Dragon Ball X
Kingdom Crushed
Ehehe…*awkward silence*…Sorry it took so long. Lots of stuff happening in my personal life at the moment.
But now, we come to Part 3 of the first Dragon Ball X OVA, Kingdom Crushed. Things have started heating up, that's for sure. Well, I really can't think of much to say, so…
On with the chapter!
000
"Again!"
The clang of a sword beat out a rhythm, accompanied by an occasional grunt and the soft thud of footsteps against the ground. Sand kicked up and scattered to the air.
The sun burned down on the sparring field, a brilliant blue sky marking a fine day. Not so fine for the young man who thudded to the ground, a muscular shoulder driving powerfully into his chest and shoving him to the ground. His sword, a strong blade designed for a more elegant style, speared into the dirt a few metres away.
"Up," commanded a tall blond warrior, flourishing his own blade effortlessly. "You did well that time."
The youth climbed painfully to his feet, grimacing. "Thanks, I guess. I'm trying. It's just, these swords are so damn heavy. Can't we just use the normal ones?"
Geani tilted his head, piercing blue eyes unforgiving. "No," he said slowly. "Your Majesty the King asked me to train you - the prince - but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you slack and learn sloppily, Krill. The heavier the sword to train, the faster you will grow, and these swords are the best."
Krill frowned, and pulled his sword from the ground. It was like an anvil. "Why can't my father train me, anyway?"
"He's got a lot to deal with, in case you didn't notice," said Geani, rolling his eyes. "Now advance. Remember, use your ki to punctuate every swing of your sword."
"Right," said Krill, and stared intently at his sword. The air around him blurred ever so slightly as he gathered up the energy dormant in his body and brought it to the surface.
"Begin!"
Krill gripped his sword in both hands and lunged forward, only for Geani to easily deflect, the man barely even paying attention. Remembering his advice, Krill spun and brought his sword around in large arc, aiming directly for Geani's neck. There was a loud ring as the swordsmaster blocked with barely a thought, and Krill attacked again and again. Each blow was answered with steel, and Geani looked bored as he effortlessly protected himself. The sword was like an extension of his body.
"Is that it?" he said loudly over the clangs of the swords, goading the prince. Krill stabbed out and Geani swept his weapon to the side, stepping in and grabbing Krill's collar, twisting hard and pulling him in. Krill stumbled and tripped over his own feet. His sword was ripped from his hand as Geani simply batted it from his fingers and then the gentle touch of cold steel was at his throat, held by a bronzed hand.
Geani's eyes stared at him, barely inches away. They didn't blink, and Krill avoided looking directly into them, finding himself examining the rest of the man's face instead. With a beard identical in style to Krill's father's, Geani's face was dominated by his large, but sharp nose. A faded brown scar knitted across his left cheek. Geani's straw-like hair was tied at the back into a knot that reached the base of his neck.
"Don't be so obvious with your movements," he said shortly. "I could see you coming from leagues away. I told you to punctuate your strikes with your ki, not swing your sword like it's seven feet long."
"And what if it is, brother?"
Krill blinked as the loud voice interrupted them, and Geani's eyes went dull, his face tightening slightly. He sighed wearily, and let go of Krill's collar, stepping away. Krill stumbled back and got some distance between himself and the swordsmaster, turning to look in the direction of the voice. By the edge of the sparring field, a man stood watching them, leaning against one of the heavy stone pillars that encircled the field.
He was massive, bigger than even General Mataro. The man had a round boyish face, complete with a swoon-worthy smile and bright blue eyes. A layer of stubble clung to his cheeks and jaw. Unlike Geani and Krill, who both wore Slavoan leather armour, this man wore no shirt at all, his impressive muscles tanned and covered in sweat. He looked like a brick wall. And speared into the ground alongside him was a ridiculously huge broadsword, at least as tall as the man who wielded it.
"Borg!" smiled Krill.
"Borg…" growled Geani, unimpressed. "I'm trying to train the prince here, what is it?"
"Just showing off my latest piece," said the blacksmith, and tugged the enormous weapon from the ground and strolling towards them, swinging the sword gently around like it was a toy. It actually whistled as it cut the air. "What do you think, Krill? It's a beauty, all right, and light as a feather. Well, at least it is compared to those leadweights you're practising with."
"It's a little large," said Geani drily, sheathing his own sword in the scabbard strapped to his back. "Are you sure you can handle something that long, Borg?"
Borg just laughed, and passed the sword to Krill, who accepted it eagerly. Krill pulled the weapon up so that it stood vertically; it stood taller than he did.
"It's amazing," he said, running his hand against the flat of the blade. The sword was made for cutting by force; its sheer bulk and single razored edge made it perfect for hacking at its target rather than slicing or stabbing like one of Geani's thinner blades.
Geani just shook his head.
"It's ridiculous," said the swordmaster bluntly. "In a real fight that thing would be completely unwieldy and too hard to fight with. The wind resistance is too great to swing it fast enough to block an enemy's attack."
Krill and Borg exchanged a grin, and Borg shrugged. "Big brother; must you always be so serious? Always the critic, huh. True, this sword isn't the most dexterous, but it's not useless in battle. If you want, I'll prove it-"
SHINGK!
Krill's eyes went as wide as saucers; he hadn't even seen what had happened. All he knew was that suddenly Geani was closer to Borg, arms raised. The twin scabbards he always wore at his waist were suddenly empty, the curved blades that were housed within jumping from their casings like snakes, whipped through the air and came to a halt at Borg's neck, crossed together to make an X. Borg's throat rested at the spot where the steel met. It all happened too fast for Krill to register.
"Is that a challenge?" growled Geani, and despite the swords at his throat Borg wasn't fazed. He met his brother's eyes without blinking, grinning the whole time, and to Krill's surprise Geani's mouth raised at the corners.
"Good boy, Geani. So you can have fun after all," Borg said, and held his hand out. "Krill, my behemoth please."
"That's what you're calling it?" murmured Geani, rolling his eyes again.
"I haven't come up with a name yet," said Borg in answer, as Krill warily lifted Borg's massive sword and held it out for the blacksmith to take. Borg closed his massive hand around the thick leatherbound hilt and awkwardly turned the sword around until he was holding it upright, the blade between Geani's swords and Borg's neck, holding the steel at bay.
Geani fixed him with a long gaze, and raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, okay, so I'm still getting the hang of its length…"
"Stand back, Krill," said Geani sharply. The boy saw his fingers tighten around his swords, and gulped. "You don't want to accidently be cut in half when he swings that thing around."
Krill backed off immediately, retreating to the safety of the pillars lining the sparring field. In the centre, the blacksmith brothers stood still for a few seconds, somehow sizing each other up without moving their eyes.
"Bored now," said Borg suddenly. "Let's go already."
He took a heavy step forward and placed his weight on the behemoth sword. Krill gasped as the man gave an enormous shove, pushing Geani several metres back. Geani's feet skidded in the dust, sending a small cloud up and bringing him to a stop. He brought his swords together, pointing at Borg, and placed his body in a defensive position.
Krill flicked his eyes back to look at Borg, just in time to see the man tug something from his ragged belt and stretch it over his hand. It was a glove of some sort, and Krill could just make out some sort of chainmail padding stitched over the palm of the accessory. Krill frowned; what was that for?
He blinked, and suddenly there was a haze of dust and Geani was right next to Borg, both swords swinging in a deadly arc towards Borg's stomach. To his credit, the blacksmith responded instantly, bringing his massive broadsword around and deflecting Geani's blades away from him. Borg held his sword in two hands, its massive length whistling horrifically through the air; Krill was glad that Geani had ordered him to stand back. Even a few metres too close could result in the death of you.
Geani seemed to be doing fine up close, however.
Borg's sword slammed down on Geani's curved blades, but didn't break through the man's defence at all. It was just easily caught between the twin swords, trapped in the X.
And then, with Borg's sword trapped, Geani slipped one of his swords out and slashed at Borg's unprotected side. Krill gasped and stepped forward, but he needn't have worried.
Borg caught the blade.
The razor steel stopped dead as the blacksmith's fingers closed around it, and suddenly Krill realised the purpose of the glove Borg had put on. It protected his hand, allowing him to physically block blows using his own appendages as well as his sword.
Geani realised this at the same time, and smiled ruefully. "I see…that's the secret to this sword, isn't it?"
Borg nodded, and bore his weight down on the massive behemoth still pushing against Geani's free sword. "That's right, big brother."
Geani twisted, tearing his sword from Borg's grip, and stepped to the side, allowing Borg's weapon to fall past him and thud on the ground. It bit at least a foot into the dust, and Borg cursed. Not a second later, Geani's sword hummed towards him again, and Borg ripped the behemoth from the ground, bringing it between him and Geani.
CLANG-CLANG!
Krill watched in amazement as the brothers fought, each the opposite of the other; Geani's speed was phenomenal, and his dual-wielding style was fearsome to watch; against any other opponent it'd be impossible to defend against. But Borg was not any other opponent. His enormous bulk presented an easy target, but his reflexes and speed were both equal, if even greater than Geani's, and with his armoured glove, he could defend with his bare hands if he had to.
They spun in the dirt, leaping and darting across the sparring field. Geani rained blows upon Borg with the finesse of a master, but Borg responded in kind, and Geani was forced to defend desperately more than once.
And then, finally, it was over.
Borg swung his sword in a horizontal arc, ready to cut Geani in half, but the other man bent backwards, limboing under the sword, and then spun, swinging his leg around and hooking a foot around Borg's ankle. The big man stumbled and tried to bring his massive sword around, but Geani tugged and Borg tripped backwards, forced to abandon his attack to stop himself from falling. In the second that it took to recover, the fight was over.
Borg stood as still as a statue, sword raised uselessly to defend. The tip of Geani's sword dug into his spine, and he could feel the other at his throat. The man smiled.
"I submit."
"Good," came the sardonic reply, and Geani removed his swords from their positions at Borg's vital spots, sheathing them.
Krill realised that he was holding his breath, and released it as he moved back onto the field. His legs were shaking just from watching the ferocious battle. Borg stabbed the behemoth into the ground and scratched his neck.
"Looks like you win this time, big brother," he growled, and removed his glove. As if to add salt to the wound, Geani smiled cheerfully for the first time Krill had seen in a while.
