His foolish grin turns to a look of pure shock as he watches the spinning knives arc away, and embed themselves in one of the granite walls, cracking it. He looks back to me, horrified. A short, shallow scratch drips bright red blood from his cheek. The rest of the hall falls silent as they realize what has happened.

“No one has ever managed to cut me,” he whispers, “No one except…”

His mouth falls open slightly, and he touches his long scar.

“You’re clearly the best here,” I say, matching his usual jovial tone. He composes himself.

“You’re not wrong,” he replies, slowly regaining his confidence.

“I want you to train me. And to realize that one day, I’ll surpass you.”

With silence, and something like reverence, Taperk nods. He turns to his group of students.

“Dismissed!” he shouts. I think I hear his voice crack. The trainees file away, shocked into silence at the sight of their teacher being bested by a man their age. Taperk looks back to me.

“We must go elsewhere to speak,” he says, all of his confidence having resiliently returned. He picks his blade up and turns to stride swiftly for the hall doors. The rest of the training soldiers slowly return to work, and all is normal by the time we exit the training hall. Taperk leads me out of the city and into the surrounding grassland of the valley. The grass grows thicker the farther we hike, until it is waist-high. The valley is massive, with walls reaching at least a mile towards the cloudy sky, and extending for several miles ahead of us. Taperk says nothing as we walk, likely still nursing the wound to his ego, until the grass suddenly shrinks to an inch tall, and finally we reach our destination. Centered between the two walls of the valley is a solitary tree. It is not of the Forest of Derenall, but a tree like I’ve never seen before. Its leaves are not black like the forest’s or green like the farms’. They are gray, and glitter like silver.

“This is where your guardian left us,” Taperk breaks the silence, “Gave us this tree to remember him by. We miss him dearly, but he said he had to leave. Something about the ‘next step’. I suppose that was you.”

He grins at me, but I say nothing. He sighs.

“I’ll train you. You’re right"you will lead us one day. You’ll be the Rat that bites the throat of the Lion. I suppose I always hoped I would be the one to lead the charge.”

He turns to me, a sad smile twisting his scar into an odd shape.

“But this is what our master wanted. It must be you.”

I have nothing to say, but I appreciate Taperk’s trust, especially considering I hurled knives at him only an hour or so ago. A simple nod and a firm handshake is all I can offer Taperk, and is enough to seal our contract. I will be trained by the greatest Unconquered soldier this city has to offer.

 

3 years later…

 

The time with the Unconquered has made me more human than any of my years previous. And yet, through my training with Taperk, I have become a being of destruction and deadly efficiency. We began with the simplest trials, honing my reflexes and my senses through boxing and obstacle courses. Soon, the regimen became more advanced, such as running for miles and dodging knives, and finally Taperk taught me the things which made him the best of his kind. He showed me his own incredible agility, which only improved the power of my Warp, and pushed my muscles to their limits, making them grow longer and leaner every day through hand-to-hand training and weights training. His own technique of fighting with a dagger, he taught me with the knife gifted to me by my guardian"the same knife, Taperk said with a measure of embarrassment, which was used to cut his face long ago. He never says why my guardian attacked him. Soon enough, there was little we could do but spar. Neither of us held back, though Taperk is a great deal older than I and far more experienced. We didn’t use weapons, but our fists were powerful enough. The other trainees often gathered to watch our fights, which must have appeared quite impressive to onlookers. Taperk’s sidestepping and rotating with the speed of the wind, and my own Warping, in which I disappear in a translucent pulse of energy and reappear instantly in a similar fashion a few meters away, was an amazing enough sight to pull even the elders from their meeting room and the officers from their training regimens to watch our combat. Each day we traded blows in a circular patch of dust laid specially for my training. Taperk always beat me, even if I was the greatest challenge he ever faced. But each time, I became faster, stronger, and learned more of how to spot a man’s weaknesses and exploit them. Finally, during a sparring match that began in the early afternoon and lasted until the moon rose high above our valley, I managed to knock the breath from Taperk and push him to the ground. I had bested the fastest man alive.

