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Chapter 14 - Paulus

I

        He examined the harsh purple and almost black marks across his skin. They swarmed the long pink and red gashes that pulsed repeatedly. At least they were finally closed, and forming scars were growing strong enough to be stretched as he moved; though a sting followed every time he tried. What was beginning to concern him was the heat building in his forehead and chest. He could feel sweat beginning to form in a thin clammy layer across his skin and hoped the fever would not take hold. On the positive, there was renewed vitality in his features, and he looked stronger compared to yesterday. He confirmed this as he stared at himself in the small mirror. He could not bring himself to acknowledge the thin black veins worming their way out from the healing wounds as he turned his sight from the mirror.
        “You are starting to look better,” Aemilia said and gave a reassuring smile.
        “I am feeling better,” Paulus said, doing his best to ignore the slow burning heat. He tried to convince himself it was just his body healing, but deep down knew better.
        “Come back to bed?” She asked and lifted the cover.
        He was too hot to be comfortable under the covers but still accepted the offer. With all his heart, he wanted to enjoy his love’s embrace. Sadly, that was an impossibility. He bore it with a stubborn resilience for a time and did his best not to let his discomfort show. When the heat became unbearable, he placed his lips on hers and then pulled away.
        “We should go to the market soon,” He said, “Before everything is picked clean. There has been less each day.”
        It was obvious she did not want to go. The bed was warm and despite summer reaching its zenith, the days seemed darker, shorter, and colder. It was as if a haze covered the land, which was a very real thing with all the fire pockets that burned outside Lavici – though the smoke was not causing the oppressive feeling.
        In a way, it felt as if the town was under siege and the surrounding land was being consumed by a war to which the enemy was not fully known. Paulus saw that enemy’s face every time he blinked, and its pale bestial visage caused the heat inside him to burn brighter.
        Aemilia swallowed hard and nodded her ascent, “Let's get going, I just need a minute to get dressed.”

II

        Paulus was thankful to be outside. Although he was eternally grateful for the apartment the town provided, he could not stand to look at the four walls anymore. Due to his injuries, he had been unable to leave while he healed. It was only the last two days he felt strong enough to make a sojourn out – though those trips had been short. He hated feeling like a burden and wished for his strength to truly return. He hated having Aemilia wait on him. He always wanted to be strong for her and felt like an infant since they arrived in the apartment. He loathed that she had to go out alone most days to collect what food she could and their other supplies. The situation had made his mood dark.
        Unfortunately, Lavici’s own mood seemed to match his. He could not remember the vibrate town as it had been when they visited a few weeks ago – before Bantius turned into a monster. The town was grey like the sky and it felt as if all colour had been stripped away from it. People wore rags and shuffled as if they lacked the energy to walk.
        They walked like cattle being channeled to their pens. Lavici’s guards ensured the streets, and the markets were kept orderly. Only small populations were aloud out at a time. Paulus followed Aemilia’s lead into the dispersed crowed and his thoughts became distant and blurred without realizing it; his vision did the same.
        In the open air, the heat forming in his core turned to a winter’s chill. It felt as if his legs no longer held him up and the world spun slowly at his peripheries. Somehow, he felt his name being spoken rather than heard it and found he could not hear anything. Slowly, on their own accord, his eyes lazily rolled towards the speaker. Her outline blurred and it took all his concentration to read her lips.
        Paulus? The lips asked and were contorted with worry.
        “What?” he breathed.
        “Paulus are you okay?” Aemilia said as his eyes sharpened her hazy silhouette and sound rushed back into existence.
        “I...” Paulus stammered and felt the cold shifting back to heat.
        “Let’s get you back upstairs,” Her voice was laced with concern, “You look pale my love.”
        “I am fine,” Paulus panted.
        With a doleful smile, she shook her head, “I can get us what we need. Come. Let's get you to rest.”
        “I am sorry.”
        “Don’t be my love,” She wrapped her arms around him and shifted his weight onto hers, “You are still healing...”

III

        The door creaked as if the hinges were aged and dry.
        Paulus thought that odd because they had not made any sound hours before. He pushed himself onto his elbows up from the bed’s hold and was greeted with Aemilia’s dour smile.
        “How are you feeling?” She asked.
        “Better than before,” He replied. It was not a lie but did not give the full truth. His mind was sound after the rest, but his body burned with a greater fury. Sweat was beginning to form on his brow. It felt like the calm before a coming storm as his body amped up to fight whatever affected him.
        “That’s good,” She said, “There was not too much in the market. I guess with everyone taking shelter in Lavici the normal food deliveries are absent. The guard patrols outside Lavici have failed to return and a criminal escaped the stockades...”
        “We would have been one of those deliveries,” Paulus said, “I imagine our crops are ruined.”
        “It will be okay my love,” She said and crossed the room to sit beside him. She wrapped her arms around him, “We’ll figure it out.”
        Paulus sank into her embrace, “We will.”
        He did not believe the statement, but it would do no good to abandon hope, and he did not have the energy to express how he really felt. The feeling was hollow in his chest; he could not describe the despair consuming his once bright outlook on life. Without the harvest, the farm was essentially lost. There would not be enough to survive the winter, let alone seed a new crop next summer. They did not have the money to buy new seed and with Argento gone, did not have the means to toil in the field. All he could hope for was the farmers to band together and share supplies, but he doubted that would be possible – everyone around Lavici was in the same predicament. Beyond that, he was not sure who was still alive to share.
        “For now,” Aemilia smiled with as much warmth as she could muster, “we will eat simply.”
        “I don’t mind,” Paulus said as his eyes grew heavy.
        Aemilia pulled away and gently placed his head down onto the pillow. She spoke softly, “Let me cook what I can. You will need to eat. You are starting to look thin my love.”
        Paulus felt his eyes grow heavy as the heat inside flashed to cold. “Thank you,” he managed to say before his strength subsided and his vision blurred to black.