It disappeared a second later as the man pivoted and dropped to one knee. Krill flinched as a knife leapt from Geani's upper belt, held in the man's chiselled hand, and then Geani's wrist flicked and the dagger spun the length of the field, directly at a young page who had just arrived on the edge of the field.
The page shrieked hysterically as the knife flashed under the sun towards him and waved his arms. The dagger thudded into the pillar behind him, but not before catching on the shoulder of his cloth shirt and pinning him to the stone as well. The youth's feet dropped from under him as he tried to reach the safety of the ground, but the knife prevented him from falling and he just sort of hung there, steadily choking.
"That's how you say hello?" said Borg quietly, blanching, as he, Geani, and Krill stared at the newcomer. The page was slowly turning blue.
Geani rolled his eyes and strode over to the page, who saw him coming and whimpered breathlessly. Krill and Borg followed together.
"Stay still," grunted Geani, pulling another knife from his belt. The page closed his eyes and tears slid from within, and Geani slashed at him.
The page fell clumsily to the ground as his shirt was cut through, releasing him from the pillar. He gasped for air and scrabbled away. Geani fixed him with a disapproving glare.
"Don't sneak up on people," he said. "Or your leggings might be filled."
"I didn't sneak up on you, I was about fifty foot away!" wheezed the page. "I was about to announce I was there, and then you threw a knife at me! What the hell was that?"
"Oh," said Geani in a tone that implied he didn't care. "My apologies, then. Why are you here?"
"Man, he's harsh," thought Krill as the page climbed to his feet, still shaking like mad.
"I have a message for you, Sir Geani," said the youth, his eyes never leaving the daggers at his charge's belts.
"Then spit it out already."
"Yes, sir," said the page, and for the first time looked Geani in the eye. "General Mataro has returned from Musta."
000
The stone hallway disappeared behind Geani as he strode swiftly down its length, Borg by his side and Krill hot on their heels. With barely a glance at the passing servants and residents of the castle, they emerged into the Throne Room, entering from the side. Geani cast his eyes to the stone slab at the head of the chamber; it was cold and empty. The King was not yet present.
No sooner had this thought crossed Geani's calculating and ever-cautious mind when his instincts took over, and he swept his eyes from the empty throne to survey the room, instantly checking it for threats. For a second, his gaze lingered on the cold floor in front of the throne; a patch of dark red still clung to the ground, highlighting the spot where Geani himself had killed the traitor Derci only three days before.
"Derci…" thought Geani shrewdly, recalling the man's actions. "He claimed that he wasn't under the influence of the Norr…that he was acting of free will..."
That would be a disturbing realisation. Had he really been acting on his own? No, that was absurd. Derci had been manipulated, even if he hadn't had known it; Lord Kayne, leader of the Norr Clan was adept in controlling minds. Geani mentally shook his head and continued his scan.
The Throne Room marked the centre of the castle, a grand chamber for the King to greet his subjects. It rose tall, the ceiling far above the floor, and was lit by several candles mounted all around the room, sending flickering light bouncing off the tassels and tapestries strung to the walls. No windows adorned the hall, but the room was still well-lit by the hundreds of minute flames, and their light reflected from the polished floor beneath Geani's feet.
At the other end of the hall, a heavy iron door marked the main entrance to the Throne Room. On either side rose solid stone staircases, each robed in rich purple cloth. The stairs hugged the wall all the way up, ending in a small landing before continuing perpendicularly a short way along the length of the hall, eventually giving reach to viewing platforms that stretched the rest of the length. These long landings overlooked the Throne Room, allowing residents of the castle to gather in the case of a trial or sermon. The platforms were held up by heavy rippled pillars, each carved with the words of previous kings.
And finally, in a shallow sunken area running the middle of the room, a thirty metre long table of polished wood found its place, lined with high-backed seats where the Castle Royals sat in the time of a feast. Several Royals were present now, but none were seated.
Well…except one.
Near the head of the table, casually slumped in the chair of his position, General Mataro sat devouring a meal of meat and soup. As he laid eyes on the leader of the King's Elite, Geani almost flinched. The General was covered in blood; his trademark green singlet and white baggy pants were slashed and torn, both stained heavily with the same blood that soaked Mataro's skin.
Krill let out a little yelp as he too saw Mataro's condition, gaping wordlessly. Borg narrowed his eyes.
"What happened to him?" he murmured. "I've never seen Mataro like that before…Even he's too cautious to let his guard down."
"I know," said Geani quietly in response.
Something stirred to his right and Geani half-turned, reaching for a knife at his belt, but stopped as someone stepped out from behind one of the carved pillars. Geani stopped immediately and inclined his head, blue eyes never leaving the newcomer's face.
"Korros…I wasn't expecting you."
Dark pupils met his as Korros' mouth opened, showing sharp fangs. A member of the mystical Namekian race, Korros looked positively monstrous compared to the gruff but immaculate Geani, with dark green skin and two probing antennae sprouting from his smooth bald forehead. Wickedly pointed ears shot from the sides of his face, and he had a sharp nose. Pink patches outlined the muscles of his arms. Being taller than most men and with a terrifying appearance, Korros rarely demonstrated his relatively young age.
"Azimuth decided to send me to join you," Korros said. His voice was gravelly, but deceptively calming. "He felt that the situation was beginning to worsen."
He turned suggestively to look at Mataro, and Geani squared his jaw, nodding. Although technically holding no power in the Slavoan Court, it would be the height of all foolishness to ignore the word of the Great Guardian of Haven, the Namekian Azimuth. He held enormous power and wisdom.
No one knew where the Namekians had come from, few saw them, and even fewer were even aware of who they truly were. There were three. Azimuth the Guardian, his offspring Hamasan of the Soil, and his offspring, the fearsome Korros.
"He felt it, didn't he?" asked Geani under his breath. "That surge three nights ago, in the South-East. That energy."
Korros nodded. "We all did. It was tainted, evil. And then, it just disappeared as if it had never been there. But it left its mark."
"What do you mean?" said Borg from behind Geani. "Left its mark?"
Korros glanced at him. "I felt their energies extinguish; a great number of people were killed that night. A village, perhaps. Whatever that energy was, it killed them all."
"What?" Borg exclaimed. He grimaced. "That same night, Mataro and his men retook Musta. Do you think whatever it was chose the time when we'd be most distracted to attack?"
"No," answered Korros. "It was wild. Untamed and angry. It was mere chance that chose that time." He shrugged. "We might still find out. Your General flew to find out what had happened."
"We know."
"He bought someone back. A boy…"
Geani and Borg's eyes both flew open in surprise, an identical movement, but before Korros could elaborate there was movement at the side of the room, and King Kentus entered. As usual, he was flanked on both sides; on the King's right, the wizened mystic Talon stooped heavily onto his staff. And on the left…
Piercing violet eyes blinked beneath delicate lashes, as her petite frame strode upright beside the king. Next to her companions, Talon and Kentus, she looked a delicate flower, but Geani knew that those slender arms could strike harder and faster than most men.
"Lady Arasha," he thought, as the King laid eyes on Mataro and strode to the massive table. Talon took his place to the right of the throne, but Arasha stayed near the wall, standing in the shadow of the pillars. Her black hair, cut short, formed a neat fringe above her eyes.
"My Lord," said Mataro from where he sat, and the massive man rose instantly, chair scraping loudly along the behind him. Abandoning his meal, the General moved forward until he was standing before Kentus. They faced each other, brothers in arms.
"General," replied the King, taking in Mataro's appearance. Kentus' face was lined with stress, his forehead creasing in genuine worry as he took Mataro by the forearm. "Mataro…What's happened to you, man?"
"Please, My Lord," smirked Mataro, pulling his arm from Kentus' grasp. "We have company."
Watching from his position at the side of the hall, Geani narrowed his eyes and tutted at the General's callousness, but Kentus threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh.
"Mataro, even in your most weary state, have you ever shown any degree of seriousness whatsoever?" Abruptly, the King's smile lessened and he once again looked Mataro over. "Do you need medical attention? You smell of a dead man trodden in the dirt."
"I'll be fine, Sir," Mataro said, and shooed the king away. "It's not all mine. Get back up there on your throne; you have that whole kingly etiquette thing to uphold, don't you?"
Kentus grimaced and reluctantly acquiesced, rising to where the stone seat waited. The throne was a solid slab, completely flat and designed to be uncomfortable. It's tombstone-like backrest rose above the occupant's head, and near the top, an orange orb glowed. Six stars shimmered in its glassy depths. Kentus descended onto the seat and looked out over the hall.
"My Lord," inquired Geani, and all eyes turned on him. "Might I ask that we press on; I, for one, desire very much to hear of the events at Musta…and other concerns that have arisen recently."
The air went tense as he spoke, everybody aware of the concerns the swordsman spoke of. Kentus nodded slowly, and by his side Talon shuffled a foot forward.
"Indeed," the mystic said. "General; your men arrived here in the castle yesterday, without you and without Tobar. We understand from them that you went to confront whatever rose in the South-East. Is that where you sustained these injuries? Tell us everything."
Movement caught Geani's eye, and he saw Lady Arasha inch forward a little, her violet eyes on Mataro. Suddenly, they flicked over to him, and they glanced at each other.
Then Mataro began to speak.
Everybody listened intently as the General told of the assault on Musta, and his battle with Dyun. When he explained of the Norr's enhanced abilities, Borg cleared his throat, speaking up for the first time.
"Kayne was augmenting him from that a great distance?" Borg looked at Talon. "Is that even possible?"
Talon considered. "It would be a tremendous feat to do so, but someone of Kayne's abilities could theoretically boost Dyun's capabilities in such a fashion." The old man's face darkened. "He's the most powerful magician I've ever witnessed. Even I would not care to face him in combat without significant preparation."
"If he marches on the castle himself…" Borg murmured, but Geani cut him off.
"-then we would slay him without hesitation. The only reason we don't kill him now is because he's not yet fighting, rather hiding behind his lines. If we were to advance to him, it'd spark the beginning of an all-out battle between our armies. We can't risk that yet, but he's not invincible, Borg."
"Enough of this," interrupted Kentus suddenly, and a silence echoed through the room. "This is not a war council. Not yet." He turned to Mataro, who had been waiting silently, fidgeting with a newfound hole in his tattered singlet. "Continue, General."
"If you want, then…"
Mataro fell back into his story, informing his audience of the showdown atop the Musta Fort. Geani's forehead creased as he listened to the happenings, taking everything in; how Dyun had been distracted by the sudden explosion of energy in the South-East, and how barely a minute later Dyun's powers had vanished.