Now we begin talk of war. With a battered mentor at my side, the elder council explain to me my mission: to capture the cities of the humans. Though the Pravens drove humanity back, it is other humans who pose the greatest threat to themselves. In the cities of the Lineage of Humanity, countless people are constantly oppressed.

“As humanity was driven back,” Elder Weisit explains, “Our greatest minds discovered the only place truly safe from the creatures was beneath the ground. All but the Unconquered fled into underground cities. Coincidentally, the Rending brought about the appearance of another strange anomaly.”

Weisit produces a sketch drawn on a crinkly piece of parchment paper of a quartz-like crystal.

“They call it Earthheart. The deeper one goes into the earth, the more concentrated it grows. It glows constantly, producing a magical light that imparts many health benefits. The first level of each city is inhabited by the poor. Crime runs rampant, and there is little in the way of luxury or sanitation. They are called the Welcome.”

Weisit pauses, his face twisting slightly in a moment of frustration.

“We know little else about the underground world, I’m afraid. We have sent many spies, but few have returned. It is…difficult to get past the Fraternal Guard unseen. Nevertheless, our position has not been compromised and the time for a full offensive grows near. You will lead us, with Taperk at your side.”

I look to Taperk, who, though nursing a nasty bruise on his cheek from where I slammed it into the dirt, looks eager to be at the forefront of battle. His ego has shrunk to a healthier level since I met him.

 

In the early hours of the morning, I climb the valley walls and dart through the Forest, followed by ten thousand men"a third of the entire order of knights. Our army doesn’t march, it runs. We run through the day and into the night, coming into view of the city and its massive pinwheel of farmland as the sun sets behind its mighty castle. Stopping just before the threshold of the Forest, we make camp to rest our bodies for battle to come. Though the Forest is thick with Pravens, they don’t bother us. The Pravens are mad and foolish, but even the basest of animals knows to avoid an apex predator. And here, an army of them waits at the ready. Not even the hungriest Praven would dare to come near us. Regardless, we take turns at watch, ensuring we are still out of sight of the city. At last, the time comes for war. When next night falls, we rise and step out of the safety of the Forest. We move silently, our sparse armor releasing little noise against the leather underneath. Covered by darkness, and through practiced stealth, we come up to the city walls without alerting a single guard. The laborers have long since retreated into the city and villages for their brief rest period before the dawn. It is best that they are out of the way. Watchmen peer down from their perches, crossbows in hand, but don’t realize us until we are already at the gates, and out of range. Though the huge wooden doors are locked and barred, they don’t stand a chance against ten thousand men in peak physical form. We batter against it with sheer brute force until the wood splits, and finally splinters apart, leaving a hole wide and tall enough to fit my army. We push through the massive city’s winding streets, Taperk and I at the forefront, slaying dozens of soldiers of the Fraternal Guard. They come to us as scattered individuals, helpless against an organized force of our mass, and by the time they have gathered themselves in sufficient force to slow us, we are at the central castle. Our two armies stand brimming against each other. The Fraternal Guard outnumber us by at least three to one. Much less than we expected and trained for. I give the order to charge, and the Fraternal Guard s**t themselves as a solid wall of muscle and armor and massive blades rushes forward at superhuman speed. Taperk and I lead our men in a full frontal charge on the Guard, slamming like a blacksmith’s hammer on a hot piece of iron. They buckle against us, but are formidable enough. Though we slaughter them, many Guardsmen manage to seriously wound my own men, through little more than sheer numbers. I Warp from man to man, transforming each into a corpse with my mysterious dagger. Even the guard captains, with their stronger armor and enchanted weaponry, pose little threat to me as I Warp so rapidly I am nearly invisible, utterly disorienting each victim before driving a lightning-fast blow to a vital organ. Finally, the last of the Fraternal Guard on the surface falls, and we enter the castle. It is empty; the nobles have long since evacuated, and the last of the Guardsmen were sent out to be eviscerated. We have lost over a hundred men, but compared to the thirty thousand we slew, it is easily a victory. We spend a few moments in the castle’s massive foyer in silence, praying for our dead brethren. They cannot receive a proper burial, but we know their spirits will rest easy knowing they died fighting as Unconquered.