IV

        He woke.

        The room was dark and felt blinding. Panic ran its long thin fingers up his spine, before rational thought stilled fear’s crawling chill. Only night, he thought. He did not remember eating and wondered if he had. His stomach felt empty, but he had no desire to fill it. The fever felt like a warm coal bed; he doubted it was over and was only waiting for a breeze to reignite its fury.
        Aemilia’s relaxed breathing and soft snoring gave him comfort as his eyes adjusted to the black. Her arm was draped around his side and he took some pleasure from her touch. He could just make out stars through the only window from his vantage, but there was no moonlight. It was a comfort to know he was not truly blind; having something sturdy to go by was necessary in times where nothing made sense.
        Softly, he rose from the bed and eased Aemilia’s arm around his pillow, so that she would not miss him. A fresh determination rose through him and he would not deny it. At any second the fever could renew its fury and he wanted to use his strength while he still had it. He was still dressed and did not have to make much noise to gather his shoes and cross the apartment.
        He exited quietly, gritting his teeth at the shrieking hinges. It gnawed at his chest not to give Aemilia a parting word or kiss, but he did not want to wake her. He took one last look at her sleeping outline in the dark and enjoyed her peace.
        Carefully, he made his way to the stairs and took them with deliberate slowness. His head still swam a little and weakness made his strides less than firm, but stubbornness carried him forward. The stairs where jarring and he was forced to put his weight on the rails. Thankfully the hall below was empty; he did not have the mind to be questioned or delayed. He did not know why he was compelled to action and doubted his success, but he had to do something. Something wormed in his mind; something that Aemilia said before he passed out.
        ... the guard patrols outside Lavici have failed to return... She had said.
        Deep down, Paulus knew those patrols had been killed by the creature Bantius had become and those like him. He felt for the young guard who guided him and Aemilia to their apartment, knowing without a doubt in his mind the youth was dead. The guard captain needed to know what beseeched the town. She needed to lock the town down and trust to the walls. If even one got in... He could not stomach the thought and Bantius’s horrific visage haunted his imagination. Pitch black eyes filled with hunger and long fanged teeth that could rend flesh with ease. Sweat began to form on his brow once more, which interrupted his thoughts.
        He risked a more urgent pace and collected a ragged cloak, hung by the door, as he exited the hall. Nothing stirred in the darkness as he walked unsteady through the streets. To a casual observer, they would have assumed him drunk due to his wobbling shuffle. Unfortunately, it was the fever building again and stealing his strength.
        The journey to the guard house was uneventful and mercifully short. It was a squat structure and looked sturdy like the Old Defense’s keeps – though far smaller. He knew what to expect from its interior having seen similar structures in his travels before the farm, in what felt like another life. A square curtain wall with an open courtyard made up its front, while a long rectangular barracks made up the rear. The courtyard would be economical, with practice weapons, training dummies, and other equipment to keep the guard’s skills sharp. An open double doored gate gave the only break to the wall and two guards slouched against arch that framed the portal. He strode directly towards them with as much confidence he could muster. One guard pushed the other when he noticed his approach, and Paulus could clearly see the tension in their posture as they marched towards him with their spears almost leveled horizontal to the guard.
        “Getting a bit late for a stroll, isn’t it?” The guard on the left asked. “And past the curfew.”
        Paulus recognized him and somehow recalled his name, “Mettius, hello... uh... sorry, my name is Paulus, you guided me to an apartment when my wife and I arrived in Lavici... days ago.”
        Mettius tilted his head slightly and squinted, “Sorry friend, I don’t recognize you. Lots of fresh faces, you understand?”
        “It doesn’t matter,” Paulus said, wanting to get to the point. The fever was building, making his head pulse, and he did not know how much time he had. “I need to see the Captain of the Guard please.”
        “Why’s that, friend?” Mettius asked as the other guard began to flank right.
        Paulus could feel his blood begin to race. Sweat formed on his brow and he stifled the need to cough. He pushed saliva into his mouth and swallowed to ease the itch, but found little relief.
        “This is going to sound strange,” Paulus said in as unthreatening a tone as he could manage, “But I think I know what happened to your patrols.”
        “What do you mean?” Asked the other guard.
        Paulus could feel the aggression in the guard’s voice and took a tentative step back. What was I thinking! Paulus screamed at himself, they are going to string me up by my throat.
        “That’s enough,” Mettius barked at the other guard, “Speak now Paulus. Times are troubled and you are lucky I still have some rational thought to see a thin and beaten man such as yourself could be of little harm. What do you know?”
        “It's hard to explain, but I will do my best,” Paulus said.
        “What is going on here?” A commanding voice cut through the darkness.
        Both guards came to attention as if a spell were cast upon them. They turned and saluted to the speaker as she strode from the open gateway. Again, Paulus was taken aback by the force that seemed to radiate from her. Her hard eyes cut through that silence that followed her question, until they finally rested on Paulus.
        “What can Lavici’s guard do for you, sir?” The Captain of the Guard asked.
        “Paulus!” A wholly different female voice sailed through the night. It was sweet – it could never be any other way - but laced with concern. “You had me worried! You can’t just leave me like that!”
        Paulus turned to Aemilia as she jogged down the street to the assembly. His mind was spinning, but not from any implications or explanation he would have to give his wife. The fever was surging through his veins and he wanted to lay down. He closed his eyes so hard that they began to water – the action brought him clarity.
        “Everyone please,” He begged, “Before I am unable to speak further, I must tell you what I think happened.” He turned to the Captain as Aemilia joined him at his side, “You can’t send anymore guards from Lavici, Captain.”
        “I was not planning on it,” The Captain of the Guard replied, “Too many are out already and are late to return.”
        Lightheaded, Paulus began to lean towards Aemilia, who eagerly tried to help by taking his weight. Faintly, he heard something clatter in a nearby alley – reminding him of a steel tool bouncing on a stone floor.
        “Please,” Paulus said, “I-I nee-”
        Something between a growl and a moan ran through the night. A shiver ran down Paulus’s spine that was not caused by the fever. A sharper note followed, like dull knives being driven against stone. He looked towards the sound and found the others stared with him at the bulbous man that stumbled from the alley.
        The man’s head was bowed, and blood lined his front. With fumbling steps, he walked into the torch light that surrounded the open square at the guard house’s fore. A massive open wound in his neck poured fresh black liquid down his front, in spurts. It came out in such a quantity that should have made his body empty long ago. His skin was pale and inhuman. Jet veins crawled across his white skin and pumped with furious effort.
        Fear rose in Paulus’s gut; he had seen such a thing before...
        “Lars?” The Guard Captain asked as her hand crossed over to draw her sword.
        The man looked up and Paulus saw that he was no longer a man, but a nightmarish thing. White eyes turned to a soulless black and seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its pale white lips pealed back unnaturally wide, revealing sinister teeth with viper-like canines protruding from its retracted bloody gum-line.
        It spoke with a voice that was no longer human and that ended in a snarl, “Hello Captain.”