"Kayne was distracted as well and lost control," realised Geani with a start. "He wasn't expecting it any more than we were. Which means that there's a whole new threat on our hands here."
Mataro moved on to his defeat of Dyun and the man's subsequent death, and suddenly looked curious.
"My men," he said, "did they bring Peil of the Prion back with them? Where is he?"
Kentus frowned. "Yes. Peil is here; he's in a holding cell for now until we decide what to further do with him."
Mataro nodded. "I want to talk with him later. He's not responsible for his actions, and he has valuable information about the Prion's movements to join Kayne."
"Who cares about him?" said Borg suddenly, voicing what everybody was thinking. "Peil and the Prion can wait for now; Mataro…what happened in the South-East?"
Once again, the tension in the hall tightened as everybody's breath caught. Talon bowed his head, Krill gave a squeak of excitement, and even Korros didn't even blink as they all awaited Mataro's answer.
The General took a deep breath, and for once, seemed at a loss for words. Then, he swallowed, raised his chin and looked Kentus directly in the eye.
"My Lord," Mataro said in a strained voice, "the village of Fowledge has been completely destroyed."
000
"By the Kais…" Mataro murmured, staring in shock at the ruin on the horizon. Even from this distance he could see the smoke billowing into the air, dark and ashy. The fires had stopped before the dawn had broken, but even now the smoke remained. Mataro could smell it on the wind; it was acrid.
The morning sun cast a bright glow over the land, illuminating the world, and the trees far below cast early shadows onto the fields they bordered. Behind the smouldering village, Mt. Fowl reached up impossibly high, disappearing into the white puffy clouds. At its base, glistening in the light, was Fowl Lake. The water shone blue under the sky, but half of the body of water was cast in the mountain's shadow.
And before that, a dreadful stain on the beautiful stretch of landscape, a village was in ruin.
"What happened there?" Tobar called to Mataro. The dark-skinned man hovered a short distance away, the two men taking in the ruin from afar. "Isn't that Fowledge?"
"Fowledge…" said Mataro quietly. "Is this what that energy was last night? What person or beast could have done this?"
The General closed his eyes and expanded his ki, reaching out with his energy until he touched the remains of the village.
Nothing. Not an energy signature to be found. Everything – everyone –had been killed.
"Whatever it was, it's gone now," said Tobar, and Mataro knew he'd been scanning the ruins for life as well. "General, we have to investigate, let's get down there. There's no danger now."
Mataro was silent for a moment, and then he shook himself back to alertness. "Of course. Come on…"
He summoned his energy and levelled his body horizontally, before forcing it out through his feet and propelling himself into flight. With Tobar close behind, the General rode the air to the village. As they grew closer, the smoke only smelt stronger.
Mataro shivered as their journey to the village put Mt Fowl between them and the sun, and the mountain's mighty shadow fell over them. Instantly, the world seemed a little colder.
After a full night's flying, the ground seemed more solid than usual under Mataro's feet as he and Tobar touched down just outside the village. Both men hesitated for a second as they landed; the smell of smoke was empowering, threatening the senses. Mataro shrivelled his nose.
"I don't want to be here for any longer than we have to be, so let's make this quick," he grunted, and Tobar nodded in agreement. Side by side, the two warriors entered the acrid remains of the village.
Or rather, what was left of what had been remains. It was hardly even recognisable as a village anymore; Mataro picked a delicate path down what he assumed was the main street, and more than once had to grimly step over large piles of rubble. The man crouched at the knees and examined a small slab of stone that had dug a shallow crater into the ground. It had scorch marks on it, and as Mataro looked closer, a spattering of dried red liquid.
His stomach in his throat, Mataro climbed in a crouch over the slab and looked past it. And there it was; barely a metre away, strewn over an ocean of crushed debris, a young woman laid on her back, head slumped to the side and mouth hanging open in a dead scream. Her blonde hair was matted with dirt and blood, and pools of her liquid essence stained the ground under her, dripping from the hole stabbed through her chest. Even in death, Mataro could see the fear in her wide, blank eyes.
For a few moments, Mataro could do nothing but look upon the woman's body, an unpleasant boiling in his stomach. What had done something as terrible as this? Suddenly, without warning an incomprehensible anger rose within him, threatening to escape in a furious scream, but the General forced himself to contain it. There was no point making noise; it wouldn't help at all.
"General!" called Tobar from somewhere behind him, and Mataro rose, turning. The other man was a short distance away, lifting a giant piece of stone from a second body. Mataro's fists clenched unconsciously as he strode over and joined Tobar. Together they examined the broken corpse; a dark-haired man with rough stubble and dirty clothes; it looked like his neck had been snapped.
"I can see more bodies further in," said Tobar quietly, gesturing towards the centre of the village. "There's nobody left alive. We're too late."
Mataro was silent, and Tobar poked him gently.
"You OK, General?"
"Come on," said Mataro finally. "We need to keep on searching. Maybe we can find out what did this."
He rose from his crouch and stalked off between the ruined buildings without another word. Tobar looked after him for a few moments and followed.
As they worked their way through Fowledge, the slain bodies of its residents grew more frequent. Most had been impaled in some way, but others – like the man Tobar had found – had been victims of broken necks or, to Mataro's disgust, had their heads or chests completely crushed.
"Could it have been Kayne's men?" asked Tobar hesitantly, but the General just shook his head.
"No. Dyun sensed it as well, and he told me that it wasn't the work of that bastard Kayne. But…" He stopped walking and stared at the mangled corpse of a farmer. "…whoever, or whatever did this, it had fun."
Tobar sighed gruffly and ran his fingers through his hair, which was filthy from the night of fighting at Musta. "Yeah, I guess you're right there, huh."
Mataro grunted, and looked at something out of Tobar's view. Suddenly, he made a small sound and moved away, Tobar in quick pursuit.
"What is it?"
A half-demolished house stood near, trails of smoke escaping from within its walls. And slumped against the wall, completely and totally dead, an enormous man stared lifelessly with one eye. The other had been plucked from its socket; blood soaked his face, pouring from the empty lid.
"What the-?" breathed Tobar, realising what had drawn Mataro's attention; the man was garbed in full leather armour, and painted on the front were four vertical slashes. The insignia of the Norr Tribe. And that wasn't all; the man had been horrifically beaten…
The entire left side of his body was scorched, burnt skin peeling and bleeding; the smell of melted flesh was almost overwhelming. Both arms had been brutally smashed backwards.
"He's a Norr soldier?" said Tobar. "What happened to him?"
Mataro shrugged, examining the dead man closely. "I don't know, but he copped it much worse than anyone else here. Looks like he was singled out by whoever did this. They took their time with this guy."
"What do you reckon that means?"
Mataro breathed out. "It means that they have a grudge against the Norr. I'll bet this poor guy wasn't the only one here; there would have been a small group. Our killer went after them, the villagers were just in the way."
Suddenly, his head shot up.
"Do you sense that?"
"What?"
Mataro closed his eyes, and for the second time he expanded his ki to feel for life. And there it was...so faint. He hadn't been able to feel it before, but now that he was closer…
"Someone's alive!" he exclaimed, and rose into the air, flying over the rubble for the centre of the village. His aura blew around him, parting the smoke until he descended, Tobar landing a few seconds later at his side.
Compared to the rest of Fowledge, the town centre was relatively unscathed, the cobblestones – red with blood – dull under their feet. Here, the bodies were most numerous; at least twenty corpses littered the ground, but these had been killed by weapons, not by the furious hand of whatever had slain the others. To the side, a small crater marked the destruction of a house; it had been completely blown apart, and was the source of the main column of smoke above the village.
And there, looking tiny in the morning sun, a small boy lay unconscious face down. Curly orange hair covered his head, and his clothes were in tatters, barely held together by a few strands of cloth. His right arm reached out as if to grab something. It was from him that the tiny spark of energy emitted.
As gently as he could, Mataro rolled the boy over so that he was on his back, lifting him slightly so that he was almost sitting upright. The child's head lolled backwards, mouth slightly open. A string of drool came from the corner of his mouth and ran down his face.
Mixing in with the blood.
"Holy shit…" muttered Tobar. Every inch of the boy's face was soaked red, blood covering him like paint. It covered his neck and his skinny bare chest, down his left arm and over his fingers. But the right arm was untouched. The white skin looked disturbingly pale next to the rest of his crimson body. A small gash was healing on the elbow, the only blemish.
And then the boy's eyes shot open and he began to scream. It tore from his lips like a klaxon, a deep, primal scream that didn't end.
Mataro swore as the child twisted, trying to escape the man's grasp, that sound still piercing from his throat, and blue pupils rolled wildly in their sockets.
"Listen to me. Listen to me! You have to calm down," shouted Mataro, holding the boy's face still and staring directly into his eyes, but he may as well have said nothing for all the good it did.
The scream continued without breath, and within seconds the boy's lungs ran out of air and his shrieking petered out into nothing. His panicking eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out, slumping in Mataro's grasp.
000
When Mataro finished speaking, he was met with silence as everyone present slowly took in the news.
"I brought the kid back here to the castle," continued the General. "He was out for most of the journey, but when he woke up, he wouldn't say anything. He barely even acknowledged me."
"What about Tobar?" murmured the King. "He's not with you now?"
"He stayed behind in Fowledge," Mataro said sombrely, and for the first time Geani had ever heard, the man's voice stuck in his throat. "He…wanted to bury the villagers. I wanted to remain as well, but the boy needed urgent medical attention and besides, I didn't want to make him endure that place any longer. So I returned with him."
"So where is the boy now?" demanded Geani exasperatedly. "What do you expect us to do with him, General? We're in a war, in case you didn't notice-"
Mataro's eyes flashed.
Geani blinked and stopped speaking as the air pressure in the room grew thicker, pressing at him ever so subtly. His mouth set in a thin line as tiny ripples surrounded Mataro, who was staring with sudden intense anger at the swordsman.
"How dare you?" said Mataro quietly. "You stand here in this hall declaring your advice, so curt and arrogant, and you have the gall to say that I don't notice the horrors happening right on our doorstep? An entire village was murdered, Geani! Destroyed! I saw the result with my very own eyes!"
"Be silent," snapped Geani. "We don't have unlimited resources, General, we already have to feed and look after every prisoner of war we capture. Another mouth and body is something we cannot afford right now. We should be focussing our efforts on finding whatever did do this."