After a few moments recovering and resting in the castle foyer, we seek a way into the lower levels. The spacious building is decorated beautifully, with precious metals embroidering nearly every surface. Exotic plants grow in pots, and there’s even a fountain sprinkling cool water in the center of the main room. Finally, we find a set of elevators awaiting us, ready for use, at the far end of a wide hallway. I laugh.

“The poor b******s were so terrified, they forgot to disable the elevators,” I say, “My guess is, they’re worried about getting the nobles as far down and away from us as possible. That gives us some time.”

Taperk doesn’t share my optimism.

“Our target isn’t the Fraternal Guard, Umber, the nobles are. And as we speak, they’re barricading themselves behind miles of rock and tens of thousands of Guardsmen. That means taking the city is that much harder.”

I hate it when he’s wise.

The men still seem energetic, so I order them into the elevators. There are ten elevators, each huge and supported by strong cables, so we send men down in groups of ninety. The elevators seem more than capable of supporting our massive weight, and the first descent set of elevators rides remarkably smoothly. I go down in one of the first ten groups, and see the first layer of this massive city open up as we slide deeper into the earth. An enormous cavern opens up before us, and covering its floor is a beautiful city of stone buildings, seemingly hewn straight from the earth. The cavern’s ceiling and walls are studded with what appear to be bright blue stars, but if the reports are to be believed, they are actually deposits of Earthheart. They bathe every surface in a heavy blue light. Some of the men begin to mention feeling more alert and perceptive after only a few moments of exposure. I feel no different, but I am glad for the performance boost to my comrades. As I step out onto the floor of the cave with nine hundred men, I assess how we should proceed. No Fraternal Guard have apprehended us yet, which means they are waiting for us further on. I call my men to me, and we wait for the elevators to come down with the rest of our army. All the while, we scan the city outskirts for movement, but it seems the citizens are in hiding as well as the Guard. Once our entire force has accumulated, I call Taperk to me while the men continue scanning our surroundings.

“If we clear this level of Guardsmen, we can secure it as a base of operations,” he says without prompting or a moment of thought.

“That’s a speedy decision,” I say with a bit of hesitation.

“And a wise one.”

D****t.

Though it takes me a bit more time, I come to the same conclusion as Taperk. The city is large, but could easily be secured if it were devoid of Guardsmen. All it would take after clearing them out would be a constant watch posted on the elevators. I order the army to fan out, once again in groups of ninety, and search the city for Guardsmen. They gleefully obey, happy to seek out more weaklings. Taperk and I proceed on our own, each an army in our own right. We weave through the city’s deserted streets, and see evidence of crime and poverty. The empty marketplace sells rotten fruit and drugs side-by-side. A half-starved dog stands chained to a stone wall, barking at us desperately. I step over and yank its chain from the wall, letting it skitter off into an alleyway. The homes are made of stone, but still manage to look run-down. We see no citizens, but Taperk says there are countless heartbeats around us. Each house is full.

Suddenly, the sounds of battle begin to erupt from every corner of the silent city. Soon, a group of Guardsmen steps out in front of us from a dark alley. Only a hundred or so. Assuming the other groups are of similar size, our men will have no problem. I attack immediately, Warping down the street and closing the distance to the group of guards. My knife arcs through the air, tracing a white ribbon of light behind it as I bury its point in throats and chests. Unlike my first encounter with the Guard, they don’t get any lucky strikes. I dip around and under blades, skimming past death and delivering it constantly. Taperk comes behind me, swinging his claymore in huge circles and beheading groups of guards.

The battle rages across the city for hours as the Unconquered cleave through another formidable force. At last we reach the opposite end of this level, where another set of elevators should be. My army converges from many directions, amassing to our original size. A soldier walks to me and reports.

“Umber, sir, this level has been cleared,” he says, “We lost only one man. He was hiding a wound that doomed him in the end.”

“He rests now,” I reassure the soldier.