Thank you for reading!

Brett

 Wait if you have not read the previous Chapters, click the Carthirose Saga button above or Click here.

Chapter 13 - Lars

I

        It felt like coming out from a nightmare. Shock electrified his nerves. Sweat covered his skin and made his ragged clothing stick to his flesh. Every muscle in his massive frame was tight to the point where they would not obey his brain’s commands. His veins crawled as if ants raced through them – they shifted and pulsed in a tune that did not match his heart’s uncontrolled, uneven, and weak beats.
        His eyes were sticky as he tried to open them. They were consumed with filth and puss. He could smell their sourness, like feet left to long in boots. It took a significant effort to peel his eyelids apart and he expressed his discomfort with whimpered grunts, until they obeyed his demands.
        Panic broiled through his chest, making his heart flutter further out of rhythm. He remembered the monster’s fangs pierce his throat and his blood being sucked from the wound with ravenous greed. It was inhuman. He could feel its hunger, like a physical force, as his consciousness faded into nothingness.
        His eyes adjusted to the dark and the fog cleared from his vision as he blinked away goop and crust on his eyelashes. He was still in the sewers but no longer in the tunnels. The room was square, and he knew it was the sewers central collection point before the waste was funneled to the river and almost every channel led to this place.
        Decaying waste matter assailed his nostrils. Somehow, the reek was not as bad as it should have been, and it was not the only smell that permeated the dark. He recognized the other scents. Only a battled hardened veteran would be more familiar with it. Rotting flesh. It made him hungry. A hunger he had never felt before. It twisted his guts and made him want to exorcise his stomach’s fluids.
        His eyes further adjusted to the black, beyond any ability he thought possible. The room became alight with a twilight grey. It was as if no shadow could block his vision anymore. In fact, he felt he saw better where there were shadows when compared to open space’s general ambience.
        The rats were there, and they could no longer hide beyond his vision’s edge. There were so many, hundreds – maybe thousands. He grinned at them and could see their fast-beating hearts in their chests as if they made echoing waves in the air. They were twisted with something unnatural – something not from this world. He did not care. He wanted them. He wanted to bite into them with his fangs and devour everything without stopping. He wanted to taste their blood and break their bones and pop their organs.
        He wanted to feed!
        He needed to feed!
        Fangs? He thought, which distracted him from the hunger. He felt the long protrusions in his mouth for the first time – they were alive. It was like a limb moving for the first time. Carefully, he ran his tongue along their pointed ends and was surprised his mouth could hold such things comfortably. They were incredibly long and seemed as if they protruded to his chin.
        He found the strength to lift his arm – wishing to touch the fangs with his fingers. He paused. The arm had changed as much as his mouth. It was thinner but was by no means small and it held more power than it had before. Long curved claws extended from each finger’s tip and were as hard as bone. He placed his elbows under him and pushed to look at his body. It was wasted in a way he had never known but similar to his arm was still far from small. His skin was almost translucent and as pale as a corpse. Jet veins looked ready to break from under the thin skin as they crawled along his muscles with their own minds. With their small movements, his heart thundered in his chest and felt ready to quit or explode. He sucked in a deep breath and his nerves calmed, but his heart continued its relentless thunder.
        With the initial shock of his transformation gone, the hunger returned as well – with a renewed fury – making his body writhe and tremble. Lumps rose and fell both quickly and slowly as if something crawled inside him. It was as if his organs were rearranging themselves. His vision blurred.