"What was I to do?" shouted Mataro angrily. "Leave him there in the village, surrounded by dead family and friends and covered in blood? For Christ's sake, he's already traumatised as it is!"
"Who will look after him-?"
"Surely we can spare someone," spat the General. "Or are we so few on people that you can't even bother to keep a child alive?"
Geani curled his lip, and opened his mouth to retort when a clear sharp voice barked out, cutting him off.
"Enough! Keep your tongues behind your teeth."
Lady Arasha's violet eyes were hard as she finally spoke, stepping away from her place in the shadows of the pillars and moving forward, all eyes on her.
"Arasha…" growled Geani.
"She's right," droned Talon. "Bickering will get us nowhere." The old man turned to look at Kentus. "My Lord, I propose that Lady Arasha takes custody of the child, at least for now."
Arasha's expression didn't change, but Mataro saw her draw in breath slightly. She hadn't been expecting that, he realised.
Kentus nodded slowly, and looked at Arasha. "Will you take care of the boy?"
For a few seconds, the woman was silent, but then she reluctantly nodded.
"Very well. If I must."
Talon nodded. "Then we should consult more at a later time. The boy has information, my lady; he would've seen what happened. As soon as he is recovered enough to speak, we must question him. Until then, he's under your care."
The King nodded. "This is all we need to discuss right now." He waved a hand. "Mataro, you may return to your meal if you wish. Arasha, see to the boy. Geani…you and Talon come with me." Kentus looked at Korros. "And may I ask for you to join us, Korros of Namek?"
The Namekian nodded. He's been silent during the entire story, the only sound being his almost imperceptible breathing.
Less than a minute later, the only people left in the hall were Mataro and Lady Arasha. The General slumped back into his seat, an uncharacteristic scowl upon his face. Arasha surveyed him for a few seconds, and then departed as well.
Mataro's brows were furrowed as he ate the remainder of his food. He hadn't lost his temper like that in a while.
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought from his mind and devoured a chunk of meat. He chewed fiercely for several minutes before pushing away the ceramic bowl and standing up, following Arasha's path. There was someone he had to see.
000
"A boy? In your care?"
Arasha frowned dully as a peal of laughter burst from her twin sister's mouth. Arasha and Ashita. The King's personal bodyguards.
"Oh, be quiet," snapped Arasha, folding her arms and turning away. Despite being the elder twin, she was a few centimetres shorter than her sister. They both shared the same violet eyes, although Ashita's held delicateness and warmth that Arasha's lacked. "It's not funny at all, it's absurd. Why don't you look after him if you think it's so hilarious?"
"Because Talon asked you." Ashita moved across her bedchamber to the window looking out from the tower, and smiled at the sunlight pouring into the room. "Besides, I think you could do with a little childly influence; you're much too serious and cranky all the time."
"I am not," countered Arasha angrily, and then stopped when she saw the smirk on Ashita's face. She sighed. "Alright, maybe I am…But one of us has to be. The Kais know that you certainly aren't; if we're talking about influences, Mataro's had far too much of a bad one on you."
"Oh, it's always duty this and duty that with you these days," said Ashita boredly. "I swear, Geani's having a bad influence on you."
Arasha gave a rare smile usually reserved for her sister's eyes only, and moved to the window as well, sitting upon the sill. A comfortable silence fell between the twins. Arasha closed her eyes and felt the sun on her face. It was a forgotten privilege these days, and one that should be enjoyed when the occasion arose.
After a few moments, Arasha said sadly, "When do you think the war will end?"
Ashita breathed out, her normally gentle face creasing in distress. "I don't know…"
"I want it to end soon. I'm tired of the fighting and the death. Life was so much simpler when we were but younglings. Back when Mother and Father were alive. It was happy back then, don't you remember?"
Ashita stepped up to Arasha and took her face in her hands, kissing her brow. "You worry too much, sister. Don't dwell on happier times or you'll go insane, and I don't want a fruit loop for a sibling, you hear?"
Arasha didn't say anything, but nodded, blinking.
"Come to the sparring field later on today," said Ashita, patting Arasha's cheek. "A good fight will cheer you up."
Arasha shook her head, and suddenly her uncharacteristic sombreness was hidden again behind her usual stern mask. "I have to attend to the child. The King asked me personally. Why he didn't call upon a handmaid or a spare midwife to adopt the child, I ask. I'm his personal guard, not his mother-for-hire."
Ashita laughed airily. "Duty calls, big sis. But don't be hard on Kenny, the war's stressing him out."
"I haven't heard him called Kenny since Katrina died," smiled Arasha. "I miss the Queen."
"We were all only eighteen when she passed," affirmed Ashita. "You, me, Katrina, and Kentus. It's been fourteen years…Krill's grown so fast."
There was a short silence while the sister's exchanged a brief glance, before Arasha turned to the door. "I have a child to see," she said acidly, and vanished into the castle halls.
Ashita smiled sadly and turned back to the window, tugging absent-mindedly at the end of her expertly-plaited hair and leaned back against the edge of the window, staring out over the city surrounding the castle. The Capital City was a perfect circle, arranged into several districts. And in the centre, Castle Slavo itself. Ashita gazed at the late morning horizon; far in the distance, barely a shadow against the sky, Mt. Fowl rose to the heavens.
Ashita creased her brow as she saw the great mountain. It had always unnerved her. As a child, she had often dreamed about the horrors that lurked inside, although she now knew that the mountain was primarily a series of ice tunnels that were empty of life.
Her attention focussed on the distant peak, the soft footsteps were lost on Ashita, and she jumped as a hand grabbed at her shoulder. Before she could react, the woman found herself being pulled around and suddenly a familiar taste crushed upon her lips.
Ashita's eyes widened briefly as the newcomer ferociously kissed her, but then she wrapped her arms around the back of the man's neck and he pressed his forehead against hers, their mouths briefly breaking apart.
"Mataro…" breathed Ashita, his dark eyes only centimetres away.
"I'm home, sweet lover," he grinned, and then he was attacking her mouth again, powerful tongue running across the front of her teeth. Ashita moaned and gripped at his hair, straggling her fingers through its wiry blond strands. Mataro smelled of blood and sweat, but Ashita didn't care. She pressed against him as his hands roamed her figure, light fingers pressing tantalisingly against her skin.
"I missed you…" she gasped when they surfaced for air. Mataro began kissing her neck and suddenly scooped her up, an arm under each leg so that she was sitting on his hands, and she held onto his shoulders as he carried her to the bed, still kissing madly. Chills were running down Ashita's spine, Mataro's touch sending desperate signals to her brain.
The feather mattress thumped against the bedframe as the two crashed onto it, and Ashita found Mataro leaning on his elbows on top of her, staring into her eyes. "You have no idea how much I missed you…" he murmured, and looked down at his own torso. "Sorry about the blood."
Ashita just smiled knowingly, and overcome in a sudden rush of passion, reached up and tore Mataro's singlet apart, revealing his muscular chest. She ran her fingers over his toned abdomen, a hungry look in her normally innocent violet eyes.
"Hey…" said Mataro sadly. "That was my favourite singlet…"
"It was ruined anyway," Ashita responded with a cheeky smile, and wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards her. Mataro's dexterous fingers danced against her skin as he pressed his mouth to her neck, and Ashita flushed, eyelids closing.
He always knew how to make her feel good.
"What do I get in return for my singlet?" he teased in her ear, gently biting her lobe, and Ashita felt a rush of warmth as he rushed his hands up beneath her shirt, ripping it off her in one swift movement. Mataro gazed with an intense fascination at her bare breasts, his breath quickening-
"Message for Lady Ashi-oh!"
A high voice cut into their reunion and Mataro and Ashita looked over to see a very flushed castle page, about seventeen years old. His face was bright red and his mouth hung open in dull surprise.
"Um…never mind…" he said, trying and failing to sound casual. The page backed out of the room awkwardly. "I'll just deliver the message later…It's not that important…Here, I'll…I'll just get the door…for you…Bye."
000
Kentus sighed and slumped back against his chair. The King was seated behind the polished desk in his private office, and closed his eyes.
"I'm sure of it; the boy is the one who destroyed Fowledge."
Korros spoke without remorse or subtlety. Beside him, Geani stiffened and even Kentus blinked at the Namekian, but Talon didn't seem surprised at all.
"The boy?" exclaimed Geani, raising an eyebrow. "He's a child, barely trained and probably never been in a fight in his life. Mataro spoke of a massacre, including the presence of Norr soldiers. How could a child do all that?"
"It's absurd," agreed Kentus.
"Absurd?" said Talon mysteriously. "I would have thought that, having met the Namekians at all you'd know that we don't know of everything that happens in the world. How do we know who this child truly is? Why was he still alive, and what has he seen?"
"He was forgotten," scoffed Geani, determined to remain unconvinced. "The killer didn't spot him, thought he was dead. That's why he's still alive; chance."
"There's no such thing as chance," countered Talon, and Geani stopped speaking, struck momentarily silent. The swordsman looked at Talon, incredulity etched across his face.
"He's a child."
"So were you," responded Korros gruffly, and this this time Geani actually took a step back, eyes wide. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Korros stared blandly at him, arms folded as usual.
"Korros!" said Kentus sharply, and rigidly shook his head from side to side. Korros blinked.
"I apologise," the Namekian said shortly, inclining his head slightly.
Geani forced his face to remain passive, visibly tensing his jaw and blinking quickly. The King looked at him; Geani's past wasn't something the swordsman exactly liked discussing, and even Kentus wasn't entirely sure what kind of man he had been before becoming the official advisor to the throne roughly twenty years earlier. Geani had always been the way he was, from the moment Kentus had met him. What had made him such was a mystery.
Kentus raised an eyebrow inwardly; what did Korros know that had so completely affected Geani?
"But my point remains," the Namekian continued, ignoring Geani's discomfort, or perhaps tactfully avoiding the topic after bringing it up in the first place, "that we can't allow this to happen again. The boy must put to death."
"I agree," said Talon sombrely. "It is regrettable, but it must be done."
Kentus fixed them both in a hard gaze. "Absolutely not. We have no proof whatsoever that the boy was the one who did this, and even so, Geani's right; how could a boy be capable?"
"He's dangerous."