“Indeed. We are ready to continue at your"“

He is cut off by a resounding explosion. The elevators are engulfed in flame and magic, crumpling inwards. The shockwave kills a thousand of my men, and injures just as many. Those cowards. They’ll trap themselves under miles of rock if it means they stay far away from danger. I scream, heartbroken at my fallen soldiers and enraged at the nobles. My army backs away from the flames, dragging injured soldiers. Some have magical flames stuck to their bodies, which take a great deal of rolling and patting to put out. I rush between the injured and burning, as does Taperk. We do what we can, but the casualties are great. I see men with limbs disintegrated by the magical fire, some who swallowed the infernal air and set fire to their organs. We retreat to the town, and take a count of the losses. Over 1500 men dead and 700 more with debilitating injuries. The nobles may be cowards, but they’ve stricken us deeply. I’m filled with rage. I have to kill them. I have to watch them die, and feel my blade twisting in their guts. I run towards the destroyed elevators, meaning to dive into the flames and drop down to lower levels, but Taperk tackles me and holds me down.

“Relax,” he shouts firmly, “Killing yourself is the worst thing you could do for us right now.”

            Eventually I calm down, and Taperk releases me. He takes the army to set up in this level and plan for our next move. I watch the magical flames until they sputter out, slowly.

 

            By the next day, we have established our presence in the underground city. With thousands of men, it isn’t so hard to keep the place defended, although we doubt there is any threat from a sealed elevator. The citizens are surprisingly open to us. As it turns out, they hate the nobility as much as we do. This level is one of poverty, crime, and drug addiction. The nobles keep them around as a simple buffer between the lower levels and the outside world. They told this Caste, whom they call the Welcome, that the outside world was completely uninhabitable. Condemned men, they believed, were sent there to die, while nobles survived the conditions through advanced magical protection. They tell us about the lower levels. The Earthheart makes the nobility stronger, more intelligent. They live twice as long as someone on the surface. Powerful mages and deeply wise scholars live in the levels below, producing miracles of magic and science, as well as businessmen and bureaucrats who still manage to live by the coin in this era.

            “But they’re still mortals,” one man tells us, “every so often, one of them dies, and they have a grand memorial service.”

He spits.

            “Makes me sick.”

            Taperk and I have a meeting with some of the senior officers with us about how to proceed, once the city has been established as a base of operations.

            “We’ll never get an army down there,” Taperk insists, sipping from a glass of strong alcohol procured in the market, “The elevators are the only way down and we can’t move thousands of men down a vertical shaft a thousand feet deep. I suggest we just let them starve. We can keep a presence here and wait them out.”

            “How long could that take?” I protest, “They’re enhanced by the Earthheart, and we have no way of knowing if and when they die. Their scholars and mages would just find a way out.”

            “Then propose how we’re to move 8000 men down a destroyed elevator shaft, and then how those men are to fight a city of powerful mages. How would we get back out?”

I pause. It does seem like we’ve run up against a wall.

            “Why not just one man?” I ask, “I’m the most powerful human ever born, Weisit said it himself. I’ll kill them all.”

            “No,” Taperk says as though I’m still his pupil, “I forbid it. You’d be destroyed, no matter how fast you are. You’ve seen what these mages are capable of. They wiped out a thousand men in an instant, and they weren’t even here. We can’t defeat that, Umber.”

            I hear the terror in his voice, see it contorting his face. His bravery has faded. He saw his comrades writhing in pain, burning to death, and that changed him. I look to him, heartbroken, knowing I have to leave him behind.

            “Good point,” I feign, and after a moment of hesitation, “I suppose it would be best to wait for just a bit. But we send scouts.”

            He seems to relax a bit at this, sinking back into his seat.

            “We will, I promise. Give it a few days, though.”

 

 

            The blue light of the Earthheart illuminates my path as I walk swiftly towards the destroyed elevators. I can’t simply wait here. It can’t be the right thing to do. My guardian told me that my spirit would guide me, that I would innately know what had to be done. What must be done is to slaughter. To show no mercy to the men who have enslaved millions. I reach the elevators and prepare to jump down the shaft, which was left miraculously unblocked.

            “You really are the best of us, you know.”

            I stop in my tracks. Taperk waits in the darkness. I say nothing.

            “You’re the bravest, and the strongest, and the fastest. And the most foolish.”

            He steps towards me, hands outstretched. He’s not armed.

            “I could hear your heartbeat, boy. I knew you were lying.”