II

        His awareness faded as the hunger took his mind. With tooth and nail he clawed back his consciousness. His eyes shot open. A roar left his lips, and it gave volume to his defiance. With the silence disturbed, more voices called out their anguish. Something wriggled beneath him and he did not understand how he had not felt it before. It also explained why nothing blocked his vision. With this realization, he fixed his orientation in his mind and the room shifted in angle to match.
        He was not on his back as he originally believed but slumped against a fleshy mound. With muscles that were beyond sore, he turned to face the mound. Eyes – white with decay – stared back at him, like a beached fish rotted by the sun. Somehow it did not disturb him, only made him hungrier. There were others beyond the corpse. Each was ravaged by whatever sickness had befallen him. Their skin was white and the same black veins that throbbed under his skin stretched and webbed beneath theirs. He counted around ten in total but could not be sure and less than half showed any life. Instincts, he did not know he possessed, told him that only a few would make it through the transformation – those who would not, remained still and were meat for the survivors.
        His mouth watered. Saliva rained from his lips like a waterfall. His fangs ached as if the bone they were made from knew his hunger. He could not resist. Every cell in his body flailed with excitement at the prospect. His tongue grew long and extended past his lips to lick the salty, dead, flesh nearest to him. It gave him a thrill that he had never experienced before.
        A great bloody jet projected from his open throat wound as his heartbeat grew stronger. Fresh energy surged through his limps and they bulged until his loose skin grew tight. He rolled to face the fish-eyed corpse, opened wide, and clamped down with a predator’s vigour. His fangs tore through skin, muscle, and bone alike. With a savage twist, he pulled off a chunk and swallowed it whole without a single chew. The stinking meat rolled down his throat stretching his esophagus. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.
        Again, and again, he tore into the corpse. His stomach stretched outwards as it had once done before. There was no stopping. With each bite, he grew more rabid. The decay, the rancid smell, and the rot did not turn him away from swallowing more, and more, and more – all these things only made his meal taste better.
        He wanted it all!
        He never wanted to stop pulling apart the meat with his mouth and swallowing it!
        Even though his stomach grew and looked ready to burst, he continued to take mouthful after mouthful, with each becoming more savage than the last.
        His mind began to haze once more.
        He refused to let go and, with a terrible will, he forced his heart to a calmer pace. Whatever change was twisting him, he would not let it consume him yet. He knew the hunger would overpower him, and there was no stopping it. He was not fighting it for self-preservation. Instinctively, he knew that was a battle he would never win. If truth were told, he wanted to embrace it. He knew he would, but only when he could look at those who had caused him this fate. To see their fear… Oh, how he dreamed to see their fear and taste their meat; that is what kept his mind from being lost to the hunger.
        He pushed away from the half-devoured corpse, turned back to the room, and came face to face with the thing that started this transformation within him. It seemed to smile – a proud parent watching a child achieve a great feat for the first time – and he was not afraid. Somehow, he felt more kinship to the twisted one-armed thing than he had any other. He felt he could understand the thing and the thing understood him.
        “Thank you,” He said with a voice that no longer rang like his own. It sounded as if he was speaking the words for the first time and the accent was wrong.
        It nodded and continued to give its lipless grin as it slinked back into shadow’s that his new vision could not pierce. There was something powerful about the darkness the thing created. Something that defied all senses – as if borne from another world or reality.
        Fresh energy surged through him, but he knew it was only temporary – already his stomach was beginning to deflate as it processed all that he had just devoured. The hunger was returning as if he had eaten hours ago – not seconds. He needed his revenge before the hunger consumed his mind, and the next meal would be that cursed woman’s blood. The Captain was responsible. She had done this to him – her and her cronies. His mind played out violent fantasies about what he would do to them and his mouth began to water once more.
        He pushed from the cold stones and began to walk unsteadily towards the closest passage.

III

        No conscious thoughts directed him. The sewers were a labyrinth. Each tunnel was indistinguishable from the last. He knew the general layout from talk within the drinking halls and rough map in the guard house, but to be in them was a distinct experience compared to drunk talk and a half-remembered drawing. Without his new scenes – without his obsessive hunger – he doubted he would have been able to find his way. It was as if he could smell his desire – his unknowing prey.

        With each passing second, his mind became more lost. No panic entered him, however. His focus matched the hunger’s desires, which allowed an equilibrium to exist. If at any point his desire changed, he would have been lost to the transformation and consumed by the black rushing through his very soul. His revenge guided his hunger, and his hunger guided his revenge.
        He found his way to a ladder – etched into the wall – and his claws bit into the stone as he climbed. With a wave, the grate blocking him from the streets above flew off its hinges into the air. It landed with a clatter a few seconds later but he did not stick around to witness this happen. With a walking corpse’s grace, he stumbled down the alley into the street beyond.
        “Please,” A weak voice said in the distance, “I-I need-”

        A breath escaped his lips, and it was the last he would ever take. It was as if a rabid dog used his voice to growl. Already the hunger was growing tired with the truce and wanted to consume his mind as much as the revenge he sought. Fresh thick and black liquid pulsed from his open throat as his mind fogged. His fangs ached uncomfortably, like overworked joints. He placed his hand against a nearby wall to steady his spinning vision and his claws dug furrows into it without the slightest effort.
        “Lars?”
        He looked up into the open square with almost blind eyes. Only the captain had any focus as black crawled inwards at his sight’s edges. His lips pealed back and, for once, he felt joy.
        “Hello Captain,” He lips curved upwards and willing let the savage hunger take his mind – knowing full well it would enact his vengeance. Lars died happy, with that smile twisting his face. He was finally free from all the pains life had caused him.

Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying the story so far, please considering sharing!

Brett

 Wait if you have not read the previous Chapters, click the Carthirose Saga button above or Click here.

Chapter 12 - Talinnius

I

        The city was quiet, even though it felt like every soul was out to watch what had become a grand parade. This was no triumph, despite its spectacle. A funerary pyre – taller than the surrounding buildings – rolled through the wide street. Wheels – almost as tall as a man – creaked and moaned with each rotation. At the pyre’s zenith, an ornate casket made from pure gold rested. The gold was decorated with stylized wars and other great moments in the occupant's life. The occupant was recreated in realistic manner on the casket’s lid, with his arms crossed and eye closed, sleeping atop his final resting place. The whole device was pulled by one hundred oxen and escorted by an entire Legion wearing mortuary masks made from polished silver. Black banners and streamers floated in the soft breeze from the legionnaires’ ceremonial gold spears. Their normal rich purple tunics were also replaced with black.
        At the processions heart, the Champions marched. They formed around the pyre and beside the oxen pulling it. They wore no extra ostentatious displays or extra livery; their steel back armour and rich crimson half kilts were unmodified. Their skeletal helms were directed forward and unwavering. They looked identical in all aspects as if one person were mirrored thousands of times and made to march in unison. Each step in their march was a like a deep drum that seemed to cut through the silence and the processions white noise.