"Listen to me," snapped Kentus, his voice rising in volume. "When I was sworn into my position as King, I gave my word that I would protect the civilians of this nation. I pledged that I would not let them come to harm, and I'm sticking to that word pledge now. I will not allow a boy not even ten years of age to be murdered on a suspicion, do you understand me?"
"I can sense something in him," argued Korros, subtly baring his fangs as he spoke. "Something dark and powerful."
"What do you mean by that?" Geani had finally found his voice again.
"My species' sensing abilities are far more advanced than yours," said Korros in a proud snarl. "We can detect inherent evil and genuine goodness in a being's energy, and that boy is overflowing with malice and hatred. It may not even be in his conscious mind, but it's there. I'll say it again; this boy is dangerous. More than anyone could realise just by looking at him."
"I will not murder a child…" repeated Kentus quietly and furiously. "It's despicable to even suggest such a revolting inhavien act!"
"I'm not a Havien," growled Korros in answer.
"It has to be done…" agreed Talon. "My Lord, I beg you to listen and see sense. I too can detect the innate evil in him. It's locked inside for the time being, but in time all that hatred will come out and when that happens…" The mystic paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. "…when that happens, I don't believe we'll be able to stop him."
The air in the room seemed to swell. Kentus and Geani exchanged a worried glance. They both knew that Korros and Talon were two people it would be wise to trust and follow the instructions of, particularly in a matter so dire.
"My King…" began Geani quietly. "I don't know what's the right response here. It could be that the darkness inside the child has come about because he witnessed the massacre. He might not be the monster who committed it."
Kentus nodded. "I've realised that as well. Unless we have absolute evidence towards the child's involvement, I will refuse to condemn him to the cruel cessation of his life. For the time being, we should allow Arasha to appeal to him; perhaps she can benefit us with a more concrete analysis after spending time with him."
"Very well," said Talon, as if he'd been aiming for this outcome the entire time. "Let it be so."
"I will abide by your decision, King," said Korros. "But I do not believe it's the correct one. Only time will tell."
The Namekian turned and left the study without looking back. A short silence followed before Talon bowed respectfully and leaned on his staff. "With due respect, my Lord, I will also depart for my chambers, with your leave."
"Thank you, Talon," said Kentus. "Your input is heavily valued."
As Talon's cloak disappeared around the corner and the door swung shut, heavily slamming as the iron bolt rattled, Kentus gave a great sigh and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes. Geani glanced at him, and looked back at the wall.
"Did we do the right thing?" asked Kentus eventually.
Geani didn't answer for several seconds. "I don't know." The swordsman hesitated. "My Lord, why was Arasha assigned to look after the kid? Wouldn't Ashita be a more logical choice? Arasha's a little too…"
"Too much like you?" smiled Kentus humourlessly, and Geani sighed.
"Well, yes, if you want to put it in those words. And I'm not entirely sure that's a good thing at all."
The King tilted his head. "No? Perhaps not. You're not the most child-friendly person I've ever met. But Arasha…" Geani looked inquisitively at him, and the King continued with a curious tone of affection in his voice. "Arasha and I grew up alongside each other. I've known her since infancy…and underneath that mask of maturity is perhaps the most genuine person I've ever known. Talon knows the same, and that's why he suggested her, and that's why I agreed. She'll be able to connect with a broken child like no one else could."
000
He sat quietly and without fuss, head bowed, on the side of the bed. The boy's legs dangled slowly over the lip of the bedframe, and his hands sat in his lap. Arasha examined him from afar; in the past five minutes, the boy had barely moved once; only the steady swing of his feet showed that he was even capable of movement at all. The healers had dressed him in a rough tunic and old stained breeches. The clothes hung from his skinny frame, too big for such a small body. The blood had been washed from his face, and Arasha could see the pink patches on his cheeks where they'd been scrubbed vigourously.
The hospital wing covered the entire North-West corner of the second floor of the castle. Primarily a huge hall-like room – dubbed the
"Slaughterhouse" by many of the men in the King's Army - lined with at least hundred beds, there were also several smaller, single-resident rooms for long-term patients, accommodating their various situations. The regular citizens were assigned a bed in the Slaughterhouse, separated from each other only by a curtain standing between each bed, which could be drawn back to allow the visitor to see the other beds.
At the current time, a good deal of the beds were occupied, several of the King's soldiers injured in battle against the Norr. The boy was among them, surrounded by empty beds to allow him some degree of privacy.
Arasha stood in the open arch doorway of the Hospital Wing, and resolved herself before beginning to walk down the centre of the hall, weaving her way between beds towards where the child sat alone. He didn't look up as she grew near, but lifted his head as she sunk onto the bed next to him.
Bright eyes and a curious expression met her gaze, and before she could even speak a word, she was already taken aback. The boy seemed to suddenly become aware that he was staring, and lowered his head again.
"Sorry, miss…" he stammered. "L-Looking away now…"
Arasha frowned; the head nursemaid, Urdel, was always telling people off for staring at her "desirably", no matter how young or how old, male or female. She was much ridiculed for it in the castle's social circles, but by unspoken agreement no one ever cared to point out that she was an old bat and was seen almost unanimously as absurdly undesirable.
"Don't be ashamed," said Arasha bluntly, "and don't listen to a word that old witch tells you to do."
The boy lifted his head again and smiled nervously. Arasha was perturbed by his upbeat attitude; this child seemed a far cry different from the blood-soaked screaming survivor Mataro had described.
The boy shuffled nervously, his legs swinging slightly more jovially as he looked at her, and Arasha realised he was waiting for her to talk first. She hesitated for a second; what was she supposed to say? She quickly racked her brain and came up blank, before deciding to start with the basics. Identity.
"My name is Arasha," she began, "one of the Royal Court. I'm a bodyguard of the King."
The child's fresh face lit up as he smiled widely. "A member of the Court? Really? That's where we are now, isn't it? Slavo Castle?" He looked around in wonder, admiration all over his face as he took in the dry stone walls and unassuming beds. Arasha examined him; he seemed too…unaware. Could it be that he didn't remember anything that had happened?
"What's your name, child?"
The boy broke out of his stargazing and looked nervous again, dipping his head. "I-I'm Tarack, Miss Arasha. Just Tarack."
"Tarack…well, that's something at least. I was going to take this slow, but he seems to be responding well. For the moment, anyway…"
Arasha frowned inwardly. This boy, despite the horrors he'd evidently witnessed in the destruction of the village didn't seem to be reacting negatively at all. She tried for what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
"Tarack, then. We should get to know each other. I hope you don't mind, but…I've been chosen to look after you from now on."
Tarack was silent for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open. "But…why can't my Mum look after me? Where is she, anyway? I-I want to see her…"
Tarack's bottom lip was beginning to quiver slightly as he shrank back onto the bed. Arasha took a deep breath. Just as she'd thought.
"He's supressed his memories. He can't recall a thing that's happened."
This was the reason for his peppy attitude. As far as he was concerned, his village was still perfectly intact. Arasha hesitated. She couldn't lead him on; she'd have to tell him.
"Tarack," began Arasha gently, leaning across the gap between their two beds and touching the boy's knee. "Do you know why you're here in the castle?"
Tarack looked at her, sudden fright in his eyes, and he shook his head quickly, lip still quivering. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. "N-no…"
A short silence fell between them, Arasha's piercing violet eyes blinking gently. She drew in a deep breath.
"I know how hard this will be to hear; Fowledge was attacked by something…someone. Tarack…you were the only survivor. The village was destroyed."
Tarack just looked at her for a few seconds, mouth slightly open. "No…" he finally murmured, and he shook his head violently, shuffling himself backwards away a few inches so that her hand fell from his knee. "No, you're lying…" His bottom lip shook harder than ever as he spoke. "That was…was just a dream I had. It didn't…" Tarack was beginning to breathe harder, and he was flicking his gaze back and forth, looking everywhere but Arasha. "…didn't happen. It wasn't real!"
He pulled his legs up onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his knees, shaking. Arasha could see his eyes glistening. "You're not my mother. She's waiting for me at home, with Linke. They're waiting for me…"
He looked at her.
"…aren't they?"
"Try to understand, Tarack."
"I want to go home…" the boy responded, and dipped his head, hiding his face. Arasha watched him in regret; this wouldn't be easy at all, especially for one so young. Tarack's shoulders shook slightly, and the boy began to quietly cry.
The bed sunk beside him as Arasha lowered herself onto the sheets and sat awkwardly beside him, inwardly struggling to think of what to do. Part of her wanted to think that this was utterly ridiculous, assigning her to look after the boy; babysitting for children definitely wasn't her strong suit. But at the same time, Arasha knew why she'd been chosen; everything in this boy's actions mirrored her own at an even younger age. She knew exactly of the pain he had suddenly had thrust upon him.
"It seems hopeless, doesn't it?" she murmured, as Tarack's gentle sobbing continued. "It doesn't feel fair. It's not fair, to have your loved ones torn away from you like this. Your home gone. To be suddenly living in a strange, strange world, where everyone's an unknown face." On a sudden motherly instinct, Arasha placed a hesitant arm around Tarack's small shoulders.
"I know what it's like. When my sister and I were just five years old, our homestead was attacked and destroyed by a cruel warlord's son. He slayed my father in battle and burned the farm to the ground. All our livestock slaughtered, our crops destroyed. My mother, uncle, aunt, and cousins died in the blaze, until it was only my sister and I, left all alone in this cruel, cruel world. All thanks to that bastard who attacked us.
"We were taken in by the castle, just as you've been. But even though we made new friends and gained a new family, I always had that missing part of my own soul where my parents had been. It seems hopeless, and…impossible, at times. But we always pulled through. I promise you, Tarack, I'll always guide you and be there for you, as a fellow orphan."
Arasha finished speaking, dimly surprised at herself. Tarack sniffed and spluttered to himself, and didn't answer in words, but he shuffled closer and nuzzled feebly against her, cuddling up to her bosom.
And there they sat. Arasha didn't keep track of the time, just stroked Tarack's hair gently as he released every ounce of his inner anguish. Together, orphans.
000
Krill scratched uncomfortably at the leather armour clad to his body as he walked through the castle corridors. Recently fitted for him, the armour was identical to the traditional Slavoan warrior garb worn by most of the King's Army, with the exception of a gold-coloured ring around each shoulder and much finer craftsmanship.