            “I have to do this, Taperk,” I say defiantly, “And I’m not a boy.”

            “I know, I know,” he replies. His voice is kind, gentle, as always. He’s not accusing me. “I know nothing of what you are, or why you were placed here. I doubt you know much more. But you have to do this.”

            “Now you’ll get your chance to lead our army.”

            He chuckles, teeth glowing under the blue light of the Earthheart.

            “I suppose I will.”

            He steps forward and pulls me into an embrace.

            “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”

            “No promises.”

            I hug him back. If my guardian was my father, Taperk has been my older brother. It pains me to leave him like this. He breaks the embrace by cuffing me firmly on the back of the head, and I return the sentiment. Without a word, I turn from him and step off the edge of the elevator shaft.

            I fall fast. Alarmingly fast. I never really had to think about falling, but now it is all I know. The wind buffets me brutally, making my hair flap about and sting my eyes. The rushing of air in my ears grows stronger and stronger until finally I see the illuminated ground rushing up to meet me. I Warp upwards just before impact, cancelling my momentum and releasing a loud crack of energy. I fall just a few more feet to meet the stone floor. Before me is another city, smaller than that of the Forgotten or the Welcome, but much more beautiful. Each building is decorated and has many floors. The streets are filled with countless plazas and decorative plants and fountains, though they don’t appear to be running. The streets are also totally devoid of people. The Earthheart is a great deal more concentrated down here; if the cavern ceiling is a night sky, there are twice as many sky-blue stars. I search the city for any nobles, but they seem to have taken refuge even further down. The silence is crushingly eerie. I walk through a cavern with enormous volume, and I am the only thing producing noise in it. The echoes rattle about the cave for minutes at a time before finally dying down. After a few hours, fully satisfied that this level is empty, I leap down a second destroyed elevator shaft. This time, the descent is not so smooth. Explosions leap at me from the shaft walls, flinging magical fire and stone shrapnel, but I manage to Warp out of the way of each of them. They’ve set traps, which means they know I’m coming. No matter. The next city is one of even greater opulence than the last. A few large, luxurious buildings are built from the floor of the cavern, but most of the buildings are constructed on floating portions of land, held in place by some mysterious magic. They appear to be laboratories and libraries, reserved for the scholars and mages. Water and beams of light flow between the islands, which must be the walkways. Down below, lakes and beautiful plant life flourish, kept alive by the now sun-bright glow of the Earthheart. Every day was a holiday for these over-comfortable s***s. I search the homes below and the islands above, but find no trace of people. I’m starting to get pissed. To relieve a bit of stress, I Warp into a floating island with enough force to dislodge it from its invisible pedestal and send it crashing into the lake below. Heh.

            This level has only a single elevator, much smaller and shinier than the others. At least, it was before it was destroyed. Now it sits in a still-smoking pile of metal. As before I jump down its shaft, and as before I am assaulted by explosions on all sides. Rushing up to meet me is not a stony floor, but a raging red fire. I feel the heat of it from hundreds of feet up, and I decide it would be a poor choice to land on it. I kill my momentum early, grabbing onto a fissure in the wall, and formulate an idea quickly. I pull my knife from my belt and begin Warping back and forth across the elevator shaft, each time burying my knife in the stone walls. The force of my blade and the pressure of my Warps soon proves powerful enough to crack the walls and send a pile of stone and dust tumbling down on top of the flame. It is extinguished in an instant. Suddenly, a tormented scream echoes up from below, filling my head. I drop and continue my descent, choosing not to think about what could have made such a noise.

            At last, I reach the bottom of the city. There is nowhere left to run. Before me is a single corridor, every surface glowing intensely with Earthheart. It has begun to have an effect on me. I feel more alert, more perceptive, just as my men noted before. I don’t like it, and I ignore it. At the end of the corridor is a metal door engraved with complex symbols and ancient inscriptions, which I kick off its hinges, only to be greeted by an explosion of bright blue light. Before me, the walls, ceiling, and floor are all entirely made of Earthheart. The crystal’s radiation fills the room, but I do my best to block it out and avoid its power. Could the nobles possibly be down here?

            “Do you know the secret of the Earthheart?”