II

        Talinnius watched from a shadowed terrace. This display was for the public; not the inner circle he was about to enter. As the pyre rolled by, he turned away and his emotions warred within. Achamus would not have wanted this, but the Emperor had insisted in a grand send off and so the parade was made.
        He made his way to street level and flipped a hood to cover his helmeted head. It did a respectable job obscuring all but his helm’s skeletal grin and forked chin. The heavy cloak only shifted slightly as his tread brushed its edges. He travelled the deserted streets and peeled into an alley. Two figures rested like beggars on the grit covered stone. Talinnius saw through there demeanor immediately and approached – knowing full well they were far more than Carthirose’s poorer dregs. When the figures noticed his coming, they stood with such grace that they almost appeared spectral. They pulled away cloth scraps and cast them aside, revealing the same cloak that he wore. Talinnius could just make out their skeletal grins in their cowl’s shadow. His passage had been arranged and although he did not need an escort, it was a tradition. He saluted the figures – by placing a hand to his chest – when it was appropriate to do so. They bowed in return and beckoned him to follow.
        The stairwell was made invisible by its unassuming nature. One figure took the lead, while the other flanked behind Talinnius. He would have been unnerved if he did not know exactly who the figures were, despite the cloaks hiding their features and movements. The staircase was hardly big enough for one person to walk abreast and Talinnius could not see past the leading figure. Each stair was narrow, only allowing his heel to sit comfortably on the slick, weather worn, stone. He was thankful there were mercifully few in the case. They came to an abrupt halt and the first figure freed a key from her cloak to unlock the barrier blocking further descent. The door opened with an almost avian cry, due to the rusted hinges, and Talinnius was ushered into the darkness beyond. The door closed behind him and the lock reengaged with a click.
        Torches came to life – dispelling the dark and revealed the ten Champions stood with backs to the wall. The two figures let their cloaks fall, to reveal their dark steel armour plates and took their place beside the others. They were all as still as statues. Talinnius took a deep breath to focus, and the trance came to him; shutting down the emotions that were beginning to quest into his gut. The apprehension for what was to come was not gone, just subdued by the meditative state. He let his own cloak fall and strode forward without further hesitation. The Champions only moved as he passed, forming two columns behind him and kept his pace. Talinnius recognized them all, despite their features being completely obscured by their armour. He had spent a lifetime training with each one. The slight imperceptible differences in their movements gave him all the clues he needed to determine who was who. He smiled at the last Champion in the line - who was the figure who led him down the stairs. Despite the emotions the trance quashed, he was glad to have Cordia at his side as he made this sojourn outside Carthirose.