And it was also really uncomfortable. Geani had sternly suggested wearing it as often as possible to be accustomed to the feel of it on his body, but Krill was beginning to severely regret following that particular instruction.
The prince exited the long hallways and into the Throne Room, moving past the sunken pit in the middle on the way to the enormous stone doors leading to the city beyond. After the retaking of Musta two weeks before and the still unknown slaughter in the South-East, Krill's lessons had been doubled to prepare him for the inevitable war that was brimming on the horizon. The King had insisted on it.
Krill pulled a face to himself. All of his free time had been eaten up lately, but finally he'd broken away from his various duties to be able to venture down into the city.
He briefly glanced around at the Throne Room and slowed to a stop. At the very end of the vast table that seated the Royals during their meals, a small body was slumped, head on his arms. A mop of curly ginger hair covered his scalp, and Krill immediately changed his course, strolling over and pulling up the chair beside Tarack.
"Hey, kid," he said, and Tarack sat up, a grim smile perking up. It was a sad expression for someone so young, but Krill knew Tarack had been changed by the massacre of his village. Forced to grow up fast to cope.
Despite the age different between them – Krill's fourteen to Tarack's seven – the two had bonded over the fortnight Tarack had been at the castle. "Why are you sitting here all alone? Feeling a little lonely?"
"Ms. Arasha's in a meeting with your Dad," said Tarack quietly. "Mister Talon said I wasn't allowed in, and I don't really know anyone else."
"That's too bad, huh…" said Krill after a pause. "Tell you what; you wanna come with me? I know a place I reckon you'll like. It'll cheer you up, you know?"
Tarack's face brightened slightly. "Really?"
Krill stood and pulled the kid up with him. "Yeah, of course. No point just thinking about what's happened all the time. What you need is something to take your mind off things."
"Thank you," stuttered Tarack as they rose. Krill winked at him, but as he lifted his gaze he froze.
In the very corner of the Throne Room, standing in the crook of the staircase in the shadows, Korros stood watching. Krill swallowed unconsciously as the Namekian surveyed them, arms folded and a grim expression. The whites of his eyes glinted. He didn't blink.
"C-Come on, Tarack," said Krill absent-mindedly, and forced himself to tear his gaze from Korros' almost accusing eyes. The Namekian was scary and mysterious; Krill knew he wasn't the only one who feared the tall warrior. As the two youths moved to the grand doors and down the colossal stairs and into the city proper, Krill could feel Korros' eyes on their backs. Watching their every move.
000
"How's he managing?"
Kentus posed the question as he busied himself at his desk, occasionally scribbling a quick signature on a roll of paper and pressing his official seal beside it. Arasha stood on the other side of the desk, arms folded.
"Better than we'd hoped," she said. "He's willing to speak and eats well. Makes little to no complaints. But, inside, he's distraught and traumatised. He told me he has nightmares every night."
"Poor kid," said Ashita, perched on the corner of the desk with one leg up, her arms resting around it and chin slumped on top. "It must be awful for him."
"It would be…I'm sorry to ask, Arasha," began Kentus reluctantly, and stopped his paper shuffling, looking at his companion. "But, the sooner we find out what he knows, the sooner we can find out who did this to him in the first place. When he's ready, you have to question him."
"We must know," intoned Talon from the corner of the room, and Arasha flinched. She hadn't even realised he was there. "If possible, question him sooner. Do you think it could have been him that did it?"
Arasha shook her head immediately. "No way. His memory of what happened is extremely blurry, but he said that in his nightmares, a creature of darkness stalks him. I think this monster is what destroyed Fowledge. He was terrified of it."
Kentus smiled grimly. "I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or alarmed. I'm glad the chances of Tarack committing this atrocity are becoming less, but…" He drifted off.
"…But if it was this child, it'd be a lot easier to deal with the threat," finished Talon.
Kentus was staring at the wall behind Arasha, and his face tightened. "Yes."
000
The air outside in the city felt fresh and clean, lightly breezing into Krill's nostrils as he led Tarack through the districts. The kid stuck close to him, as if he were afraid to get lost amongst the houses and markets. The prince realised that Slavo City must be very foreign to Tarack's eyes. Fowledge was out of the way, deliberately distanced from the rest of the Kingdom and with their own tight-knit society. The hustle and bustle of a major city would be a completely different environment.
The faint scent of a tasty-smelling stew clung to the air, sharpened by the spice. Krill and Tarack hunted it down together, Krill paying seven coins for two bowls of the broth. They sat on a bench running along the side of the shack and ate it together in polished wooden bowls, slurping loudly as it burned their tongues.
"You'll get used to life here," Krill told the boy as they watched a group of children run past, throwing a faded red ball to one another. "It might seem big and scary now, but life's pretty fun here at the castle."
Tarack had nodded and finished eating his stew, but Krill could see a tiny measure of fright in his eyes. And then, for a split second, the boy's pupils darkened, before turning back to their innocent blue. Krill started, but assumed it was a trick of the light.
"Let's go," he said, when they'd finished their meal. "I've got someone I want you to meet."
They returned their bowls to the eatery and the prince led Tarack down a side road and into an adjacent street, walking confidently up to an unassuming shop and pushing open the door. A small bell tinkled cheerfully, and with a hesitant curiosity, Tarack followed him inside. The door swung shut automatically behind him.
The shop was surprisingly large, its warm interior and spaced floor making it appear larger on the inside than it had been from the outside. A small fireplace crackled cheerfully against the right-hand wall, and shelves lined the room, each piled with colourful trinkets and fiddly looking gadgets. Opposite the door, a long counter barred the way to a door leading into a backroom. Even more merchandise was atop the counter.
"Barthel!" called Krill, and picked a sizable gem from the counter, examining it closely. "Where are you, old man?"
Tarack had a fright as there was a great booming laugh from the back room, and suddenly a man ducked under the low frame and stepped up behind the counter. Skinny limbs and a freakishly long body made him look like a living stick. Barthel was dressed in a colourful striped shirt and had silvery white hair. His face looked warm and friendly, perhaps accentuated by his brilliant smile.
"Don't you give me that, pumpkin head!" Barthel laughed, as he saw Krill. "I may be getting old, but I'd wager I know a lot more than you or Geani or anyone up at that fancy castle of yours." The shopkeeper looked Krill and up and down. "Look at you, all done up in your armour. Geani driving you hard again?"
"Kinda," grimaced Krill.
Barthel winked at him, and suddenly noticed Tarack standing nervously at the door. "Ho, who's this? Come over here, kiddo; you a friend of this whiny brat?"
Krill raised an eyebrow at the man as Tarack crossed the shop to the counter, mouth slightly open in surprise. "Don't listen to this old fart," he retaliated, and Barthel cuffed him lightly across the back of the head.
"What's your name, kid?" asked Barthel as Tarack reached the counter.
"I'm Tarack, mister."
"Mister? You hear that, Krill?" Barthel smiled gently and ruffled Tarack's hair across the counter. "This shop has one rule; no standing on ceremony. Barthel's my name, and magic's my game, so make yourself at home, Tarack."
"Barthel's a trickster magician," explained Krill. "Former court jester turned moron."
Tarack laughed, and Krill saw his body relax slightly. He smiled to himself; it had been a good idea to bring him here. Barthel had a unique skill of befriending everybody, and was the person to go to when you needed some good cheer. Perfect for a kid dealing with some serious trauma.
Barthel plucked the gem from Krill's hands and winked at Tarack again. "Check this money-maker out. Looks priceless, doesn't it? Completely made of glass, but those stuffy lords and ladies don't know the difference between this and the real thing. They pay me a fortune for them."
"Isn't that lying?" asked Tarack, a cheeky grin sliding over his face.
Barthel threw the gem in the air and caught it in his slender fingers. "Not if they don't find out." He put the fake jewel back on the counter and tapped his chin.
"You ever used magic before, Tarack?"
"No, miste-I mean, Barthel, sir."
Barthel exchanged a grin with Krill. "My branch of power isn't like the killer attacks those mages use in the army. Mine's much more fun. Here, let me show you a little something…"
He raised his hands and rubbed them together, Tarack watching eagerly. Suddenly, there was a loud chime as the door opened, and Barthel looked up.
"Prince Krill!" declared a page, and Krill recognised him as the one who had almost been killed by Geani the day Mataro had returned. "I found you. Your Majesty the King has sent me to find you. He wants you up at the castle."
Krill scowled. "Typical. Can't spend a day doing what I want."
Barthel clapped him on the shoulder, grinning widely. "Duty calls when you're a prince; it's your service to the people."
Krill gave him a sarcastic stare and Barthel only grinned harder. "I'd better go then or Dad'll give me a grilling. And if he doesn't, Geani will. Come on, Tarack, we gotta go."
Tarack pouted. "Okay…" He gave Barthel a fleeting glance and began to follow Krill to the door, when the shopkeeper waved him back.
"Oh, he can stay, he can stay. Don't make him endure your princely hell, Krillington Anglesworth. I'll keep him company for the afternoon."
Tarack's face lit up and he scurried back to the counter. Krill smiled at the kid's reaction, feeling a useless pang of jealousy at Barthel for his inhavien social skills. "Have fun, then," he laughed, and followed the page out.
"You'll never guess what I saw General Mataro and Lady Ashita doing the other day…" sounded the page's voice, and then the door closed, leaving Tarack and Barthel alone.
"Now, where were we?" wondered Barthel aloud, and then snapped his fingers. Tarack gave a cry of alarm as he felt his body lurch upwards, suspended in midair. Barthel chuckled and manoeuvred the boy telekinetically onto the counter, sitting him down on his rump atop the countertop.
"How'd you do that?!" praised Tarack, eyes wide and wondering. Barthel winked. He seemed to do it a lot.
"Magic, kiddo. My magic."
As Tarack quietly remained dazzled, Barthel went about his business, pointing out several of his artifacts and trinkets. His trick shop, he explained, was very successful due to the rare and unique items he sold. Tarack latched onto every word he said, nodding eagerly and asking questions.
"Here, take a look at this!" said Barthel as Tarack finished examining a jack-in-the-box that wound itself up (and did so at random times, meaning that it would often open when you least expected it). The trickster pulled an old book from under the counter and dropped it on the benchtop. The book looked ancient; the brown leather cover had been meticulously decorated and inlaid with tiny jewels.
"This is easily the most valuable item I own," said Barthel, as Tarack ran his hands over the cover. "A book of legends. Those are real diamonds on the cover. Open it up, take a look."