            A single voice calls to me from beyond the wall of light. A familiar voice.

            “Its power is unending.  So long as it is bound to the earth, it glows indefinitely, imparting its…blessing.”

            The voice hangs a bit too much feeling on the last word, almost like arousal.

            “The greatest minds could not fathom its secrets. Until I came along, that is. And I knew. These crystals are imbued with the power of the dead. The crystal absorbs souls from every living being in this world, growing more powerful with every death, radiating the limitless energy of life itself.”

            My heart leaps as I recognize the voice, but the words it speaks are unsettling. My guardian never spoke of the Earthheart.

            “Guardian?” I ask tentatively.

            “I am,” he says, and steps into view. The light that had obscured him now at his back, I recognize his every feature. It’s the man who raised me.

            “Where have the nobles gone? I’ve come to kill them,” I ask, hoping to make him proud with my devotion.

            “The nobles are gone, boy. I killed them.”

            “You what?”

            He looks into the distance and laughs. My guardian never laughed.

            “They called me Father. I was given so much power. This Earthheart…it imparts so much power.”

            No.

            “What are you talking about?” I whisper, dumbstruck.

            “I led them. Their old Father was weak, frail. Even in immortality, he was like an old man. They needed a new Father. When I arrived, they knew I was the one. They placed me down here to direct them in every way, to be imbued with the full strength of the Earthheart, that I would never die.”

            “You led them? Our mission was to destroy them!”

            He seems uncomfortable at this.

            “Perhaps.”

That is all he can say. His tone twists a bit, becoming higher and weaker. He turns away from me, directing his attention to some unseen object, and stays that way.

“Guardian?”

He does not respond. He doesn’t even turn. I can’t see his face, but I see mystical light and runes floating in front of him. The magic is far more complex than anything I ever saw him perform. He is working a miracle in the middle of a conversation.

“Guardian!”

He falters, and answers with only a strange grunt.

“Why are you here, instead of restoring the balance?”

“The balance?” he finally answers, “Boy, this world doesn’t deserve balance. The nobles of this world are cruel, weak. They should be left to this world of Pravens. Besides, they brought it upon themselves.”

He speaks as though he is making excuses. His tone is one of begging, of weaseling for a way out of trouble. He often chastised me for speaking in just the same way.

“What does that mean?” I ask, gripping my knife tightly.

“Before this era of humanity, the mages sought power. They had reached the limits of what this world could offer, and looked to others. The Rending was brought about by the humans themselves. Why should they be gifted with balance for such a crime?”

He can’t be this way. The Earthheart has completely twisted him. I feel myself on the verge of tears.

“And the people on the surface? The slaves? The ones you’ve kept working all these years?”

He pauses, as though distracted.

“Collateral damage.”

“You tried to kill me,” I realize, “You tried to burn me with magic.”

I grab his shoulder and spin him around, to reveal his face has aged decades. His hair had grown white and begun to fall out, and his skin was pallid and wrinkled. The magical experiment he was fiddling with dissipates. He slowly ages backwards, re-growing his long black hair and reclaiming his smooth skin. But his eyes are dead. He breathes, and stands, but his eyes gaze off into infinity like those of a corpse, filled with blue light. He resembles almost perfectly the drug addicts we met just below the surface. They stare ahead, eyes glazed and dead, living in a personal world of the drug’s haze. Tears begin to stream down my face. My guardian, the most powerful creature in this world, is nothing more than an addict getting high off the souls of the dead. He is not my guardian. The man who stands before me is not the one who was created to bring balance back to this world. He is a threat to it. Time to do as my heart tells me. I grip the handle of the knife he left me and, weeping, bury in the back of his head. Black, foul blood spurts from his mouth, and a single tear drips from his transfixed eyes as his soul is absorbed into the Earthheart. Or, perhaps it returns to the place we were sent from, to be renewed. Either way, I weep for him, and weep for myself. My guardian is dead. The man I loved and respected as my father is dead, and I killed him myself…

No. He died years ago, sucked away to nothing by that accursed Earthheart. If he was so susceptible to the crystal’s siren call, could I become a withered addict just like him? Already, I feel the unwelcome hands of temptation creeping along my heart. The Earthheart itself calls to me, seeking a new master. A fraction of my being is compelled to stay, just as my Guardian did. The power is undeniably immense; I could restore this world’s balance easily with such capabilities. And yet…

“I’m not one for courting death,” I say out loud to the blazing blue light around me.