III

        Carthirose was known as the Eternal City, not because her current Empire determined it so. The city had existed long before Achamus and the First Emperor rebuilt after the God Wars. All who lived in the Empire, knew Carthirose would exist in one form or another until time’s ending. Its grandeur was not the palace or the great Ampitheater's. Nor was it the Senate House or the spectacles unleashed upon its populace – whether it be triumphs or smaller parades. Carthirose’s true scale and beauty lay beneath the cobblestone streets that cut between the buildings that to conquer the land’s surface. The city’s roots stretched deep underground, like an ancient tree. Catacombs, layered atop each other, were made in a scale that was impossible to fathom. The knowledge to make such structures - with the strength to hold the vast city above up - no longer existed. Those few who had seen the catacombs, determined it was the Gods who made them – making the city even more blessed in its reputation. Talinnius knew better.
        The Order was older than the Empire, stretching back in one form or another to the first men. A people who no longer exist built Carthirose’s initial bones and those civilizations who followed built atop. It was a miracle that the catacombs still existed at all, considering the wars, bloodshed, and natural disasters that ensued since their creation. Even the Gods’ multiple awakenings had not the power to destroy them. Over time, the catacombs came to represent countless civilizations and their stories; the Empire was only the latest and was incredibly young in comparison to those that predated it.
        Talinnius wanted to venture further into the depths, to see the catacomb’s true majesty and become lost for a lifetime exploring them. No one in recent memory had done such a thing; only the known areas were traversed, which were but a drop in the bucket when compared to their entirety. Duty did not allow for that and he knew the explorative feeling only came from apprehension - what was to come would forever change him and the Order. To become First Champion was to take on a mantle of responsibility that he felt no way to prepare for. In a lifetime, where preparation and training for every scenario was key to survival, this unpredictable sat ill with him. If it were not the for the Trance, he doubted he would be able to walk as surely as he did through the subterranean halls towards his destination. With another deep breath, he pushed it all away and his mind focused into a razor’s edge. This was not who he was. No personal doubts would interfere with his path. I will make you proud, Achamus, he swore to himself.
        The halls narrowed into a slim tunnel, and he knew it was the final stretch to his destination. Channels were wrought into the stone on either side, allowing rain and melt water to run down the slightly inclined passage back to the sewer systems incorporated into the catacombs. The passage was long, and the silence was grating. No one spoke; they were solemn in their march and, for once, he wished his fellow Champion were less taciturn.
        Eventually, the channels split off into the smooth walls, vanishing into the stone’s solidity. It was a sign the tunnel was coming to its zenith. As if on cue, faint natural light cut the darkness through seams around a rectangular barrier, marking the tunnel’s end. Talinnius pressed a stone on the wall beside him and the barrier pushed forward on near invisible mechanical tracks. With a rumble, deep in the stone, it stopped before sliding to the side, opening the way.
        It took a moment for Talinnius’s eyes to adjust as he stepped into the pouring light. He could not make out the temple’s vast openness as it was overshadowed by a statue, which supplied relief from the sudden light change as he stepped into its shadow. Even though he had seen the statue many times, he could not help but be awed by its impossible scale.
        He circled its base slowly and kept his eyes forward to maintain his disciplined demeanor, doing his best not to become lost to the statue’s wonder. Fortunately, he did not have to look, to appreciate its grandeur and beauty. Its image was permanently etched into his mind’s eye from the first time he witnessed it.
        Sarith, the Creator, saluted with his spear towards the temple’s central dais. Antlers stretched above the statue's smooth oval masked face, creating a crown. Meticulously sculpted vines and moss made a natural armour around the statue’s legs and chest. The details were so crisp and flawless that Talinnius could pick out the pours on the muscular frame’s skin where the armour did not cover. He could not imagine the effort it took create such a masterpiece – it was as if the sculptors had trapped the Creator beneath a thin stone layer for all eternity.
        He marched around the statue, into the temple proper and took in its vast open scale. Columns, which made up the temple's perimeter were hazed by distance and a morning fog settling over the ground level. Sarith’s statue was not alone. Four others circled the temple’s periphery, built in the same massive scale, and flanked the Creator, two to either side.
        Although, he had the ability to resist looking at Sarith’s tower form, there was no helping his gaze trailing upon the statue to the Creator’s left. Nith, the God of the afterlife, seemed to stare back from beneath his bestial skull helm with malicious intent. Where Sarith projected life, Nith projected the opposite. Thick armour with sharp edges, and made to resemble bones, covered the statue’s entire frame. Cloth streamers hung from the massive, spiked, shoulder pauldrons and were carved to resemble a breeze pushing them backwards. Two long curved swords - one in each hand - were held at the ready as if the statue sought to come to life and slay entire civilizations. Talinnius found it remarkable that something made from stone could inspire such dread in his heart.
        To Sarith’s right stood Altana, the goddess of love. Unlike her two brothers, her face could be seen in part under the T-shaped opening in her helm. She was utterly flawless in her fierce beauty. Her femininity was intact from fitting armour covered her torso and with a thin chainmail skirt left her thighs partially exposed. Greaves and vambraces covered in floral designs made up her remaining armour pieces. Unlike her brothers, she bore no weapons and instead had her arms outstretched in welcome.
        The remaining two statues were known as the twins. They flanked the temple’s main entrance – opposite to the secret entrance from where Talinnius and the twelve other Champions had entered – and were hidden behind columns, despite their scale. That seemed to suit their character as it was said they were less concerned with man’s dealings, when compared to the other three. Lotek, the trickster, stood to Nith’s left. A tri pointed hat and bells hung in a bandolier across the statue’s chest - making the God statue look like a street performer. His grin was both comically big and sinister. It was little more than a mask however as he held an almost identical mask projecting sorrow in a hand at his side. Lotek was said to guide souls off the paths through the underworld’s nine levels, making them forever lost to suffer and wander.
        Harmis was the last. Compared to the other statues, Harmis was plain and bore little detail. This was done be design and not a lack of skill in the sculptor’s hand. Harmis was known as the thief. Unlike the other God’s, no gender could be decided as a cowl and think robe covered the God’s non-descript form. Much like Lotek, the Thief was said to harness abilities in their plethora but to unknowable ends.
        Talinnius tore his gaze away from the statues and paused before the dais at the temple’s heart. It was the only other note-worthy feature within the temple’s grand open space. It rose like a man-made mountain. Circular stones stacked atop each other - each slightly smaller than the one beneath - created stairs up its height, like a farm terraced hillside. A similar dais housed the Emperor’s throne in Carthirose’s throne room, but this one dwarfed the Empire’s seat of power many times over. It was as tall as the statues and from its height a person could stare directly into Gods’ eyes. He looked to the top and knew what would be waiting for him.
        He sensed, more than saw, his entourage spread out around the temple’s boundaries. He tried to pick out Corida, but, for once, could not. It made his heart wretch. He wanted to meet his friend’s eyes and feel her support. With the world’s weight on his shoulders, he swallowed and took the first step up.

IV

        Each step was heavy and with every stair up he felt more alone. Abandoned too his thoughts, Talinnius’s mind spiraled with shock. What was about to come weighed on him to such a degree that everything else fell away; it was if his internal voice called across an impossibly vast gulf. His body moved on its own, without conscious will.
        Everything rushed back as he neared his destination. The Trance settled comfortably across his body as his breathing normalized. He was being summoned to a new duty and he would not be found wanting. When he reached the top, he took a moment to look across the open vista and appreciate the grand temple at its height. Vertigo twisted his stomach as his body adjusted to the dais’s altitude and steep terraced slopes, but the Trance prevented the sensation from becoming little more than an annoyance. The God’s statues felt both close and impossibly fair away. They all looked upon him, judging with their lifeless stone features. Only Altana seemed to show any compassion in her hard eyes.
        Briefly, he looked down upon those who had followed him to the temple. They were made small by distance and were little more than black stick figures against the temple’s rich granite columns and walls. Yet somehow, he was still able to meet her eyes. Emotions that should have been blocked by the Trance stirred in his chest. They were strong and he had no way to explain them to himself, let alone her. Cordia kept the eye contact until she caught herself. Her head fell forward, breaking the moment. While it had lasted, Talinnius felt stronger and ready to confront what was to come. He wished she had not turned away and felt weaker from her sudden withdrawal. He did not know why his heart clenched this way and quickly determined his grief from Achamus’s passing was making him seek a friend’s solace.
        He turned to Sarith and Nith, the two he served above all others and took a knee. With a deep controlled breath, he pushed himself deeper into the Trance. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Everything fell away, both emotion and touch. His body felt light, ready to float away.
        Hours passed, but he did not stir from mediation. He moved so deep into the Trance that it was as if he could feel every cell in his body. The blood travelling through his veins, each muscle strand, and even his skin, were all at once felt and under his control. He pushed them through his body with will alone and controlled his nervous system to do so with conscious thought. His heart’s beat and his respiration were perfectly matched. Every muscle fibre was perfectly tense to maintain his position but not grow sore or bored from inactivity.
        Hairs prickling underneath his armour warned him about new arrivals. His muscles remained loose but were ready to tense at a moment’s notice. Blood began to surge through his veins in anticipation. His hands left their rest on his knee and hung a breath’s distance from his swords. Talinnius opened his eyes and found himself surrounded. He rose slowly and met the five new arrivals’ shadowed gazes.
        One stood before each Gods’ statue and stared with the same unrelenting intensity as the stone behind. There was no doubt in his mind that he knew each concealed figure, but he could not determine their individual identities. Unlike the other Champions – who had followed him to the temple – these men and women gave no hints as to who they were with their subtle movements. Not even their heights varied, and any identifiable feature was hidden perfectly. If it were not for the Trance, he would have been unnerved by such a thing. A Champion’s training centred around noticing subtleties in others. It helped predict an opponent’s actions and force influence where necessary. There was still so much to learn – if he were to be judged against these five individuals. He knew those around him had abilities that far outstretched his own. Perhaps not martially, but how to wield a weapon was only one aspect in a Champion’s arsenal and life.
        Slowly, as one, figures removed their cloaks, and let them drop to the dais with gravities pull. Each wore a mask in the same as guise as the statue behind them. Only the figure standing before Harmis remained hidden, matching the mysterious God’s aspect perfectly. Talinnius saluted with a fist against his breast and head bowed. The figures merely stared in judgement, unmoving and cold.