Tarack did so, being extremely careful as he turned the front page. The book felt invaluable, and he was scared of damaging it. In Fowledge, Tarack had never learned to read, but thankfully there were pictures of each myth detailed in the book; they were works of art, each brushstroke looking magical all on its own. The pictures were almost alive.
Barthel grinned smugly as Tarack moved through the book, and tapped a spindly finger on one of the pages. "This is the only copy of this I've ever heard of. Came across it years ago, it's not for sale under any circumstances."
Tarack nodded silently as he looked at a depiction of a man with a deep red energy surrounding his body, forming the shape of a savage-looking creature with several legs and curved fangs. He shivered, and quickly turned the page.
He froze.
He'd arrived at the end of the book, and the last legend. A large green dragon with sparkling scales and a colossal body detailed the canvas, and down the bottom, seven golden-orange orbs were decorated the ground beneath the dragon. They all had some number of stars on them, ranging from one to seven.
"Ah, the Dragon Balls!" declared Barthel proudly, and pointed to them, counting upwards. "Aren't they magnificent. According to the legend, if you gather all seven Balls, you can summon the legendary dragon Azulong to grant you a wish. Any wish you want."
Tarack was silent, staring with a strange hunger at the page. His orange hair hung over his eyes, masking them from view.
"You OK, kiddo?" asked Barthel casually, and began to close the book. "Don't get too obsessed with ancient magic like that, it'll destroy even the wisest men.
SLAM!
Tarack's hand moved like a bullet, coming down upon the now-closed book and pinning it to the counter. Barthel jumped. "Hey, watch it, kiddo, that's valuable!"
"Where are the Dragon Balls?"
Barthel took a step back. Tarack's head was still lowered, but his expression was cold. And his voice…
It wasn't the voice of a boy. It was low and deep, gravelly. And it carried a power about it, something completely foreign to Haven. The voice boasted power beyond comprehension.
"Where are they?" repeated Tarack, and suddenly he raised his head. Barthel's eyes widened, and he backed away from the counter, abandoning the book. The child's pupils had changed, the blue irises now a pitch black, like the darkness itself. Red cracks forked across the whites of his eyes, and he stared at Barthel with the ruthless chill of someone who wasn't to be ever, ever crossed.
"Hey, kid, what's come over you?" stammered Barthel, backing up against the wall. "Tarack?"
000
Krill grimaced as he dawdled through the corridors on the way to his father's office. He wanted to return to Barthel's shop with Tarack. Beside him, the page babbled on and on about the going-ons in the castle and the city, and Krill nodded to affirm that he was listening, which he wasn't.
"You know what?" he finally said, cutting the page off. "I need to think for a while, and I know the way to my own father's office. Go clean something, deliver other messages or whatever. I'll be fine on my own."
The page nodded, and performed a smart salute. "Of course!"
"Whatever," said Krill as the page hurried off. The prince continued on his path through the castle, when suddenly a hand clapped down on his shoulder.
Krill was spun around by a powerful grip, and went pale as he found himself face to face with Korros, the Namekian.
"You're alone." Korros stared at him, eyes never blinking. "Where's the boy?"
000
"Kentus!" gasped Ashita, sliding off the desk, and the King and Arasha both reacted as well. "Do you feel that?"
"It's the same energy that attacked Fowledge," declared Talon, leaning on his staff. "He's here."
000
Barthel wretched as he was thrown against the wall, Tarack's iron fingers digging into this throat. The magician grabbed at the hand that held him to take some of the pressure off his windpipe as he dangled at least a foot above the ground. Tarack hovered in midair in front of him, holding him against the wall of the shop.
Darkness swirled all around the boy, the terrible, angry expression on his face looking even worse on a child. His arm had mutated, turning grey and muscular. Barthel beat at the arm, but Tarack – no…the demon – didn't even seem to feel it. His orange hair spiked up at crazy angles as an ancient energy coursed through his body, empowering him.
"I won't ask you again!" hissed the voice of a nightmare, coming from Tarack's throat. Barthel writhed against the wall, struggling for breath. "Where are they?"
"I don't…know!" shouted Barthel desperately. "They're scatted across Haven, I don't know where they are!"
"Liar!" said Tarack, and tightened his grip. Barthel's eyes bulged. "You're a trickster and a master conman, but I know you're lying. Someone like you would know the location of at least one. You can't hide your knowledge from me, I'll squeeze it out of you!"
Barthel choked, turning blue. "I…d-don't…"
Tarack shook him like a ragdoll and slammed him back against the wall. "Go on…"
The shopkeeper's mouth flickered, as if he were about to say something. He still struggled to relieve the pressure from his windpipe. Finally, he gave in, and looked Tarack in the eye, immediately regretting it. The black pupils were remorseless.
"A Dragon Ball…in the castle," Barthel gasped. "Embedded in…the throne!"
He wretched again and Tarack smiled cruelly. "Thank you. It's a start, at least."
And with that he snapped the old magician's neck like it was a twig. Barthel went limp, eyes staring blankly, and Tarack dropped him to the ground below in a heap. He lay slumped against the wall, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Tarack turned and rode the shadows to the door, calmly raising a hand and making a fist. A wave of darkness rose and punched out the door, shattering it to fragments. Tarack left the shop behind him, fire still crackling against the wall, forever warming the body of the man who had once stoked it.
000
Krill stumbled in fear as he followed Korros into the Throne Room. The Namekian had barely wasted a word, just striding off at a brisk pace, Krill hot on his heels. And here they were.
"The city's in great danger," said Korros as they emerged into the hall. "The force that destroyed Fowledge is here. You were lucky you weren't still hanging around."
The Throne room was deserted, a few chairs drawn back at the sunken table, but no one occupying them. The guards had closed the great stone doors as the afternoon had moved on. Korros quickly scanned the hall and took a step forward, just as the door opposite them burst open and the King entered, flanked by the twins and Talon.
"King Kentus!" barked Korros across the distance, his voice echoing through the empty chamber. "It's here in the city realm. I can sense it."
"We know," said Kentus grimly, and suddenly Talon drew in a great breath, turning towards the closed doors.
"He's coming!"
Krill's stomach jumped into his throat, and he felt very out of his depth. He knew of the great power that had destroyed Tarack's home village. Including the fact that there had been Norr soldiers amongst the dead. Even those trained killers had been effortlessly beaten down by whatever had attacked the town.
"That thing's here?" he gibbered. "Is it after Tarack?"
Korros readied himself, assuming a fighting stance. His fangs were bared. "No, boy…it is Tarack…"
And then there was a great roll of thunder and the doors to the castle burst open, propelled by some ancient force. Krill yelled in fear as a dark shape hurricaned through the gateway, trailing shadows like smoke.
Ginger locks, a tiny body. And a long grey arm, deformed and terrible.
Tarack had come.
The demon tore across the length of the Throne Room, lips drawn back in a furious yell. His grey arm stretched out, fingers like claws…
FWP-FWP-PHBM-PHBM!
Krill's eyed widened in shock as Tarack was stopped in his tracks, a look of shock across the child's face. Arasha and Ashita had moved like shadows, in perfect unison, protecting their king. Pirouetting into the air, they'd spun, swinging their legs around and catching Tarack in the chest from either side.
Tarack bellowed and was thrown backwards. Krill gasped at the strength of the twin kicks; the demon rocketed down the length of the thirty-metre table, collecting every piece of cutlery atop the bench, and flew back out the doors and down the front steps of the castle, into the city. He carved a trench down the great road, the stone of the ground parting before his body.
"Talon!" commanded Kentus.
The old mage swung his staff and the stone doors of the castle swung shut again, slamming with a great boom. The great iron bar that acted as a lock lowered and sealed them.
"Krill, stay back," ordered Kentus, as Ashita and Arasha dropped back down to the ground. Krill nodded fearfully, backing away, but suddenly there was a rumble louder than anything he'd ever heard, and the entire castle shook, the ground moving beneath his feet. The doors shook, but held, supported by both the iron bar and Talon's magic.
"He's breaking through!" yelled Korros, and the ground shook again. Krill fell against the wall, shaking in terror. There was a third quake and suddenly the bar shattered and with a crash of stone the doors were blasted open, cracks running across them. A cloud of dust billowed into the hall, and the defenders braced themselves.
"Do not defy me!" An ancient dark voice screamed out from outside the now ruined doors, and Tarack strode back inside. A tempest of wind and shadow surrounded him in an evil aura. "Or I'll kill every person in this city and bring this kingdom to its knees!"
Talon swung his staff and pointed it directly at Tarack's body. The end glowed and Krill's hair stood on end as a beam of white-green energy fired from the top like a cannon, sucking all the colour from the air. The beam reached the demon in an instant, but suddenly Tarack was flying, moving over the energy stream and avoiding it effortlessly. There was a great explosion as the beam collided with the ground where Tarack had been, lighting up the Throne Room.
Tarack soared across the hall and met Korros in midair. The shadows moved liked snakes and wrapped around the Namekian's leg, swinging him around and hurling him at the wall as Tarack landed on the head of the table.
"We're here!" shouted a valiant voice, and Krill gasped as Geani and Mataro shimmered out of nowhere on either side of Kentus. Geani clutched twin curved swords in his hands and Mataro lowered himself into a defensive position. Krill shrunk back against the wall in the corner, realising once again just why Mataro was the General of the King's Army. The intense look of hatred across the man's face was frightening.
"Get out of our city," growled Mataro.
Tarack straightened up as he took in his opponents. He raised a fist to eye level and smiled. "And if I don't?"
Everyone present took in breath as Tarack's darkness rose around him, swirling like a storm. It devoured his legs, eating away at the breeches on the child's legs until it hugged his skin like clothes of their own. And beneath the shadows, the flesh moved. Krill felt sick as Tarack's legs rippled and bulged, lengthening, and suddenly the shadows were cast off to reveal smooth grey skin, and clawed feet. The mutation stopped around his waist, his entire lower body reborn. A demon's body.
"He's taking over the child…" murmured Arasha. "Stealing his body...Tarack…"
"Why are you doing this?!" shouted Mataro. "He's just a kid!"
"I need his body to sustain a material form for myself," said the demon from Tarack's mouth. He spread his arms, one grey and evil, the other tiny and pale. "And through him, I'll achieve every one of my goals. My ambition. On the shores of Lake Fowl Tarack stated his wish to rule. And I'm obliging him."