And with that, I leave. As I begin my ascent up the elevators, I hear a soft wailing emanating from the Earthheart core. Slowly but steadily, the shimmering blue crystals which stud the walls around me go dim. They revert to simple quartz before my eyes, leaving me in darkness, but the unwelcome haze the radiation imparted dissipates as well. My mind clears itself of the crystal’s dark whispers, and I feel a great weight evaporate from my shoulders. It seems that, without a master, the Earthheart core cannot persist. I realize countless trapped souls have just been released, and feel even lighter.

As soon as I am recovered, I return to the Unconquered. Warping straight up miles of elevator shafts is no easy task, and by the time I reach my comrades, I am exhausted and starving. As I rest in one of the underground homes, I tell Taperk everything. He is as heartbroken as I. He touches his scar longingly as he remembers his faithful master.

            After a few more nights in the underground city, now lit by torches and campfires, the bulk of the Unconquered army prepares to move on. The people of this city tell us they are grateful for our intervention. Many of the Forgotten on the surface will be brought underground, away from the threat of monsters, to populate the massive city, though most will still carry the responsibility of feeding such a massive city. But, now they work because they choose to. No more will guards slaughter them like pigs or work them into the ground.

            Early in the morning, I stand with Taperk before most of our army. A few hundred soldiers volunteered to stay behind and help the city to transition into its full capacity, as well as guard the farmers from Pravens. Taperk takes over the responsibility of speaking to the troops. I still can’t bring myself to speak with much enthusiasm since the event with my guardian. Taperk runs through the usual encouraging crap to help the men wake up and brace themselves for the long journey back to the Unconquered city. I pay little attention to his words, and choose instead to gaze around at the undeniably beautiful countryside. As Taperk is coming to the close of his speech, I catch sight of something. Against the tree line, a single figure stands alone, staring straight at me. It is my guardian, looking just as he did when he came to me in my dream. He is little more than a shadow, but his eyes glow a brilliant white. We looks into my eyes for a few moments, and then bends to one knee and lowers his head. Could it be…submission? That very same gesture was one he taught me to do when I was in trouble. He just recognized my authority and apologized simultaneously. Suddenly, the glowing outline of an angel’s wings forms from his intangible shoulders, and he stands. He looks to me once more before gazing up at the sky and disappearing in a blinding flash. At once, I feel at ease. Closure, reassurance, and confidence fill my spirit. My guardian failed, but at least I know he is not forever lost to the siren song of the Earthheart. He has passed the torch to me. I still know little of what we are, but my guardian and I have a purpose, and I plan to fulfill it. I look to the skies, painted sparkling blue and stitched with billowing white clouds. When the threat of oppression and corruption don’t taint the very soil, this world is rather beautiful. As Taperk praises the men for their skill and bravery, I silently wonder if the Unconquered were meant to restore the balance. Perhaps my guardian and I were simply tools to facilitate their crusade. I brush these thoughts away and focus on what I know: dozens of massive cities remain to be liberated, still under the control of the nobles, and with the help of the Unconquered, I can free them. The Earthheart within can be silenced, and the people on the surface saved. This singular purpose is enough to keep my will strong and my skills sharp. A compassion I didn’t know was possible burns deep in my heart, and in the hearts of every man and woman before me, urging us to bring balance to a land of chaos. It is that simple. We will be the force that annihilates tyranny; we will be the rat that bites at the throat of the lion.

 

Aeternatt homina.

Author's Note

This is my first story ever submitted online, or anywhere! Please keep that in mind as you read. All criticisms and comments are still welcome (By all means, tear this story to shreds if you like).

Reviews

[Persephone Pith]

Great story! I found it to be exciting and original. My only comment would be that the descriptions could appear a bit lengthy. However, that may just have felt that way because I was so caught up in trying to find out what happened next. Keep writing - this was incredible tale!