V

        Talinnius was about to speak – his desire to break the silence as palpable - but the figure with Nith’s mask cut through the silence with a melting glacier’s cracking force, “Who speaks for this man?”
        The Sarith masked figure spoke, “I do.”
        The Nith figured nodded and bade to continue with a sweeping hand, “Reveal yourself.”
        Echoed footfalls ran through the temple as the Sarith figure moved forward and removed the mask. Quintis’s hard eyes cut through the dim light. His age lines and scars seemed less defined, as if he were ten years younger, but were made harder by his stern expression.
        A wave rush through Talinnius, despite the Trance’s soothing touch. Quintis had taught him everything he knew, second only to Achamus. He could not help but feel weight on his shoulders as he met his only remaining mentor’s stern gaze.
        “I, Quintis, give my blessing to this warrior to take on leadership’s burden,” Quintis announced with a clear voice. “This warrior is the only one worthy to take on the mantle of First Champion of the Order.”

        Talinnius stood taller at Quintis’s words and felt pride swell in his gut. It was as if an adoptive father had given him his blessing.
        The others remained still, unperturbed by Quintis’s proclamation. They stared from beneath their masks, unwilling to disturb the new silence that followed Quintis’s echoing words. Talinnius remained still and calm – there were no cracks in his mental wall, which held his emotions at bay.
        At last, the stillness and quiet was broken. The figured dressed as Altana pulled back her helm, to reveal herself, and spoke, “I, Camellia, will give my blessing to this warrior to take on leadership’s burden.”
        Talinnius turned to the woman. He had only seen her once before when her face was less cragged and aged. But he knew her reputation. With Achamus’s passing Camellia was the oldest member within the Order and her voiced held more weight than any other due to her accomplishments. She helped Tiber’s father secure the Empire’s expansion – very much like how Achamus had helped the first Emperor establish the Empire’s original borders. It was said she was a hero on a hundred battlefields. Her greatest accomplishment saw her duel the great barbarian chieftain Tor’hiem in single combat as his hordes sought to crush Carthirose’s Empire. It was her sword that broke the barbarian avalanche and sundered their hordes, which opened the way for Carthirose to expand beyond the Old Defenses into the North.
        With both Quintis and Camellia revealed, Talinnius guessed the other figures were the remaining three elders. He had only seen them from afar and could not recall their faces – it was rare for such a gathering. Months or even years, in some cases, could go by before they returned to the Order’s barracks. In a word, they were retired, though duty never truly ended for a Champion. Each had earned peace, but each continued to share their experience by giving the Order’s aspirants their final teachings before approving their induction as a full-fledged Champion. They did this from secluded cottages hidden throughout the Empire. An aspirant’s final task was to quest and survive in the wilds without aid or supplies to find one of these great warriors and learn their teachings. In Talinnius’s journey, he had found Quintis and thus received his final training from the grizzled old man. Where Achamus had shaped him and continued to do so until his final day, Quintis had sharpened Talinnius into the weapon he was today. There was one other Elder outside the five present; a sixth that none spoke of and who did not take part with the Order’s activities – Talinnius could only guess as to why.
        Achamus was the Order’s leader and never sought to give those responsibilities to another, therefore never was given the relative peace the elders had found in age and was never considered one. Until his passing, their presence was not needed and so they maintained their isolation outside the Capital, until now. Talinnius knew he would follow in Achamus’s footsteps and never know peace, while others who lived long enough to retire took on the Elder’s mantle.
        The Elder in Nith’s mask nodded and said, “Camellia’s and Quintis’s voices have been heard. Are there any who would oppose their blessings?”
        None moved and another uncomfortable stillness followed. The Elder with Nith’s mask finally nodded and the remaining two figures did the same.
        “There is no opposition,” Quintis announced and then asked, “Talinnius will you take the oath?”
        Talinnius faced his mentor and said, “I will.”
        “Kneel and remove your helm,” Quintis said.