The demon pointed. "But I grow tired of talking with you mortals. Give me the treasure hidden in that throne."
Kentus threw his arm out, and a great white rush of energy surrounded him. "My people will not suffer under you! As their king, I will protect them!"
The King surged forward, barely visible, and swung his leg. Tarack shifted his weight and blocked the blow with his grey arm. Kentus flipped in the air and arced down to the demon's other side, bringing his leg down atop Tarack's head. The boy moved out of the way just in time, pushing off the table and sailing into the air. Kentus' leg came down on the polished wood and it cracked in half beneath his foot, the entire thirty-metre long bench collapsing in on itself.
Tarack spread his fingers and fired several ki blasts from his palm, the energy balls exploding around the King, before continuing his journey through the air and kicking off one of the pillars holding up the viewing platforms and shooting back towards the throne.
"That Dragon Ball is mine!" he shouted, as Mataro leaped up to meet him. The two exchanged a blinding set of punches, arms moving like pistons, and then Mataro spun and caught Tarack in the side with a powerful kick. Tarack was thrown off course and skidded along the ground, but he flipped back to his feet just in time to limbo under a sword slash. The demon backflipped, catching Geani in the stomach as he went, and then charged for the throne again as the swordsman was knocked backwards.
"He's so fast!" thought Krill, still huddled in the corner. The prince watched the battle in terror.
"Get out of my way!" bellowed the demon, and he thrust out his arm, sending ribbons of shadows towards Talon. The Spellweaver spun his staff and deflected them easily, old age insignificant as he stepped up and swung his staff into Tarack's throat. Tarack's eyes bulged as his breath was cut off by the strike.
Talon's staff glowed and suddenly there was a flare of light, picking Tarack up and throwing him into the air against the roof. He smashed into the stone ceiling and began the fall back down, but caught himself in midair and hovered around.
PHBM!
Korros' leg slammed against Tarack's back and he bellowed, inertia pouring into his deformed body and throwing him back. The stone stairs at the other end of the room collapsed to rubble as he collided with them, before stumbling back to his feet and staggering out. His face was twisted into a ferocious snarl.
"Forget about me?" growled Korros, hovering in the air. His cape rippled in the air behind him.
"You…!" hissed Tarack, and hunched over, collecting his energy about him. The shadows writhed as they surrounded his body, condensing and becoming darker. The pressure in the air increased massively, and Ashita gasped.
"Brace yourselves!" she screamed, and then Tarack threw his arms forward, a furious inhuman howl tearing from between his teeth. The shadows lurched and cannoned outwards, dark energy permeating every inch of the room. The defenders were all blown back, leaving the path to the throne clear. Tarack sneered and exploded from the ground, a trail of darkness marking his path. The boy streaked across the length of the Throne Room and stretched out his grey arm, coming within inches of the Dragon Ball shining at the head of the stone seat…
And then he was stopped dead as two powerful hands closed around his wrist, stopping his lunge in its tracks. Tarack hissed as he looked down to see the King crouching below him, between the demon and the throne.
"You're not laying a finger on that Dragon Ball until I'm dead at your feet," snarled Kentus, and then he drew back his fist and punched Tarack across the face.
Tarack's face shattered under the blow and he was propelled backwards, rolling and bouncing across the stone floor and sliding to a stop halfway along the sunken pit in the middle of the hall. The demon writhed as blood exploded from his crushed face.
"Everyone!" bellowed Kentus, as Tarack staggered to his feet. There was a flash of movement and suddenly the air was filled as the King's companions arced through the air towards him. Arasha and Ashita moved in complete unison, as to their side Mataro's fist blazed with white energy and Geani's swords hummed through the air. The demon gritted his teeth; he had less than a second.
"Don't think this is over!" he hissed, and raised a hand. In an instant, he placed two fingers on his forehead, and then just melted into the air.
BOOM!
The floor where Tarack had been erupted into rubble and dust as the defenders unleashed their attacks, but it was too late; the demon had vanished.
Slowly, the dust settled and a grim silence filled the hall. Krill became aware of screaming and shouting from the city outside as the citizens flocked to see the chaos.
Mataro, Geani, Ashita, Arasha, and Korros straightened up, their energy levels descending to normal. Talon slammed his staff onto the stone beneath him. His eyes were closed.
"His energy signature is on the other side of Haven," said the mage, and opened his eyes. "He's retreated."
"What power…" said Geani, and sheathed his swords. "He fought us all at once without even hesitating..."
Krill stumbled to his feet and nervously tread forward as Kentus descended onto his throne, lost in thought.
"Dad? What was that?"
The others fell silent at the question, and Krill knew they were listening for the answer as well. Kentus looked at him.
"Something not of this world."
"A demon," confirmed Talon, and Korros nodded as well.
"What…what about Tarack?" asked Krill. "It said it was using his body…for what?"
The King sighed. "I don't know. But one thing is for certain, we know it's after the Dragon Balls. That was its goal here today."
"We have to be prepared for if it returns," said Talon, and swept his staff. The rubble across the Throne Room lifted and moved back into place, settling precariously into order. Arasha hung her head.
"Tarack…he's had this thrust upon him…that monster…I failed him."
Ashita wrapped her arms around her sister. "It's not your fault."
"I-I promised him I'd protec-"
Arasha stopped speaking as she looked over Ashita's shoulder, and she hissed in alarm. Geani spun around, drawing his sword, and Mataro and Korros dropped to one knee, ready to fight. But it wasn't the demon returned.
The shattered doors of the Throne Room hung open, light streaming into the hall, and standing straight in the exact centre of the gateway, a man stood, silhouetted against the sun.
Geani scowled. "You."
"Oh dear," said the newcomer, looking around the hall with mocking concern. He had long neat hair and wore the Slavoan leather armour. Across the front, four vertical slashes made up his clan insignia. "What happened here? Home troubles?"
"Cervus of the Norr…" replied Mataro, and began walking forward. "What are you doing here?"
"Stand back!" said Cervus smugly, raising a hand. In it he held a scroll. "I'm here on diplomatic reasons. I bear a message, from Lord Kayne himself. You wouldn't attack a messenger, would you, General Mataro?"
Mataro snarled, and stepped back, as Cervus strode forward, moving between the group assembled in the middle of the hall towards where Kentus sat on the throne. Talon stood to one side, and Krill backed away until he was back in the corner.
In an instant, Ashita and Arasha were by the king's side, phasing across the room like shadows.
"Not another step!" barked Arasha, her authoritative manner back as if her resolve had never even been tested. Protecting Kentus was her life. Personal issues could wait.
"Now, now," tutted Cervus. "Kentus, I never thought you'd feel the need to have bodyguards. And such violent women, too. They should stay in the kitchens."
"Silence, Norr!" answered Kentus, and Krill was surprised at the ferociousness in his voice. "Do not test my patience today. Why weren't you stopped by the city guards and brought to me by them?"
Cervus scowled. "They tried. But part of Lord Kayne's order was that I deliver this message to you by my own terms. Not by your guards. They'll be alright."
"You attacked them?" demanded Mataro furiously, striding up to the man. "You attacked my men?"
"They attacked me first," replied Cervus coolly, looking Mataro in the eye without fear, before turning back to the king, who was looking equally angry. "Now please…let's not throw accusations around. I request a meal; it's been a long journey. After I have finished eating, I will deliver my message."
"You'll deliver it now!" said Kentus, his voice rising to almost a shout. "How dare you? I'm in half a mind to have you killed right now. The Norr denied all of their privileges and rights when they turned against the Kingdom."
Cervus shook his head. "You're a foolish man, my Lord. Come the final battle, Kayne will strike you dow-"
PHMB!
Krill gasped as Kentus' fingers closed around Cervus' throat. He hadn't even seen his father move. In an instant the King lifted Cervus off the ground and slammed him onto his back against the floor. It cracked under the impact, a small crater giving way under the Norr's body. Cervus cried out and blood vomited from his mouth.
"You come into my city!" roared Kentus. "You insult my honour, attack my guards, and demand asylum! I will not stand for this from a traitor!"
His voice echoed around the entire Throne Room, magnified by the marble and stone walls. Krill paled and shrunk backwards; he'd never seen his father grow this angry before. And from the nervous glances he saw shoot between the others present, he guessed that they hadn't either.
A white aura flared around Kentus, brilliant flames. "This war has gone one long enough under my watch! How dare you walk in here as if it is still your place? The Norr have gone too far. Deliver your message, oath breaker, and deliver it fast, or I will personally put to you to death here on this castle floor! Do you understand?!"
Krill became aware that he was shaking violently, and he leant against the wall. Cervus squirmed in agony, pinned to the ground by the King's iron grip.
"Answer me!" bellowed the King in his face, and the man finally stopped moving, staring balefully up at the man who'd so easily put him down. Blood ran down the side of his face.
"You fool," he spat, and then incredibly, began to laugh. The King narrowed his eyes. "You sit on your throne and you do your job. All because of your royal line. Your precious blood. It doesn't guarantee skill. Not every king is a wise and just ruler."
"And you believe Kayne is?" snarled Kentus.
"Lord Kayne will guide us all to a better and more prosperous era!" shouted Cervus fanatically. "And so, I deliver my message…"
"Go on…"
Krill felt chills run down his spine as Cervus continued. "Lord Kayne wishes me to tell you to gather your army. You say you're tired of this war. So is he. He wishes to end all the conflict, and finally claim his place on that throne so that the new era can begin."
Cervus grinned insanely. "He says to gather your all-powerful King's Army and prepare for the final battle. One week from today, the Norr and the Prion will band together and march on this castle, with Lord Kayne at our head. The revolution has reached its climax. The final verdict will be decided on that day. And on that day, my King…your life will end."
000
AAAARRRRGGGGHHH~! *Tears out hair* I'M SO FREAKING HAPPY! After five months of Writer's Block and no inspiration, I've finished off Part 3.
I'm proud of myself :3 Not only is this the longest chapter I've ever written (beating my Naruto one-shot - Comrades – by almost 2000 words), but the last 6000 words I wrote today, in one afternoon. I took that Writer's Block and kicked it to the curb. Like a BOSS.
Wow, things are really heating up now. The demon's revealed itself the King, and Lord Kayne declares the final war. But can the King's Army defend against the combined forces of the Norr and the Prion? Find out in Part of Dragon Ball X: Kingdom Crushed!