VI

        Talinnius did as he was bidden; his helm felt heavy as he lifted it and set it on the stone, while he knelt on one knee. His eyes widened slightly as Quintis drew a sword and spun it gracefully to press its tip against his throat. Blood rolled in a thin bead as the blade’s tip bit shallowly into his throat.
        “Should you speak false,” Quintis declared, “this blade will pierce your throat. Your soul will know damnation and find no peace within the underworld.”
        “I understand,” Talinnius said, doing his best to ignore the blade’s discomfort as he spoke.
        Quintis nodded and took a deep breath before continuing, “With this oath, you shall be reborn not as an equal within the Order as has been your lot until this point. With this oath, you shall become the Order’s leader and protector. Not only will you give the Order its direction, but you will also ensure its spirit remains whole. Do you understand?”
        “I do.”
        Again, Quintis gave his ascent and continued, “Let us begin.”
        The other Elder’s drew their swords and pointed them at Talinnius’s throat as well – with the exception of the Elder dressed as Harmis. Talinnius resisted the urge to swallow.
        Quintis’s voice reached out, throughout the entire temple, with a tempest’s force, “The Gods stand as our witnesses! Do you swear to serve them as they command you?”
        “I swear,” Talinnius said firmly.
        “Do you swear to be an anathema to fear and face the Carthirose’s enemies with courage?” Quintis boomed.
        “I swear!” Talinnius declared.
        “Do you swear to stand brave and upright so that the Gods see you?”
        “I swear!”
        “Do you swear to always speak the truth, even if it should lead to your death and the death of those who are dear to you?”
        “I swear!”
        “Do you swear to not to seek riches and personal gains?”
        “I swear!”
        “Do you swear to protect Carthirose and her people, with your life and your blood? Will you protect her Empire, whether the threat arise from within or without?”
        “I swear!”
        “Blessed are the Gods, who make your soul like stone. Blessed are the Gods, who give you the strength to train and fight in their name. Blessed are the Gods, who harden your hands for war. Blessed are the Gods, for their love. In their name, your soul is a fortress, and, in their name, you are a shield made to protect Carthirose. Your life is no longer your own; it belongs to Carthirose... it belongs to the Order... it belongs to the Gods. With this understanding and the oath that goes with it, you will become the First amongst the Order and be titled as First Champion of the Order. Do you take this oath freely of your own will?”
        “I do,” Talinnius said with a voice as steady as the stone beneath his knee.
        Quintis pulled away his sword and the other Elders did the same. All was quiet. Talinnius wonder what was next and resisted the urge to ask. He met Quintis’s hard eyes.
        Before he could react, Quintis’s sword lashed out. The cut was perfect and reached from just above Talinnius’s temple down to his jaw. He did not react to the pain that flared across his nerves, nor did he retreat from it. He embraced it as he embraced any duty the Order had given him before.
        “With the scar that will form this cut, you will forever remember your oath,” Quintis declared. “This is the same scar that purified the one before you and when your days end, those who follow in your footsteps shall also take on this mark. Your oath is baptized in blood and in the skin that will seal over the wound. Arise First Champion of the Order.”
        Talinnius stood. As he did so, the Elder’s took a knee as one and bowed their heads in reverence. The oath was similar to the oath he had sworn when he first became a Champion. All that was added were the references to the First Champion. He was grateful for this. It meant he could remain himself. However, at the same time, the oath had more weight it. The throbbing pain along his face was testament to the new responsibilities he bore. He knew it was no longer just his own oath, but an oath made for all those that were already Champions or were to become Champions in the future. Unlike before, he was a not just a piece of the whole, but an influence too every piece.
        The cut began to cry its outrage in more earnest. He had not even felt the blow as his skin was parted and was only just registering that it had happened at all. He resisted the urge to touch it, thinking it unbecoming. He had to appear strong now that he was the First Champion.
        Before he could do or say anything, Camella spoke, “You are oathed, Talinnius... but there is one more step to your ascension.”
        She stood and turned to the temple’s proper entrance – between Lotek and Harmis. Talinnius felt his gut twist at the sight. Robed priests walked in a procession, guarded by Champions at their flanks. Their skull masks were hung low, and their strides were somewhat tentative. At once, he saw why. Eunuchs followed the priests and carried a stone slab upon their shoulders.
        Talinnius felt his teeth clench involuntarily.
        Achamus lay on the stone with his arms crossed and his sword resting between them against his chest. The former First Champion was fully armoured, minus his helm, which rested just above his crown on the stone as if watching over the fallen warrior.

VII

        “As with all things, blood will decide fate,” said Camella.

        Talinnius watched the procession begin their climb up the dais. Breath come out in shallow ragged gasps. The Trance fell away, and tears welled in his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest and he could not look away from Achamus’s corpse pale face.
        Camella continued, “You must be chosen not by us, but by the one who preceded you.”
        “Achamus’s blood will decide your fate, Talinnius,” Quintis explained.
        The elder dressed as Harmis reached into the robes and procured a simple clay cup, along with a wine bottle. Quintis and Camella each took one and withdrew, while the remaining elders rested their blade’s tip on the dais. Slowly, with an almost malicious intent, the Harmis dressed elder freed a leaf shaped dagger from his or her robes.
        Before Talinnius could comment, the procession reached the summit and fanned out around the dais’s upper sections, while the eunuchs mounted the last level and set the stone slab at its centre. They backed away quickly; unwilling to make eye contact with the elders or Talinnius.
        “So, lies the First Champion,” Camella said somberly. She stared at Achamus’s relaxed features in silence for a few seconds, then turned her sharp eyes upwards and said, “It is time.”
        The Elder dressed as Harmis hovered over Achamus like a ghastly spectre and lowered the dagger. Languidly, the blade was run across Achamus’s throat. The crypt’s cold had kept the body from turning and frost still lined the former First Champion’s hair. Dead flesh parted and thick, almost black, blood drooled from the opening. Before it could reach the stone slab, Camella knelt and offered the cup so that the Harmis elder could collected the stream in the cup. The cup was raised and Quintis poured wine into it. Reverently, the Harmis Elder stood and offered the cup to Talinnius.
        “Wine is the blood of the Gods,” Quintis said, “fitting it should be mixed with Achamus’s.”
        “Drink,” The Harmis Elder said with a harsh rasping voice that gave no indications to his or her gender.
        Hesitantly, Talinnius took the offering and gazed into its shadowed depths. Iron in the blood overpowered the wine’s rich aroma. As he brought it closer to his mouth, he found that the wine had only diluted Achamus’s semi-congealed blood and had done little to dilute the bloods flavour. With one gulp, he drained it.

Thank you for reading!

Brett